Page 21

Chapter Twenty

“The mountains and the waters had become my sole acquaintance.”

Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein

* * *

P hilip returned to Markham House after his conversation with Richard. He was desperate to return to Avonmead, but he had not slept or eaten properly in days. It would not do to drop dead from exhaustion on the long journey. As he attempted to sleep alone in his massive state bed, he tossed. Then turned. Then tossed some more.

He had the awful feeling that he had mishandled these past few days. Was Richard right? Did Annabel consider him to be an unmitigated cad after their last discourse? He attempted once more to think of what he had said in response to her declaration. He recollected her words with extraordinary accuracy, but could not bring his own responses to mind. Had he not said anything ? Is that why he could not recall his own words?

If he had said nothing in response, what must Annabel think? Did she believe he was angry with her? How could he be angry? She had reconciled him with his cousin after he had made erroneous assumptions for years. Did she now think her love was unwanted? He had never been the recipient of such regard, apart from his parents who were long since departed from this world. He was not quite sure what to do when admired so wholly. It made him both uncomfortable and grateful.

It would be as much as two more days before he would see her again. He wished he had not left her alone in her despair.

“I love you care about my happiness! I love that so much.” He recalled the anguish in her voice as she had attempted to retract her declaration. That was before she realized it was futile. The words could not be unsaid. Then she had shifted to apologizing for affections. “—please, Philip, it is all right. You do not have to say anything. This changes nothing. I’m not expecting anything. Can we pretend I did not say it … please!”

His chest tightened at the memory, and he wanted to kick himself for the foolish platitudes he had uttered instead of taking her in his arms and telling her his heart. He needed to get back to Avonmead. He cringed as he recollected his idiotic conclusions in his carriage on the way to London. No true pairing of the minds? No honest moments between them? He had never experienced such closeness, nor shared so many of his private thoughts with any living soul. He had convinced himself that what Annabel felt was infatuation, when they had truly forged a deep and personal connection. It was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. He had been so afraid of love that he had rejected his glorious Annabel, causing her to apologize for her affection.

His immaturity was mortifying, his handling of the first genuine connection he had ever experienced with a woman was an embarrassment. Philip turned over again, but there was no comfort to be found in his heavenly, luxurious bed while the discomfort torturing him lay within his conscience, and he had no means of pacifying it.

After a fruitless night of sleep, or lack of it, Philip had opened his eyes from an unsatisfying doze to find light streaming between his curtains. He jumped out of bed, eager to dress and eat before leaving London. As he called for a footman to valet for him, he came to a standstill. It was premature to leave London. There was something he needed to do first. Reaching his wife would have to wait a little longer.

* * *

Once again, he searched London for yet another member of the peerage. He could have sent a footman out to do the reconnaissance, but Philip feared going mad if he did not occupy his mind, so he conducted the search himself. First, he sought out Richard at Stratford Club to ascertain the location of the gentleman he sought.

The earl had surprisingly been up before midday, eating breakfast, and had been a fount of information regarding probable locations. Saunton, however, had declined to discuss anything he might know about personal matters. Nevertheless, Philip now had a list of places to survey. On this occasion, to save valuable hours, he had planned his search in an ordered manner. His theory was that he would see Annabel sooner if he approached this new hunt with efficiency.

He had begun his search at the Ridley townhouse just off Grosvenor Square. It had not taken long to reach the stucco building. He looked up at the four-story facade and drew a deep, calming breath. He hoped his search would be over immediately as he mounted the stone steps. Reaching the door, he eyed the brass knocker formed in the shape of a lion’s head. Resolutely, he lifted his hand to grasp the ring and bring it down with a heavy, methodical thumping. And then he waited for signs of life from within.

When a butler appeared, resplendent in his black suit and pompous attitude, Philip handed him a card. The stoic butler bowed and asked him to wait in the hall. The duke had trouble standing still as impatience sung through his limbs. He needed to handle this matter and leave the city for home. His true home, where his very heart waited for him.

