Barrett kept an ever-so-proper distance between himself and Annie as they waited for her parents. She should not be alone for this.
A maid had stopped in the doorway, eyes taking in the scene. The servant had explained that Annie’s parents had left suddenly, but hadn’t given a reason.
A clatter on the stairway alerted him that her mother had arrived. He tensed. Mrs Carson rushed into the room, a whirlwind of jewellery and fabrics. Her face wreathed in lines. ‘My baby is back.’
She grasped Annie’s shoulders in her gloved hands. ‘Why did you do this to us, Annie? Why?’
Then her mother saw Barrett. ‘You brought her back, didn’t you?’
He nodded.
She turned again to Annie. ‘If not for Mr Barrett...we might never have seen you again. We went to your cousins’ houses, hoping to discover who’d helped you leave, but no one had heard from you. Where were you?’ She pulled Annie closer, clasping her daughter in a tight hug.
Annie patted her mother’s back. ‘I just wanted to see Honour. I don’t want her alone when the baby is born.’
Her mother’s voice wavered. ‘You could not. Childbirth is no place for a gentlewoman. Why, I would not have attended any of my children’s births if I hadn’t had to. It was ghastly.’
‘Oh, Annie. What are we to do with you?’ her father asked, stepping into the room.
Her father turned his head away. Carson had had tears in his eyes.
‘You must promise us, Annie. You must promise you will not do something so foolish again.’ Her mother stepped back, removed her gloves and used one to dot her brow, seemingly unaware she didn’t have a handkerchief in her hands.
Barrett examined the tableau, seeing it, but not understanding the lack of emotion. Where was the shouting, the ruckus, the threats?
‘You will not leave the house again without your mother or me with you. You must understand.’ The gruff voice of her father, breaking a bit.
‘Father. I do understand how much you care for me.’ Annie’s calming tone. ‘I took great care to leave with a kindly woman who could chaperon me.’
‘When we thought...’ Her mother’s voice, with a gasp at the end.
Silence.
‘We cannot bear to lose you.’ Her mother again. ‘I cannot believe you tried to run away.’
Barrett turned, just as the mother fell into a chair, knuckles at her mouth. She still held her gloves in the other hand.
He’d thought the Carson family cared for Annie and yet they were treating her almost as if she’d done nothing more than been late for dinner. No wonder she had such innocence. The family itself showed no deep emotions. Perhaps they didn’t feel them.
Without speaking, he moved to the door. Outside, he shook his head, standing for a moment, waiting for the crash of glass.
Instead he heard sniffling from either her father or her mother. He wasn’t sure which. Perhaps both. He stopped. Her parents were more innocent than Annie.
‘Annie,’ her mother spoke. ‘You have no idea how much we love you. I thought I would truly die when I discovered you gone.’
‘Without any of my daughters here...’ her father’s voice again ‘...there wouldn’t be a reason to keep on living. Not for either your mother or me.’
Barrett left, their voices echoing in his head, while he still kept an ear out for the sound of breaking glass. Finally, he heard it—the second he stepped into his own house and up to his father’s doorway.
Annie watched her father and mother eating silently and slowly. Honour and Laura’s empty chairs sat across from her.
At least her parents had stopped sniffling. And just as she expected, her mother was planning for Annie to sleep on the sofa in her sitting room.
She waited until her mother had finished eating. Annie put her fork on the side of her plate, arranging it exactly as she wanted, then she spoke. ‘Mother, perhaps I made a mistake.’
Her mother turned to the footman at the sidebar and signalled him to leave. The door closed behind him.
‘Perhaps more than one,’ her mother said.
Annie braced herself and said the words she’d never expected to hear from her own lips. ‘Mother, I spent the night in an inn pretending to be a married woman. A pretence—only—of marriage so no questions would be asked.’
‘You’ll be staying at your mother’s elbow the rest of your life.’ Her father’s voice cracked with emotion. He pointed a finger to the ceiling. ‘We’ve tried to be lenient and you see where it has got us. You will not run away again. You will be with either your mother or me, or you will marry Lord Richard or someone of his ilk.’
