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Chapter Eighteen

“Life, although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it.”

Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein

* * *

“C hild, you have been in your room two days and the better part of another, and it is time to get up!” Mrs. Harris’s roughened voice startled Annabel out of a doze.

“Mrs. Harris?” Annabel cracked an eye open to stare up at the perforated cornice of her magnificent mahogany bed, ivory and red drapes woven through to fall in majestic folds that she had kept drawn closed since taking to her chambers. The bed she had shared with the duke almost every night since their wedding. But not since he had left her.

“Yes, my girl, I’m here to ensure you eat a full breakfast and rise.”

“Where is Mary?”

“Your lady’s maid is worried about you and does not think she can talk sense into that thick head of yours, so she came to find me.”

Annabel slowly turned onto her back and tilted her head to look at the housekeeper. “What makes you think you can?”

“Girl, if I must, I am going to drag you out of that bed and spoon-feed you until you eat an entire meal. I am quite aware that you have been picking at your meals and only had a minimum to eat. I will not stand for it. Sit up and start eating!”

Annabel knew there was no point in arguing. The cheerful older woman could turn quite stern and shrewish when she was determined to put her mothering hat on. Since Mama had died, Mrs. Harris was not afraid to get parental with her.

She struggled into a sitting position and beckoned for the tray. The smell of eggs and ham hit her, causing her stomach to heave in protest. She knew from experience that beginning with a small piece of fruit would open her appetite up, so she picked up an apple quarter and took a small bite. As she chewed, she realized she was relieved Mrs. Harris was here. Like Philip had fallen into a grieving period not so long ago, now she appeared to have done the same.

Sometimes, she mused, you just need someone to intercede when life gets too overwhelming. Someone like Mrs. Harris, who refused to allow a disastrous situation to fester in her vicinity. Mama would have been happy to know Annabel had such a loyal friend.

“My girl, I am going to have a bath prepared. You need to clean up and leave your bedchamber. There is more than one person to think of now, so it won’t do to dawdle.”

Annabel nodded and kept chewing on the apple. Swallowing was difficult with her throat locked up. Once she was done with the apple, she gingerly started on the eggs, sipping hot tea between mouthfuls. Two of us to take care of? How did her eating help Philip? He was not even in residence.

Annabel shrugged to herself and kept eating. As she ate, she felt her muscles relaxing and eating became easier. She acknowledged that barely eating the past couple days had been a poor choice, for the despair and nausea were now abating to a manageable level. Slowly she became more aware of the room around her—the sound of the servants filling the tub, birds chattering outside the window, the apparent gray pall that had lain over the bedchamber receding to reveal the true warm ivory, rich mahogany, and lush red.

She paused in her eating, feeling full. Mrs. Harris noticed and walked back over to the bed to peer at her tray. “Your Grace, you will need to eat more than that,” she commanded in a menacing murmur, mindful of the other servants in the room.

“But—”

“Eat!” the housekeeper hissed.

Annabel gave a small nod and finished the eggs before picking at the ham.

She saw the housekeeper shooing the other servants out, the bath now ready. Annabel rushed to devour the ham before the housekeeper could scold her again.

Mrs. Harris walked back over and looked at the empty plates. She gave a nod. “That will do. Now finish that tea and come bathe.”

Over the next thirty minutes, Mrs. Harris bullied her along to wash up, even washing her hair for her like she had when she was young. She had forgotten that many years ago, Mrs. Harris had started as her nanny. Mama and Mrs. Harris had bonded, becoming quite close, and Lady Filminster had promoted the older woman first to upper servant, then to housekeeper when the last one had retired.

“Mrs. Harris, how long were you with Mama?”

Mrs. Harris had been briskly massaging Annabel’s scalp. She hesitated at the question before commencing with the washing, her voice suspiciously gruff as she spoke next. “I knew Catherine Ridley when she was a girl in torn dresses, chasing around after John Ridley like a shadow. She was a rapscallion, your mum.”

“ John Ridley? ?”

“Yes, child, your mama was betrothed to the baron’s older brother. He cut a dashing figure, but he was wildly irresponsible, racing that thoroughbred the way he did. He died just weeks before they were to take their vows. I will never forgive that scoundrel for leaving her ladyship all alone.”

“I did not know you had been with our family that long.” Annabel fell silent. “I suppose that is how she came to be married to Father.”

Mrs. Harris’s fingers in her hair hesitated once more, but the old lady remained silent. As she poured warm water over Annabel’s hair a few moments later, she spoke up. “I came to work in your mother’s household just after my husband passed. Your mama was a steadfast girl. I never encountered a more courageous, loyal person. When she heard of my loss, she started bringing me gifts. Apples she had picked in the orchards. Flowers from the field—” The older woman’s voice broke. She quickly recovered her composure to continue. “I loved your mama so much. You remind me of her.”

