Addicted (23 page)

“With pins that hurt,” Sarah said with a childish pout. But she smiled and took the chair beside Anais before looking at her brother for reassurance. Wallingford, Anais noticed, nodded. His dark and usually unreadable eyes softened with emotion.

“We have come to give your sister some clothes,” Sarah said in a quiet voice. Anais could not help but notice how Sarah began to rock back and forth while she wrapped and unwrapped her fingers in her lap.

“How very kind of you,” Anais said, resting her hand reassuringly across Sarah’s wringing hands. “Nothing survived the fire.”

Sarah’s dark blue eyes went wide and her little bow mouth parted in shock. “Nothing? Not even your clothes? What of the house?” Sarah asked.

“Oh, of course the house survived, only the clothes went up in flame,” Ann muttered in a chiding, snide manner.

Anais sent her sister a quelling look and didn’t care that Lindsay had witnessed the silent threat before she turned her attention back to a nervous Sarah who was rounding her shoulders and trying to withdraw into herself. No doubt the poor girl was wishing the floor would open up and take her, chair and all, far away from such insolent people.

“I’m afraid not even our home survived, Sarah. We are dependent upon such kind people like you to help us get back on our feet. We are quite without anything, that is, until you came today.”

“I don’t have anything for you,” Sarah stated. “I’m afraid you’re too big to wear my clothes. And my sisters that still live at home with me are much skinnier than you.”

Anais felt her face flame red. When she heard Ann’s gasp of outrage, she knew the entire room had heard Sarah, but she could not belittle the sweet creature. Sarah simply didn’t know any better, and Anais knew the girl didn’t have a malicious bone in her body.

“Sarah,” Wallingford muttered in a deep warning voice, but Anais smiled and silently told him she had not taken any offence.

“I fear that is what eating too many puddings and custards do to a woman,” Anais whispered to her as if they were sharing a secret.

“I will remember that, Lady Anais,” Sarah whispered back.

“I thought I heard something about a sleigh ride and skating,” Wallingford said, peering down at her and smiling with affection—affection Anais had never seen so openly displayed by him before.

“What do you say?” Lindsay asked. “Who is game for a little sport this morning?”

“Oh, will you come, Lady Anais?” Sarah asked, clutching Anais’s hands as if they were a lifeline. “Say you will.”

“Anais won’t be going, she has letters to write,” Ann said while she rolled her blue eyes. “Plus, she can’t skate. Anais is a chicken when it comes to skating.”

“Is that true?” Sarah turned to her and studied her with wide,
innocent eyes. “Even
I
can skate, Lady Anais. I can teach you,” Sarah cried with the exuberance of a seven-year-old child, and Anais felt her heart soften. Sarah was fifteen years old, her sister Ann’s age.

“Well,” Anais hesitated. She didn’t know how to skate, and falling down with her skirts landing above her knees in front of Lindsay and Wallingford was something she didn’t care to partake in. Not to mention the fact she had planned on avoiding Lindsay for the next weeks until Aunt Millie could come and retrieve them.

“Coward,” Ann goaded.

“I am not.” Anais glared at her sister. “Come along then, Sarah. Now, I have not been feeling up to snuff these past weeks, so I can make you no promises, other than I shall try to skate. And if I am unable, we shall have to be satisfied with a sleigh ride. Is it a deal?”

“Oh, goodie,” Sarah said with a laugh, followed by a little skip that carried her to where her brother waited. “Lady Anais is coming, Matthew! Oh, this is going to be the bestest, funnest day ever.”

“Yes, it will, sweeting.”

“I am so happy I came with you, Matthew.”

“I am glad, too, pet,” Wallingford said with a soft smile. Anais felt herself grinning when Wallingford’s eyes, which were warm with emotion, peered over Sarah’s shoulder and found her gaze.
Thank you,
he mouthed before offering his arm to his sister. “Come along, pet, we’ve got to get you bundled up if we’re to be skating. We wouldn’t want you getting your little fingers and toes bitten by the frost.”

Anais watched as everyone filed out of the dining room. When Ann made to leave, Anais reached for her arm and held her back, smiling at Lady Weatherby as she passed by. “I’ve just been reminded of something I need to discuss with my sister. You will inform our party that we will be a moment longer?”

