Page 54 of Miss Ridley and the Duke

The Halmesbury doctor who had visited had been an old man with white locks and balding pate. Quite jovial, the old man had confessed he was very busy in their underserved community. He had told her of an eminently competent midwife in the area who he thought might reside at Avonmead during Annabel’s confinement, if the woman would be permitted to continue assisting the villagers. Annabel had reflected on the idea for the past several days, and she had determined it to be ideal. She liked the idea of a midwife over a doctor, and she had heard somewhere that they enjoyed a higher percentage of successful births. It stood to reason. Midwives delivered more babies than doctors did and would be more considerate of the trials of women.

Her mind made up, she walked down the first-floor hall toward the servants’ entrance to locate Mrs. Harris. She could ring, but Annabel needed the distraction and exercise now that she had determined she should not ride the estate in her current condition. She reached the door and unlatched the handle to step into the dim corridor beyond, then jumped in surprise to hear raised voices once more. This time she could recognize Clinton’s voice.

“You harridan of a miserable old woman! Will you not cooperate with the simplest request?”

“Your requests are not simple, unlike you!”

“It is how we have always handled matters at Avonmead. Just do it this way and stop your incessant arguing!”

“You stop your incessant arguing, you old codger! I am the housekeeper, and it is my decision!”

“Why, you⁠—”

Annabel drew the door shut, cutting off any further arguing from reaching her. She thought about what she had heard in puzzlement until her lips curved up—she knew what she had borne witness to.

As she felt her face split into a smile, a chuckle escaped her lips. She had finally found an amusing distraction from her tribulations. Life was full of challenges, but it went on. Her life would go on, no matter what the future brought, and she would make the best of it.

Chapter Twenty-One

"What can stop the determined heart and resolved will of man?"

Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein

* * *

Annabel looked around the nursery that had not been used in nearly two decades. It was … nice. It was clear that Philip and Sebastian’s parents had not locked them away and forgotten them as some peers did, bringing their children out only as long as they were clean and well-behaved for a quick visit with the adults before rushing them back to the nursery. What would have happened to Annabel if not for her mama and Mrs. Harris?

There was evidence of love here. Plenty of windows to let light in. Under the dust sheets, she could make out many bookcases. She walked over and lifted a sheet, sneezing at the cloud of dust. As she had suspected, the shelves were crammed with books, toys, and what looked like lesson objects. Many of the books were stories and served no purpose other than to entertain.

She had finally come up to see this space reserved for the Markham children. It was nine days since Philip’s departure, seven since his midnight visit to take the carriage. For all she knew, she would give birth to her child before she saw the duke again. After much debate with herself, she had determined that she must start planning for the nursery and for a nanny to assist her. She could not sit around waiting any longer; she needed to take action.

If I want the future I envision for myself, I must make it happen. I shall just have to reach out and take what I want.

Taking action was how she had changed her fate to marry Philip, rather than being imprisoned in a marriage to feckless Richard.

Her reasoning had led her to walk around the manse, searching for the nursery. She walked over to the window and leaned her forehead against the glass to stare out at the woods.

Oh, Philip, will you not come home?

They could return to how they had been and pretend she had never said those stupid words. They would return to being just companions. Maybe he would hold her in his arms like he had done before. She would not expect anything more or ask for anything he was not willing to give. She wanted to be in his life.

Annabel straightened and dashed the tears from her cheeks. She had been a veritable watering pot for an entire week, but she had found another project to occupy her thoughts. She would work on the nursery, then one step at a time, she would prepare to be a mother.

Philip may have decided their marriage was a mistake and regret his choice of wife, but they could still have children, starting with this one. Children would give her a new purpose—someone to whom she could channel all her unrequited love—if he was determined to keep distance between them. Perhaps more than one babe in the future. If Philip never returned her love, she could still have plenty of love in her life.

Waiting for him to come home was tremendously exasperating. She wanted to throw things, cry, or howl at the firmament—perhaps crawl out of her skin, which itched with the frustration of things not said or resolved. She needed to know where he was, to have a proper conversation, and to settle this matter. Instead, she scoured the nursery and made plans.

* * *

Philip’s excitement mounted as the carriage turned to enter the stone gates of Avonmead. It felt like he had been away for a hundred years, rather than a mere nine days. He half expected his home to look different.

Stuff, he was tired! No wonder he had become so fanciful.

He rubbed his face with his hands to ease the weariness from traveling. As the carriage neared the mansion, his nerves tingled in accompaniment with his heightening excitement. What would he say when he saw Annabel? Did she even want to see him after he had been such a scoundrel? It was difficult to accept that his rakish cousin was the one to point out that he, Philip, had been a thoughtless cad. He would never take Annabel for granted again. He would tell her he loved her every day for the rest of their lives. They would improve the estate school together, and she would help him prepare his speeches for Westminster—they would do so many great things together.

He wondered just how angry she would be when he finally reached her.

He felt like a nervous youth on the first day of school as he attempted to repair his cravat, but after two days of driving from London through to Avonmead, he was decidedly disheveled. Before he could hunt for Annabel, he would need to call for his valet and make an effort to clean up. What he needed to say to her was too important to appear like a bedraggled lout.