The old woman shakes her head. “I thought the handkerchief could be your something old and your something blue as the old rhyme goes. But not your something borrowed—for it is yours now.”
“Thank you, Betsy,” Annabelle says. “It is very kind of you.”
“You deserve it and so much more,” Mrs. Ludlow says. “And now we must away—it would not do to stay for a moment longer.”
Annabelle insists they stay and finish their scones, which eventually they do, but then they truly do leave, tendering congratulations all the wayto the door.
When they have departed, Annabelle keeps her back to me.
“That was very kind of Mrs. Ludlow,” I say, putting my arms around her waist from behind, sensing that she is struggling to meet my eye.
“Yes, it was.”
“You never knew your mother?” I ask.
“No,” she says. “She died giving birth to me.”
“I am very sorry.”
“Thank you. But I never knew anything different.”
“It is still a heavy thing.”
She says nothing in response.
“Was it an unhappy marriage? Between your mother and your father?”
To my surprise, Annabelle shakes her head.
“No. Or, at least, I know my father loved her. I presume she loved him in return.”
I do not know what else to say. So instead, I just hold my new wife and send a silent prayer to God that I will be worthy of a woman who has already lost so much in her life.
Chapter 40
Annabelle
“Iwant to be in London. By the end of the week,” I announce to my new husband over supper.
While I appreciated the Ludlows’ visit this afternoon and adore my old friends, I feel very finished with Trescott for the time being.
The place is closing in on me. Alfred and I cannot stay cloistered in the Abbey forever. And I dread encountering critics of our union in town. I want the anonymity of London. The freedom of the city and my counting house.
In truth, aside from the Ludlows, Alfred is the only comfort of the place to me at present and he can bed me just as well in London as he can in Dorset.
In fact, Trescott is making me a bit ill.
This morning I actually felt queasy. While the feeling has worn off as the day progressed, I still feel not quite like myself, as if I am diminishing the longer I remain in this memory-haunted place.
Of course, I am very aware that it may not just be Trescott that is making me feel this way.
I may have achieved my initial objective in bedding Alfred.
In fact, I suspect that I have.
I calculated this morning and realized that my courses are two weeks late.
I should feel the usual thrill that accompanies a success.
