Wedgewick Woman (19 page)
“Now there. Was not this old Scot woman right?” she strutted about, shirring the ruffles in back and setting the dress to rights. “I’ll see to the babe…be off now. It’s already started for I hear the pipes playing loud and clear.” She mused. “Brings back memories to an old woman.”
Nervously, Annabel made her way below stairs. Walking slowly toward the music, she stayed far enough away not to be seen. Suddenly she heard whispers and came upon Fergus and Phoebe in a darkened corner wrapped in each other’s arms, kissing.
“Oh, I am so sorry.” She turned quickly.
“Annabel is that you?” Phoebe came from the shadows, her cheeks pink. “You…you look so…so beautiful.” She turned Annabel around. “Your hair.”
Annabel’s hand went to her head. ”Mrs. Calvert fixed it up.”
Fergus smiled. “Miss Wedgewick, I’d say you’re as pretty as I ever saw you.” And Phoebe poked him with her elbow.
“She’s always been beautiful, Fergus.” Phoebe cried.
“Yes.” Fergus was gazing into his sweetheart’s eyes.
“Oh stop.” She slapped his hand away as he reached for her again. “Let’s take Annabel in with us so she won’t have to enter alone.”
Fergus offered each woman an arm and they appeared at the entryway. Heads turned and whispers started like a wave coming to shore. Annabel sought to find green plants she knew were near one of the big stone pillars. But before she could find her way through the crowded room, two men approached at once. Cameron and Ewan talked at the same time.
“Miss Wedgewick,” Ewan nudged in first. “You look lovely this evening.” His red hair shone in the lights and he was tall and handsomely dressed in full Scot regalia, the green and blue paid with the red stripe, the Carmichael tartan.
“Thank you. You look quite the elegant gentleman yourself.” She offered and watched his face turn nearly as red as his hair.
“Would you care to try a step?”
“Oh I am not familiar with the Scottish dance.” She shied away.
“I will take your hand and show you.” And before she knew it she was on the floor learning the steps with Ewan, looking up into his face for instructions and then down at her feet to follow his.
“You do well.” He complimented and bowed. “I must dance with my lass or she will club me about the shoulders.” He smiled.
Immediately, Cameron took his place again. Annabel knew that he was the most quiet of the four. She had stopped many times to watch him at his boot-making whenever he was free to do so.
He took her hand and led her in some new steps.
Annabel was so engrossed in her steps she did not notice when the Laird approached and tapped Cameron’s shoulder. She found her self without a partner and then the Laird stepped into the space where Cameron had stood only a moment before.
“Oh, I…I was trying to learn the steps.” She felt her breath leave her when she felt one warm hand at her waist.
“Let me take you round…just follow…” he swirled her away and she could do nothing but pray that her feet hit the floor every now and again…for the Laird was so tall that he nearly had her in the air most of the time.
When the music stopped for a moment, she finally caught her breath.
“Refreshment?” He offered and took her away without waiting for an answer. She found a small white chair while he fetched her drink, wishing she’d have thought to bring a ladies fan or handkerchief.
“Thank you.” She drank heartily holding the cup tightly lest it fall from her nervous fingers, remembering the faux pas with the Laird and her teacup.
They shared one more dance and he left her to take up his cause, that of finding a wife, with the rest of the handsome ladies…all of whom were of Scot blood. She knew they were desirous of choking her out of the picture…the pretentious English lass…as she’d heard herself spoken of when they didn’t know she’d been within ear’s reach.
One lady, Deidre Donahue, had been recently taken on as Eleanor’s governess. She was beautiful, and very accomplished in all the right ways. Educated, red-haired, well-turned, and most importantly she possessed the Scottish heritage. Annabel heard it in her soft lilting voice.
Annabel recalled their last two days together…on the first day Miss Donahue dismissed her…saying she was disturbing Eleanor’s ability to learn.
She watched from afar as the beautiful and accomplished Miss Donahue’s green eyes captured the Laird’s. He could never be insensitive enough to deny her advances, no matter how stubborn he was.
And why should he?
she scolded herself, then sought the palms and dropped into a chair nearby.
“Hiding?” Cameron approached her shyly not five minutes later. “Dance?” He smiled and bent to take her hand, lifting her easily.
She did not see the Laird anymore that eve. Perhaps he had gone out for a walk with Miss Donahue…most likely…for she was missing as well. Glad for having had the chance to dance and forget her troubles for just a little while, Annabel slipped through a side door and made her way through the secret passages…the ones Blithers showed her…and exited underneath the stone stairs in the castle. Dropping her head for the door was low, she slipped around the stairs and was about to go up when she heard voices coming from the library; Laird Carmichael’s and Lady Donahue’s.
