Chapter 7

Anna had a few precious hours to herself, as Mr. Radclyfe, the countess, and the baron had taken the horses out and wouldn’t be back until late afternoon. She didn’t know what to make of Mr. Radclyfe anymore. When he had first arrived, she’d expected an onslaught of wheedling speech as he pressed his suit and strove to assure her he possessed the fine qualities that made him a worthy match for her and her millions. But so far he hadn’t fit any of her expectations. Certainly not after shucking his evening clothes and diving into cold dark water to fix the waterwheel. Baron DeVille would have done no such thing. She contrasted the image of the dapper and vain blond baron with the man who returned to the house soaking wet. Underneath his frock coat, a glimpse of his broad chest and shoulders had sent a shiver through her.

And then his declaration in the garden. She had tried hard not to think about it, about his need to love the woman he married. But she hadn’t been successful, and her heart quivered every time she remembered Mr. Radclyfe’s handsome, intent face.

She needed something to distract her, so she popped into the library and found her father sorting through papers on his desk.

“Papa, I’ve asked Mortimer to serve tea in the garden. I thought you might enjoy that.”

“Aye, lassie, I would.”

They walked arm in arm to the tea table under the old blooming crabapple. When her father had finished his tea, he set his cup down. “Now then, I’ve somethin’ to say.”

“Yes, Papa?”

“I want to see you married proper before I die.”

Anna took a deep breath and held her tongue.

“I need to know you’re settled, lassie.”

She nodded.

“And I’ve chosen the man for ye.”

Oh no. “Papa—”

He held his hands up. “Let me finish, Anna.” He smiled, and she saw wrinkles engraved on his dear face she’d never noticed before. “I’ve thought and prayed hard on it. Ye must trust me now.”

Anna pressed her lips together as her heart jumped in her chest.

“Robert Radclyfe is intelligent, steady, and loves God. I believe you would come to care for him. As he cares for you.”

“How can you know he cares for me? You’ve known him for ten days.”

Her father cocked his head to one side. “I’m a verra good judge of character, lassie. Don’t forget—I’ve dealt with all sorts of men in my business dealings. And Robert Radclyfe is genuine.”

Anna paced in front of her father, her agitated skirts sending a flurry of rose petals into the air. Two weeks ago she would have absolutely refused, but now she didn’t know what she felt. “You know he only wants my dowry. And my inheritance.” But even as she said this, she secretly hoped it wasn’t true.

“And he shall have it. But he also wants you, Anna. I am verra sure.”

She sank to her knees in front of her father. “I want to please you, Papa. I do. But—” She shook her head as the face of Stuart Maxwell Gordon rose up. Could she take the risk again?

“He’ll be a good match for your headstrong ways, lassie. The anchor to your spirit. And there’s one more thing.”

“Yes?”

“I have a stipulation. He’s not to take you back to England. The dowry can go, but you must remain here. And he with you, if he truly cares for you. Until such a time in the future, after I’m gone, and then only if you wish to go.”

Then she would never find herself in a position like Nora. Would that be enough?

“Come here, lassie.” She took his hand and sat down, pressing her cheek against his shoulder. “Ye’ll be a wealthy woman in your own right. It will be your decision to follow him to England. Your choice.”

“He won’t agree, Papa. Every American heiress who’s married an English lord has gone to live in England. Jennie Jerome, Mary Leiter, Consuelo Vanderbilt.”

“Aye.” He smiled. “It will have to be for love.”

Robert Radclyfe would never agree to such an outlandish stipulation. Or would he?

She sniffed. “Then we will see, won’t we, Papa?”

“Och, lassie,” he said with a smile, “that we will.”

Now Anna had a hard time resisting Rob’s infectious smile, despite Nora’s dark looks behind his back. She’d awakened the last few mornings with a sense of expectation. The four were picnicking near the north cliff overlook, with Winnie sitting chaperone for Anna a short distance away. While Nora and the baron had a lively conversation regarding the merits of singing birds, Anna leaned toward Mr. Radclyfe.

“Did you enjoy your fishing trip with my father?”

“We had a grand time,” he said.

“Where did he take you?”

“About an hour from here, deep in the forest.”

Anna sat up straighter. “Indeed. Can you describe it to me?”

“To use your father’s own words: ‘It’s a verra bonnie place.’ A woodland pool, ringed by tottering old oaks and carpeted with moss.”

“The fairy glen. Hmmm.”

He tipped his head to one side and studied her. “Why? Does it hold some special significance?”

She smiled faintly. “It was our own private place no one else knew of,” she said, “when I was growing up. I used to hunt for fairies under the acorn caps, and once I thought I saw one sitting on a cushion of moss. My father had a dragonfly fairy pendant made for me, to remind me of our fairy glen.”

