The Rescue (36 page)

“I imagine that lunch will be ready soon,” he voiced quietly. “Shall we go find out?”

“Yes, please.”

Once again the moment was over. Anne asked herself for the rest of the day whether she should have questioned him or not.

Mansfield handed Weston the post very early on Tuesday morning. He studied the details in a letter from his solicitor and knew a sinking heart. He told Mansfield of his plans and went to find Anne. She was in the salon writing thankyou notes—several gifts had arrived while they were away—her head bent in concentration.

“May I interrupt?”

“Certainly.” Anne set her pen aside and stood.

“Don’t stand. I’ll join you.”

“I have to make a trip,” Weston said as soon as they were both seated.

“To where?”

“Banbury. My grandmother had some property there I’ve been attempting to sell. Now things have gotten a bit muddy with an adjoining property owner, and my solicitor thinks it would be best if I was on hand.”

“When must you leave?”

“Today, as soon as I can get ready.”

Anne was surprised by this. She did her best to hide it but didn’t do a very convincing job.

“I would take you with me, Anne, but it’s going to be rushed and uncomfortable.”

“Oh, don’t feel like you must explain. Of course I’ll stay here.”

“Will you be all right?”

“Yes,” she said honestly. “It just took me a moment to get used to the idea.”

“All right. Mansfield will be staying to look after you, so if you have any needs, go to him.”

“Weston,” Anne protested, “you need Mansfield with you.”

“I will be fine. I will travel easier knowing he’s here seeing after you.”

“Please do not leave Mansfield for my sake, Weston. I will be fine.”

Weston only smiled at her—clearly his mind was made up.

“Do you know that you like having your own way?” Anne pointedly told him.

Weston’s brows rose, not just at her words, but over her tone. Unless he missed his guess, his wife was flustered with him right now, and he didn’t want that. His mind scrambled to give her an explanation.

“I don’t take Mansfield everywhere, Anne. Truly I don’t. And this isn’t about wanting my way.”

Anne looked so skeptical that Weston laughed, an action that made things worse.

“This is not funny, Robert Weston! I’m here with all the comforts of home. You need your manservant with you!”

Weston studied her, not sure why this was so important. That action—his lack of response—only made matters worse.

Anne stood and faced him. “I can see there’s no talking to you about it. I’m sorry I tried.” With that she turned to leave.

“Anne, don’t go,” Weston urged, still in his seat but managing to catch her hand. “Tell me why this is so important to you. I want to understand.”

Anne studied him, seeing that her actions had been odd and knowing he deserved an answer.

“It’s all so one-sided. You give and give, and I take and take. The least I can do is be strong enough to stay here so you can have Mansfield with you.”

Weston released Anne’s hand and stood, his eyes flashing a little.

“This is utter nonsense! Where did you get the foolish idea that all you do is take and take?”

Anne didn’t care for his tone and felt her own temper rising. She knew she should bite her tongue, but she didn’t.

Her brow lowered in very real anger, she asked, “What else would you call it? I come penniless to this marriage; your mother spends a small fortune on me; you give, give, and give some more; and you even support my father!”

“And why is that a problem?”

“Because you won’t let me give anything back. Not even Mansfield for your trip!”

For a moment the two stood staring at each other, eyes angry, breathing hard, and trying to make sense of it all.

Weston was the first to calm down. He moved until he stood directly in front of Anne, taking her hands in his.

“Thank you.”

“For what?” Anne’s voice was calm, but her emotions were in turmoil.

“For caring enough to want Mansfield with me.”

Anne stared up at him.

“We quarreled, and I don’t like that.”

“I don’t like it either.” Weston studied her eyes, wanting to stand and drink in her sweetness for more time than he had. “Do you know who Oliver is?” he finally asked.

“The young man who assists Mansfield?”

“Yes. He’s worked long enough with Mansfield that he understands my needs. I shall take him along and have my every comfort seen to.”

Anne nodded, pleased with this alternative.

“Are we settled now, Anne? I don’t want to leave with you angry at me.”

“I’m not. I’m sorry I was so cross.”

“I’m sorry I’m so accustomed to having my way that I tell you things without discussing them with you, without giving you a chance to give to me.”

