“Well, see that you ask for what you need.” He looked at his watch for the tenth time since we’d sat down.
“You may leave me, if you’d like,” I said. “Mr. Duncan can see to my welfare from here.” Mr. Duncan was Reggie’s valet and was sitting on the bench across from us with Edith.
Reggie looked at me then—truly looked at me, as if seeing me for the first time since our wedding day. There was something akin to empathy in his light-brown gaze.
“I do hope you’ll be happy, Anna, despite what you may think.” His pale brown mustache did not move above his serious mouth as he watched me, his voice low so no one else would hear him. “I’m not a fool, nor am I blind. I’m aware that you did not choose to marry me, nor did you have much say in the matter. But I am pleased with the match, and I hope you’ll come to be pleased, as well.”
I could not hide my surprise. Did he really care? Nothing to this point indicated that he did. His stiff, pompous personality and careless treatment of me had told me quite the opposite.
“Mr. Wentworth will see to your comfort and your affairs until I can return to Whitby. I’ve written him a letter, which Duncan will deliver as soon as you arrive at Cumberland Hall. He’s been instructed to give you whatever you need or desire.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I simply said, “Thank you.”
Under other circumstances, his words and concern might have been a lifeline in this uncertain time. But a stubborn, angry part of me wanted to lash out and tell him it was the least hecould do, given that I was not only forced into this marriage, but his new fortune was, in fact, my father’s.
Instead, I simply opened my handbag and pulled out a handkerchief to dab at my nose. His behavior on our wedding night alone was enough for me to justify my resentment. I would not let him assuage his guilt—if he felt any—by showing him warmth.
He looked at his watch again and then stood. “They’ll be boarding soon.”
I also stood, ready to be done with the awkwardness.
We left the waiting room and found the proper platform. He’d already arranged for all my luggage to be transferred, and I would arrive in Whitby early tomorrow morning. From there, Mr. Duncan would escort me to Cumberland Hall.
What awaited me after that, I wasn’t certain.
“All aboard!” the conductor called a few minutes later.
Around us, people were saying their good-byes. The station was loud with the sounds of trains, steam, and passengers coming and going.
Reggie watched me with a strange look of regret. “Good-bye, Anna. I do wish things could be different and I didn’t have to part with you so soon after our wedding.”
Was he truly sorry to part ways? If he had wanted to make the most of our short honeymoon together, he might have tried to converse with me or seek out my company when he had the chance—not that I would have welcomed such a thing. It didn’t matter to me. All I wanted was to be away from him. “Good-bye.”
He leaned in and placed a quick, dry kiss on my cheek, and then I turned and boarded the train.
As the train pulled out of Waterloo Station and I had neither my mother nor my husband to dictate every move I made for the foreseeable future, an overwhelming and unexpected sense of freedom took hold of me. Even with a war looming, astaff who would no doubt be unimpressed with their American mistress, and a crumbling manor house to contend with, I still breathed a little easier.
Until I remembered I might be carrying Reggie’s child.
WHITBY, NORTH YORKSHIRE, ENGLAND
AUGUST 6, 1914
The automobile came to a stop in front of Cumberland Hall, and all I could do was stare up at the majestic stone house. It was three stories tall with a large tower at the front facing the North Sea and a massive glass-encased conservatory at the back. The home had some Italianate influences, as well as Georgian, and it was easy to see that it had been remodeled and added on to several times. The main entrance was under the tower, and at the top were stone-crafted wreaths with weathered brown stains sliding down the façade like age-old tears.
“Welcome to Cumberland Hall, your ladyship,” Duncan said as he opened the door of the automobile.
I stepped out and let my eyes wander over the crumbling edifice, the overgrown gardens flanking the house, and the steep cliffs not far away. A strong wind blew over me, bringing the scent of saltwater.
For as far as I could see, the North Sea spread out in front of Cumberland Hall. Behind the house were the moors, with their purple heather, craggy rocks, and barren desolation. It was the strangest countryside I’d ever seen. The only hint of life had been in the small village of Whitby, where we had disembarked from the train and been met by the Cumberland Hall driver, Williams. The red-roofed homes and buildings of Whitby had been built up the hillsides from the sea and the sandy beaches down below and had been very quaint, reminding meof Williamsburg. But the expanse of the North Sea was like an old friend, having spent most of my summers in Newport.
Williams opened Edith’s door, and she got out of the automobile, her cheeks pale and her eyes large as she took in the surroundings.
Before I could take a step, the front door opened under a porte cochere at the base of the tower, and an older gentleman emerged, his back straight, his chin up, and his gaze taking me in from head to foot in one sweeping glance. He was very proper, and his coattails were pressed to perfection.
Behind him, a woman stepped out of the house. She was pale and wore her dark hair rolled into a bun. Her appearance was plain, but she carried her chin and shoulders with confidence, as if she knew who was in charge—and it was probably her.
Neither one looked unfriendly, yet they lacked the warmth and familiarity that Mr. Pierson and Mrs. Hanson possessed.