At least, based on the butler taking his card, it appeared his hunt was over, he reassured himself.

The middle-aged butler of average height had heavy footsteps, Philip discovered when the man returned a few moments later.

“Mr. Ridley is not receiving guests,” he intoned.

“Hmm. Were you aware that Miss Annabel Ridley is now the Duchess of Halmesbury?”

The servant’s nostrils flared ever so slightly. “Indeed? I was not aware.”

“Yes, indeed. That means that the Baron of Filminster is now my beloved father-in-law.”

There was a brief flicker of anxiety in the older man’s eyes as Philip stared him down.

“I would hate to report back to the baron, who, if I am not mistaken, is the true master of this household, that I was shown the door when I came to visit.”

The butler looked undecided for a fraction of a second. “Please follow me, Your Grace.”

As the manservant led him down the hall past the main stairs, Philip noted that the townhouse’s furnishings were old-fashioned. The wallpaper was faded, and the carpets worn. From what he knew of the baron, wealth was not an issue, so he assumed the neglect of the home was because of the baron’s isolation in Filminster. Why would he update a residence he never intended to visit, after all?

Moments later, the butler opened a door. Philip stepped into what appeared to be the study, while the butler quickly made a hasty retreat.

A gentleman about twenty-five years of age with a full mane of chestnut curls looked up from the desk where he was writing.

“Who are you?” demanded the younger man, his brandy eyes narrowed in surprise.

“Mr. Ridley?”

“I said, who are you? And what are you doing in my study?”

“I believe this is the study of Lord Filminster, if I am not mistaken.”

“What is this?” growled the man as he pushed his seat back and rose to glower at Philip.

“I have come from Halmesbury to seek your help, Mr. Ridley.”

“I do not know anyone from Halmesbury, so you have the wrong man. I demand you leave this instant. Why did Michaels show you in here?”

“I am the Duke of Halmesbury. I am married to your sister, Annabel.”

The man flinched before flopping back down into his chair.

“Annabel is not my sister.”

“You are Mr. Brendan Ridley?”

The baron’s heir gave a curt nod. He bore a remarkable resemblance to Annabel, causing Philip to feel quite nostalgic. “Then you are Annabel’s brother. My brother-in-law, in fact.”

“Annabel is not my sister.”

“So you have said. Do you care to explain?”

“Not to some stranger who has intruded my home.”

Philip shuttered his expression as he squashed his irritation. First, the man had abandoned his sister to their horrible father, and now he was being an obnoxious dolt. Philip reminded himself he could either get angry or be effective. He was here for Annabel, so … so he smiled politely and continued. “I see. That is fair. I think we should start again. I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Brendan Ridley. I am Philip Markham, the Duke of Halmesbury.”

Philip gave a polite, formal bow. “We need not stand on convention, as quite recently we became related. Call me Halmesbury … or Philip, if you like. I am married to your sister, the fair Annabel, who has missed you these past years, and I am here on her behalf. May I sit?” He gestured at the chairs placed in front of the desk.

The other man sighed in resignation and waved his hand to the seats.

Philip strode forward. Flicking his coattails, he sat.

“Please explain what you meant when you said that Annabel is not your sister.”

The man looked away, reluctance obvious in his demeanor.

“Mr. Ridley, we are related to each other. I am the soul of discretion, and I care about the members of my new family. I seek to understand what has led to the estrangement between you and your sister. Anything we discuss here is private, and you appear to be a man who may find it favorable to unburden yourself?”

The man swallowed, the only sign he was listening while he stared toward the hearth, the dancing flames reflected in his eyes.

“Mr. Ridley, I believe your mother was a kind and caring woman who would be most disappointed to find her children scattered and bereft. Please, tell me your story. Is the baron involved in the dissolution of your family?”

The man tensed. Philip could sense the younger peer would talk if he waited and, as he had provided him with several good reasons to do so, all that remained was patient silence. Settling back into his chair, he checked himself from saying anything further.

Several moments passed. The silence was so thick that Philip imagined he could hear his own heart pounding.

