Persuading Him: A Modern Persuasion Retelling (Pemberley Estates Book 1) Page 4

  "Penny!" Eliza called as her friend entered the living room. The two rushed toward each other and hugged. "It's so good to have a true friend at this time." Eliza gave a pointed glare at Anne, but she ignored it and headed for the kitchen to make tea for everyone.

  Mr. Clay marched to the middle of the living room and held up his folder. "I'm so glad Anne told me about finding a renter." He opened up the folder and began distributing pieces of paper. "You will love these people."

  "They better be of the highest caliber!" Her father snatched the paper. "This house was built to accommodate very particular tastes—what is this, a sailor?"

  "A decorated veteran from the navy," Mr. Clay corrected. "A Mr. Croft, well on his way to becoming a rear admiral when he decided to retire and travel the world with his wife. They are very eager to rent a home in this area since his wife grew up near here. You might have even known her. A Sophy Wentworth?"

  Anne gasped, her heart racing, and the room seemed to spin; the half-filled teacup tumbled out of her hands and clattered onto the countertop. She froze, well aware by the sudden silence that they were all staring at her. But she couldn't face them. She had no idea how her face appeared, but she knew it wouldn't be calm and serene.

  "Sorry!" She called over her shoulder and fumbled with the spilled teacup, trying to pretend she had only been clumsy, that nothing was special about that name.

  Mr. Clay coughed. "Anyway, a Sophy Wentworth, did you know her?"

  "Wentworth?" Her father asked and Anne held her breath. Would he spill the story? Of how she had once wanted to take the name of Wentworth herself? No one but herself, her father, and Russelle knew of the incident. Eliza had been away at college, thus sparing her the mortification of that morsel of her life being used as a weapon against her. But now, the secret might finally be out. She turned, opening her mouth, desperate to stop the news, but her father abruptly scoffed.

  "Never heard of it."

  Anne stared at him. Even if it had been eight years, he could have at least remembered the one man Anne had fallen in love with, the one time she had been deliriously happy, the joyful season of spring that always burned a hole in her heart.

  "They don't sound," Eliza said with a sneer, "like the type of people we would associate with."

  Anne glanced at Russelle. Even though Anne didn't want a rehash of the incident, she wanted at least someone to acknowledge some memory of that special name. Her godmother, however, pointed to the picture included in the report. "He's a good looking man, is he not?"

  Anne faced the counter. No one would remember. The greatest regret of her life and no one cared.

  "He does seem to have a good face," her father mused. "Not as weather-beaten as I feared. And having a decorated veteran as a renter would sound quite distinguished."

  "Yes, it would," Eliza said. "Would make you sound very generous."

  "Precisely my thinking," Mr. Clay piped up. "Now, if you look here, you'll see the terms I have presented..."

  Anne slowly filled the teacups as Mr. Clay droned on about the details. It was a good deal. Her father would be a fool not to take it, and they desperately needed the money. Logically, she knew it was the right choice, but she wanted to object. To at least voice her opinion that she didn't want this outcome at all. But no one would hear it.

  Oh, if only she hadn't messed up those papers!

  Chapter 4

  Two months. They had to move in two months.

  Anne felt like her soul had been auctioned off and now her body was wondering what to do with itself. Luckily, her family had rallied to help by dumping most of the work on her since, as Eliza put it, it was her fault they were forced to move in the first place. Anne didn't bother to point out that their extravagant living and lack of savings were also a factor since that would have fallen on deaf ears.

  Anne threw herself into cataloging everything, making lists and figuring what would go and what would stay, glad to be overwhelmed with work to numb the haunting pain. Her father and sister, however, decided to ease their pain by shopping. It was something Anne could never understand about them. They were living on credit, were losing their house already, and yet, for some reason, they felt the need to shop, happily dumping the newly purchased items on Anne to catalog and store away.

  "It's called retail therapy," Russelle said a week later, sitting in the as-of-yet unpacked living room. "It's a common ailment. Even I use it, I confess, to either reward or console myself."

