An Inconvenient Wife (21 page)

Maximus tossed his head, as
if in agreement, and Westcott chuckled. “I believe he knows what one says at
times, and isn’t one for false modesty, are you, boy? He will gladly take the
compliment, as will I, but I must say that much of what I know about horseflesh
I learned from my father. He knew almost instinctively what an animal was
thinking and its potential given the right training.”

“There were a few such
cavalrymen, according to my father; but it seems a rare talent,” Anne said
after a moment, then in an almost diffident voice asked, “You were close, you
and your father? I understand he died some years ago.”

Westcott hesitated. The
subject of his parents had never been raised, and the sudden realization that
he felt able to speak freely of his father surprised—and pleased. “I suppose
being the only child, and my mother dying when I was a boy, we were closer than
most. Father spent very little time away from Westhorp. I don’t believe he ever
missed a school holiday, and while he claimed it was necessary to prevent
havoc, since St. Clair and Carlisle were often with me, he liked being around
young people. Said it kept him ‘up to snuff’ and it was a parent’s job to pass
along acquired wisdom, even if we were a “‘rascally, unappreciative bunch of
rowdies.’”

Anne’s chuckle brought a
rush of memories; the roar of his father’s laughter whenever he charged them
thusly uppermost, and Westcott swallowed against the sweeping feeling of loss.
“He was trying to get home, during the worst storm ever to hit this area, when
a tree came down, right across the road. They said it was quick, but they would
say that, to comfort the family. I don’t know. I hope it was. I do know there
is not a day gone by I don’t think of him.”

Silence then, not
uncomfortably so, while he thought about his father, and he supposed Anne’s
father was in her mind as well. A bond of sorts, neither having living parents,
and he made a mental note to ask her about them. He knew almost nothing about
her life—almost nothing about
her
.

“You were young to take on
the responsibility of all this,” Anne said after a time, spreading her hands to
indicate their surroundings.

“I was of age—just—and able,
with the help of my steward and Father’s man of business, to take over with a
minimum of disruption. St. Clair’s uncle, Lord Strathmere, offered me invaluable
advice as well. A fine man. You will have the opportunity to meet him at
Juliette’s dinner.

“Of course, I made more than
a few mistakes; went rather wild for a time, actually, and made some unwise
decisions.” Not the least of which was marrying far too young. But that was not
something he spoke of to anyone
.
Grieving,
desperate for a
family, he had taken one look at Camille and was lost, his fantasy of a loving
wife at his side and children at his knee overriding the cautioning words of
those who advised to wait.

Seeing Anne’s inquiring
look, he lifted a shoulder, eager to dismiss the subject. “Young men frequently
believe they know everything,” he said with a quick smile.

“Young women are not immune
to the belief,” Anne said thoughtfully.

Bill Fenton’s cheerful
greeting interrupted them as they neared the stable “Good afternoon to you,
Lord Westcott, my lady. I see you’ve brought my good friend Max with you. I’ll
just take him in, then, if I may.” Maximus shifted impatiently, too well
trained to pull away as he clearly wanted to do.

“He knows you are going to
spoil him, but he has earned a good rubdown,” Westcott said as he handed over
the reins “Send someone out with Belle, Fenton. I want Lady Westcott to take a
look at her.”

The resignation in Anne’s
sigh caught his attention, and he tipped his head in question. He had heard
that resigned sound a number of times these past weeks. “I had thought you used
to it by now,” he said, amusement in his voice.

She flushed. “I do try, and
for the most part I have become accustomed to it. But to have Bill call me
anything but Miss Anne still seems so strange to me.” She tapped a finger
against her lips, and then smiled, nodding toward the stable. “Bill seems to
have adapted to it easily enough. In fact, I think he enjoys calling me ‘my
lady’.”

“Perhaps he does. He is a
remarkably accommodating man.”

