Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
"You're in good spirits," Anna's father said as their carriage carried them toward the night's ball.
"I am," Anna replied, smoothing her dress. "Martha's been speaking highly of the violinist her father hired."
She felt her father's eyes on her. After a moment of silence only punctuated by the sound of the wooden wheels, he said, "I'm quite proud of you, my dear."
"You're proud?" She racked her mind, unsure of what she'd done to earn the praise. "But why?"
"Of course I'm proud," he murmured, just loud enough to be heard over the road.
"In the past two months, you have found a confidence that I thought you had lost after your childhood.
I hear about a new friend every week. You have social calls.
It won't be long now before you've got suitors banging down our door. "
"Thank you, Papa," she said, her heart pounding in her ears. "Though perhaps I'm not as hopeful about the last part as you."
Would he be proud of me if he knew the reason? None of these women spoke to me until Charlotte spread the rumor about my engagement.
In response, he reached forward and took her hand, giving it a squeeze. As he released her, the carriage came to a stop. Then, a footman opened the door, helping Anna to the cobbled pavement below.
This ball was far more enjoyable than the previous one she had attended.
Instead of being given a wide berth or teased, she was engaged with polite questions.
For once, she wasn't just there to listen to the music; she was now part of the delicate social structure that these events created and reinforced.
It is quite nice no longer being an outsider.
Time seemed to rush past her. The evening dissolved into a blur of music and friendly faces.
She had so many conversations with so many people that she began to forget the subjects.
Contentment, happiness, those were the feelings at the forefront of her mind; everything else was simply tiny, unimportant details.
When the evening began to come to a close, her father found her. There was a strange tick to his jaw, as though he were holding something back. She began to question him, but he cut her off with a sharp shake of his head before any words could leave her mouth.
Anna's stomach dropped, dread pushing out the positive feelings that engulfed her just a few moments earlier. Something was wrong, very wrong. She hadn't seen her father this tense in a long time. Truthfully, she was quite sure she'd never seen him this way.
It wasn't until they were in the carriage that everything came crashing down.
"There was an interesting rumor being spread," he said, each word carefully selected. Their gravity mixed in with the tension in the air, settling over Anna and threatening to suffocate her. "Mr. Gordon asked me something about you. And I did not have an answer for him."
"What… what did he ask?" Her heart was in her gut.
"About your betrothed," her father said, staring right into her soul. "Which I thought was curious. You do not have a suitor, as far as I'm aware. Do you have anything to tell me?"
It felt as though the world stopped spinning.
Her lie, her story, the thing that had been holding together her fledgling social life, was about to come crashing down.
She had no plan for confronting her father.
She hadn't considered that he would find out, that the gossip would get back to him.
It was a massive oversight on her part, and she felt herself beginning to flounder.
"I do not have a betrothed," Anna began, her voice coming out thinner than she intended. "If I had, you'd be the first to know. He would have to speak with you first. I wouldn't accept a man's proposal if he hadn't spoken with you about it beforehand."
The moonlight streaming into the carriage highlighted his confusion and obvious disappointment.
She squirmed under his gaze, unable to meet his eyes.
It was clear he was waiting for her to share more, but she found she didn't know where to start or how to explain her actions.
Every time she attempted to speak, the words became tangled.
"If you are not betrothed, why would anyone believe you were?" he asked, and though the words weren't intended to sting, they reminded her of the truth of it all. She had no prospects. "That is not something that people just assume, Anna."
"I know," she whispered, staring down at her hands, threading them together so tightly that her knuckles went white. "And… The rumor is my own fault. I may have fabricated a betrothal several weeks ago."
Her father was quiet. Then, speaking to her as though she were a child who had just been caught with her hand in the sack of sugar, he said, "Why would you do such a thing? This is not something to lie about."
"You don't understand how difficult it is, being teased.
" She looked at him, wetness gathering at the corner of her eyes.
Her resentment, anger, and hurt threatened to come spilling out and drown them both.
"I thought that if the ladies thought I was engaged to be wed, they'd be kinder to me.
And I was right. I have friends now. I'm no longer cast aside. "
"My darling." His hands found hers, unthreading them slowly, his thumb rubbing away the stiffness of her knuckles.
"I know things have been difficult for you, but this is not the answer.
We must put a stop to this. It's already gotten out of hand.
It is not right to lie. I was sure I taught you better. "
"Laird McDonald is dead," Anna said, her face flushing when she realized how awful that sounded. "He's the man people think I'm betrothed to. I was going to let the rumor run its course a bit longer, then announce his death. I just… I just wanted people to like me."
