The Rescue (29 page)

“No,” he whispered. “You’re fine right here.”

Anne wanted to argue, but she didn’t have the energy. Drifting into sleep and somewhat cognizant that he was close by, Anne couldn’t manage the strength to do anything about it.

In the morning Anne woke to an empty room. Examination of the bed covers indicated that her husband had been at her side for the rest of the night, but rather than being alarmed, Anne was comforted by the thought. She was dressed when Weston joined her again, a maid bearing a tray of food at his heels.

“How is your hip?” he asked as soon as they were alone, his eyes watchful.

“A bit sore.”

“You should have started on the bed,” Weston told her, his eyes still holding hers.

“I didn’t think I moved much in my sleep. I must be wrong.”

Weston shook his head. “You don’t move much at all.”

Anne’s questions were instantly answered. They had finished the night together, Weston evidently very aware of the fact. For a moment Anne looked up at him, wondering if she saw something foreign in his gaze.

“You’d best eat,” he urged her quietly, but Anne thought his eyes might be saying something else.

“Anne—” Lenore set her tea aside and turned to her daughter-in-law.

Anne didn’t hear her.

“Anne—” Her husband attempted to break into her thoughts this time, and after a moment, she looked up at him.

“Mother wants to know what you thought of the accommodations at the Newbury Inn.”

She thought she caught the slightest spark of intensity in his gaze and found herself blushing.

“They were very nice.” Anne forced her eyes away from the man across from her and to her hostess. “Everyone was most kind, even though they were rather busy.”

“Was it full?”

“Yes.”

“I’m glad you were able to get rooms.”

Anne looked to her husband, but he made no effort to correct his mother. She nearly started when she thought one of Mr Weston’s lids dropped in a subtle wink. She might have continued to watch him, but Lenore was offering her the plate of sandwiches.

The threesome visited a while longer before Lenore suggested that Robert and Anne might wish to rest for a time. Anne found this idea most inviting and was following Betsy from the room when Weston hung back and whispered to his mother.

“Did you get my letter?”

“Yes, it’s all taken care of.”

As though no words had been exchanged, Weston followed on his wife’s heels, mentally making plans for how they would spend the evening.

“This door right here leads to Mr Weston’s room,” Betsy informed Anne, who worked at not gawking at the beauty surrounding her. “All your bags have been unpacked and settled in the dressing room. And this is Jenny,” Betsy finally added. “She’ll take care of everything for you while you’re here.”

Jenny, a small young woman who was probably close to Anne’s age, bowed and waited for Anne’s pleasure.

“Thank you,” Anne said to both women.

Betsy made her way to the door, but Jenny slipped into the dressing room and emerged with a robe.

“Did you wish to lie down, Mrs Weston?”

“I believe I will,” Anne told her, thinking that a nap sounded lovely.

Jenny had Anne completely settled and had exited when Anne heard a soft knock on the adjoining door. She turned her head in time to see it open. Weston, missing his jacket and tie, peeked in and then entered when he saw his wife awake.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked from the side of the bed.

“Yes. This room is lovely.”

“How is your hip?”

“It will be all right.”

Weston smiled. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Anne smiled back at him.

“What did you think of my mother?”

“Oh, Mr Weston!” Anne became animated. “She’s so kind and sweet. The two of you must be very close.”

“We are, yes. She liked you too.”

“I’m glad.”

“Do you know what I would like?”

“No, what?”

“I would like you to drop the ‘Mr’ from my name.”

Anne looked completely taken aback.

“I’ve surprised you.”

“You have, yes. What made you think of that?”

“It’s become so automatic for you that even last night when you were half asleep and you’d fallen from the settee, you told Mr Weston you would be all right.”

“Did I?”

“Yes.”

“And why exactly is that a problem?”

Weston had taken a seat on the edge of the bed. He now leaned close, a hand on either side of his wife.

“We spent the rest of the night in the same bed, Anne.”

Anne’s eyes grew very large before she whispered, “Did we do more than sleep?”

“No.” Weston’s voice was also soft. “But your calling me Mr Weston feels formal and stilted, and I think we’re closer than that now.”

Anne searched his eyes even as he searched hers.

“Yes, we are,” she agreed. “I don’t know how easy a habit it will be to break, but I shall try.”

Weston leaned and kissed her cheek.

“Why don’t you sleep for a time? I’ll show you the house when you get up.”

“All right. Thank you.”

Weston had risen to his feet when Anne called to him, just remembering to drop the formal part of his name.

“Weston?”

“Yes.”

“Any regrets yet?”

His brows rose. “About marrying you?”

“Yes.”

Weston’s shoulders began to shake, and Anne watched as he chuckled all the way to the door. His response kept her in a confused muddle until she drifted off to sleep.

“What caused you to ask me that question earlier?” Weston asked. The house tour had begun, just the two of them working from room to room.