“Some of it is my pride, but some of it is more than that.”

“Such as?”

“I’m not sure I can explain it right now.” Anne shrugged in apology as new emotions continued to bombard her.

Weston didn’t question her again but just followed his heart. Raising his hands to hold Anne’s face, he bent to kiss her gently on the mouth.

“I must go,” he whispered, still close to her lips.

“Hurry back,” Anne said, and Weston kissed her again.

With great reluctance Weston released her and went on his way. Anne was on the drive when his carriage pulled away, but she was in something of a fog as she waved him on. She couldn’t wait to be alone with her thoughts, for just now they were quite tortured.

“You’re looking pleased about something,” Cook teased Mansfield when he entered the kitchen a short time later.

“Am I?” he asked, his voice vague, but Cook wasn’t fooled. She snorted in mock disgust, telling Mansfield she was willing to wait for her answer.

At any rate Mansfield wasn’t worried. It wasn’t anything he could discuss, but in time everyone would know what he’d known all along: Mr and Mrs Weston were going to fall in love. Some might have been put off by their argument in the salon before the master left, but not Mansfield. These two were on the way to love. He’d known it all along.

Just admit it to yourself,
Anne’s mind tormented her.
Just be brave enough to say it, out loud even.

But the scolding did no good. Anne continued to pace the floor in her bedroom, her mind running with all that had transpired that day, not to mention the past weeks.

“He kissed me.” She said this out loud and then shook her head and paced a bit more.

Of course, he was leaving,
her soliloquy continued.
It was a natural thing. You mustn’t read things that aren’t written.
But all of this had no effect. Anne finally stopped midstride, her hands balled into fists in front of her.

“I’m falling in love with my husband,” she told the empty room, as though it would help to voice it. “I’ve no true idea what he’s feeling toward me. Now he’s gone and I don’t know when he’s coming back. How could I have been so foolish?”

Anne wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly feeling very cold and alone. She went to her bed and lay down, asking God to help her faithless heart to trust Him for her future. She fell into a fitful sleep for the next hour, her heart still uncertain about what she should do.

The nap, fitful though it may have been, was just what Anne needed to clear her head. She awoke and confessed her anxiety and desire to control everything. She spent more than an hour studying her Bible, as well as praying for her future with Mr Weston and asking God to help her give her heart unconditionally. She didn’t wish for her husband—whether he loved her or not—to return and find that she’d done nothing during his absence. After her Bible study, she wrote invitations for the little girls to come for tea at the end of the week.

“This letter goes to Penny Jennings, and this one goes to Emma and Lizzy Palmer. The last one is for Margaret Hurst.”

“Very good, Mrs Weston. Do you wish Bert to wait for replies?”

“Please. He probably should speak with Mrs Palmer, Mrs Jennings, and Mrs Hurst for those replies, but yes, that would be a good idea.”

“I shall see to it directly.”

“Thank you.”

Anne left Mansfield in the hallway and made herself walk to the spacious room next to the library. She was aware of this room—she’d been in it twice—but never for any length of time. Today she was going to go inside, shut the door, and stay.

After Anne shut the door, she leaned against it. Her eyes traveled the walls and furniture, drinking it all in, before coming to rest on the piano that dominated one corner. Anne moved slowly toward it, seeing that it was thoroughly dusted and ready for use.

She sat on the bench and lightly rested her hands on the keys. A frisson of fear raced through her. What if she couldn’t remember? What if it had been too long? Anne stiffened her spine, telling herself she wasn’t going to know unless she tried. Reaching to open the music in front of her and adjusting the bench a small bit, Anne began to play. Her playing wasn’t without a few missed notes, but the more she concentrated the more it returned to her. At times tears ran down her face at the memory of her mother’s playing and teaching, but all in all, Anne was having a wonderful time.

Unbeknownst to her, servants that passed anywhere near the vicinity of the music room stopped to listen, their eyes showing surprise and pleasure at the mistress’ accomplishments. Mansfield himself lingered now and again, utterly captivated with the unfolding of this young woman who had come into their midst.

At last he got on with his work, but not before thinking:
If Mr Weston doesn’t discover the treasure he has in his wife, he has no one to blame but himself.