Annabel stooped to take off her slippers and ran up before anyone saw her and flew into her room and shut the door.
“Aye, then ye had a good time?” Mrs. Calvert scared her witless.
“Oh Mrs. Calvert you gave my heart a start.” She laughed gaily. “Yes, I had the best time. Better than any of London’s soirees…much better.” She smiled. “And that would be thanks to you for pushing me out the door. I truly hadn’t wished to go.”
“Shhh…come see little Eleanor. She sleeps on her back, arms above her head. See, she smiles even in her sleep.” Mrs. Calvert reached into the crib and smoothed Eleanor’s hair, just as she herself did every night.
“Isn’t she beautiful?” Annabel whispered. “Just like Helen.”
“More to the liking of the Laird, should ye ask me.” Mrs. Calvert came to the point.
“You are correct.” She said then moved away quietly. “I would have my bed, this eve.” She sighed and yawned, allowing Mrs. Calvert to help her out of her dress. Her own maid was forever missing these days.
“We’ll have a wedding soon.” Mrs. Calvert slipped her nightgown over her head, then pushed her down on the settee and began removing the pins from her hair, letting it fall.
“Yes.” Annabel said softly. “Then I shall be gone.”
“Why would ye be gone?” Mrs. Calvert leaned down to look into the lass’ eyes.
“Once the Laird marries and Eleanor has a mother…”
“Lass, the Laird has not found the one.” She said stoutly. “It’d be your own Phoebe and our Fergus that I’m telling ye about.”
“Ah…yes…” she sighed. “Phoebe is happier than I’ve ever seen her.”
“As you should be some day.” Mrs. Calvert pulled the brush through her long dark hair. “Now off to bed with ye. Mornin’ will be here soon enough.”
Annabel obeyed and snuggled into the small bed, exhaling with a satisfied sigh.
Chapter
29
“What is it?” Annabel’s hair tangled about her face.
“Up with ye, yer mother’s here.” She heard Mrs. Calvert speaking and raised herself up, groaning.
“My mother? Are you most certain?” she asked sleepily, stretching.
“Aye, think ye that I don’t know your mother’s voice. I remember it well.”
“Oh dear…it is her…I can hear her now.” She jumped from the bed, tripping on the carpet and righted herself. “She never answered my letters…I wonder if Meredith is with her…” she smiled.
“Aye. She’s here.” Mrs. Calvert chose a dress for her. “This one?”
“Mrs. Calvert you have enough to do fixing breakfast for everyone…I can see to my own dress.”
“Aye, I’ve got Phoebe taking my place. She likes being near to the kitchen exit where she can meet Fergus.” Mrs. Calvert winked her blue eyes and laughed aloud. “Gives me some time to do some old-fashioned maid service.” She smiled, patting Annabel’s hand.
“You are funny, Mrs. Calvert. Would you mind, then, fixing my hair up…not quite as high as before…just a little nicer?”
“Sit down lass. We’d better be quick about it. I wager your mother’s getting tired of waiting.”
“Has she been here long then?”
“Only one hour…but oh the commotion that woman…I forget myself. Sorry Miss Annabel.”
“Think nothing of it. I am accustomed to my mother and Meredith.” She laughed. “I am excited to see them, though.”
“As you should be, lass.”
Annabel nearly danced down the steps and flew straight to her mother.
“Mother…”
“There now dear…it is you…” she gave her youngest daughter her rouged cheek.
“How are you mother? Annabel laid a gentle kiss on her mother’s face. “Where’s Meredith? Did you have a good journey?”
“There now, you always did talk in circles. Have I taught you nothing?” she complained. “Speech is part of a true lady’s value to a worthy husband.”
“Miss Wedgewick’s speech is just fine.” The Laird spoke from behind her.
“Mrs. Wedgewick.” He greeted her.
“Ah Laird Carmichael, we meet again.” She snapped. “Where is Meredith? We have business with you.”
“As I thought.” He allowed, noting Annabel’s confused look.
“Shall we go to the library Mrs. Wedgewick. Annabel, we will apprise you later.” He said too sweetly, using her given name. Something was amiss.
“Tell Meredith to join us as soon as you see her.” He popped his head out and then shut the door. Hard.
“Meredith…” she saw her sister in the entryway. “How good to see you.” She ran to greet her.
“Don’t muss my dress.” She stood aside. “It’s a Paris original. Very expensive.” She fussed. “I’m fine. Now where’s mother? We’ve business to discuss with the Laird.”
