Chapter Twenty-Three
It had been an amazing week.
The best, she thought, since they had wed. She felt like she was finally getting to know who Laurence really was, and she liked him. She liked him a lot.
It was rather gratifying to know that they shared a connection that went beyond the physical. Not that she didn’t appreciate that, of course. But it was a relief to know it wasn’t all they had.
She wished she could tell him about the necklace she had pawned, but Oliver had made it clear that Laurence wasn’t to know about his financial problems. And besides, Laurence would possibly be angry with her for taking it, for lying about where she was going—and she didn’t want to ruin everything. Not when it was all going so well.
A week after their picnic, when her bleeding had stopped, they spent the night wrapped in one another’s arms, and both rose late the next morning.
After a leisurely breakfast and a kiss that was altogether too passionate for the dining room in the middle of the day, Laurence left to attend to some business, and Anastasia took tea in the parlor, feeling happy but a little tired.
She hoped that when Laurence returned, they might go for a walk, or play cards, or just sit and talk.
So for now she would rest, watch the people passing by the window, and drink tea.
A knock on the door interrupted that plan, and when the footman came in, carrying a silver tray with a calling card on it, her heart dropped.
No one had paid her a visit here except for Oliver.
She had been rather unknown before, and with a slightly scandalous marriage to the rakish viscount, no one in high society seemed to have been keen to seek her out.
Not that she minded; she was happy enough with Laurence’s company.
In fact, she would have been happier if they were in the country, away from the noise and bustle of London—but that was a topic for another day.
She hoped it was not Oliver coming to see her, for he would surely spoil her good mood—and Laurence’s too, if he came home and found him here. She did not think the two would ever be friends, and she couldn’t blame Laurence. Her brother was not a very easy man.
“Mr. Carrington here to see you, Lady Walsham,” the footman said with a bow of his head, and she felt her smile falter.
“Thank you. Please show him in.”
She steeled herself for his entrance, and when he came in with a broad smile on his face, she felt panic rise in her chest.
He wanted something—she was sure.
“My darling sister,” he said, embracing her.
Oh yes, he definitely wanted something.
“How are you, Oliver?”
“As well as can be expected,” he said, and she did not know what that meant—and did not wish to ask him to find out.
“And you? You look well.”
“I am, thank you.”
She knew she ought to offer him tea, but she did not wish to prolong his visit. She had been feeling so happy; she didn’t want all that joy to fall away.
There was an awkward silence for a moment or two, and then he clearly decided he didn’t have time for small talk.
“The thing is, I’m afraid I need you to give me some more money.”
She closed her eyes and said, “Not again, Oliver. We agreed.”
“Yes, yes, I know. Very unfortunate. But you see, Baron Brett is still very frustrated about the way things turned out between you and him—”
“There was no me and him,” Anastasia said hotly. “There was a marriage you arranged and I knew nothing about.”
He waved his hand in the air as though her concerns were of no import.
“Well, he decided that I owed interest on the money that I owed him, so what I paid was not enough. We must get this matter sorted, Anastasia. And you don’t want Lord Walsham knowing about the Carrington financial affairs, do you?
Or that you gave me money without telling him. ”
He gave a cold smile. So, he was going to blackmail her with the very deed she had committed to help him. Of course he was. She should have known. He couldn’t be trusted—that had always been the case.
“I don’t care if he knows about Carrington family finances,” she said truthfully. “And perhaps him knowing that I gave you money is better than you endlessly asking me for it. Did you think of that, Oliver?”
“Who said anything about endlessly?” Oliver said. “Just once more, and then this whole matter can be put to rest. And Lord Walsham need never know about this distasteful business.”
“I don’t trust you, Oliver, when you say this will be the last time.”
He gave her a hard stare. “And I don’t think your husband would trust you, if he found out you’d been lying to him—stealing the family jewels. Do you want to risk him finding out?”
Anastasia swallowed. Perhaps it would be the last time. And then she wouldn’t have to ruin everything with Laurence by admitting all this.
“How much do you need?”
Oliver’s smile was back. The way his mood changed made her feel like she was a Catherine wheel, spinning out of control. “Two thousand pounds. So that we’re done, once and for all.”
She gasped. “So much more, Oliver—I don’t know if I can… Are you sure Baron Brett isn’t taking you for a fool, asking for that much more? On a debt of five hundred?”
Oliver took a step toward her and tipped her head up roughly to look him directly in the eyes. Her neck was bent at an awkward angle, and she could see the fury in his own eyes as he said, “Never call me a fool, Annie. Two thousand pounds is what I need, and it’s what you’re going to get me.”