Page 17 of The Trouble with Anna

Julian caught himself, ramming his hand through his hair so it stood up in disarray. What an appalling thing to say. Had she noticed?

Of course she had. Her face darkened like a bruise.

Julian flushed. “Lady Anna, I apolo—”

“I never hoped to begratefulto my husband for undertaking the distasteful task of marrying me. I assume you never wanted a wife you found itdifficult enoughto offer for.”

She braced herself for the blast of his temper, which drained the heat from Julian more effectively than a bucket of water. It hollowed him out to see her flinch from him, as ifhewere the villain in the story. “Lady Anna, I’m afraid your life has changed, whether you want it to or not.”

“Iknowthat!”

“Yes, I suspect you do. I saw you with your ledgers. You don’t hide from much, do you?” He gave a strangled laugh. “Except me.”

The massive grandfather clock in the room chimed three times, loud and low, and Lady Anna went slack with relief. “Oh, thank heavens, it’s three o’clock! I must go—I have an appointment with my tenants.” She sprinted across the room and was halfway down the corridor before Julian could blink.

“Blast!” he swore, staring once again at her swiftly retreating back.

She’d roundly rejected his offer of marriage, which left him with just one thing to do.

Damn it! He was going to have to woo the girl.

CHAPTER8

ANNA WAS HOUNDED BY MISSIVESall the next morning, with footmen popping out from behind every corner to present her with silver salvers heaped high with bad news.

The first was from her grandfather’s lawyers, a ghastly little bundle of papers including an extra copy of theTimesengagement notice in case she needed confirmation that her humiliation had breached the county lines of Suffolk and penetrated well into the city. The second round of letters came from rival breeders, inquiring whether she was shutting down the stables and wanted to sell her horses on the cheap.

The most disturbing missive, however, was from Lady Alice, the Dowager Countess, inviting Anna to tea. It was a perfectly pleasant little note, yet Anna wilted as she read it, because invitations from grandmothers, particularly grandmothers who were also Dowager Countesses, were notoriously difficult to refuse. Would Ramsay be there too? Would she have to sit around with him after his dreadful proposal, sipping oolong and nibbling plum cake?

Anna was still sick with tension later that afternoon when she surveyed her wardrobe, looking for the least-awful option. She had only a few hastily sewn black gowns and they all seemed the same to her, so she gave a hiss of disgust and grabbed the nearest one.She stomped down the stairs, her face a thundercloud, to wait as Hutchins called the carriage round, and she squirmed in her seat as the horses clip-clopped their way to Mayne.

When she arrived at last, Gifford threw open the door, gave her a warm smile, and boomed out, “The Honorable Lady Anna Reston!”

Oh dear. Did he have to be soloud?

Anna took a furtive peep around, but there were no lords lounging against doorframes, waiting to torment her. She allowed herself a sigh of relief, only to suck it back a moment later when Lord Ramsay came striding down the grand staircase. “Good afternoon, Lady Anna.”

“Good afternoon, my lord,” she returned, as coolly as she could manage.

Lord Ramsay smiled. Not one of the swift, stiff-lipped smiles she’d seen from him at the rare public functions they’d both attended. Not one of his lazy, lopsided grins. This smile was slow, searching, and somehow more pernicious, judging from the queer thump of her heart. Anna couldn’t tear her eyes away, even as her brain cried out a warning.

She eyed him, full of suspicion. What was the man up to? He’d never looked atherthat way before all this business with the will. His eyes had always seemed to skate past her, as if he were a great hawk and she a field mouse too scrawny for his liking.

“My grandmother is eager to make your acquaintance. Shall we?” Ramsay offered his arm, and Anna perched her hand on it, trying not to notice the warmth of his muscles beneath the immaculate navy of his jacket.

The Dowager was waiting for them in the drawing room, tucked into a chair by a large fire, reading from a stack of papers. She put them down on the little side table and Anna stole a look. Detailed botanical drawings of tropical plants, as far as Anna could make out, curlicue cross-sections and neat Latin labels.

“Julian?” the Dowager prompted.

“Gran, it’s my pleasure to present Lady Anna Reston. Lady Anna, may I introduce my grandmother, Lady Alice, the Dowager Countess Ramsay?”

Anna dipped a curtsey.

All the Avetons were self-possessed. It marked them as surely as their stubborn chins and the slash of their cheeks. But while the Earl’s self-possession was thick as a castle wall and Charlotte’s was more like the smugness of a cat, the Dowager’s was a gentle circle of certainty surrounding her. It warmed Anna, as did the Dowager’s next words.

“Thank you, Julian, you may leave.”

Anna shot him a look of triumph as he bowed to both of them and closed the door behind him.

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