Chapter Nineteen
Anastasia could not ignore the gnawing sense of guilt as she left the house with the silver necklace in her reticule. She had tried her best to ascertain, through the staff, that it was not a sentimental piece—but she couldn’t be totally sure.
And while it did belong to her, she supposed, selling it did not feel right.
She had no idea how else she was going to get the money her brother needed.
It would just be this once, she told herself.
She would pawn it and hopefully be able to find a way to get it back.
Perhaps she could save up the pin money Laurence gave her and repurchase it.
Or maybe when Oliver was in a better position financially, she could persuade him to repay her.
“Anastasia?”
She was surprised to hear her husband’s voice in the hallway at this time of day, and she turned around, feeling like she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t.
“Laurence! I did not know you were at home.” He normally left after breakfast, occasionally returned for lunch, but was always back in time for dinner.
She wasn’t sure where he went all day, or who he saw, but it was the first morning since they had wed that he had sought her out at a time other than a mealtime.
Of course, it would be at a time when she wanted to leave the house unnoticed.
“Since the weather is so fine, I wondered if you would care to take a walk with me?”
Anastasia felt the expression on her face freeze. It was the first time he had reached out to spend more time with her outside the bedroom. And she wanted to say yes—but she needed to visit the pawnshop. She needed to get the money and to divest herself of the necklace as quickly as possible.
“I—I’m afraid I have plans today,” she said, and she thought she saw his face fall a little.
“Oh. I see. Anything interesting?”
For the life of her, Anastasia could not think of a lie to tell him.
The truth was that she spent her days doing very little of interest. She often stayed at home, reading or making sure everything was running smoothly in the house—although, to be honest, the house had been run for so long without a mistress that the housekeeper, Mrs. Yates, was perfectly capable and content to do so without instruction.
But it gave Anastasia something to do to fill the long days when Laurence was out. She would have preferred to be in the countryside, where she could while away her days out in nature, but it seemed Laurence had a preference for staying in London.
“I… I promised my brother I’d call upon him,” she said eventually, although it was certainly too early for her brother to be receiving visitors, if he had been socializing the night before—which he generally always had been.
He wasn’t really the right name to mention, either; his name clearly irritated Laurence, and she was sure he wondered why she would want to spend time with a man who treated her so poorly, even if he was her brother.
And he didn’t even know the half of it.
But his was the only name that came to mind, and so she would just have to pretend it was true.
Laurence was sure she was lying. He didn’t know how he knew, but there was just something that made him suspicious.
What he didn’t know was why she was lying.
Her brother was distasteful enough company—but was she seeing someone he would approve of even less?
Or did she simply not wish to spend time with him?
He had to admit, it rather smarted to be turned down when he had wanted to get to know her better.
She shifted her weight between her feet, avoiding his eye, and he wondered why she was so keen to go.
“Well, I won’t keep you,” he said with a shrug. “Perhaps we can take that walk another time.”
“Yes, yes, perhaps,” she said as she rushed out the door.
Laurence went to sit in his study, for it seemed like the natural thing to do, even though he had cleared his day of all work in order to try to get to know his wife a little better. It was too early for anything stronger, so he called for tea and sat staring out the window as he drank it.
Where was she going? And why did she not want him to know?
An uncomfortable thought prickled at his mind. Could it be that she was meeting with another man? After all, they had not known each other well before marrying, and perhaps she had been secretly courting someone.
But then wouldn’t she have married that other man, when it became imperative that she wed?
There certainly ought not to have been a need for her to be betrothed to Baron Brett.
He did not like the thought of his wife with another man. And not just because she was his, and another man had no right. No, he also hated the thought of the passionate woman he knew laying with someone else. For another man to see that side of her—the side that he had thought was only for him.
It felt strange to visit her family home. She had not thought about the fact that she had not returned in the weeks since she had been wed, and it only dawned on her how long it had been as she stood on the stoop and knocked on the familiar front door.
When the butler opened the door, his face broke into a smile at the sight of her.
“Miss C—Lady Walsham. How lovely to see you.” He bowed his head, and she smiled, her heart warming at being so fondly remembered.
“It’s lovely to see you, too. I trust you are well?”
“Yes, thank you, my lady.” It felt very strange getting used to the change in title when addressed by someone who had known her for so many years as Miss Carrington.
“And I hope you and the viscount are well too?”
“We are, thank you. Is my brother home?” She did not wish to be rude, but she was keen to complete her task and then leave the house.
While it had felt like home for many years—now she did not feel entirely welcome.
The money from the pawned necklace burned a hole in her pocket, and she wished to be rid of it and to return to the life she was now leading.
Laurence had asked her to go for a walk that morning. Perhaps, if she were home before the air grew too cool, he would still wish to walk that afternoon.
It felt like a step in the right direction toward gaining a deeper understanding of one another—one which did not begin and end in the bedchamber.
“Yes, my lady. If you would like to wait in the parlor, I shall inform him of your arrival.”
She followed him in, feeling like a guest in the home she had run around in as a child.
The parlor looked the same as always, although perhaps a little less used.
It had been a room that she had primarily made use of, and so it had always been her books on the coffee table, her letters at the bureau.
Now the room felt like it had lost its soul.
She supposed it would be unlikely to be used regularly until Oliver married.
One day, she presumed, there would be a Mrs. Carrington who would sit in this parlor and pour tea and entertain, just as their mother had once done.
If Oliver hadn’t gambled the house away by then.
Anastasia tried to dismiss the uncharitable thoughts.
She was helping him now so that he could start fresh, so that he could put these debts behind him and move on.
It was awful to think that he might just start over.
And she meant to make it clear to him that she would not help him out every time he got into trouble.
She would not and could not take money from her husband and lie to him all the time.
She heard Oliver’s heavy tread on the stairs and wondered if he would berate the butler for showing her in before checking whether he was at home.
Of course, that would be the normal way of doing things—but she supposed the butler did not think that her brother would wish to turn her away if he were indeed present.
Although he had been working for Oliver long enough to know of his changeable moods.
When he entered the parlor, there was a smile on her brother’s face, and she immediately felt a little more at ease.
She supposed he had guessed that she was here to help him, and that was why he was being friendly—but it always made things easier if he was in a good mood.
She had spent many years of her life treading on eggshells around him, and she only realized the toll it had taken on her now that she had been removed from his presence.
The air felt lighter and easier to breathe when she was not around him all the time.
What a terrible thing to think about one’s own family.
She hated to think what her father would have made of the relationship between his two children now.
She did not think he had ever seen the side of Oliver that she knew all too well.
She hoped he had not. She would feel happier knowing he had gone to his grave unaware that his son and heir could be such a bully.
“Anastasia!” he exclaimed, embracing her before taking a seat opposite her. “How lovely to see you again. Shall I call for some tea?”
Anastasia shook her head. “I can’t stay long. I’ve brought the money you need.”
His beady eyes lit up.
“I knew you’d figure out a way to help me,” he said with a smile. “And Lord Walsham doesn’t—”
Anastasia shook her head.
“He doesn’t know about your debt, and he doesn’t know that I’ve taken any money. And I’d like it to stay that way. Because this is only happening once—you must change your ways.”
“Yes, yes, of course.”