“Lenore, please forgive my breech of manners, but when I learned that Weston was in town, I had to come.”
“It’s fine, Victoria. I must say, you look very well.”
“As do you, Lenore. And Weston, how are you?”
“I’m well, Mrs Rooke. It’s nice to see you. Please allow me to present my wife. Anne, this is Mrs Rooke.”
“How do you do?” Anne said kindly with a respectful bow of her head.
“Oh, Weston, she’s lovely. You’ve obviously chosen very well.”
“Let us sit down,” Lenore invited, stealing occasional looks at the two younger people in the room.
“I must tell you,” Mrs Rooke wasted no time in saying, “I have never gotten over Henrietta’s breaking off with you, Weston. She’s so flighty and foolish, and I also must tell you that there’s been a corner of my heart that hoped it wouldn’t really be over.”
Lenore and Weston watched Mrs Rooke look to Anne. The older woman was smiling, but her eyes were full of regret.
“How is Henrietta?” Weston asked, forcing his eyes away from his wife’s calm face.
“She’s well. She’s been in Bath now for weeks, living with my sister. I’ll probably go this winter to visit, if for no other reason than to tell her what a mistake she made.”
“How is Elinore?” Lenore asked, referring to Henrietta’s older sister.
“She just had another baby!” Mrs Rooke was clearly delighted to announce. This line of questioning worked for a time, but it wasn’t long before Mrs Rooke was staring at Weston again.
“I told her you were the best catch in all of London, but she let that Andre turn her head.”
“Would you like tea, Victoria?” Lenore offered, praying that the social commentary wouldn’t go on much longer.
“No, I really must be off. I just wanted to stop and offer my congratulations.”
Not a soul in the room believed that line, but no one wanted to chance the ordeal being prolonged, so none of the Westons replied. And thankfully it was over. Mrs Rooke came to her feet and made her goodbyes. Lenore saw her out.
When the room emptied except for Weston and Anne, they stood looking at the door before turning to each other.
“Are you all right?” Anne asked.
“Why wouldn’t I be all right?”
“I don’t know. Maybe the memories are painful for you.”
Weston’s look was unreadable, and Anne wondered if she’d hit rather close to the mark.
“I’m going to finish my dinner,” Lenore poked her head back in long enough to say. “Does anyone care to join me?”
“I will,” Anne replied without hesitation.
Weston watched his wife walk away, desperately wishing he could explain what was going on inside of him but convinced that it was too soon.
With no desire for anything else to eat, Weston took some time in following the women—too much time. He found the dining room empty. Betsy said his mother had gone next door.
“And my wife?”
“She didn’t mention her plans, Mr Weston.”
“Did she go out?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
Weston left the dining room and started for the stairs. It was a big house, and he’d only given Anne one tour. He assumed she’d gone to her room.
Norwood Place
“Are you all right?” Louisa asked the moment Lenore stepped inside the huge mansion whose property adjoined her own.
“Yes. We had an unexpected visitor.”
Lenore’s color was a bit high, and even though Louisa had guests, her neighbor was more important to her. She led her friend to her husband’s study, just off the foyer, and shut the door.
“Can you tell me?”
“Victoria Rooke.”
“Oh, Lenore, what did she want?”
“Mostly to get a look at Anne, I’m sure. I lost track of how many times she told Robert that her Henrietta had made a terrible mistake.”
“And Anne was listening to all of this?”
“Yes, she was right in the room.”
“How is she?”
“That’s just it—I can’t tell. We had a few minutes alone while we finished dinner, but there was something so vulnerable in her gaze that I couldn’t bring myself to ask.”
“Where was Weston at that time?”
“Still in the other room.”
Louisa gave her friend a hug.
“We’ll pray that the two of them can talk it out. It might turn out for the best.”
“In what way?”
“Well, if Weston hasn’t shared much about Henrietta, he’ll need to now. And there’s no one better to do that with than his wife.”
Berwick
Weston stood in the upstairs hallway, his mind doing a mental walk-through of the house. Anne wasn’t in her room or in the upstairs sitting rooms or salons. The downstairs salons were very large, and while he couldn’t picture her comfortable all alone in such large rooms, he still headed in that direction. It wasn’t until he was descending the last steps that he remembered the library.
Anne was buried in a deep chair, shoes kicked off, her legs drawn up beneath her, the lantern high as she gazed absently at the book in her lap. She looked up when she heard the door.
“I thought you might have gone to bed.”
“I had quite a long nap.”
Weston nodded. “I’d forgotten about that.”
“Weston,” Anne said, putting the book aside, actually quite glad to see him. “May I speak with you?”
“Of course.”
Weston took a nearby chair, one that allowed the light to spill onto both their faces.
For Anne, the conversation from the night before concerning Francis Cavendish was completely forgotten. Right now she had one question for her husband, and she desperately needed it answered.
“Weston, what’s in this for you?”
Weston blinked and asked, “What are we talking about, Anne?”
