Anita Mills (19 page)

Goaded, she took a swallow, and as the fiery liquid slid down her throat, she choked, and the rest of the tears spilled over. He handed the glass to the girl and drew Anne to him. At first she stiffened; then, as his arms closed around her, she leaned into him and sobbed.

“You are just tired, Annie—and ‘tis no wonder. Go on, cry. That’s the girl.”

His body was remarkably warm and solid, his voice oddly reassuring. She allowed herself the luxury of being held, of feeling the strength of him as long as she dared. Then she sat up guiltily and wiped her streaming eyes.

“I’ve ruined your coat,” she said foolishly.

“I’ve got others.”

“I feel positively idiotish, you know. She’s right—’twas a rag—and ‘tis wrong to take excessive pride in things.”

“It was yours, Annie.”

Somehow she managed to smile. “I’ve not forgotten how you went back for it.”

“I’m a capital fellow.”

“Yes, yes … you are.” Aware that his arm still circled her shoulder, she nodded toward the two maids, who were watching with great interest. “I am all right now, you know—and this is unseemly.”

Reluctantly he released her and stood. “Is there anything you’d like to have—besides the dress, my dear?”

“No. Go on. I am all right. ’Twas foolish of me.”

“Not at all.”

“I didn’t mean to enact a tragedy for you.”

“Annie, after all you have done here, you could throw a tantrum and I would not mind it.”

“Yes, well, I am not overgiven to tantrums, sir. Indeed, I rarely cry.”

“Even I cry, Annie.” He patted her shoulder. “Do not worry over the dress, my dear—ten to one, it will show up somewhere.”

After they left, she lay down, staring at the ceiling. She’d made a terrible mull of everything where he was concerned. She ought to have accepted his suit and hoped she could make him love her. But he hadn’t actually asked, she reminded herself sadly. He’d merely gone along with her rather bald announcement in Nottingham. But he hadn’t had to, she argued. No, but perhaps he wished to save her face ere the story got back to the Haven somehow. Or else ‘twas either gratitude or pity that she had nowhere else to go.

Right now, she didn’t care. If he’d offer again, she’d take him—or would she? No, she conceded regretfully, she would not. She still wanted someone who loved her. The jest of it all, if there was one, was that she now believed she loved him.

The snow finally stopped, but the temperature plummeted, freezing the top of it so that at night the lantern light from the porch made it look like a starry fairyland. By day the sun shone through the ice-draped branches, giving them a barren, crystalline beauty. But as lovely as the scene from the window was, to Anne it was fast becoming nature’s prison. Like Dominick Deveraux, she was ready to get on with her life.

“There is no need to stay with me, Miss Morland,” Charlotte Deveraux murmured from her chair. “I shall be quite all right, and if I should need anything, I have but to ring for Betty.” She lifted her hand and awkwardly slipped the yarn over it. “ ’Tis slow, but I shall prevail. Much of what I do, Meg must unravel, but it gets better, don’t you think?”

“Yes.”

“You must not feel I do not thank you for your stubbornness, you know. You wanted my health more than I did.”

“In the beginning, perhaps, but not now. Now I think you will not stop until you walk.”

“Well, I have no intention of dying like your Mrs. Coke- ham.” She looked up slyly. “I have hopes of grandchildren.”

“Somehow I do not think Meg shares your hopes, Mrs. Deveraux.”

“Not as long as that sapskull is in the house,” Dominick’s mother conceded. “Though how she can tolerate him above an hour is beyond me.”

“You like him also, if you will but admit it.”

“In small doses.”

“There is no accounting for taste when it comes to one’s attachments, I suppose.”

“No. No, there is not, is there?” The old woman pulled a noose over her knitting needle. “But I should have thought you would have paid more attention to him. When Haverstoke is gone …” She let her voice drop off meaningfully. “And there is no question he has a great deal of affection for you. With your brains, Miss Morland, you could get what you wanted of him.”

