Hidden Affections (13 page)

Annabelle remembered Irene making a remark referring to his brother as deceased, but she felt hesitant having Harrison discuss so many obviously troubling topics tonight. “Supper is getting cold. Perhaps you can tell me about Peter another time,” she suggested.

He blinked hard, as if her words had brought him back from another place, and set down his spoon. “No, we need to talk about my brother and his family now. People who will be attending the ball tomorrow night will expect you to be familiar with my family background.”

“Yes, I suppose they will,” she said, realizing that the family he wanted to tell her about and had saved for last had been his own. She sat back while she waited for him to continue.

He nudged the bowl of soup away from him. “Peter was . . . he was born to be a Graymoor. He was very smart and very quick, and he loved everything about being the scion of one of the most prominent families in the city, one of the few that can trace its roots back to the days of William Penn. He wasn’t the first-born son, though. We had an older brother, William, who died before his fourth birthday. Peter, as the second born, was raised to take my father’s place. He continued family traditions, married, and had two sons he was raising in the city. That left me free to live out here at Graymoor Gardens and to do whatever pleased me. Which I did . . . until Peter succumbed to yellow fever eight years ago, along with his wife and my two nephews.”

When he paused, obviously struggling against memories that were still very painful, her heart ached for him and trembled with painful memories of her own.

“As the sole surviving heir, I had no choice but to step out of the shadows and into the bright light of family responsibilities, which I accept on a very limited basis, as you well know,” he offered in a raspy voice.

When he paused again, she saw his gaze harden, but beneath the protective shell he wore, in the place that gave life to the twinkle in his eyes when he was being totally charming and disarming, she could see the pain of the many losses he had suffered—losses far beyond what she had experienced in the past few years.

“I’m so sorry.” She realized she had been so engrossed in the incredibly sad story of his life that she had completely lost her appetite, and Harrison . . . he was so overwhelmed by the pain he had endured by losing his entire family that he had lost all of his hunger for God’s love.

He shrugged. “Loss is part of life and the only way to avoid it is to make absolutely certain you don’t love anything that will cause you grief when you lose it. Fortunately, the only thing I’m sure I won’t lose is the fortune I inherited, because I couldn’t possibly spend all of it, no matter how long I might live. I just make absolutely certain there’s nothing else as important to me as spending it on as many pleasures as I can—including any number of young women who misconstrue my intentions as a prelude to serious courtship. Or I did, until we got married.”

She now understood why he was so opposed to any type of marriage at all. “Is there a specific young woman who will be at the ball who might be upset that you returned to the city as a married man?”

He nodded. “One of the reasons I left last fall was to avoid Vienna Biddle,” he admitted. “I’m certain she’s rather upset with me, but I told her more than once I was not interested in getting married. I doubt she’ll approach you at all, but I’m confident she’ll add her disappointment to the rest of the gossip that surrounds my name. But you needn’t worry. Most of the people you meet will be too polite to say anything about me to you directly, but you may overhear more than a few whispers that you’re married to a complete scoundrel.”

Although she was not surprised to learn about Vienna, she was troubled most by his jaded view of life and his apparent determination never to marry anyone in a misguided attempt to avoid the heartache that life often brings to everyone, regardless of whether they are married or single. Or even divorced. She suspected that he had been the subject of gossip for so long he had actually allowed his poor reputation to define him and overshadow his better qualities—qualities she had only begun to recognize herself. She moistened her lips. “Would you . . . that is, do you agree with what they say about you?” she asked, if only to confirm her own thoughts.

He smiled. “I’m afraid I do. I live by one motto: Live a long life, and you’ll end up outliving everyone you love. Live a short life instead and simply love living. Does that disappoint you?”

She tried to return his smile, but failed. “I’m afraid it does. Perhaps you should consider changing your motto to something else.”

“Such as?”

“My own motto,” Annabelle suggested. “If you live a life centered on the love God has for you, He’ll always give you the strength to embrace love and the courage and grace to face all the disappointments that life can hurl at you.” She looked up at Harrison and there was a moment of poignant silence.

Irene had been wrong. Harrison Graymoor would not become the man of character he could be by giving her or any other woman permission to love him.

Harrison needed to open his heart and his soul to the only One who could: his Creator.

At dawn the following day, the sun climbed up from the horizon below a band of clouds that wrapped across the sky like a thick gray blanket. A light layer of new snow dusted the landscape, and the world was hushed, as if holding its breath in anticipation of the coming of the holiest season of the year.

Annabelle crossed the cottage basement just after six o’clock in the morning, but she was surprised when she caught a whiff of breakfast foods and heard Irene giving orders to the staff.

