The moment he noticed her stumble, Myles stepped forward and grasped her left arm, steadying her. ‘She did wear you out.’ He’d been worried about that, after all she’d been through this morning.
‘No, honestly, I’m fine,’ she said. ‘It’s just the slippers. Though extremely lovely, and I appreciate the use of them, they are made of velvet and the smooth material slips on the wooden floors.’
He scanned her face, looking for a sign of distress, pain, discomfort, and found none. What he did find was a woman who kept getting prettier. Her hair outlined her face like an ornate picture frame, lovely on its own but created to make what it bordered to be the centre of attention. He hadn’t wanted a wife who would turn heads, fill other men with desire, due to his first engagement, but it appeared that was what he was getting. He appreciated her beauty and was grateful that she’d agreed to not postpone their wedding. His name had already graced the printed scandal sheets too many times, but he would have accepted if that’s what she had wanted. The other reason he was extremely grateful she’d agreed was even more pertinent.
She’d have nowhere to go if she’d declined their agreement. He’d thought about that while awaiting her answer earlier today and had determined that there was no way he’d let her return to her uncle.
‘Truly, I’m fine,’ she said.
Forcing his thoughts to return to her foot, he wondered what could be done to prevent her from falling. If he hadn’t been close at hand, she may have fallen rather than just stumbled. Her safety was his responsibility. ‘Shall we?’ he asked, nodding towards the door.
She nodded. ‘Thank you. I hope you had a good day.’
Despite her protests earlier, once she’d agreed to his proposal, she’d been very accommodating and personable, which had his mother already singing her praises. He was pleased by that and wanted to be just as accommodating to her. Walking slowly, feeling her sway in each step, he wondered if something could be attached to her slipper so it wasn’t as slick. He would enquire with someone who knew more about that than him. With that thought settled, he replied, ‘I did, thank you, but I’m afraid to tell you where I was most of the day. You might be upset.’
‘Why would I be upset? It’s your home.’
‘Soon to be your home, too, and I was in the stables.’ Though it had stopped snowing, he’d known she was too busy to interrupt today. He would take her out to see the horses soon. ‘I know you want to see them.’
‘I do, but I would never be upset for you being out there without me.’
He believed that about her, believed everything she’d told him. He appreciated her honesty.
‘However, I wouldn’t mind if you told me a little about them,’ she said. ‘I’ve met two of the house cats, Racer and Shadow, who are wonderful, and am looking forward to meeting all of the other animals.’
She was smiling up at him, and he once again determined her beauty was definitely something he could live with. He felt good about the decision they’d made. Felt good that all would work out exactly as he’d planned. ‘Well,’ he started, ‘there are four main stables, and we’re building a fifth one...’ He went on to explain how they kept the breeding stock separated, as well as the yearlings and two-year-olds, and several other things pertaining to the thoughtful questions she asked as they slowly made their way to the front parlour to await the rest of his family.
Charles was in the room setting out glasses and decanters of sherry and wine, and after escorting Anita to a chair, Myles asked the butler to send someone to the village that was only a few miles north and request that the cobbler pay them a visit this evening.
The conversation before, during and after dinner was consumed with plans for tomorrow, and he was grateful for how his entire family was accepting his choice. The entire household. Prior to the evening meal, his mother had assembled the household and garden staff, and introduced them to Anita one by one.
Her poise, aptitude and beauty hadn’t been lost on his brother, either. More than once, Wesley had looked at him and given a nod of approval.
Not that Myles had needed that, but he did appreciate it.
He also closely watched Anita for signs of distress. He’d been surprised when she had agreed to marriage rather readily after her strong protests. Although, he could relate. One minute he was sure he was doing the right thing, and the next he was questioning if the decision he’d made was the right one for both of them. Or if he was simply thinking about himself and his needs. He had to make sure that wasn’t the case.
Dinner was over, and they were in the front parlour listening to his sisters explain how they would decorate the house tomorrow when Charles informed him that the cobbler had arrived.
‘Show him to my library,’ Myles said, wanting Anita to have privacy in speaking with the shoemaker. Then he walked to her side. ‘There is someone I’d like you to meet.’
She nodded and rose, and he excused them from the room as they walked to the door. Though they talked during their walk along the corridor, she didn’t question who was waiting for them.