“Our marriage. What’s in it for you?”
Weston looked so surprised that Anne rushed on.
“It occurred to me after Mrs Rooke’s visit that if you had married Henrietta it would have been for love. When you married me, it was a rescue. I know why I married. What I don’t know is why you did.”
Again Weston could only stare at her, so Anne went on.
“I should have asked this during those long talks at the manse, but I didn’t think of it. Mrs Rooke’s visit has prompted the question, and now it’s all I can think about. Please tell me, Weston, what’s in this marriage for you?”
“Many things,” Weston responded, finally finding his voice.
“Can you name some?”
“Certainly. Companionship. I so enjoy having you at Brown Manor and sitting beside me in church. Even the ride to London seemed faster and easier because you were there with me.”
“What else?”
“You draw me out of myself, Anne. You force me to think of someone else. I’ve been alone for a long time. Your presence has helped me to be more caring and concerned about others.”
“And you truly don’t regret having not married for love?”
“No, Anne,” he told her sincerely, desperately wanting to handle this with tact and honesty. “I think someday we will love each other, but I can’t help but wonder if more marriages shouldn’t start as ours has.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, we both came into this with our eyes wide open, not full of romantic notions and unrealistic dreams. If we have romance someday and talk about our dreams, I’m sure the timing will be just right, but it didn’t have to happen before the marriage. It didn’t have to be before we made this lifelong commitment in front of God and man.”
Anne looked thoughtful. She couldn’t have agreed with him more, but why hadn’t they talked of this before? Or had they, and she hadn’t understood or fully taken it in?
Weston sat in his chair, taking in her expression. Tha
t his feelings were swiftly changing toward Anne did not alter the truth of the words he’d just spoken, but they did make him feel as though he must wait to discuss them with her. He found himself praying for ways to gently show her how much he cared without pressuring or scaring her.
“Did that answer your question?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Did I do something that caused these thoughts to come up, or was it just our visit from Mrs Rooke?”
“Well, after she left, you did seem reticent to tell me if you were all right.”
“I can assure you, Anne, I am not longing for Henrietta Rooke. Not even hearing from her mother and having her voice such regret has affected my heart. I hope Henrietta is well, but I do not wish her to be my wife.”
“Did I sound jealous and silly just now?”
“Not in the least.”
“It’s occurred to me,” Anne went on as though he hadn’t answered, “that one has so much to learn to be a wife. I don’t know how to do it all! I don’t know what all your looks mean. I’m sure in time I’ll have some memorized, but it might take years for me to be the wife you need.”
“You’re already the wife I need, although I appreciate your wanting to know me better. I certainly want to know you better.”
Anne’s face softened as she looked at him. She’d never known anyone so easy to talk with. He said she helped him be more caring, but it seemed to her as though he cared even before they spoke of marriage.
“Why do I get the impression that I did or said something right?”
Anne’s warm gaze turned into a smile, but she didn’t answer. Weston might have pressed her, but his stomach growled just then.
“Did you get enough dinner?” he asked.
“Yes, but I wouldn’t mind having a little something sweet. How about you?”
“I’m still hungry. I believe I’ll ring for Betsy and see what she can drum up.”
And that was all it took. Betsy was serving food in the library just 20 minutes later. Time slowed to a relaxed pace as the twosome talked and ate. Anne found herself with questions about Berwick—the home her husband had lived in from birth—and the closest neighbors.
“We should pop over to Norwood Place tomorrow,” Weston said at one point. “The house and grounds are stunning, and I’m sure Louisa would love to show us around.”
“I would enjoy that. I would also enjoy some time in your mother’s garden.”
“I thought you might feel that way. We can also plan on seeing Coventry Gardens. The late summer flowers should be splendid just now.”
“I won’t argue with you about that idea.”
“Actually,” Weston said insightfully. “I don’t believe you argue with me about much of anything.”
“Did you think I would?”
“No, but what I find most interesting is that you do have a mind of your own. You’re quite willing to follow my lead, but you’re no one’s floor mat.”
“That was a nice compliment.”
There are more where that came from, was the next thing to pop into Weston’s mind, but he kept that thought to himself, saying only, “It’s one you deserve.”
The two talked until Lenore came home. She hadn’t expected to find them up, but when she sat with them in the library and saw that all was well between them, and especially with Anne, she was relieved.
Lenore was the first to excuse herself, more than ready to lie down in bed. When she was finally settled, sleep crowding in swiftly, she had a final thought. For some odd reason she had the notion that her son not marrying for love would be less of an emotional drain for all of them, but it simply wasn’t so. For one thing, Weston was on his way to loving Anne, if he didn’t already, and for another, whenever humans were involved, there was always some expense of emotions.
I’m old enough to know that by now, she told the Lord, wondering at her own lack of acumen, and promptly went to sleep.
The trousseau began to arrive on Friday morning. Accessories that had been picked out in the shops on their day in London were delivered, as well as the first items from Mrs Martin. In silent awe Anne looked at the beautiful clothing in her room.
