Hidden Affections (6 page)

“You really don’t know how to hold your tongue, do you?” he countered, unaccustomed to having anyone, especially an attractive young woman, criticize him. Before she could give him an equally unwelcome retort, he walked her back to greet Mrs. Wilshire and made one general introduction by announcing Annabelle’s first name and the fact that they were married a little over a week ago after a whirlwind courtship. “I know you’ll all forgive me if I wait until another time to introduce each of you individually to my wife. We’ve been traveling practically nonstop since yesterday. She has a rather delicate constitution and needs her rest.”

Mrs. Wilshire narrowed her gaze, and she studied Annabelle as intently as she would inspect an exquisite, extremely valuable painting to determine if it was authentic or merely a counterfeit. “Is that the hint of a bruise around your eye?” she asked, inviting the others to lean forward for a better look.

Harrison froze the moment he looked down at her face. While the bruise was barely detectable by daylight, he realized, too late, that it was quite noticeable under the glaring light of the chandelier, and he wondered how Philip could have missed it.

Before he could come up with a reasonable explanation for her bruise, Annabelle smiled sweetly. “I’m afraid it is,” she said softly and gripped his hand even harder, silently warning him to hold his own tongue. “We were riding last week when we were accosted by thieves who were total brutes. Harrison was gallant enough to risk his own life to save me from being truly injured,” she explained, continuing to weave an incredible tale that twisted the actual facts into a story that had the entire audience of guests mesmerized into believing he had been quite a hero, even at the cost of suffering injuries to himself in order to protect her.

Mrs. Wilshire dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief as she apparently embraced the fairy tale Annabelle had created, which Harrison knew would lead the other guests to accept it, as well. She looked up at him and smiled. “I always knew you would make your parents proud someday, and now you’ve proved yourself to be a true hero who rescued a beautiful maiden in distress. And she stole your heart away, didn’t she?”

Annabelle’s smile grew. “I believe he stole mine first,” she murmured as if she really meant it and smiled up at him, too.

“Do let me see your wedding ring,” the elderly woman insisted.

“I haven’t purchased a ring yet,” Harrison said quickly. “I was waiting until we returned to the city so I could choose something as extraordinary as my wife.” He offered the woman a smile that left her blushing.

Annabelle looked up at him with a grateful smile before turning to face Philip and his guests again. “I hope you all won’t be dreadfully disappointed, but my husband still isn’t completely recovered from his injuries and needs to rest. If you’ll excuse us for now, I’m hopeful that we’ll be able to spend time with each of you very soon.”

Mrs. Wilshire clucked her approval, no doubt giving them her permission, which no one among the assembled guests would dare protest. Harrison led his new bride away and limped slightly to give the impression that the injury to his thigh had not healed, even though it had.

When they were still within sight, but out of earshot, he leaned toward Annabelle. Although he was completely surprised at how quickly she had been able to spin a tale that stretched and reworked the truth, he could not imagine why she had chosen to make him out as a hero. “Wherever did you learn to invent a story like that so quickly and easily?”

“I had a teacher once who was a master storyteller,” she murmured.

He pondered why her voice sounded rather sad as he followed her up the stairs. He also wondered what he could do come morning to get them beyond the reach of the city’s gossipmongers. Fast. Before Annabelle met anyone else and embellished the tale she had told that would truly paint him an unredeemable cad when he had their marriage annulled and set her aside.

And before Philip could complicate his life any more than he already had before he returned to Boston to spend the Christmas season with his sister and her family.

Harrison paused as he joined her on the landing of the second floor, inspired by an idea. The muted sounds of gaiety, if not gossip, just on the other side of the wall convinced him that moving out to Graymoor Gardens, his country estate just west of the city, was not merely brilliant or convenient. It was absolutely necessary.

