An Inconvenient Wife (31 page)

“Any popularity I had was
due more to the lack of competition than my charms, I assure you.”

“Improbable, but I can see
you believe it.” Westcott rested his chin against a fist. “Go on, Anne. This is
all very interesting, but you are avoiding the subject.

Startled, she straightened
and took a deep breath. “Perhaps I am,” she said in a low voice. “It is not a
happy story, after all.”

Remembered pain shadowed her
eyes and almost he called a halt to this distressing narrative, but he wanted
to know,
had
to know, he admitted with more than a little reluctance.
What
business is it of yours, Westcott? You don’t want any part of this woman,
remember?
He stopped short his mental questioning, but still the quick
justification sprang to mind.

Yes, but I live with her,
dammit. It’s natural to be curious.

Bloody hell. Now he was
holding arguments in his head. Westcott wrenched his mind from his tangled
thoughts and returned his attention to Anne.

“When an epidemic of fever
swept through the island, it put an end to most gatherings, but until Father
became ill I was still able to meet with a small group of fellow musicians.
Even that had to stop, however, as more and more people fell to the fever. I
was one of the lucky ones.”

From the tinge of bitterness
in her voice, Anne appeared to think otherwise, a stupid idea he was inclined
to dispute.
Dead is never a better choice
. He forced himself to lean
back; sip at his brandy; watch the play of emotion on her face as she
continued.

“One of the officers called
every day in the beginning, to bring Father information about the troops and
receive any orders. I knew him, had danced with him, even sat at supper with
him upon occasion. I thought nothing of it, this brief daily contact, and as
Father worsened, no one else but the physician was permitted into the house. By
the time Father died, I had lost touch with almost everyone. Half the people I
knew were either dead or had left the island, and when the Major offered his
help in arranging the funeral, I was grateful. Maggie and Bill did what they
could, but they were as exhausted as I was.”

Her voice was not much more
than a whisper now, and he shifted forward to hear her.

“The day of the funeral,
after all but the Fentons had gone, Major Reynard announced his intention to
marry me, and given my orphaned state, immediately. There was not the slightest
doubt in his mind that I was agreeable.” She touched her fingers to her mouth,
cheeks pale in the flickering light, and lowered her head. “He did not take my
rejection well.”

Dreading to hear what he
surmised would follow, Westcott clenched his teeth. “Anne.” The single word was
all he could manage, but not well enough to entirely hide his anger. Her head
jerked and she threw up her hands in protest.

“No! It wasn’t… Bill and
Maggie heard me scre…shout, and Bill was there before….” She slumped over with
a weariness that made him want to gather her in his arms and comfort her as he
did Sarah.

“They fought, until Maggie
hit the Major on the head with a poker.”

“Good for her,” Westcott
said tersely, vowing to buy the woman a new loom, or
something
.

Anne looked up and made a
visible attempt to smile. “Very good, but it made it impossible for us to stay
there. They could have had Bill hung for assaulting an officer. Major Reynard
is not the kind to forgive and forget such a thing, and nothing but our word
against his lies. Besides, he had to know I’d do anything to protect the
Fentons, and would have used that to force me into marriage.” She lifted her
shoulders in resignation. “So we ran. Packed up enough to make do, booked
passage on the first ship that was sailing immediately, and within a day we
were bound for Portugal.”

“Anne,” he said again, but
she was on her feet and across the room, placing the glass beside the decanter.

“It is very late, sir, and I
for one, intend to seek my bed,” she said. Without looking at him, she started
to leave.

He was beside her, hands
turning her to face him, before she took a step. Her eyes were bright with
unshed tears.

“I am so sorry.” A stupid
comment and grossly inadequate, Westcott realized the second the words left his
mouth. He pulled her close, laid her head against his shoulder, and brushed his
hand over her unbound hair. The first time he’d seen it so, and felt it
regrettable, for she had lovely hair, long and wavy, with highlights that
glistened in the light.
Not a smart thought, Westcott. She is in need of
comfort, nothing else.
Indeed, she was stiff in his arms, and he
reluctantly released her and stepped away. “Good night, Anne.”

She glanced at him, her
expression unreadable, and moved slowly toward the door. “Good night…Nicholas.”

What in hell did that mean,
his name on her lips? The only other time she had used his given name was when
he was shot. He’d remember otherwise.
It meant nothing, “Nicholas.” Go to
bed. Your brain is turning to mush and your shoulder hurts like the devil. She
can call you anything she wants. It changes nothing.
And singularly
unconvinced of his own logic, he refreshed his glass and returned to his chair
to brood beside the fire.

Chapter Twenty-five

“
Madame, Monsieur
.
Welcome to the Rainbow Playhouse.” Guy bowed, flashed an engaging grin, and led
them to the row of chairs arranged in a half-circle before the impressive
stage.

“Did you know it was so
elaborate?” Westcott asked in a low voice as he and Anne settled into their
designated seats.

“I guessed it was big, from
the timbers the men brought in, but had no idea of how complex. This room has
been off limits for several weeks. They wanted to surprise us.”

“They have succeeded in
doing so.” Westcott studied the colourful creation in front of them. It had to
be at least eight feet in width, and almost as much in height. The lower section
of the sturdy structure was painted a glossy black, the frame surrounding the
stage was white and the rainbow arcing over the top sported a myriad of
colours. A similarly hued curtain hung across the front.

“Do I recognize one of Mrs.
Fenton’s weavings?”

“You do. The Fentons have
played a large part in preparing for this production,” Anne said.

“Decent of them.”