“What kind of business?” Annabel asked quietly, feeling hurt by her sister’s shunning. “They’re in the library.”
“Oh Annabel, you know you’ve never been any good at business….besides…oh never mind.” She turned and clip-clopped on her new Paris shoes to the library. “It is so cold in these ancient castles.”
Annabel wrung her hands and found herself going from window to window looking out as the winds blew, the icy rain pelting the glass. Why had her mother come at such a time? She knew her mother and Meredith hated cold, rainy weather and rarely traveled in it.
Half an hour later, the library door opened and Mrs. Wedgewick made her way though the door looking quite pleased with herself, followed by Meredith who looked as though she’d just caught the fox. Annabel thought perhaps she was reading too much into the affair and started toward them.
The Laird was not happy, however, and she wondered immediately if her mother had indeed relieved him of another fortune like she had his father. She knew the Laird was angry about that to this very day for he had reminded her often enough.
“Mother, Meredith, come sit and tell me all about Paris…the opera.” She started happily.
“Must we?” Meredith whined. “Really, we must be getting back, seeing our business is finished. I miss my little Pooh-Pooh.”
“Pooh-Pooh?” Annabel questioned.
“Her French Poodle.” Her mother explained. “A nervous little white dog that chews my stockings.” She glanced sideways at Meredith.
“Mother.” Meredith warned.
“Perhaps we could visit?” Annabel led the way through the halls to a smaller room where they could talk quietly. “Come sit by the fire, I’ll get you a cover for your legs, Mother.”
“Yes, and bring tea. It’s been a long day already and it’s not even luncheon.” Her breath whooshed out as she sat, looked around, disapproval on her terse lips. Meredith sighed loudly and followed.
“Blithers, would you please have Phoebe bring tea and oat cakes. Thank you.”
“Now what have you to tell me?” Annabel sat on the edge of her seat.
“Meredith is doing quite well, dear. Why we even bought a new carriage…” She started and was interrupted.
“Thanks to your latest catch, mother.” Meredith said rudely. “He’s quite rich, Annabel.” Her sister shrugged.
“Now dear, you know I’m just playing the circuit among the widowers. Allow your mother a bit of fun. Heaven knows we spend most of what we get on your gowns, your coiffures — and your dog.”
Meredith jumped up from her chair and paced. “He is not just a dog, Mother.”
“Meredith your hair arranged in that style is very becoming.” Annabel sought to change the topic.
“Thank you.” She threw over her shoulder. “Mother, it’s time to tell her the truth. I’m tired of playing silly games and telling lies just to make you look good.”
“Meredith, you keep quiet. You have gained what you came for. Can’t you be satisfied with that?” Her mother was standing now, having risen with great difficulty so that she was patting her heart.
“Mother are you all right?” Annabel looked between the two.
“Annabel…”
Meredith turned angry blue eyes on her sister. “You must know that you are not like me and you weren’t like Helen, either.”
“Yes, I know I look different. More like mother.” she said her voice small.
“Have you no sense? Mother’s eyes are not brown, they are green and well you know father,
my
father, had the most handsome blue eyes.” She waited for the comment to reach Annabel’s’ brain.
Annabel heard her mother groan and out of the corner of her eye saw her press her handkerchief to her mouth.
“My father was not your father. There now it’s said, mother. Don’t look so shaken. You know the truth hurts but it’s best. I’m tired of sharing everything with her.” She pointed. “Tired of living a lie.”
Annabel stared.
“My Father had an affair with a certain actress of the stage in Paris. She was very beautiful. Mother found out and paid father back by having one herself. Your father is a Russian emigrant…did not even have his own papers and had to travel back to Russia where he came from.” She said, lifting her chin.
“Father isn’t
my
father?”
“Oh Annabel, how could you be so daft? Of course he isn’t. You don’t look anything like him…you never did.” Meredith spouted.
“But he loved me.” Annabel felt the tears coming. “He loved me.”
“Yes, he did…that’s because Father had a good heart.” Meredith gave her that much.
“But he wasn’t my father? Mother?” She questioned, turning.
“Tis true, my dear. I’m sorry for you to know it.” She started to weep in earnest.
Meredith brushed her fingernails across her sleeve. “I’m not sorry I told you.”
Annabel stared at her mother, then at Meredith. “You came here to tell me this?” Her heart broke. She was losing everything she loved. Helen, Eleanor, and now her beloved father wasn’t her own?
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner, mother?”
