Chapter 8

Mr. Radclyfe disappeared into the shrubbery lining the path. Anna got to her feet to run after him, but her heart beat so erratically she felt nauseous. What would she say anyway?

She gathered her skirts in one hand and descended the stairs to the riverbank. The stairs cut from the rock were worn and crumbling, but the handrail her father had installed a few years ago made it safer. As a little girl, she had spent hours here, searching for fossils and arrowheads. Pine trees grew along the bank, bent and stunted by the continual wind along the river. She climbed onto a rock, heedless of her dress. And then she prayed. Bowed her head and acknowledged her heavenly Father as Lord of her life. She didn’t know what to do, but He did. She made the conscious decision to trust Him and allow Him to lead her.

Her heart lightened, she hurried to the house, but Mr. Radclyfe had disappeared. She laughed at herself, realizing she was looking for him. How the tables had turned. He wasn’t anywhere in the house, either, because she checked the library and the drawing room.

Mortimer stood at the door of the great dining room, as footmen carried out the walnut table in pieces, followed by the heavy upholstered chairs. The Oriental rug had already been rolled up. She’d completely forgotten a ball had been planned for tonight. Two days ago she had reviewed the supper menu with Mrs. Ludley, chosen the dinnerware pattern and the silver service. Perhaps at the ball tonight she could let Mr. Radclyfe know that she wasn’t nearly as unwilling as he thought.

Rob dressed for the ball in the requisite white tie and tails. After leaving Miss MacDougall, a very long walk at a rapid pace had dissipated his anger and frustration, and he arrived at the house in time to freshen up and change.

He shouldn’t have lost his temper with her. Ungentlemanly, to say the least. Tomorrow he would take his leave and return to the city, although he didn’t have the heart for it. Miss MacDougall had his heart.

He glanced in the mirror. Perhaps he should send his regrets. Plead some indisposition. Then he thought of Philip MacDougall. The irascible Scot wouldn’t go gently, like a dog with his tail between his legs. The old man would fight for what he wanted. Rob nodded.

So would he.

He received his first shock of the evening when he caught a glimpse of Miss MacDougall. In apple-green silk. She took his breath away all over again. It was difficult not to stare, even when DeVille jabbed an elbow into his ribs.

“Leave off, Radclyfe—she isn’t something to eat,” he whispered.

Rob hastily rearranged his face, but not until he caught Philip MacDougall grinning at him.

When the guests had been properly received, Mr. MacDougall opened the dancing with his daughter. At an informal country ball, the ladies did not have cards to fill. As soon as Miss MacDougall and her father finished their dance, several young men immediately besieged her for the next one. Rob decided to keep his distance and see what happened. He asked the countess to dance, and several of the older married ladies.

He’d returned his last dance partner to her husband and paused near the supper table, where two portly dowagers had their heads together.

“I’ve heard Miss MacDougall was a trifle eccentric, but moss?” Mrs. Vanderfelder tsked under her breath.

Rob’s ears perked up, and he glanced at the two matrons.

Mrs. Goulet adjusted the pince-nez on her nose and pursed her plump lips as she stared at the main centerpiece. “Very unorthodox. And whatever is that on the top?”

Intrigued, Rob turned and stepped closer. As a rule he seldom noticed china patterns and floral arrangements, but this was definitely different. No flowers. Just moss. Every glorious shade of emerald the forest had to offer adorned the supper table. White violets were tucked among the moss in the central epergne. And there on the top—

Rob broke into a grin. A beautiful dragonfly fairy, with a slender body of gold and diamonds, glimmering opals on gossamer wings of spun-gold threads, cunningly pointed ears, and a delicately modeled face.

He searched the room for Miss MacDougall and found her, standing alone and watching him. Quickly he made his way to her, not caring that several guests turned to stare after him.

He smiled at her. “So, I’m forgiven for my outburst this afternoon?”

She nodded as the musicians launched into a waltz.

“May I have the honor of a dance?”

“You may.”

He took her in his arms, reveling at the feel of her gloved hand in his. He wanted every dance for the rest of his life to be with her.

Anna woke early the next morning, though they had been up very late the night before. It was as if her heart had awakened her, skipping along with merry jumps and hops at the unconscious thought of Mr. Radclyfe.

An oppressive heaviness filled the air, in contrast with her light heart, and thunder rumbled in the distance. But nothing could dampen her spirits. Let it rain all day if it wanted to. She was in love!

A soft knock sounded at her door. Anna went to answer it and found Nora, wrapped in a Japanese dressing gown, with a gloomy look on her face as she entered the bedroom.

Anna repressed a sigh and closed the door. “Nora, I don’t want to argue about Mr. Radclyfe. He’s not Peter. Rob loves the Lord, wants to do right by whomever he marries, and he’s honest.”

Nora scowled. “Rob? You’re on a first name basis with him now?”

“No. I just … think of him that way.” Anna pressed her lips together. She didn’t want to have to defend the fact that she had fallen in love with Mr. Radclyfe.

“How can you know? Peter was sweet, too. In the beginning.” Nora’s lips twisted. “And as soon as he had my money, everything changed.” She snapped her fingers and Anna jumped. “Like that. I’d give anything to be single again. Like you.”

Anna shook her head. “You’re wrong about Mr. Radclyfe.”

“You need to think longer. And harder.” Nora went to stand at the balcony railing, gazing toward the Catskills. Then she turned to face Anna. “I wish I could make you see how difficult it has been. Shunted off to the country. Left alone for weeks. The snobbery of the English, and the way they make me feel as if I’m less than human for being an American. I’m an outsider, never to be allowed into the light. As you will be—when Radclyfe tires of you and your American ways. You will be alone. So alone.”

“Nora, I understand you’re trying to protect me. But you’re wrong. Mr. Radclyfe is not Peter.” She lifted her chin. “And when I marry him, I know it won’t be the same.”

Nora gasped. “Then you’ve decided?”

“I’m going to tell him today I accept his proposal.”

Nora’s hand went to her throat, and her body sagged. She dropped into a chair and buried her face in her hands. “Oh no,” she said, shaking her head. “No.” She lifted a haggard face. “I didn’t plan on telling you this. I thought I could persuade you …” Her voice drifted off.

“Tell me what?” Anna tried to suppress the waves of panic that rose into her throat.

Nora smiled sadly. “He’s not a good man, Anna. In London, there was a young woman …” She shook her head. “I … there’s no easy way to say this. There was a child. He abandoned her and the mother.”

Anna choked. “I don’t believe it.”

“It’s true.” She sighed. “Brace yourself. There’s more.”

Anna stumbled to her feet. Black spots glittered at the corners of her vision, and she held her hands up. “No,” she said in a strangled voice, “don’t say anything else.”

“I’m sorry, Anna.” Quietly, Nora left the room.

Anna slumped against the wall, sliding down into a heap. The giddy warmness that had embraced her since last night’s ball dissipated like a coal plucked from the fire and left to die in a corner.

She felt as if she had turned to ice. “It can’t be,” she murmured. “Not again.” She turned her face to the wall and wept.