Chapter Fourteen

"W hat do you mean he isn't coming for dinner?"

The harsh note in the voice stopped Anna as she descended the staircase. She leaned over the banister to find Mrs. Wright and the butler in the corridor, each with expressions that said they would prefer to be anywhere else.

"That's just what he said, madam," the butler answered stoically, though there was a modicum of apology in his grave voice. It was uncommon for Anna to hear it. English butlers were heralded for their steadfast grace under pressure when dealing with their employers. However, Mrs. Wright wasn't an ordinary chatelaine, and either she wasn't taught or simply didn't care that she was visibly rattled by the unwanted information.

"But it's been days," she lamented, wringing her hands. "What will they think?"

The butler waited the appropriate amount of time in case the question turned out rhetorical. "They will think the viscount is busy, madam."

"Busy?"

"Precisely, madam."

"Busy or just plain rude?"

The butler sniffed. "If you'll permit me, ma'am… To a viscount, it shouldn't matter."

Mrs. Wright slammed her arms down to her sides. She gave the butler a sharp look before hurrying down the hallway, muttering, "I didn't raise a damn viscount. I raised a man."

Anna continued down the steps, hoping to veer off to the drawing room to wait for the dinner, avoiding the butler. Good servants knew everything that happened in a house, especially when guests eavesdropped. She was almost at the entrance when the polite clearing of a throat stopped her in her tracks.

"Miss Smythe, I have a message for you."

Anna's heart thudded against her ribcage. Was the butler relaying a message from Jacob? For her?

"Yes," she said, turning. Why had her palms become wet all of a sudden? Why did her dress feel impossibly tight?

"Yes, Mr. Williams told me to tell you that he would like you to join him in the library." The butler raised an eyebrow. "Before everyone else comes down."

Anna frowned. "Oh, I see."

"Should I tell him that you have other plans?"

Anna waved a hand in the air. "No, no, that's fine. I'll go at once." Her laughter was hollow. "I suppose I've been summoned."

With a bow, the butler left her to make her way to the library. Perhaps Phillip was reading a book he enjoyed and wanted to show it to her. Although the more Anna thumbed through her memory, she couldn't find one instance of his reading. He'd never been an erudite man. He preferred being outside to sitting in a library any day. She'd always preferred him that way as well. His body was always best admired when it was in motion.

As Anna entered the room, Phillip didn't have a book to close; rather, he placed his crystal snifter on the table next to his chair. Anna hadn't spent much time in the library, but it was a charming space, with the top half of the walls covered in forest-green paper and the bottom half with oak batten board. A fire roared generously in the hearth, casting fans of light against the dark brown wood.

Phillip sat in his tall-backed chair, one leg crossed over the other, a note of scrutiny on his face, as if everything in the room belonged to him—even her.

"I'm sure you don't mind," he said, gesturing to the seat next to him. "I hoped you'd be down before the others. Get you all to myself. I wanted to take advantage of a little peace and quiet."

Anna tripped slightly at the comment. Collecting herself, she took the seat he offered, folding her hands primly in her lap. "It certainly hasn't been quiet these last few days."

"Joyous occasions are rarely somber."

"No. I suppose not."

Anna's head was bowed. She heard a rustling noise and then saw Phillip's hand come into view and fold over her own. A sensation to squirm out of his reach rushed through her. It made no sense. Nothing about how she was feeling made any sense. Because she'd expected more. More of everything. More of how it used to be. More of how she used to feel. Was she dead inside?

Had the illness killed all sources of joy inside of Anna as well as the baby she'd carried?

No, it hadn't. Her limited time with Jacob had shown her that.

"I have to admit, I expected you to be a little more… joyous."

Anna's eyes shot up. Guilt filled her as she encountered Phillip's put-upon expression.

"I'm so happy you're home; you know that," she rushed out. "I… I'm sorry I'm not expressing it better. I think I'm just so shocked that you're back."

"Of course I'm back. You knew I would come. We have history, you and I. It can't just be erased by a few paltry years."

Paltry wasn't how Anna would have described them.

Nevertheless, Phillip was right. They did have a history. But Anna couldn't shake the notion that she'd had to contend with most of it on her own. Their liaison had only gone on for three months. Before that, it had mostly developed from her end—childish love from afar. But Anna would always remember that summer before he left for India. The way Phillip's limpid eye had finally landed on her, and he noticed what she had to offer in the bloom of her youth. A once-in-a-lifetime event, like witnessing a comet shoot across the night sky.

