Romance: JADEN: An MMA Fighter Romance (Bad Boy Tattoo Romance) (New Adult Pregnancy Short Stories) (60 page)

This should have clarified, but the maid only looked at her with more confusion. Anastasia turned to Elise, wondering what to do. The maid was blocking the entrance with her body, making it impossible to get inside and explain what was going on to James McKenzie himself. Elise shrugged, a slightly smug grin tugging at her lips. She hadn’t wanted this to go through, just like Victoria.

“Mary,” another female voice chirped from inside. “What is going on?”

“There be a woman here,” the maid—Mary, presumably—said as if Anastasia was a harlot instead of a well-to-do woman of high breeding. Anastasia felt herself get hot in the face at the implications.

“Did you ask her what her name was?” the other woman chided.

“No, ma’am. I didn’t get to that part.” Mary turned and shot Anastasia a glance that told her that she should step off of the porch if she knew what was good for her health. Anastasia did no such thing, simply clenched her jaw and raised her chin. She wouldn’t listen to a servant.

“Well, at least let me take a look at this stranger,” the other woman said, and she appeared in the doorway without giving Anastasia any time to wipe the nasty look that was still plaguing her face from the confrontation with the servant.

This girl was tall and limber, like a tree, with hair the color of bark and eyes like green leaves. She gave Anastasia a quick smile, and Anastasia hurried to return it as the woman said, “Are you Anastasia Fitt?”

Finally, she was getting somewhere. Anastasia widened her smile slightly. “I indeed am,” she said and gave a shallow dip of a curtsey. The maid’s face had gone from ferociously stable to uncertain. She glanced back up at her lady, and then looked Anastasia over once more.

“You are dismissed, Mary. The pots from lunch need a good washing and the dog has trailed mud onto our rug again.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the maid girl mumbled, ducking her head and extricating herself from in front of the door.

“I apologize for her behavior,” the woman said, coming onto the porch. She was clad in a plain dress of grey material that had no extra fabric, no frills of any kind. It was so unlike the current fashions that Anastasia was used to, she stared at it for several long moments. When she finally managed to drag her gaze from the well-worn fabric, she saw the woman smiling at her wryly. “Different from city life, is it not?” she asked, fingering the dress between two chapped fingers. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Isabeau McKenzie, sister to James McKenzie.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Anastasia said, blinking rapidly in an attempt to gain her wits back more quickly. He had never mentioned a sister in his letters. She took the outstretched hand and was surprised by the sheer amount of strength Isabeau hands held. She may have been slender, but she had the wiry kind of strength that the dock workers always seemed to have.

“Oh, goodness,” Isabeau said as a gust of wind nearly knocked the three of them over suddenly, howling like a wild beast. Anastasia tried to keep her unease at bay, but it was difficult. Isabeau let go of her hand and rushed to pick up one of the trunks, waving away Elise’s protests. “You had better come inside before it starts blowing. This always happens at about midday this time of year. It makes it impossible to see a thing more than five feet in front of you due to the dust that is being kicked up by the foul wind.” She shot the sky a degrading look, as if her piercing gaze alone would have the power to stop the wind from blowing.

Inside, it was much cleaner than Anastasia thought it would be. The furniture was well-worn but kept immaculate and the lanterns remained clear of dust. There were no cobwebs clinging to the rafters of the high ceiling, and the slight scent of peppermint pervaded the entire house.

Elise glanced around to look at Anastasia, attempting to gauge her reaction. Anastasia gave her a smile, and Elise nodded. They would both be able to live here, Anastasia thought. It was nice enough and Isabeau warmth had completely thawed the maid’s cold welcome. Why was it, then, that she couldn’t seem to shake the growing feeling of unease?

Isabeau led the two women up to the second floor. Whereas Anastasia’s house lost value on the floor where no one but the family and servants ever visited, the McKenzie house retained the same level of cleanliness and tidiness that it had in the foyer and parlor. The floorboards creaking were the only sound in the house. It was eerily quiet, and Anastasia wondered where everyone was. At her house, there were always maids bustling around, the butler telling Victoria that the newest arrival was ready for tea, and the footmen bringing carriages and horses. Then there were always the noises that would come from outside, the constant chatter of people walking the streets and the neighing of horses as they drew carriages down the lane with choppy noises. Here, there was only the sound of the wood creaking and the unearthly howling of the wind outside.

