Hidden Affections (7 page)

“Of course I am. She is just as opposed to the marriage as I am.”

His lawyer shrugged. “Even if you’re right, she’s the aggrieved party here, and I highly doubt her word would be taken as fact, at least not until the proper number of months have passed. Once the possibility that she might be with child has been eliminated, I could take her statement and try to persuade—”

Harrison’s heart pounded in his chest. “Wait nine months? Never. It’s out of the question. I need this matter resolved much more quickly. In fact, I want this marriage ended by the end of January, at the latest. If that means I have to settle for divorcing her, then so be it.”

“Remember what I told you,” his lawyer cautioned. “Legislative issues and court decisions are a matter of public record and reported in the press on a daily basis and draw particular attention when they involve someone as well-known as you are. It’s one thing to request an annulment, but it’s quite another to ask for and be granted a divorce. You’d find yourself shunned by most everyone who is important in this city and shame the very name you carry. The stigma of divorce would also guarantee that you’d never find a suitable young woman to marry one day.”

“I’m not interested in being married. Not now. Not ever,” Harrison said firmly, surprised that his lawyer would bring up such a sensitive topic when he knew full well that Harrison had good reason for remaining a bachelor. “Are you quite certain there’s no other possible recourse?” he asked, hinting at the possibility that a few well-placed bribes might be the best approach.

Marshall frowned. “None that are legal, although there may be something I could suggest, since you seem so determined to get a quick resolution,” he mumbled, then turned and opened a drawer on the side of the desk. He set several papers on top of the desk and read them before meeting Harrison’s gaze. “I have several reports here that indicate you might easily be granted a divorce elsewhere.”

Harrison’s heart pounded with hope. “Go on.”

“Apparently, Indiana is emerging as a state intent on attracting new settlers. There’s even a circuit court in each county with the power to grant divorces rather quickly.”

Harrison’s hope quickly evaporated, and he snorted. “That’s all well and good, but I don’t live in Indiana.”

“You can purchase property to qualify. A lawyer representing your interests could also petition for a divorce on your behalf, but I have no indication in these reports that they consider annulments at all, which means you’ll have to settle for a divorce. At most, considering the travel involved, I should think it might take a matter of a month or two, perhaps less, which would certainly meet your expectations to have your marriage legally ended by the end of January. I couldn’t possibly travel that far, mind you, but I have a young lawyer in mind who might be interested.”

Harrison let out a long breath of air. “Do it. Hire whomever you want and do whatever you think is necessary to make this divorce happen, and be certain that the settlement you prepare for Annabelle is substantial enough to allow her to live comfortably,” he said firmly, satisfied but not wholly pleased that there seemed to be a way out of the mess he had created for himself. “Just be discreet.”

“As always,” the lawyer replied. “I’ll talk to Blair Fennimore about representing you for the divorce and have him get in touch with you.”

“I’d rather meet with him right away,” Harrison countered, even though it meant he would have to delay leaving the city for another hour or two. “I’ve arranged to send Annabelle ahead to Graymoor Gardens without me, just in case the snowstorm that’s threatening makes travel by coach difficult,” he explained. “I’d rather not get stranded here in the city while she’s alone with Irene for more than a few hours, but I’m not leaving the city without the documents I need Annabelle to sign.”

His lawyer chuckled. “Knowing Irene, you probably should have waited to take Annabelle there with you. In any event, I’ll send a messenger to Fennimore and tell him that you need to see him here immediately.” He quickly wrote a brief note and sent one of the two clerks in the office to deliver it. “Have you given any thought to what you’re going to do about Vienna Biddle? I understand her father is rather piqued that you married someone other than his daughter.”

Harrison drew in a long breath of air. “Not really,” he admitted.

They continued to discuss a number of financial matters while they waited for Fennimore to arrive. When Harrison finally left his lawyer’s office, he had signed all the necessary papers, received Fennimore’s promise that he would leave at first light for Indiana, and lined the man’s pockets with more than enough coins to assure his loyalty as well as his discretion.

