Читать книгу To Win A Wallflower - Liz Tyner, Liz Tyner - Страница 12

Annie’s mother took the last sip of her tea and placed the pink rose teacup on the saucer. The pink rose meant it was Tuesday. Wednesday would have had the gilt-rimmed ones. Thursdays were for the silver vines. One could always tell the day of the week by the teacups.

‘I hate that your father didn’t have tea with us this afternoon, but he has had to lie down. This is our only time as a family. Even though it’s not quite the same since your sisters left.’ The grey curls bobbed as she spoke. ‘He has been touring the shops with the man who has all these ridiculous ideas about updating them and it has exhausted him. I think it may have tired Mr Barrett, too, as he is with the physician. But Mr Barrett will be on his way tomorrow. He upsets your father—all that talk about commerce.’

Mr Barrett did not seem someone who might be exhausted about talk of commerce. Not if he roamed around in the night and could speak so easily about fighting.

‘Are you sure you are not feeling distressed from the air last night?’ her mother asked, patting the strands at her forehead. ‘You look pale.’

‘Not at all.’

‘I will call the physician to look at you again.’

‘I don’t need a physician, Mother. And why is he here so often?’

‘It’s my bile again. You know how it is... He is so thoughtful. Not at all like Mr Barrett.’

Annie’s cup rattled when she placed it on the saucer. ‘I don’t quite understand why Father invited him.’

‘Mr Barrett does have a good man of affairs and seems quite interested in helping your father manage the shops your grandfather left him. But stay far away from your father’s guest. His eyes. Something about them. It’s as if he’s thinking all the time.’ She moved her hand, waving a napkin as she spoke. ‘He stares. I don’t like people who stare. It’s just not polite to look at people and think. It distresses the head so. The physician said it causes wrinkles as well.’ She patted her cheek. ‘I suppose that is why I look so youthful.’ She looked at Annie. ‘He says he can hardly tell we are not sisters.’

Annie smiled. ‘While you are quite the beauty of the family, Mother, I think the physician is full of his own miasmas and spreading things a bit thick.’

‘Nonsense.’ Her mother’s eyes darted to Annie’s face. ‘He’s a true scholar. He studied at Oxford and the Royal College of Physicians.’

‘Who are his people so that he could pay for his education?’

‘I believe he had a benefactor. When our last physician left after receiving the post with one of the Prince’s brothers, he recommended Gavin. He is well respected.’

‘Then I suppose he is qualified.’ She dismissed him from her thoughts, but she couldn’t keep Barrett from her mind.

It was so unlike her father to invite anyone like Barrett into their house. But he was a viscount’s son and her father knew how important that could be. Her father spent more time befriending people from the aristocracy than he spent doing anything else.

The memory of the Granny Gallery flitted through her mind. The man had tried to teach her to hit someone. She didn’t doubt he pulled his punches.

She would like to see him in the daylight hours. She touched her cheek again. ‘I do want to check with the physician to see if he can note an improvement,’ she said.

Her mother’s gaze wavered. ‘But not if he is with that man. You should wait. I’ll summon him. Ring for a servant to collect him.’

Annie stood. ‘But, Mother, the physician is close. It will only take a moment.’

Her mother shut her eyes and put a hand to her forehead. ‘Well, just be quick about it. And don’t let your father know if you see Mr Barrett.’ She whispered to Annie, ‘Your father says the man was seen about at a b-r-o-t-h-e-l when he was young. It’s said he visited every day. Not even waiting until the proper night hours.’

‘Oh.’ Annie went to the door. She stopped, looking back at her mother. ‘Do you think he thought it safer during the day?’

Her mother fanned her face. ‘Men do not go to a b-r-o-t-h-e-l to fight.’

‘Just a thought.’

Her mother shut her eyes and shook her head.

Annie wasn’t really looking for the physician. Walking down the hallway, she moved to the library, but Gavin wasn’t there, and then she tiptoed to the Granny Gallery. No one.

She would have thought the physician would have consulted with Barrett in the main rooms.

Then she moved to the room across from her old one. She could hear male voices.

She stopped, listening. The physician and Barrett talked. A rumbling sound. She wondered if Barrett had an ailment.

