The Trouble with Anna

Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

A NNA WAS HOUNDED BY MISSIVES all the next morning, with footmen popping out from behind every corner to present her with silver salvers heaped high with bad news.

The first was from her grandfather’s lawyers, a ghastly little bundle of papers including an extra copy of the Times engagement notice in case she needed confirmation that her humiliation had breached the county lines of Suffolk and penetrated well into the city. The second round of letters came from rival breeders, inquiring whether she was shutting down the stables and wanted to sell her horses on the cheap.

The most disturbing missive, however, was from Lady Alice, the Dowager Countess, inviting Anna to tea. It was a perfectly pleasant little note, yet Anna wilted as she read it, because invitations from grandmothers, particularly grandmothers who were also Dowager Countesses, were notoriously difficult to refuse. Would Ramsay be there too? Would she have to sit around with him after his dreadful proposal, sipping oolong and nibbling plum cake?

Anna was still sick with tension later that afternoon when she surveyed her wardrobe, looking for the least-awful option. She had only a few hastily sewn black gowns and they all seemed the same to her, so she gave a hiss of disgust and grabbed the nearest one. She stomped down the stairs, her face a thundercloud, to wait as Hutchins called the carriage round, and she squirmed in her seat as the horses clip-clopped their way to Mayne.

When she arrived at last, Gifford threw open the door, gave her a warm smile, and boomed out, “The Honorable Lady Anna Reston!”

Oh dear. Did he have to be so loud ?

Anna took a furtive peep around, but there were no lords lounging against doorframes, waiting to torment her. She allowed herself a sigh of relief, only to suck it back a moment later when Lord Ramsay came striding down the grand staircase. “Good afternoon, Lady Anna.”

“Good afternoon, my lord,” she returned, as coolly as she could manage.

Lord Ramsay smiled. Not one of the swift, stiff-lipped smiles she’d seen from him at the rare public functions they’d both attended. Not one of his lazy, lopsided grins. This smile was slow, searching, and somehow more pernicious, judging from the queer thump of her heart. Anna couldn’t tear her eyes away, even as her brain cried out a warning.

She eyed him, full of suspicion. What was the man up to? He’d never looked at her that way before all this business with the will. His eyes had always seemed to skate past her, as if he were a great hawk and she a field mouse too scrawny for his liking.

“My grandmother is eager to make your acquaintance. Shall we?” Ramsay offered his arm, and Anna perched her hand on it, trying not to notice the warmth of his muscles beneath the immaculate navy of his jacket.

The Dowager was waiting for them in the drawing room, tucked into a chair by a large fire, reading from a stack of papers. She put them down on the little side table and Anna stole a look. Detailed botanical drawings of tropical plants, as far as Anna could make out, curlicue cross-sections and neat Latin labels.

“Julian?” the Dowager prompted.

“Gran, it’s my pleasure to present Lady Anna Reston. Lady Anna, may I introduce my grandmother, Lady Alice, the Dowager Countess Ramsay?”

Anna dipped a curtsey.

All the Avetons were self-possessed. It marked them as surely as their stubborn chins and the slash of their cheeks. But while the Earl’s self-possession was thick as a castle wall and Charlotte’s was more like the smugness of a cat, the Dowager’s was a gentle circle of certainty surrounding her. It warmed Anna, as did the Dowager’s next words.

“Thank you, Julian, you may leave.”

Anna shot him a look of triumph as he bowed to both of them and closed the door behind him.

She returned her attention to Lady Alice with a tentative smile, but the Dowager only looked her up and down, her bright blue eyes taking in every detail, until Anna’s smile faltered and fell away.

“You’ve nothing of your mother in you,” said the Dowager at last.

Anna tensed. “I won’t hear a word against her.”

“Most loyal of you, but I’m sure you’ll hear several. There are quite a number of women she wronged, but I was deeply fond of Caroline.”

Anna’s head began to rush. “You knew my mother?”

“Of course I did, child. Your mother grew up at Chatham and I was mistress here after all, before Charlotte’s mother. At first I dismissed Caroline as just another dizzy girl, and I even got quite impatient with her once at a tea. But she laughed it off, and that was illuminating. I suppose being Lord Barton’s daughter was quite a training in how to deal with a rough tongue.”

Anna sank down into the chair opposite the Dowager. “He hardly ever talked about her.”

“A scandal will do that, child.”

“Sometimes it feels as if she never existed, as if I imagined her.” Anna colored up. She had never revealed so much to a stranger, so quickly.

“Oh, your mother was fun!” The Dowager smiled. “Always skipping over when she saw me at a ball, always trying to scandalize me with the latest gossip. She had a hushed way about her, as if everything she said was the most delicious secret—even if she was simply commenting on the weather. And she let me natter on about my plants, though I doubt she was interested. A kind girl, Caroline, and a smart one too, though she rarely got credit for it. Beauties seldom do.”

Anna stared. “Smart? Forgive me! My grandfather said—”

“Best not to repeat what the Viscount said about female intelligence, can we agree? I spoke to her once about you, not long before she died. She was fascinated with you, but oh, how she worried! She’d have had an easier time with a boy.”

Anna tried to swallow her rising hurt. “I suppose she didn’t know what to make of me.”

The Dowager reached over and took Anna’s hand, squeezing it once firmly. “Caroline didn’t know what to make of herself , child. She knew what was expected of her and lived down to it. But she had high hopes for you. Now, tell me all your troubles. Your mother would never forgive me if I let you sort them out on your own.”

With that, the Dowager picked up a little bell and rang for tea.

Two hours later, Julian walked past the drawing room only to find that the door was still shut. Pushing it open, he discovered the Dowager still ensconced in her chair with her drawings in hand and Lady Anna fast asleep at her feet, her head resting lightly on the Dowager’s knee.

“Poisoned her, have you? That’s one way to handle things.”

“Julian, shush! The poor thing needs to sleep.”

“In your lap?”

“I don’t care where she sleeps, so long as it’s at Mayne. It’s a scandal for the child to live alone at Chatham. I intend to chaperone her until a suitable alternative can be found.”

Julian raised an eyebrow. “So fierce! In fact, I hoped you’d offer.”

The Dowager regarded him steadily. “Are you really determined to marry this girl? She’s badly in need of affection. Are you the man to give it to her?”

His mouth tightened and his teasing fell away. “I intend to give her an earldom. That should be sufficient, don’t you think?”

The Dowager gave an impatient huff. “Julian, this is foolishness! You mustn’t let what your guardian did—”

But she was speaking to a shadow, because Julian was gone.

The Dowager folded her hands together and stared into the fire.

My darling boy, this path leads only to disaster.

For you. For her.

For everyone.