Anxious to exit the city, he hurried to complete one last task, one he never, ever believed he would be doing: He had to buy a wedding ring.

Once an outcast in her hometown after being divorced, Annabelle was again being forced into exile.

She parted the curtain on the private coach carrying her westward to a country estate she had never seen and caught one last glimpse of the city. A thick glob of clouds overhead completely obscured a weak winter sun, and the still-frigid air was ripe with the promise of a snowstorm.

Graham, the driver who was also moving out to the country estate while she and Harrison resided there, drove the coach down Market Street. Traffic was extremely light, and she was able to note the orderly grid design of the intersecting streets that were set at right angles from one another. Nothing looked familiar to her, however, since they had arrived last night well after dark.

Sighing, she dropped the curtain back into place and leaned into the thick velvet cushion at her back. Feeling as if she had been lost in a maze where she was finding one disappointment after another, she removed one of her gloves to reach inside her cape. She wrapped her fingers around the knitting stick once again secured at her waist and closed her eyes.

With the rocking motion of the coach soothing her tangled nerves, she held on tight to memories of home and the parents who had loved her and raised her, by example, in the faith that was the only constant in her life. With another sigh, she surrendered her dreams of a life as a wife and hopefully a mother someday. Oh, to have had them snatched away from her for the second time.

Annabelle did not know the exact legal steps Harrison’s lawyer would have to take to get their marriage annulled, but she contented herself with the knowledge that her husband had both the desire and the wealth to guarantee the annulment would be granted as quickly as possible. All she had to do was find a way to survive until then.

Less than forty minutes after leaving the Graymoor mansion, the coach stopped and the driver opened the door. Without saying a word he helped her to disembark, nodded, and returned to his seat. A gentle but steady snow with infinitely small flakes brushed at her face as she watched the coach travel back along the circular drive before heading back to the city proper to bring Harrison here.

Once the coach was out of view, she turned around to face the house she would now call home. It sat atop a high knoll that was surrounded by massive barren trees with thick limbs that reached out to catch the falling snow. The square building was covered with white stucco, and was much smaller and simpler in design than the formal mansion she had just left.

She did not have to worry about neighbors here, since the closest home they had passed was a good several miles away. On the eastern side of the house, the outline of what appeared to be a small wall surrounded a portico that overlooked a heavily wooded landscape ending at the banks of the Schuylkill River. Shivering, she caught a glimpse of drifting blocks of ice floating by before starting for the front door.

As she walked she saw several outbuildings on the western side of the house, including a stable and what appeared to be a small cottage where smoke billowed from the chimney. She tugged her cape a bit tighter, prayed that she would be able to quickly warm up again, and proceeded up the short walkway to the rather plain wooden front door, where deep blue shutters hugged the windows on either side of the door, as well as the two windows on the second floor. Heavy woolen drapes, however, blocked any view of the interior.

Annabelle approached the front door, mindful of the stiff formality of the staff she had left behind in the city. She’d found it disconcerting, and she was surprised when here she had to use the brass knocker on the door not once, but twice. She was about to knock a third time when the door swung open, revealing a woman with gray-streaked hair wearing a thick woolen sweater with the most ample bosom Annabelle had ever seen on such a slender woman.

Standing just inside the doorway, the woman hurriedly finished wiping her hands and shoved a well-soiled cloth into her apron pocket. “Come in, come in, although I can’t promise you’ll be completely out of the cold,” she urged, promptly closing the door once Annabelle was inside.

Within a heartbeat, Annabelle found herself being hugged as hard as if she were a long-lost friend, and the hood on her cape slipped back.

“You must be Miss Annabelle. Welcome! I’m Widow Cannon. I’m the head housekeeper here at Graymoor Gardens. We didn’t expect you till close to suppertime. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting. As luck would have it, I was just wiping down the balustrade; otherwise, I never would have heard you knocking,” she gushed.