“I was tired.”

“What happens when you’re tired?”

“I grow uncertain and doubt myself.”

Weston held the door of the gallery, and Anne went in ahead of him. The subject did not resurface, and Anne was only too happy to let the matter drop. She didn’t usually let her tongue ramble, but when she did, she often had cause for regret.

“This is my father,” Weston pronounced as he stood before a large portrait. Anne stood with him, looking up at an older version of her husband.

“He was so handsome.”

“I’ve been told we look alike.”

His tone drew Anne’s eyes up to his. She tried not to laugh or even smile at his outrageous statement, but it was impossible.

Anne was still laughing when Weston said, “And now you’re going to tell me I’m incorrigible.”

“Well, it’s quite true.”

“How long is your hair?”

Anne, who had been moving for a closer look at the late Mr Weston, turned, her eyes and face mirroring her astonishment.

“How long is my hair?”

“Yes. You had it down last night at the Newbury Inn, but I forgot to look.”

Anne was still gawking at him when they were joined by Lenore. Louisa was with her.

“I hoped I would find you here,” Lenore commented, smiling in pleasure when she saw they were near James Weston’s portrait. “Anne, this is my dear friend and neighbor, Louisa Cavendish. Louisa, meet my new daughter, Anne.”

The women exchanged greetings, and while Louisa engaged Anne in conversation, Lenore turned to her son.

“How did she like Jenny?”

“We haven’t spoken of it. I’ll wait until closer to the time to leave.”

“Weston,” Louisa said, turning to him. “Will you take Anne to see the Coventry Gardens?”

“Certainly. I hadn’t thought of it, but it’s a splendid idea. Maybe you and Mother will join us.”

“Maybe we will.”

“When you’re finished here, Louisa and I will be in the drawing room,” Lenore put in. “Why don’t you join us before dinner?”

“We’ll do that. Is Cavendish joining us, Louisa?”

“Yes. His brother is in town, and they’ll both be along shortly.”

It was all so normal and family-like that Anne stood quietly for a moment after they left. It was a lot for her to take in on short notice. She only just then thought about her dress and whether it might be appropriate but forced herself not to look down and fret about it.

“Louisa has lived next door for more years than I can count. Her sons and I were chums at school.”

“How many children does she have?” Anne was glad for something to take her mind from her dress.

“Four sons, all grown. She’s a grandmother several times over.”

“Do they live in London?”

“Two of them do. The other two married girls from northern climes and visit during the holidays.”

“Do you miss London?”

“No. Collingbourne suits me very well.”

“Why is that, do you suppose?”

“Well, I spent a good deal of time there as a child, so it’s a little like coming home already.”

“It certainly must help that Brown Manor is so lovely.”

“Yes. My grandmother let it out for years, but after her death, I learned that she wished for me to live there.”

Anne studied him.

“I can’t help but wonder how different your life might be right now if you hadn’t come.”

“I don’t know.” His voice became light and teasing. “I think God would have still known I needed a sweet little wife whose hair is a mystery.”

Anne’s hand came to her mouth although her eyes brimmed with laughter.

“Show me the rest of these pictures, Weston, before you get yourself into trouble.”

With a gentle hand to her back, a smiling Weston turned his wife to the rest of the gallery, thinking that if she knew how kissable he found her when she laughed, trouble might be the last thing on her mind.

Chapter Sixteen

“How are you?” Lenore asked Robert as the two took a turn around the room after dinner that evening. Anne and their guests were visiting over cards around the table in the far corner.

“I’m well.”

“You seem very happy.”

“I am most content, Mother.”

“She’s so sweet, Robert.”

The young man smiled. “She is. She’s very sweet.”

“And you already have feelings for her, don’t you?”

“I think I must. I didn’t expect to.”

“You didn’t expect it now or ever?”

“Not ever, I guess. Not like this. I feel so protective, and it’s just been a few weeks.”

“Why do you suppose it’s happened this way?”

Walking slowly and tucking his mother’s hand into the crook of his elbow, Robert thought for a moment.

“I think all the times we met must have been having an effect on me. Our first meeting was awful, but from that time forward, all I could see in Anne was a sweet woman in need of care. I found myself utterly delighted when she agreed to let
me
be the one to give her that care.”

“You can see how grateful she is, Robert, but not in an ingratiating manner. She doesn’t grovel at your feet, if you get my meaning.”

“Yes, I do. She is grateful, but I’ve truthfully told her she’s not a charity case. Already she’s brought many things to my life.”

“Such as?”

“Companionship, for starters. She also forces me to think of someone besides myself. It’s too easy to be absorbed with myself when I live alone, the whole staff waiting on me hand and foot. When I go looking for Mansfield and find he’s in conference with my wife, it’s good for me to have to wait.”