Near the doorway, he said, ‘I requested a visit from the local cobbler.’
‘Why?’
‘It is my hope that he can make you a shoe that doesn’t slip.’
‘I have my boots.’
He hadn’t thought about her already having special shoes. ‘Are they specially made?’
‘No, they are just well worn and have formed to fit. They were just too wet to wear earlier.’
‘I see.’ He gestured towards the door of his library. ‘The man has travelled five miles to get here, and I would appreciate it if we still met with him.’
She closed her eyes briefly and swallowed visibly before she nodded. ‘Yes, of course.’
Though he could understand her hesitancy, he didn’t believe an injury should be something to be embarrassed about and chose not to cause more distress by mentioning that.
Myles had known the cobbler for years, and the man’s thick moustache and hair were just as black as they had been when he’d been a lad. Nicholas Wainwright’s smile was just as big as ever when Myles opened the door and escorted her into the library.
He introduced the two, explaining that she was his bride to be. They exchanged pleasantries and talked of the wedding for a few moments before Myles explained, ‘Miss Crawford was injured in an accident and is need of a shoe that won’t slip on the floors.’
‘I’m sorry to hear of the mishap, my lady,’ Wainwright said.
‘Thank you,’ she replied. ‘It was a long time ago.’
‘Well, I’m sure I can help,’ Wainwright said, lifting his wooden box off the floor and opening the lid. Looking at him, he asked, ‘Is there a stool she could put her feet on so I can take some measurements?’
Myles collected the stool from near the fireplace and set it before Anita’s chair, then he stepped behind her and laid a hand on her shoulders. ‘Would it be possible to receive something as soon as tomorrow?’
‘Of course.’ Wainwright sat down on the floor in front of the stool. ‘I just need a few measurements.’
Anita lifted both feet onto the stool, and looked everywhere except at him or Mr Wainwright as the cobbler removed her slippers and stockings. If what he saw surprised him, Wainwright showed no sign of that as he took measurements, made notes and asked about the rest of the family, the horses, and shared some of the latest village news. Wainwright included her in the conversation by explaining the people he mentioned.
Myles noticed how the side of her foot was calloused and the ankle oddly bent, and even as he felt compassion and respect for her, and how she’d overcome such adversity in order to walk, he felt renewed anger. A shocking, intense anger at how the doctor had said something might have been able to be done when she was five, but that Brunswick had refused. She was truly an amazing woman. The ankle had to pain her, but even with the bend, her feet were as dainty and lovely as the rest of her.
After placing his notes and measuring tools back into his wooden box, Wainright slid Anita’s stockings and slippers back on her feet, and Myles felt a tinge of something he didn’t expect. Jealousy. How could he be jealous of a cobbler? Because he wanted to be the one sliding her stockings and slippers back on? Because he didn’t want any man touching her other than him? That was one of his expectations, but he had no reason for jealousy to spark over a cobbler.
‘Well, now, I have everything I need,’ Wainwright said. Shifting upwards, he rose onto his knees so he was eye level with Anita. ‘What I have in mind, I can make tonight and have here before breakfast in the morning. However, Miss Crawford, I would like to fashion you a second pair of shoes. A pair I believe you’ll find comfortable, but it will take me a few days to make them.’
She nodded. ‘I would appreciate that very much, Mr Wainwright. Thank you.’
‘Very well.’ Wainwright stood and picked up his box. ‘I have work to do, and I will see you in the morning.’ With a bow, he said, ‘I am honoured to have met you, my lady.’
Thanking Wainwright for his evening visit, Myles saw the cobbler to the door of the library, where Charles was waiting to walk Wainwright to the front door.
Myles turned, and was surprised to see Anita standing behind him.
‘I hope you won’t think it rude of me if I say that I’d like to retire now?’ she asked.
Her expression was wary. It wasn’t the first time he’d witness the meekness that he’d been informed of seeping out today, and he hoped in time that it would completely disappear. Especially towards him. He understood this was all new to her and would certainly give her time. There were adjustments that they both would have to make. ‘Of course not,’ he answered. ‘You’ve had a full day. I’ll walk you to your room.’
‘Thank you, but I can manage on my own,’ she said. ‘I’m sure you have things you need to do, so I’ll say goodnight.’