He placed his hand at her elbow and guided her down a narrow expanse toward the second set of steps leading up to the sleeping rooms on the third floor. At this point, he himself barely had the energy to walk, and he was not surprised that she was now leaning on his arm for support. “We’re both exhausted, but there’s much to be done tomorrow morning. I’ll be leaving at first light to see my lawyer, as I’ve promised, but I expect you to keep several early-morning appointments that I’ve arranged, as well,” he informed her.

She stopped abruptly and looked up at him. “Appointments for me? Tomorrow? Why?” she whispered as her voice cracked. Her features were etched with exhaustion, but he had never seen her eyes well with tears before, not once during the entire fiasco of their enforced marriage.

“I’m sorry. I know how difficult this must be for you, but after tomorrow, I promise you’ll feel much better about this whole situation.”

She sighed and swiped at her tears. “I don’t think I can face another night like this one.”

He smiled. “You won’t have to. If all goes as planned, we’ll be leaving tomorrow, right after dinner,” he promised. He was confident that Graymoor Gardens was exactly the right place to keep her isolated from society, yet still be able to monitor her every move. Living there would also give him the privacy he needed for himself, and he made a mental note to tell Graham, one of his drivers, that he would also be moving there temporarily so Harrison would have a private coach at his disposal.

The only negative aspect of his plan, however, was a big one, but he needed a good night’s rest before he tackled the worst problem he would find waiting for him at Graymoor Gardens: Irene, the well-intentioned but troublesome woman who was the head housekeeper there.

By ten o’clock the following morning, Annabelle had bathed, dressed, and met with three different women, each with a unique talent with the needle who had come to the residence at Harrison’s request. In quick succession, a number of other tradespeople came and went, ending with the middle-aged woman standing behind her who had come to trim and style her hair.

Annabelle stared into the mirror hanging just above the rosewood dressing table and blinked hard when she ventured a first look at the woman’s handiwork. Her hair had been parted in the middle, as usual, but instead of fashioning a thick braid or winding it into a bun at the nape of her neck, which was her wont, Mrs. Lynch had smoothed her hair over her ears and arranged her long blond hair into a sculptured mass of curls that fell to the middle of her back.

Annabelle shook her head and met Mrs. Lynch’s gaze. “I appreciate what you’ve done, but I’m afraid this is far too fancy for everyday.”

The woman’s cheeks blushed deep pink. “Mr. Harrison sent instructions that I should teach you how to do it. It shouldn’t take but a few days of practice—”

“Men should know better than to tell a woman what to do when it comes to her hair,” Annabelle murmured. She was still annoyed that he had also been quick to give his own instructions to all the other tradespeople he had sent to her this morning. But she had been equally assertive and adjusted his requests to better suit her, and she was fully prepared to defend her decisions if and when he offered any objection.

“Surely there must be a simpler way to fix my hair to meet my husband’s expectations as well as my own,” she prompted.

Mrs. Lynch nodded, her eyes bright. “There may be something,” she said, sorting through the valise containing her tools of the trade. Eventually she pulled out a ball of tan netting, which she smoothed before placing one edge at the top of Annabelle’s head. Working quickly, she started tucking all the blond curls into the netting. “Snoods aren’t exactly all the rage here, but they’re still quite popular in Europe where women have worn them, off and on, for centuries. I just carry this one to show my clients what they’re like,” she explained. “My daughter has made a fair number of them out of lace and such for evening wear. She doesn’t have many clients yet, but most of them are younger women, like yourself, although I’m not certain the gentlemen like them, as well.”

Annabelle grinned. “I should like to order one or two from your daughter, I think. Actually, this particular snood would serve rather well for everyday, and it seems simple enough to use.”

Mrs. Lynch eased the snood away from Annabelle’s hair and handed it to her. “Here. Try putting it on yourself before you decide,” she prompted and watched carefully as Annabelle attempted to put the snood back in place. “I do believe men can get used to most anything a woman wants to do—especially a woman as beautiful as you are, if you’ll forgive me for saying so.”

Annabelle dismissed the woman’s compliment as nothing more than an attempt to please her and concentrated on replacing the snood precisely where Mrs. Lynch had put it. On her second attempt, she had it perfectly in place and smiled.

