Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Seventeen
Graham
I’d encouraged Mr. Lane to leave. To visit Ms. Peale. And I hadn’t for one second considered Anna’s feelings.
As I watched her ascend the staircase to dress for dinner, regret fell like an anvil upon my chest. How many times had I dismissed her desires, her needs, in favor of what I wanted or what her father wanted? The shame of it burned like bile in my throat. Never again.
No matter how she treated me or the barbs she threw in defense of herself, I was resolved. Anna deserved better than what she’d been given these past years. She deserved to be heard, considered, cared for.
A week ago, I’d have rolled my eyes at her tears and dismissed her as attention-seeking. But seeing her now—how different she was away from London—made me wonder if perhaps I’d been looking at her all wrong.
There was something about this Anna. She wasn’t new by any means, but she was real. She was vulnerable. Spending time with her inspired a new fierceness inside of me, a need to protect her at any cost. When she’d fallen apart after our encounter with Lennox—that soulless slab of muck—it had taken all my strength to keep from wrapping her in my arms, shielding her, as she tried to hide her tears in the lending library.
And that frightened me.
She wasn’t someone soft like Arabella Ryan, childlike, and as interesting as a little sister. Anna Lane was untouchable. Unattainable. So beautiful I couldn’t stop thinking about her even as she walked away. The soft sweep of her hair. The little dip in her upper lip. How her fingers felt curled around my arm.
I shouldn’t be thinking about her like this.
Not Anna. For the sake of my investment, and my relationship with her father, I had drawn significant and very resolute lines between family and business. Unspoken, but firm.
But she and I had made progress today. She’d seemed to enjoy the Steine, the sea, even the food. Nothing forced, nothing strained, just a simple outing. I’d even venture to say comfortable were it not for Lennox’s abrupt arrival. Even then, we’d recovered the day somewhat. She didn’t seem overly affected for long. I’d tried desperately to encourage her. To make her laugh again.
I could still feel her smiling back at me.
I shook my head to focus. Business, Graham.
A stack of letters on my desk had demanded my immediate attention upon arriving home, so I took a light dinner tray in my study and got to work, answering questions, calculating payments, then writing a long letter asking Tom to double-check my figures and triple-check my accounts.
Ink jar closed, pen in place, I stretched out my cramped legs and pushed back my chair. My candle, lit long ago to dispel the night, drooped under warm, dripping wax. Rubbing my eyes, I stood, pulled out my fob watch and read the time. Nine fifty-two. Had everyone gone to bed?
No. I could hear music trilling down the hall. I followed the sound—Ginny’s harp mingled with bursts of laughter—to the drawing room. What were they thinking? Anna would be trying to sleep at this hour, all the while my wild family was—
I froze under the doorframe at the sight before me: Ginny, plucking strings on the harp, and Anna counting out, “One, two, three. One, two, three,” as she and Tabs, whose hair had been arranged in curls and new ribbons, spun circles in the middle of the room.
“Put your feet on mine!” Anna called through a laugh. “No, left. My left!”
“I hate waltzing!” Tabs wailed, curls bouncing.
Ginny could hardly pluck the strings for her laughing fit.
I found Mother in the corner by a low-lit fire, a book open in her hands, though her eyes were trained on the sight before her. “You’re too far apart, move closer together.”
“Good heavens,Mrs. Everett, how scandalous.” Anna snorted, laughing so hard her steps faltered, and she and Tabs broke apart, stumbling.
I stepped into the room, torn between righting Anna and aiding Tabs, when the music stopped suddenly, the fits of laughter silenced.
“Oh, dear, were we too loud?” Mother asked, closing her book. A stern look crossed her countenance. “Girls—”
“No, not at all.” I stood in the middle of the room like a fool.
Anna cleared her throat and exchanged a look with Tabs, who glanced back at Ginny.
“I’ve just finished my correspondence, actually. Heard something,” I said.
Blithering idiot.