“I do not love him.”

“Love!” she snorted. “A bestial thing at best. At least the fool can be led. My son cannot, you know.”

“Mrs. Deveraux—”

“Even if I would, I cannot help you get him, I’m afraid,” the old woman continued. “I can only set up his back.”

“I cannot think you would wish—”

“A
mesalliance
? I don’t.”

“Mrs. Deveraux, I have no wish to discuss this,” Anne declared firmly. “When the snow melts and the weather warms, I shall be leaving.”

“I have hopes of doing better with my grandchildren, provided I am allowed to see them, of course.”

“I should think that a matter between you and Mr. Deveraux. Though,” she could not help adding, “I do not know what you will do should they resemble your son.”

“Dark eyes usually prevail, my dear. And ‘twas the eyes that most reminded me of Nicky.”

“There you are, Annie!” Meg hurried in, breathless from an unseemly run up the stairs. “Do come! We are going skating on the pond! Your pardon, Aunt Charlotte, but do you mind?”

“Not at all. In fact, I fear Miss Morland would like nothing more than to escape me.”

“Meg, I haven’t any skates, and I’m afraid I have never skated. I should rather read, I think.”

“Pooh. You can borrow Betty’s. If they are too large, you have but to stuff the toes with cotton wool. I have procured Wilkins’s for Bertie. As for not having skated, neither has he. Mr. Deveraux and I shall teach you.”

The thought of looking the fool before him held no appeal to Anne. Shaking her head, she demurred. “I am afraid not. Having no decent wrap, I should freeze.”

“Betty will find you my warmest pelisse,” Charlotte Deveraux spoke up, cutting off her avenue of retreat. “ ’Twill be small, but ‘twill keep you as snug as anything. Oh, and tell her you’d have the fur muff also.”

“I have never skated in my life,” Anne repeated more forcefully.

“You can learn! Mr. Deveraux is quite good at it, you know. But do hurry, though, as he has already gone for the sleigh.” With that, Meg was off, rattling something about cutting a fine figure on the ice.

“I cannot say I have ever seen her quite so lively,” the old woman murmured. Shuddering visibly, she looked up at Anne. “The children from that union will have no color at all, you know. Let us hope that Haverstoke does not mind having two loobies in the family. Well, what are you standing there for—go on! The air will do you good! Besides, when you are gone from here, you’ll not see him again.”

“I shall no doubt break my neck,” Anne predicted direly. Nonetheless, she started for the door. “And my nose will probably run.”

She felt the veriest quiz. Mrs. Deveraux’s fur-lined pelisse was too small, its sleeves stopping several inches above her wrists, its frog closures straining across her breasts. To protect her ears, her head was nearly swallowed in a shawl, making her look much like a common village woman. And Betty’s skates seemed to wobble beneath her feet whenever she tried to stand. Meg, on the other hand, was smartly attired, her face becomingly flushed from the cold beneath the velvet brim of her bonnet, and her voice was animated and excited. For the first time, Anne felt utterly dowdy beside her.

But the others would not hear of it when she suggested she ought merely to watch. Taking her firmly by one hand, his arm about her waist for support, Dominick Deveraux guided her onto the ice, where she slipped and slid awkwardly, all the while holding on to him shamelessly. If there was any consolation at all, ‘twas that Bertie whooped and hollered and clung to Meg with an equally unbecoming clumsiness.

The air was raw and filled with smoke from a pondside fire set to warm cold hands. The wind rattled ice-covered branches above, and the skate blades skimmed the frozen surface, chipping it; Yet as Dominick held her upright, his hand in hers, Anne found it an exhilarating, heady experience.

“You are doing well, my dear,” he murmured, pulling her in a great circle around the pond. “But if you can lean slightly forward, you will have better balance.”

“If I lean, I shall fall over,” she muttered.

“No, you won’t,” he promised. “Admit it—you are enjoying this.”