  "But we have nowhere to put it," Anne said. "Most of this," she waved her hand to include the furniture around her, "is staying for the renters since we have no more room in our storage unit. And at the rate of their shopping, we'll need to rent another unit, another thing we can't afford!"

  Russelle reached for Anne's hand and gave it a comforting squeeze, but it felt useless to Anne. "Don't worry, Anne. I can fix this. You can use my garage—"

  She shook her head. "That will only give them more reason to shop. I'd rather we get rid of everything. They haven't used most of the stuff I'm packing in years. I bet they wouldn't even notice if it all magically disappeared."

  Russelle's eyes brightened and a sly smiled crept over her lips. "Why don't you get rid of it all then?"

  Anne paused, surprised by the suggestion. Her outlandish ideas weren't usually met with approval. "You think I should?"

  "You said it yourself: they wouldn't miss it."

  Anne smiled, emboldened. "Then I'll donate what we don't need to charity. I'll put it all in the same boxes for moving and Dad and Eliza will never suspect a thing."

  Her godmother's conspiratorial grin died. "You're not packing everything by yourself, are you?"

  "We can't afford movers—"

  "You are not packing everything by yourself. You must insist they help. It's their stuff, too."

  Anne focused on her clasped hands. Insisting on help would only cause a fight. It was easier, quieter, and quicker to do it herself.

  Russelle sighed. "When are you going to stand up for yourself?"

  "I do stand up for myself," Anne countered, clasping her hands tighter. "But I choose my battles and this one isn't worth it."

  "But you're doing all the work, sweetie!"

  "I don't mind it. It keeps me busy."

  There was a pause. "You don't want to go to Boston, do you?"

  Anne kept her eyes lowered. "I was never happy there."

  "Yes, you were. You had that one friend—"

  "She's not in Boston anymore."

  "Oh? When did she move?"

  "Several years ago when her husband got a job on the other side of the country. Besides, I haven't heard from her in a long while." In the beginning, they had exchanged emails frequently, but as time marched on and life grew busier, those emails dwindled and Anne hadn't heard from her friend in over a year now. "I should probably write to her and see how she's doing."

  "Mmm, well, you should find some nice, new friends, then. Friends that will make sure you don't stay cooped up in the condo in Boston."

  Anne hid a grimace. Those didn't sound like her type of friends. Her one friend, Jen, had been the only one to understand and respect her need to be alone. Everyone else in that elite college and law school couldn't fathom such a need. Everyone was focused on climbing the ladder; being alone didn't help anyone up a rung.

  "And," Russelle continued, "I will pay for movers."

  Anne's head shot up. "Russelle—"

  She raised a hand. "No, I insist. It's the least I can do in your family's time of trial and I'm sure my favorite godchild would appreciate it. You should organize everything so the movers will know what to do but don't bother putting things into boxes. That will be their job."

  Anne reached over and squeezed her godmother's hands. "Thank you so very much."

  She squeezed her hands back. "It's no trouble at all. And, once the move is all finished, I was thinking you could stay with me and I'll take you to Boston and we'll go to your old law school and see about get
ting you enrolled for the fall."

  Anne withdrew her hands, dread forming in her stomach. "I—"

  Her cellphone abruptly rang. Anne stared at her purse for a dumbfounded second—her phone rarely rang. But it rang again, insisting it did exist. She checked the screen, then grimaced. It was her younger sister, Mary, who would not appreciate being ignored.

  "Sorry, it's Mary—"

  "Her bi-weekly rant call, I assume?"

  Anne nodded. "I'll try to make it quick."

  "That would be impressive." She sighed and leaned against her chair. "I'll see how long I can wait."

  Anne scurried to the kitchen, more so Russelle wouldn't have to overhear Mary. "Mary, hi, this isn't the best time to call—"

  "Not the best time?" Mary scoffed over the phone. "Do you have any idea how much time and effort I had to put just to climb up this hill so I can find service and call you?"