Westcott saw one of the
grooms leading out the mare and turned, expectantly, he admitted to himself, to
watch Anne’s face. He had put a goodly amount of thought into the selection of
the proper horse for her, suspecting her experience was limited to gentle
jaunts around the countryside. This mare was never intended for Danielle, no
matter that he had told her otherwise.

Her eyes widened at the
sight of the graceful mare prancing toward them. At fourteen hands, Belle was
on the small side, a glossy chestnut with a slender white blaze and white
fetlocks. Bright-eyes viewed the world around her with interest and she lowered
her head and looked curiously at Anne as she walked slowly forward. Crooning
softly, Anne raised a hand, and waited until Belle halted, nuzzled her palm,
and sniffed at her hair before she rubbed her fingers lightly through the
mare’s mane.

Pleased at her obvious
approval, Westcott waited as Anne and the mare became acquainted, only clearing
his throat when it appeared the two were prepared to stand indefinitely, in the
increasingly chilly wind, communicating in some mutual pact of admiration.

Recalled to her
surroundings, Anne turned to him, her face bright with pleasure and her smile
as warm as the sun in summer. “She is marvelous. I adore her already, and I
believe she likes me. Thank you.”

“It seems Belle more than
likes you,” he said, as the horse nudged Anne for more attention. “Another day
you can try her out. I have not ridden her, but she appears to have a smooth
gait. Now we should be getting back to the house.” Anne nodded, still smiling,
gave Belle a final pat and allowed the groom to lead her away.

“The wind has turned cold,
Anne.” Westcott moved closer to her, leaning forward to raise the hood of her
cloak and tie the ribbons under her chin. Her lips curved even further in a
pleased smile. She looked so damn
happy. So damn kissable!

Stung by the stab of
longing, Westcott dropped his hands with a jerky movement, and her smile faded,
the usual calm, almost placid, expression settling over her face.

“Yes, it has gotten chilly.”
She turned away and began walking, her eyes intent on the fastenings of her
cloak as she closed it around her.

Confound it, Westcott,
what’s gotten into you? If you can’t so much as touch her without acting like
an idiot, then don’t. You like seeing that stricken look in her eyes?
Furious
at himself, and her, however irrationally, Westcott accompanied Anne to the
front entrance and with a brusque and untrue claim that there was something in
need of his attention, left her.

Stay away from her,
Westcott. You have nothing to offer and every time you ignore that hard fact,
you end up hurting her. Leave her alone. She doesn’t need you and you sure as
hell don’t want to start needing her!

Chapter Sixteen

Anne stripped the gloves
from her shaking hands, unfastened her cloak, and handed both to the waiting
footman. A smile was beyond her and ignoring his quickly veiled curiosity, she
curtly requested tea be sent to her room. She was not to be disturbed.

Don’t you dare cry, Anne
Blackwell. You are not such a ninny as to weep over a man, even if he is your
husband.

“Which he is not!” Anne
shouted into her thankfully empty bedchamber and slammed the door behind her
with a crash that rattled the bottles on her dressing table. She stomped across
the room, pounded on a chair cushion, kicked at the draperies, and generally
behaved like a thwarted child for the next five minutes. It felt wonderful.
After weeks of pretending to be satisfied with the few crumbs of sociability
Westcott chose to toss her way, her self-esteem, never over the top to begin
with, had slithered into a dank pit. A
disgracefully
dank pit and one
she was ashamed to have fallen into.

Juliette is mistaken.
Westcott has no hidden affection for you. He never will
.
They were fated to live as strangers in this mausoleum forever.

Anne’s fit of temper drained
away, leaving her exhausted and headachy. Wearily, she removed her half boots,
tossed them aside, and stretched out on the chaise longue. She would have Clara
inform everyone that Lady Westcott would not be down for dinner. Perhaps she
would order a bath, then eat a light meal here, and not face
his lordship
over dinner, pretending she was content.
When what you really want to do is
shake some sense into the man!