He was sure she could manage on her own—from what he understood she’d been doing so for twenty years—but that didn’t ease his concern that she might slip and fall on the stairs. Yet he had been the one to say he didn’t want a wife who needed constant attention, and he was certain that she was remembering that right now, too. ‘Very well, I will have Charles send your maid up.’
‘Actually, if it’s permitted, I’d like to enquire about Claire becoming my maid.’
More than willing to grant her any wishes, he replied, ‘Of course, it’s permitted, and granted. I’ll have them both sent up to your room.’
‘Thank you, and goodnight again.’
He stepped into the corridor, giving her full access to leave the room. ‘Goodnight, Anita.’
She nodded slightly as she stepped past him, and he watched as she proceeded along the corridor. Her gait was slow and her limp noticeable, but neither took away from her overall grace. She may not have had the upbringing she felt necessary for a duchess, but the way she carried herself said differently. Her shoulders were square, her head held high, displaying her pride and determination despite the odds that had been cast against her for years.
He shook his head to himself. He hadn’t even known her for a full day yet felt as if he had for much longer. Perhaps because of how he’d investigated her beforehand. Either way, he liked her and felt there could be a very agreeable future between the two of them.
As she walked along the corridor, fully conscious of the slickness of the velvet slippers against the wood, Anita wondered which was worse, having people who ignored her infliction or having someone overly concerned about it. She wasn’t sure how to accept having someone being concerned about it. That was new to her. Besides name-calling, which had mainly been Uncle Jerome, and her cousins when they thought it would benefit them in some way, everyone at Brunswick had ignored her leg.
As had others. They had whispered about it, given her sympathetic looks—which she hated as much as the name-calling because she didn’t want anyone feeling sorry for her—when she’d gone to town for supplies or attended church. That had irritated her family, so she’d accepted absenting herself from such things, other than driving the wagon when needed, where she had remained in the driver’s seat while others had completed the shopping.
No one had ever shown genuine concern. Not like Myles. She couldn’t find fault or blame in that. Or in him calling in the cobbler. She believed he was merely being kind, but that kindness increased her fears of embarrassing him by tripping or falling, especially during the wedding tomorrow. Her boots were so ugly and couldn’t be worn at the wedding, so she was grateful for the cobbler’s visit, but she didn’t want to get her hopes up that new shoes would help.
She was doing her best to keep her hopes contained, and would continue to, but it was already becoming increasingly harder. Ever since her uncle had informed her of the arrangement he’d made, she’d envisioned Myles to be a cruel, hard-headed and cold-hearted man. Why else would two women have called off their weddings to him?
Yet he was none of that. Nor had the women called off the weddings. He had but had allowed them to claim differently so their reputations wouldn’t be tarnished. Those weren’t the actions of a cold-hearted man.
It was understandable why he needed a wife, why he needed children and why he’d expect trust in their relationship. What had slowly crept into her mind during the dinner hour, with all the talk about the wedding, was Could he be doing all of this, things he needed, because he already had a woman he wanted? One who he couldn’t marry because she was already married to someone else? Affairs such as that were not uncommon, and it would explain why his two other engagements hadn’t translated into marriage. Perhaps those women hadn’t been willing to marry a man who was in love with someone else.
It appeared as if he’d gone through a great deal of work to discover all about her prior to offering for her hand. Was that why? Because he’d needed to find someone content to stay home, to bear his children and oversee his household, giving him time to not only complete his duties but continue a relationship with a woman he loved? That didn’t seem quite possible. Didn’t seem like him, but what else could it be?
Anita had no idea, or reasons why she was questioning such things, other than all he was offering her seemed too good to be true. He seemed too good to be true. There had to be a catch. Didn’t there?
At the staircase, she grasped the banister to make the slow climb upwards. It was hard to believe there wasn’t a catch. So hard to trust. After years of lying in bed, deep in the middle of the night, telling herself that it didn’t matter what people said, that it didn’t matter that no one, shy a few servants, cared if she’d been alive or dead. It was hard to now experience kind words and actions and not question them. At the same time, it was hard to believe that anyone at Redford was anything except trustworthy, especially Myles, and it made her feel bad to think otherwise, so why was she letting her mind do it?