“Of course, dear. Take your time. I’m certain it will take the grooms a few minutes to harness the sleigh to the horses.”

When the door closed behind Lindsay’s mother, Anais reeled on her sister. “Your behavior was beyond the pale. It was one thing for Mama to laugh and find humor in Lord Weatherby’s jest, but it was beneath
you,
” Anais hissed as she ruthlessly clutched her sister’s slender arm. “It shamed me to the core that my sister could act with such blatant disregard for the feelings of others. That girl cannot help the way she is. The world at large would seek to make fun of her and misunderstand her. She need not hear the same from you.”

Ann’s blue eyes immediately began to water. “Badly done, Ann,” Anais chided. “Very badly done. That was childish and inexcusable behavior from you. Our mother is that sort of person, don’t let me have the pain of knowing that my beloved sister is following in her footsteps.”

“I didn’t mean for her to find out. I didn’t want to hurt her,” Ann said through trembling lips.

“For the past months you have professed to be a woman, Ann, but I can assure you the behavior you displayed is not the behavior of a well-bred young woman.”

“I’m sorry, Anias. Do you hate me now? Like you hate Mother?”

“I don’t hate you. But God’s truth I am sorely disappointed in you. You have it in you to be a very kind person, Ann,
remember that. It is a mark of a woman of breeding to be kind and indulgent to those weaker than themselves. I’m only telling you this because you are so beautiful and lovely. You are quite the most popular girl in the village. People will want to emulate you, they will look to you to be guided in their actions. Whether you want to believe it or not, it is the truth. If people see you belittling someone as innocent and defenceless as Sarah, they will deem it the right thing to do. When they look to you, Ann, is that what you want them to see, a mean, spiteful, beautiful girl, so haughty and uncaring that she delights in hurting the feelings of someone who cannot change who she is?”

Ann sobbed as the tears fell from her eyes. “No, I don’t want to be that person. But I don’t know what to do. What to say to Sarah.”

“Perhaps you should seek to get to know her. Maybe if she felt secure in the fact that she was amongst friends, she would let her guard down and her nervousness and awkwardness would not show so much.”

“I will, Anais, for you.”

“Do not do it for me. Do it because you want to be that sort of person. It’s pointless if you seek only to be kind to better yourself in someone else’s eyes. Be kind because you are, not because it is desired of you.”

Ann sniffled and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I am sorry, Anais.”

“I know, dearest,” Anais whispered, folding her sister in her arms. “I was harsh, perhaps too harsh. Everyone makes mistakes.”

“Not you,” Ann whimpered into the silk shoulder of Anais’s borrowed morning gown.

“Oh, I have made mistakes, Ann. Believe me. They are far more painful than what you have done today. Now then, on you go and dry your tears.”

Ann reached for a napkin from the table and blew into it with vigor. Opening the door, her sister rushed out and headed for the stairs. When Anais stepped forward, Lindsay’s body blocked the door. Anais’s head shot up and she saw that he was looking at her, his eyes assessing her, roaming over her in a most disconcerting fashion.

“It’s true then.” He reached for her hand and brought her fingertips to his mouth.

“What is true?”

“That she still lives.”

“Who lives?” Anais asked, confused and more than a little befuddled when Lindsay placed her palm against his cheek.

“My Anais.”

He tugged her forward and pressed his mouth to her temple. “I knew she couldn’t just die, she was too strong for that. But I admit, I feared she was locked away, but she got out today, didn’t she? I saw her, the Anais of my youth. The Anais who stole my heart with her fiery temper and her staunch support of those less fortunate. You protect those you care about, like a little tigress. You tried to protect me, too—from my father.”

“You are making more out of this than it needs to be.”

“No, I am not. You aren’t the cold, indifferent ice princess you have been pretending to be. You haven’t changed as you wish me to believe. Your game is up, Anais.”

“Lindsay, please, someone will see.”

“She lives. And as long as she does, I have a chance to get her back.”

She looked up pleadingly into his face. “Do not try to gain me back. It can never be, Lindsay. Please…just believe me, and accept that it is over.”

