The Raven Prince (6 page)

“I’ve never seen an earl, mum. What was he like?”

“He’s just a man like any other,” Anna replied.

But she was uncertain of her own words. If the earl was like any other man, then why did she have a strange urge to goad him into arguments? None of the other men of her acquaintance made her want to challenge them.

“I heard he has terrible scars on his face from the smallpox.”

“Fanny, dear,” Mother Wren exclaimed, “our inner selves are more important than our outer husks.”

They all contemplated this noble sentiment for a moment. Fanny puckered her brow as she worked it through.

Mother Wren cleared her throat. “I heard the pox scars ran across the upper half of his face.”

Anna quashed a smile. “He does have pox scars on his face, but they aren’t very noticeable, really. Besides, he has nice, thick black hair and handsome dark eyes, and his voice is very attractive, beautiful even, especially when he speaks softly. And he is quite tall, with very broad, muscular shoulders.” She stopped abruptly.

Mother Wren looked at her strangely.

Anna twitched off her gloves. “Is supper ready?”

“Supper? Oh, yes, the supper should be ready.” Mother Wren shooed Fanny toward the kitchen. “We have a pudding and a lovely roasted chicken Fanny got for quite a good price at Farmer Brown’s. She has been practicing her bargaining skills, you know. We thought it would be a treat to celebrate your employment.”

“How nice.” Anna started up the stairs. “I’ll freshen up.”

Mother Wren laid a hand on her arm. “Are you sure you know what you are doing, my dear?” she asked in a low voice. “Sometimes ladies of a certain age get, well,
ideas
about gentlemen.” She paused, then said in a rush, “He isn’t of our class, you know. It would only lead to hurt.”

Anna looked down at the fragile old hand on her arm; then she deliberately smiled and glanced up. “I am well aware that anything of a personal nature between Lord Swartingham and me would be improper. There’s no need to worry.”

The older woman searched her eyes a moment longer before patting Anna’s arm. “Don’t be too long, dear. We haven’t burned the supper yet tonight.”

Chapter Four

The duke turned and saw a huge raven perched on the wall of the castle. The bird hopped closer and cocked its head. “I will help you defeat the prince if you give me one of your daughters as my wife.”

“How dare you, sirrah!” The old duke quivered in indignation. “You insult me to imply I would even think to wed one of my daughters to a dusty bird.”

“Fine words, my friend,” the raven cackled. “But be not so quick. In a moment, you’ll lose both your daughters and your life.”

The duke stared at the raven and saw that this was no ordinary bird. It wore a golden chain around its neck, and a ruby pendant in the shape of a small, perfect crown hung on the chain. He looked back to the threatening army at his gates and, seeing he had little to lose, agreed to the unholy bargain. . . .

—from
The Raven Prince

“Have you considered the name ‘Sweetie’?” Anna asked as she spooned up some stewed apple.

She and the earl sat at one end of the immense dining room table. From the fine layer of dust on the mahogany at the other end of the table, she guessed that this room must not be used much. Did the earl even take his supper here? Yet the dining room had been opened every day of the last week for their luncheon. In that week, she’d learned that the earl was not a conversationalist. After many days of grunts and monosyllabic replies, it’d become something of a game to provoke a response from her employer.

Lord Swartingham paused in the act of cutting a piece of steak and kidney pie. “Sweetie?”

His eyes were on her mouth, and Anna realized she’d licked her lips. “Yes. Don’t you think ‘Sweetie’ a darling name?”

They both looked down at the dog beside the earl’s chair. It was gnawing on a soup bone, sharp fangs glittering.

“I think ‘Sweetie’ may not be altogether suitable for his personality,” Lord Swartingham said, placing the pie slice on his plate.

“Hmm. Perhaps you’re right.” Anna thoughtfully chewed. “Yet, you yourself haven’t offered an alternative.”

The earl sawed vigorously at a lump of meat. “That’s because I’m content to let the animal remain nameless.”

“Didn’t you have any dogs as a boy?”

“I?” He stared at her as if she’d asked if he’d had two heads as a boy. “No.”

“No pets at all?”

He scowled down at his pie. “Well, there was my mother’s lapdog—”

“There, you see,” Anna exclaimed in triumph.

“But the animal was a pug and an extremely irritable one at that.”

“Even so—”

“Used to growl and snap at everyone but Mother,” the earl mused, apparently to himself. “No one liked it. Once bit a footman. Father had to give the poor fellow a shilling.”

“And did the pug have a name?”

“Fiddles.” The earl nodded and took a bite of pie. “But Sammy called it Piddles. He also fed it Turkish delight just to see it get the candy stuck to the roof of its mouth.”

Anna smiled. “Sammy was your brother?”

Lord Swartingham had raised a glass of wine to his lips, and he paused for a fraction of a second before sipping. “Yes.” He placed the glass precisely beside his plate. “I’ll need to check on various matters on the estate this afternoon.”

Anna’s smile died. Their play was apparently at an end.

He continued, “Tomorrow I’ll need you to ride out with me. Hopple wants to show me some fields with a drainage problem, and I’d like you to take notes for us as we discuss possible solutions.” He looked up. “You do have a riding habit, don’t you?”

Anna tapped her fingers against her teacup. “As a matter of fact, I’ve never ridden.”

“Never?” His eyebrows shot up.

“We don’t have a horse.”

“No, I suppose not.” He frowned down at the pie on his plate as if it were to blame for her lack of suitable attire. “Have you a gown you could use as a habit?”