“Anna taught me how to properly bat my lashes!” Tabs exclaimed, as though the fact were bursting from her. “And! Anna says if you wish for an introduction to a certain handsome gentleman, you need only drop your handkerchief ahead of him, and the gentleman will bring it to you and—”
I promptly fell into the nearest chair.
“Tabitha!” Ginny chided. “That was a secret.”
“All secrets come out eventually,” Anna said, finding a spot on the sofa adjacent my chair. She turned to me. “And before you lecture me, I also taught her how to hide in the event she is hunted by a persistent suitor, and that one should only dance the waltz with a gentleman she wishes to encourage in courtship.”
“I’m to hide behind a fern. Or a marble statue,” Tabs said proudly.
“Very well,” Mother said with a laugh. “Off to bed with you, darling. Shall we?”
Tabs did not put up a fuss. She hugged Anna, then kissed Ginny on the cheek.
“I can take her, Mama,” Ginny offered, and to my astonishment, the conversation ended there. Mother settled back in her seat across the room. Anna watched them go, and the room fell silent.
I should take my leave. I should get a full night of rest to be at my prime tomorrow. A full day with Anna. A full day of work.
“Are you always this busy at home?” Anna was watching me, measuring something in my face. “I imagine you in your little room in London always working. But here? At home?”
“I—” I cleared my throat.
“My father never used to miss dinner. In truth, our dinners turned into business discussions, with the two of you prattling on, and me, with a plate and a drink.”
I could picture it. Not-so-distant dinners where the most she’d say was a cutting remark to me or a general comment on some happening in Town.
“How are you feeling?” I asked, though the question sounded ridiculous as soon as I’d released it. Of course she was still upset.
“Your family is a welcome distraction.” She gave a half-hearted laugh. “Your sisters and mother are lucky to have each other when you are away from their table.”
In a flash, I pictured her in her own home, alone. One setting at the Lane’s long, elegant table.
“I fulfill many roles in my family,” I said as a way of excusing my frequent absences. I didn’t say how I hoped that might change soon because she would certainly take that as a manipulation. “Busy, yes, but I try to be present when I am home.”
“They love you very much,” she replied. “You are, by all accounts, a very fortunate man.”
A fortunate man. Me?
After all I’d lost. How far I’d fallen. I’d never considered myself fortunate.
“Is this all you do in Brighton, then?” She gestured around the quiet room. Mother had settled back into her book. “No tea, no port? Just sitting around, looking at each other?”
I straightened, defensive, until I saw the tease in her smile. “Well, typically it’s the cotillion instead of the waltz.”
She snorted, relaxing on the sofa.
“Or we often play cards.”
She tilted her head. “Oh? Where are these cards you speak of? Or better yet, do you have a box of letters?”
She wanted to play? With me? “You want to play the alphabet game? Like we are children?”
She raised a brow, then nodded.
The hour was late, and I knew I should excuse myself and rest. But Anna’s eyes found mine, bright and hopeful.
All I could see was that tempting smile of hers. Those full, alluring lips.
I, a man starved, and she, everything good.
She’d been so upset after encountering Lennox in the library. Perhaps she was scared to retire with nothing but her own thoughts.
If she wanted, I could be a friend. I could help calm her mind.
I rose from my spot, a challenge she quickly met, and while I retrieved the box of ivory letters from the side table, she moved the tea cart next to the sofa and flopped back in her spot.
I sat across from her, the tea cart between us. A far cry from the elegant furniture in her own drawing room. And yet, she settled in, her shoulders relaxed. A little smile on her face. I dumped the smooth letters, each carefully carved in ivory, out on the flat surface and mixed them all with a hand.
“First to five,” Anna said. Then, “You’re peeking!”
I jerked my gaze to hers. “I am not!”
“Yes, you are,” she said, aghast, but humored. “You’re looking at the letters while you mix them. You’ll know where the A is, and that is cheating, Graham.”
“I am not.” I laughed. “And besides, we have three sets mixed together, so there are three A’s. Calm yourself, woman. What’re the categories, then? Color, animal, profession ... ?”
“Color first, then animal, then profession. What else? Size?”
I snapped my fingers. “Four-letter word.”