“Peggy, you know where the boxes of Christmas ribbons are stored. Take Lotte with you and bring the boxes to the kitchen and unpack them so we can start cleaning them up. They’re bound to be covered with eight years of dust. Alan, I need you to bring in more wood for every room in the main house and don’t be stingy or you’ll be back outside this afternoon for more. Now scoot!”

Fortunately, Annabelle had not started up the steps before Peggy and Lotte rushed down to do Irene’s bidding; otherwise, they would have knocked her right over. After quickly acknowledging her, they proceeded to the tunnel, and she joined Irene in the kitchen, just as Alan slipped out the back door. She glanced at Irene, who was at the kitchen table fumbling with one of the wide red ribbons lying there.

Annabelle frowned. “I suppose this means that we’re not taking a walk today.”

“No time. I’ve got a house to get ready for Christmas, and you’ve got a fancy ball to get ready for,” Irene replied without bothering to look up.

Annabelle walked over to the table next to the cookstove, swiped a link of cooked sausage, and nibbled at it. “What about your lessons?”

“No time. I’ve got a house to decorate for Christmas, and you’ve got a fancy ball to get ready for,” Irene repeated and finally looked up at her. “I shouldn’t ask you why you left your sleeping husband to be up and about so early with me, so I won’t. But since you’re here, you may as well help me. I spent half the night undoing some old bows and pressing out the wrinkles in this ribbon. After eight years, I can’t seem to put the bows back together again.”

Wondering what the housekeeper would say if she discovered that Harrison had spent the night sleeping in the library alcove again, Annabelle polished off the sausage link and wiped her hands on a cloth hanging by the water pump before she stored away her cape. “I’ll make the bows if you get your chalk and slate so you can practice some of your letters,” she suggested and sat down next to Irene.

“I’m not convinced I’ll do any better than yesterday,” Irene grumbled, but she handed over the ribbon she was holding and glanced down at her thick-veined hands. “These hands of mine are still able to do most anything I want. Except when it comes to shaping letters.”

“It gets easier with practice,” Annabelle replied as she turned and twisted the ribbon exactly as her mother had taught her to do.

Irene got up, walked over to the corner cupboard to retrieve the chalk and slate she had found stored away with some of the family’s heirlooms, and carried it back with her before retaking her seat. “I don’t get much time to practice. Not with Peggy and Alan lurking about, and now Lotte.” She awkwardly formed the capital letter
A
.

Annabelle cringed until the woman finished. “Good job. Excellent, in fact,” she said. “But try holding the chalk on the side so it won’t squeak when you’re writing. Yes. That’s perfect!” she announced when Irene adjusted her fingers. “Do the lower case
a
.”

This time Irene managed to form the letter without making more than a gentle sound as the chalk scraped across the slate. “
A
is for Annabelle.”

“And
B
is for bow,” Annabelle quipped as she placed a perfectly formed bow onto the table and grinned.

They bantered back and forth as teacher and student for the next twenty minutes, choosing words that began with each letter of the alphabet Irene had learned so far. By the time Irene was ready to learn the first of two new letters planned for the day, Annabelle had also fashioned the last ribbon into a bow. She reached over and cleaned off the slate. “Watch carefully,” she urged and formed both the upper and lower case letters for
G
. “The letter
G
has both hard and soft sounds, like the letter
C
, so
G
is for Graymoor or ginger,” she said, pointing to the letters she had written.

Irene’s eyes sparkled. “Or
G
is for God, who blesses us all every day, and . . . and gem, right?”

“That’s right,” Annabelle confirmed, pleased that Irene was such a quick learner. “Or
G
could be for gumption you possess, as well as gentle, which also describes you occasionally,” she teased.

“Every woman needs to have gumption. You have a good dose of it, too,” Irene countered as she traced over the letters Annabelle had made before attempting to chalk them herself.

“Me? I don’t think so.” If she did, Annabelle would have followed Eric to New York City and demanded that he return all the money her mother had received when she’d sold nearly all of the land she had inherited as a widow. She’d given the money to them as a wedding present—money Eric was supposed to use to establish himself in his law practice in New York City before sending for Annabelle and her mother.

Instead, her charming, sweet-talking husband had used the money to travel to Indiana for a quick and quiet divorce and to fund a whirlwind courtship with the heiress he eventually wed. Eric returned to Four Corners nineteen months after he left, on the very same day she buried her mother. After the other mourners had left the graveside, he’d handed her a copy of their divorce papers.

It suddenly occurred to Annabelle that she had already spent more time with Harrison than she had spent with Eric, but she doubted their marriage would be legal for more than another month or so.

