Chapter Twenty-Seven

W eeks went by and Anna's family settled back into their old routines. They weren't necessarily hiding—though none of them liked to point out that no one had left the estate since they returned from Newton Place.

Encounters were short and light. Conversations were shorter and lighter. Voices were rarely heard above a whisper. It was the calm before the storm. The family was hunkering down, covering all that was exposed, taking shelter before the rain threatened to drown them and carry them out to sea.

As Phillip had not given a set time for his repulsive plan, every day was met with anxiety. Every letter that came to the house was stared at with trepidation before being opened in a resolved panic. But nothing gave an inkling that Anna's secret had come to light.

Days dragged on and tempers became frayed. Wits were close to their ends.

Anna begged her father to write to Phillip to implore him to rethink his decision, but Sir John wouldn't budge. Giving in wouldn't help matters, he said. He wouldn't allow Phillip the satisfaction of his groveling. Deep down, Anna knew her father was right. Men like Phillip didn't have the capability to see situations from other people's perspectives. Their vanity, their selfishness, was too great.

Needing to assert her control over even a sliver of this horrid ordeal, Anna's main concern became her siblings. Beatrice had been taciturn and moody the moment she returned home. It took copious amounts of dough and dozens of biscuits, but Anna finally got her sister to confide in her. Beatrice blamed herself for their father's broken engagement. She insisted that the family stop treating her like a child. She would marry Phillip if only to make everything right again.

The girl was too na?ve to see the situation for what it was. Even if the family placated Phillip, he would always hold the scandal over them. He had all the power. It was best to force him to show his hand now. That way the family could move on and figure out how to maneuver in their new world. Take the pain all at once instead of in brutal increments.

As ever, David was much harder for Anna to track down during this uncertain period. In the end, he was the one who came looking for her on a lonely afternoon as she had just finished up a good cry.

She had made it a point to keep herself from falling apart, especially in front of Beatrice and her father. But Anna's strength wasn't infallible. She'd taken to walking the gardens farthest from the home every afternoon, permitting herself to break time and time again behind the tall hedges and Corsican pines. Nature, she found, helped separate her from her rambling thoughts. And even though this method of finding peace wasn't as enjoyable as the one she'd shared with Jacob, she still appreciated it.

"You're a hard one to pin down, aren't you?"

Anna turned to find her brother meandering toward her. His face still held firm to the tan he'd developed in India, but his warm, rascally smile reminded her of their childhood together, the way they would play hide and seek in these labyrinthine hedges before their nanny forced them to come in.

When he reached her, Anna curled her arm in his, and together they strolled down a path they hadn't traversed in years. Before everything had become so complicated. "I was just trying to think… or trying not to think." She chuckled.

David nodded knowingly. "And how was that going for you?"

Anna squeezed his arm. "I've had better days."

"Yes," he said plaintively. "Yes, I imagine we've all had better days."

The dismal note in David's voice caused Anna to steal a glance at him from the corner of her eye. As carefree as he pretended to be, she could feel the strain in his muscles, the tight clenching of his jaw.

"Have you seen him?" she asked, not able to say the name.

David answered with a disgusted sigh. "No. And I don't plan to. Never again will I speak to the bastard."

As much as Anna wanted nothing but hardship and foul luck to nip at Phillip's heels for the rest of his life, she hated seeing her brother suffer. He'd lost a friend—a best friend. That, too, deserved a mourning period.

"I'm sorry," she said.

With a jolt, David stopped and turned to her. "You have nothing to be sorry about, Anna. It is I who am sorry for allowing this fiend to come into our lives."

"He wasn't always a fiend."

David's mouth tightened. "I should have seen it coming. I knew what he was like, how he could behave."

Anna coerced him into walking again, hoping the action might release his anger. Phillip's destruction knew no bounds. Everyone in her family had taken turns shouldering the blame, when he was the man who'd brought it all down on them.

But he hadn't acted alone.

"He never forced me, David. You should know that," Anna said. "I wanted him."

David scoffed. "You were too young to understand."

"Maybe so," she agreed. "But you have to allow me to take responsibility for my end of it."

"Even if that means you will be gossiped about, shunned from Society, while Phillip will go free?" David asked. He rubbed his chin with the back of his hand. "I had no idea how unfair it all was for women. I'd never really thought of it before. It doesn't seem right."