Anastasia wondered if it was possible to go mad from silence.

She was shown to a room at the end of the hall. Isabeau opened the door and let her and Elise pass first. It was the same as the rest of the house. Well worn, but pristine. The lingering scent of lilacs hung in the air like a ghost of a breath, and Anastasia took a deep breath in, trying to pinpoint the origin. Before she could, the smell was gone, and there was only the peppermint that had somehow followed them up the flight of stairs.

Anastasia turned from the quilt-covered bed to face Isabeau, who was smiling expectantly. “This is the best room we have available in the house,” she said, glancing towards the window. “You can see the mountain peaks from here.”

Anastasia gave her a tight smile, realizing that the woman was insecure about giving her this room. She had seen the frills and flounces on Anastasia’s dress and had probably already taken into account the fact that her luggage would be worth more than most of the belongings in this room. “It is lovely,” she said, going over to the window. Her heart already ached to see the apothecary across the lane when she looked out of the window, but all she got was a long expanse of grassy nothingness that backed up to the mammoth mountains. Anastasia shivered as she realized that they were miles away from anyone else. What would be done if something bad happened to anyone?

“It is quite lovely, is it not?” Isabeau asked as Anastasia continued to stare out of the window. Anastasia turned and watched Elise packing her things away in the huge chest that sat at the foot of the bed. Isabeau had her hands grasped tightly together, as if that were the only thing keeping her together, and Anastasia realized that she was nervous. About what, Anastasia couldn’t fathom.

“I have never seen mountains so tall,” Anastasia replied instead of answering the question. If she outright lied, it would be plain on her face. In fact, she had never seen mountains at all, but she wouldn’t tell Isabeau that.

Before the taller woman could respond, the resounding crack of a door being slammed shut echoed throughout the house. Isabeau flinched and hurried to the door. “Stay here,” she instructed. “Tis James and I should like to tell him that you are here.”

Anastasia opened her mouth to ask Isabeau if she could come and meet her new husband with her, but before she got as much as a syllable out, the woman had already whisked out of the room, closing the door partially behind her. She heard Isabeau’s voice down the hall.

“James, darling, you’re back early.” Was that a tinge of fear in her voice? Anastasia narrowed her eyes and went to the door.

Elise looked up from packing her mistress’s things and hissed, “Mistress Isabeau said to wait here.” Her eyes were wide with the implications that came with disobedience. Anastasia shook her head and held a finger to her lips before slowly opening the door and peeking out. She wasn’t a servant and Isabeau didn’t hold a single thing over her; she wouldn’t have to wait for her to say it was okay to go out and meet her own husband.

“The grain supply was short this year,” a rough and low voice replied. Without meaning to, Anastasia envisioned a huge brute with hands the size of turkeys. She flinched inwardly. Had she just married herself off to some oaf who wouldn’t know how to speak English properly? She shuddered and took a step out into the hall. “Why are you acting as if you have been caught sneaking a cookie from the jar?”

“Well,” Isabeau said, and something dropped into the pit of Anastasia’s stomach, cold and hard. That tone of voice couldn’t mean a single good thing. “We have a visitor.”

“A visitor?” The words were eloquent, and if this man was an oaf, he was at least an enlightened one. Anastasia frowned. Why didn’t Isabeau simply tell James that she was here? Why was she dancing around the subject as if it were a hot coal she refused to touch? “What would anyone want to visit us for?”

Isabeau’s swallow was nearly audible from down the hall. “Marriage.”

The silence was heart wrenchingly loud, and Anastasia realized something in that moment. She didn’t know how, and she didn’t know why, but James McKenzie had no idea of her existence. “Marriage?” that single word brought his voice down from boulders sliding against boulders to a silky purr that sounded something like death. Anastasia felt a shiver go down her spine. She wanted to leave in that moment. She wanted to race down the road and catch up to the footman and demand that he bring her back home. This was too foreign and too strange. Too dangerous.

