The Rescue (32 page)

“Do you go directly after dinner, Mother, or is it later?”

“Not directly, but soon after.”

They were more than halfway through their meal when Betsy entered unexpectedly. She went to Lenore and bent slightly to speak to her.

“Mrs Rooke is here to see you.”

Lenore stared up at her. Weston and Anne had heard and turned to look at the servant as well.

“Henrietta’s mother?”

“Yes. She wishes to see you and Mr Weston and to meet young Mrs Weston.”

Lenore took a moment to respond, and when she did she had a plan.

“Tell Mrs Rooke we will be a few minutes and make her comfortable in the salon. Then send word to Mrs Cavendish that I might be delayed and not to hesitate to begin in my absence.”

“Very well, my lady.”

Anne watched in surprise as Lenore went back to her meal. She took a small bite of food and a sip of water from her glass before she found Anne staring at her.

“Do try to finish, Anne. I have no idea what the evening will bring, but we may need our strength.” Lenore looked to Weston. “Anne does know about Henrietta, doesn’t she, Robert?”

“Yes.”

“Are you worried about her mother being here?”

“No, Mother, there was never any ill will between us, but I am most curious over her visiting this way.”

Lenore put her fork down.

“I am too, and I’m doing little more than pushing my food around. Shall we just go now?”

Weston looked to Anne in question.

“Certainly,” she said, trying to keep the sudden pounding of her heart at bay.

Led by Lenore, the threesome entered the salon just moments later. Mrs Rooke stood, all smiles, to greet them.

“Lenore, please forgive my breech of manners, but when I learned that Weston was in town, I had to come.”

“It’s fine, Victoria. I must say, you look very well.”

“As do you, Lenore. And Weston, how are you?”

“I’m well, Mrs Rooke. It’s nice to see you. Please allow me to present my wife. Anne, this is Mrs Rooke.”

“How do you do?” Anne said kindly with a respectful bow of her head.

“Oh, Weston, she’s lovely. You’ve obviously chosen very well.”

“Let us sit down,” Lenore invited, stealing occasional looks at the two younger people in the room.

“I must tell you,” Mrs Rooke wasted no time in saying, “I have never gotten over Henrietta’s breaking off with you, Weston. She’s so flighty and foolish, and I also must tell you that there’s been a corner of my heart that hoped it wouldn’t really be over.”

Lenore and Weston watched Mrs Rooke look to Anne. The older woman was smiling, but her eyes were full of regret.

“How is Henrietta?” Weston asked, forcing his eyes away from his wife’s calm face.

“She’s well. She’s been in Bath now for weeks, living with my sister. I’ll probably go this winter to visit, if for no other reason than to tell her what a mistake she made.”

“How is Elinore?” Lenore asked, referring to Henrietta’s older sister.

“She just had another baby!” Mrs Rooke was clearly delighted to announce. This line of questioning worked for a time, but it wasn’t long before Mrs Rooke was staring at Weston again.

“I told her you were the best catch in all of London, but she let that Andre turn her head.”

“Would you like tea, Victoria?” Lenore offered, praying that the social commentary wouldn’t go on much longer.

“No, I really must be off. I just wanted to stop and offer my congratulations.”

Not a soul in the room believed that line, but no one wanted to chance the ordeal being prolonged, so none of the Westons replied. And thankfully it was over. Mrs Rooke came to her feet and made her goodbyes. Lenore saw her out.

When the room emptied except for Weston and Anne, they stood looking at the door before turning to each other.

“Are you all right?” Anne asked.

“Why wouldn’t I be all right?”

“I don’t know. Maybe the memories are painful for you.”

Weston’s look was unreadable, and Anne wondered if she’d hit rather close to the mark.

“I’m going to finish my dinner,” Lenore poked her head back in long enough to say. “Does anyone care to join me?”

“I will,” Anne replied without hesitation.

Weston watched his wife walk away, desperately wishing he could explain what was going on inside of him but convinced that it was too soon.

With no desire for anything else to eat, Weston took some time in following the women—too much time. He found the dining room empty. Betsy said his mother had gone next door.

“And my wife?”

“She didn’t mention her plans, Mr Weston.”

“Did she go out?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

Weston left the dining room and started for the stairs. It was a big house, and he’d only given Anne one tour. He assumed she’d gone to her room.

Norwood Place

“Are you all right?” Louisa asked the moment Lenore stepped inside the huge mansion whose property adjoined her own.

“Yes. We had an unexpected visitor.”

Lenore’s color was a bit high, and even though Louisa had guests, her neighbor was more important to her. She led her friend to her husband’s study, just off the foyer, and shut the door.

“Can you tell me?”

“Victoria Rooke.”

“Oh, Lenore, what did she want?”

“Mostly to get a look at Anne, I’m sure. I lost track of how many times she told Robert that her Henrietta had made a terrible mistake.”

“And Anne was listening to all of this?”

“Yes, she was right in the room.”

“How is she?”

“That’s just it—I can’t tell. We had a few minutes alone while we finished dinner, but there was something so vulnerable in her gaze that I couldn’t bring myself to ask.”

“Where was Weston at that time?”

“Still in the other room.”

Louisa gave her friend a hug.

“We’ll pray that the two of them can talk it out. It might turn out for the best.”

