Practically Wicked (16 page)

Anna frowned, confused. “I wasn’t ill.”

“Dread can lend an unfortunate pallor.” Mrs. Culpepper took a sip and wrinkled her nose a little at what had to be very cold tea. “I trust you’ve stopped fearing Lord Engsly might set upon you with daggers at any moment?”

“It wasn’t daggers,” she returned tartly. “It was abduction and forced exile to a distant land.”

“Close enough.” She waggled a long finger at Anna. “Never say I don’t know my charge.”

“I never have.”

Mrs. Culpepper set aside her drink. “Then you’ll not be surprised when I inquire as to what has you out of sorts now?”

“I’m not—”

“You have been shifting in your seat,” Mrs. Culpepper cut in and sniffed. “You know how I feel about shifting.”

On the continuum of offensive behaviors, it fell somewhere between slouching and chewing with one’s mouth open.

Mrs. Culpepper leveled a hard stare down the considerable length of her nose. “Out with it, child.”

Anna scarcely refrained from rolling her eyes. “You can’t intimidate me with that look anymore. I’m not twelve.”

Mrs. Culpepper raised the stakes with the disapproving lift of one eyebrow. The sight of it made Anna want to laugh…and immediately do as she was told. It was a strange thing to be friends with one’s former governess.

“Lord Dane is here,” she admitted. Not because she’d been pushed into it, but because the idea that Max’s presence could be kept secret indefinitely was ludicrous.

“Is he?” Mrs. Culpepper leaned forward in her seat, her eyes wide. “Is he really? And you’ve spoken with him?”

“Yes.” Anna frowned down at her sampler. “Things were a bit strained between us initially.”

“Well, such a meeting is bound to be uncomfortable,” Mrs. Culpepper returned, sitting up straight once more. The woman was never out of perfect posture for long. “You weren’t
too
hard on the man, I hope?”

“Me?” Anna gaped at her friend. “
I
was the picture of decorum.”

Mrs. Culpepper inclined her head in a mixture of apology and loyalty. “Of course you were, dear.”

“
He
was exceedingly rude. He all but insisted I leave Caldwell.”

“Did he, indeed?” Mrs. Culpepper sat even straighter and harrumphed. “Presumptuous devil.”

“He was, quite,” Anna agreed, feeling sufficiently mollified. “Fortunately, he has since apologized.”

“I should certainly hope so. Did he provide an explanation for his abysmal behavior?”

“He was nurturing something of a grudge.”

“Against you?” Mrs. Culpepper scoffed indignantly. “Outrageous.”

“Not entirely,” Anna admitted. “Though your defense is much appreciated. He says he called on me at Anover House not long after we met. Repeatedly. Mother sent him away, saying I wanted naught to do with him.”

“Oh, good heavens.” Mrs. Culpepper lifted her hand to her heart. “Oh, that
dratted
woman. I knew she could be petty and spiteful, but such malice…I’d never have guessed—” She blinked and some of the color she’d regained drained away. “You know I’d nothing to do with that. You must know—”

“Yes, of course.” The idea of Mrs. Culpepper conspiring against her was preposterous. She was the only person on earth Anna had ever been completely certain of, the only person who’d never broken her trust. “The thought never occurred.”

Mrs. Culpepper dropped her hand. “I ought to have taken you from that house years ago.”

“This is
not
your doing,” Anna argued. “The fault lies with Madame and Madame alone.”

“She’d not have been able to do it alone.”

“Very well, the fault lies with Madame and whichever maid or footman, likely gone on to other employment by now, aided in the deceit. It makes very little difference now.”

It appeared to make some difference to Mrs. Culpepper. She pinched her lips tight, then grumbled, “I bet it was that Bridget Harbeck. She had a conniving air about her.”

Anna couldn’t begin to imagine what constituted a conniving air, but she knew an unhappy air when she saw it. Determined to see her friend’s good humor and color returned, Anna swallowed her pride and set about drawing out a smile.

“I ran into a bit of trouble on my walk this morning,” she said conversationally. “Nothing serious. Acquired a blister or two.”

“I’ve a balm for that.”

As Mrs. Culpepper had a balm for everything, Anna didn’t see the need for comment. Instead, she paused a moment for dramatic effect and then…

“I came upon Lord Dane on my return. He insisted on carrying me back to the house.”