“No, no! The last is always the longest word you can spell.”
Without thinking, I glanced down.
Anna’s hands flew up, covering the letters. “You. Are. A. Cheat!”
I bit my lip to keep from laughing. “That was an accident.”
Anna leveled me with a stern gaze that was more endearing than she could ever know. “Keep your eyes on me,” she commanded, stirring the letters a few times more.
I swallowed hard as I watched her. Brown, honey-colored eyes. Skin as smooth as butter. Why hadn’t she accepted any of the many offers of marriage that had come her way? She’d had more than her fair share. More than she needed to find someone worthy. Though who could ever be worthy of that smirk? Those clever eyes. Worthy enough to be chosen by her for a lifetime.
“Very well.” Her hands stilled over the letters. “The first one to spell a color wins the first round. Are you ready?”
I nodded, eyes still set upon hers.
“On your mark.” She dipped her chin. “Begin.”
She lifted her hands and immediately picked out an A. “You felt it,” came my ignited accusation as I stole a B, U, and searched for an L.
She giggled—giggled!—and dug around the pile, plucking out letters quick as lightning.
I grabbed an E, but I still could not spot the L. I risked a quick glance.
Anna had B, A, C, and K.
Blast, blast, blast! There should be three L’s. I pushed the letters around, mind scrambling. I found an O and an R, and briefly considered abandoning ship for orange. But then, at last, the—
“Finished!” Anna called, triumphant. She’d found a wayward L, just as I’d plucked out mine.
“It was a tie,” I argued weakly, settling the L into place. Blue. Four letters to her five, and still I’d lost.
“Hardly.” She tossed her letters back in, then stole mine, mixing them all up and grinning at my frown. “One to zero, my favor.”
“Next category is animal,” I muttered. Dog, cat, lion. A handful came to mind, but the choice would be determined by which letters caught my eye first.
“And, go,” she said, lifting her hands but letting them hover above the letters, just enough to cloud my view.
“Cheater,” I harumphed, reaching under and sliding a handful closer to me.
“You louse!” She collected her letters, while I finished cat.
“Done!” she called, a breath before I did.
“Bee?” I pointed at her crooked letters. “That’s an insect. The category was animal.”
“Well, I wanted bear, but you stole my A, so—”
“So, I win. Cat. One to one.”
She groaned but conceded.
Next, she spelled vicar for profession, but I beat her by a half second with cook. I’d forgotten how much I loved to see her cheeks so rosy, eyes aflame and aimed toward me.
For our last round—the longest word we could spell—we did not race. One minute, timed by my mother from her spot in the corner.
We worked silently. At one point, I gave up on pneumonia to try for a longer word and pushed all my letters back into the pile. Then brilliance struck.
“Ten seconds,” Mother called.
“Drat, where is the U,” Anna muttered. Luckily, I was almost done.
“Time.”
“Aha!” I called, triumphant. “Hands up, Anna.”
“Happily,” she smirked, and my good humor vanished at the length of her word.
“Unequivocally.” She crossed her arms and leaned back, capturing my eyes. “Thirteen letters. You?”
“Philosophize.” Our stare held. “Twelve.”
“It would appear we are at a stalemate,” she said with a smirk. “We must create a final category to determine the champion.”
Mother stood, closed her book, and took a seat in a nearby chair between us. Her features were tired, and I felt a surge of guilt. She stayed awake for propriety’s sake, not for lack of exhaustion. “Might I suggest a worthy finale?”
Anna’s smile faded, and I wondered if she, too, could see my mother’s weariness. “Please do,” she said.
Mother looked between us, hands clasped in her lap like a doctor diagnosing his patient. “Your next word shall be an adjective. Chosen to describe your opponent.”
What?Describe one another with one word? Things between Anna and me were just turning civil again. We could not afford to swim in such dangerous waters. I gave my mother a look—one that told her that she had not, in her clear exhaustion, thought this through—but she continued, “You will have one minute, and I will choose the winner based on originality and thoughtfulness.”
