Retreat From Love (40 page)

“I…I beg your pardon?” she asked in astonishment.

“It helps when you feel faint. Do it.”

As he spoke he leaned his crutch against the arm of the sofa and hopped around to sit down. It was a graceless maneuver, and he glared at Anne as he did it. He straightened his jacket and Anne noticed that his left hand bore burn scars as well. It looked as if the first two fingers of his hand were fused together. Anne immediately put her head between her knees.

“At least you aren’t as stupid as you look,” he commented wryly.

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“I beg your pardon?” Anne mumbled from between her knees.

“It bodes well that you can take orders, but you do seem to be squeamish.”

Well, that comment made Anne sit up. “I do not take orders at all, and I am squeamish because I realized that…that—” She stopped, not sure how to say what she’d been feeling without hurting his feelings.

“So you don’t think you can do it then?” he asked in a bored voice.

Anne was having trouble keeping up. “Do what?” If he wasn’t going to be polite, neither was she.

“Marry me,” he answered as if she were a half-wit. “That is why you’re here, isn’t it?”

“Is it?” Anne squeaked. She’d hoped to be able to work her way around to this.

He sighed just as Mr. Borden came in followed by a servant with the tea tray. Mr.

Borden jerked to a stop when he saw them sitting there and then he looked angrily at Mr. North. He turned to the footman. “That will be all.” The footman bowed and retreated rather hastily, closing the door behind him. Mr. Borden turned back and directed a thunderous look at Mr. North.

Mr. North was watching him, his face expressionless.

“I told you I would come and get you,” Mr. Borden told him sharply.

“I am not your maiden aunt who needs help down the steps.” Mr. North’s voice was so cold Anne shivered.

“No, you are a horse’s arse who needs a strong lash,” Mr. Borden shot back, and then stared in horror at Anne.

Anne smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Borden.” Mr. North turned his attention back to her with a raised eyebrow. Idly she noticed he had two. The burn scars ended at his cheekbone. His eyebrows were quite full, almost bushy, and very dark. His eyebrow climbed higher as she watched and she suddenly realized he thought she was thanking the other man for insulting him. “Oh my, no. I mean, thank you for the tea,” she stuttered out in embarrassment.

For a moment she thought she almost saw a smile on that frowning mouth. He resettled himself awkwardly and Anne realized it must be uncomfortable to sit on the deeply cushioned sofa. He had very little leverage with his left leg and must be a bit unbalanced. Why did he not have a prosthesis? He saw her staring and stopped fidgeting.

“So are you or are you not going to marry me?” he demanded.

“Gideon!” Mr. Borden exclaimed in annoyance. “What has gotten into you?”

Mr. North went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “I want a wife. In my condition I need someone who isn’t squeamish,” at that he looked at her in disgust, “and who is practical enough to simplify my life. And quite frankly, in my condition I am not likely to find a wife of higher social standing or reputation than you, Miss Goode.”

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Well, that was certainly plain speaking. “My earlier squeamishness had nothing to do with you,” Anne informed him coolly as she picked up the teapot to pour. Her hands were shaking and she willed them to stop as she inquired with a glance if Mr.

Borden would like a cup. He inclined his head and she poured, not smoothly, but at least she didn’t spill it all over. “I was…discomposed,” she thought it was a good word to use but Mr. North just looked at her wryly, “because I was thinking of my late fiancée.” She had to put the pot down. “I realized that had Bertie survived, he might have had injuries similar to yours.”

Immediately North looked contrite. “I’m sorry, Miss Goode. For a moment I forgot that you were Thorne’s fiancée.” He declined tea with a shake of his head. “I was sorry to hear that he died at Salamanca.” He looked out the window absently. “I knew several of those who died that day.” His voice was odd, and Anne couldn’t quite discern the feeling behind the words. Regret? But an odd sort of regret.

“I am sorry for your loss, Miss Goode,” Mr. Borden told her sincerely. She smiled at him, her eyes a little damp. Damn, hadn’t she cried enough over all of them?

“Thank you,” she said quietly. She took a deep breath. “But the truth is that I can’t marry you, Mr. North.”

“Humph,” was all he said. Anne looked at him in shock, surprised even he would be that rude, and he actually blushed. “I rather thought that would be your answer based on your reaction when you first saw me,” he explained.

