An Inconvenient Wife (13 page)

“How nice. We shall do very
well here.” Anne opened the door to one of the bedchambers and shooed the
children in. “Choose a bed, please, and find your night clothes. As soon as you
have bathed we will eat. Guy, put Bonnie’s leash on and I will ask one of the
servants to take her out.” She stepped into the adjoining room long enough to
shed her pelisse, gloves, and hat. She took a longing look at her own bed, and
after a half-hearted attempt to tidy her hair, rejoined Guy and Danielle.

In a short time, Anne had
them fed and in their beds. Guy was half-asleep before she even kissed him good
night, but Danielle’s eyes were wide with apprehension. Anne sat on the edge of
the bed and smoothed back the girl’s hair. “A bit overwhelming, isn’t it? Try
not to worry about it now. We will take one day at a time.”
She looks so
lost, poor thing, and behaving very well under the circumstances. Better than
you would, were you in her shoes.

“What will happen to us?”

Anne summoned what she hoped
was a comforting smile. Of course the girl was worried. Everything had happened
so quickly and her world already turned upside down. “You will live with us, of
course. Mr. Blackwell will apply to the court to make both of you his wards.”
Seeing the sudden look of fear on her face, Anne folded Danielle’s hands in
hers. “It simply means Mr. Blackwell will take care of you until you are old
enough to take care of yourself.” She squeezed Danielle’s fingers. “You do
understand you cannot return to France until the war ends?” Danielle’s nod was
tentative, but her slim body relaxed and she pressed her hand against Anne’s.

“We have no place to go
there.”

“Not now, but someday, when
you are grown, you may wish to return to your country.”

“Did you marry Mr. Blackwell
for us?” she questioned in a whisper, and the child’s eyes clouded with
concern.

“Perhaps a little,” Anne answered
honestly, “but there are many other reasons and you and Guy the least of them.
You needn’t fear I have made any great sacrifice for you, child.”

Seeming somewhat reassured,
the girl’s eyes closed and Anne rose. Tomorrow she would tell Danielle about Mr.
Blackwell’s—Nicholas’—little girl. It may make her feel better to know he has a
child of his own. Deep in thought, because she also had questions about her
husband’s life, Anne blew out the candles and went to her chamber to enjoy her
much-delayed bath.

She was no less exhausted
than the children, and the bed was comfortable, but sleep eluded her. Too many
thoughts whirled around in her head, of the days past, of the future.
Blackwell’s plans to leave Portugal almost immediately had been disrupted by the
difficulty in finding a Protestant minister to perform the ceremony and the
delay in obtaining a special license through the Consulate. Even with the extra
two days, it had been a mad scramble to pack their belongings, notify the
Condessa of their departure and buy clothing for the Durants. Blackwell had
insisted on new clothing for her as well, even going so far as suggesting,
strongly, that she leave the black gowns for Fatima and replace her entire
wardrobe. But using the excuse of being in mourning for her father—even though
his death was months ago—she had retained several of the old dresses. One never
knew when something might be needed, and she had been frugal for a long time.

She was babbling. Was it
babbling when the thoughts were all inside ones’ head and unspoken? It hardly
mattered. The past week…had it been just a week since Nicholas appeared? Less
than—five days! She had known the man for
five days
and now was his
wife?
Anne, you must be quite mad. He could be a monster who beats his wife
and is cruel to animals.
Not that she believed it for a minute, given his
unfailing patience with Bonnie, the children, her. No matter what objections
she threw at him, and she had done so several times, over the slightest thing
.

Anne sighed softly
.
Blackwell
was so stolid a man and the impulse to ruffle that calm irresistible at times.
Really, she should not, but being given orders tended to bring out her contrary
nature, and he
was
fond of giving orders. Perhaps it might do him good
to have them questioned at times.
Not by you, Anne. The man has made it very
clear you are to have a minimal role in his life. If you hope to make this odd
marriage a success, better not to intrude too much. And you do want it to
succeed. If all Nicholas could offer was companionship, so be it. Better than
living your life alone or running from the Major. Besides, you have the
children and little Sarah to cosset.
But when she at last drifted into
sleep her dreams were invaded by a pair of changeable hazel eyes smiling at
her.

~* * *~

You are definitely quite
mad, no doubt about it. Married to a stranger, committed to raise two
children—no three children—two of whom do not speak English!
Anne
sank into a chair, alone for the first time since their arrival at the
hotel—the first time in days, if one counted the voyage. Having people
constantly close was wearying, and she welcomed these few minutes of peace. Not
that anyone, with the possible exception of Guy, was anything one could call
lively. A quieter group she had yet to experience. Everyone was tired and
anxious about what lay ahead
.
She certainly was weary, which perhaps
explained the sudden urge to succumb to tears. Blackwell had been even more
taciturn than usual—which she hadn’t believed was possible—and once they were
settled in this suite, had scarcely been seen. A very nice suite, to be sure,
Anne thought morosely, but she could have done with his support these past few
days. If nothing else, she had a number of questions to ask.

Anne looked around the
handsomely appointed room. She was beginning to think her husband was well to
pass, since she did not feel he was one to live beyond his means. A choked
laugh escaped her at the idea that he would indulge in
any
type of
profligate behavior. A very serious man, Nicholas Blackwell, although once or
twice a pleasantry or bit of humour surfaced, and she felt that beneath his
stern exterior lurked a more amiable creature. But she did wish he had chosen
to talk to her, she thought crossly. He must be aware that she wanted to know
where his home was and what to expect when they arrived. “Hampshire” was hardly
descriptive. They were already in Hampshire!

