Chapter 5




Anastasia had done her chores for the day and Mrs. O’Connell had insisted she take the afternoon off. She had worked extra hard so that she could get everything finished early. She was in the middle of a new book and could think of nothing but finding the time to finish it. She took off her apron, draped it over the chair next to her bed, grabbed her book, and headed outside to find a shady spot under a tree.

She had a favorite tree. It was a large oak tree, probably over a hundred years old. It spread its branches high and wide, sheltering her from the midday sun. She settled herself under it and opened her book in her lap. Immediately lost in the story, one of royalty and intrigue, love and deceit, Anastasia was oblivious to all that went on around her.

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Whit stormed into the house, angry and fed up. Who was this girl to have him running around on a wild goose chase? Who the hell did she think she was taking off like that? He was in a mean temper. He wanted to take it out on something, somebody. He poured himself a glass of brandy in his office and sipped at it, hoping to calm himself down a bit. The liquor burned his throat but did little to soothe his nerves. After pouring another glass, he started to pace his office. The carriage, he thought. He had been so close. He had thought he had found her, or at least the path leading to her. He would have to send a note to Thoreau letting him know that he had found the carriage. The man might want it back.

There was a knock on his study door.

“Come in,” he barked.

Mrs. O’Connell opened the door and stepped in.

“I heard you come in, sir, and wanted to see if you’d be needing anything to eat. It’s past lunchtime but I didn’t know if you ate while ye were in town or not.”

“No, I don’t want lunch. All I want is to find the damn girl!”

It came out as a roar and Mrs. O’Connell flinched. She was used to his temper around the house, but he had never directed it at her before.

“Girl, sir?” she asked, trying to behave nonchalantly. She did not fear him when he was in this temper, but nonetheless did not seek to stir him up even more.

Whit sighed, knowing he had said too much. He had not told any of his household about his quest. The only people that knew were Thoreau and the men he had hired to find Anastasia. He hadn’t wanted the whole house whispering about his obsession. Suddenly, though, he didn’t care what they thought.

“Yes, girl. I’ve been searching for a girl for a month now and I can’t find her. I’m very frustrated. I’m sorry I behaved like that toward you. It’s nothing to do with you.”

“Ah,” she said knowingly. “T’is love, your grace?”

“Yes, Mrs. O’Connell. It is.”

“She ran off, though? Doesn’t love you back?”

“I don’t know. I never had time to ask her.” He plopped himself down in the chair behind his desk.

“She must be some girl to have captured your eye, you don’t mind me sayin, your grace. Long as I’ve been here, I’ve never seen you so worked up about a girl before.”

“She is. But she’s hiding and I don’t know where.”

Whit leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Mrs. O’Connell studied him silently, the pieces of the story running through her head. A girl who had run away. A girl who looked far too proper and beautiful for housework coming for a job. A girl with a look of despaired longing in her eyes when she thought no one was looking. A girl who had never been told exactly which master she worked for. The pieces fit together and a dawning understanding came to her.

“Tell me about your lady, your grace,” she told him.

He opened his eyes and studied his servant. She looked genuinely concerned and curious. He sighed and gave in. He had not spoken about her to anyone, but suddenly felt an overwhelming need to do it.

“She is beautiful, Mrs. O’Connell. The most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. She’s fiery and passionate about all the things that other girls know nothing about. She is graceful but thinks she is tough. She is smart as a whip and has eyes that bore right through to my soul. Blue eyes, beautiful dark blue eyes. And hair the color of night…”

Mrs. O’Connell listened in silent shock as her master described Annie. Not only did he describe her, though, but his words seemed to pay homage to her. She had never seen her master like this, had never heard such poetry come out of his mouth. She had known him since he was a boy and this was the first time he ever had that look in his eyes.

“Your grace, not to be interrupting ye, but there is someone you should meet. Annie, our new girl, has been here a month now and has no idea who her master is. I know you have other things on yer mind today, sir, but t’would be a good gesture to say hello. She is off for the rest of the afternoon and I do believe is enjoying a book under the old oak.”

Whit blinked at her, torn from his reverie. He had surprised himself, telling her all of those things. But once he had started describing Anastasia, he couldn’t stop. His heart hurt to think of it. And now, Mrs. O’Connell wanted him to meet a new servant girl? He sighed and stood up.

“Alright, Mrs. O’Connell. Let’s go, then.”

He assumed she was trying to get his mind off things, protecting him from his sadness. He appreciated the gesture but the last thing he wanted to do right now was go traipsing all over the property in search of a little bookworm.

As she led him out the front door and around the house, Whit’s mind started to play tricks on him. Bookworm? he thought. What servant girl reads books for leisure? He stalked toward the back, his strides lengthening, his mind not wanting to believe it possible. Mrs. O’Connell let him pass her and hung back. She watched from a distance the scene that unfolded before her.

Anastasia sat under the tree, her legs folded underneath her. She held her book in her lap and was engrossed in the story. As she turned a page, a shadow fell over her. She looked up and her breath caught in her throat.

“Whit!” she cried. She stood quickly, the book forgotten and fallen to the ground.