"I daresay it isn't."

He reached for the hedge and yanked off a patch of prickly green pine needles. "Sometimes I really miss India. I know I shouldn't go back—especially now—but…" He kicked a rock down the path. "Everything seemed so alive there, vibrant and fast paced. I don't know how to explain it."

"Yes, you do," Anna said. "Tell me."

David's cheeks reddened, and his lips tilted up bashfully. The child who still yearned for adventure lurked inside the man. "You wouldn't be able to imagine the spices, the colors," he said. "Everything here is so muted. The same families, the same people, the same clothes, the same weddings. I just wish it could be…"

"Different."

"Yes," David replied. "Different. We're taught to avoid it at all costs. But why?" He shook his head. "I'll never understand it."

"You should go," Anna stated firmly, tugging on his arm. "Don't worry about us. Go out and explore the world. It's what you've always wanted."

"And leave you all to face Phillip? I could never. I won't hide from my duty to my family."

"It's not hiding if we're telling you to do it. Besides," she added, "you just said that this life is too bland for you. Why do you care, then, what these people think? Be different."

David chuckled, but Anna could tell her words were having an effect. She could see his mind spinning, the possibilities taking form. A dormant root remembering to grow.

"And what will you do while I'm gone?" he asked. "Beatrice already told me she wants to open a bakery. Father is so lost right now I think he might just let her."

"Of course he will," Anna said, finding a true smile. "He would never hold her back. He will let her do it because he knows it's what she wants."

"And you? What will you do, Anna? What do you want?"

She dropped her head back so she could stare at the tops of the pines. So tall and mystical, they mimicked the lofty pillars in the grand cathedrals. Anna closed her eyes in this holy place. Her breath slowed, centering her, clearing her thoughts once more. Just as David had said, the act did become easier with practice.

"Maybe I'll be a little different too," she said finally.

*

The moment Anna and David returned from their walk, their father called them into his study.

They found him standing in the middle of the room with Beatrice, both glaring at two crisp envelopes on his desk.

The silence was deafening. Impending doom seemed to close in on them from all directions. However, Anna was swarmed with relief at the sight. She was tired of waiting for the worst. Whatever was to come, she could not be more ready for it than now.

"Who are they from, Father?" she asked, already knowing the answer. But she needed to speak; she needed to rouse Sir John into action.

"Lord Newton."

Anna flinched. "Don't you mean Phillip?

"No," he replied. "Lord Newton."

"What? Why?"

Sir John answered by going to the table, his pace dismally slow, as if this was his death march. His hands shook as he ripped the first letter open without using an opener. The envelope dropped to the floor while he tore out the contents. He unfolded the note and held it up to the late afternoon light pouring in from the window.

The delay seemed interminable. Anna was just about to snatch the letter out of her father's hands when a disbelieving chuckle bubbled from his chest.

"Father—"

Sir John cut her off. "It seems I'm being sued… for breach of promise."

"What on earth?" Anna replied.

"It's perfectly understandable," he announced, though he appeared not as disheartened as Anna would have thought. "Lord Newton—and Mrs. Wright—are threatening to ruin us by suing me for breaking the engagement. They say that if I do not go through with the marriage as promised, they will take me to court and sue me for ‘an astronomical amount' because of the ‘emotional distress, loss of reputation, and'"—Sir John cleared his throat—"‘loss of virtue.'"

"Loss of virtue!" David exclaimed. "The woman is old… and she has a grown child!"

"Quite," Sir John replied before giving his son an acerbic scowl. "And be respectful! She's not old. She's mature ."

"Well, what does the other one say?" Beatrice marched to the desk, swiping the second letter from its envelope. Anna watched her eyes run back and forth on the page as an odd smile came to her little sister's lips.

"Beatrice! Tell us already!" David yelled. "I feel like I'm watching a badly acted play!"

Beatrice's smile morphed into a grin. "It seems we've been invited to a ball. The first ball ever given by the new Viscount Newton."

"So?" David replied.

" So, " Beatrice said, "he's holding a ball in honor of the engagement of Sir John Smythe and Mrs. Violet Wright." She shoved the letter into Sir John's hands. "It looks like you have a decision to make, Father. Would you rather be ruined or married?"