She had barely paused long enough to take a breath before she set Annabelle back and studied her from head to toe, clucking her approval. “Even with that bruise you got from those horrid men who robbed the stage, you’re just a picture of goodness itself, just like I heard. You’re not a city girl, are you?”

Still reeling from this most unexpected welcome and surprised that news had spread this far, Annabelle twisted at the folds of her cape. “No. I grew up in Four Corners, about a two days’ ride from Hanover in the western region of the state. How could you possibly know—”

“Just instinct,” Widow Cannon stated as she helped Annabelle remove her cape. “I’ve been waiting for you for years, not that I’ll ever admit that to your husband. He knows well and good how I feel about the life he’s been leading, but that’s all behind him now that he’s finally gotten married.”

Taken aback, Annabelle furrowed her brow. “You’ve been waiting years? But I only arrived last night and just left the city—”

“And just in time to save that young rake from himself.” The housekeeper urged Annabelle not to remove her gloves or cape. “We’re nearly out of firewood, so there wasn’t enough to set a good fire down in the main house today or anywhere else, except for the kitchen. Now that Harrison is coming back, I’m expecting someone to deliver more before long.” She took Annabelle’s hand and patted it. “Just call me Irene like everybody else does. We don’t hold with being as formal out here as they do in the city. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Actually, I’m a bit relieved,” Annabelle admitted, grateful for this first ray of normalcy since she had arrived.

Irene smiled and held on to her hand as they walked down the narrow hall that served as a foyer. “I’ve been praying every night that Harrison would settle down with a good woman like you seem to be. I don’t know how you did it, since he’s managed to evade the grasp of most of the eligible young women in the city. But I’m happy he had the good sense to bring you here instead of that museum he calls home now. ”

Annabelle swallowed hard. Although she was thrilled to find the housekeeper so friendly, she was reluctant to disappoint her by telling her that in truth she was Harrison’s wife in name only and that her stay here was merely temporary. To her profound dismay, Annabelle’s stomach growled loud enough to elicit a chuckle from Irene, who pointed to the staircase. Its wrought-iron balustrade seemed far too ostentatious when set against plain whitewashed walls nearly devoid of decoration except for oil-lit sconces providing light.

“Unless you’re curious or just needing a rest, I can show you the sleeping rooms and the library upstairs later. For now, I’m thinking you’d like to warm up and maybe have some dinner.”

Annabelle grinned sheepishly. “Thank you. I think I’d like that,” she murmured and tried not to think about sharing a sleeping room with Harrison again.

Stopping abruptly when they were halfway down the foyer, Irene lifted the edge of a heavy baize curtain and pulled it back. Annabelle looked upon an expansive room that contained a dining area with a table large enough to seat six people, a matching sideboard, and a wooden chandelier as simple in design as the furniture. The light from the hallway also revealed an area beyond the dining room where a large parlor stretched across the east side of the house. More woolen drapes along the entire outer wall suggested a full expanse of windows. Irene confirmed her suspicions, explaining it was a glass wall with French doors that led out to the portico Annabelle had seen earlier.

“It’s a real pretty view from the parlor any time of the year, but with the severe winter we’re having, the drapes are in place to try to stave off some of the cold. Once that firewood gets here, I’ll see that there’s a good fire going and those drapes get taken down.”

When Annabelle shivered with a sudden chill, Irene frowned. “There’s a good fire in the kitchen, which is about the only room we’ve been heating for nearly a week. If you don’t mind taking your dinner with the rest of us, I can set a place for you quickly enough, or I can make up a tray—”

“No, I don’t mind at all,” Annabelle replied with a smile that came straight out of her heart. This temporary home was going to be a blessing.

Irene grinned. “I was hoping you wouldn’t.” She dropped the baize curtain back in place before leading Annabelle to a small door in the far western corner of the foyer.

“We’ve got a bit of a walk ahead of us, but don’t worry. You won’t have to go outside in the elements again.”

