Chapter Two

The thudding hoof beats on the sodden turf served as little distraction. Drawing the carriage curtains to a close, Annabelle settled bitterly into the surrounding darkness penetrated only by her silent sobs and that of the whining horses pulling her away from her first and last love. Suppressing the heaves that ebbed and flowed, wracking her body, Annabelle replayed the moments just barely passed. What on earth had happened? Could she truly trust the figments torturing her mind? She shut her eyes tightly. She dared not because digesting the fragments being offered her meant that the brooding gentleman at the bakery had indeed been Nathaniel. And it couldn't have been. Not her Nathaniel...

...But it was, and the painful truth was undeniable. However, as the carriage jerked to a stop marking the arrival at Melbourne House, Annabelle swallowed the crippling ache. Her tears would have to wait. Overcome by the dampened illusions, Annabelle entered the modest home desperately seeking to hide in her dark and damp chambers, when—

"Martha." The sound of Mrs. Melbourne's voice halted her steps. "I trust you’ve delivered the dresses and the matter has been rectified."

Gathering her words and the strength with which to speak them, Annabelle nodded timidly. "Yes ma'am. The gown for this evening is being brought to her as we speak. The rest will be ready in the morning." Annabelle struggled through the soreness suffocating her words, her eyes focused solely on the mahogany runner beneath their feet.

"Wonderful," Mrs. Melbourne uttered in her usual bitterness, misery after all being her normal nature. Yet, there was something about her distant stare that told Annabelle there was more to Mrs. Melbourne’s tone that her common cynicism.

"Now hurry along and help Beatrice prepare an additional chamber. Word has been received that our guest intends to bring along a visitant of his own." She scoffed in repugnance. "He might be an Earl, but status does not mean you can forgo manners and courtesy."

Annabelle nodded absently as Mrs. Melbourne delved deeper into her tirade on proper manners and etiquette. And while Annabelle had little trouble detecting Mrs. Melbourne’s disgust whenever uttering the word guest or visitor, Annabelle could not will herself to care. Who his lordship decided to bring without invitation meant little to her. She had seen Nathaniel. Was there anything else more important?

“Why are you still here?” Mrs. Melbourne’s hiss cut through Annabelle’s thoughts. She had forgotten all about the woman though she stood right before her. Cursing inwardly, Annabelle curtsied. She would have to try harder not to lose herself to thought. She couldn’t bear the memory of Nathaniel to also endure another reprimand.

Doing away with herself instantly, Annabelle hurried up the stairs, taking little time to deposit of her cloak in her chamber before going to Beatrice.  Turning onto the second floor corridor, Annabelle stopped, seeing Madeline bluster from the room being prepared.

Darting back from whence she came, Annabelle listened as Madeline made her decent then made little noise in reaching Beatrice.

“What on earth!” Annabelle gasped, frozen for a moment at the doorway. In haste Annabelle rushed into the room to help her fellow maidservant Beatrice stand from under a pile of linens.

Annabelle untangled a sheet from the young maid’s apron, "Are you all right?

Beatrice seemed shaken, but managed a weak smile. "As good as I'll be until we get that wild boar married," she spoke for Annabelle’s ears only.

In a fit of much needed laughter, Annabelle knelt beside Beatrice assisting in refolding the bundled sheets as Beatrice explained, "Miss Madeline was told that Lord Hamilton is to bring a guest. Well, she stormed in here demanding we prepare the furthest room from his lordship so his attention would be on her solely. Does this poor man know the type of woman he’s to marry? Madeline is so desperate for a husband she may be bold enough to sneak into his bed chamber in the dead of night!"

Annabelle snorted. "He's probably the same way. Atrocious rakes they all are," she replied halfheartedly, hoping to dismiss the issue.

Beatrice however had other intentions. "William Hamilton, Earl of Lanceford," she breathed. "His family is rumored to have more money than everyone in this town combined! I wonder why he's decided to come here,” she trailed off curiously, briefly falling into thought.