And then it had ended. And Anna—only Anna—had had to pick up the pieces of the heartbreak.

She bit at her lip, willing the words back in her throat, but they were determined to come forth. "I… Well… My father, that is, thought you would have come back earlier."

"Earlier?"

Anna desperately wanted Phillip to let go of her hands. Her palms were uncomfortably sweaty, and she yearned to wipe them on her skirt. "After you received his letter… You did receive it, didn't you? David said you both received them."

Phillip frowned. He uncrossed his leg and bent at his waist, leaning closer to her chair. With the fire at his back, his shadows ran long and heavy over Anna, casting much of her body into darkness. "Of course I received it. Dear girl, what kind of a man do you think I am? I was beside myself with worry. But my hands were tied. I had just landed in India. I couldn't just come home."

Anna was strong, but even she was surprised by the strength she mustered to keep questioning him. Phillip never liked being questioned. He was a gentleman, he'd informed her once. And a gentleman should always be taken at his word.

"Your father is a baron," she countered, her voice growing more strained. "He helped you gain a position with the company. He could have cleared the way to come home."

"And risk everything? Anna, seriously, who have you been speaking with? You know I needed to go to India. It was the only place I could make my fortune. I wasn't always my father's heir."

"And did you? Make your fortune?"

Phillip hesitated. "There were some minor hiccups. But I don't want to talk about those right now. I want to talk about us."

"Us?"

"Yes, my dear Anna! Us!" Suddenly, Phillip was out of his chair. On his knees, he perched in front of her, like a supplicant at her feet. The sixteen-year-old Anna would have fainted at this show, this grand display of affection. Not this Anna, though. The grimace on Phillip's face as he scooted toward her only made her want to laugh.

Once more, he covered her hands with his. Did he think she was going to run away? "Is this why you've been so distant with me? You're upset I didn't automatically return when I heard about your illness. You know I blame myself. How could I not when I see what it has taken from you?" He lifted his morose gaze to her hair then reached for a lock, running it through his fingers. "It will grow back. And you will be beautiful again."

Anna was stunned. Did the man not know how long it took to grow hair? She was more perturbed over that idea than the notion that she needed hers to be longer to be considered beautiful. "I like it short."

"No wife of mine will have short hair."

Wife . There. He'd said it. A word that Anna had spent countless nights and days dreaming about. A word that had once held more importance than her sense of self. A word that she'd thought had been lost forever.

But again, the impact was disappointing. The butterflies that had always camped in her stomach whenever Phillip was near were long gone.

Shame was the only thing that persisted. Because he deserved better from her, didn't he? Or was it Anna who deserved better?

Regardless, the man deserved to know. She couldn't move forward in any way without his hearing the whole truth from her lips.

"Phillip, I have something to tell you," Anna started. "I wasn't just ill. There was a reason."

"Of course there was a reason."

"No." Anna sucked in a breath. "It was because of us… you." Her knee began to shake. After all this time the words were harder to find than she'd imagined.

"Me?"

"No, me… us… what we did." She was butchering this. Anna had to get it out. The truth was pressing from inside her, stretching her skin until it hurt. "There was a baby," she blurted. "I lost the baby. I didn't know until it happened."

Anna paused. And waited. The word baby seared her tongue. She'd never used it before. The doctors… her father… everyone had called it the accident . But it had been a baby. Phillip's baby. Her baby.

The sounds of the fire popping and crackling and the servants wading back and forth to set the table for dinner battled against the ominous silence. Anna kept her eyes closed. She couldn't look at him, didn't want to read into any expression on Phillip's face, because she hadn't the faintest idea what she wanted him to feel. Remorse? Sadness? Relief? Were any of those emotions the right ones? Anna didn't know. Since the miscarriage, she'd shuffled through them all like a stack of playing cards.

"Well, of course it was the baby. What else would it have been?"

She felt like her entire body was submerged under water, the pressure growing the farther she sank. The baby. Phillip said the baby . Only he didn't say it like she had. He spat it out like he'd just discovered a bug in his food.

Anna had always believed that she was the only one with a truth to tell, but she'd been wrong. And, as ever, she was the only one to pay the price.

"You knew?" she rasped. She swallowed a lump in her throat. "How did you know?"

Phillip scowled at her like she was an unruly child who couldn't keep track of the conversation. "What are you talking about? I just told you that I received the letter."

The letter that her father had written. The letter that was supposed to have no mention of the miscarriage.