Anne was shaking her head before he was done. “No, that is not why.” She held up a hand when he started to speak. “Please, let me finish. Certainly your appearance, as you well know, is shocking at first. You must forgive my initial, quite natural, reaction.”

He grudgingly inclined his head. “But before ever seeing you my mind was made up.”

She looked him in the eye and spoke the truth. “You see, I am in love with someone else, Mr. North, and it would be unfair to both of us were I to marry you. Were it not for that, I assure you I would have no qualms about marrying you. Your appearance may be startling at first, but it is hardly as off-putting as you imagine it.”

As she spoke, Mr. North’s face grew colder until it had turned to stone. “There is no need to dissemble, Miss Goode,” he told her dispassionately. Anne had no idea how to respond. This man did not seem to want her pity or sympathy and offering such would surely offend him.

She heard a dejected sigh from Mr. Borden and looked over to see him slumped down in his chair. He bit his lip and ran his hand over his jaw. “So that’s it then?”

“Might I ask why Mr. North’s marriage is of such great concern to you, Mr.

Borden?” Anne inquired.

Mr. Borden blushed a deep red. “I’m just concerned about him, Miss Goode. I have taken care of him since the war, you know, and I can’t seem to stop.”

“Someday,” Anne told him gently, “you may not have a choice.”

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“If you are both done discussing me as if I wasn’t in the room,” North said sarcastically. “And Borden, for the last time stop mothering me. Get out and let me handle this.”

Mr. Borden just looked at him with a disgusted frown. “Yes, you were handling it marvelously, Gideon, with your usual delicacy and eloquence. I heard you insulting the poor girl.”

“Oh no, Mr. Borden, I assure you he did not.” Anne might as well not have spoken.

“If you weren’t so determined to find me a wife ‘worthy of me’,” North drawled, obviously quoting Mr. Borden, “then this little scene would not have happened at all. I told you I will take any little doxy you find who can take care of the house and my needs without fainting or squealing with horror.”

“Oh see here,” Anne sputtered, “I am not a—”

“Ha!” Mr. Borden shouted. “I paraded a fat lot of them before you, if you’ll remember correctly, and you found fault with every one. How long has it been since you’ve had a woman, Gideon?
That
is your problem.”

“I really don’t think—” Anne said in a quiet little squeak, but they ignored her, so she just shut up.

“That is your answer to everything, Charles,” Mr. North growled in that bass rumble of his, and Anne got a little shiver. A nice shiver. Well, he did have a very manly voice, after all. “You think a good hump will cure my bad temper, my nightmares and this damned ghost leg!” He picked up his stump and shook it, nearly oversetting himself.

“That is enough!” Anne shouted, and both men stopped and stared at her as if they’d forgotten she was in the room. She smoothed a hand over her hair. “That is quite enough from both of you. Sit and be quiet, and I will endeavor to forget that I have been insulted numerous times in the last half an hour.”

“You needn’t lie,” Mr. North said, grabbing his crutch and struggling to stand. Mr.

Borden moved as if to help but fell back in his chair with a disgusted huff when Mr.

North glared at him.

“Excuse me?” Anne was offended. “I was indeed insulted.”

“Nonsense,” Mr. North said succinctly. “And I was talking about your poor excuse for not marrying me.”

“Mr. North,” Anne said, standing up to confront him, “I assure you that I am indeed in love with someone else.”

“Well, that’s good to know,” Anne heard a familiar voice say from the doorway, and she looked over to see Freddy with Brett standing there by his side.

Mr. Matthews poked his head in the door. “Hello, North, hello Borden.” He

stepped into the room and took off his hat. “How do you do, Miss Goode?” he asked pleasantly.

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“Fine, thank you, Mr. Matthews,” Anne said breathlessly, but she never took her eyes off Freddy and Brett. Freddy’s eyes were red-rimmed, as if he’d been crying. And Brett was pale, his hair a complete mess. They’d never looked so wonderful to her. Both men were devouring her with their eyes, and for the first time in two days Anne felt alive.

“How many damn people are going to interrupt my proposal?” Mr. North groused.

He limped over to the door and held out a hand to Mr. Matthews. “Hello, Matthews.

What are you doing here?” He sounded resigned.

“Oh, just in the neighborhood,” Mr. Matthews said pleasantly. “Oh is that tea? I would love a cup.” He walked over and sat across from Anne with a smile. She slowly sat down, looking frequently over her shoulder at Freddy and Brett.

“Oh I…well, let me pour you a cup,” Anne mumbled.