‘A pretence? No actions?’ Her mother waved her hand in front of her face. ‘Although any mother would be daft to believe such nonsense in a situation like that—except the physician did say...’
Annie drew herself tall. ‘Mr Barrett has kissed my hand.’
Her father rotated towards her, his body remaining in a straight line, but his face contorting.
‘He has kissed my hand several times, and my wrist,’ she added.
Her mother looked at her father and rapped her fork on the plate, catching his attention before he spoke. ‘It is not wise to believe a child when she says nothing happened, but then again, this is Mr Barrett and you know what the physician...well, he said what he said when he suggested to send Barrett for Annie.’ She cleared her voice.
‘But—’ Carson sputtered.
‘Dearest Husband,’ her mother interrupted, looking down the table, ‘you know what the physician said to you privately about the unlikely event of Mr Barrett having an heir. That snails just couldn’t fly and, barring a miracle cure—which he had searched for these past five years—Mr Barrett would never fly. Never. He wanted you to know in case you worried about Annie should Mr Barrett find her and the two of them be alone. And he wanted to be sure you knew that there could never be a little viscount.’
‘It was rather lovely when he kissed my hand,’ Annie added.
‘Your hand?’ her father said.
‘A special moment,’ and she hated sharing it, but she wanted her parents to know that he had treated her admirably and she was no longer the innocent they believed, but neither was she not an innocent. ‘He seemed to be telling me that it would never lead to anything else.’
‘The plain and simple truth of it. Mr Barrett is the safest man in London for Annie to be with.’ Her mother wadded her napkin and threw it on to the plate. ‘And no five or six-month healthy babes to be born.’
‘I cannot believe you pretended to be married.’ Her father shook his head at Annie. ‘That is abominable.’
‘Again,’ her mother reminded. ‘Uneventful... Affliction... No surprise grandchildren.’ She picked up the discarded napkin, straightened and folded it. ‘A man who will inherit a sizeable estate kissed your daughter’s hand. Perhaps his deepest expression of affection.’
‘Father, no one knows. I learned my lesson and Mr Barrett said he has started plans to get Honour to return.’
‘It is not that simple, bringing your sister home,’ her mother said, arranging the napkin again with tactical precision. ‘We will have to pretend it never happened. We cannot stand for the disgrace. Your father has worked so hard to keep the family name upheld. If it were only her...well, then we could work something out. But there is a child. My grandchild. A niece or nephew for you. We don’t want it branded with a bad name for the whole of its life. I can adopt it later. I have told everyone that Honour is visiting my sister.’
‘Your sister passed away.’
‘I left that part out.’ She paused.
‘Barrett said he can bring Honour home now and I am sure that we will somehow fix it so there is no disgrace for the child.’
Her mother sighed. ‘I have already written to Honour and explained that we will work to get her and the babe home with no one the wiser as to who its mother is. And when I recall that my sister has passed on, I’ll also mention her grandchild who needs a home. So far, Honour has refused to consider all the options your father and I presented. She just wanted to chase off after that man. It doesn’t matter to me. She can have a husband on two feet—or we can have a nice stone erected with the proper dates and a suitable name. That way there’s a record. I know of a good stonemason who will not ask any questions.’
‘Three daughters,’ her father held up the correct number of fingers and touched each one. ‘Three. And all of them—’
His wife looked at him. ‘They did not get that from my side of the family.’
She stared across the table at her husband. ‘Annie will be marrying Mr Barrett.’
‘I think he has to agree to that,’ Annie said.
‘The planning is in the details,’ her mother said.
‘He is an heir,’ Annie reminded them. ‘His family has been in society longer than ours and has a higher place. We are only cousins of cousins of an earl. Barrett is not someone who can be forced into anything. And I don’t think I will get a lot of empathy if he decides to bring up the little detail of my running off in the night and his bringing me home.’
‘You didn’t run away.’ Her mother glared at her. ‘You were here the whole time, dearest. We were stitching. The whole of the ton knows your father and I never let you out of our sight. You were here. All night. That is how to remember it.’
‘The physician knows I was gone,’ Annie said, ‘and perhaps a servant or two.’