“I thought Annabel was to marry Richard Balfour?”

“There was an unfortunate incident with the earl and a young maid who worked in your fath—” Philip caught himself. If Annabel did not think of the baron with any sentiment, the likelihood was that his heir would not either. “—the baron’s kitchens,” he finished.

The other man groaned and sank his face into his hands. “Saunton betrayed her?”

Philip gave a quick nod.

“And Annabel knows that?”

“Your sister found them.”

Mr. Ridley kept his face buried in his hands as he gave a moan of distress and shook his head in denial. Philip’s compassion ignited when he realized the brother did, in fact, care about Annabel, even though he had not visited or corresponded with her these past four years. After a few moments, the other man dropped his hands as he looked up to confront Philip.

“I was so afraid of that when he told me of their betrothal. But because of their long-standing relationship, I had hoped my doubts were unfounded. How are you involved? How … do you come to be married to Annabel?”

“She sought me out as a last resort when the baron insisted that the wedding would proceed. I happened to need a wife and Annabel was—is delightful, so … so I …” Philip shrugged. “… rescued her from her situation, I guess you could say.”

Ridley shook his head. “The old devil would have forced her to proceed?” It was a rhetorical question, so Philip did not answer. Pausing for a while, his reluctant host finally continued. “I have heard of you. You are a widower who does charitable works. I believe I read an article in The Gentleman’s Magazine a couple of months back. You … care for Annabel?”

“Indeed, Mr. Ridley. I esteem her with every fiber of my being. She is extraordinary.”

“Yes,” the man did not hesitate in agreeing, “she is.”

They both sat in contemplative silence while Brendan Ridley appeared to take his measure before finally speaking again. “What I say, you will maintain in privacy?”

“On pain of death.”

Ridley drew a deep breath. “For Annabel, I will share with you, but I will kill you with my bare hands if I hear any word of this getting out.”

Philip inclined his head in acceptance of Ridley’s terms. “On pain of death.”

* * *

Annabel was enjoying a visit with the wife of one of their tenant farmers, Mrs. James, who was swollen with child. It could not be more than a matter of days before Mrs. James would usher her babe into the world. It was unexpectedly pleasant to be sitting with the mother of two as Annabel grew accustomed to the idea that her own body would be changing.

Mrs. James was a lively woman in her late twenties with a mass of untamed brown curls attempting to escape her hairpins. She had red cheeks and tanned skin, and her brown eyes sparkled with life as she enjoyed the preserves that Annabel had brought along in a basket of gifts for the family. The little James girl, Hannah, a perfect miniature version of her mother, was shelling peas in a bowl with her tiny hands while her mother watched on like a hawk. The vigilant parent jumped up to join her child at the other side of the crude kitchen table when she noticed something was wrong. Gently, the woman showed her daughter how to shell without squashing the plump orbs. While the two chattered, Annabel took a moment to be nostalgic about her possible future.

As the days lingered with relentless vigor, it felt like the time since Philip had left her behind at Avonmead was infinite. Each second that passed felt like a minute. Every minute an hour. Every hour a day. By the time she laid her head on her pillow each night, it was as if a week had passed since the night before. Annabel’s thoughts had swung every which way as she tried to anticipate what the future would bring. In the past day, she had become convinced that he might abandon her in the country as Richard had planned to do—which she hoped was just a ridiculous notion prompted by the fact that she did not know what was happening with the duke. Talking with the stable master, she had learned that Philip had left for London, which at least explained the midnight departure several days earlier.

Soon it would be Brendan’s birthday, which marked the time they would have begun their holiday traditions and a particularly sad time of the year for her. She had not seen her brother in four years, and it gave her precedent for concern. Could she expect her husband of a few weeks to return to her, or would he abandon her to rusticate, as Brendan had done?

As a wife, she did not legally exist to make her own decisions, and he would decide her fate when he eventually decided to return. She had a babe on the way, but if the duke sent her away to another one of his estates to put distance between them, would he keep the little one here? Did she need to keep her heart disengaged even from her own child, lest it be broken in a few months when she might be forced to part with him or her?