“Yes,” she answered simply. “But I cannot help being afraid.”

“Well, ’tis nice knowing you are not a paragon of everything, you know—that I can show to advantage in something at least.”

Before she realized what he meant to do, his arm tightened around her waist, and he turned the both of them into a figure eight. As she came out of it, she twisted her body and, throwing all modesty to the wind, grabbed both of his arms, nearly oversetting him. Their skates collided, and for a moment he lost his balance, then somehow managed to right them.

“I’m sorry, but I cannot seem to get the hang of this, I’m afraid,” she mumbled apologetically.

“Practice, Annie—it takes practice. When Cass first brought me out, I nearly broke my leg.”

“I’m afraid I’m spoiling your outing.”

He looked down at her cold-reddened face, seeing the winter sun in her sparkling dark eyes, and he thought her actually pretty. He grinned. “Not at all. It gives me an excuse to hold you.”

“Yes, well … perhaps I ought to warm my hands over the fire. This is quite shameless, you know, and I am beginning to feel like an utter hussy.”

“The Annie Morland I know would like the adventure,” he teased. “The Annie Morland I know jumped off a roof.”

“You wretch—you pushed me.”

“The Annie Morland I know shared an adventure with me,” he went on, taking both her hands and pulling her across the ice. “Where is she now, I wonder?”

“That Annie Morland was an aberration, I assure you,” she managed through fear-gritted teeth. “I am the real Annie.”

“I don’t think so. Let yourself go, Annie—feel the freedom of the ice beneath your feet. You need do nothing but let yourself go.”

“I don’t—”

“Be a sprite. The faster you go, the easier it is to stay up.”

To demonstrate, he picked up speed, and she found herself flying across the pond, her skate blades skimming the surface. The wind whipped the ends of her scarf, loosening it, and as they made a turn, it blew off. But she no longer cared. Now she was absorbed in the feel of his hands on hers, the closeness of him, and the utter abandon of skating. It was a wild, exciting feeling.

“Atta girl, Annie! You’ve got it!”

Suddenly he let her go, and she slid ahead of him. For a moment she panicked, then leaned forward, her face into the wind, and skated. He caught up and reached for her hand, stopping her before she hit the edge. The ice sprayed as he toed down.

“Cold, my dear?”

“No.” She rubbed at her raw face unconsciously. “No, I enjoyed it very much, sir.”

“Dom.”

“Dominick, then.”

“You are determined to repel all attempts at familiarity, aren’t you?” he murmured.

“I shall be leaving next week,” she managed, trying not to meet his eyes. “And you are holding my hands when there is no need. A gentleman—”

“I told you, I’m not a gentleman. Rogues please themselves.” She glanced up at that, and the warmth in his eyes disconcerted her. “Annie,” he said softly. “I don’t—”

“Watch out!” Bertie yelled, plowing into them. They fell into a tangled heap, all three of them, with Anne at the bottom. “Sorry,” he mumbled, “but I ain’t got this yet.”

“Damn,” Dominick muttered.

“Clunch—always was. You all right, Annie?”

“If you would get off her, she could tell.”

“Oh.”

“Are you quite all right, Bertie?” Meg asked anxiously.

“Annie broke m’fall,” he admitted sheepishly, struggling to rise awkwardly on the skates.

Dominick rolled to his knees. “Annie?”

“I am all right—I’ve twisted my foot, ‘tis all,” she managed, chagrined by the stab of pain. Looking up at Bertie, she shook her head. “You are not the only clunch, you know. I could not get the hang of it either.”

“Nonsense. For a first outing, you did rather well,” Dominick reassured her. Then, realizing that she winced when she tried to move her leg, he leaned forward to pull her skirt out of the way. “Where does it hurt?”

She gritted her teeth. “I am all right. If you will but help me up, I shall be fine.” But he was already feeling along her ankle. “Really, ’tis unseemly.”

