Chapter Twenty-Seven
Having placed her simple posy of flowers, Annie stepped back from the grave of the man she had known as her father.
Since learning the truth of her birth, however, she felt as though she’d never really known him at all.
Though much of the initial shock had dissipated, questions continued to clutter her mind.
Sadly, the answers to them lay buried at her feet.
“That you loved me is not in doubt, Papa, but you should have told me the truth,” she said, blinking tears away.
“To find out the way I did was unfair. You must have known these secrets would emerge after your death, so why didn’t you prepare me?
And what do I do now? Do I continue with this charade? Is that what you would have wanted?”
There was, of course, no response. Nor would there ever be.
This was her first visit to the cemetery.
Though she’d attended her father’s funeral service, she had not gone to the graveside afterwards.
She’d had no desire to face the small crowd that had gathered as a result of the newspaper report.
But aside from that, she knew the practice, for women, was discouraged.
Women were considered weak, prone to fits of hysteria and fainting.
Heaven forbid they display emotion at such a solemn time.
Since returning to London, it had taken Annie this long to summon up the courage, and the desire, to visit the grave.
She had learned to take each day in stride, lowering her expectations while making allowances for her moments of weakness.
As for the nights, well, they were another matter entirely.
Despite everything, however, Annie had cause to be thankful.
Archibald Mason and his wife had been more than gracious, providing room and board while refusing any kind of remuneration.
Curious to know if he was already aware, Annie had told Mr. Mason the truth about her birth.
Apart from a fleeting, and telling, expression of shock, the man had retained his usual, serious demeanor.
He had then commiserated, assured Annie of his discretion, and said what had already been said, that her adoptive father had accepted her as his own, evidenced by leaving his entire estate to her, and in good order.
Annie couldn’t help but think that marriage to Leo would have meant surrendering her inheritance to him.
She wondered, briefly, where her former fiancé might be, and then set the thought aside.
As it was, she didn’t have to worry about starving or keeping a roof over her head.
Finding a new roof had become a priority.
Though there had been no indication of it, Annie already felt as though she’d outstayed her welcome at the Mason household.
Returning to Ferndale Grange anytime soon was not something she could consider.
Too many painful memories. The same applied to her home on Chester Street.
She’d either have to lease the house permanently or sell it.
Archibald Mason would undoubtedly advise her on the merits and pitfalls of each option.
Maybe she should find some rooms to rent in the meantime.
Nearby voices drew her attention, as did the sudden brush of gentle raindrops on her cheeks.
Opening her umbrella, Annie turned from the grave and, with a nod to a passing couple, set off for Chester Street.
There was still work to be done. The proverbial road ahead needed to be cleared, so that she might dare to move forward.
*
Arms folded, Josiah leaned against the door jamb. “Good luck, brother,” he said, as Julian pulled on his coat. “I’ll see you at one o’clock, hopefully with Annie hanging off your arm.”
“From your lips to God’s ear.” Julian studied his reflection in the hall mirror and straightened his collar. “I suspect getting past Archibald Mason’s defenses will be nigh on impossible.”
Josiah shrugged. “Set the formal claptrap aside and tell him what lies in your heart.”
Julian threw him a doubtful look. “He’s a solicitor, Joe, not a priest.”
“Trust me.”
“I’ll think about it.” Julian opened the door. “But if I have to wait a few more hours to see her, so be it.” His heart skipped at the mere thought. “In any case, I’ll see you at one o’clock.”
He stepped out into the morning rain and hailed a cab. Not a half hour later, he stood before Archibald Mason’s desk.
“Mr. Northcott.” The solicitor stood and extended his hand. “It’s good to see you again, sir.”
“Likewise, Mr. Mason.” Julian shook the man’s hand. “Thank you for taking the time.”
“You’re most welcome,” Mason replied, retaking his seat. “Sit, please, and tell me how I might help you.”
Julian wondered if the man knew the truth of Annie’s birth.
In any case, his approach merited discretion.
“Basically, sir, I’m here for the same reason as before,” he replied, as he sat.
“I’m hoping to have an opportunity to speak with Miss Fairfax who, I’m told, is staying with your good self and your lady wife. ”
“I see,” the man replied. “Then if you’d care to leave a message, I’ll be sure to deliver it to Miss Fairfax this evening.”
“This evening?” Julian cleared his throat. “Actually, I’d hoped to speak with the young lady sooner than that, if possible.”
The solicitor’s brows rose. “Is there a matter of urgency I should be made aware of?”
“No. That is, nothing alarming, I assure you. It’s simply a matter of…” he hesitated. There was nothing simple about the matter at all, and a verbal dance around the issue would serve no purpose.
“…tell him what lies in your heart.”
Julian drew breath and leaned forward slightly.
“To hell with propriety, sir. The situation is this. I’m in love with the lady and I’m damn well certain she is in love with me.
However, a situation has recently arisen which has led Miss Fairfax to believe she is no longer worthy of me.
And I swear to you, Mr. Mason, nothing could be…
” He swallowed over the sudden dryness in his throat.
“Nothing could be further from the truth. I came to London to find her, to set things straight, and I will not leave the city till I have done so. Obviously, the sooner this issue is resolved, the better. For her, and, God knows, for me.” He swallowed again. “Please.”
Archibald Mason sat completely still for a moment, his expression remarkably unchanged.
Then he shifted in his seat and frowned.
“While I appreciate your predicament and your eagerness to resolve it, sir, the most I’m able to do is to let Miss Fairfax know you are here in London and looking for her, but that will not be until later today.
Are you residing at the same address as before? ”
“I am, yes.” Julian pinched the bridge of his nose. “Is there any way at all I might call on her this morning?”
“At my private residence?” The man shook his head. “That is not an option, sir.”
Julian heaved a sigh. “I will not insult you by offering a bribe, Mr. Mason. Must I beg, then?”
“Neither one would make any difference, Mr. Northcott.” Archibald Mason rose to his feet, and extended his hand. “I regret if this is not quite the answer you hoped for. It has, however, been a pleasure to see you again.”
Julian regarded the man’s outstretched hand, and was tempted, momentarily, to do something he had never done, which was to use the family name in an attempt to force that hand.
But the mere thought of doing so left a sour taste in his mouth.
Instead, he stifled another sigh and then rose, slowly, to his feet.
“I understand, sir, of course,” he said, as he shook the man’s hand once more.
“I shall wait for Miss Fairfax’s response, then.
Thank you. I appreciate your time and consideration. ”
As he turned to leave, Mr. Mason spoke again. “I believe you’re familiar with the lady’s London address, are you not?”
Julian paused. “Yes, I am. Chester Street.”
A brief smile appeared. “As I thought.” He cleared his throat. “Miss Fairfax has been spending quite a lot of time at the house of late, sorting things out. Not an easy task for her, I’m sure you understand.”
Julian’s heart quickened at the inference. “Might she be there this morning?”
“I couldn’t say,” he replied. “I cannot, however, prevent you from going there to check.” He smiled again and gave a nod. “I appreciate your discretion, Mr. Northcott, and bid you a very good day.”
*
Annie paused in the dining room doorway and regarded her morning’s work.
The past few days had been spent sorting through the boxes that had been locked in the attic.
She’d lost count of how many times she had ascended and descended the stairs, burdened or not.
There had been moments when she’d regretted her refusals of help, due mostly to her physical exhaustion.
Otherwise, she had no desire to share this deeply personal experience with anyone.
She didn’t want to be stoic. She wanted to be the weak woman at the graveside, prone to hysteria, succumbing to whatever her emotions demanded.
Doing so, she hoped, might finally grant her a measure of peace.
So far, it continued to elude her.