All at once, she felt small. It was embarrassing that she had to go to such lengths for positive attention from girls her age.
Still, it didn't feel as if she'd had any other choices.
She'd been polite, she'd ignored the teasing, she'd continued to attend events despite the clear disdain the other women had for her.
"But they're doing so under false pretenses," he muttered, letting go of her hands and straightening. "You are a wonderful woman, Anna. There are people out there who will like you for who you are."
"I know," she said, swallowing around a lump in her throat. As the carriage came to a stop, she murmured, "This will be over soon. I'll see to it."
A few days later, Anna was walking in the park with Martha. The weight of the decision she needed to make, the next letter she needed to forge, weighed on her. Yet, she'd still made no move to correct the lie.
Will these friends I've made just abandon me when they believe I'm no longer sought after? Am I ready to let go of the connections I've created, even if they came to be under false pretenses?
"You know," Martha said, bringing Anna out of her thoughts, her voice light and conversational. "You've not told me what your betrothed looks like. Is he handsome? Rugged the way all Highlanders are said to be?"
The question made Anna's step falter. In all of her planning, the crafting of this deception, she hadn't considered what this man might look like. It seemed to her now that she'd acted too rashly, left too many holes in her story. She opened and closed her mouth, but no sound came out.
"I… I don't…" she began, all of her emotions slamming into her. Her body felt weak, and she was sure she'd collapse. "I don't know."
Martha paused, looking at Anna with concern. Softly, she said, "Oh, you've forgotten. You poor thing. I suppose it has been quite some time since you've seen him."
Tears flowed down Anna's cheeks without her permission. They only became stronger when Martha pulled her into an embrace, her palm rubbing Anna's back in a gesture of comfort. It was unearned, a farce. Shame overwhelmed Anna, her face burning with embarrassment.
"Perhaps we should get you home," Martha murmured when they parted. She wiped away the tears that clung to Anna's jaw. "I didn't mean to upset you so."
Unable to form words, Anna nodded. She allowed herself to be led back to her father's home. Then, when they arrived, Martha pulled her into another firm hug, promising that things would be all right.
Oh, how I hope she's correct. I must rectify this as quickly as possible.
As soon as Anna walked over the threshold, the footman helped her out of her coat as her father approached her. He didn't notice her red-rimmed eyes at first. "Your story must end, Anna. I have been forced to lie to my friends, and that sits heavy on my spirit."
She nodded, swallowing as she hardened her resolve. This had gotten out of hand. If it went on any longer, it would come apart at the seams. It was not just derailing her own life, but her father's as well. No amount of acceptance was worth this. She knew it now.
"I will forge another letter," she said slowly, blinking away the residual tears. "One that meant to inform me of my betrothed's death. It will be over. No one will speak of it any longer for fear of upsetting me or you. I shouldn't have let it go on for such a long time."
His face softened as if finally seeing the evidence of her earlier upset. Softly, he said, "That is for the best. We'll be done with this farce. I will bring you some parchment and instruct the cook to prepare something for you to eat and drink. When you finish, you should rest."
"Thank you," Anna said, her body feeling a bit lighter. It wasn't over yet, but it would be soon. "I just hope that I do not lose the friends I've made."
"They know of your true character now that they've given you a chance," he assured her with a warm smile. "Though it speaks of their own character that they wouldn't until they believed you were engaged to be wed."
The words buried themselves behind Anna's breastbone. Truth squeezed her lungs. It had been a silly idea to earn friends based on a lie. It was borne of desperation, but she saw now that her thought process had never been sound.
Before Anna and her father could break apart, an aggressive banging sounded on their door. She jumped, her heart pounding. No one in England knocked as such, nor did they arrive unannounced.
"Are you expecting someone?" he asked, stepping around her to watch as the butler opened the door.
"No, I…" she said. "Perhaps it's Martha? Perhaps I forgot something?"
She watched in horror as the door opened, knowing in her heart that Martha wasn't the one knocking.
The door swung forward, revealing a man Anna didn't recognize.
He was handsome, rugged, his blond hair tousled from travel, his tall, muscular frame that of a warrior. Then his blue eyes snapped to Anna.
"We were not expecting any visitors," her father said, though she could tell the presence of the man made him nervous. "What is your name? State your business."
"Me name is Hugh Mullen," the man said, his accent curling around the words in a way that made Anna's stomach do flips. "I am Laird McDonald, and I have come to retrieve me bride."