An Inconvenient Wife (20 page)

Chapter Fifteen

Bloody hell
.
Westcott watched as Anne disappeared around a bend in the drive. He felt
certain she was going to the Fenton’s cottage and that his boorish behavior had
sent her fleeing to her Maggie for comfort. Smacking his hand against the sash
with enough force to sting, he turned from the window and strode from the room,
slamming the door behind him with a crash that did nothing to erase the hurt he
had seen in Anne’s eyes.
You are an ass, Westcott. What harm would it do to
meet her overtures of friendliness at least half-way? Can you seriously look
forward to a lifetime of living with a virtual stranger?

Knowing the brittle relationship
between them was entirely of his making added another layer of guilt on his
conscience. Devil take it, he still did not know what drove her to Portugal!
In
truth, you know nothing of her, other than her generous and loving heart—and
her eyes full of a warmth you want turned on you, just as you want to loosen
her hair from its prim braid and see it cascade over her bare shoulders.

“No, confound it,” he
muttered, taking the steps to the schoolroom two at a time. He would not
succumb to any base cravings. Never again would he become vulnerable to a
woman,
trust
a woman. And heaven only knew what secrets this one hid
behind that innocent manner. His beautiful daughter was all he wanted or
needed.

He slowed at the sound of
voices, paused by the first of several entrances into the schoolroom suite, and
smiled at the sight of Miss Caxton and Guy reading aloud. The boy looked more
resigned than enthralled, but he was a good lad, and Westcott knew from Anne’s
comments that Guy studied hard, however much the child preferred to be
outdoors. Reluctant to interrupt, he walked quietly along the corridor to the
last and most spacious room of the suite. Sarah’s favourite, with its wide
windows allowing in a generous amount of light and a sweeping view of the lake.

Laughter spilled from the
room, the merry sound bringing him to a halt. Sarah was
laughing
, a
full-bodied, infectious laugh he had seldom heard, Danielle’s quieter chuckle
an underlying counterpoint. Then the giggles subsided, a few notes were pulled
from a flute, and the buzz of excited whispers reached him.

Stricken by the feelings of
anger and hurt that engulfed him, Westcott moved away as quietly as he had
come. Sarah’s new friend had supplanted him in her life.

Although he knew it was not
really true, he sensed that a balance had changed; no longer was she completely
dependent upon him.
What a selfish bastard you have become, Westcott; to
begrudge the child some happiness because you are jealous.
“No!” The denial
burst out. He had not sunk that low.
He would be—he
was
happy for
her. Why then did he feel as if he were excluded from a charmed circle?

Westcott ran down the main
staircase and out of the house as if harried by a pack of hounds, hardly aware
of the startled expression on the footman’s face. He had work,
responsibilities, and no time to wallow in a morass of self-pity. But indulge
in a short ride? Yes, and on that ill-mannered and badly gaited gelding. A
fitting punishment and one that might shake some sense into him.

~* * *~

Maggie looked up from her
loom at Anne’s abrupt and noisy entrance and frowned. “Good gracious, girl. I
don’t expect you to stand on ceremony, but you took a year off my life coming
in as if the imps of Satan are behind you.” She peered at Anne’s face and her
frown deepened. “That man again, I suppose, from the looks of you.”

In spite of her ill humour,
Anne had to smile. Maggie persisted in her habit of referring to Westcott as
‘that man’. She made no bones about her opinion of this marriage—unwise and not
to Anne’s advantage.

“I suppose, in a manner of
speaking.” Anne folded her cloak and laid it on a chair along with her gloves.
“But don’t think he has done anything horrid, because he would not and you know
it very well.” She moved over to stand beside Maggie and studied the pattern of
the piece on the loom, a colourful design of interlocking shapes. “It’s
beautiful,” she said, and touched the soft wool lightly with one finger.

“Don’t be putting your dirty
hands on it now.”

A scowl accompanied the
sharp comment, but Anne heard the pleased note in Maggie’s voice. “My hands are
quite clean.”