Ignoring her protest, he undid the skate and began to massage her stockinged foot. “Here?”

“No.” As his hand moved upward, she paled. “There.”

“The ankle?”

“I twisted my foot under when I fell,” she gasped.

“I say, Annie, but I am sorry!” Bertie insisted. “Didn’t mean—”

“Of course you didn’t!” Meg insisted. “ ’Twas an accident. If any is at fault, ‘tis I—I let you go.”

“If you would but let me up, I’d walk on it, and perhaps—”

“No, ‘tis swelling already,” Dominick told her. “We’ll have to carry you in and send for Dr. Rand.”

“Help you carry her,” Bertie offered contritely.

“She is not a sack of potatoes,” Dominick snapped. “Just get me a blanket.”

“Well, I didn’t—”

“Of course you did not,” Meg soothed him.

“I can walk,” Anne said stoutly. “Just help me stand.”

Meg shook her head. “What if ’tis broken? Bertie will carry you, won’t you?”

The slender young man surveyed Anne doubtfully. “Don’t know about that—I mean, dash it, Meg, but she’s heavy!”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Didn’t mean it precisely like that, Anne, but I ain’t exactly Gentleman Jim, you know.”

Dominick removed his skates. “Just get out of the way, both of you. Can you help at all, do you think, my dear?”

“Just let me stand.”

“You ain’t mad at me, are you, Annie? Didn’t mean—”

“No, ’twas an accident.”

Rising, Dominick leaned to pull her up. For a moment she put her weight on the ankle, and felt sick. “I don’t know …”

“Buck up, Annie,” he murmured, lifting her. “I’ve got you. But you’ve got to hang on.”

It was all of a piece, she decided wearily. She was an utter wreck—and her nose was running. Sniffing, she threw her arms around his neck and turned her head into his shoulder to hide her mortification.

“I’ve ruined your mother’s pelisse,” she told him.

“She’s got others.”

“Just once I should like to show to advantage, you know.”

“Nonsense. You show to advantage every day,” Meg said. “Doesn’t she, Bertie?”

“Eh? Capital girl!” he declared stoutly. “Ain’t another like her.”

She felt utterly foolish in Dominick’s arms. “I can walk,” she said weakly.

“Don’t be a martyr, my dear,” he retorted. “It ill becomes you.”

He was strong, his body solid, and as he carried her, she could not help wishing she’d not been quite so definite about repudiating the sham betrothal. He would not bring it up again, he’d said, and he probably did not want to anyway. But still she regretted it. If only … Well, it did not bear thinking about. She was leaving, and she would miss his friendship, she told herself stoutly. That was what he felt for her—friendship and gratitude.

“Nothing’s broken,” Rand decided. “Soak it in salt water and keep it wrapped until the swelling goes down. No doubt ’twill be weaker than the other now.”

As the ankle was now twice the size of the other, Dominick surveyed it skeptically. “Are you quite sure?”

“Don’t know why you call me!” the doctor retorted sourly. “Seems to me everybody in this house fancies himself a physician.”

“How long until I can leave—walk, that is?”

“ ’Twill be sore for quite a while, Miss Morland. And ’twill swell from excessive standing, no doubt, for a month or more. But I’d say the worst will be over within the week. Can ride in a carriage, anyway. Just keep it up, you know. Blood runs down, not up.”

Later, standing in the foyer with Dominick, Rand cleared his throat. “Been up to see Mrs. Deveraux, you know.”

“What did you think?”

“God’s miracle, that’s what it is, sir—God’s miracle. Woman’s in a fair way to making a complete recovery.”

“Miss Morland would not let her give up.”

“Something to be said for that, I suppose, but I can tell you if the brain’d been as bad as I thought it, your Miss Morland couldn’t have done it. You got to see the hand of God in there somewhere. Well, got to go—send you a bill round later.”

“Post came while you were out, sir,” Wilkins announced when Dominick went back inside. “I put everything in the tray.”