Anna mentally ran through her meager wardrobe. “I could alter an old one.”

“Excellent. Wear it tomorrow and I shall give you an elementary riding lesson. It shouldn’t be too hard. We’ll not be riding very far.”

“Oh, but, my lord,” Anna protested, “I don’t want to put you to any trouble. I can ask one of the grooms to help me learn.”

“No.” He glared at her. “I will teach you to ride.”

Overbearing man. She pursed her lips and refrained from a reply, sipping her tea instead.

The earl finished his pie in two more bites and pushed back his chair. “I’ll see you before you leave this afternoon, Mrs. Wren.” With a muttered “Come,” he strode out of the room, the still-nameless dog following him.

Anna stared after the two. Was she peeved because the earl ordered her about, very much like the dog? Or touched that he insisted on teaching her to ride himself? She shrugged and finished the dregs of her tea.

Entering the library, she crossed to her desk and began writing. After a short while, she reached for a fresh sheet only to find there was none. Bother. Anna stood to ring for more paper and then remembered the stack in the earl’s side drawer. She slipped behind his desk and pulled the drawer open. There on top of a pile of clean sheets lay the red leather book. Anna moved it aside and drew out a few sheets. A piece of paper drifted to the floor as she did so. She bent to pick it up and saw that it was a letter or a bill. A curious mark was engraved at the top. There appeared to be two men and a woman, but she could not make out what the diminutive figures were doing. She turned the letter this way and that in her hand, studying it.

The fire popped in the corner.

All at once, Anna understood and nearly dropped the paper. A nymph and two satyrs were engaged in an act that did not seem physically possible. She tilted her head to the side. Evidently, it
was
possible. The words
Aphrodite’s Grotto
were engraved in ornate script beneath the rude illustration. The paper was a bill for two nights’ stay at a house, and one could guess the type of house from the scandalous little picture at the top of the page. Who knew a bordello sent out monthly bills like a tailor?

Anna felt a sickening lurch in her stomach. Lord Swartingham must frequent this place if he had the bill in his desk. She sat down heavily and covered her mouth with a hand. Why should the discovery of his baser passions bother her so? The earl was a mature man who had lost his wife years ago. No person with any worldly knowledge at all would expect him to remain celibate the rest of his life. She smoothed the loathsome page on her lap. But the fact remained that the thought of him participating in such an activity with some beautiful woman brought a strange welling in her chest.

Anger.
She felt anger. Society might not expect celibacy from the earl, but they certainly expected it of her. He, as a man, could go to houses of ill repute and romp all night with alluring, sophisticated creatures. While she, as a woman, was supposed to be chaste and not even think of dark eyes and hairy chests. It was simply not fair. Not fair at all.

She pondered the damning letter for a moment longer. Then she placed it carefully back in the desk drawer under the new paper. She made to close the drawer, but stopped, staring at the raven book. Anna’s mouth thinned, and she impulsively snatched up the book. She slipped it in the center drawer of her own desk and returned to work. The rest of the afternoon dragged on. The earl never did return from the fields as promised.

Hours later, riding in the rattling carriage home, Anna tapped the back of one fingernail against the glass window and watched the fields turn into the muddy lanes of the village. The leather squabs smelled musty from the damp. She spotted a familiar street as they rounded a curve, and abruptly she stood and knocked on the carriage’s roof. John Coachman called to the horses, and the carriage jerked to a stop. Anna descended and hastily thanked the coachman. She was in an area with houses that were both newer and a little more grand than her own cottage. The third house in from the lane was a redbrick with white trim. She knocked at the door.

In a moment, a maid peered out.

Anna smiled at the girl. “Hello, Meg. Is Mrs. Fairchild at home?”

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Wren.” Black-haired Meg smiled cheerily. “The missus will be that glad to see you. You can wait in the sitting room while I tell her you’re here.”

Meg led the way into a little sitting room with bright yellow walls. A marmalade cat stretched on the rug, sunning itself in the dying light slanting through the windows. On the settee, a basket of sewing things lay, the threads trailing out untidily. Anna bent to greet the cat while she waited.

Footsteps pattered down the stairs, and Rebecca Fairchild appeared in the doorway. “For shame! It’s been so long since you’ve visited, I’d begun to think you had abandoned me in my hour of need.”

The other woman immediately contradicted her words by hurrying over and hugging Anna. Her belly made the embrace difficult, for it was round and heavy, thrusting before Rebecca like the full sails of a ship.

Anna returned her friend’s hug fervently. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’ve been lax in coming to see you. How are you?”

“Fat. No, it’s true,” Rebecca talked over Anna’s protest. “Even James, that dear man, has stopped offering to carry me up the stairs.” She sat rather abruptly on the settee, narrowly missing the sewing basket. “Chivalry is quite dead. But you must tell me all about your employment at the Abbey.”

“You’ve heard?” Anna took one of the chairs across from her friend.

“Have I heard? I’ve heard of practically nothing else.” Rebecca lowered her voice dramatically. “The dark and mysterious Earl of Swartingham has employed the young Widow Wren for unknown purposes and daily closets himself with her for his own nefarious ends.”

Anna winced. “I’m only transcribing papers for him.”

Rebecca waved this mundane explanation away as Meg entered with a tea tray. “Don’t tell me that. You realize that you’re one of the few to actually meet the man? To hear the village gossips tell it, he hides himself away in his sinister mansion simply to deprive them of the opportunity to inspect him. Is he really as repulsive as the rumors say?”