  Anne bit back a sigh. Mary lived in a small valley where cell phone service struggled to find her unless she climbed out of the valley. Unfortunately, it tended to put her in a foul mood by the time she called.

  "And what could you possibly be doing right now?" her sister continued.

  "Russelle is here."

  "She can see you tomorrow or any other day. She lives like ten minutes away! I live an hour away so I get precedence. And I'm your sister! She's not even family."

  Anne knew trying to explain that Russelle was family to Anne would be wasting time, so she asked, "What's going on then? The boys are behaving, I hope?"

  "Ugh, they're a nightmare! I don't know how you get them to behave when you come over. And when are you coming to babysit? You promised you would! It's been months since the last time and the boys keep asking when you'll come again."

  "Sorry, I've been busy—"

  "You can't be busy. You have no life or kids running around screaming at you all day long or in-laws demanding incomprehensible things of you—"

  "We're moving."

  "Moving?" That seemed to catch her attention. "Why would you move? You said you loved that house."

  Anne paused, rather surprised Mary remembered. Then again, Mary could be a good listener when she was in the mood for it. "Dad..." Anne hesitated, not sure she wanted to divulge the entire history of the move. "Dad and Eliza have decided to move to Boston—"

  "Boston!" Mary gushed. "That's so not fair! Why do all the good things happen when I'm not around? And you, of course, will be going back to school, won't you? But you must babysit first! You owe me! And Charles still owes me that cruise he promised for our fifth anniversary last year and you know he's going to use you as an excuse unless you're available for babysitting so you have to come! I'm sick of missing my anniversaries because you're busy!"

  Anne grimaced. Mary always had the knack for terrible timing. And yet, what if it wasn't bad timing? The anniversary trip that Mary had planned for years would take several weeks and if she agreed to have it next month, then Anne would miss the application period for the law school. It was a coward's way, Anne knew it, but she needed more time before she could confess to Russelle she had no desire to become a lawyer.

  "I can't be free for another month—"

  "Perfect! Those were the dates I was planning on so I'll tell Charles to buy the tickets. You'll stay for three weeks and I'll finally get to see Rome!

  Anne murmured agreeing sounds while Mary gushed over Rome and all of her plans for the city, ignoring the stab of pain in her own heart. Anne had always wanted to travel but had no interest going on her own and, since Eliza and her father had little interest in scampering about the world, had always hoped Mary would go with her. And there was a time, after Mary had graduated from high school, they had planned to do a big trip to Europe, but that had all fallen apart when Mary married. Anne hadn't minded at first, but now that Mary was about to achieve that dream, Anne couldn't help feeling envious. Life wasn't turning out the way Anne had hoped at all.

  Chapter 5

  Anne's fingers danced over the piano keys, eyes closed as she played one of the many memorized pieces in her head. Today, she focused on the happy ones. Her father and sister had given her a joyous gift: they had decided to move out early.

  They had gone to see the condo and had met up with so many friends that they determined it would be pointless to remain in a house being emptied of its contents when they could be living in a fancy condo with tantalizing parties and events to attend. Eliza, still furious over Anne's mistake, made the point to ask her friend, Penny, to drive them to Boston instead of Anne, and even went as far as to insist Penny to stay with them, insinuating that Anne wasn't welcomed and that leaving her to finish the packing all by herself in the empty house would be sufficient punishment. Anne had performed the proper moping while she helped Penny pack the car, but the instant the three took off in the car, she'd squealed with excitement. Two whole weeks to herself! She could play the piano every day! And she had promptly sat down to do exactly that.

  Then the doorbell rang.

  Anne clanged the keys, the jarring cords describing her mood perfectly. She should have known Eliza would forget something and return, ruining Anne's day. With a tired sigh, she left her beloved piano, crossed to the front door and, putting on her best calm demeanor, opened the door.

  To her surprise, she didn't find her haughty sister, but two tall strangers. The taller one, a man with a weather-beaten face embedded with sharp, intelligent eyes and topped with salt and pepper hair, broke into a confident grin, the wrinkles in his skin easily creasing into the familiar expression. "Hello, hello!" He boomed from his large chest, "Are we interrupting anything?"