“Well done!” the woman murmured.

Pleased to think how much time she could save by tucking her hair into a snood instead of fashioning it into a braid or a bun, Annabelle smiled. “I think we’ve found the perfect solution. I’d like to keep this one, if I may.”

Mrs. Lynch moistened her lips. “I have others at my shop which are closer in color to your hair. I can send one right out to you this afternoon, if you like. I can also make a list of others you could order from my daughter, or I can send her here—”

“Let’s make a list,” Annabelle suggested, returning the snood, and then quickly fashioning her hair into a long braid.

Half an hour later, Mrs. Lynch left with an order for two snoods for day wear and three snoods Annabelle would use for evening, which would go well with the day dresses and gowns she had reluctantly ordered. They amounted to less than half of what Harrison had instructed her to do.

Exhausted by her busy morning, Annabelle lay down on the bed, too tired to think why she should need any gowns at all, since she and Harrison were supposed to be leaving right after dinner. “Not that I have a single clue about where we’re going,” she grumbled. She crossed her arms over her chest and glanced around the elegantly appointed bedroom. Surrounded by a single room of furniture that would have taken her father two lifetimes or more to afford, and lying on bedclothes made of silk and trimmed with lace so delicate it must have been imported from Europe, she had never felt more uncomfortable in her life.

Until she thought about the fortune it must be costing Harrison to supply her with a completely new wardrobe, which went far beyond replacing the meager one that had been stolen. It seemed a terrible waste of money, considering she would only be here for a matter of weeks, or a month at the most.

Dismayed, she closed her eyes and folded her hands together. “Father, I don’t know why you’ve brought me into this man’s life and here to this place, but I trust you. I know that my life will unfold according to your plan, but right now, I don’t understand what that plan might be. You know, above all others, that I have simple needs and that I long for nothing more than to please you. Help me, Father, to accept your will and to use whatever talents you have given me to serve you. Amen,” she whispered.

She was just dozing off to sleep when there was a sharp rap at her door. Sighing, she climbed off the bed and tightened the rose silk robe about her waist that she had found lying across the bed when she arrived last night. “Come in.”

The young servant girl, Lotte, who had brought her breakfast several hours ago, walked into the room carrying a tray. “Mrs. Faye thought you might like some refreshment,” she offered and placed the tray upon a table set near the fireplace.

Annabelle got one whiff and smiled as she walked over to the table. “Is that hot chocolate?” she asked, glancing at the steam coming from the silver pot in the center of the tray.

“Yes, ma’am, it is. There’s an assortment of sweet confections, as well, but if you’d prefer something else, I can get it for you.”

“No, thank you. This is perfectly wonderful,” she said, popping a tiny caramelized treat into her mouth. She savored the sweet, buttery flavor while Lotte poured hot chocolate into a petite silver mug for her. Convinced there were enough sweets stacked on the large oval platter to feed four or five people, she took her seat. “There are far too many sweets here for me. Please, have some,” she insisted.

Lotte backed away from the table. “Oh, I couldn’t do that, Mrs. Graymoor. Not at all.”

“And why not?” Annabelle tried to take a sip of the hot chocolate but quickly set it down to cool a bit.

“Why, it wouldn’t be proper, ma’am. I couldn’t possibly take any. They’re for you, and Mrs. Faye wouldn’t like it at all if I took some.”

“All of this is only for me?”

“Yes, ma’am. Just like Mr. Graymoor instructed.”

Taking a napkin, she wrapped up most of the sweet treats, rose, and handed them to Lotte. “Then consider these a gift, from me to you, and you’re welcome to share them with any of the other members of the staff, if you like. And you don’t need to worry about Mr. Graymoor or Mrs. Faye. If they ask, which is highly unlikely, since they both have far more important things to occupy them, I’ll explain that it was all my idea,” she murmured.

Lotte dropped her gaze. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.” She bobbed a curtsy and quickly left when Annabelle assured her there was nothing more she needed.