He’d been honest about everything, even in the fact that he’d said he needed, not wanted, a wife.
The only thing that had changed was her will, her determination to become a wife when she’d previously concluded that she never would marry, never have children.
If it was her lot in life to be married to a man in love with someone else, she would learn to live with it just as she had many other things. There was more at stake this time than before. Her uncle’s ways had tarnished their family’s name, but even with the cancelled weddings, Myles’s family’s name had maintained its good standing, and from the conversations she’d heard since arriving, the Redford stables and their thoroughbred horses were renowned. She couldn’t let being his wife destroy any of that.
More people had seen her foot in this one single day than she could remember in her life, and though none of them had reacted negatively, they had to have found its appearance confronting, hadn’t they? She’d been a coward in leaving the library so swiftly upon the cobbler’s departure but hadn’t wanted to face Myles, knowing he’d seen her foot.
It had been as if all the name-calling, whispering and pointing of the past had exploded in her mind, making her feel so vulnerable, so ashamed, that she’d had to leave. She didn’t want to believe she’d made the wrong choice, but what if she had? What if she didn’t have the will and determination to be his wife?
Olive and Claire were in her bedroom when she arrived at the open doorway, and she was instantly grateful to have something else to put her mind to. She approached Olive first, with a sincere smile. ‘I know being assigned as my maid was unfamiliar for you, and I want you to know that I think you did an outstanding job with the tasks. I would have had to sleep in that blue dress if not for you.’
Olive giggled, ‘You almost had to, my lady.’
Recalling how hard they had laughed trying to get her out of that gown until Olive had discovered a second row of buttons on the underdress, Anita giggled herself. ‘That is true.’ She sighed and gave the maid a gentle hug. ‘I do hope that you and Joshua are considering the Duke’s offer of remaining here at Redford.’
Olive returned the hug, and as they parted, said, ‘We both are, my lady, and look forward to the opportunity to discuss a job here with the Duke in the morning. The cook says she could use the extra help in the kitchen.’
‘That’s wonderful,’ Anita replied, truly happy for Olive.
‘Perhaps you could put in a good word for me?’ Olive asked.
Anita smiled. ‘Of course, I will, but considering His Grace has already offered for you to stay, I don’t think you have anything to worry about. He’s an honourable man.’
‘Yes, my lady, he is,’ Olive replied. ‘Everyone here is so very kind.’
‘I agree,’ Anita said with a nod before she turned her attention to Claire. ‘I’ve requested that you become my lady’s maid, and the request has been granted, if that is still a desire of yours.’
‘It is, my lady,’ Claire replied with a bow. ‘Thank you so very much.’
‘You’re welcome, and now, if you don’t mind, I would like to prepare for bed, it’s been a long day.’
Prior to leaving Brunswick, she’d always seen to the tasks herself, but like other things, having assistance with such tasks was something she would need to get used to. Between Olive and Claire, in no time Anita was wearing her nightgown, which, like all of her possessions, had seen better days; her hair had been unpinned, brushed and braided; and other necessities taken care of so she could climb into the big bed with its ornately carved head-and footboards attached to the high posts at all four sides.
She knew from before, when Myles had carried her into this room and set her on the bed, that the mattress was soft and that it was wide enough for at least three people to sleep on, side by side, without bumping into one another.
Olive had already left the room, and Claire was banking the fire in the large fireplace when the door that Myles had entered earlier once again caught Anita’s attention.
‘Where does that door lead?’ she asked.
‘To His Grace’s chambers, my lady,’ Claire replied.
‘Oh,’ was all Anita could think to say.
‘Would you like me to turn out the lamp beside the bed?’ Claire asked.
‘And expect you to find the door in the darkness?’ Anita shook her head. ‘Absolutely not. I can do it myself. Thank you.’
‘Goodnight, my lady,’ Claire said, with a slight bow.
‘Goodnight, Claire.’
Anita waited until the dark-haired girl was gone from the room before she let out a long sigh and let her body sink deep into the mattress. She wasn’t ready to turn out the light, because she wasn’t ready to be alone in the darkness. Perhaps because once the light was out, she might wake up and this would all have been a dream.
Or perhaps because of the exact opposite. She covered her mouth with both hands, hiding the smile that formed from no one but herself. It wasn’t a real love marriage, but...