“In what way?”

“Well, if Weston hasn’t shared much about Henrietta, he’ll need to now. And there’s no one better to do that with than his wife.”

Berwick

Weston stood in the upstairs hallway, his mind doing a mental walk-through of the house. Anne wasn’t in her room or in the upstairs sitting rooms or salons. The downstairs salons were very large, and while he couldn’t picture her comfortable all alone in such large rooms, he still headed in that direction. It wasn’t until he was descending the last steps that he remembered the library.

Anne was buried in a deep chair, shoes kicked off, her legs drawn up beneath her, the lantern high as she gazed absently at the book in her lap. She looked up when she heard the door.

“I thought you might have gone to bed.”

“I had quite a long nap.”

Weston nodded. “I’d forgotten about that.”

“Weston,” Anne said, putting the book aside, actually quite glad to see him. “May I speak with you?”

“Of course.”

Weston took a nearby chair, one that allowed the light to spill onto both their faces.

For Anne, the conversation from the night before concerning Francis Cavendish was completely forgotten. Right now she had one question for her husband, and she desperately needed it answered.

“Weston, what’s in this for you?”

Weston blinked and asked, “What are we talking about, Anne?”

“Our marriage. What’s in it for you?”

Weston looked so surprised that Anne rushed on.

“It occurred to me after Mrs Rooke’s visit that if you had married Henrietta it would have been for love. When you married me, it was a rescue. I know why
I
married. What I don’t know is why
you
did.”

Again Weston could only stare at her, so Anne went on.

“I should have asked this during those long talks at the manse, but I didn’t think of it. Mrs Rooke’s visit has prompted the question, and now it’s all I can think about. Please tell me, Weston, what’s in this marriage for you?”

“Many things,” Weston responded, finally finding his voice.

“Can you name some?”

“Certainly. Companionship. I so enjoy having you at Brown Manor and sitting beside me in church. Even the ride to London seemed faster and easier because you were there with me.”

“What else?”

“You draw me out of myself, Anne. You force me to think of someone else. I’ve been alone for a long time. Your presence has helped me to be more caring and concerned about others.”

“And you truly don’t regret having not married for love?”

“No, Anne,” he told her sincerely, desperately wanting to handle this with tact and honesty. “I think someday we will love each other, but I can’t help but wonder if more marriages shouldn’t start as ours has.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, we both came into this with our eyes wide open, not full of romantic notions and unrealistic dreams. If we have romance someday and talk about our dreams, I’m sure the timing will be just right, but it didn’t have to happen before the marriage. It didn’t have to be before we made this lifelong commitment in front of God and man.”

Anne looked thoughtful. She couldn’t have agreed with him more, but why hadn’t they talked of this before? Or had they, and she hadn’t understood or fully taken it in?

Weston sat in his chair, taking in her expression. That his feelings were swiftly changing toward Anne did not alter the truth of the words he’d just spoken, but they did make him feel as though he must wait to discuss them with her. He found himself praying for ways to gently show her how much he cared without pressuring or scaring her.

“Did that answer your question?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Did I do something that caused these thoughts to come up, or was it just our visit from Mrs Rooke?”

“Well, after she left, you did seem reticent to tell me if you were all right.”

“I can assure you, Anne, I am not longing for Henrietta Rooke. Not even hearing from her mother and having her voice such regret has affected my heart. I hope Henrietta is well, but I do not wish her to be my wife.”

“Did I sound jealous and silly just now?”

“Not in the least.”

“It’s occurred to me,” Anne went on as though he hadn’t answered, “that one has so much to learn to be a wife. I don’t know how to do it all! I don’t know what all your looks mean. I’m sure in time I’ll have some memorized, but it might take years for me to be the wife you need.”

“You’re already the wife I need, although I appreciate your wanting to know me better. I certainly want to know you better.”

Anne’s face softened as she looked at him. She’d never known anyone so easy to talk with. He said she helped him be more caring, but it seemed to her as though he cared even before they spoke of marriage.

“Why do I get the impression that I did or said something right?”

Anne’s warm gaze turned into a smile, but she didn’t answer. Weston might have pressed her, but his stomach growled just then.

“Did you get enough dinner?” he asked.

“Yes, but I wouldn’t mind having a little something sweet. How about you?”

“I’m still hungry. I believe I’ll ring for Betsy and see what she can drum up.”

And that was all it took. Betsy was serving food in the library just 20 minutes later. Time slowed to a relaxed pace as the twosome talked and ate. Anne found herself with questions about Berwick—the home her husband had lived in from birth—and the closest neighbors.

“We should pop over to Norwood Place tomorrow,” Weston said at one point. “The house and grounds are stunning, and I’m sure Louisa would love to show us around.”

“I would enjoy that. I would also enjoy some time in your mother’s garden.”

“I thought you might feel that way. We can also plan on seeing Coventry Gardens. The late summer flowers should be splendid just now.”

“I won’t argue with you about that idea.”

“Actually,” Weston said insightfully. “I don’t believe you argue with me about much of anything.”

“Did you think I would?”

“No, but what I find most interesting is that you do have a mind of your own. You’re quite willing to follow my lead, but you’re no one’s floor mat.”

“That was a nice compliment.”