Chapter Fifteen
The parlor had become Anastasia’s favorite room in the house.
She had once again woken up alone in her bedchamber, and it made her want to leave the room as quickly as possible.
She didn’t understand why Laurence disappeared in the middle of the night, or how things could be so easy, so incredible between them when he came to her room after dark, and yet so awkward the following day.
This morning, he had been gone from the house before she had even sat down to breakfast. The butler, a tall, stately-looking man by the name of Johnson, had not known exactly where he had gone, just that he had taken a horse out a little after eight.
Was he purposefully avoiding her? Or did he just lead a busy life—one which he clearly had no plans to change despite being married? She drew comfort from the fact that he was always there at night. Well, as far as she knew, he was. When he left her room, she assumed he went to his own…
She sat and sipped tea in the light blue room, trying to ignore the voice in the back of her head that told her there was no law saying the relations she shared with her husband at night couldn’t take place in the daytime, if he were continuing his dalliances with other women.
A knock on the parlor door drew her out of her maudlin thoughts, and she forced a smile as Johnson entered and bowed.
“Mr. Carrington is here to see you, my lady.” Johnson held out a silver dish, upon which lay a card—presumably Oliver’s.
The butler surely knew Oliver was her brother; butlers always knew far, far more than they were ever told.
But Oliver had never been a guest in this house, and so clearly Johnson thought things ought to be done properly.
She considered, for a moment, telling Johnson to inform her brother that she was not in. Oliver was sure to know it was a lie, but being “not at home” to guests one did not wish to see was hardly a new phenomenon.
But then the staff would surely talk, or worse, her brother might get angry and cause a scene…
She was the Viscountess Walsham now. She did not wish to besmirch her own name, or that of her husband.
And so, even though she had no wish at all to see her brother, she nodded. “Thank you, Johnson. Please send him in. And could you ask Mrs. Yates for some more tea? This has gone quite cold.”
With a bow of his head, Johnson disappeared to do as she asked, and Anastasia steeled herself for the entrance of her brother.
“Annie,” he said with a broad smile, his arms open as if to embrace her. It was more friendly and affectionate than he had been with her in years, and for a moment she felt herself soften toward him. He was her brother, after all. The only relative she knew still alive.
Johnson frowned, as though disapproving of Oliver calling the Viscountess “Annie,” before leaving to fetch the tea.
“Hello, Oliver,” she said, standing to embrace him. “Are you well?” She had not seen him in the three weeks since she had married Laurence. It was probably the longest they had gone without seeing each other in their whole lives.
“So formal, dear sister. I am well enough. And you? You are positively blooming as the new Lady Walsham.”
She sat, folding her hands in her lap, and he took an armchair opposite her.
“I am well, thank you,” she said, even though she wasn’t entirely sure it was true.
Physically she was well enough, that was for sure.
But the confusing nature of her relationship with her husband—the closeness they shared at night, and then the distance between them during the day—was making her feel rather seasick.
She supposed she was being rather formal. But she did not know how to be with him anymore. He had behaved in a way she had never thought possible, and she did not know whether she would ever be able to forgive him.
“You haven’t been seen at any events,” Oliver commented. “I didn’t know if you were perhaps taking a honeymoon, or whether you are ill… Is your husband not at home?”
Anastasia shook her head. “I am afraid he is out at present.” She did not give any further details—because she could not.
Although even if she had known where Laurence was, she wasn’t sure she would have told Oliver.
It didn’t feel entirely wise to share information with him; didn’t seem like he could be trusted.
“Well, I’m sorry to have missed him,” Oliver said, although Anastasia thought he looked anything but. “I trust he is treating you well?”
And would you care if he wasn’t? Anastasia nearly asked him, but she stopped herself at the last moment.
She rather wanted to know the answer, but it would not do either of them any good to start an argument now.
Neither of them could change the fact that he had tried to marry her off to Baron Brett without her permission.
“Yes, thank you. The viscount and I are very happy.”
Another answer that wasn’t entirely true.
They were not unhappy. But they didn’t know each other well enough to be happy.
…At least she didn’t think so. But she wasn’t sure.
She didn’t know where he was, or what he spent his time doing.
And while at night she felt a connection, in the day she felt so utterly alone…
But she wasn’t going to admit any of that to Oliver.
“Excellent. So everything turned out for the best, then. No hard feelings all around.”
Did he mean that she shouldn’t have hard feelings toward him, for his actions that night? Or that he held no hard feelings toward her, for ruining his plan?
Again, she didn’t think it was a good idea to ask.
“As wonderful as your new marriage is, it has left me in rather a difficult situation.”
“Oh?” Anastasia said, her heart sinking. So here it was—the reason he was here. She had hoped, perhaps naively, that he had just wished to see her. Just missed her. Perhaps felt bad about his behavior.
But it did not seem that that was the case.
“As you are aware, I owe some money. To Baron Brett…among others.”
Anastasia gritted her teeth.
“And now that you are married to a man of such means, I need you to help me.”
Anastasia stiffened. “I cannot ask Laurence for money, so soon after we have wed. It’s not right.”
“Of course you can. He’s as rich as Croesus—he won’t even notice it. Just tell him you wish to buy something nice for yourself. New dresses or—”
“Why should I lie?” Anastasia asked with a raised eyebrow. “And besides, he’s already said I can purchase gowns. But he just asked for the bill to be sent to him. So there would be no reason for me to have any money from him. Not like that.”
Oliver sighed, as if she were saying something very stupid. She’d seen this reaction many times before. As much as she had always loved her brother, and wanted a close relationship with him, he had not always seemed to like her.
“I cannot have the viscount knowing the extent of my financial…affairs. It would reflect poorly on the Carrington name, as would me defaulting on these payments. You don’t want that, do you?
” He smiled as though he were confident he knew exactly what she wanted—when in fact he knew nothing of the sort.
“I am no longer a Carrington,” she said, holding her head up high.
“What makes you think I am so concerned with what becomes of the name?” Her anger toward her brother gave her the confidence to speak so, but when he gave her a withering glare, she found herself shrinking back.
She had always struggled to stand up to Oliver.
“My, my, you are an ungrateful girl,” he said, crossing his legs and leaning forward. “You may no longer be a Carrington, but I know you. And I know you would not want Father’s name—our father’s legacy—to be ruined.”
Ruined because of your gambling, she thought to herself, but she didn’t quite dare to say it.
He had that angry glint in his eye that warned she should not push him any further.
While he had not lost control physically in a few years, as a child she had certainly been on the wrong side of him when she had pushed him too far and he had responded with a stinging slap instead of stinging words.
She hoped he had better control of his anger now, as an adult… but she did not really wish to test it.
“You need to find a way to fix this problem that you created by running off into the dark walk with Lord Walsham like a harlot. I don’t care how you find the money, but I need you to get it.”
“But I don’t—” Anastasia began.
“Enough.” Oliver raised his voice and stood to emphasize his point. He reached forward and grabbed her arm, his fingers tightening around her wrist. “I need five hundred pounds. As soon as possible. And remember—not a word to your husband about the real reason. Or else.”
It was surely an empty threat, for she could not think of anything he could really do if she did not comply. And yet the way he looked at her and held onto her struck fear into her very soul, and she found herself nodding.
His grip on her wrist loosened, and a smile returned to his face. “Good girl. Now, I’ll see myself out, shall I? I’m sure you’re very busy, now you’re a great lady.”