Practically Wicked (29 page)

His reasons for doing so didn’t become clear to her until a miserably stormy afternoon kept the Caldwell Manor residents confined to the house and Lady Engsly had suggested a game of charades in the front parlor.

Halfway through the game, while Anna was occupied trying to decide if Lady Winnefred’s wild hand gestures were an actual clue or merely a sign of amused frustration—her turn had gone on for some time—she felt the hairs stand up on the back of her neck.

Turning her head, she found Max standing in the doorway. He smiled at her, and as always when their gazes met, her skin warmed and her pulse sped up with pleasant anticipation. But rather than join in the fun as she expected, his eyes traveled over the laughing group, then returned to her for a moment before he’d quietly excused himself from the room.

That was when Anna realized that he was giving her the time and space so that she might come to know her family.

She thought it a remarkably thoughtful gesture. That didn’t lessen her discontent at seeing less of him, but it did soften the blow. It also helped that he wasn’t wrong in his assumption of the time she needed with the Haverstons.

It was no small feat, coming to know a brother and two sisters-in-law in so short a time. But it was achievable. Moreover, it could be good fun. Anna was happy to learn that no matter how dissimilar their origins, there were all sorts of places where two people might find common ground. Provided they were willing to look.

It was more easily done with Lady Winnefred with whom she’d already established a tentative friendship on the first day. Bold and occasionally a little crass, Anna rather thought one would have to work at finding a way to shock or offend the woman.

Lady Engsly was of a more subdued nature, but she seemed quite genuine in her interest in developing a bond with her husband’s sister, and after an initial spot of fumbling about, they discovered a shared interest in embroidery and a common love of Shakespeare.

Lady Winnefred pronounced both to be the dullest topics on earth, but she did so with a smile. The teasing sort one reserved for friends and family.

The sight of it had made Anna want to crow.

Best of all, however, was how quickly she developed a rapport with her new brother, Lord Gideon.

Admittedly, it was difficult to imagine how one could not develop a quick affection with someone like Lord Gideon Haverston. He was exceedingly good-natured, quick with a smile and kind word, and quite possibly one of the most amusing individuals she’d ever met. Granted, the number of people she’d truly met was limited, but Gideon Haverston had a talent for comedy, there was no denying it.

He put that talent to use one late afternoon by giving Anna a second tour of the hall of family portraits, this one complete with long, amusing, and highly improbable stories attached to each picture.

“You are making all of this up as we go along,” Anna accused after Gideon informed her that their great-great-aunt had run off to the Far East with a one-armed merchant.

“Not all of it. Great-Uncle Harold really did have someone else stand in for his portraits. He was obsessed with how he was to be remembered, and he wished to be remembered as tall and fair of hair. Instead, we simply remember him as the great-uncle without a portrait.” He turned a critical eye on the portraits they were standing before now. “But, to be honest, I haven’t the faintest idea who most of these people are.”

“Weren’t you made to memorize them like Lucien?” she asked on a laugh.

“Thankfully, no. But I did like to sit here of a rainy afternoon and imagine what they’d been like. They were all knights-errant and fair maidens when I was young, of course. A boy does like to believe he is the descendent of heroes. I grew more creative as I aged. For a time, that gentleman behind you in the walnut frame had eleven toes. Great-Grandmother Elizabeth was really a blacksmith’s daughter, secretly switched at birth.”

Anna imagined him as a boy, studying the paintings, lost in his imagination. “I should have loved to have helped you create such stories as a child.”

“I should have loved the company.”

There was sincerity in his voice, and something else as well. A hint of sadness that surprised her. “You had Lucien and Lord Dane.”

“I should have loved your company all the same,” he replied. “Particularly for something like this. My brother and Max were not so fanciful as children. Funny that they should be more so as adults.”

“Perhaps they felt they couldn’t be.”

“Exactly so,” he agreed and sent her a curious look. “And what of you? Were you a serious child or a maker of tall tales?”

“Oh, I was most serious,” she admitted. “Very dedicated to my studies.”

“Were you happy?” he inquired softly.

Her gaze shot from a portrait of a plump young man holding a spaniel to Gideon’s earnest face. She quite liked that they shared a fondness for silliness, though he preferred to call it a refined taste for the absurd, and so it came as some surprise to her that their conversation had taken a sudden turn into seriousness.

“Beg your pardon?”

“As a child in Anover House,” he clarified. “Were you happy? There is little I might have done to help, as I’d have been a child myself. But…To know that I had a sister in need of help—”

“My life has been more comfortable than most,” she assured him quickly.

“But not as comfortable as it might have been,” he translated with a nod. “I apologize on behalf of our father.”

“Unnecessary, but accepted, if you need it to be.”

He frowned thoughtfully. “I don’t, to be honest. I don’t much like the idea of our father’s sins being so easily forgiven.”

“Shall I be angry with him a little longer, then?” She wasn’t angry with him at all. It was difficult to feel a personal betrayal, having never met the man. But Gideon seemed pleased with the notion, and that had been the point of the offer.

“I would consider it a personal favor.”

“The sort I might collect on in the future?” she teased and marveled a little at the wonder of being able to tease. She was constantly reminded of how much had changed for her in so short a time.

“You may assassinate the character of our next ancestor,” Gideon offered. “How’s that?”

“Make up a story, do you mean? I don’t think I’d be much good at it.”

“Won’t know until you try. Give it a go.”

Rather liking the idea, Anna did as suggested. She was not, as it turned out, a particularly gifted storyteller, but what she lacked in skill she made up for in enthusiasm.

She took turns with Gideon, slowly making their way down the hall, laying waste to the family tree. Anna might have been content to continue on for hours, but a young maid came hurrying down the hall, a letter in her hand and a flush of red on her cheeks.

