Chapter Seven
“Any minute now,” her mother murmured from her place beside Anna on the sofa.
They were seated in the green parlor, the largest of their three receiving rooms. A cheerful fire burned in the hearth, warding off the persistent draft of the English weather.
“Stop fidgeting.”
Anna glanced down at her hands, which had been mindlessly pinching the seam of her skirt.
She relaxed her fingers, gave them a stretch, and released a slow breath. “Apologies.”
“Remember, they are here to impress you. While I know you wish to make an impression yourself, you hold more power in this situation than you think. Odd as it may seem, you do. Use it. Calm yourself with the knowledge of it.”
Anna turned to her mother. “In what way—”
Her inquiry was cut off as the door to the parlor opened and the butler entered, silver tray in hand. He approached her mother and presented the calling cards. Anna leaned forward, catching a glimpse of the names, but only one truly registered.
And if she were honest, it was the only name that mattered.
Lord Edwin Rosewood, Earl of Devon.
She bit back a smile, heart quickening, and waited expectantly for the earl to darken the parlor door.
“Don’t appear too eager,” her mother whispered. “Here, take this.”
She handed Anna a book. Gratefully accepting the distraction, Anna flipped it open somewhere in the middle, thankful to have something in her hands besides the temptation of her skirt seam. Her brow furrowed at the chapter heading.
Blessed are the poor in spirit…
Blinking, she closed the book just enough to glimpse the title.
Fordyce’s Sermons.
She turned to her mother, about to ask why on earth—no pun intended—she had been handed a book of sermons.
But the butler reappeared before she could utter a word, leading three gentlemen into the parlor. Setting the book aside, Anna stood, her gaze immediately falling on Lord Devon. His tall frame bowed low in greeting, obscuring his expression.
She glanced to the other two gentlemen and offered a welcoming smile.
“Lord Highglen and Lord Voxly,” her mother said. “And Lord Devon.”
Anna caught her mother’s pointed glance toward the tea service.
“May I offer you gentlemen tea?” Anna asked.
Her gaze flicked from the teapot to Lord Devon. Her skin flushed as she caught his grin—a single dimple flashing—and oh, dear Lord, no wonder she couldn’t look away. His eyes met hers, held, and then he nodded, glancing away almost shyly.
“Yes, please, Lady Anna.”
She resisted the urge to sigh at the deep timbre of his voice. “Cream, sugar?” she asked, turning her attention to the tea service. She dared not look up for fear she’d spill everything.
“No, thank you.”
She nodded and kept her focus on the teacup. Her mother’s voice followed.
“Please, have a seat, gentlemen.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Anna noted the men taking their places. Belatedly, she looked up.
“Lord Voxly, Lord Highglen, would you care for tea as well?” she asked, doing her best to appear warm and gracious—and not like she’d just forgotten they existed.
“Of course—two sugars, Lady Anna,” Lord Voxly said.
“Only cream for me, please,” Lord Highglen added.
As Anna poured the tea, the weight of the moment settled around her. How many times had she poured tea before—practicing for this very scene? For the day it would matter?
And today, it did.
After serving the men, she took her seat beside her mother and joined the safe, if dull, conversation about the weather.
“Yes, the sunshine has been most welcome,” Anna offered. “Lord Highglen, I’ve heard your estate in Bath is quite near the sea?”
He gave a small smile. Handsome enough, with sandy blond hair nearly the same color as his fair skin, his eyebrows were practically invisible. His dark brown eyes, however, were kind.
“Yes, Overton overlooks the sea—hence the name. Not very original, but I suppose we English aren’t known for being poetic with our estates.”
Anna laughed gently. “Indeed. But a fitting name all the same.”
“It’s lovely this time of year. The sea is much calmer in the summer.”
“Is it stormy in the winter?”
He shrugged. “It can be. This year we had a storm that blew several ships off course. The beaches were littered with odd treasures—my nephews adored it.”
“A true adventure, then,” Anna replied. She turned to Lord Voxly. “And what adventures does Sussex provide?”
Lord Voxly leaned forward as if he’d been waiting. His thick, expressive eyebrows rose. “We’ve just acquired a new sire for our stables. Quite the beauty—and fast.”
His grin was wide, his teeth surprisingly small.
“I’ve heard exceptional things about your family’s stables, Lord Voxly,” Anna said politely, though her thoughts were already drifting back to Lord Devon.
She nodded along to Voxly’s enthusiastic words and, when the moment allowed, flicked her gaze toward Devon.
He was already watching her.
