Edith Layton (11 page)

He’d caught nothing. She’d enjoyed herself more than she’d thought possible.

Mrs. Farrow saw her preoccupation and added, “You’ve been here over a month; his family must be wondering why you haven’t joined them yet.”

“They’re certainly not thinking we’re having a rapturous honeymoon,” Annabelle snapped. “He told them how sick I was. And if you’re worried that you have to keep coming here to nurse me, you don’t, you know,” she added haughtily. “I can do very well by myself now.”

“My point exactly,” the older woman said, then smiled. “I’d come to care for you for so long as you need me. But my lady, much as it might surprise you, I’ve come to care for you as a person too. You’re a strong-minded young woman, and I admire that. And you’re a kind one when you don’t have to be. Sickness can make some people monsters, at least I’ve seen many women who weren’t as sick as you were being monstrous to their friends and family. You’re always polite, even to servants. And however sardonically you express yourself when you’re feeling low, sarcasm isn’t the same as throwing things. Believe me, I’ve had to duck my share of flying chamber pots.”

Annabelle grinned in spite of herself as Mrs. Farrow continued. “You’re well read, and capable of great humor too. I’m pleased to have met you. I don’t suggest you leave here for my sake, but for your own, and his. It’s time.”

“Dear, dear Mrs. Farrow,” Annabelle sighed, her shoulders slumping. “You’re right. Please forgive me for snapping your head off. I’m so grateful to you, you couldn’t have been nicer to me. You’ve seen me at my worst and encouraged me to be my best. And so I tell you as I would not, maybe could not, tell anyone else: I’d go tomorrow, but…I’m so afraid.

“The thing is that I’m spoiled,” Annabelle said, her eyes imploring the other woman to understand. “I used to be so very beautiful. That’s not
immodesty, I think, at least not now that I’m not beautiful anymore. But now I see how much it mattered to me. It was who I was. I’m not saying it always, or even ever, got me whatever I wanted,” she added on a crooked smile. “It did not. But it defined me. I was famous for being beautiful. How can I get on in the world now, looking as I do? And as I will look for some time, if not forever, because I’ll be changed by this. I already am. I feel naked. I feel…unknown to myself.”

“Then I should say it’s past time to get to know yourself.”

“What is my future to be?” Annabelle whispered to herself.

“No one knows that, my lady, no matter what they look like. But we can’t hide from the future, there’s no point to it. It will be here even if we do hide. The question is whether we want to live that future in hiding or not.”

Annabelle looked up. “Is that a challenge?”

Mrs. Farrow shrugged. “If you take it as such. It’s only truth.”

“I see. Well, never let it be said that I turned down a challenge, whatever the cost to myself,” Annabelle said. She wore a sad smile as she added, almost to herself, “However foolish a challenge it might be. I am, after all, an absolute expert at leaping without looking, am I not?”

I
t began, at least by Annabelle’s reckoning, three hours and twenty minutes after they left the lodge.

That was when they stopped at a roadside inn to have luncheon. Miles, who’d been riding ahead of the coach, rode into the inn yard and signaled the coach to follow. He dismounted, made inquiries, and then strode over to the carriage.

Annabelle’s maid cracked open the window so he could speak to his wife.

“It’s clean and the food smells delicious,” he told Annabelle. “This is a good place to stop.”

“I can ride on longer. I’m not in the least tired. It’s scarcely noon,” she protested.

“I promised Mrs. Farrow we’d stop frequently,”
he told her. “If you become exhausted there’s a chance of a relapse, she said.”

“But I’ve only been riding in a carriage,” Annabelle argued. “I’m not exerting myself at all!”

He opened the coach door and held out his hand to help her down the carriage stair. “We have nothing but time,” he said. “No one at Hollyfields knows we’re coming, so no one’s waiting for our arrival. Yes, you’re much better now. But it’s me I’m worried about. If you have a relapse, Mrs. Farrow will have my head. Now, come, my lady, and join me in a bite of luncheon. Or two bites, if you really want to please me.”

She had no choice but to step down.

It was a charming inn, very old, Tudor from the half-timbered look of it, freshly painted and neat. Wisteria and laburnum clambered over one wall and across a trellis, spreading glowing yellow and purple shadows over a small courtyard. A few trestle tables were set out there. She looked at them wistfully. Miles saw the direction of her longing gaze and shook his head.

“Charming,” he agreed. “But open to sudden breezes, exactly what Mrs. Farrow said you should avoid. And who knows when clouds might cover the sun? No. It’s indoors for you until you can beat me to a table in a foot race, my lady. Come along.”

She took his arm and walked into the inn.

The day was bright but not hot, and so the inte
rior of the inn wasn’t uncomfortable enough for Annabelle to claim it was too hot for her. But she wished she could sit outdoors. She felt fine, and more than that, she realized she was excited. She reveled in this newfound freedom, so even visiting a simple country inn was thrilling after weeks at rest in bed.

She was nervous about having to live with her new husband’s relatives at his country estate, especially since she knew she’d have to stay on there until she looked more herself again. But whatever her worries, it was a fine day; she was alive and healthy again. She picked up her head and smiled. Now that she’d decided to leave the lodge, she was ready to face anything.

