Chapter 25

CHAPTER 25

A nna wiped the back of her hand across her nose, a deeply unladylike motion that would have gotten her expelled from Society in the blink of an eye. She had handkerchiefs somewhere.

Or had she packed them?

The tears had dried on her face, and she was determined not to shed any more. Not over that awful, wretched man. She was packing her things with reckless abandon, bunching up gowns that would take hours to press back into shape, stuffing shawls and slippers and underthings in bags, and then leaning heavily on the mass of clothing to close the bag.

What should I take? None of the gowns he bought me, that’s for sure.

But when Anna looked over her clothes, they were unbearably shabby and old-fashioned. A duchess couldn’t wear those things, and they were more constricting than she could have imagined.

Where do I even intend to go?

Home, of course, to Mama and Daphne and Emily.

Oh, home. Are you sure that place is home? You left, didn’t you? You married and left, became a duchess.

A homeless duchess. What a thing.

“Would you like help with the packing, Your Grace?”

Anna jumped almost a mile into the air, spinning around. “Good heavens, Mrs. Haunt, you nearly scared the life out of me!”

The housekeeper had appeared almost noiselessly in the room, just beyond the open doorway. Her eyes were fixed on the suitcases and bags sprawled open on the bed.

“I apologize, Your Grace,” she answered. “But I was told that you had summoned the carriage to pick you up within the hour. You seem to be packing a great deal. Your Grace, are you… are you leaving?”

Anna’s eyes squeezed shut. “Mrs. Haunt…”

“I know, I know it is not my concern, but I am the housekeeper, and the family and the house feel… well, they sometimes feel like mine , Your Grace. Is that too shocking to say?”

Anna smiled weakly. “No, not shocking at all.”

Mrs. Haunt gave a small smile in response. “You are well-loved here, Your Grace. If… if you were to leave, you would be missed. Greatly. More than you know, I think.”

Anna opened her mouth to say something a duchess might say—something kind but firm, something implying that the housekeeper had overstepped her boundaries and it would be for the best to retreat, just a little.

We’ve all overstepped our boundaries today.

Instead, Anna only groaned, rubbing her hand over her face. She was getting a headache. It was a tension headache, thrumming between her temples and promising a long day of discomfort. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she lowered herself onto the edge of her bed, hunching over. She was tired, so tired, her bones seeming heavy in a way, dragging her towards the ground.

Or, more specifically, towards the soft feather bed behind her, laden with pillows and quilts. She could shove the half-filled bags and crumpled clothes to the ground and just roll into bed. She’d sleep deeply , and then when she woke up, perhaps all of this would be forgotten.

Lots of women lived with cold, disinterested husbands who didn’t care much about them, didn’t they? All the money and jewels and grandeur and opportunities made up for it, didn’t they?

“I thought… I thought things would be different,” Anna said quietly. “I thought that he would be different. At first, I thought he would be worse, and then… then he was better than I could have imagined. And now we’re back to worse again. I can’t bear to stay in this house, Mrs. Haunt.”

There was no need to specify who he was, and Mrs. Haunt didn’t ask.

The older woman eyed Anna for a long moment, then let out a long, rattling sigh. “I see. Well, Your Grace, it’s a pity. It’s been a pleasure to have you as our mistress.”

Anna snorted. “Really? I made a terrible duchess.”

Mrs. Haunt tilted her head to the side. “You think so? What makes you think you were so terrible? You are kind, thoughtful, and never demanding. You were endlessly patient with the servants and Lady Katherine. Oh, Your Grace, it’s broken my heart watching that child grow up so lonely. But with you around, she’s begun to flourish. It’s like watering a wilting plant and watching it come back to life. You have been a fine duchess, Your Grace, and a better mother. Never sell yourself short. I won’t stand for it.”