A few minutes later, the door opened, but the physician still looked back into the room as he spoke and stepped forward. ‘I cannot be in three places at once, but I’ll see what I can do.’

‘You’d best.’ Barrett said.

Annie stood, her mouth open.

‘Oh. Miss Annie,’ Gavin said, seeing her, then he smiled. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘My mother requested you.’

Gavin nodded, head turned to the side. ‘I’ll see to her.’ He walked away.

Annie didn’t follow him. Barrett stepped into the doorway, eyes dark.

‘Were you teaching him to fight?’ she asked.

He shook his head. ‘He looks like a soft flannel, but I’d say he can hold his own.’

‘I heard that,’ Gavin called over his shoulder, but didn’t stop walking.

‘Are you ill?’ she asked Barrett.

The creases at his eyes deepened, but his lips didn’t really smile and he seemed to be waiting until Gavin got out of earshot. ‘Miss Annie, might you be concerned for my health?’

‘No. You don’t seem to need any sympathy.’

‘I don’t.’

‘Or even someone to tell you simple pleasantries.’

He paused, watching her face, his own headshake nearly imperceptible.

‘You may know how to fight,’ she added, ‘but you could learn a thing or two about being pleasant.’

‘For me, pleasantries—’ his chin lowered ‘—were much more difficult to master than a simple punch. But I think I do rather well.’

‘Is it all a pretence?’ she asked.

‘Most of it.’ His eyes challenged her to make what she would of his words.

Her gaze mirrored his. ‘For most people their pleasantries are real.’

He gave one quick head shake. ‘It’s all a game. Quid pro quo.’

She raised her brows in question.

‘You do this for me and I’ll do that for you because some day I may need something else or you may and then we’ll work together because we are both working separately for our own interests.’

‘It’s a shame your mother died when you were so young. You might have believed in goodness otherwise.’

‘I suggest you do not leave your chaperon’s sight for one heartbeat.’ Then he stepped back, nodded to her, said a goodbye and gently shut the door.

Somehow she felt she’d been thrown under the wheels of a carriage.

She turned and walked back to her mother’s room.

‘Oh, my dear, we were just going to send for you.’ Her mother looked up, her pale dress flowing softly and pooling around her slippers. ‘The physician wishes to examine you so he can see how the treatment is going.’

He stood, the look of a schooled professional in his face and the monocle in his hand.

She waited, her demeanour that of a perfect patient, yet not looking at his face. She couldn’t get Barrett from her mind. Ever so politely, he’d shut the door in her face. The beast had shut the door in her face. No wonder he did not believe in kindness. He had none in him.

The physician touched the monocle to her skin. She didn’t move at the brush of the cold glass. Barrett’s eyes had chilled her more.

‘Oh. This is amazing. Amazing.’ He peered. ‘Her skin is perfect. After only one night of treatment. She’s cured.’ He stepped back.

‘After one night?’ she squeaked out the words. Relief. Disbelief and relief again. And then a memory of their guest, who seemed to know the physician, and then that Barrett had found her alone in the room the physician had sent her to.

Her mother clasped her hands in front of her. ‘How wonderful. Wondrous. Gavin, you are a physician without compare.’

‘Odd.’ She dotted her hand over her cheek. ‘I still feel the epidemeosis.’

‘Well, you may have a lingering trace I can’t detect.’ Gavin put the monocle back in his coat pocket. ‘If you wish to sit alone in the night air a few more times, I see no harm in it.’

‘I will consider it,’ she said. ‘And I do wish to thank you for saving my life.’ She put a little too much smile into the words and he glanced away.

‘Well. I wouldn’t go that far.’ He turned to her mother. ‘But miracles do seem to follow me around.’ His back was to her. He waved his arm out, his movements so close to the same gesture she’d seen on Barrett the night before.

She shut her eyes, listening, trying to gauge a resemblance between the men.

‘Do you think there is any chance she will develop it again?’ Her mother spoke.

‘No. Not at all. Miss Annabelle is recovered. We are fortunate to say the least.’

Annie excused herself and left them as they each congratulated each other on having done such a perfect job with her.