Moments later, Mrs. Faye arrived.

Annabelle suspected she might have come to reprimand her and braced herself.

Instead, the woman stood just inside the door, took one glance at the near-empty plate of treats, and quickly erased the look of surprise that flashed through her eyes. “I came to see if you are finding the refreshment to your liking.”

“I am indeed,” Annabelle replied and stifled a grin.

“Now that your appointments for the morning are finished, Mr. Graymoor instructed me to also ask if there’s anything more you’d like that he hasn’t already taken care of for you.”

Overwhelmed by his interest in pleasing her, she dismissed his attentiveness as nothing more than his attempt to keep up appearances, even with his staff. She was inclined to send the woman away without asking for anything more, until she thought of several things that had been stolen from her and one she had destroyed before leaving Four Corners that she wanted to replace. “Actually, I do have a number of items I’d like to have,” she replied and quickly dictated a list.

“I’ll have them delivered to you,” the housekeeper replied, without giving a hint of what she thought of the rather ordinary items on Annabelle’s list. “Mr. Graymoor has sent word that he’s been unavoidably detained and that you’re to leave immediately. He’ll be joining you later, perhaps in time for dinner.”

“Did Mr. Graymoor tell you where we’re going this afternoon?” she asked, reluctant to travel about in a city that was completely unfamiliar to her.

Mrs. Faye tilted up her chin. “He didn’t share that information with me, but even if he had, I wouldn’t be able to tell you. It’s not my place.” She left the room, leaving Annabelle still uncertain about her destination.

“No annulment?”

Incredulous, Harrison leaned forward and stared at his lawyer, who was leaning back in his chair on the opposite side of the desk that separated them. “Why not?”

George Marshall rested his gnarled hands on his well-rounded stomach and sighed. “Plainly speaking, there isn’t a single man in the legislature in Harrisburg dealing with these matters who would be tempted for more than a second to consider that you spent an entire week sleeping with this young woman without consummating the marriage. Not with your reputation—which I daresay I’ve warned you about many, many times.”

“My reputation shouldn’t matter, particularly since my reputation is nothing more than sheer gossip and innuendo,” he spat. “What about the courts? Didn’t you just say we could apply there instead of petitioning the legislature?”

Marshall sat up straight and squared his shoulders. “The men sitting on the Court of Appeals are no different than the legislators. You can’t sweep your reputation aside quite that easily, even with your uncommon wealth.”

Harrison pointed to the pieces of the handcuffs he had salvaged, which were lying next to a sheaf of papers full of notes his lawyer had taken when Harrison first arrived. “What about those handcuffs or this?” he asked before he pulled up the cuff of his shirt to reveal the angry scar that was forming around his wrist—a scar he would carry for the rest of his life. “Even if someone were tempted to dismiss the handcuffs as evidence, surely this scar should prove I was coerced into marrying this woman.”

“The scar proves nothing more than the fact you wore a handcuff that was too small for you. Unless you can bring forward some witness who would be willing to testify on your behalf—”

“Forget it.” Harrison snorted and leaned against the hard back of the chair. “Jenkins wouldn’t testify on my behalf under any circumstances.”

“Perhaps rightly so, since you were so unduly attentive to his wife,” the lawyer admonished. “What about the sheriff or the other two men you say were with him?”

Harrison shook his head.

Marshall shifted through the papers stacked in front of him. “Is there any chance Reverend Wood would step forward to corroborate your claims?”

“Hardly,” he retorted. “I don’t think he could see well enough to even notice the barrel of the rifle shoved against my back.”

Instead of offering any other ideas, Marshall turned to study the notes he had taken while Harrison gave an account of the past week. “By my count, there are half a dozen other people who knew about the marriage, including the innkeeper and his wife. Were any of them present during the actual ceremony?”

“No, but couldn’t Annabelle sign some sort of affidavit to verify my testimony? I’m quite certain that she’d be agreeable.”

Harrison’s words finally brought a smile to the lawyer’s face. “Are you really that certain?”