He reached for her wrist as she walked past him and pulled her back to whisper in her ear. “This will only be over when both of us draw our last breath, and even then I am not convinced my desire for you will end. I want another chance, Anais, and I will have it.”

13

The morning passed pleasantly, and Anais could say with all honesty that she had not enjoyed herself so well in months. Wallingford and his sister Sarah had taught her to skate, and seeing Sarah laugh was enough to make Anais’s embarrassing stumbles and flailing arms bearable. She had only been able to skate a few short minutes before fatigue and heavy breathing made her rest at the side of the riverbank. She probably should not have ventured out at all, but she needed a reprieve from the house. She also didn’t want to appear too ill, otherwise Lindsay might take it upon himself to investigate her condition; something that would lead to the proverbial Pandora’s box. Lindsay simply could not learn the root of her illness.

Thankfully Lindsay had occupied himself with his mother and Ann, touring them about the village in the sleigh. He had offered to take her, as well, but Anais had flatly refused. Sitting that close to him would be far too tempting.

The hours spent in the village seemed to go by in a blur. Before Anais knew it, she was back at Eden Park, sipping tea
with Lady Weatherby while Wallingford and Lindsay went riding. After tea, Anais made her way upstairs to check in on her father.

When she arrived at his chamber, she was surprised to see Lindsay was with him, sitting in a chair at her father’s bedside. They had been deep in conversation and Anais had not been able to hear any of their words, although she had tried. Lindsay’s expression when he rose from his chair was a look of concern. She glanced at her father and saw that his face looked tired and drawn.

“I have your word, son?” her father grumbled.

Lindsay nodded. As he passed her, his fingers brushed hers. Without a word, he left the room.

“What were you discussing?”

“Nothing of any import, child,” her father said, motioning her over to him. “Now then, why don’t you read to me? I am bored to tears just lying abed all day.”

Anais spent most of the afternoon with her father, reading to him and playing cards. She had tried many different tactics to get her father to talk of his conversation with Lindsay, but he avoided the topic and refused to speak of it, leaving her even more intrigued.

Hours later, when Anais returned to her room she was utterly exhausted. She had pushed herself hard, trying to appear as though nothing was wrong. Instead, she felt weak and had every intention of lying down and napping, but she heard the thundering of hooves and was drawn to her window by the sounds of a galloping horse. Below, she saw Lindsay astride the most magnificent black mount she had ever seen. Sleek and fast with
graceful turns, she watched as Lindsay pressed forward in the saddle, encouraging the horse to run faster.

Clouds of white snow shot out from behind the horse. Billowing gray vapor puffed from the horse’s long muzzle and Anais swore she could hear the snort of the Arabian’s labored breathing as Lindsay pressed the mount forward. Her eyes followed them until they passed beneath her window then swiftly turned direction, disappearing around the stables.

Anais stood at the window for a long while, watching for Lindsay to emerge, but he did not come out. She knew Lindsay well enough to know he would not entrust such an animal to one of Weatherby’s grooms. He had always saddled and cared for his own mounts, cooling them down as he thought they should be. He had showed her how to care for her own horse, too. She smiled, thinking of those lessons, how they had laughed and teased. They had been the best of friends then.

Horses had been their shared passion. It had always only been the two of them whenever they went riding, and she realized with a strange wistfulness that she missed those times—those hours of freedom and lightness. Of being nothing more than friends who could talk about anything.

It would not do to dwell in the past. That part of her life was over. She was no longer that person who indulged in midnight rides and stolen moments of passion in a stable. She was now an actress, performing the most important role of her life. Anais hoped with all her being that she could act her part and convince Lindsay she didn’t want him in her life. Yet she couldn’t stop thinking of the previous night—of being drawn into the mystique of the room and the sensuality that had clouded her.

Her body wanted what her mind knew she should not desire. Lindsay once more. To be taken on those luxurious pillows in a heady dream of passion and abandon.

Turning from the window, Anais forced herself to forget her desires. Lindsay was the past. She must look now to the future.

Despite a significant nap, the evening was long and arduous. Anais pled fatigue in order to extricate herself from the hours spent listening to her mother bewail her misfortune to anyone with a sympathetic ear. Ann had retired at the same time as she, and Lindsay had remained curiously absent through not only supper, but the evening, as well.