“North, is it?” Freddy said politely. “How do you do? I am Ashland.” Anne looked over to see Mr. North shaking Freddy’s hand even as he followed Freddy’s gaze to Anne, and then looked at Anne speculatively.

“Are you?” Mr. North drawled. “How nice.”

“Hmm,” was Freddy’s response as he let go of his hand and wandered over to the sofa to sit next to Mr. Matthews. They’d come for her. She supposed she should be upset, since it directly opposed everything she’d worked so hard to convince herself of the past two days, but she didn’t care. She was euphoric. They’d come for her.

“Haversham,” Mr. North drawled. He sounded amused, and Anne blushed,

refusing to look up as she poured Freddy a cup of tea. His fingers brushed hers as he took the cup and Anne’s hand trembled, almost dropping it.

“Did we interrupt your proposal?” Brett asked in a hard voice, and Anne jerked her head up to stare at him in astonishment. He was still holding Mr. North’s hand, and he was staring at the crippled man angrily.

North pulled his hand away with some difficulty, shaking the feeling back into it.

“Actually, the proposal portion of the afternoon is over. Care to hear the verdict?”

“Absolutely,” Brett growled, turning his stare on her.

“It was no.” Mr. North’s delivery was flat. He turned to Anne and bowed

awkwardly. “My apologies, Miss Goode. I see that I was wrong.” Anne licked dry lips and then chewed the lower one, not sure what to say. At her silence Mr. North looked uncomfortable. “I’m not sure what I can say to excuse my behavior.”

“Goodbye would be fine,” Brett told him, and Anne gasped at his rudeness.

Mr. North just laughed. “You never did say much, Haversham, but when you did open up your mouth whatever came out was generally intelligent and concise.” He gestured to Mr. Borden. “Come along, Charles. We shall have to beat the bushes a little harder to find me a wife.” He looked at Anne in horror after he said it. “That is, not to say that you, Miss Goode…” he trailed off.

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Anne couldn’t help but smile. “Yes, I quite get your meaning, Mr. North. Thank you.”

He bowed and limped out the door, a silent Mr. Borden behind him.

“Stephen,” Freddy spoke and Anne broke away from Brett’s gaze.

“Hmm?” Stephen inquired while he sipped his tea.

“You will excuse us?” Freddy asked politely.

Stephen looked confused for a moment and then blushed as he quickly put down his cup and rose. “Oh, oh of course. So sorry. Yes, well, um, shall I wait for you? No, no that’s not good. That is to say, I shall see you all later. Hmm?” He’d been backing toward the door as he spoke. Brett stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Thank you, Stephen,” he said quietly. Stephen patted his hand and then walked out the door. Brett closed it behind him.

Anne’s heart was thundering in her chest. They were alone. They were here, they’d come for her, and they were alone.

Brett turned around and his face was taut with tightly contained fury. “What the devil were you thinking, Anne?”

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June 19, 1812

Dear Freddy,

If you are reading this, then I am dead. God, how utterly morbid. But the truth,
nevertheless.

Let me start out by saying I’m sorry. I am sorry for all those times I shoved you back in the
nursery and ran away. I am sorry for all those times you asked me to help you escape your tutor
and I said no. I’m sorry for all those times the duchess dragged you off to London and I let her. I
am sorry that we never shared secrets, or dreams, or hopes. I am sorry that I let you down as a
brother. I want to leave you more than regrets, Freddy. So I am going to leave you with my two
most precious possessions.

The first you know. It is Anne. She has no one, Freddy. Her mother, of course, but that’s all
now. And she needs someone so desperately. She has so much life in her, Freddy, so much love to
give. Please don’t let it be stomped out by death, and sorrow, and our mother. I have set things in
motion, Freddy, to see that she is taken care of, and you must make sure that my plans are not in
vain. She knows you, Freddy, and she likes you. She’ll trust you, I’m sure of it.

The second is someone you don’t know. I have met a fellow here who has become as close to
me as a brother. His name is Brett Haversham. He is the best of men, Freddy, truly. He has no
one either. So I am giving him to you. Be his friend, Freddy. And I am giving Anne to him. He is
in love with her, you see. Brett is very much like Jerome, an Atlas with all the responsibility in
the world resting on his shoulders. He will blame himself for my death. I can say that with
absolute certainty. You must knock some sense into him, Freddy, and make him start living
again. And you must see that he and Anne take care of one another.