An Inconvenient Wife (22 page)

“You are good students and a
pleasure to teach. I would like to get you and Sarah started on the
harpsichord, but the one here is badly out of tune, and beyond my limited skill
to repair.”

Danielle gasped, her eyes round
with surprise. “Could Sarah, do you think? With her...?”

“There is no reason Sarah
cannot sit at a keyboard and use her hands,” Anne said. She felt Sarah capable
of most things, if encouraged—and permitted. Anne strongly believed Westcott
was overprotective, but had not felt comfortable enough yet to challenge him on
it.
Although you may as well, since apparently just your presence annoys
him.
“At some time in the future I will look into purchasing a piano.” She
let out a wistful sigh. “I once had the opportunity to play one and it was
marvelous.”

Anne smiled at her visitor,
who looked eager to prolong this discussion. Danielle could talk about music
for hours. “We can speak of it tomorrow if you wish. Now I am going to send you
off so I can bathe and go to bed.”

Stricken, Danielle jumped to
her feet. “
Je regrette
. I have kept you overlong.”

“Not at all. I enjoyed your
company.” Anne stood and took Danielle’s hands in hers. “You are happy here?”
The girl had blossomed, it appeared to Anne, and although still overly serious
in manner, she had lost the guarded look she had had in Portugal.

Danielle hesitated, her
forehead wrinkled in thought, and Anne was pleased she was not blurting out an
answer just to satisfy her. And indeed, when the answer came, Anne could not
doubt the sincerity.

Danielle raised her head and
looked Anne straight in the eye. “Not since my father died have I felt this
way—to be part of a real family once again, living in this fine place, with all
of you so good to us. I cannot tell you how grateful and happy I am.” She
smiled shyly. “And the music is the grandest thing imaginable.”

“I am glad.” Anne leaned
forward and placed a kiss on Danielle’s forehead. “Go on now. Tell Sarah and
Guy you are bringing them a kiss from me and I will see them in the morning.”

“
Bonne nuit
, Mother
Anne.”

Danielle left as quietly as
she had come, and Anne smiled to herself at the brief lapse into French. Both
children were wont to slip when excited or emotional, and they had long since
adopted Sarah’s name for Anne, with her heart-felt approval. “Mother Blackwell
sounds so staid and stuffy,” she said to the empty room, her cheeks growing hot
when Clara came in and looked askance at her.

“Did you say something,
Madam?”

“No, it’s nothing, Clara.
Just thinking out loud,” she said, and quickly added, “I’d like to bathe, if
you will tell them downstairs, please. I am planning an early night.”

“Of course.” Clara picked up
the tray and looked at the untouched platter of cold meats and cheeses. “Shall
I order something else for you? Some soup, or some of Cook’s nice stew?”

“Nothing, thank you. I’m not
terribly hungry tonight. Just the bath and perhaps a glass of wine to help me
sleep.” Anne wandered to the window and pushed aside the heavy brocade
draperies to peer out. The moon was at the half, but cast enough light to make
the garden below a place of mysterious shadows. She stood daydreaming, trying
to imagine it when full of flowers as Sarah had described it, until Clara
announced that her bath was ready.

Anne still was not sure
exactly how it worked; just that it did. Somehow, hot water was pumped up from
a boiler on the lower floor into the delightfully large tub. Westcott had it
installed for Sarah, whose pain in those months after the accident was
alleviated by the heated water. Westcott used it, of course, as did Anne and
Sarah, but no one else.

Clara sprinkled a few drops
of rose oil into the water and Anne climbed in, leaned back with a moan of
pleasure, and began leisurely soaping her legs. The room was small enough to be
comfortably warm from the water, and she did not think she would ever tire of
so relaxing a pastime. Did her husband loll around in it as she did? Anne found
it difficult to picture Westcott lolling around under any circumstances but
there
was
the door leading to his suite and the occasional evidence of a
damp floor to indicate his usage. Never had he interrupted her, and she
suspected his valet and her maid arranged it so. What might his reaction be if
he were to see her thusly? Or she, him?

