It wasn't until they were in the carriage that everything came crashing down.
"There was an interesting rumor being spread," he said, each word carefully selected. Their gravity mixed in with the tension in the air, settling over Anna and threatening to suffocate her. "Mr. Gordon asked me something about you. And I did not have an answer for him."
"What… what did he ask?" Her heart was in her gut.
"About your betrothed," her father said, staring right into her soul. "Which I thought was curious. You do not have a suitor, as far as I'm aware. Do you have anything to tell me?"
It felt as though the world stopped spinning. Her lie, her story, the thing that had been holding together her fledgling social life, was about to come crashing down. She had no plan for confronting her father. She hadn't considered that he would find out, that the gossip would get back to him. It was a massive oversight on her part, and she felt herself beginning to flounder.
"I do not have a betrothed," Anna began, her voice coming out thinner than she intended. "If I had, you'd be the first to know. He would have to speak with you first. I wouldn't accept a man's proposal if he hadn't spoken with you about it beforehand."
The moonlight streaming into the carriage highlighted his confusion and obvious disappointment. She squirmed under his gaze, unable to meet his eyes. It was clear he was waiting for her to share more, but she found she didn't know where to start or how to explain her actions. Every time she attempted to speak, the words became tangled.
"If you are not betrothed, why would anyone believe you were?" he asked, and though the words weren't intended to sting, they reminded her of the truth of it all. She had no prospects. "That is not something that people just assume, Anna."
"I know," she whispered, staring down at her hands, threading them together so tightly that her knuckles went white. "And… The rumor is my own fault. I may have fabricated a betrothal several weeks ago."
Her father was quiet. Then, speaking to her as though she were a child who had just been caught with her hand in the sack of sugar, he said, "Why would you do such a thing? This is not something to lie about."
"You don't understand how difficult it is, being teased." She looked at him, wetness gathering at the corner of her eyes. Her resentment, anger, and hurt threatened to come spilling out and drown them both. "I thought that if the ladies thought I wasengaged to be wed, they'd be kinder to me. And I was right. I have friends now. I'm no longer cast aside."
"My darling." His hands found hers, unthreading them slowly, his thumb rubbing away the stiffness of her knuckles. "I know things have been difficult for you, but this is not the answer. We must put a stop to this. It's already gotten out of hand. It is not right to lie. I was sure I taught you better."
"Laird McDonald is dead," Anna said, her face flushing when she realized how awful that sounded. "He's the man people think I'm betrothed to. I was going to let the rumor run its course a bit longer, then announce his death. I just… I just wanted people to like me."
All at once, she felt small. It was embarrassing that she had to go to such lengths for positive attention from girls her age. Still, it didn't feel as if she'd had any other choices. She'd been polite, she'd ignored the teasing, she'd continued to attend events despite the clear disdain the other women had for her.
"But they're doing so under false pretenses," he muttered, letting go of her hands and straightening. "You are a wonderful woman, Anna. There are people out there who will like you for who you are."
"I know," she said, swallowing around a lump in her throat. As the carriage came to a stop, she murmured, "This will be over soon. I'll see to it."
A few days later, Anna was walking in the park with Martha. The weight of the decision she needed to make, the next letter she needed to forge, weighed on her. Yet, she'd still made no move to correct the lie.
Will these friends I've made just abandon me when they believe I'm no longer sought after? Am I ready to let go of the connections I've created, even if they came to be under false pretenses?
"You know," Martha said, bringing Anna out of her thoughts, her voice light and conversational. "You've not told me what your betrothed looks like. Is he handsome? Rugged the way all Highlanders are said to be?"
The question made Anna's step falter. In all of her planning, the crafting of this deception, she hadn't considered what this man might look like. It seemed to her now that she'd acted too rashly, left too many holes in her story. She opened and closed her mouth, but no sound came out.
"I… I don't…" she began, all of her emotions slamming into her. Her body felt weak, and she was sure she'd collapse. "I don't know."
Martha paused, looking at Anna with concern. Softly, she said, "Oh, you've forgotten. You poor thing. I suppose it has been quite some time since you've seen him."
Tears flowed down Anna's cheeks without her permission. They only became stronger when Martha pulled her into an embrace, her palm rubbing Anna's back in a gesture of comfort. It was unearned, a farce. Shame overwhelmed Anna, her face burning with embarrassment.
"Perhaps we should get you home," Martha murmured when they parted. She wiped away the tears that clung to Anna's jaw. "I didn't mean to upset you so."
Unable to form words, Anna nodded. She allowed herself to be led back to her father's home. Then, when they arrived, Martha pulled her into another firm hug, promising that things would be all right.
Oh, how I hope she's correct. I must rectify this as quickly as possible.
As soon as Anna walked over the threshold, the footman helped her out of her coat as her father approached her. He didn't notice her red-rimmed eyes at first. "Your story must end, Anna. I have been forced to lie to my friends, and that sits heavy on my spirit."
She nodded, swallowing as she hardened her resolve. This had gotten out of hand. If it went on any longer, it would come apart at the seams. It was not just derailing her own life, but herfather's as well. No amount of acceptance was worth this. She knew it now.
"I will forge another letter," she said slowly, blinking away the residual tears. "One that meant to inform me of my betrothed's death. It will be over. No one will speak of it any longer for fear of upsetting me or you. I shouldn't have let it go on for such a long time."
His face softened as if finally seeing the evidence of her earlier upset. Softly, he said, "That is for the best. We'll be done with this farce. I will bring you some parchment and instruct the cook to prepare something for you to eat and drink. When you finish, you should rest."