She’d only seen Barrett in the dim lighting but still, she’d looked at him with her whole being. She’d not paid as much attention to the physician before, but now she had. They were related. She would wager a month of her epidemeosis on that.

The physician had arranged a meeting and she’d attended just as planned. And Barrett had seen, or not seen, whatever he wished and now he was satisfied not to see her again if her miraculous recovery was anything to go by.

She remembered when the physician had first visited. He’d been so genial with her parents. So caring. He’d even enquired after her father’s business and they’d talked long into the night. She’d thought it odd that the physician had been willing to stay and listen to the tedious details of her father’s different holdings.

Then, later, her father had mentioned selling one of the shops at a ridiculously low amount, but how happy he’d been to get the money just when he needed it and he’d mentioned the Viscount’s son for the first time. Her father had been happy Barrett wasn’t the viper his father was and she’d felt reassured—freed from worrying about how her father would survive after she left home.

She reached up, took a pin from her hair and put a lock back in place, then walked to the window of her room. No carriages moved along the street. Each house as perfect as the other.

Barrett must live in a house much the same, yet the house had the memory of losing his mother.

A curtain fluttered in one of the windows across the street, and she wondered if a child had been looking out at her. And she wondered if Barrett’s grandmother still lived. If she’d passed on, Annie hoped he’d not danced on that day, though she wouldn’t have blamed him if he had.

* * *

Her eyes opened into the darkness and she wasn’t sure what time it was because she could no longer hear the clock’s chimes. The lamp still burned because she’d turned the knob low instead of putting it out.

Washing her face with cool water from the pitcher woke her completely and confirmed her determination.

She worked herself into her corset, putting it on backwards, lacing it, turning it and then pulling it up a bit more. It wasn’t easy, but it sufficed.

She wound her hair into a knot quickly and the pins went in place.

Creeping downstairs, she moved to the library to look at the clock. Two thirty. Well, let the soirée begin. A man’s room. She did have her sisters’ blood in her.

But not the ghastly, simpering, hug, hug, kiss, kiss, can’t live without you sop they’d inherited.

She couldn’t bear to be a victim to such nonsense. Barrett might think her an innocent and he was right. She had no reason to lose her innocence where love was concerned. She’d seen women about the ton carrying on with tales of broken hearts and husbands gone astray and being locked in a marriage with a lout.

A bad marriage led to misery and a good marriage led to brain rot.

Her own parents truly cared for each other and sighed over each other’s perfection. Their hours of conversation about what to ask Cook to prepare could destroy an appetite.

‘Whatever you would like, dearest.’

‘No, whatever you would like, dearest.’

‘Oh, no, whatever you would like.’

‘Dearest...’

‘Dearest...’

‘Dearest...’

But her mother wasn’t a mindless fluff when her father wasn’t around. True, she was a bit of a hypochondriac because she loved being fussed over, particularly by her husband. But, separate them and her mother could tally a balance sheet and organise the staff, all while twirling a knitting needle or playing pianoforte.

But Annie could not stay in ton and become one of the pretty posies doomed to decorate a man’s arm and his house and his children. She shuddered.

Barrett had a good thought when he told her she should learn to defend herself. She was destined, not doomed, but destined to become a spinster with a mind of her own. She’d almost perfected the spinster part, but having a mind of her own was giving her some trouble. She’d never be able to do that around her parents. They cried too easily.

She knocked on the oak door, hoping Barrett was right and that sound didn’t carry well.

She rapped again. He was certainly right about not being able to wake people easily in the night.

Then she considered kicking the door.

She couldn’t wait in the hallway forever.

Then she turned the latch and eased inside. The four-poster did look to have a shape in it, but she turned her head slightly aside because she shouldn’t look at a man in bed.

‘Pardon me,’ she whispered.

He didn’t move.

She slid back against the door and knocked on it from the inside.

‘Mr Barrett,’ she began on a whisper, but ended on a high note.

The form rolled over. Long arms. A muttered oath. ‘What—do you want?’ A wakening growl.

‘I thought about what you said.’

He sat up. Covers fell away. She closed her eyes and swallowed, forcing her courage to remain with her. Even in the dark, the man was a tower of strength. She opened her eyes and looked over his head.