Anne felt heat flood her
face.
There is nothing wrong in admiring a man’s appearance, and he is your
husband, at least in name. Besides, Nicholas is a well-looking man, with a
lean, strong body and you like to look at him.
If he....
No, she
would not dwell on that. It was time she accepted that he did not want her,
which, she reminded herself, he had made clear from the start.
Make the best
of it, and be grateful for what you have. Perhaps if you say it often enough
you will come to believe it.

~* * *~

Westcott used that door to
enter Anne’s bedchamber late that night and stocking-clad, moved silently
across the room. He raised his shielded candle to illuminate the sleeping woman
below. She chose to leave the draperies open slightly, he saw, uncaring that a
thin shaft of moonlight lay over her face, and he smiled. His wife was
evidently not a believer in the fanciful idea that sleeping in the light of the
moon induces nightmares. She was much too sensible to indulge in such flights
of imagination. Now, he was glad of it, and with enough light to see without
the candle, he snuffed the flame.

Even in sleep she wore her
hair woven into a loose braid, the blond streaks appearing almost white in the
moonlight. He had yet to see it unbound, and not for the first time, found
himself picturing how it would look drifting over her breasts.
She is not
for you, Westcott. Heartache, for both of you, lay in that direction.
He
suspected she was already becoming, unwisely, fond of him. Conceit, indeed, but
for her sweetly uncertain overtures. Which he met with as ham-fisted a manner
as could be imagined, and he vowed to do better in the future. Surely he was
capable of finding some balance in their relationship.

Westcott straightened the
blanket to cover her shoulders. What if he were to lie beside her? Would she be
frightened, or welcome him to her bed?
Not frightened, not his high-couraged
Anne, and when did you start thinking of her as ‘your Anne’?

Unwise, that, and troubled
by the direction of his thoughts, he slipped away as quietly as he had come.

Chapter Seventeen

“Have you spoken to your
father about it, Sarah?” Anne surveyed the three eager faces in front of her
and knew she was going to agree to their plans, even if she did have
reservations.

Sarah’s eyes sparkled with
excitement. “It is to be a surprise. We want to send invitations to Aunt
Juliette and Uncle Devlin, and Mr. Atkinson. We can send Papa’s the very day of
the performance. Miss Caxton is going to help us.”

Anne sank onto a cushioned
stool and looked skeptically at the enthusiastic youngsters. “What exactly do
you have in mind to do?”

“A puppet show! We are going
to have a puppet show!” All three of them spoke out at once. Anne laughed and
held her hands over her ears. “Gracious, one at a time, please. You start,
Danielle.”

“Guy found some puppets in
an old box, Mother Anne, and we asked Mr. Fenton to make a stage for us.”

“It’s “Robinson Crusoe”,”
Guy burst out. “Sarah has been reading the story to us, and we wrote our own
play from it.”

“Miss Caxton is sewing
costumes,” Sarah said, “and Danielle and I are practicing some music to go with
it.”

Anne listened as they told
her, in detail, of their plans. She was so pleased at the way they all seemed
to like each other. Guy, she believed, would be happy almost anywhere he felt
secure, and although he had his dog and pony for playmates, he never quibbled
at entering into games with the girls. Danielle had a different temperament,
and would never possess the bubbly personality Sarah did, but she smiled more
often now, and she and Sarah were as thick as two thieves.

“It sounds an excellent
enterprise, and I will gladly help if you need it.” Anne widened her eyes and
curled her lips in a wry smile. “Of course, you will not allow your studies to
be neglected whilst you prepare this entertainment.”

A chorus of “Oh, nos” ensued
and she laughed, exchanging a glance with Miss Caxton, who appeared to be
awaiting her decision with almost as much interest in the outcome as the
children.

“I am sure they will not, my
lady,” the governess said in her quiet, assured manner, and Anne laughed.