Maggie’s enterprise was
weaving and the discovery of this skill had come as complete shock to Anne,
since she hadn’t even known Maggie knew how to weave, let alone produce the
exquisite blankets and wall hangings that had several shopkeepers in the
surrounding towns eager to sell her goods.

“Humph.” Maggie stored her
shuttles away and stood. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

“That would be welcome.”
Anne wandered around the simply furnished room while Maggie busied herself at
the hearth. Westcott had offered to have a stove installed, but the Fentons
declared they were content with the wide fireplace. A brick oven was built into
one side and Maggie’s prized collection of teapots was ranged along the mantel.
Some of her colourful creations hung at the windows and covered the table and
chairs. All in all, the arrangement had worked out to everyone’s satisfaction.
Bill enjoyed his work on the estate and, for the first time in many years, the
Fentons had their own home. Anne envied them at times, but she was spoiled
already, living in luxury, and would find it difficult to go back to the old
way of life.

“Sit. All that prowling
around makes me nervous.”

“Not likely, since I have
never known you to get nervous about anything,” Anne said with a smile, but
slipped into a chair and waited for Maggie to pour the fragrant tea into her
cup. Declining cream, but adding a spoonful of sugar before she sipped at the
hot beverage, Anne was the first to break the comfortable silence.

“Westcott has purchased a
pony for Guy and is going to teach him to ride.”

“So I hear. I thought that
is what you wanted?”

“It is, yes, certainly.”
Anne stirred her tea, her head bent to avoid Maggie’s searching gaze. “He also
has a horse suitable for me.”

“Good. You need to get out
more. It’s decent enough of him and no burden I can see, so why are you upset?”
Maggie’s foot beat an impatient rhythm on the floor while she waited for an
answer.

Anne let out her breath in a
gusty puff. “Maggie, do you think I’m a dowd?”

Whatever Maggie had expected
to hear, it was not that plaintive question and she blinked and lifted her
brows in surprise. “Whatever brought that on? He never said such a thing.”

“No, certainly not.” At
Anne’s quick denial Maggie’s expression turned from puzzled to curious, and
Anne felt heat rise in her cheeks. “I had the thought that I should change my
appearance, perhaps have my hair cut, and have more stylish gowns made now that
I’m out of mourning.” She ignored the fact that she had been out of mourning
for months, but judging from the twitch of Maggie’s lips the inaccurate
statement had not gone unnoticed.

Maggie’s gaze fastened on
Anne’s dress. Quelling the urge to squirm under that intent examination, Anne
sipped calmly at her tea, wishing she had paid a little more attention to her
appearance before coming out.
It is not a bad dress
. Anne silently
defended her choice.
Just because it is brown does not make it unattractive.
Be honest. It may not be ugly, but it is not especially becoming. The dress
does nothing at all for you, in fact.
Her mouth tightened and she slumped
against the back of the chair. “Don’t say it, Maggie. My clothes are not much
to look at, are they?”

“They are well enough, if
you happened to be twenty years older and plain as a post. Which you are not
and why you want to hide your assets is a mystery to me. Always has been, and
don’t say it’s because of the Major, ‘cause you were inclined to it even before
you met him.”

Pushing aside her cup, Anne
propped her elbows on the table, leaned her chin on her raised fists, and pushed
her lips into a petulant pout. “I prefer not be the center of attention,” she
muttered.

Maggie stared at her,
blinked, and then began to laugh, great gusty laughs that brought tears to her
eyes. “You think a viscountess won’t be smack dab in the middle of the stage?”
she whooped.

“I did not think about it at
all,” Anne said with a reluctant smile. She would be the center of attention,
with so many people in the area looking to Westhorp for their livelihood and
naturally the family was a leader of society amongst the local gentry. Not
knowing of Westcott’s title when she agreed to the union was no excuse; she
knew it soon after and had ignored the fact, just as she had ignored their
unsatisfactory relationship. She had become quite adept at lying to herself,
and it was not a comfortable admission.

Shaking off the dismal
thoughts, Anne straightened, met Maggie’s still-amused look squarely. “I need
an evening dress, to be ready in two weeks, a new riding habit, and some new
gowns for everyday. And I need you to help me.” That said, she leaned forward,
arms outstretched and hands flat on the table. “What I know about fashion could
fit in a thimble, as you very well know.”