Mr. Radclyfe nodded. “You wore it the night of the Met Ball. I understand why you thought you could find fairies there. It’s a precious, magical place. Enchanted.”

“Funny you should feel the same way.”

“Yes.” He started to say something but then stopped.

“Go on,” said Anna.

He smiled shyly. “I thought perhaps we could visit it together sometime. With your chaperone, of course,” he added hastily.

“Perhaps.”

He drew a brown paper parcel from his pocket. “I went into the village yesterday to cable my father. I browsed the bookstore and found this for you.”

She pulled the brown paper off the parcel and laughed.” The Monster and Other Stories, by Stephen Crane,” she read aloud.

“It’s a different monster than the one in Frankenstein,” he said. “But I thought you might enjoy it.”

“Thank you,” she said, touched. “You’re rather a different suitor yourself.” She smiled at him. “No candy, no flowers—just books about monsters.”

“Hmm.” He cocked his head. “You’re considering me a suitor now? That’s a step in the right direction then.”

She blushed at the eager look in his eyes, speechless for the moment, when fortunately Mortimer approached, bearing a silver salver.

He stopped before Mr. Radclyfe. “A telegram for you, sir.”

Mr. Radclyfe stood and walked a few steps away to rip it open. His dark brows slanted together and his lips pressed in a grim line as he crushed the paper in his fist. Abruptly he stalked toward the cliff path.

“Radclyfe,” called DeVille, “where are you going? Is it bad news?”

Mr. Radclyfe shook his head and hastened away.

DeVille shrugged and cut himself a cluster of purple grapes with a pair of tiny scissors. “These are delicious.”

“Shouldn’t you go after him?” Anna asked.

The baron popped a grape into his mouth. “I think he wants to be alone.”

Anna stood, and Nora put a restraining hand on her arm. “Don’t, Anna. It’s none of your business, is it?”

Nora was correct. But as Mr. Radclyfe read the telegram, she had noted the sure evidence of pain in his face before anger had overtaken him, and though she could barely admit it, she did care.

Anna shook off Nora’s hand and hurried after Mr. Radclyfe. His tall figure had already disappeared down the slender gravel path to the outlook, the northernmost part of the estate with a brilliant view of the Catskills and the river below. Before the path widened into the outlook, Anna stopped and motioned Winnie to stay.

He sat on the bench, his forearms resting on his thighs, staring out at the vista, and he didn’t turn at her step on the stony gravel. She came around the bench, sat down a few feet from him, and remained quiet. Hawks circled lazily in the air currents high above the river, dotted with ships and sailboats.

“It’s odd,” said Mr. Radclyfe, turning toward her on the bench.

“What is?” Her pulse quickened under his intent gaze.

He smiled faintly. “How when I’m with you, I’ve stopped feeling the need to fill the silence.”

She nodded. “I know.” It was true. “I—” She hesitated. “I feel the same.” She swallowed hard. “And I have never felt that way with anyone else but my father.”

“That comforts my heart.”

“May I ask why you need comfort, Mr. Radclyfe? Did you receive some unwelcome news?”

“Yes.” He sighed. “I suppose I should come out and say it. I’ve asked your father for your hand in marriage. And I think you must know of his stipulation?” He gave her a questioning glance.

“Yes.”

“I didn’t believe my father would countenance such a demand.” He shrugged. “And I was correct. He has ordered me to return immediately to New York. Or he will disinherit me.”

Oh no. A sense of loss pierced her, taking her breath away. “What … what will you do?” He crossed his arms over his chest and gazed out at the river. “I don’t know. But I must decide soon.”

He turned to her and sighed. “What a pair we are. Your father wants you to marry and you don’t care to. I must marry to keep my family home from perishing. Society has expectations for each of us.”

“I hadn’t thought about what it must be like for you.” She pictured him as having his choice of heiresses. “But I’d like to ask you a question.”

“Ask away.”

“Why do you want to marry me? Aside from the obvious, I mean.”

He didn’t seem the least bit surprised or taken aback by her question, but instead shifted his weight and assumed a thoughtful expression. “Perhaps it’s that you were the only redhead at the ball in apple-green silk.” He smiled.

She steeled herself not to respond to the way his smile lit up his face. “I’m serious, Mr. Radclyfe.”

“The freckles,” he said, nodding decisively.

“Pardon me?” She couldn’t keep the frost out of her voice. Was he being deliberately obtuse?

“Your freckles.” He leaned closer and raised his hand as if to touch her face then apparently thought better of it and let his hand drop into his lap. “Now that you’ve been out in the sun, the most delicate freckles have appeared all over your face.”