It was bittersweet to watch the happy familial interplay while her own future was uncertain. She acknowledged to herself that she was angry with the duke, who had promised her they would talk. Loneliness was a constant companion, and she wished once more that her own mama was still here to talk to.

She deserved to know what her husband planned to do about the recent revelations. Had he found Richard? Had they sorted out their disagreement? Did the fact that there was no cause for his anger at Richard affect their marriage? Had it been a significant factor in his decision to marry her?

She had the right to know where things stood. Annabel beat back her resentment of her missing husband and steeled her nerves.

Pushing her conflicting thoughts to the back of her mind, she breathed in the fragrant tea and took another sip while she waited for Mrs. James to return to her seat. She would visit every tenant farmhouse on their lands, meet every Avonmead wife and mother, before she shed another tear.

Mrs. James returned to her seat and picked up her discarded teacup, raising it to her lips to sip before continuing their conversation. “Your Grace, you were saying you are in charge of the Christmas festivities at Avonmead this year?”

Annabel smiled and nodded, determined to proceed as the mistress of the estate, even if her absent husband never rejoined her. “Yes, Mrs. James, we have a wonderful event planned for all the tenants.” Where was her blasted husband? Was he ever coming home?

* * *

“Four years ago, close to this time of the year, the baron called me into his study. It was the day I turned twenty-one. My … birthday …”

Philip wanted to stop the telling. He knew the baron was not a pleasant man, and how could a story that began with a birthday and ended with a familial estrangement possibly turn out well? Steeling his nerve, he reminded himself that he was here for Annabel’s sake. He had hurt his wife, and he would make it up to her. No one had ever died because they were forced to listen to a tragic tale.

“… The baron felt that since I had now come of age, I was man enough to hear the truth. He no longer wanted a snot-nosed brat sitting across from him at his breakfast table every morning, so it was time for me to depart Baydon Hall. He informed me he was not my father, and we were not family. His brother, John Ridley, who died in a riding accident, had dishonored their family by getting his betrothed with child. There was to be a hurried wedding, but the baron—my true father—had taken a reckless ride to race a friend and had broken his neck in the subsequent fall just days before the wedding. As the new baron, he had been forced to salvage the family reputation by marrying—his words, not mine—the chit … in other words, my mother. He was forced to take care of John Ridley’s bastard brat and claim me as his own.”

Philip rolled his head back to stare at the ceiling. He truly despised Filminster. Composing himself, he returned his gaze to his storyteller, who was staring sightlessly toward the mullioned window that looked out to the street. Philip waited for the man to resume.

“He let me know in no uncertain terms that this matter would remain a secret and he would not deny me as his heir, for my mother had failed to grant him a true heir. However, now that I was of age, I was to leave Baydon Hall and never return. His man of business would continue to provide an allowance if I did nothing to embarrass his name, and I could have use of the family estates outside of the Hall. I was not to visit, nor write, as no one wanted or needed to hear from me. I asked him about Annabel, if I could say goodbye. He said why would I want to do that? We were not family.”

The man before him looked defeated as he repeated the baron’s words. Pain lined his young face and made him look older than his years. Philip waited in silence—his chest tight and his lungs strained at the exertion of drawing breath—for the future lord to complete his telling. He could not reconcile the baron’s behavior with that of his own loving parents, who had always made time for him and encouraged him in his learning and confidence. He had been devastated at their unexpected loss, while Filminster had thrown his family connections away like rubbish.

Ridley finally turned his defensive eyes back to the duke. “So, as you can see, our relationship is a lie, built on lies. Annabel and I are nothing to each other.”

Philip frowned as he thought about the younger man’s story. Ridley seemed sincere in his statement and did not appear to notice any illogic in his words.