“Beggin’ your pardon, but a letter come for you, miss, while you were out with Lady Winnefred. I were supposed to give it to you earlier, but I plumb forgot.” Round blue eyes shot to Gideon and back again. “I’m dreadful sorry.”

“Oh, that’s all right. No harm done.” Anna took the letter eagerly. “Would you mind terribly if I read this now?” she asked Gideon sheepishly. “I have been most anxious for news from Mrs. Culpepper.”

“Not in the least,” he assured her. “I should be off, at any rate. I have neglected my lovely wife for too long.”

She smiled her thanks, then hastily broke the seal and tore open the letter as the sound of Gideon’s footsteps diminished down the hall. The first line pulled a gasp from her lips.

The letter was not from Mrs. Culpepper.

It was a summons from her mother. And it hadn’t come from London. It had been sent from the Bear’s Rest, Codridgeton’s only inn and tavern.

No. No, no, no.

“Is everything well, miss?”

No!
“…Yes. Yes, quite. A small surprise, that’s all. Thank you, Mary.”

Anna was vaguely aware of the maid dropping into a quick curtsy before leaving. Her eyes and mind remained fixed on the letter.

Her initial instinct was to simply write a declining note in return, but Anna knew that would never work. Madame had traveled all the way to Codridgeton to speak with her daughter; she’d not accept a letter in response. She was likely already chomping at the bit in frustration at having her summons ignored for so long. The stroll with Winnefred had been hours ago. Really, it was a small wonder Madame wasn’t pounding on the front doors.

The image of her mother doing just that sent a chill up Anna’s spine. She could not allow things to come to that.

Equal parts determined and afraid, Anna crumbled the note in her hand and headed for her chambers for her bonnet and gloves.

 
 
Chapter 20

The Bear’s Rest was a lively, well-kept establishment that held the dubious distinction of having burned to the ground and been rebuilt on the same spot on four separate occasions over the course of two hundred years. The last reconstruction had taken place less than a decade earlier, but Anna didn’t notice the straight lines of the tavern’s wood frame, nor the evenness of its wood floors.

She noticed but ignored the curious stares of its patrons when she entered alone and asked to be shown to Mrs. Wrayburn’s room.

Anna waited for the maid who’d escorted her upstairs to leave before knocking on the door. It opened almost immediately, giving Anna the impression that her mother might have known in advance of her arrival.

“My
darling
.” Mrs. Wrayburn limped gracefully out of her room, a whirl of bronze silk and sparkling jewels, with her arms opened wide, as if seeking an embrace. She wasn’t, of course. That would be too, too gauche. She grabbed Anna by the shoulders instead and kissed the air next to Anna’s cheek. “I was beginning to wonder if you would
ever
come. Come inside, darling. Come inside.”

Anna allowed her mother to pull her inside the room, but she didn’t wait for the door to be closed again before speaking. “What are you doing here, Madame?”

Mrs. Wrayburn closed the door with a jeweled hand and gave no indication of recognizing her daughter’s cool demeanor. “At the moment, enjoying the comforts of this fine establishment. Bit more modern than one generally finds outside of London.”

“Yes, it’s lovely. What do you want?”

A hint of annoyance flashed across Mrs. Wrayburn’s face. She’d never been as skilled at keeping her composure. She’d never had Mrs. Culpepper as a teacher. “Are we to dispense with the niceties altogether? Very well, I want you to come home immediately.”

“To Anover House? Absolutely not.”

“Of course to Anover House. It is your home, after all. And this little”—she waggled her fingers dismissively—“adventure of yours has caused us both enough embarrassment.”

Anna tipped her chin up. “There is no embarrassment for me. There is nothing wrong in what I am doing. I was invited to Caldwell Manor by the marquess himself.”

“Invited? By the Marquess of Engsly? Little liar. His sort has nothing to do with our sort.”

I am not your sort.
Should I take a thousand lovers, I will never be your sort.
“Do you suppose I showed up at his doorstep unannounced?”

“Yes. And you must have something hanging over him to have kept you on all this time. What is it?”

Anna studied her mother a moment, seeking signs of drink or laudanum. “You know why he’s kept me on. We share a father—”

“Oh, what the devil would he care of that? The ton is lousy with bastards of nobility. It means nothing to them.”

“It means something to him. To them.”

“You’d not have come here on the hope that it would. Even you’ve more sense than that.”

Hoping to avoid any future ugliness, Anna hadn’t mentioned in the letter she’d left behind at Anover House how she’d come to know of her connection to the Haverstons, only that she had. Clearly, however, the time for dissembling had passed. “My father promised to support any offspring that resulted from a union with you. The current marquess, my brother, wishes to honor that debt.”

“What nonsense is this?”

“I found letters and—”

“Letters…Between Engsly and myself?” Mrs. Wrayburn gasped dramatically, brought a hand to her heart. “The ones in my sitting room?”

Anna nearly rolled her eyes. Her mother was fond of acting, but she was dreadful at it. “You already knew.”

“I most certainly did
not
,” Mrs. Wrayburn protested, badly. “How dare you go through my things?”

Anna was suddenly reminded of something her mother had admitted to whilst under the influence of the laudanum.

I lie for all sorts of reasons. Mostly for my own amusement.

There was no arguing with that sort of mind-set. “I also dared to find your contract with the marquess.”

“The contract?…Oh, for Christ’s sake.
That’s
what you’ve over the marquess? The old contract?
Idiot
child. The debt was paid.”

“It wasn’t. I saw the letters. I saw the contract.” She didn’t mention the journals. If her mother wished to pretend outrage over that, she’d have to admit she knew of its disappearance.