Anna tightened her lips and stood. “Since you’re not interested in a serious discussion, Mr. Radclyfe, I will take my leave.”

“Wait.” He got to his feet. “Forgive me. I was trying to be charming. I see I should leave that to DeVille.” He gestured to the bench. “Please.”

She sat down, her back stiff as she perched on the edge of the seat.

He sighed. “Now you look ready to make your escape.”

She tossed her head. “I would think you’d welcome a sincere discussion of marriage, since you’ve made it plain you want to marry me.”

“I would.”

“Then answer my original question.”

“Gladly. I think you’re an interesting and unusual young lady.”

“There must be other interesting heiresses out there. Girls who actually want to be married.”

He smiled. “Oh, there are. To be sure.”

Anna’s spine stiffened. “So you’ve considered others?”

“I don’t think it’s in my own best interests to answer that question.”

“Who?”

“Now, now, Miss MacDougall.” He held up his hands, pretending to ward her off. “It would exhibit extremely poor breeding if I were to”—he paused delicately—“reveal courting secrets.”

“Very well. Then tell me something about your home.”

“Gladly.” He stretched his legs out and relaxed. “It’s a magical place, Donalee. In southeastern England. It was built on a gift of land from King Henry in 1412, for service to the crown. Though crumbling into decay now.”

“Do you have siblings?”

“Two younger brothers. One in the British army—Ned. And William, at Oxford, studying for the ministry.” He snorted. “My brother Ned should have been born first. He would love to be my father’s heir. ‘To the manor born,’ as they say.”

“Is he jealous of you?”

“Oh, very. But we don’t see each other often. Father sees to that.”

Anna digested this piece of information. How terrible.

“And your mother?”

“An aristocratic lady of noble lineage and very proud of it.”

“And your parents—have they a happy marriage?”

“I suppose it depends on the definition of happy. They respect each other. My mother bore my father three sons. But their paths seldom cross now. My mother lives in London, while my father stays on the estate.”

Similar to Nora’s unhappy situation, closeted away on the moors while her husband amused himself elsewhere. “Perhaps most marriages are destined to be so.”

“No!” Mr. Radclyfe sprang to his feet. “I refuse to believe that. And you must not fall prey to that pernicious idea, either, Miss MacDougall. I believe with all my heart it can be different. When I marry”—he fixed her with an intent look that stabbed through her—“though I must marry for money, in the end it must be for love.” He clenched his jaw. “I need you to understand that.”

Anna’s head reeled. Awkwardly, she stood up, avoiding his gaze. “I must go.”

“Have I frightened you? You didn’t realize I could be so passionate?”

Her eyes widened at his use of that word.

“Tell me,” he begged. “Let us at least have honesty, if nothing else.” He motioned to the bench. “Please, don’t go.”

What a queer turn this afternoon had taken. A benign picnic on the lawn had transformed into this, this—what were they doing? But she sat down anyway. New thoughts tumbled through her brain like water surging in a flooded creek.

“What are you thinking?” He leaned toward her. “Tell me.”

She inhaled and then breathed out slowly. “This conversation—it isn’t appropriate.” She paused. “Young women and their suitors don’t generally discuss—” She hesitated, groping for words.

“What they want out of a marriage. Is that it?”

She opened and closed her mouth several times then settled for nodding her head.

“I know it isn’t conventional. But it’s our lives we’re speaking of. Our lives—which other people are making plans for. Isn’t that true?”

She found her voice. “Yes. I haven’t considered what it must be like to have to find a rich wife because your father orders it. And expects it.”

He nodded.

“However, a man may come and go as he pleases, whereas a young woman must first obey her father and then her husband. Her only business is to marry well. And produce sons.”

“And I can see you resent this. But, Miss MacDougal, can’t you see I have expectations placed on me?”

“I can. But perhaps you should release them.”

He lowered his head and frowned. “It that what you have done? Released your expectations?”

Anna hesitated. “I don’t know anymore.”

Mr. Radclyfe came and sat next to her. “Your father told me … of your difficult experience a year ago.”

Anna gasped. “He didn’t!”

“He wanted me to know what I was up against. And all I can say is I am so sorry that happened to you.” His fingers twitched in his lap. “Miss MacDougall, I know wealth doesn’t guarantee happiness.”

Anna thought of Nora. “No.”

Mr. Radclyfe pressed on. “I’ve seen it in my own family. Although my family’s income is much reduced now, I remember when the estate was fruitful. But my mother was never happy.”

“But you have more choices than I.”

He shook his head violently. “No, Miss MacDougall!” He scraped a hand over his face and stood, his shoulders sagging. “How can I make you see?” He clenched his fists at his sides, his body shaking with emotion. “The only choice I have is whether or not to love the woman I marry. Now, good afternoon.”