Chapter 1 #2
Anne placed her hand in his and gave it a solid squeeze as she took a step away from the table. “Awww… so you did miss me.”
Cheeks ablaze, Warren replied, “I confess, it was rather boring being cooped up at Guernsey Manor without your weekly visits.”
“While you may have been unsuccessful in discovering any new leads, I, on the other hand, was able to garner some rather interesting facts from my father’s valet.”
He turned, and out of habit, he picked her up by the waist and twirled her about twice before setting her back on her ground. “Tell me, what did he share with you?”
“Hmmm…” Anne tapped her forefinger on her chin. “Let me see if I can recall his exact words…”
“Lady Anne Marie Jane Colburn.” The chit could recall every word spoken, every encounter she had experienced in detail from the moment she had learned how to talk. And since she’d begun nattering on at the age of four, her memory was long and precise.
Lips thinned, brow knitted, Anne glared up at him. “Don’t you be trying to intimidate me. Don’t forget, I know all your secrets.”
“Out with it.” He attempted to adopt what he hoped was a menacing grimace.
One more second. One more breath. Surely the chit will relent.
He released the breath he was holding when Anne finally caved and asked, “Do you recall the summer I returned home late from Bremendon?”
“Was that the year that you and… What was the girl's name…? The one who always had her nose in a book. Hmm… Lady Cordelia, was it?”
“Ugh, for my sake, please do not utter Delia’s name ever again.
The mere mention of the witch has me wanting to flee back to the Continent.
” After a brief shake of her shoulders, Anne straightened and added, “Perhaps it would be best if I simply shared the fact that the girl in your dreams is, in fact, real.”
“Of course, she’s real.” He hoped she couldn’t hear the tension in his voice. He’d searched for the woman—well, he supposed, she’d been a girl at the time—for many years.
“Well, I’ve had my doubts over the years.
Seeing as no one would or could corroborate her existence, let alone confirm the fact that a girl about my age had once lived at Guernsey Manor.
However, when old Wilson was preparing for our return, he was complaining to my maid Patsy about the toll of what he deemed ‘unnecessary’ travel was having on his aging body—”
Egad, this girl could talk. He tried to rein in his ire and asked as sweetly as possible, “And how does any of this aid us in our search?”
Anne motioned for him to lean down for her to whisper in his ear. “It seems that your father not only forbade the mention of the girl, but also of the stable master and his son.”
“A boy?”
The crease that marred her forehead deepened, and in a low voice, she replied, “Yes.”
She left him standing there, stunned, leaving Warren no choice but to follow her out of the breakfast room and outside. Only once they were out of the house and out of earshot of the staff did she slow down. “If we can discover the name of the old stable master and his son, we could—”
Warren froze as the memory rose before him, leaving him dizzy. He sealed his eyes tightly closed. Crumpling to his knees, he pressed his fingers to his temples and uttered an unfamiliar yet still somehow familiar name, “Ian.”
“Warren!” Anne wrapped her hands around his wrists. “Is it your head?” Her cool fingers pressed against his forehead. “You haven’t a fever. What is the matter?”
“I need a moment.”
“This. This is why your father refused to mention events and people related to the accident. You were wrong. He wanted to protect you, he…”
“Don’t defend him,” Warren warned. “He was controlling and uncaring. He abandoned his wife and child, and for what? For some ambiguous duty?”
“My papa did the same.”
“Your papa repented and never left your side after…” He let silence fall between them.
He need not finish his sentence. Damn. Damn.
Damn. Why did he have to go and bring up Anne’s mama’s passing?
Like old times, they trudged toward the gate that their mamas had designed to allow the families to cross property lines.
“We can part here.” Anne’s eyes remained filled with sadness and concern.
He hated being the reason for her worries. “Are you certain you want Mama to chaperone you in Town?”
“I wish to leave for London post haste. Papa will join us in town after he has seen to all the estate matters that have accumulated during our time on the Continent.”
Anne’s voice was an octave higher. She was up to no good. Curiosity getting the better of him, he asked, “Why?”
“The estate matters cannot be ignored.”
“I wasn’t referring to your papa’s activities, and you well know it. You have no fondness for London or its frivolities. Who is this ‘friend’ who has convinced you to return to the very environment that you claim shall be the downfall of all mankind?”
“It’s a secret.”
“A secret! We don’t keep secrets from one another.”
“We do now.” Anne opened and walked through the fence. As she slipped the rope that held the gate in place, she smiled and turned to add, “You should focus on finding your angel before your mama, or worse, Lady Osbourne, finds you a suitable wife.”
“I’ll not let the matter go, Anne. You will disclose what you are up to by the time we arrive at Guernsey Manor tomorrow, or you shall not be sleeping under the same roof as I.
” He employed his sternest “lordship” tone, the one that made people quiver and jump to do his bidding, though in reality he had little power over them.
He was merely wealthier and more acquainted with influential peers than most.
Anne, of course, knew that secret about him as well.
All that his tone had garnered him was a shrug and a broad smile.
Then the frustrating woman turned and, with a bounce similar to that of his mother’s earlier, she marched toward Ellington Place, the estate that bordered his and was like a second home to Warren.
As he retraced his steps back to Guernsey Manor, images of a boy and a small girl with pigtails that had come loose chasing him flashed before his mind’s eye. Head pounding in time with his footfalls, Warren continued. What prevented him from remembering their names or seeing their faces clearly?