Curious as well as confused, Annabelle followed Irene down a set of stairs that led to the basement. Several oil lamps on the thick walls lit their way to yet another door, which Irene tugged open to reveal a narrow walkway as well lit as the basement. Annabelle’s eyes widened. “It’s a tunnel!”

Irene chuckled. “The tunnel leads from this basement to the one beneath the cottage. If you need any one of us, just ring that bell,” she explained and pointed to an impressive bell hanging at the entrance.

“You’ll be able to hear it?”

“We’re paid to hear it,” Irene replied and led Annabelle into the brick-lined tunnel, securing the door behind them. “Isaac Graymoor, your husband’s great-grandfather, had this country estate built to escape the hot, humid summers in the city long before I was born,” she began as they started walking down the tunnel, which was surprisingly warmer than the house they had just left. “As I heard the tale, he was rather eccentric. He also had a very sensitive nose and couldn’t tolerate cooking smells beyond mealtimes. He had a real penchant for privacy, too, which explains why he had a cottage built forty feet away from the house—where he put the kitchen as well as rooms for the staff. There’s a second tunnel leading from the cottage basement down to the river, so the family wouldn’t be bothered by supplies being delivered, either.”

Annabelle shook her head. “You have to walk through a tunnel that’s forty feet long each and every time you need to enter the house to do your work?”

“Keeps the figure trim and the legs from seizing up with old age,” Irene teased. “The bricks keep the temperature in the tunnel cooler in summer and warmer in winter than either the cottage or the house, so I’m not complaining. Oh, I should probably tell you that these oil lamps along the way are only lit until sunset or so, so you shouldn’t try to use the tunnel at night.”

Annabelle shook her head again, surprised at Irene’s openness and positive outlook. When she caught the aroma of food, her stomach growled again, even louder this time.

Irene paused and cocked her head. “How long has it been since you’ve eaten?” she asked, as if she was prepared to reprimand Harrison when he arrived for not being attentive to his bride’s needs.

“Just a few hours. I’m not shy when it comes to mealtime,” she admitted.

Irene hooked her arm with Annabelle’s. “I knew I liked you the moment I laid eyes on you.” She smiled and quickly ushered Annabelle through a final door that opened into the cottage basement.

Annabelle followed the housekeeper up the staircase and into the kitchen. Greeted by a warm blast of air and mouthwatering aromas, she was surprised to see only two other servants, a middle-aged man and woman, seated at the large round table in the center of the room.

Irene quickly introduced her to Alan, who had a shock of startling red hair on his head and immediately rose to his feet. His reed-thin wife, Peggy, stood up next to her much-shorter husband. “Please. Don’t let me interrupt your meal,” Annabelle urged, but they both looked to Irene for permission.

“Go ahead. Do as Miss Annabelle asked.”

Both of them returned to their seats, but wore a look of total surprise when Irene took Annabelle’s cape and gloves, pulled out a chair, and Annabelle joined them at the table. “Miss Annabelle is hungry. You can’t expect her to take her meal at the main house in an unheated dining room,” she admonished.

Alan’s cheeks flushed bright red. “I’m sorry, Miss Annabelle. I’ll see to setting the fires on the first floor right quick, just as soon as that firewood gets delivered.”

“I suppose I’ll need to help,” Peggy murmured reluctantly.

Irene cast a hard glance at the woman. “We all have to do what we can now that Mr. Harrison and Miss Annabelle will be in residence.” She set a napkin, a plate of thick pottery, and utensils in front of Annabelle and smiled before spinning the raised center of the table to give Annabelle a full view of the food prepared for dinner. “If there’s nothing here that suits you, I’ll fix something else.”

Annabelle bypassed the platter of thickly sliced ham and ladled a spoonful of steaming chicken topped with featherlight dumplings onto her plate. “This is my favorite dish in all the world,” she murmured. Troubled by Peggy’s comment, however, she paused before taking a bite and addressed Irene, who was clearly in charge of the staff. “I don’t mean to burden any of you by arriving unexpectedly.”