Chapter 5 #2
“We are cousins,” he said with a courtly bow. “Therefore you owe me nothing.”
Eleanor was watching the pair as closely as Lizzie. “Annabelle is to be wed in September, Rory.”
He hardly seemed disturbed. He smiled at Anna. “Then may I wish you the most sincere congratulations?”
“Thank you,” Anna beamed.
Lizzie was confused. Wasn’t Rory McBane intrigued with her beautiful sister?
“Thomas is from Derbyshire. He is a Morely. Do you know the Morelys from Derbyshire, Mr. McBane?” Anna asked somewhat eagerly.
Rory’s smile vanished. “No, I am afraid I do not. So he is British?”
Anna nodded in pride. “Yes, and he is a soldier.”
Rory stared for one more moment. “So you are marrying a redcoat.”
“He is a fine gentleman,” Lizzie said quickly.
“Yes, and he is English, making him a far superior beast to us mere Irishmen.”
“Oh, do cease with your outrage,” Eleanor said sharply.
“It is a good thing that one of the sisters will be wed, never mind if he is English, as my poor brother Gerald can barely make ends meet!” She looked approvingly at Anna.
“Ignore Rory, my dear, as everything British inflames him. I am very pleased for you.”
“Thank you,” Anna said, clearly disconcerted by Rory’s views.
“And I am a boor,” Rory said, bowing. “I do apologize, Miss Fitzgerald, for daring to express such unpopular views.” He faced Lizzie abruptly. “And you? Will you seek the hand of an Englishman, too?”
Lizzie stepped back. “I really doubt to ever wed anyone, Mr. McBane.”
His brows lifted in real surprise.
“Rory is staying for supper,” Eleanor announced. Suddenly she smiled at Anna, who had taken a seat, clearly weary now. “I like the flowers,” she added.
Anna and Lizzie exchanged astonished glances.
“And now that I have had some time to adjust to the idea, you and your sister may stay for a week or two,” Eleanor said.
Lizzie was busy in the kitchen, putting the final touches on a rhubarb pie.
Cook stood besides her, a tall, gray-haired Scot with a pronounced belly.
She had just explained to him that her secret ingredient, as far as rhubarb pie went, was a dash of any fruit-flavored cordial liqueur.
He gave her a knowing look. “No wonder her ladyship is so fond of your desserts. You put vodka in the lemon tarts, rum in the apple pie and bourbon in the chocolate squares we served last night!”
Lizzie wanted to smile, but it was impossible.
Almost two weeks had passed since that fateful afternoon when Eleanor had decided that they could stay at Merrion Square for a while.
Anna and Lizzie had settled into a routine, of sorts: mornings were spent in the pearl room, quietly reading, and in the afternoons Lizzie would accompany their aunt on her social calls, shopping and taking strolls.
Anna continued to have a slight flu, one that required her to rest and remain in seclusion.
That pretense, of course, could not continue indefinitely.
Meanwhile, two letters had come from home, both from Mama, and Lizzie had intercepted them so Eleanor might not yet learn of their scheme.
And still, no pronouncement had been forthcoming as to their future at Merrion Square.
Last night, Lizzie and Anna had decided that Eleanor must be told the truth immediately, as neither could tolerate the burden of constant anxiety and incessant fear for much longer. Also, Anna was growing fat and in a very short time it would be obvious that she was carrying a child.
Now Lizzie was filled with dread. She paused, both hands on the floury wooden counter, praying that Eleanor was not already suspicious of the truth. Her aunt had begun to look at Anna strangely, and she no longer urged her to come with them for a walk in the park or shopping.
“Lizzie? Are you ready?”
Lizzie turned and saw Anna in the kitchen doorway, as pale as a corpse. Knifed with more unbearable tension, she quickly smiled at Cook and, handing off her apron, hurried to her sister. “Do we have a choice?” she whispered in return as they huddled outside of the doorway.
Anna placed her hands on her belly, so that her dress was pressed firmly over the expanding protrusion. She looked so obviously pregnant that Lizzie cried out, swatting her hands away. In dismay, they stared at each other.
Anna shook her head, turning so that she was in profile. “There is no hiding my condition anymore, Lizzie. Oh, I am so afraid! What if she puts us out directly?”
Lizzie bit her lip. “She will not throw us out, I feel certain,” she said, hoping to calm her sister.
Arm in arm, Lizzie and Anna walked slowly down the hall toward the main wing of the house.
Lizzie could feel Anna’s trembling as they entered the salon.
Just as she was about to say something to reassure her again, she could hear Eleanor approaching, her heels clicking in the hall on the marble floors.
Eleanor sailed into the room, waving a letter at them. “I demand an explanation!”
Lizzie and Anna exchanged worried looks. Cautiously, Lizzie asked, “Is something wrong?”
“Is something wrong?” Eleanor was flushed.
“I think you must tell me. But I am quite certain that something is wrong—very wrong—to cause the two of you to show up uninvited at my door, to have Anna ill every afternoon and night, to have your mother write me, thanking me for an invitation I did not ever issue and asking after my health, as if I were ill, indeed!”
Of course she would be angry, Lizzie thought, but it was hard to tell. In fact, Eleanor seemed more concerned than outraged. “Please sit down, Aunt Eleanor. There is a matter we must discuss with you,” she said quietly.