But not what happened next.

“My lord,” the innkeeper said, bowing to Miles, “and lady,” he added with a glance at Annabelle. “Welcome,” he told Miles. “Your servants are welcome here, sir, but I think you’ll find the private dining room more to your taste. This way, if you please.”

He led them past a taproom where several local men sat drinking. The men looked up in curiosity at the gentry who had just come in, then turned their attention back to the ale and local gossip they’d been indulging in.

Miles and Annabelle were seated in a cozy room with old bottle-thick bubble-shaped windows that let in light but gave no sight of the out
doors. The innkeeper’s wife, all aflutter, hurried in to take their order. Once Miles had placed it, she curtsied and left. Only then did Miles sit back in satisfaction. He looked at Annabelle. His smile faded.

“Are you feeling all right?” he asked, leaning forward and taking her hand. “You’ve gone very white.”

“I’m fine, just fine,” she said. But she wasn’t. She felt profoundly ill, but it wasn’t something she wanted to explain to him.

She’d walked through a room filled with men, unnoticed. For the first time in her life.

The innkeeper had glanced at her, and then back at Miles as though she weren’t there at all. The men in the taproom had run their eyes over her, then looked away, not out of fear of being seen staring at a lady, but because they obviously hadn’t thought her worth a second look. Even the innkeeper’s wife hadn’t seemed to see her.

Annabelle had worried about this day, afraid that when she finally did venture into the world again she’d be stared at because she was so ugly. This was far worse. She was now invisible.

Since she could remember, she’d only to enter a room to become its centerpiece. Her presence always caused some reaction from men and women, even children. Women looked at her face, her hair, her clothing; some with envy, some with calculation, wondering how to achieve her
“look.” And some looked at her with despair of ever competing with her.

Annabelle was more used to men’s reactions since she scarcely bothered looking at women. She’d seen naked lust in many men’s eyes when they first saw her. More often their expressions showed sudden flaring interest, approval, and desire. That desire might not be lecherous, but men, even happily married ones, enjoyed the company of a beautiful woman. It lit them up, they stood straighter and smiled more in her presence. Even children reacted differently when they saw her. Most became shy around her, then watched her with fascination. A few had asked if she were a fairy princess.

Never had anyone simply not seemed to see her.

Annabelle reviewed her appearance. She knew she didn’t look as bad as she had a few weeks ago. She wore a cap, but also a fashionable coal scuttle bonnet that covered it, exposing only her profile from the side. That profile showed a pale, hollow-cheeked face, true. And her gown was still loose. But she didn’t look on the brink of death anymore, and there was nothing hideous, nothing extraordinary…

Annabelle suddenly realized that it might be worse for a female to be plain than to be ugly, because at least an ugly person was noticed.

“I…I suppose I’m not used to looking as I do,” she finally told Miles.

“You look fine,” he said again, and she realized he didn’t understand, or was deliberately misunderstanding her.

They finished their luncheon in silence, because she didn’t feel like talking any more than she did eating. But if she didn’t eat he’d start fussing at her, so she gave all her attention to her meal. Then they quit the place, and moved on.

When afternoon shadows grew longer, Miles rode up to the coach window to tell Annabelle they’d be making an early stop for the night.

“The Rose and Peach, just ahead, an excellent inn,” he assured her when he saw her bleak expression. “Renowned for its cuisine. Historic too, since Charles II stopped here, and our George has been known to drop in from time to time.” That information only made her look more unhappy. “You’ll see,” he promised, and rode away.

Annabelle tried to kindle her courage as they drove into the inn yard of the Rose and Peach. As she’d feared, Miles was right. This was a popular hostelry, with many fashionable carriages in its courtyard. Facing the world as she was had been hard enough, but now she might have to face the world she knew.

“My lady?” her maid asked, “are you well?”

“Yes, fine,” she said, because what else could she say? If she refused to stay there, the next inn might be just as crowded, just as fashionable.
They had to stop sometime, and she was growing weary. She might not be able to say anything, but she could do something, she thought with a spurt of hope. She tied her bonnet tightly, and vowed to keep her head down in case she saw anyone she knew.

But even so, as she ducked her head to leave the coach, she hesitated, suddenly realizing that even if she did meet someone from London, they probably wouldn’t recognize her. She didn’t know whether to be glad of that or not. So it was a very subdued young woman who exited the carriage on her husband’s arm.

She was no more confident when she went down the narrow corridor to the private dining room at the Rose and Peach. But Miles didn’t seem to notice.

Annabelle watched as he carved her a slice of the roast the waiter brought. Her new husband was all in tones of brown and gold tonight, his jacket and breeches matching his tawny hair. Riding in the sunlight all day had gilded his face with a slight tan as well. She thought he’d never looked better.

“It’s a bit early for dinner, but I thought you’d be easier eating straightaway,” he said. “It will be crowded later, and I wasn’t sure we could get a private room then.”