To Anna’s amazement, tears pricked her eyes. She sniffed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “That’s… that’s kind of you, Mrs. Haunt. You’ve always been kind. It’s just…” She paused, gathering her thoughts. “One of the gossip columns spoke about a scandal in the family. Seven years ago. Kitty was born seven years ago. I asked Theo, but he… he reacted badly. I’m not a fool, Mrs. Haunt. Does it mean… could it mean…”

“Any secrets I may know,” Mrs. Haunt said firmly, “are mine to keep and protect, especially when they are about this family. I’m sure you understand.”

Anna deflated a little. “Yes, yes, I understand. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to compel you to say more than you wish. I just… I just wish that things were different.”

I wish that he were different.

Mrs. Haunt bit her lip, nodding slowly. There was a sympathetic look in her eyes, as if she’d heard the part Anna hadn’t spoken aloud. She had her small hands folded neatly in front of her, and Anna saw them curl into fists, her knuckles turning white.

“I’m sorry, Your Grace,” Mrs. Haunt said quietly. “This was not how I wanted things to end.”

Anna flashed her a wan smile. “Oh, this isn’t the end, is it? I’ll stay with my family for a while, but I’m sure I’ll come back sooner or later. I’ll have to, won’t I?”

Mrs. Haunt said nothing, and Anna knew that her reasoning was faulty. There were countless bad marriages in Society, everybody knew it. Husbands and wives lived separate lives, in separate houses, only crossing paths a handful of times a year, certainly striking no conversation. Such marriages were generally the butt of common jokes, or else quietly ignored.

Is that my fate? An aging duchess, living her life alone, connected to a man who scarcely acknowledges her presence?

Anna thought briefly about the night she’d shared with Theo, tangled in her bed and the carriage, pressed so hard against each other that it felt as if they were one. She remembered the coil of emotion in her chest, the sharp stab of arousal in her gut, and a fresh wave of misery followed the memory.

I’ll never feel that way again.

She glanced up and found Mrs. Haunt staring at her again. Sympathy was written large on her face, and suddenly Anna couldn’t bear it. She jumped to her feet, turned her back, and began to pack again.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Haunt. My mind is made up. I must go.”

“Must it be goodbye?” Mrs. Haunt asked, her voice so soft that Anna nearly missed it.

She glanced over her shoulder, something like guilt coiling in her chest. “Mrs. Haunt, I…”

Running footsteps were the only warning they had before a small figure barged into the room, pursued by a breathless Martha.

Kitty threw herself into Anna’s arms. “Anna, somebody said that you were going away!” she hiccoughed, aggressively sobbing in the way only small children could. “I don’t want you to leave!”

Anna felt like crying. She didn’t meet Mrs. Haunt’s eyes.

Martha lingered in the doorway, quietly gasping for breath, and met the housekeeper’s eyes. A look passed between them, but no words were exchanged.

Swallowing past the lump in her throat, Anna lifted Kitty up, settling the two of them on the edge of the bed.

“I’m not going away,” she said quietly.

“But your bags are all packed!” Kitty sniveled. “You promised we’d look at the stars again.”

“And we will.”

“Where are you going?”

Anna sighed. “I’m going back to see my mama for a bit. And my sisters. You remember Daphne and Emily, don’t you? You liked them.”

The worst of Kitty’s sobs died down, and she was able to breathe normally again. She eyed Anna with suspicion. “I did like them. Why can’t I come with you?”

“Because you have to stay here with your papa. Listen, Kitty. My sisters are going to debut soon. You know what it means to debut, don’t you? You know how important it is?”

A reluctant nod.

“Well,” Anna continued, “your papa and I are helping them to buy dresses and go to nice places and host parties. I should be there for them when they come out. Don’t you think that will be nice?”

“It might,” Kitty answered, sniffling, “but I will miss you. I don’t want you to go, Anna.”

The lump, lodged in Anna’s throat, showed no signs of fading away. Swallowing hard, she looked over Kitty’s head at Mrs. Haunt, whose expression was blank.

“I’m not going forever, Kitty. It’s not goodbye, I promise.”