Chapter One
Be advis’d, fairmaid.
To you your father should be as agod;
One that compos’d your beauties, yea, andone
To whom you are but as a form inwax
By him imprinted, and within hispower
To leave the figure, or disfigureit.
—Shakespeare,A Midsummer Night’sDream
Mayfair, Late July 1869
Mr. Leonard’s heavybrows knitted together as he speared a slice of meat on his dinner plate and brought it to his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully, without taking his eyes off the dish before him as if measuring the beef’s tenderness. Two footmen standing at the ready kept watch, awaiting his reaction. Their master had a habit of clearing the table in a rage, sending the silver and china sailing across the room when displeased with his supper. The servants’ expressions relaxed as their master nodded to himself, picked up his wine glass, and saluted the dish.
Annabel Leonard smiled as she observed her papa take a long, satisfying swallow of port and then recast his focus on his supper. Papa was wholly preoccupied with his thoughts this evening, which always suited her best. The less notice he paid his eldest daughter, the better. She forked a tender morsel from her plate, turned to her stepmother, and chewed daintily so as not to attract the woman’s ire. She needed Mrs. Leonard’s focus to remain where it was—on twelve-year-old Florence and eight-year-old Flora—whose posture, manners, and eating habits, their mama scrutinized and periodically corrected with a stern look or wag of her finger.
Stealing another glance at Papa, she dropped her gaze to her lap and shifted the napkin concealing the open novel that rested on her legs. Sliding her finger across the page, she read silently:I’ve no more business to marry Edgar Linton than I have to be in heaven, and if the wicked man in there had not brought Heathcliff so low, I shouldn’t have thought of it. It would degrade me to marry Heathcliff now; so he shall never know how I—
“Sit straight!” Mrs. Leonard barked from across the table.
Annabel jerked her head up.
“We do not stare at the floor when sitting at the table.” Her stepmother glowered. “Have you forgotten all I’ve taught you? Where are your manners?”
Rubbing her forehead and hoping to garner sympathy, Annabel pleaded, “I’m afraid I’m rather tired and not very hungry tonight. If I may be excused, I should like to go and lie down.”
“Certainly not!” Her stepmother’s sharp features hardened further. “You must learn to carry yourself like a lady no matter the situation. If one is at a dinner party, one smiles and entertains one’s neighbors with conversation. One does not excuse oneself and go off to bed, no matter how tired one feels. Now, straighten your back and eat supper with the rest of us.”
Sighing inwardly, Annabel forked another piece of beef into her mouth with as much grace as she could muster. Seemingly satisfied, Mrs. Leonard cast her eagle eyes back to her two daughters. Papa had not even glanced up from his plate, so focused was he on evaluating each bite of meat and sip of port, which kept his footmen on high alert. But Annabel knew the food was only a distraction. Something important occupied Papa’s thoughts, and whatever it was, she was pleased not to be the focus of his scrutiny.
Several tedious minutes passed before Annabel’s eyes wandered back to her lap, where Emily Bronte’sWuthering Heightsawaited. Once again, her finger found the passage, and she continued to read—so he shall never know how I love him: and that, not because he’s handsome, Nelly, but because he’s more myself than I am.
Although she’d read the words many times before, they still had the power to transport her from the stuffy dinner table in Mayfair to the wilds of Yorkshire and envelop her in a passionate love she longed to experience. Momentarily forgetting the need to conceal her crime, Annabel lifted the novel off her lap and drew it closer.“Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same”—Annabel mouthed as she read, losing herself and becoming one with the tormented Cathy.
A loud thud set the dishes to quiver and jerked Annabel back to reality. She looked up to see Papa scowling at her—his hand curled into a fist, resting on the table where he’d brought it down.
“Didn’t I tell you to stop filling your head with those foolish novels? Yet, instead of obeying me, you see fit to read one under my nose atmydinner table?” Papa fired out the words as if each were a bullet.
Mrs. Leonard put down her utensils and pressed her lips together. Annabel’s sisters watched Papa, their eyes wide and alert to the maelstrom that was about to ensue.
Although she itched to defend her beloved books, Annabel suppressed the urge. She knew from experience that doing so would only inflame Papa’s notorious temper. A man of short stature and low tolerance, Papa’s bark was legendary. There was no danger of him striking anyone—certainly not a woman—but his roar was more fearful than that of the Minotaur, and like the mythical beast, he was known to throw objects and crush items with his powerful fists. Her stepmother called him “passionate” and blamed Annabel for provoking him with her headstrong nature.
“What is so important that it need interrupt my supper?” A storm brewed in Mr. Leonard’s black eyes.
“Nothing, Papa. As you said, it’s merely a novel.” Annabel closed her book and slipped it out of sight.
“Merely a novel!” Mrs. Leonard trilled. “Don’t be fooled, Mr. Leonard. Those books overexcite the senses and give young ladies foolish notions. They are downright dangerous. I certainly won’t allow Florence and Flora to make such poor reading choices.”
Annabel’s chest burned. Her stepmother never missed an opportunity to voice her disapproval of the stepdaughter she’d failed to subdue.
Mrs. Leonard snapped her fingers at one of the footmen and barked, “Take the book and get it out of Mr. Leonard’s dining room!”
Annabel handedWuthering Heightsto the footman and said with a smile, “Have it sent to my room. Thank you, Peters.”