No, Anastasia thought, shaking her head firmly. I will not be driven out by this man before I have even looked upon his face. My mother would not accept my lack of commitment to something that I have never even seen.  She squared her shoulders and walked down the hall slowly, trying to pick up what else she could hear from the two.

They were at the top of the staircase, and James’ back was to her. Isabeau saw her first, and a sort of panic lit her gaze. She opened her mouth and words tumbled out, nonsensical and too fast to comprehend.

Anastasia continued walking, trying to gauge what kind of man James was from his back. He looked muscular enough—which most likely came from working on a ranch his entire life, and his clothes were like Isabeau’s; well-worn and not the best of quality. Most definitely not in fashion. His hair was cut just short enough not to be called long; it touched his shoulders in places but stopped well above in others, creating a grizzled look that immediately made Anastasia want to shy away, but she simply kept walking.

Isabeau, on the other hand, looked close to tears, her face panicked and her voice notched three octaves higher than what Anastasia had come to expect in the past few minutes. Her eyes were pleading Anastasia to leave, begging her to simply turn around and wait in her room like a good girl. Anastasia gave a resolute shake of her head and stopped a few feet away from the two.

James’ gaze eventually followed Isabeau’s. When he turned to look at Anastasia, she braced herself for the worse. Perhaps he had an ugly scar that bisected his face. Or maybe he had the nose of a pig that would drive her insane for all of the years they were together.

He was clean-shaven and surprisingly handsome. Grey eyes were the first thing that caught Anastasia’s gaze. They were hooded and tired, but piercing at the same time, looking right into her soul. The rest of his face came into focus shortly: thin lips that weren’t tastelessly so, a strong and squared jaw that matched high cheekbones in a strangely harmonious way. The cold, hard anger was a close third. He would have been pleasant if he would have eased the frown on his face and uncurled his lips from their snarl.

He was looking at her like that, and it didn’t change a bit as he took her in slowly, head to toe. Anastasia felt herself blush a deep crimson as his gaze traveled along her body. It wasn’t lewd, if anything it was borderline disinterested, but it was so piercing that she couldn’t help but feel as if she were outside again. Every single flaw was displayed, every single inch of skin was examined mercilessly. This man’s eyes were like the outside of this ranch; they disarmed her in seconds and left her feeling vulnerable as a newborn babe.

His face was blank for several moments, and Anastasia felt the cold ball of lead that had dropped into her stomach trying to come back up. He was displeased. He would send her away. He would leave their family desolate and barren, and she would have to bear the brunt of her mother’s quiet disapproval for the rest of her life. There would be no escaping it, and there would be no escaping the fact that she had failed—

“So this is my wife,” he said, and his voice was once again the sliding of huge rocks together, deep and rough. It didn’t go along with his body that looked as if it had been made for the courts of England, refined and almost beautiful, if a man could be called such. His face slid into something more normal albeit mocking.

Anastasia curtsied shallowly, much as she had when the door had been answered. “Yes. There seems to have been a mistake. I was under the impression that you knew I was to arrive today.” Or at all. James gave Anastasia a cold smile in response to her innocently posed not-question that she had perfected the art of over teatime and gossiping with fellow ladies of high class who loved a good scandal.

“You sound as if you have come straight from the city,” he scoffed. “You will find those manners useless out here.”

Does that mean that I get to stay? Anastasia thought with shock. Surely since he had been so displeased by her presence, she and Elise would be kicked out without so much as a farewell. “Sir?”

James walked past her and looked into the room that Anastasia had recently vacated. “Good evening,” he said to Elise, and Anastasia heard the maid mumble something back. “Would you be so kind as to take your mistress’s belongings out of that room and move them to the one next door?” He turned back to Anastasia and gave her a flat look. Anastasia felt herself go cold at that look, and then it shifted past her and onto Isabeau. “Really, Isabeau?” he said.  “Marie-Anne’s room?”