‘Nonsense. The servants know to keep quiet. The physician knows Mr Barrett is a snail and snails can’t fly. Therefore, he also knows that you were safely asleep in bed.’ One brow cocked up and one brow remained in place. ‘Correct? Safely in bed?’ Then she looked away and muttered, ‘We just cannot mention whose bed.’
Annie looked at one parent and then the other. She nodded. ‘Mr Barrett took care not to touch me and he snored.’
Her father put his head down. ‘The poor, poor man.’
‘Perhaps I am ready not to be a wallflower any more,’ Annie said. ‘Perhaps I need to open my eyes to the world around me.’
‘Lord Richard?’ her father asked, hope in his eyes.
‘I’m not ruling out dancing with him.’ She looked at her mother’s napkin. ‘I would not rule out a harmless flirtation either.’
Barrett’s concentration hadn’t returned and neither had his ability to sleep through the night. The only night he’d slept well since seeing Annie’s wrist had been the night he’d slept beside her. He had to get her out of his mind once and for all.
With her back at home, she’d be in her own little cocoon, safe from all the predators who might prey on fragile innocents.
Carson had sent a note, thanking Barrett profusely for all the assistance he’d given on matters of late. Hoping again for Barrett’s invaluable advice. Noting how much his presence brightened the spirits of the entire family. Requesting a visit from Barrett, and mentioning that, if it were inconvenient for Barrett to travel, Carson would stop by when he and his family were out on calls.
Another matchmaking papa. Barrett put his elbows on his desk, fingers steepled together, and rested his forehead on his hands.
Every time he shut his eyes, he saw Annie. And every time he listened, he heard his father’s voice, either real—from the Viscount’s room shouting out some nonsense to Summers—or imagined, slinging some profanity into the air.
Barrett didn’t want Carson in his father’s lair.
After hours of his father’s ire seeping through the walls and Summers walking into Barrett’s room to show him the remains of a meal dripping from his clothing, Barrett stood. He’d get the Carson family out of his mind once and for all. He’d put a rift so deep between them that Annie would hate him.
Hate, that was a real emotion, and even that could weaken a man. Emotions were weapons and humans were victims.
He had to get Annie out of his thoughts instead of letting her linger inside him, like a scent from a springtime garden that rested in the air, filling the senses with delicate purity and an amazement that, after the desolation of winter, the earth could replenish itself.
Annie reminded him of the earliest wildflowers, so delicate a single touch on their petals could mar them. He only knew how to deal with dandelions. A wisp of air and they went in all directions, spreading the seeds and returning with vigour.
He sprinted downstairs and sent for his horse, waiting, trying not to listen to the commotion in the rooms above him.
Telling Annie goodbye would be his own solution as well, he thought, as he checked to make sure the cinch was tight on his horse’s saddle. Destroying their friendship would save him from the temptation of returning to her over and over, until she decided she was little more than another Madeline Trotter in his life. Another beauty on his arm. Another woman to fulfil his checklist as he went through the motions required to appease her, while his life continued on alone. Another stolen book with hand-painted illustrations to put on the shelf and to pull down to show others how well-ordered a viscount’s life was.
With a foot in the stirrup, he jumped into the saddle.
It was tempting—to lead her along a false rose path, propose and marry. But should he do that, a Madeline would work so much better. She couldn’t be crushed by the world that sat inside the walls of Barrett’s home. Annie had an innocent’s view of love. The flower-petal arrangement, not the mire of walking through the stables. The superficial view of her parents—who shed a few tears and expected roses to form from the moisture and everyone to dance arm in arm down the lane with birds tweeting about and no foxes with empty stomachs patiently watching and waiting.
He would tell her. Show her. That his life wasn’t right for her. She needed one of the bespectacled men who had plush carriage seats, umbrellas close by, and an assortment of collapsible fans to match their attire.
His horse splashed through the puddles in the road and Barrett wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand.
If he could show her one second inside his father’s mind, she would run to the attic and lock herself in her room.
He would end all thoughts she might have in his direction and he would end his thoughts of her, too. They both needed to be on different paths and he’d make sure they were.