“He…?” Mrs. Culpepper’s eyes went even wider than they had before. “Carried you? All the way to the house?”

All the way might have been ten yards for all Mrs. Culpepper knew, but Anna didn’t see the point in spoiling her fun.

“All the way.”

“Oh.” Mrs. Culpepper let out a long, satisfied sigh. “Oh, that is
terrifically
romantic.”

Anna smirked and leaned over to pat her friend’s hand. “Never say I don’t know my governess.”

Anna kept Mrs. Culpepper company, reading and talking, until the older woman professed a need for a lie-down. Abandoning the pretense that embroidery was holding her interest, Anna helped her friend become comfortable, then headed downstairs to further investigate the house.

There was much she’d not yet seen, and if she was going to be at Caldwell Manor for days, she ought to know her way around. And if a particular gentleman should have returned early from the village, and if she should run into said gentleman, well…

She ran into Lord Engsly, who, obviously, was not the gentleman she’d had in mind. But she greeted him, and his offer to guide her down the hall of family portraits, with a smile.

She kept that smile firmly in place as he led her to their destination, even though being in his company still made her a little uneasy. This is what she wanted, she reminded herself, a chance to know her brother, and for her brother to know her. Spending time together was the only way she’d ever learn how
not
to be uneasy, and the only way he might learn to see her as something other than the illegitimate half sister to whom he’d promised a thousand pounds.

And it wasn’t such a difficult lesson to endure, she admitted after a time. In fact, she found the experience rather enjoyable. It was fascinating, walking down the long, wide hall, seeing the faces of her ancestors for the first time—great-great-grandfathers and -grandmothers, long-dead aunts and uncles and cousins. She’d never seen so much as a miniature of her mother’s parents; now suddenly she was surrounded by the images of family.

At the end of the hall, they came at last to the portrait of the late marquess, their father. Anna studied the painting with a keen eye, but saw no obvious similarities between her and the white-haired gentleman staring at her through cool blue eyes. Then again, she saw no obvious likeness between the late and current marquess either.

“The painting was commissioned five years before his death,” Engsly told her. “He detested it. He accused the artist of adding ten years to his life and refused to pay. Gideon and I had to settle the account in secret.”

“And yet he chose to hang it in the hall?” The man was either a cheat or exceedingly odd.

“No, I chose to hang it in the hall after his passing. It’s an accurate portrait.” His lips curved in a small smile. “And I wanted something for my money.”

Anna had the feeling he wanted to poke at the old marquess, but she kept the observation to herself.

Engsly turned his attention from the portrait to look at her. “What do you know of him?”

“Very little,” she admitted. “My mother said only that he had blue eyes.”

“So he did.” Engsly agreed, then pointed at the portrait of an earlier marquess they’d already passed. “You have our grandfather’s eyes.”

“Do I?” She made a second, closer inspection of the middle-aged man in the powdered wig and pink velvet coat with elaborate gold trim. There, beneath the scowling brow was a set of almond-shaped gray eyes much like her own. Well, she thought, with some amusement, the mystery had been solved.

“Handsome man,” Anna declared and was gratified when Engsly laughed. “And whose eyes do you have? Not our father’s or our grandfather’s.”

He gestured at the portrait of a woman wearing a white gown in the classical style popular fifteen years earlier. “Gideon and I took after our mother in appearance.”

Anna stepped closer to the painting. So this was the marchioness. Lady Engsly had beautiful black hair and eyes, and a pretty, quirked little smile that put Anna to mind of the
Mona Lisa
. Only friendlier. She was rather like Caldwell Manor, Anna mused. One knew one ought to be intimidated by the presence of such grandeur, but she was just so pretty. Perhaps it was she who’d had the shutters painted and the flowers planted.

“She’s lovely,” Anna murmured, then winced inwardly. Lovely was not the appropriate word to have used. Beautiful, exquisite—those were the adjectives one employed when referring to a marchioness. Particularly when one was speaking to her son.

Fortunately, Engsly appeared to take no offense.

“She was a lovely woman,” he said gruffly, his eyes fixed on the portrait.

Anna heard love there, and a deep respect. Suddenly, she felt ill at ease again. No matter how welcoming he was, some part of Engsly had to resent the insult her very existence presented to the marchioness. Surely he wasn’t wholly comfortable with proof of his father’s faithlessness running about his mother’s home.

