the base of her throat, and her head swam as if she had turned a somersault. Her arms prickled with gooseflesh, and she closed her hand around the stone once again.
It spoke to her. She couldn’t imagine how, or why, but there was no denying its message. The pieces of a puzzle fell into place in her mind, a puzzle she hadn’t known existed. It was like finally grasping a mathematics problem or learning a difficult word in French. It flashed into being, an understanding that had not existed moments before.
She knew why Frances was taking her to London. It had nothing to do with tea parties or the British Museum or Buckingham Palace.
She tried to use her common sense, of which she possessed an abundance, to banish the idea, but she failed. She tried to rationalize it as the result of anxiety, or fear, but those emotions had never troubled her in her life.
She couldn’t make the conviction fade. She knew. She understood exactly what Frances meant to do and why she was so determined to carry her off to England.
Frances meant to tear her away from Bits and all her plans. She meant to take her to England and leave her there. She intended to find Annis a husband, and not just any husband.
Frances wanted to acquire a title in the family, so the Four Hundred would no longer look down their old-money noses at the nouveau riche Allingtons.
Annis let the pearls drop into her lap, freeing her hands to rub her temples with trembling fingers. “I won’t do it,” she whispered to the gathering dusk beyond her window. “I don’t care what she says. I don’t care what she does. I’m not going.” She leaned closer to the glass, straining for a glimpse of the stables, where her beloved horse rested in his stall. “Don’t you worry, Bits,” she muttered. “I’m staying right here with you.”
7
Annis
So? You have to get married someday. Why not now?”
Annis stared at her father, rigid with hurt. He was seated at his desk in his private study, a room that had been one of her favorites when she still felt welcome there. Its two large windows looked out on the gardens and the river beyond. Bookshelves lined the walls, although there were no longer any books in them. Everything now was business, business, business, nothing but ledgers and piles of drawings, even two miniature replicas of the Allington Iron Stove. Annis had been allowed to play with those when she was small.
Things had been different then. Waking, she couldn’t remember her mother, but sometimes in dreams a hazy scene came to her that felt like a memory. She seemed to be tiny, bundled in soft fur, snuggled between her mother and her father in the carriage. Snow was falling over the city, and a bell on the carriage horse’s bridle jingled with each of his steps. She felt deliciously drowsy, lulled into sleep by the rhythm of the bell and the laughter of her parents above her head.
When her mother died, George Allington stopped laughing and retreated into his business. Occasionally he thought of his little daughter, bringing home interesting scraps of iron from the factory for her to examine, or pulling a bag of roasted chestnuts, still warm from the vendor’s brazier, out of his pocket. On birthdays he brought her saltwater taffy and arranged with Mrs. King to buy gifts.
On her sixth birthday, Papa took her hand to lead her out to the stables. Robbie was waiting there, and he had an enchanting fat brown pony on a lead. Papa said, “Happy birthday,” but it was Robbie who lifted Annis into the saddle.
He said, “This is Sally, Miss Annis. She’s going to teach you to ride.”
Robbie held Annis in the saddle at first, but in moments she pushed his hands away. It never occurred to her to be afraid. She felt grand, sitting up high on her own pony. She kicked her short legs against Sally’s ribs, urging her around the paddock as if she had been doing it all her life. Her father, satisfied he had fulfilled his paternal responsibilities, walked away, leaving Robbie to deal with Annis and her new passion. She remembered calling out to him, “Papa! Papa! Look at me riding!” but he was already gone.
In the ensuing months, she hardly saw her father. When he was in his study, the door was closed and locked. On nights he was home for dinner, he dined alone,