He exhaled and his teeth were clenched. He finally spoke. ‘Couldn’t you have thought about it—tomorrow, after breakfast? Before dinner.’ He raised his hand and ran his fingers through his hair. She’d seen that movement before. On a pedlar when his cart of apples had been overturned.

‘You know I’m watched closely. I’m not even allowed to sleep on the same floor as you.’

‘For good reason, apparently.’

‘Did you have the physician arrange for me to be in the room?’

He didn’t answer.

‘Why?’ she asked.

‘You are said to be one of the beautiful Carson sisters. He said I would fall slavering at your feet. I was curious. That’s all.’

Her stomach gave the oddest flutter when Barrett mentioned falling slavering at her feet.

‘And the physician has kept you informed of my father’s business dealings?’

‘Not particularly. Not considerably. Your father has kept me informed. He talks when he’s nervous.’

She ignored his words and instead focused on her purpose. ‘I want you to help me learn to defend myself. In case it’s needed.’ And it might be once she left home. She wouldn’t be living in a large house with servants.

His eyes shut. ‘Practise your punching. Learn to scream out and shout No! If in doubt, bring a knee to the private parts. Goodnight.’

She didn’t move. She’d knocked on his door in the early morning. He should appreciate what an effort it had taken.

‘That was a mannered way of telling you to go away.’ He lay back down, rolled away from her and pulled the covers over his shoulders.

* * *

Barrett could feel her eyes on his back. He should never have spoken with her. Never have convinced his brother to arrange a meeting—wager or no. The damn little innocent was standing in his room in the middle of the night. And he was naked and the bed was warm and big and cosy. Way too comfortable for one. A perfect bed.

But not for him and this naive miss. She was little more than a pretty piece of pottery. Much too young. Younger than he’d been at birth. She was too naive for her own good. And she wasn’t doing him any favours.

‘I...I would prefer to hit you.’ Her voice moved like music along the air. ‘Hitting a pillow alone is not as intimidating. It doesn’t have eyes.’

‘Hire a footman.’ If he rolled towards her, he would not be able to go back to sleep. Well, that didn’t matter. He was unlikely to fall back asleep this night.

‘My parents would never let me punch a footman.’ She sounded shocked.

Heaven save him from an artless miss shocked at the thought of hitting a footman.

‘Go away.’ He put force into the words. No man would dare ignore such a command.

‘I don’t think it’s polite to keep your back to me as you talk.’

Much better than telling you to get the hell out of my room. A thread of civility remained in him. ‘Said the woman holding a lamp near the man’s bed.’

‘I’m across the room and you wouldn’t answer the door.’

He slung his body into a sitting position, using both hands to comb back the hair that had moved to cover his face. ‘Because knocks in the middle of the night never bring peace.’ He bit out the words.

Now she flattened her back against the wood, but her feet remained still.

‘Reach down. A little to the left. Open the latch. And go to your room and practise hitting the pillow. I will speak with your father about sending a maid to you so you can practise dodging punches.

‘Oh, that would never do. If you make him think I am in any kind of danger, he will have me sleeping in my mother’s room the rest of my life.’ She took in a quavering breath. ‘I would have thought you would want me to be safe. After what you said about shouts in the night not waking anyone...and then we have the physician in our house.’

‘You have no need to worry about the physician,’ he grumbled. ‘The man has a strict code of honour. He only lies on weekdays and is careful not to speak on Sunday.’

‘How do you know him?’ she asked.

He shook his head, causing his hair to move over his vision. ‘Everyone knows Gavin.’

‘Well, that doesn’t mean he’s trustworthy.’

‘He’s a whole damn lot more trustworthy than I am.’

He threw back the covers and she dived for the doorknob. She scurried.

‘Portrait gallery.’ He bit out the words before the door shut.

He would teach the wench to fight. And he was not in the mood to take pity on her. A woman who woke a man in the middle of the night needed to learn that was the number one thing not to do for safety.

He stopped. And a man who woke in the middle of the night should not be following along after a chaste woman like a puppy on a string. He was going to need that knee in the bollocks.