Whit couldn’t speak. He only stared at her. Even in a servant’s dress, she was breathtaking. Her hair was pinned back and her dress dirty, but he had never seen anything more beautiful in his life. Words wouldn’t come out of his mouth and he just stood there in front of her.

Anastasia stared back at him, unable to believe what she was seeing. Her hand flew to her hair, and she realized what she must look like. She was humiliated. But her pride took over almost as she thought this and she stood up even straighter, her chin in the air.

“How did you find me?” she asked him.

“I didn’t,” he confessed. “Detectives looking for you all over England and they couldn’t find you. I couldn’t find you. Never occurred to me to look in my own house.”

“Your… What?” Anastasia exclaimed. “Amberley is yours? But…I’ve never seen you here. I’ve been here so long now, and never saw you…”

“I was away looking for you.”

“I… oh.”

She saw the look in his eyes and knew he was telling the truth and it almost brought her to her knees. He had lied to her, deceived her, made her fall in love with him, and here he was in front of her with the most heartbreaking look on his face. He had spent the last month looking for her. Her heart almost burst in her chest the more she thought about it.

The two stood staring at each other, neither spoke for an eternity.

“Do you like my house?” he asked her finally.

Anastasia’s face lit up at the question. “Oh, my, yes! It’s wonderful. The library, especially. I…”

She stopped, remembering suddenly that she was an employee of his. She looked down at her hands and confessed:

“I’ve been borrowing books.”

She dared a glance at Whit and saw his eyes sparkling. She mistook it for anger, and quickly reassured him:

“I’ve returned them all as soon as I was finished! I didn’t steal any of them!”

She was desperate that he believe her. The fear was obvious in her voice.

He started laughing then and couldn’t stop. This beguiling creature. He wanted to marry her, to make this her home, and she was worried about borrowing his books? He laughed and laughed, feeling better than he had in a long while. She stared at him, agape.

“You can have all of my books. Just don’t run away again,” Whit said when he finally sobered.

Anastasia looked up at him, this beautiful man who had haunted her dreams. His face was perfect, just as she had remembered. She had an almost uncontrollable urge to reach out and touch his cheek. She restrained herself even as she felt her hand lifting. Her mind processed what he was saying. But what was he saying?

The more she looked at him the more her heart became so full she could hardly stand it. One night she had spent with this man and every day without him since had been torture. She could never tell him that, though. She just couldn’t. Her traitorous eyes filled with tears as she stood so proudly before him. He saw her face crumple and closed the distance between them in one swift step. He caught her in his arms and held her. He stroked her hair and let her cry on his shoulder. She sobbed enough to break his heart. She was so small in his arms, so tiny. He held against him the thing that was most precious on this earth. He could not let her go again. He would not.

She pulled away eventually and looked up at him. His face was so close to hers. He held her face in his hands, wiping away her tears with his thumbs. Before she could protest, he bent down and kissed her. The earth shook beneath him as their lips met. He pulled her to him, clinging to her as much as she clung to him. Their lips moved in perfect poetry with each other, danced with such glorious ease with one another. It was the Moonlight Sonata on a finely tuned piano. Anastasia felt the world around her disappear. They were the only two who existed, in this moment, in this time. His lips were so soft for someone so strong. Her heart hammered against her chest until she thought she would burst. A single tear escaped her eye even as she held her lids closed for the kiss. The loveliness of it was all-consuming.

Whit tore his mouth from hers and gazed at her. Anastasia slowly opened her eyes, a dreamy look about her face. She saw in his eyes the fiery passion that she felt inside herself.

“I love you, my darling girl,” he whispered, his voice aching with the words.

“I…” she hesitated, scared and uncertain. She looked away, stared at her feet. She knew she loved him. She had loved him from the moment she had laid eyes on him. But she was afraid. She knew what her life would be like with him, society and pomp and circumstance and all of the things she had fled from. She didn’t want to go back to that. She didn’t want to be in a room where people were whispering about her.

“What are you afraid of, Anastasia?” he asked her gently.

Her eyes met his again and he was lost in the depths of her.

“This,” she replied, still unsteady with her words. “All of this. This life. Going back to everything I ran away from.”

Her eyes pled with him for understanding. If she could not have that, she would have nothing.

“If you marry me, you will rule the society that you so despise. You will be a duchess and no one will ever dare say a word against you. Stay here with me, live in this house as my wife, not my servant. I will spend the rest of my life showing you how much I love you. You will wake in my arms every day and I will kiss you until you make me stop. Please, Anastasia. You have nothing to fear.”

She looked at him, considering. Fear, she thought. She had never been afraid before in her life, yet suddenly she feared gossip and spite and society. And for what? To give them more fodder. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She would not run away from this. Not again. Here in front of here stood everything she had ever wanted. This man whom she loved, loved her. She wanted him. That was all she knew.

Anastasia leaned into him, her body resting against his. He held her to him, chin resting atop her head. It felt as though his heart had stopped beating as he waited for her answer.

“I love you,” she whispered.

And in that moment, Whit’s heart resumed beating and he thought it would burst out of his chest.