an aging relative without paying a call. Life is short, Anne. Your aunt may not be alive the next time you come this way, and it's the proper thing to do."
Anne's heart began to pound. Nellwyn knew about Anne's estrangement from her parents and that they had arranged her marriage to David, but she certainly didn't know what an unhappy home theirs had been, or that Anne had vowed never to set foot in that house again.
"It's too late to call on Aunt Mildred," Anne said. "She always retired early, and it would be rude to disturb her. We should have sent word ahead."
"Nonsense," Nellwyn said, hunting for the shawl she was sitting on.
Patrick looked at Anne. "We don't have to stop."
She didn't acknowledge his concern, which came years too late to be of any good. She couldn't blame him for her rigid upbringing that she had fought against with defiance and disobedience. And for which she had paid.
"I don't wish to see Aunt Mildred and Isobel today." Anne's statement was so contrary to her usual nature that Nellwyn dropped the earring she had fished out of her reticule. "They may visit me at Balgeldie House when we've settled in."
Nellwyn and Patrick stared at each other in silence for several seconds. Then Nellwyn said qui etly, "You and I will pay a call, Sutherland. Anne may wait in the carriage. We'll say she's feeling sick."
Heartsick, he thought, totally unprepared for the anguish in Anne's eyes, and wondering what was behind it.
9
" A re you certain you want to do this?" Patrick asked his aunt as they stood before the wrought- iron fence that enclosed the estate like a small fortress.
It was a house built in the Scots baronial style on a riverside crag surrounded by bleak moor and peat bog. There were no trees, nowhere a man could withdraw to hide even from himself, and there was a feeling of loneliness that cut to the bone.
"I'm good at patching up quarrels," she said. "If I'd been a man, I would have become an ambassa dor. My dear father always said that, even when I was little."
"What makes you think Anne and her aunt have quarreled? This is Anne's house, is it not? She is generous to shelter the woman here. It doesn't sound as if she holds any grudge against her."
He looked up at the house, a gray hulking ghost of a thing in the gloaming, and wondered again if it was better not to disturb it. "Perhaps Anne has her reasons."
"If she does, she will not share them."
"Then leave well enough alone."
She primped her silver curls. "It is entirely improper to show up on the doorstep, but I am a woman of rank, so her aunt is bound to receive me in a cordial manner. Go up and announce my arrival, Sutherland. It's time you started to practice a little submission."
"Stop calling me that," he said.
"I like it," she said.
He saw a pale face lur king behind the dark curtains of the house. There was something distasteful about visiting the family of a young girl you had disgraced. And it was too late for him to apologize to her parents, or to make their mistake right. Still, if there was something in Anne's past that would help him to better understand her, he would gladly make the effort.
Nellwyn studied his face. "I was in Kent the summer that Anne married David, but I've always sensed something strange about their courtship. It seemed to happen so fast that I suspected he might have gotten her pregnant, but that wasn't the case at all. What do you know of it?"
He looked out at the hills. "Not much. I was out of the country myself."
She frowned. "Will Anne's aunt remember you?"
"I never met the woman. She might have seen me on the way to church." He smiled without humor. "The one or two times I attended."
"Anne's family was always reclusive," she said thoughtfully. "I don't think I ever actually ex changed more than a passing word with any of them myself. But then I never stayed here long enough to socialize."
"I don't remember," he said vaguely. In those days he had given even less of a
Anne's heart began to pound. Nellwyn knew about Anne's estrangement from her parents and that they had arranged her marriage to David, but she certainly didn't know what an unhappy home theirs had been, or that Anne had vowed never to set foot in that house again.
"It's too late to call on Aunt Mildred," Anne said. "She always retired early, and it would be rude to disturb her. We should have sent word ahead."
"Nonsense," Nellwyn said, hunting for the shawl she was sitting on.
Patrick looked at Anne. "We don't have to stop."
She didn't acknowledge his concern, which came years too late to be of any good. She couldn't blame him for her rigid upbringing that she had fought against with defiance and disobedience. And for which she had paid.
"I don't wish to see Aunt Mildred and Isobel today." Anne's statement was so contrary to her usual nature that Nellwyn dropped the earring she had fished out of her reticule. "They may visit me at Balgeldie House when we've settled in."
Nellwyn and Patrick stared at each other in silence for several seconds. Then Nellwyn said qui etly, "You and I will pay a call, Sutherland. Anne may wait in the carriage. We'll say she's feeling sick."
Heartsick, he thought, totally unprepared for the anguish in Anne's eyes, and wondering what was behind it.
9
" A re you certain you want to do this?" Patrick asked his aunt as they stood before the wrought- iron fence that enclosed the estate like a small fortress.
It was a house built in the Scots baronial style on a riverside crag surrounded by bleak moor and peat bog. There were no trees, nowhere a man could withdraw to hide even from himself, and there was a feeling of loneliness that cut to the bone.
"I'm good at patching up quarrels," she said. "If I'd been a man, I would have become an ambassa dor. My dear father always said that, even when I was little."
"What makes you think Anne and her aunt have quarreled? This is Anne's house, is it not? She is generous to shelter the woman here. It doesn't sound as if she holds any grudge against her."
He looked up at the house, a gray hulking ghost of a thing in the gloaming, and wondered again if it was better not to disturb it. "Perhaps Anne has her reasons."
"If she does, she will not share them."
"Then leave well enough alone."
She primped her silver curls. "It is entirely improper to show up on the doorstep, but I am a woman of rank, so her aunt is bound to receive me in a cordial manner. Go up and announce my arrival, Sutherland. It's time you started to practice a little submission."
"Stop calling me that," he said.
"I like it," she said.
He saw a pale face lur king behind the dark curtains of the house. There was something distasteful about visiting the family of a young girl you had disgraced. And it was too late for him to apologize to her parents, or to make their mistake right. Still, if there was something in Anne's past that would help him to better understand her, he would gladly make the effort.
Nellwyn studied his face. "I was in Kent the summer that Anne married David, but I've always sensed something strange about their courtship. It seemed to happen so fast that I suspected he might have gotten her pregnant, but that wasn't the case at all. What do you know of it?"
He looked out at the hills. "Not much. I was out of the country myself."
She frowned. "Will Anne's aunt remember you?"
"I never met the woman. She might have seen me on the way to church." He smiled without humor. "The one or two times I attended."
"Anne's family was always reclusive," she said thoughtfully. "I don't think I ever actually ex changed more than a passing word with any of them myself. But then I never stayed here long enough to socialize."
"I don't remember," he said vaguely. In those days he had given even less of a
Similar Books