She sighed as her attention was drawn to the door that led to Myles’s chamber.
He could enter her room anytime he pleased, which would be his right once they were married. There was no denying she’d thought about what that meant numerous times since being informed of her upcoming marriage. More times again once she’d set eyes on Myles. He was quite unbearably handsome, and she’d never imagined feeling so attracted to someone. Though she’d had no one explain to her exactly what took place in the marital bed, she knew the actions that a man and woman must take in order to conceive a child but had never truly felt a sense of curiosity or excitement over it. Until now.
She may not have had the formal education that her cousins had acquired, but she had read every book their tutors had assigned to them, as well as many, many others. The books in the library of Brunswick hadn’t been of interest to her uncle because he’d felt they’d held no value—monetarily—therefore a vast array of volumes had been at her disposal, and it was how she’d spent her free time for years. Locked inside a novel, she’d become someone else, travelled places, learned things.
More than one of those books had in some fashion or another discussed procreation. The women in the stories often blushed and giggled and swooned with anticipation, and she wondered if that was merely storytelling or if it was more pleasurable than she’d imagined.
Suddenly, wondering if Myles might see the light on beneath the door, she sat up and quickly blew out the lamp, then pulled the covers up to her chin, and lay in the dark listening to her own heart pound in her ears.
After several moments, or perhaps much longer, she concluded that Myles would not be entering her room tonight. That wouldn’t happen until they were married, which would take place tomorrow.
Knowing if she started thinking about that she’d never fall to sleep, she did what she’d done for years. Told herself not to think about what could have been, or might be, and to go to sleep.
That didn’t work as well as it normally did, even when she tried telling herself that there was work to be done in the morning. It wasn’t until she saw the faint glow of light under the door to Myles’s chamber, and heard quiet sounds that stopped moments before the light disappeared, that a peacefulness washed over her. It was comforting to know he was next door. A comfort that she’d truly never known, but sleepiness consumed her before she could contemplate why.
No one had awoken her in years, so when someone said her name and touched her shoulder, she jolted upright so quickly, she nearly bumped heads with Claire.
It took a moment for her to recognise the girl and remember where she was. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Claire,’ she apologised. ‘So sorry. I must have overslept.’
‘You didn’t, my lady,’ Claire said quietly. ‘It’s well before breakfast, but the cobbler has arrived, and His Grace would like you to meet him in his private sitting room.’
‘Oh.’ Shaking the sleepiness from her head, Anita threw back the covers and flopped her legs over the edge of the bed. It always took her a moment to stretch the stiffness from her leg before it would work properly, and she tried going through the motions of twisting it in each direction as quickly as possible.
‘I’ve laid out a gown,’ Claire said. ‘I hope you like it.’
Considering there wasn’t much to choose from in her wardrobe, Anita assured, ‘It’ll be fine, I’m—’ Her words stopped as she noticed the gown that Claire held up for view.
Made of satin, the gown of white and raspberry-coloured stripes was one of the loveliest she’d ever laid eyes on. ‘Where did that come from?’
‘The Dowager,’ Claire said. ‘She has chests full of gowns that she’s never worn. She claims to have a penchant for ordering gowns only to have them arrive and discover that she’s too old to wear them, and her daughters are too young. I can find another if this one isn’t to your liking.’
‘No.’ Anita shook her head as she stood, testing her leg. ‘I like it. Very much. It’s beautiful.’ Her leg didn’t buckle, and she slowly stood, giving her ankle and foot time to adjust.
‘I have some matching ribbon to weave into your hair.’
Anita let out a sigh. As soon as a brush hit her hair, it would become a fuzzy mess. ‘We’ll need to hurry. I don’t want to keep the cobbler waiting.’
The gown fit perfectly, and the ribbon was woven into two long braids that Claire expertly and quickly wound into a bun at the nap of her neck. There were wayward curls framing her face again, but they were curls, not fuzz.
‘I truly don’t know how you do it, Claire,’ she said, glancing in the mirror. ‘My hair has never behaved.’
‘My mother taught me how to work with the curls, not against them,’ she said. ‘The Dowager has curly hair, too.’
Anita would never have known that. Mary’s pinned up brown hair had looked as smooth as silk yesterday.