“How’s that look?” Irene asked, bringing Annabelle back from the past to the present.

“Perfect,” Annabelle pronounced. “Want to try again or one more new letter—”

“Make the next letter for me, but be quick,” Irene said with a chuckle as she cleared the slate. “I need you to show me how to make those molasses cookies you mentioned, and you need your breakfast.”

Once Annabelle had written the letters
H
and
h
, she returned the chalk to Irene. “
H
is for Harrison and hungry,” she said, choosing the most obvious examples that popped into her head.

Irene traced over the letters. “
H
is also for heart. Harrison’s heart, which is so hungry for love, and your heart, which is chock full of love to give him.”

Annabelle blinked back tears, quite certain that Irene was wrong again. Most of the love she had or thought she had, in hindsight, she had wasted on the wrong man. And she did not believe she had either the heart or the gumption to give what little she had left to a man who definitely did not want it.

Annabelle knew that getting dressed to attend her first formal event would take hours, but it took even longer because she and Harrison had to take turns using the sleeping room.

For reasons only the two of them understood, she bathed in the morning while he made arrangements with Graham to drive them to the ball later that night. He bathed right after dinner and dressed, while she went over the menu for Christmas dinner that Irene insisted on making, even though the holiday was two weeks away. Finally, while Harrison enjoyed a light supper, she skipped eating altogether and used the time to dress with Lotte’s help.

She dismissed the young woman once she was ready to fix her hair. When she caught her reflection in the mirror as she approached the dressing table, she had to blink several times before she could accept the idea that the image before her was not an illusion. The pale green silk gown rustled as she walked and fairly glimmered with a life of its own. The bodice scooped lower than she was accustomed to wearing, leaving the delicate lace trim to lay a few inches below her collarbone. Beneath a wide band of lace just below her breasts, her skirt fell in shimmering waves to the top of her matching slippers, and more lace cuffed the wide sleeves that ended at her wrists.

When she raised her hand to finger the opal pendant hanging from a slender gold chain, which Harrison had lent to her this evening from the collection of jewelry his mother had worn, she caught sight of the braided ring on her finger and quickly replaced it with the ring Harrison had chosen for her to wear when they were going out socially.

Sighing with relief that she had remembered to change rings, she was also anxious not to keep Harrison waiting. After she studied her face to make certain all hint of her bruise had disappeared, she spent the next ten minutes trying to fix her hair into a thick braid she hoped to twist into a crown on the top of her head. But she soon gave up because her sleeves kept getting in the way. “Lotte was right. I should have fixed my hair first,” she grumbled.

Annabelle brightened the moment she remembered the fancier snoods that Mrs. Lynch’s daughter had made for her. She opened the bottom drawer in the dressing table where she had stored them away and found the snoods easily enough. But her heart began to race as she sorted through them, because she could not remember which gowns she had chosen for them to match. When she reached the very last one, she smiled. Made of fine delicate netting the precise color of her hair, the snood was decorated with tiny pale green sequins that caught the light and sparkled the moment she lifted it out of the drawer.

After refreshing the center part, she brushed her wavy hair and set the brush aside. She concentrated hard to place the snood properly and eased her hair into the delicate netting to avoid tearing it, exactly how Mrs. Lynch had shown her. She was rewarded for her patience on the first try.

Now that she was finished, she studied her image once again, but before she had a chance to consider whether or not she should wear her hair this daringly different to the ball, a knock at the door interrupted her.

“Miss Annabelle? Mr. Harrison said I should tell you to please hurry,” Lotte said. “He’s waiting for you downstairs. He says it’s time to leave.”

“That settles the matter of what to do about my hair. Nothing,” she whispered and turned to face the door. “Tell Mr. Harrison I’m coming in just a moment.” She grabbed a new evening cape trimmed with fur that she had never worn before. Though she was tempted to don the cape and put the hood up, she decided it was not worth taking the risk of disturbing the snood and left the room carrying the cape instead.

As she hurried down the hallway, she hoped Harrison would be pleased with how she looked, but she was more worried about keeping her promise to act properly. Annabelle paused at the top of the staircase to whisper a quick prayer to ask for His help tonight before she took hold of the balustrade and started down the steps.

Harrison paced the length of the narrow foyer and checked the time on his grandfather’s pocket watch, which he had taken to using since he had lost his own to those thieves. Concerned that they were going to be more than fashionably late, he slipped it back into his pocket. He reclosed the heavy coat he was wearing over his formal attire and wiped the sweat beaded on his forehead. If Annabelle did not come downstairs soon, he was afraid he would melt into one big puddle that Irene would complain about having to clean up.