“Thank you,” Annabel croaked out past the lump in her throat.

“I was there for both times she was with child. First with Brendan and then you. She was so happy when you were born. ‘Annabel will have the best of everything. She will be smart and live a long and happy life married to someone wonderful, Mrs. Harris!’ she used to tell me. She very much wanted to ensure you married for love.”

Annabel brushed a tear with the back of her hand. “That is not to be, I am afraid. I mean … the duke is wonderful, but he is not happy with me. I failed him. And then I scared him off.”

“I do not presume to know His Grace well enough to remark on all that, but regardless, you have more than one person to think of now. And more than one way to experience love.”

Annabel looked up into the housekeeper’s round face to find her twinkling, hazel eyes. “I just said the duke—I don’t think he is going to be around Avonmead anymore. At least … I hope he will allow me to remain here at Avonmead and not send me to one of his other estates.”

“Aye, but no matter where you are, there will soon be two of you. And you will need to provide lots of love when that happens, so there will be no time for moping from here on out.”

Annabel’s face scrunched as she tried to make sense of the older woman’s cryptic remarks. “There are already two of us, and one of us is not here. The duke is in London, and I am unsure that he will return.”

“If the duke did return, that would make three.”

Annabel wondered if the older woman was having an apoplexy of some sort. The housekeeper returned her gaze steadily. Annabel stared back at her without comprehension until she finally spoke. “Girl, how long have you lived at Avonmead?”

“About four or so weeks.”

“Uh huh,” the other woman agreed. “And how long would you say it has been since you had your monthly courses?”

Annabel shook her head. “Not since before I came to Avo— NO ?!”

“Yes.”

“No!”

“Girl, you have been fatigued this week, no?” Annabel nodded.

“And your bosom seems a little fuller than I recall.” Annabel nodded again.

“And Mary says she has to ensure your chamberpot is sorted every couple of hours since you took to your chambers. Bladder pressing on you, is it?”

“Oh.”

“And, to the best of my recollection, you were never really fond of oranges, but before you took to your bed, I seem to recall you visiting the orangery daily for at least a couple of weeks and seeing orange rinds coming back to the kitchen on your trays.”

Annabel’s head whirled with the implications. “I am with child?”

“Yes, now get up. I want to dress you so the doctor can come up and examine you.”

“The doctor?”

“I took the liberty of sending for him. You can dock my wages for being a saucy, overbearing servant if you like. But you will see the doctor in a few moments. It is rude to keep him waiting.”

Annabel’s eyes filled with tears as she rose to her feet. Her heart filled with gratitude as she draped her wet arms around the older woman, drenching the housekeeper’s gray serge with bathwater. “Thank you, Mrs. Harris.”

As she took the towel offered by her lifelong friend, Annabel realized she had much to live for—the same wonderful friend who had always been with her, and now a babe of her own. Perhaps she might even reconcile with Philip. However, the future could be good with or without him. Although she couldn’t help hoping that it would be with him, somehow, if he could find it in his heart to forgive her.

* * *

Philip listened to the clack of the carriage wheels hitting against the roadway. The trip to London seemed interminable, and he had far too much time alone with his thoughts. He thought of Annabel’s assertions of love. It was deuced uncomfortable. He was uncertain how to proceed. Love was not a good idea, if it, in fact, existed. Once upon a time, he had believed himself in love with Jane. It felt like a lifetime ago, but it had not taken long to realize that his feelings for his first wife had been infatuation. They had never shared a genuine connection. How could love exist in the absence of communication and trust? The two of them had been strangers in every way that mattered, and this new information from Annabel only reinforced that fact.

Now Annabel believed she was in love with him, but that, too, was infatuation. They had shared blissful weeks together, so it was natural that a young woman would fancy herself in love. But love, did love truly exist? Only for a privileged few, such as his parents, who had shared deep bonds of friendship and admiration. Besides his parents, had he ever seen a true love match? A true partnership of minds, synchronous hearts and souls with a deep passion for each other? Nay, Annabel was misguided about their amicable companionship. They were just friends … who happened to enjoy time alone together.

He had the utmost regard for his gorgeous wife, but he would need to create some distance between them so that she could realize on her own that her feelings of love were just inflated by their companionship. Perhaps he would reduce the time he spent with her. They could spend the day apart as they had done in the afternoons. He would still spend the evenings with her because he … because he … because he had a responsibility to sire an heir.

Philip felt much better once he had determined that their nights of marital relations could continue—he was just taking care of his familial obligations. During the day … during the day, he would keep his distance so she could work out her feelings in a manner which would let her down easily about forming deep emotional attachments. He would spare her the pain of rejection or embarrassment while maintaining their companionship. She was a smart girl, and she would figure it out.

His mind settled, Philip relaxed back into the gray squabs. Everything would work out well … without the muddle of emotions.