  She stared at him, disconcerted by his odd question. A musical laugh broke her shock and she turned toward his companion, a woman, obviously a decade younger than the man with not a hint of gray in her black hair, but Anne felt the world spin and grasped the door like it was her last hope. Though she hadn't seen the love of her life in over eight years, she could see him in this woman's face. The same bold nose and murky, brown eyes and the same kindness and fearless light shining through. This had to be his sister.

  "Sorry for Al's terrible introduction. We're the Crofts," the woman said in a light, airy voice, one that was used to laughing, "This goof," she gestured to the tall man whose grin widened as if the term was a common joke, "is my husband, Al, and I'm Sophy." She extended her hand, as calloused and weather-beaten as her husband's skin.

  Still gripping the solid door with one hand, Anne accepted the handshake with the other. "I'm..." she hesitated, wondering if Sophy would recognize her name. If the brother was on speaking terms with Sophy, he might have talked about her and their perfect spring long ago. "Anne. Anne Elliot."

  The lady's face lit up with recognition and Anne's heart skipped a beat.

  "Oh, Mr. Clay mentioned you!"

  Anne's hopes plummeted. Not the man she had hoped for.

  "He said you're the middle child that gets everything done."

  Anne flushed. "Um, kind of."

  "Middle child?" Her husband asked as if confused.

  "Yes, of the three girls."

  "Girls? Sophy, dearest, she's no girl. She's a woman! And a beautiful, humble one at that!"

  Anne flushed even more. Two praises within one minute—it wasn't something she was used to.

  "Mind if we come in?"

  She clung to the door, well aware of the many boxes littering the house. "Uh, you're two weeks early—"

  "Ha, don't worry, we're not moving in right now," the man boomed.

  "We were hoping to get a feel for the place in case we needed to order anything, but we would completely understand if it's too much trouble."

  "Oh, in that case," Anne opened the door wider so they could enter, "the place is a bit of a mess—"

  "Nah," Al said as he surveyed the front area, "Just looks like a ship that has been tossed a bit in a storm. Nothing we haven't seen before, eh, Sophy?" He held out his elbow for her and she linked her arm through
his.

  "He's right. You don't need to apologize for anything. We've moved so many times over the years—we know exactly what you're going through."

  Anne smiled, her face and body relaxing. She didn't know why, but she felt at ease with these two, as if nothing she could do or say would offend them. A complete opposite of her own family members. And to think, they could have been her in-laws. Her family.

  She shook herself and focused on the dining table and chairs. "We're leaving most of the furniture here, as stated in the contract, but you're welcome to put these," she indicated the dining table," and others into storage if it doesn't suit you—"

  "Is the piano staying?" Sophy asked, walking toward the grand piano.

  Anne repressed a sigh. "Yes."

  Sophy plucked a few notes and Anne couldn't help remembering a taller someone who had plucked notes like that. "Was it you we heard playing earlier?"

  Anne ducked her head, clasping her hands behind her back. She didn't really like others hearing her play. It was like writing in her diary, expressing all her emotions, and having someone overhear it was embarrassing. "Yes."

  "A humble and a world-famous pianist!" Al declared. He gave her a short bow. "Can we get you to come with the house, too?"

  Anne flushed, eyes firmly on the floor.

  "Al, you're embarrassing her. Don't listen to half of what he says, Anne. He's a big tease."

  "It's true," Al said, not in the least penitent, "But, in this instant, my praise is sincere."

  "And I agree with it. Actually, Anne, would it be possible if you could give me some piano lessons? I've always wanted to learn."

  The memory of her first student, with his wiry grin and mischievous brown eyes, filled her mind and a deep ache settled into her chest. She wasn't sure she could handle teaching again. Brought too many painful memories.

  "I thought you were going to get Rick to teach you," Al said and Anne nearly lost her balance. Rick. The love of her life. So, he had made up with his sister. He had family again. And he would be coming here. To her house. To her piano.