Anne curled up on the
longue, closed her eyes, and tried again to determine why Westcott behaved as
he did. It had been a shock to see him waiting for her at Maggie’s, but a
pleasant one. She had been so pleased he wanted to personally show her that
lovely horse, and they had gotten on so well—why shouldn’t she have felt it
somewhat of an apology for his abrupt manner this morning? She never
asked
him to tie her hood, or expected it! Nor would she have, because any physical
contact sent him haring away as if she was some kind of leper. She had reasoned
that out weeks ago.

Why he felt so was not
entirely understood. He was not a cold man. One had but to watch him with Sarah
to be certain of that. Reserved, perhaps, but she had observed him with St.
Clair and Captain Carlisle and he laughed and joked with them. Maybe he
disliked women in general?
Which you do not for a moment believe. No, it’s
you, Anne. Accept it, learn to live with it. There will be no
happily-ever-after and none was promised. You were the deceiver here—of
yourself.

“No more. You will stop all
this silly schoolgirl dreaming and behave like the mature woman you are.” Anne
sat up, folded her legs, and wrapped her arms around her knees, smiling at the
ridiculous comment. Talking to herself was hardly the sign of a sensible,
mature woman.

The knock on her door was a
welcome interruption. Her maid with the tea, she imagined, unfolding her legs
and turning sideways to put her feet on the floor.

“Come in.”

“Now, don’t you be getting
up, my lady. Martin told me you were feeling poorly and there is no reason not
to have your tea all comfortable like.” Clara carried in a tray and set it on a
low table next to the chaise. “Here is Miss Danielle as well, to keep you
company if you wish it, but you are to say right out if you prefer to be alone,
which the young miss understands, and won’t be having hurt feelings over.”

Anne looked at Danielle,
hovering uncertainly in the doorway, and smiled. “Some company will be welcome,
and no, Clara, I’ve no desire to get up. I plan to be quite the lay-about and
take my tea right here.”

Anne settled back
comfortably, waiting until Danielle was seated and Clara had gone off before nodding
at her guest. “Will you pour, please? I think you know how I like mine.”

A quick startled look, then
Danielle picked up the pot and poured. She added a little sugar to Anne’s tea
and carefully handed her the cup. Hiding a smile at the look of grave
concentration on the girl’s face, Anne accepted with equal solemnity. Miss
Caxton had begun to show Danielle some of the etiquette a young lady was
expected to know, but practicing in the schoolroom was not the same as serving
an adult for the first time. Danielle’s own tea was the recipient of milk and
several sugars, Anne noted with amusement, recalling the girl’s preference for
coffee.

“I am sorry you are not
feeling well, Mother Anne,” Danielle said, a worried little frown wrinkling her
forehead.

Instantly feeling guilty
that she had not sent word to the children that her indisposition was trifling,
Anne hastened to reassure her. “A headache, no more. I may have stood about in
the wind too long today. I stopped by the stables with Westcott to see the new
horse he bought for us. She is a lovely thing, Danielle.”

The girl looked so doubtful
that Anne laughed. “I know you are not accustomed to being around horses, but
Belle is truly a delight and I think you will like her. There is no hurry, but
you should learn to ride,” Anne told her with a sympathetic smile.

“Yes, I know, but they are
so very large,
oui
?”

“They are, but you tend to
forget that when you are riding. No one will force you, my dear. Just tell
Westcott or me when you are ready.” Anne finished her tea and set aside her
cup. “Now, tell me what you did today. How are you and Sarah doing with your
duet? Are you having any problems?”

Danielle’s face brightened
with the enthusiasm any mention of music brought and she leaned forward, her
teacup rattling precariously in its saucer. “We are doing very well, I think,
except for one passage we cannot seem to get exactly right. Will you sit with
us tomorrow and help us? Monsieur Beethoven’s music is so beautiful. I love
playing the flute. We both do and you are such a good teacher, Mother Anne.”