The duke cleared his throat while he considered how to enlighten the future heir to Baydon Hall. “The baron is despicable, and your tale is … heartbreaking. Which leaves me with the awkward position of … I am unsure how to break this news to you …” Philip attempted to gather his thoughts for clarity as he ventured to speak once more. “… but that makes Annabel your half-sister. Not to mention your cousin. But mostly your sister. And as your sister, she misses you and she needs you.”

“Have you not listened to a word I said? We are not related! I have no connections of my own. I am a charity case along with my departed mother!”

Philip heard anguish in the man’s voice and, in a sudden flash, comprehended what the other man had experienced. Brendan Ridley had been shaken to his core by the news the baron had imparted. He must have felt the disavowal so deeply that he had lost all sense of family and identity. Philip could understand the man’s pain because of his own experiences with his late wife. As Annabel had once told him, some things needed to be said out loud, so they did not get stuck in one’s skull to bounce around until they became disturbed and illogical. The man in front of him had convinced himself that he had no family and was lost in his dark thoughts, with no one to guide him out.

Which meant that Philip needed to intervene. Reason it out for the man. For Annabel.

“Have you spoken to anyone on this matter?”

“No one is aware. Saunton knows the baron threw me out of Baydon Hall, but not why.”

“Brendan, do you mind if I call you Brendan?”

The younger man showed his assent, so Philip continued. “Brendan, your sister loves you very much. I can assure you that the fact of Filminster’s brother being your true sire will make not a whit of difference to her. You are her brother, and that is all she cares about. You are connected to her—to us . Annabel loves you and misses you, and we are your family. You are important to her, to us … to me … brother.”

Brendan started at this sentiment, looking at him with a wounded expression. To see such pain in the brandy eyes that looked just like Annabel’s cut Philip to the core as he recalled how he had left his beautiful wife weeping in her chambers several days past.

“Brother?”

“Indeed. There is no man who can substitute for you, Brendan Ridley, and only you will do. Come what may, you are Annabel’s brother, and she … we need you in our lives.”

The man swallowed hard, pressing his fist to his mouth with eyes closed as he drew a deep breath, the air thick with emotion. After several moments, he opened his eyes, and it was as if a storm had passed, for their depths were lit to reveal rich golds and browns. It was like staring into her eyes, and Philip had to fight back a wave of regret as he realized how much he missed his wife.

Ridley spoke. “What do you need?”

* * *

Annabel was at her wit’s end. Would the duke ever return? Where was he? Perhaps she was destined to walk the halls of Avonmead alone until the very end of her confinement.

The Halmesbury doctor who had visited had been an old man with white locks and balding pate. Quite jovial, the old man had confessed he was very busy in their underserved community. He had told her of an eminently competent midwife in the area who he thought might reside at Avonmead during Annabel’s confinement, if the woman would be permitted to continue assisting the villagers. Annabel had reflected on the idea for the past several days, and she had determined it to be ideal. She liked the idea of a midwife over a doctor, and she had heard somewhere that they enjoyed a higher percentage of successful births. It stood to reason. Midwives delivered more babies than doctors did and would be more considerate of the trials of women.

Her mind made up, she walked down the first-floor hall toward the servants’ entrance to locate Mrs. Harris. She could ring, but Annabel needed the distraction and exercise now that she had determined she should not ride the estate in her current condition. She reached the door and unlatched the handle to step into the dim corridor beyond, then jumped in surprise to hear raised voices once more. This time she could recognize Clinton’s voice.

“You harridan of a miserable old woman! Will you not cooperate with the simplest request?”

“Your requests are not simple, unlike you!”

“It is how we have always handled matters at Avonmead. Just do it this way and stop your incessant arguing!”

“You stop your incessant arguing, you old codger! I am the housekeeper, and it is my decision!”

“Why, you?—”

Annabel drew the door shut, cutting off any further arguing from reaching her. She thought about what she had heard in puzzlement until her lips curved up—she knew what she had borne witness to.

As she felt her face split into a smile, a chuckle escaped her lips. She had finally found an amusing distraction from her tribulations. Life was full of challenges, but it went on. Her life would go on, no matter what the future brought, and she would make the best of it.