Eleanor lost the heat of her flush. Blanching, she actually obeyed and sat down, folding her hands in her lap.
Anna stood before her, wringing her hands. “I am sorry, Aunt Eleanor,” she said, her blue eyes huge and downcast. “This is entirely my fault.” And she began to weep.
“We need your help, aunt,” Lizzie said hoarsely. “We desperately need your help.”
Eleanor stared, not a single muscle in her face moving, her expression clearly grim.
“You have been so kind,” Lizzie began carefully as Anna wept.
Eleanor cut her off, standing. “I am not a kind woman. Anna, cease with your hysterics. Now is not the time.”
Anna obeyed, looking up, her face tear-stained, her gaze wide and anguished.
“You’re with child, aren’t you?” Eleanor demanded. “That’s why you are so fat. That is why you will not leave the house.”
Anna nodded, biting her lip, clearly about to dissolve into tears again. “I never meant for this to happen!”
Lizzie took her hand, her pulse pounding madly.
“She is also engaged to a very fine British soldier,” she cried in a rush.
“They are to be wed in September, but you know that! The child is due in July. Aunt Eleanor, please, let us stay until after the birth, so Anna can return home to marry Lieutenant Morely.”
Eleanor never looked away from Anna. Her tone was controlled. “And he is not the father?”
Anna started to cry. “No.”
“And I take it your parents have not a clue as to your condition?”
“No, they do not,” Lizzie answered for her sister. “This was my foolish idea, to come here and have the baby in seclusion in your home.”
“And you think I will participate in this unspeakable plan?” Eleanor asked sharply.
“You are our only hope!” Lizzie cried. “You are Anna’s only hope! You cannot possibly turn us away now, in our time of desperate need. No one could be so heartless.”
Eleanor met her gaze. “I did not say I would turn you away. Look at me, child,” she said to Anna.
Anna looked up.
“Does the father know?”
Anna shook her head wordlessly.
Eleanor now looked at Lizzie. “Who is the father?”
Lizzie stiffened. “Aunt Eleanor, it doesn’t matter! Anna is in love with Thomas. We will find the baby a good home.”
“I happen to disagree with you—assuming, of course, as I am, that the father is a nobleman.” Eleanor tilted up Anna’s chin. “Or did you bed some farmer?”
She shook her head, the tears falling in a stream.
“Anna loves Thomas!” Lizzie cried in alarm. “The father does not need to know! The fewer who know about this the better—there must be absolute secrecy—”
“The father should be told,” Eleanor said, her tone sharp. “Maybe he will take the child in. God knows, he would hardly be the first nobleman to raise a bastard alongside his legitimate offspring.”
Anna began to shake her head. “No! He can’t know!”
“Anna will be ruined,” Lizzie cried. “Surely you realize that! Once the father knows, the truth will come out—there will be gossip, rumors, pointed fingers, whispers and accusations!”
Anna wiped her face. “Aunt Eleanor, we cannot tell him, not ever! I love Thomas! Surely you wish for me to marry in the fall? Please, do not insist that we tell the father, please! It will ruin everything!”
Eleanor slowly turned back to face Anna. Anna now gripped both of her aunt’s hands, her gaze desperate and pleading. Lizzie prayed for a miracle.
Slowly, Eleanor said, “I have no desire to ruin your life, Anna. We have all made mistakes. Unfortunately, sometimes the price one must pay is a terrible one.”
Anna cried, “But I have already paid!” She covered her bulging tummy with her hands. “Surely I have suffered enough!”
“I have grown somewhat fond of you, Anna, in spite of your terrible vanity.”
Anna jerked, eyes wide, the tears ceasing, her expression one of hope.
“Have you learned your lesson?” Eleanor asked grimly. “Or will you soon grow tired of Thomas and proceed to behave in an equally shameless manner?”
Anna gasped. “I should never grow tired of Thomas, Aunt Eleanor! I know my behavior was wrong. I am very ashamed and I cannot explain it! Oh, I am so tired of this dilemma! I wish I had never met this man. I wish I wasn’t in my condition.
I wish I was already married and living with Thomas in Derbyshire! ”
“Wishing will hardly undo what you have done,” Eleanor said. “Frankly, I am afraid for you.”
Lizzie did not like the sound of that. “If you will help us, we can manage this indiscretion, Aunt Eleanor. With your help, Anna can have the child in absolute secrecy and leave here to marry Thomas. We will find her child a wonderful home. But we need your help.”
Eleanor met her gaze. “You are a very loyal sister, Elizabeth—and you are very brave.”
Lizzie had no interest in flattery now. “Will you help us? Surely you do not wish to jeopardize Anna’s marriage.”
“You may stay,” Eleanor said, “and I will help you in every possible way. But there is one condition.”
“Anything,” Lizzie cried, barely able to believe that their terrible dilemma had been solved.
Eleanor took Anna’s hand. “I insist upon knowing who the father is, Anna. That is the condition for you and your sister to remain here until after the child is born. However, I will not divulge his identity to anyone, just as I will keep your secret.”
Anna’s eyes were huge as she stared at Eleanor.
Lizzie began to protest.
Anna glanced at Lizzie. Then she hung her head, her cheeks flooding with crimson color. Her words were a whisper, almost impossible to hear.
So Lizzie leaned forward.
“Tyrell de Warenne,” Anna said.