His mischievous grin tipped at the corners, as though he knew exactly what she’d been thinking.
He arched a brow and smoothly redirected the conversation.
“What bloodline did you say your sire came from?” he asked Voxly.
Anna’s brows knit slightly. Devon kept doing that—intercepting. Throughout the afternoon, more gentlemen arrived. Each time, she offered tea, made polite conversation, tried to steer something in Devon’s direction. But each time, he was one step ahead, turning the conversation elsewhere.
By the end of the afternoon, the callers had all taken their leave—except for one.
Lord Devon.
When the last remaining guest rose to go, Anna looked to Devon, expecting him to do the same.
“Ah,” he said, “and now I may speak to you without an audience—except your lovely mother, of course.” He nodded to the sofa.
Her mother waved a hand in dismissal, her cheeks pinking at the compliment.
“I do not like sharing, Lady Anna,” he said, leaning closer and lowering his voice. “And I hope you’ll forgive my immature tactics. I kept the others talking to avoid them talking to you.”
His eyes lit with boyish mischief.
“I suppose I can forgive you—if you’ll speak with me now,” she said, flirtatious.
“That was the plan all along.” His tone turned teasing. “Now, I’ve gathered you’re not much for small talk—no interest in weather or horses. You only perked up when Bath was mentioned. So, tell me, what do you find truly fascinating?”
He gestured for her to sit, then took the chair across from her.
The answer came too easily. You.
But instead, she said, “Tell me about yourself, Lord Devon. I know you through your sister, but what don’t I know?”
“A great deal, I can assure you.” His smile came, but something tightened in his expression. Odd—but it vanished before she could place it.
“Then we’ve much to discuss. An endless topic.” She tilted her head. “It’s the least you can do after ignoring me all afternoon.”
He placed a hand to his chest, feigning injury. “A cruel blow, Lady Anna. I admitted my wicked plans, didn’t I?”
He leaned forward, voice low. “Wicked.”
Goose bumps broke over her arms.
“Chilly?” he asked, eyeing her arms—and smiling like he already knew the answer.
“No.” She refused to be outmaneuvered. “Just waiting.”
“I see. Well, I do love a long ride.” He looked down with a self-satisfied grin. “My horses are fast. And I’ve done some sailing—exquisite on a good day. But my favorite thing is…” He paused. “You.”
Her blush flared hot and fast. “Is that so?”
“I do love pink,” he added, glancing again at her dress, then grinning.
“Then you’re in the right place. After all, this is my house. My calling hours.”
He looked around, then grinned. “How about that—you’re right.”
“I often am.”
“And humble too.”
“Remarkably.”
“So am I, you know. People are always saying so.”
“Not your sister.”
He gave a mock glare. “You cannot believe everything she tells you. While you may be known for your grace and beauty, my sister is known for … embellishing.”
Anna’s eyes sparkled. “So, the frog on her pillow never happened?”
“I laid flowers on her pillow.”
“And the garden snake in her shoe?”
“Coincidence.”
“The ink in the bathwater? The salt in the sugar bowl?”
“Stop!” He laughed. “Clearly, you must stop speaking with my sister.”
“Because she exaggerates?”
“Because she talks too much.”
Anna giggled.
“And if you must know, the salt-in-tea incident was Henley’s idea.”
Her smile faltered.
Henley.
She reached for her forgotten teacup and took a sip, grimacing at the coldness. But she needed the moment.
Just the mention of his name had undone her. Heat bloomed again—but not for Edwin. She tasted the memory of Henley’s kiss, saw the intensity in his eyes. So like his brother’s … yet completely different.
Oblivious, Lord Devon rose with a chuckle. “I should take my leave before you recall more of my sister’s tales.”
Anna forced a smile and stood.
“I promise to keep your secrets,” she teased, but her heart wasn’t in it.
“I’m trusting you,” he said warmly, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to her glove.
She waited for the flutter.
Nothing.
Which stood in stark contrast to the earlier moment—when only a glance from Henley had set her entire body alight.
What had changed?
“Good afternoon, Lady Anna.”
“Good afternoon,” she replied, watching as he bid farewell to her mother and exited.
Moments later, her mother’s voice pulled her from her thoughts.
“Well, I think that went brilliantly! You had quite the number of callers, and Lord Devon stayed behind to have you to himself!”
Anna turned and offered a smile. “Indeed.”
And yet she couldn’t shake the question.
If it was such a success … why did it feel like something was missing?
Or someone.
She didn’t want to try to answer.