“I can advise you on colour
and fabric, child, but I suggest you look to Lady Lynton for style.” Maggie
swallowed the last of her tea and stood. “Go on with you now and let me get
back to my loom. Tomorrow we might drive into Winchester to see what the
haberdasher has in stock. I need some yarn anyway.”

Anne rose, and surprising
them both, gave Maggie a hug. “Thank you.”

“I’ve yet to do anything.”
Maggie pulled back, seeming a bit flustered at the display of affection and
patted awkwardly at Anne’s back. She began to turn away, then hesitated, a
half-serious, half-curious look on her face. “Why this sudden interest in your
apparel? You’ve scarce given it a thought up until now.”

“It seems more important
now,” Anne said, and avoiding Maggie’s eyes, stepped aside to pick up her cloak
and gloves. A lame answer, but what could be said when even
she
did not
understand it?”

“Does it indeed?”

How Maggie managed to convey
a wealth of skepticism in so few words was beyond understanding, Anne thought
irritably, tossing her cloak around her shoulders. “I will make arrangements
for tomorrow. Will the morning be agreeable with you?”

“Morning is fine,” Maggie
said.” She paused and an odd smile appeared on her face. “There is just one
more thing, Anne. Are you doing this for him, or for yourself?”

The question was so shocking
Anne halted with one foot on the doorsill. A dozen thoughts and images vied for
attention in her mind. Nicholas foremost, the children, Juliette St. Clair, and
herself, the spectator. Not the role she wanted, and along with the sudden
insight, a clear and positive answer. “Myself,” she said firmly and stepped
through the doorway.

~* * *~

Westcott was waiting for her
outside the fence enclosing the Fenton cottage yard. Had been waiting for a
good while, walking his puzzled stallion—he had not subjected himself to the
gelding after all—back and forth along the lane. He was still not certain what
impulse had led him here, other than the lingering distaste for the abrupt end
to their earlier conversation. Anne hardly needed an escort along a private
lane on Westhorp land, within a half-mile of the house, and he did not suppose
her any too eager for his company.

He and Maximus were making
the turn back to the cottage when Anne emerged and walked slowly along the
path, her head bent as if she were deep in thought. The hood to her cloak lay
on her shoulders and her hair, loosened from its knot by the breezy wind,
appeared unusually bright under the late afternoon sun. Not a diamond, his
wife, but something finer, in his mind; a charming grace of movement, beautiful
eyes and a smile as warm as the sun when he was fortunate enough to see it.
She
bestows it freely on the children and if you were not such a clod…
Shying
from that direction of thought, Westcott cleared his throat to get her attention,
not wishing to startle her, or have her pass by him without notice—although Max
was hard to miss.

“Nicholas!”

She was startled in any
case, enough to forget the more formal ‘Westcott’ she’d adopted early in their
relationship, if one could call this quasi-friendship such. The idea that it
might be more if he so desired was rejected as swiftly as it crossed his mind.
A more comfortable connection between them was his single goal. Keeping that
belief firmly fixed in his head, Westcott stepped forward to open the gate for
her.

“Anne. I’ve surprised you,
and my only intention was to ask if you might like to stop at the stables to
see the mare I spoke of earlier. Forgive me.” He smiled down at her. “Did you
have a pleasant visit with Mrs. Fenton? I see very little of her these days,
now that her weavings have become so sought after.”

“Yes, a pleasant visit,”
Anne echoed, staring at him with apparent confusion. She moved slowly toward
him and put a hand on Maximus’ neck, absentmindedly patting the horse while
Westcott closed the gate behind her. Unsmiling, a question in her eyes, she
gazed at him for a long moment before her attention turned, seemingly to his
horse, and they began to walk along the lane. “I would like to see the mare,
although I have every faith she will be as fine as the other horses in your
stables, sir.” She smiled now, and again ran her hand along the neck of the
animal pacing between them. “This grand fellow is a perfect example of your
judgment.”