“I couldn’t dear. Father wouldn’t allow it. He loved you as though you were his own.”
“Yes, he did. I knew that.” She couldn’t keep her voice from breaking. “At least I knew that.” She whispered.
“Mrs. Wedgewick, Meredith. Get out. Now.” The Laird’s voice boomed from the doorway. Annabel stood to her feet, shaken. He was starting toward them with a look in his green eyes that did not bode well.
He grabbed Meredith’s arm and jerked her forward. “Mrs. Wedgewick.” He warned, but did not lay a hand upon her mother.
“You will not set foot upon this land ever again. Should I see either of you, I will order my men to shoot their best arrows straight into both your hearts.” He jerked Meredith once again and she screamed, “You…you filthy Scot.” And spit in his face.
Annabel’s eyes grew large and she leaped forward for the Laird had raised his hand … she lay her small hand on his arm and he looked down at her. She knew he was shocked, even at himself, for he lowered his arm and said through clenched teeth. “I swear if I ever see you again, Meredith, I will give you what you deserve, have no doubt.” He wiped the spittle from his face and rubbed it on his backside. “Now get out.”
Annabel watched in horror as her mother, still sobbing, looking over her shoulder, followed Meredith to their coach, without even donning their coats or opening up their umbrellas against the rains.
Annabel found she could not move.
The Laird stalked to the door and slammed it so hard the windows clattered as a large vase of flowers sitting on a nearby table crashed to the floor. She watched dumbly as the glass shattered into a million shards and skittered across the stone floor. The water began to spread slowly. She looked at the Laird whose back was to her. She could see the anger in his stance. Before he could turn around she fled to her bedchamber.
Lee heard the door slam at her bedchamber and could not hold back. He followed her up and without knocking opened her door. He found her backed against the wall, her fists clutching her skirts. “They are never to enter over the Carmichael threshold again.” His voice thundered for all to hear and once again she felt the door posts shake as he slammed the door.
He blamed her for everything. Somehow, she felt nothing. Nothing at all. Unable even to cry, she sat on the bed, face in her hands.
Why couldn’t she cry?
She wondered.
Laird Carmichael shouted for Blithers. “Get Knight.” He called out. “Now.”
In moments he was headed out the gates. What he needed was a good hard ride to clear his mind of the demons lurking there. He was an ogre, just like his father. The thoughts cramped his heart. Now it was he who held a secret against Annabel…one that he abhorred, but had been given no choice in the matter.
Two days passed and neither Phoebe nor Mrs. Calvert could persuade Annabel to leave her chambers. On the third day she heard a timid knock. “Enter.” She called quietly.
“Miss Wedgewick, it is me, Cork.” He said as his narrow body slipped through the door. He stood back against the door, afraid to come in further.
“Come in, Cork. It is all right. I am fine.” She assured him, patting the stool near her chair. “Come sit.”
“Miss Donahue has Eleanor. She’s teaching her colors below stairs in the library.” She said quietly.
“Aye. The wee lass ‘as got a smart head on her little shoulders.” He said lifting his chin.
“Won’t you sit down, Cork? Tell me what you’ve been about lately?”
He wandered over to the stool and sat. “All my regular stuff. I clean his boots and put them by his bed every night.” He said proudly.
“That is good. Have you been reading the books I’ve given you?”
“Aye…and right good it is to do it.” he smiled. He changed the topic quickly.
“I’ll get to be a knight if I work hard.”
“Yes.” she remembered his excitement from before. “Do you want to?”
“I’m a Scot…of course I do.” He said, his face longing.
“It’s as it should be then.”
“Will you walk with me?” he asked.
“Why?”
“I’d like to think…that…that…you could, you know…be like a mother to me.” He fidgeted.
“A mother?” she asked gazing into the soft brown eyes of a child trying to be a man.
“Aye. You know I don’t have one.” He said as though that were explanation enough.
“I’ll be your mother, Cork. What would you like me to do?” she said tenderly.
“Walk…that’s all. We could talk. I miss me mother. She died in the cold months just a year ago. I miss her.” She heard his voice crack.
“Come on. I’ll meet you in the secret passageway below the stairs. Do you know where that is?”
“No.” excitement of an adventure washed away his sadness.
“Go and get your heavy coat, then and I’ll show you…if you promise to keep it a secret. Blithers showed me when I was a little girl.” She smiled. “Go on now…”
She searched the wardrobe for her own heavy coat and pulled out scarf, shawl, and mittens. Wrapping the scarf around her neck , donning her coat, and putting the shawl over her head, she slipped out into the hallway where Cork was already waiting.