‘I don’t see my boots,’ Anita said twisting away from the mirror. After being so wet yesterday, the boots were sure to be stiff but would eventually soften. She’d much prefer that over worrying about slipping every step in the velvet slippers again.
‘I put them in the wardrobe, but His Grace said you needn’t wear socks or shoes.’ Claire pointed towards the door to Myles’s chamber. ‘He said you were to pass through his bedroom, it’s shorter that way.’
The shorter route she was grateful for; however, walking through his bedroom made Anita nervous. Pressing a hand to the knot forming in her stomach, she rose from the chair. ‘Very well.’
A moment later, when Myles appeared in the doorway that led from his bedroom to his sitting room, her heart jolted hard enough that she questioned if it was a warning. She wasn’t sure if it was about not getting her hopes up over the shoes or over him. He’d said he wanted to be friends, and she needed to remember that. Abide by that.
‘Good morning,’ he greeted, taking a hold of her hand. ‘I trust you slept well.’
‘Very,’ she answered, feeling the warmth from his hand running all the way up her arm. ‘I apologise for keeping you waiting.’
‘I apologise for rousing you so early, but I wanted you to try on the slippers, so if Mr Wainwright needs to make any adjustments, he has time before this afternoon.’
‘Of course.’ She turned her smile across the room. ‘Good morning, Mr Wainwright. Thank you for returning so promptly.’
‘My pleasure, Miss Crawford,’ he replied. ‘I’m anxious for you to see what I brought.’
‘I, too, am anxious,’ she admitted as Myles escorted her to the armed chair with a foot stool sitting before it.
Once she was seated, Myles moved to stand behind her, with one hand gently resting on her shoulder. His touch was as comforting as knowing he’d been in the room next door last night, and she smiled up at him before turning her attention to the cobbler.
Mr Wainwright settled himself on the floor in front of the stool and held up the stockings for her to see. ‘We’ll start with these. My wife knit them for you last night.’
‘Goodness, she must have been up all night,’ Anita replied, taking a stocking he held out for her to inspect.
‘No, she’s quick with her needles, and she knows the pattern by heart. If they work for you, as I’m sure they will, she’ll make you as many pairs as you need.’
‘They are very soft,’ Anita said, rubbing the stocking with her palm. They were also thicker than either the silk ones or her normal ones, and she could imagine wearing one would be like walking on a carpet.
‘And one looks quite different from the other.’ Wainwright handed her the second stocking, which was shaped differently. ‘You see, our daughter was born with a club foot, it looked somewhat like yours, and though the doctors tried to straighten it several times, nothing worked. My wife fashioned these stockings and put the little leather pads you see on the bottoms to keep Rosie’s stockings from slipping inside her shoes. And I fashioned shoes for her. Several pairs over the years.’
She glanced up at Myles, wondering if he’d known all that, but could tell by the way he slightly shook his head that he hadn’t.
‘I’m sure she appreciates all of that very much,’ Anita said.
‘She did.’ He let out a long sigh. ‘Unfortunately, she died of a fever a few years ago, when she was twelve.’
Compassion filled her heart. ‘I’m so sorry for your loss,’ she replied, reaching down to touch the man’s arm.
‘Thank you. We cherish every memory we have of her, and both my wife and I hope that the items we made for you will help you as much as they did her. You see, when a foot is twisted, it makes that leg a bit shorter than the other one. Even just a smidgen of difference between the two legs can cause the rest of the body to adjust. Knees, hips and the leg itself, and that causes the person to limp more than the foot itself.’
‘I’ve never heard that,’ she said.
‘It’s true.’ Wainwright slipped the socks on her feet, then held up a slipper made from soft suede, and showed her the inside of it. ‘I built the inside of this shoe up to provide the side of your foot some cushion, and to make your feet level. I guessed at the amount, but I believe I’ve got it very close. I also have leather strips on the bottoms of both slippers to give you more traction. That will also help with stability and, hopefully, ease any discomfort you’re experiencing.’
Filled with excitement, she said, ‘That’s sounds wonderful. Thank you.’ Then she looked up at Myles. ‘Thank you.’
He rubbed her shoulder as he winked at her, which was enough to send not only her stomach but her heart into cartwheels. If she tripped now, she wouldn’t be able to blame her foot.