The Trouble with Anna

Chapter 25

CHAPTER 25

I T WAS WELL AFTER DARK WHEN Julian arrived at his London townhouse and flung off his greatcoat. “What news from the Dowager, Williams?”

“Welcome home, my lord. The Dowager is in residence in London, as requested.”

“With my sister and Lady Anna?”

“Yes, my lord.”

Julian let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. So Anna had stayed in London, as he’d hoped she would? Informative. If she had chosen to run, he would simply have had the pleasure of chasing her, but his Countess was much too sensible for that.

With each hoofbeat that brought him closer to London, his confidence had grown. He’d wooed her once, before he even knew the stakes. He was quite confident in his ability to woo her again, no matter what Warrick said. Julian slapped his hands together in satisfaction. “Williams, I believe I’ll join the Dowager for dinner.”

“I’m afraid the ladies are not at leisure tonight, my lord. The Dowager is hosting a party.”

Julian stiffened. “You must be mistaken.”

“No, my lord. I believe it’s a dinner in honor of the young lady.”

“The devil it is!” Anna, facing a room full of Londoners without his support—furious, miserable, glaring daggers at anyone who tried to approach? His heart seized. Damn it, what was Gran thinking? “Send Evans up and ready my carriage immediately. I leave again in ten minutes.”

Julian bounded up the stairs two at a time, threw off his jacket, and unbuttoned his shirt. “Evans, damn your eyes, where’s my evening kit?”

“Here.” The valet, three freshly starched cravats draped over one forearm, held out an evening shirt. “Pantaloons on the bed, shoes on the floor.”

Julian yanked on the shirt and grabbed a cravat, tying it into such a rough knot that Evans raised an eyebrow. “I believe the point is ornamentation, my lord, not strangulation?”

Julian ignored him and threw on the rest of his clothes, stalking down the stairs and into the night. He had a fiancée to rescue and no time to spare.

In the corridor outside the Dowager’s grand salon, Anna took a gulp of air as her nerves jolted and twanged. “How many did you invite, Charlotte?”

“It’s a very small party. No more than twenty.” Charlotte looked over and her smile vanished. “No! You mustn’t fall apart. Everyone invited is a particular friend of mine or Gran’s, and I’ve sat you next to Lord Hartley at dinner. Parties are for pleasure , not pain.”

Anna’s stomach heaved.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Charlotte nicked two glasses of champagne from a passing footman and handed one to Anna. “Glug it down. Quickly, now!”

Anna made a face but did as told, and Charlotte swept the empty glass away and presented her with the second. “There! Hold on tight to this and take a sip each time you need courage.”

“I can’t do this!”

Charlotte heaved a sigh. “I hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but just in case—” She fished in her bodice for a small white square of linen and pressed it into Anna’s hands. “Here! I made this for you. Use it wisely.”

Anna eyed it doubtfully. “A handkerchief?”

“It’s not just a handkerchief, it’s a secret weapon. I’ve embroidered a message on it.” Charlotte took the handkerchief and shook it open so Anna could see the riot of flowers and ribbons stitched in white on the crisp linen. When Charlotte folded the handkerchief to line up the embroidery just so, a word emerged.

Anna’s eyes went wide. “ Bollocks? ”

“ Shh! ”

“ Bollocks? ” Anna whispered.

She must have looked utterly bemused, because Charlotte’s forehead wrinkled. “You do know what bollocks are, don’t you? A man’s… undercarriage.”

“Yes, thank you, I understand the mechanics! What I don’t understand is why you embroidered that word on a handkerchief.”

“Because it’s very useful. If your nerves play up, simply narrow your eyes, concentrate as hard as you can, and think, Bollocks! Bollocks to the lot of you! Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks! You’ll feel better at once.”

Before Anna could protest, Charlotte squeezed her shoulder and pushed the door to the grand salon open.

“ Bollocks! ” she mouthed, and shoved Anna through.

Anna stopped dead in the doorway, staring. The room glowed—candlelight flickered from the graceful arms of the chandeliers and off the low tables, where fat roses from the Dowager’s hothouse spilled out of polished silver vases. But it was the people who caught Anna’s attention. Charlotte had been true to her word and there were only twenty.

Anna swallowed.

A room full of twenty strangers.

“Lady Anna!” Lord Hartley hailed her from a corner where he was talking to a group of men. “Who took the Queen’s Plate at Ascot in ’90? It was William Pratt on Brimmer, was it not?”

Anna walked forward in terror. She couldn’t seem to make her brain work.

The Queen’s Plate, Ascot, 1790.

Pratt. Brimmer. The Queen’s Plate.

She could find the answer, if only she weren’t busy swallowing her own tongue.

“Pratt on Brimmer, yes?” Hartley prompted.

The men were all looking at her, and Anna’s stomach started to curdle. She clutched her handkerchief.

Bollocks! Big, stinky bollocks!

Nothing happened.

All at once, Julian’s voice shivered through her. My god, Anna, why do you give no value to the best parts of yourself?

“Brimmer was ’88, my lord,” she answered. “In ’90, Milksop took the last heat by five lengths.”

A small redheaded man next to Hartley crowed. He had a sly, foxy look about him, as if he were just about to steal a chicken. “That’s five guineas for me, Hartley!”

“Lady Anna, how could you? Pickerton here will have a fat head all night.”

She smiled at Hartley. “I’m not the one who tried to take a victory off Milksop.”

The redhead chortled. “A young lady of remarkable sense! I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure?”

“You won’t look so smug if you take her out on a horse, Pickerton. She’ll run circles around you,” said Lord Hartley. “Lady Anna Reston, may I present Mr. Charles Pickerton?”

Pickerton’s eyes lit up. “The woman of the hour? I bid on your Charon, I’ll have you know. What a fine engagement present Lord Ramsay gave you.”

“Yes, he’s extraordinary,” she said through her teeth. “Tell me, sir. Do you have any horses worth my trouble?”

Lord Hartley threw his head back and laughed, and some of the young women drifted over. It was early in the Season, but all the guests seemed glad of a break from the endless round of balls in favor of an easy night with friends. The Dowager and Charlotte both had a talent for warmth, so while the tablecloths were starched and formal, the company wasn’t. Especially when dinner ended and the footmen cleared the last plates away.

The Dowager gave the women the signal to withdraw, but Charlotte pretended not to see.

“Gentlemen!” Charlotte ignored the Dowager’s increasingly emphatic eyebrow waggling and leaned forward. “Who here fancies a bet?”