She nodded, relieved and appalled, because then she knew he knew exactly what was bother
ing her—why she was so upset at lunchtime, and precisely why she was so quiet this evening.

“Thank you,” she said softly, and tried to swallow the food he said was so excellent, even though it tasted like dust to her.

Their bedchamber was on the second floor, the uneven floors sloped, the slanted ceiling sagged. That was only due to age, otherwise everything looked well cared for. There was no dust or smell of mildew even though every stick of furniture was generations older than the guests. There was a dressing table with a mottled mirror over it, with a spindly chair beside it. A larger chair stood near the bed. That huge bed took up the rest of the space. Though the bright coverlet on it made the room look cheery, it covered a mattress that looked as uneven as the floor.

Miles saw Annabelle hesitate in the doorway, scrutinizing the room.

“Not what I wanted,” he told her. “But all I could get. I asked for two rooms with a connecting door. We’re lucky to get this. They’re filled to the roof tonight. Literally. My man and your maid have accommodations in the attics with other servants. Don’t worry, I won’t disturb you, I can as easily sleep in a chair. It’s luxury compared to some of the berths I’ve had to make myself comfortable in.”

“Oh no,” she said, “that’s not a problem, the bed looks big enough for us
and
the servants. You’re welcome to use it too. I just was marveling at how tilted the room is.”

He laughed. “I hadn’t really noticed. The rooms I stayed in at sea were always tilting.”

She laughed with him. But the truth was that what he said made her even more sad. She didn’t want him sleeping in a chair, not so much for his comfort as for her own. She wasn’t used to traveling and was heartsick about her appearance, as well as feeling suddenly weak and weary. And so, childishly, she wanted someone near her tonight. But she couldn’t beg him any more than she could blame him for not wanting to share her bed.

He stayed in the doorway. “I’ll send your maid to you,” he told her. “As for myself, I think I’ll go downstairs and see to the horses. Yes,” he said with a grin, “a euphemism for going to the taproom and having a last glass of ale or two. It’s too early for me to think of sleep, though past time for you. Mrs. Farrow said you have to go to bed with the birds. It’s a different sort of bird for me, I’m used to going to bed with the owls. But I rode all day, so I won’t be up late. I’ll be quiet when I do come in. So good night, my lady, sleep well.”

Sleep was the last thing on Annabelle’s mind when she finally dismissed her maid. She sat at the little dressing table and examined herself by
lamplight, looking at herself with all the intensity of someone trying to memorize the face of a stranger.

She no longer winced at seeing her bald head. She was too used to it and, besides, her hair was growing in. There was almost an inch of it. She looked like a shorn black sheep now. Few men had hair that short, but it was at last discernibly hair. Her eyes weren’t as shadowed. She could almost recognize herself. What was missing?

She glanced down at her body. It was clearly not the same. She’d never known she had so many bones. They bracketed her abdomen. She felt them when she turned in bed, and was shocked by them when she bathed. She had collarbones and sharp elbows, wrist bones and ankle bones, as though her skeleton was aching to be seen. She shuddered at the thought. It almost had been.

Time, Mrs. Farrow had kept insisting. Annabelle turned down the lamp, and stood up. She had nothing but time, yet how did one pass that time? She pulled back the coverlet and climbed into bed. The soft old feathers in the mattress welcomed her, cushioning her weary bones. For the first time in a long time she was able to forget they were there.

But even though the bed was comfortable, Annabelle couldn’t sleep. She was too busy wondering about the bed she’d be sleeping in tomorrow night. And so she was still awake worrying a long time later, when Miles quietly opened the
door and came in. She almost spoke, then remembered that he’d wanted her to sleep. And there was, after all, little to say.

He undressed quickly. She watched through half-closed eyes as he took off his garments, folded them neatly, and laid them aside. He was neat as a cat. Gentlemen required valets and he had one, of course. But he didn’t need one. His time in the navy had obviously made him well able to care for himself.

She watched through her eyelashes as he removed his clothing. The body he revealed was muscled, compact, well proportioned. She’d learned anatomy from antique male statues she’d seen in London’s galleries. Obviously that curious part she was looking at now could grow to something formidable, but relaxed as he was, it only looked proportionate as the rest of him. He was very well made, she realized once more, her gaze sweeping over him. The soft low golden glow of the lamp burnished his body, and for the first time in her life, Annabelle beheld something she thought more handsome than her own body had ever been.

Then he hesitated. He padded over to his carpetbag, took out a nightshirt, and slipped it over his head. He hadn’t worn one that first and only night he’d slept with her. But perhaps it was because he was in a public inn. Or maybe he didn’t want to embarrass her.

He blew out the lamp, went to the window, and threw open a shutter, scant moonlight outlining him as he stared out into the night. He turned and came toward the bed. Annabelle snapped her eyes closed. She heard him pause and knew he was looking at her. Then he climbed into bed, lying down at the extreme edge of it, beside her but not near her. And that wounded her as much as anything else this sad day had done.

She could endure, if only barely, being ignored by strangers. But it was, after all, still her honeymoon. And here she lay with a new husband who didn’t want to risk his body touching hers.