Phillip bristled, uncomfortable with the position and Anna's loss for words. "I explained it all to your father. I apologized for the little indiscretion, but seeing as how the accident took care of itself, there was no reason for me to cancel my plans and hurry back."

" Little indiscretion ."

"I stayed for us, Anna! I stayed so our life would be better."

But her life was already better, and it had nothing to do with Phillip. The love and compassion of Anna's family, and her strength of will, had seen to that.

"My father could have thrown me out of the house," she murmured. "I could have been ruined. I could have lost everything."

Phillip dashed a hand in the air as if he was shooing away a gnat. "Your father wouldn't have done that. He's not that kind of man. Generous to a fault. I knew he would take care of you."

Anna slipped her hands out from under his. His nonchalant touch was making her sick. "But you couldn't have been sure. You didn't know. You didn't check. You didn't ask. Not once in three years did you write to me. Why?"

Phillip pursed his lips and settled back on his heels with a huff, bored with the conversation. "I was working for the East India Company, Anna . It's practically slave labor. I didn't have time to write countless love letters—"

"But you had time for cricket," she snapped. Anna redirected her gaze to the books lining the wall. She could read every single one and not find a story more ridiculous than hers. Phillip had known about the baby. He'd known about the miscarriage. And he'd still stayed away. Even after her father's letter, no doubt urging Phillip to come back and marry her, do the honorable thing, he'd remained where he was. Searching for his fortune. Sucking India dry of its spices and silks as competently as he'd sucked away her girlhood.

No… Anna couldn't blame him for everything. He may have flattered and coaxed her, impressed her with his lavish bouquets, badly written poetry, and cheap trinkets, but she had eaten it all up like a glutton. No spoon had been too big. She'd swallowed every morsel of his affection.

And the cost would continue to plague her.

Phillip's face softened. He came back on his knees, clutching Anna's face in his hands, forcing her to look at him. "My dear, I understand you are upset. I do. However, all of that… distastefulness … is in the past. We can start anew. You say I wasn't there for you before, but I'm here now. Soon, I will be a baron and you will be my lady. Just as we've always wanted. We can start fresh, and you won't have to be so angry all the time, so… forward . You can be the girl I fell in love with who always had a ready smile for me. My heir can't be raised by a short-haired shrew, can he?"

"There won't be an heir."

Phillip cocked his ear toward her, his grin silly with disbelief. "I'm sorry?"

The trauma of this conversation must have taken its toll, because what she said next didn't hurt Anna half as much as she thought it would. She'd learned early on that her body was an amazing thing, only giving her as much pain as she could handle, and then numbing her for all the rest.

She actually smiled when she jutted her chin toward Phillip, daring him to condemn her for her physical failure. "You heard me. I can't have children. The doctors said the fever was too much. It wrecked any chance I have of conceiving again."

"You're certain? The doctors said this with absolute certainty?"

"Not absolute. But close enough."

Phillip toppled back on his heels once more. The hands that had just contained her own were now holding his head, long fingers massaging each temple.

Anna had to remind herself that she didn't want Phillip touching her. But as she watched him console himself, she couldn't shake the feeling that a real man might have considered consoling the woman who'd been told motherhood would not be in her future. Which would most likely mean that marriage wouldn't be in her future either.

And that was what her father had warned Anna about in her bedroom. That was what he'd been so worried about. He'd pegged Phillip for who he was. Sir John knew the man would never act honorably. If she were being honest with herself, Anna had known it too.

Nevertheless, she'd still harbored some distant, childish fantasy that Phillip might still profess his love for her. That, perhaps, even though they could never marry now, he'd still declare an undying devotion that would keep her warm and satisfied on all the lonely nights ahead. That, from across ballrooms, as he stood with his young, new, fecund bride, he would gaze over the heads of their friends and search for her. Catch her eye for a fleeting moment and give her a stare that said she was still the only one who'd known him at his best, who'd captured and guarded his soul so well that he would never ask for it back.

"That's the dinner bell," Phillip remarked, sighing as he lumbered to his feet. He glanced at the doorway, where footsteps could be heard cascading down the stairs.

Their time was up. Anna hid her disappointment and heartbreak behind a mask of composure. She stood and patted her dress in front, smoothing out the wrinkles. She might be a shell of a person at present, but she wouldn't look like one.

Phillip walked to the doorway and stopped himself, wincing as he turned back to her. "Do you want me to wait for you?"

"No," Anna replied before her throat closed up.

He nodded and left.

There would be no more waiting between them.