“If you can keep these
rapscallions in line, it will be a miracle.” But her broad smile encompassed
them all, and they grinned at her teasing. Anne stood and looked pointedly at
Guy. “You, young sir, are due for a riding lesson about now, I believe, so off
with you.”

Guy started and gasped. “It
is that I am late already! I must go,
moi.
Good-bye.” Guy scampered out,
his comical look of consternation sending Sarah and Danielle into a storm of giggles.

Anne touched a finger to her
lips at the boy’s headlong departure, but her amusement was so apparent, no one
gave credence to her moue of disapproval. “That boy,” she said, lowering her
hand to brush over Sarah’s hair. “I think he’d live in the stable if he could.”

“He likes the horses, you
understand, and the time with Blackwell,” Danielle said, as if no one had
realized it.

“Yes, he does.” Anne had to
smile at the girl’s earnest demeanor. So serious, but improving every day, she
reminded herself, thinking of the earlier giggling.

“I like the stables, too,”
Sarah said, hunching a shoulder, the laughter fading from her face. “But I
hardly ever get to go.”

There was an unusual
petulance in her voice. Anne gave her a sympathetic smile. Anne truly believed
the viscount was putting unnecessary limits on Sarah’s activities, out of fear
perhaps, but it was harmful nevertheless. Neither she nor Sarah enjoyed the
carefully private session of exercise they endured most mornings.
It is not
cruel, Anne, and there is improvement. You are more concerned about Westcott’s
reaction if he finds out what you are doing. But he is wrong in this.

“If you want to go to the
stables, Sarah, think of it every time you are tempted to quit.” Anne pushed
Sarah’s chair to her bedchamber, settled her on the bed, and removed the
stocking from her injured foot. Whereupon Nurse Timmons promptly disappeared,
as she always did, not able to see her charge in pain, and Mary Caxton entered
with the small pot of warm oil she had heated in her room. The woman was an
excellent governess. Anne made a mental note to increase her wage. She really
should try to learn more about the young woman’s background, too, other than
the fact that she has a large family.
Maybe you can do something for her, rather
than see the poor woman attend to other people’s children the rest of her life.
Like you.

Anne dismissed the derisive
thought and applied herself to rubbing the oil onto Sarah’s leg with firm,
steady strokes, as Bill Fenton had taught her. She at least had a comfortable
home of her own, and
a husband, of sorts. Dismissing her grumps, Anne
recalled her conversation with Bill Fenton, some weeks ago.

~* * *~

“That child is going to get
worse, sitting around in a chair all day.”

Anne jerked around at Bill’s
muttered comment and glared at him, eyes narrowed. He was watching as Danielle
pushed Sarah’s chair along the path to the garden, a frown furrowing his
forehead.

“What do you mean, get
worse?” Anne snapped out the question, her gaze going to the girls, even though
they were too distant to have heard them.

Fenton studied her face for
a moment, and then, seeming to make up his mind, took Anne’s arm and steered
her into another part of the garden. “Mrs. Fenton told me to be minding my own
business, my lady, but I reckon I know when to speak up or not.” He looked
around, spied a nearby bench, and led her to it. “Bide a minute, Miss Anne, and
tell me exactly what is wrong with Miss Sarah. You can tell me to go to the
devil later if you don’t like what I have to say.”

Anne looked at the
determined set of his face—and the nervous tic on one side of his mouth that
told her how uncomfortable he was—which his lapse into calling her ‘Miss Anne’
had already done, and she gave him a sharp nod of agreement.

 “You will have heard gossip
amongst the staff about the carriage accident, I suppose. When the vehicle
overturned, Sarah’s foot was caught under one of the wheels.” Anne lifted her
hands and dropped them back into her lap in a resigned gesture. “I believe they
tried to straighten the bones, but I understand the injuries were too severe
and they healed badly. Her ankle is twisted and the top of her foot knobby and
painful.”

“This is just the one leg?
The other is normal?” Bill questioned with an unusual intensity.