She should go to bed, tired
as she was. Danielle and Guy were sound asleep in their bedchamber; the Fentons
off to their own room. Perhaps a small glass of wine might help make her
sleepy. A decanter and several glasses stood on a side table, and Anne rose and
poured a small amount, feeling somewhat daring. It was not that she was
unaccustomed to wine, but more like helping one’s self in someone else’s house.
How silly you are, Anne. It is your wine, or rather Nicholas’ wine, and if
he did not intend for it to be drunk, he would not have ordered it.
Very
nice it was, too.

Anne wandered around the
room as she sipped at the wine. It went down with surprising ease and she
poured another glass before returning to her chair. She
was
delaying in
hopes that Nicholas might come in, and why not? He intrigued her—and attracted
her, if she was honest. What lay under that façade of rigid control? And why
did he feel it necessary?
Put it aside, Anne. He clearly wants to have as
little as possible to do with you. And don’t forget what happened the last time
you suffered an attraction to a man.
But she had wished for friendship, at
least. Anne set the wine aside and closed her eyes to rest them for a moment.

~* * *~

Blackwell came in quietly,
surprised to see both lamps still lit when he’d expected no more than a candle
to light him to his room, and then saw the reason for it. Anne, asleep in a
chair, her wine forgotten beside her. She looked absurdly young with her cheek
pillowed on the arm of the chair and her hands folded under her chin. Why
hadn’t she gone to bed? He knew how tired she must be.
She waited for you,
Westcott, coward that you are. Staying away just put off telling her another
day.
Carlisle had been scathing when he voiced his opinion upon learning of
Nick’s omission. “Grossly unfair” was the least of his comments and he was
right, damn the man. He should have told her days ago
.

Annoyed with himself, he
picked up her glass and carried it to the sideboard, loath to wake her. A few
minutes more hardly mattered, and Blackwell poured a glass of wine and sat in
the chair opposite. She was pretty, in an understated manner that appealed. Her
hair was twisted into a long braid that curled over her shoulder; the lighter
strands shimmering in the lamplight.

How was she going to take
learning she was Lady Westcott? Not well, he suspected, although she was the
most patient and even-tempered female he’d ever known.
Except for the
stubbornness that appeared now and again. She is not going to allow you to
order her life without question.
Anne would need direction, however, and he
suddenly realized what a disservice he had done to her. Not just taking on
three children, but running a large household and at least minimally
socializing with his neighbors. St. Clair’s wife would help. Juliette had faced
a somewhat similar situation when she took over at Lynton Hall.
A stretch,
Westcott, since Juliette had experience running her grandfather’s household.
Anne has lived in army quarters most of her life.

Blackwell finished his wine
and stood. The die was cast now, too late for second thoughts. Any regrets he’d
keep to himself—and hope to God she had none. He touched her shoulder. “Anne?
Wake up.”

Her eyes opened and she
stared at him, a bewildered look on her face.

“You fell asleep in the
chair, and I’m sure you do not want to spend the night there.”

“No, no.” Flushing, she
straightened and took his offered hand. “Thank you.”

Blackwell pulled her to her
feet, holding her until she was steady. They were very close; she was warm
against him and smelled of a flowery scent. Appalled by the sudden desire to
kiss her, he dropped his hands and stepped away, his voice harsh. “Go to bed,
Anne.”

Awareness touched her eyes.
Her flush deepened, and she hurriedly turned aside with a murmured, “thank
you,” and fled.

Blackwell waited until the
door closed behind her before turning down the lamps and picking up a candle,
furious at his loss of control. Content with Sarah and his work, there was no
room for intimacy in his life. He had managed fine these past years without a
woman and damned if he would do otherwise now!

Chapter Eleven

Blackwell stepped into the
room in time to intercept Anne as she prepared to go for a walk with the
children. “I’d like to speak with you for a few minutes.”

She looked at him with
surprise, and no wonder since he had avoided her most of the day, and laid
aside her pelisse. “If you will give me a moment to tell Danielle and Guy….”

“That will not be necessary.
The Fentons have agreed to take them.” Even to his ears, it sounded brusque to
the point of rudeness. He softened his voice and stance. “Please, sit down. It
is important or I would not keep you from your walk.” The puzzled frown on her
face faded, replaced by a wary look that caused him to curse silently.
Get
it out, Westcott, before you make things worse—if possible!
He did not
expect this conversation to end well.

“Very well, sir,” she said
in a mild tone, as one would humour a child.

Surprisingly, the thought
amused rather than irritated, and Blackwell took the chair opposite her with
less effort than expected, given his urge to pace the room. “You are more
patient than I deserve.” He laid his hands on his knees and leaned forward. “I
have been less than truthful with you, Anne, something that must be remedied
before my people arrive with my coach and the horses for Mr. Fenton and
myself.”

“Your coach,” she echoed.
“Are you trying to tell me you are a man of means? If so, I had already guessed
as much.” She motioned at the elegant furnishings around them. “This
establishment, the clothing you ordered for us, everything of the first
stare….” She broke off at something in his expression. “There is more to it
then?” A quizzical smile then and her eyes widened. “Will you not tell me, sir?
I assure you that imagining what could be so dreadful is not in the least
comfortable.”

Blackwell’s mouth tightened.
He was being ridiculous. Most women would be ecstatic at marrying a peer. Why
did he feel she would be different?

“Along with the wealth, I
carry the title Viscount Westcott. You are a viscountess, Anne. Lady Westcott,”
he told her after a long pause, in a voice devoid of any inflection at all.

She blinked several times, a
dazed expression on her face. “You are a viscount?”

Her bewilderment changed to
shock and anger when he did not deny it. “You did not feel it necessary to tell
me this earlier? Before we wed?” The wounded look in her eyes cut him.

“It never came up! At first,
I felt it not important since I expected to be gone in a few days. Then I was
caught in my omission.” He stood and glared down at her. “When was I to toss it
out? A casual, by the way, I just happen to be Viscount Westcott?”