She might have gone on looking, staring in wonder as Jenny unwrapped one item after another, but Weston knocked on the door. Jenny went to answer it and slipped out when the new husband walked in.
“I understand Saint Nicholas paid you a visit,” he teased.
“Oh, Weston, have you ever seen such lovely things? How will I ever thank your mother?”
“You won’t need to. She’ll take one look at your face and have all the thanks she needs.”
Anne barely heard him. She was inspecting a pair of shoes they’d ordered at the cobbler’s, a pair of evening slippers that would be beautiful with several of her gowns.
“They’re so pretty.”
Weston had come to her side. He took a shoe and held it in his palm.
“Your feet are quite small. I’ve never noticed that before.”
Anne looked over at her husband to find him staring down at the hem of her dress, as though trying to view her feet. Anne felt a slow blush that started at her neck and moved upward.
“Why, Mrs Weston, I do believe my attention to your feet has made you blush.”
Anne turned her head and tried not to smile.
“I didn’t know anyone could turn such a pretty color,” he went on without mercy.
“Oh, do stop.”
“I can’t stop until you tell me I’m incorrigible.”
“Well, you are! Make no mistake about that.”
Weston laughed as she turned to him, red face and all.
“You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Indeed, I am.”
The laughter fell away just then, slowly, like a sunset. Anne and Weston looked at each other, their thoughts growing quiet.
“How many weeks have we been married now, Mrs Weston?” her husband asked softly.
“Almost three.” Anne’s voice was just as soft.
She seemed soft and inviting to him just now, but he couldn’t be sure. They had decided on their wedding night to find another time for intimacy, but it probably wasn’t fair to initiate such an action, or even kiss her, until they’d spoken of it. Anne was, however, so sweet and approachable just now that Weston could not keep his hands to himself. He reached up and stroked down her smooth temple with one finger, finishing the caress on her cheek.
His voice still just as quiet, he said, “You might feel wonderful in your new clothing, and I’m sure everything will be beautiful on you, but never forget that I find you completely lovely right now.”
Anne’s heart pounded almost painfully within her. No one had ever spoken to her in such a way. Had this been a suitor, Anne would have been wise to turn away and not encourage such advances, but this was her husband. This was the man who cared enough to marry her, to rescue her.
“Thank you,” Anne said, hearing the breathlessness in her own voice but still going on. “It occurs to me that you might be correct. I may feel wonderful in my new clothing, but having you find me appealing is what matters the most to me.”
“Never doubt it, Anne,” Weston said this time, his gaze intense as he studied his wife. He was ready to broach the subject that was often on his mind lately, but he caught a slight tremble as Anne stood before him. He didn’t know her well enough to gauge if she was fearful, nervous, or perhaps excited, so with an effort he pushed the matter from his mind.
It was with relief that his mother knocked on the door, Jenny behind her. More clothing had arrived, and Weston cleared out to let the women explore. He prayed for patience as he ordered a horse to go riding in the park.
Chapter Eighteen
The first day of September found Anne in church with her husband and mother-in-law, dressed in new clothing from her hat to her shoes. She met Pastor Crawford and his wife at the door as they arrived, enjoying their warm welcome and obvious good friendship with Lenore.<
br />
The sermon was like one she would hear at home, causing her to be very thankful for the upbringing her husband had known. Not until they were in the carriage and headed back to Berwick did Anne realize she didn’t know Lenore’s story of salvation. She didn’t even wait to arrive back but asked her right away.
“Robert’s father believed first,” Lenore explained, her eyes alight with the memory. “We were newly married, and I thought all this searching he was doing was a reflection on me. I thought he was unhappy in our marriage and regretted it. I was crushed, and although he tried to explain it to me, I didn’t understand, and he only grew frustrated. That upset me more.
“Then he trusted Christ to save him, and the change was remarkable. He had always been a kind, caring man, not easily angered or put out, but after his conversion he was unlike I’d ever known him. The frustration he’d exhibited while trying to explain his need to me was gone. He took all the time I needed, sometimes answering the same question over and over again. I still tried to accuse him of being unhappy with me and our marriage, but he just became more loving, so that argument died.
“Then I was expecting Robert, and James told me in plain terms that he was going to raise this child to love and follow Christ. I was terrified.”
“Why was that?” Anne asked, completely rapt.
“I felt I would be left out. I knew what an influence James would have on our child, and I was certain I would be all alone, left outside of this experience they shared.”
“What did you do?”
“I began to attend church with James. I knew our friends were talking about us, but James only quoted to me from 1 Peter 4, where it says that old companions will speak evil of you when you don’t run and sin with them any longer, but they will have to someday give an account to God for their choices.
“Those were the words that got my attention. I was no longer afraid of being left out, I was no longer afraid of anything except having to give an account to God. I knew I was a sinner, although I’d never admitted it to myself, and suddenly I was desperate to have God save me.”
“And He did,” Weston put in, his face content as he listened.