She sidled away from the marchioness’s portrait. This business of coming to know Engsly would need to be done slowly, she realized, and with great care. “I should look in on Mrs. Culpepper.”

“Hmm?” Engsly turned to her, his face clearing. “Oh, yes, of course. I trust she is recovering satisfactorily?”

“She is quite nearly herself again.”

“Excellent. Excellent. Well then…” He performed a quick bow. “Then I shall see you both at dinner.”

Anna felt a knot form in her belly as she curtsied.

“We are quite looking forward to it,” she chimed and managed a credible smile until she turned about and walked away.

She was not looking forward to it.

The first time Mrs. Culpepper, Lord Engsly, and Max Dane gathered in the same room was going to be an unnerving event no matter the circumstances, but for it to occur at a formal dinner made Anna all the more anxious.

She’d never attended a formal dinner in her life. Oh, she knew the rules of etiquette required to participate as a dinner guest. Mrs. Culpepper had not neglected those lessons. But Anna had never been given the opportunity to use the skills, only practice them. She always took her meals with Mrs. Culpepper in the sitting room off her chambers.

Anna took a steadying breath and straightened her shoulders. There was no call to be worried, and there was every reason to be enthusiastic. Her very first formal dinner, and it wasn’t at Anover House. This was wonderful, exciting…an adventure.

That’s what she told herself as she reached her chambers, and throughout the afternoon and early evening as she kept Mrs. Culpepper company whilst training one eye and ear on the front drive. It’s what she told herself as she dressed in her best gown of gold silk and headed downstairs for dinner, and it was what she repeated one last time when she saw Max, dusty and windblown, step in the front door just as she and Mrs. Culpepper reached the bottom of the stairs.

This was all but a grand adventure.

Max glanced up, caught her eye, and smiled. “Miss Rees.”

Aware of Mrs. Culpepper’s assessing gaze, Anna kept her shoulder’s square and her voice steady. “Lord Dane, I am glad to see you returned safely. May I present my companion, Mrs. Culpepper? Mrs. Culpepper, Lord Dane.”

She watched Max carefully for any sign of surprise or annoyance at having been introduced to a woman some might consider but one step removed from staff. But she saw only a gentleman greeting a lady with the polite regard he might afford any other guest. He expressed pleasure at their meeting, asked after her recovery from the journey, then begged leave to wash the dust of the road off before dinner.

Anna felt a ridiculous spark of pleasure and pride. Though she doubted he knew it, Max could not have done more to win Mrs. Culpepper’s approval. The woman disliked presumed familiarity nearly as much as she did overt snobbery. Both were, in her opinion, highly disrespectful and therefore the height of poor manners.

Anna wasn’t at all surprised when Mrs. Culpepper leaned down and whispered, “The boy has some potential,” after Max had left.

But she was pleased, and with her confidence buoyed by the easy interaction, she found the first half hour of dinner a perfectly agreeable experience.

Max joined them only a few minutes late, changed and tidied, which Anna knew had been necessary, but thought was something of a pity. He’d looked quite dashing in his riding attire, with his cravat askew and his hair tousled about his handsome face.

Anna snuck a look over her bowl of pea soup and decided it was no hardship to see the man in his dinner attire either.

He looked up, met her eyes, and smiled, and she quickly looked away, embarrassed to have been caught watching him. Mrs. Culpepper and Engsly didn’t appear to have noticed, but Anna resolved to remain focused on them for the rest of the meal, just to be safe.

Engsly led a light conversation throughout the meal, asking innocuous questions of Anna and Mrs. Culpepper, listening respectfully to their responses, adding a response here and there. Though it was hardly what she might call scintillating conversation, Anna was grateful for the ease of it. Her nerves diminished with each minute that passed without incident, and she began to grow confident that the meal would go off, if not splendidly, at least reasonably well.

Until Engsly asked, “Do you enjoy residing in London?”

“Yes, quite,” she replied, mostly because it seemed the polite thing to say.

She was more than a little surprised when Max smiled slyly over the rim of the wine goblet he held.

“Is that the truth of it?” he asked. “And is there an aspect of town life for which you have a particular fondness? A favorite place in the city, perhaps?”