Shrugging dismissively, Beatrice looked back to Annabelle. “His lordship is said to have all the mamas in a flurry throwing their eligible daughters at his feet.  Yet, he chooses Madeline, a woman with nothing to her name. He could have chosen me for that matter! It’s all rather strange really. I wouldn’t be surprised if…"

The remainder of Beatrice’s words went unheard as Annabelle retreated once more into her mind, her thoughts drifting to the stranger she once called friend....

Nathaniel stormed away refusing to admit to Annabelle’s passionate accusation.

 "But I saw you! With my very own eyes I saw you knee deep in the water with Polly in your hands!" Annabelle cried behind him.

Spinning wildly, Nathaniel only stared as Annabelle dabbed the angry tears from her reddened eyes. Though angry, she noted the warring emotions in his eyes. It wasn’t guilt no, but rather as if her accusation hurt him in some way. But why should it hurt him? He had taken her most treasured possession, the last gift from her now deceased father. And he didn’t even deny it!

His shoulders slumping, Nathaniel stepped closer, "How could you be so sure it was me with your blasted rag doll, Annie? You were on the other side of the field."

Annabelle colored. Visibly outraged, her small fists clenched tightly. "How could I ever mistake you Nathaniel Hawkins? There's no way. I've been seeing your face every waking moment since the day I was born!"  

"That sounds like a complaint," he taunted with a teasing grin, but meeting her pained gaze, his smile soon faded. Surely he remembered it was her father who had given her that doll just before he'd passed.

Resignedly, Nathaniel sighed, admitting, “Yes, Annie, you did see me by the river with your stupid doll."

Clearly intending to lash out, Annabelle’s lips parted, but in raising an open palm Nathaniel added, "But not because I was throwing it in the water. Billy Tipton was the one who took it. He threw it in the river."  Reaching behind him, Nathaniel fetched the wet doll from his back pocket. Extending it out to a wide-eyed Annabelle, he shrugged bashfully, "I was just getting it back."

Annabelle snatched it away and buried her face in the damp fabric, stroking the saturated doll. Nathaniel wiped a hand the length of his face though Annabelle clearly saw the smile tickling the crook of his lips. He turned to leave, but Annabelle leapt on him from behind, wrapping her arms around him.

"Oh, Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! How could I ever repay you?"

Looking at the ravenous haired girl over his shoulder, he smirked, "Don't know yet, but I'll make sure it's gross and disgusting. Now climb on." Lowering, he allowed for Annabelle to climb onto his back, and with the draping doll over his shoulder, he carried them both home.

A white pillowcase brushed before Annabelle's eyes pulling her from her reverie. Beatrice giggled. "Martha, are you in there?"

Annabelle flinched, her mind gradually surfacing. "Forgive me, I was…"

"Thinking of a special someone?" Beatrice smiled wickedly, leaning in with palpable anticipation. Lowering her head, Annabelle closed her eyes still able to faintly smell Nathaniel’s woodsy, masculine scent clinging to her pores.

"Yes," She admitted quietly trailing her fingers along the intricate embroidered linens. "He was special, but we're strangers now."

"You might want to hurry it along in here; the guests have already entered the gates!" A fellow maid rattled as she brushed past the room. Annabelle rose in haste heading for the dismantled bed. Beatrice ran for the window.

"Come Martha!"

Annabelle hesitated. She never did like to be thought of as a meddlesome maid. But Beatrice gasps further chiseled at Annabelle's resistance. "Oh this promises to be interesting! I'm certain they weren't expecting this!" 

Crumbling to temptation, Annabelle rushed to the window.

All color drained from her face as the linens she barely finished folding floated back to the floor. Stepping from the carriage was William Hamilton, Earl of Lanceford carrying a sleeping Logan in his arms. Clutching Beatrice’s arm to steady herself, Annabelle suppressed the violent heaves clenching her stomach. How could it possibly be? Lord William Hamilton was the same brooding man she met at the bakery.

Lord William Hamilton was Nathaniel Hawkins.

Annabelle wanted to doubt her eyes. Could she be mistaken? But voiceless, Annabelle shook her head. There was no way she could ever mistake him. She had after all seen his face every waking moment for the first nine years of her life.