Anna swallowed, looking down at the letters between us. “An adjective,” she repeated.
“I promise to be fair,” Mother assured her. “You may choose any adjective, as long as you have good, even humorous, reasoning.”
Anna seemed to relax, and I wondered which word had initially come to her mind to describe me.
Scrawny? Sightless?
What would I say about her?
I stirred the letters once more, hoping for another stroke of brilliance, something humorous, perhaps, to make her laugh. Would she laugh if I spelled out romantic after her admission at the lending library? Such a word felt too easy, too ingenuine.
Anna straightened her skirts, then brushed back her hair. The lights in the room seemed to dim, and I opened my eyes just a touch wider to see. Anna craved sincerity. She thrived on genuine, not easy. What, then, could I say about her in one word?
“One minute, and ... begin,” Mother said.
Neither of us moved. Looking down at the letters, a few adjectives for Anna over the years immediately came to mind: hateful, brash, presumptuous.
But also generous, empathetic.
Beautiful.
I could think of more than one word to describe myself, beginning with coward. For when had I ever, in our acquaintance, truly admitted to Anna Lane a single quality in her that I found admirable? Never. Not once in three years.
“Thirty seconds,” my mother announced. Her presence loomed over me. What was her motive here?
What a childish game. Still, neither of us moved. I could feel Anna’s breathing, see her still and thoughtful in the corners of my vision. What was she considering?
I lifted a hand. My fingers hovered over the letters. A, P, G, H. One word to describe Anna Lane.
I took two, then three letters. Anna followed suit, her gaze sure and serious. A few more letters, then I leaned forward like a schoolboy guarding my answer as I arranged them just so.
“Ten seconds.”
Anna sat up, clearing her throat. And when I finally straightened, I found her eyes on mine. I couldn’t say why, but I did not wish to read her word. I did not want to know which adjective she’d chosen for me, and yet I was impatient to hear it.
“Graham?” Mother prompted. “Your adjective for Miss Lane?”
She meant for me to read it? Devil take it.
“Don’t look so contrite,” Anna said, her voice low and smooth. “You’ve said worse, I am sure.”
My brows knit together. She thought I’d contrived the worst possible adjective of her. What sort of man did she think me to be?
The one I’d been these past few years.
I wanted to be different.
“Brave,” I read, and she straightened. “I chose brave to describe Miss Lane.”
“Do explain,” Mother prompted.
“Well, staying in the home of her enemy is no simple feat.”
Anna raised a playful brow.
“I think Tabs proved that upon her first morning here. And yet, here she is, living as we live, opening her heart to a new place and new people. I find that very brave.”
She locked eyes with me, then looked away, chin raised, with a face determined to maintain disassociation. Would that I could read behind those eyes.
“That is very thoughtful, Graham.” My mother turned to Anna. “Miss Lane?”
She cleared her throat. “I chose surprising,” she said, but instead of facing me, she looked to my mother. “Your son has surprised me this visit. How he behaves, his motives and priorities. In truth, I believe my assumptions of his character these past few years were ... wrong.”
My chest constricted, skin prickling from the sensation. She ... what?
Mother smiled gently. The only sound was the ticking of the clock on the mantel.
“And I wonder,” Anna continued, when the room stayed quiet, “how a man juggles so many things without going mad.”
A hint of a smile quirked her lips, but the thoughts behind her eyes kept her from showing it fully. She seemed almost remorseful. But, why? I could not bear it. I wanted the fire back in her eyes. I wanted to make her laugh.
“Perhaps mad would be a better adjective, hmm?” I studied her even countenance, desperately searching for a way in, to no avail.
“Surprising is a very fitting word for my Graham,” Mother said, and Anna looked up. “And while I agree that Miss Lane is exceptionally brave, it’s a rather obvious description, isn’t it? So, on the basis of thoughtfulness, I shall award champion to Miss Lane. Well done, my dear.”
Anna nodded once, then smoothed her skirts. “Thank you both for the diverting game,” she said in a quiet voice. Then, carefully, she pushed her letters forward, and stood. “I think I shall retire. Prepare for an early start tomorrow.”