“Never doubt they have
enjoyed every minute of it,” Anne said with a laugh. “Oh, look, the St. Clairs
are here.” She stood, along with Westcott, to greet their guests. “The children
will be delighted that you came.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for all
the world,” Juliette said as she gave Anne a quick hug and took the seat beside
her. She studied the theater with some astonishment. “Gracious, it is huge,
n’est-ce
pas
? Are we the only guests?”

“Enormous,” Anne agreed.
“No, Miss Caxton and Mr. Atkinson are coming, and some of the staff.” She
laughed. “They wanted the entire household. We had to agree to a second
performance for them, if this goes well.”

“I’m sure it will,” Juliette
said.

Anne’s soft laughter caught
Westcott’s ear. With St. Clair’s interest now fixed on the theater, he took the
opportunity to unobtrusively watch his wife. She was leaning forward a little,
speaking to Juliette, hands fluttering expressively as she related a humourous
incident that had occurred in the village. Her cheeks pinked with colour, and
eyes sparkling, she looked—
pretty? Attractive? Happy. She looks happy,
Westcott, and why not? Because you choose otherwise? Rubbish.
Disgruntled
by the unwelcome feeling of loss that she never acted so around him, he pulled
out his pocket watch and noted the time. The remainder of the audience was
being seated in the row behind him.

His duties done, Guy
disappeared. The curtain swayed, a few giggles were sharply hushed, and the
chirpy notes of a recorder played some nautical tune. A puppet dressed in
sailor’s garb popped through the opening in the curtain and bowed.

“Ladies and Gentlemen. The
Rainbow Playhouse is pleased to present
The Adventures of Robinson Crusoe
.
We hope you will enjoy it. And now—
the Show
!”

The puppet disappeared and a
voice, sounding distant and deep, began to recite. Westcott was certain it was
Sarah. A nice effect and he was curious as to how they did it.

To travel the
world

he went to
sea

brave
Robinson Crusoe

But fame
and fortune

were not to
be

poor
Robinson Crusoe

The waves
were high

the ship
did groan

frightened
Robinson Crusoe

Then a
mighty crash, the rocks like swords

the wood
was torn asunder

tossed into
the deeps, the seamen all,

The water
pulled them under

Washed to
the shore

alone and
sore

battered
Robinson Crusoe

The years
pass by

God doth
provide

grateful
Robinson Crusoe

Then came
the day

rescue at
last

happy
Robinson Crusoe

The curtain opened to a scene
at the docks—a wooden ship tied against a pier, blue sky, a bright sun, and
some rather odd terns flying high. A puppet with the face and manner of a young
man, dressed in homespun and leather, wandered along the quay, poking into this
corner and that, until he plopped down on a sea chest and gazed longingly at
the ship.

Longingly? It’s a puppet,
Westcott
. But the actions of the doll told a story easily
imagined. A pause, and then another puppet, dressed in Captain’s garb, appeared
in the bow of the ship and beckoned to the lad. A pantomime ensued, of
disbelief on Crusoe’s part, invitation from the Captain, until the lad bounced
up and down with excitement. Heaving the sea chest onto a shoulder, he hurried
onto the ship as the curtain closed.

The applause was loud and
everyone began to talk at once. “The children did this?” Westcott said to Anne
in a low voice under the hum of conversation. He leaned close to hear her
answer, close enough to smell the enticing scent of her, and fan the tendrils
of hair loose at her temples with his breath.

“Maggie and Bill helped
dress the puppets and prepare the setting, but the play itself was their idea.
Isn’t it marvelous? I can’t wait to see what comes next.” Anne smiled up at
him, her glowing face inches from his.

“Marvelous.” Shaken by the
appeal of her tempting mouth, Westcott straightened, his tone and movement
abrupt, and watched the smile fade. She turned her head, but not before he
caught the hurt in her eyes and cursed himself for a bloody fool.
No wonder
the woman is uncomfortable around you, when you treat her like a confidante one
moment and something other the next.

A flute wailed, and relieved
by the distraction, he returned his attention to the stage. A loud bang and the
curtain opened to reveal a wooden ship rocking wildly behind a low board
painted with waves. The backdrop now was a stormy ocean, complete with
lightning streaking the black sky. A whoosh of wind accompanied the ship as it
staggered across the stage, crashed into a very realistic pile of rocks, and
keeled over. A shower of tiny figures tumbled over the sides, drawing a chorus
of oohs and aahs from the ladies, and Westcott grinned. What he suspected were
cloth-wrapped thimbles did look quite real from here. Crusoe’s head emerged
from the water, his arms waving frantically, and after bobbing up and down
several times, he was swept away.

This time, the curtain
closed for just a few minutes, and hardly a sound from the spectators, so
caught up were they. A thread of melody from the flute, and there was Robinson
Crusoe sprawled on the sandy shore; the stormy backdrop replaced by one of
sunny skies and palm trees. Crusoe crawled to the base of a tree, leaned
wearily against it, and surveyed his surroundings with growing dismay. Forehead
in his hands, he trudged around the beach, stopping to stare at the ship afast
on the rocks, and with a resolution one could feel—
and
how the devil
do they manage that?
—the puppet squared his shoulders and waded into the
water. Clambering aboard, Crusoe picked up an axe and began chopping up the
ship to make a raft. He was soon done, and over the side it went, along with a
number of tiny boxes and chests.

Loading the goods on the
raft—and wasn’t it fortunate the water was shallow, Westcott thought,
swallowing his laughter—the intrepid Crusoe pushed his makeshift boat to the
beach. Indeed, the shipwrecked sailor performed prodigiously, dashing between
ship and shore, until the pile of containers was head-high. Exhausted, Crusoe
flopped down and promptly fell asleep on the top of the pile and the curtain
snapped closed.