she didn’t want and couldn’t accept. “Papa, I can’t believe—you sent her there?”
He blinked at the force of her voice. “How could you possibly know where I sent her?”
Annis ignored the question. Her heart began to pound, and her throat constricted. “That place! It’s horrible. The way they treat people—I can’t believe you would be so cruel!”
“She’s lost her mind,” he said, his voice like gravel.
“You don’t know that!”
“I don’t—I can’t stand looking at her like that.”
“You never see her as it is!”
He shoved himself to his feet and thundered, “But I know she’s there! Drooling, mindless—it’s horrible! I’m not having that in my house!”
He spun away from her and stamped toward the door. Mrs. King was in the doorway, and in his haste George stepped on the cook’s trailing hem, knocking her off balance so she stumbled. Annis leaped to steady her before she fell.
Mrs. King, wide-eyed and wordless, stared after her employer. Annis patted her shoulder, but she had no words, either. She knew her father could be ruthless in business. She knew any affection between him and his second wife had died long ago. But this—this was too horrible to contemplate. Pretty Frances, who loved nice clothes and hairstyles and beautiful jewelry—poor, ill Frances, in that place!
Whatever she had done, she didn’t deserve this.
Mrs. King recovered herself enough to croak, “Miss Annis, what’s happened? Do you know where Mrs. Frances is?”
“I do, Mrs. King,” Annis said, her voice barely steadier than Mrs. King’s. “I’m sorry to say I do. Papa sent her to Blackwell’s Island. To the asylum.”
“Oh no! Surely he did not,” Mrs. King protested. “Did he tell you that?”
Annis shook her head. “No. But I know.”
Mrs. King’s answer was interrupted by the clang of the iron knocker at the front door. She threw up her hands in frustration and went to answer it. Annis, at a loss for what to do next, followed her.
On the doorstep, with his manservant waiting beside a hired carriage in the drive, stood James, Marquess of Rosefield. He was in the act of bowing slightly to Mrs. King when he caught sight of Annis, and she of him.
“Miss Allington,” he said, snatching off his top hat and bowing from the waist. “I do hope my arrival isn’t spoiling your birthday party.”
41
James
His timing could not have been worse, but he didn’t realize that straightaway. At first he simply thought he had made a ghastly mistake in coming.
There seemed to be some sort of disruption in the house. He heard pounding feet, raised voices, a door slamming. Worse, behind the slender woman in a cook’s apron who had opened the door, Annis looked as if she had suffered a shock. Her face was white except for two scarlet spots on her cheeks. Her mouth opened when she saw him, but it seemed she couldn’t speak.
It was his worst fear. Annis was not pleased to see him, not at all happy about his unannounced arrival.
He stood on the step, feeling tall and awkward and out of place. Perry, behind him, gave a choked sound of embarrassment. The woman in the apron stared up at him in dismay as Annis closed her mouth, opened it again, closed it again. For long, miserable seconds no one moved.
Finally James spoke in a hollow voice. “It seems I have misjudged my moment.”
At that the tableau burst apart like an ice jam cracking into pieces. Annis cried, “Oh, James, no, not at all! I am so glad to see you! So very glad!”
The woman in the apron stood back, holding the door wide and saying, “Do come in, sir, come in out of the cold. Your man, too.”
Perry breathed a sigh of relief so gusty James thought it might penetrate right into the house.
James himself, with his hat in his hand, took the step over the sill. Annis seized his free hand in both of hers and drew him into an elegant, high-ceilinged foyer. He took in the polish of the tiled floor and the brilliance of the large electrified chandelier overhead as Annis said, “Mrs. King, can you send for Robbie? He’ll see to the carriage and horse.”
Perry, coming in behind James, said, “It’s only hired.”
“Oh yes, but the horse will need a bit of mash and some water. And Mrs. King, perhaps the driver could use a cup of something.”
This set the aproned woman scurrying off. The slamming of doors and pounding of feet had ceased, leaving only the clink of dishes being moved from a