I stood so abruptly in response, my chair nearly toppled over. “I look forward to it,” I said, clasping my hands behind my back.
Fool. Utter, utter fool.
With a gentle smile, and a nod of her head, Anna left.
“Surprising?” Mother muttered as I fell back into my seat. “How exactly do you behave in London?”
I hadn’t considered the differences in my behavior before. More serious, perhaps? “Focused.”
But it was more than that, wasn’t it? I’d been so focused I’d nearly missed her. The most incredible woman. I’d lost myself, and somehow, she’d found me.
I watched the empty doorway, straining my ear for the sounds of Anna’s departure.
The line between us was blurring.
“I’ll admit that young woman is not an easy one to sway,” Mother said. “But neither does she seem as biting a beast as you’ve portrayed in the past. She can be rather warm and inquisitive.”
I leaned back in my chair, balancing my elbow on the arm, my jaw resting on my fist. Things between Anna and me were complicated. “She’s said awful things to me. Made me feel so foolish and small.”
“And you’ve been perfectly honorable back?” Mother smirked.
I raised a brow. She could not understand. Dislike had grown into distrust over the years. We’d both been cruel. We’d both defended ourselves and our homes. Still, Mother waited, as though she dared me to respond to her probing. I hadn’t acted honorably, but Anna had kindled her fair share of arguments.
“The woman irks me to no end.”
“She did not seem to irk you tonight. Nor earlier this morning at the lending library.”
I rubbed my hands on my thighs, shaking my head. “What is it, Mother? Would you like me to admit that she’s tolerable? She’s tolerable. There.”
Mother tilted her head in amusement, eyes glinting with secrets. “I am simply trying to say that in regards to your future, you should consider the fact that marriage to the right person—”
“Oh, dash it all—” I raked both hands through my hair, then over my weary eyelids.
“—could greatly increase your happiness.”
“Thank you, yes. That’s quite enough.”
“She’s lovely, Graham. She matches your wit and your humor. She looks at you like an equal.”
“She is Anna Lane, the daughter of my best and most lucrative investment partner. She is only just beginning to tolerate me, and ... Why in the world am I even discussing this? Anna and I would never suit.”
“Wealthy, lovely in all respects, and, by your own admission, brave. Which of all those qualities, pray tell, would not suit?”
I stood, grunting in frustration, and paced toward the fire.
What was wrong with Anna? Everything. Nothing. For even when she’d hated and rebuked me, I’d still admired her. Still loved to affect her any way I could. Perhaps, somewhere deep within me, I’d wondered ...
But I’d never admit to having such a weakness aloud. An affection, let alone an attraction to her? Impossible. Especially when she made it so easy to resent her. And resent her I had, however unfairly.
“Her father cares for you. He would not be opposed to the union. Indeed, the thought must already have crossed his mind.”
I doubted it. He knew about my past, and the shame that followed me from my father. My mother often tried to forget it, and this conversation proved it. I softened my tone. “I already have three women in my life, Mother. I do not need another. Not yet.”
“If you worry for our financial—”
“It’s not just the finances.”
“What, then?” Mother asked, exasperated.
Pursuing Anna would mean extreme awkwardness if I failed. Her father would be less likely to maintain a friendship with me, and I valued that man like family. Rejection in any form resulted in pain, but rejection from her? The first time she’d snubbed me had sent me spiraling for a fortnight. Besides, we were finally becoming friends, and I could not bear things going back to the way they were.
“There are too many risks.”
Mother leaned forward, as though she’d been waiting for me to say those very words. “There might be risks. You might not be certain of success. But you and I both have proved that the greatest risk can yield the greatest reward.”
I shook my head. She made it all sound too good. “You speak of marriage like it is an investment.”
She grinned. “Is it not?”
My brow arched.
She stood and reached up to stroke my cheek. “Courting might feel uncertain at first. Terrifying, even. But if your heart pulls you in one sure direction, I hope you’ll take the risk, Graham.”
Then she kissed my cheek and left.