Page 81 of The Trouble with Anna

Anna snapped her spoon down. “What’s wrong, Charlotte? Out with it.”

“I want to get going! We can’t simply swan about, attend balls, and expect—”

“Just last week you said swanning was an essential part of our strategy.”

Charlotte nabbed Anna’s ice, taking glum bites in silence. Only when her spoon clattered around at the bottom for the last of the syrup did Anna speak. “Better?”

“Not particularly.”

“Perhaps if you told me—”

“My mother’s returning early! In three weeks, to be precise. I’ve been having such a marvelous time, and I can’t…” Charlotte trailed off and stared into the glass in front of her.

“Can’t what?” Anna prodded gently.

“I have to choose who to live with, Gran or Mum, who to side with. I have to catch all the little barbs that both sides throw before they hit. I walk a tightrope between my mother and everyone else, and if I step off even for a second that rope becomes a noose. She pecks me to death, but she’s so fragile too. Last time I couldn’t stomach it and moved back in with Gran, and the next day… that’s when she threatened to…” Charlotte pressed her lips together and shook her head. “Do you know the worst part? She loves me. It’s a strange sort of love, but there’s so much of it. I feel it like a weight.”

Anna reached for Charlotte’s hand, held it tight. “One thingat a time. Let’s start with where you live. I take it you prefer to stay with your gran?”

“Of course, but—”

“But nothing! How would you advise me in the same situation?”

Charlotte pulled her hand back and sunk her chin into it. “I’d advise you to go to bed and hide under the covers.”

“No, you’d come up with a piece of mischief to fix everything. I know! Perhaps the Dowager could fake an illness. A nice disease just serious enough to require your constant attention, but mild enough that she can still go to all her parties.”

Charlotte’s shoulders drooped. “Ridiculous!”

“All right—then something else!” Anna caught Charlotte’s gaze and held it. “You were just a girl the last time you saw your mother. You’re older now. You have the strength to meet any challenge.”

Charlotte took a deep breath. “Do you know what I’d really like? Something else to focus on, something for myself. I want those five thousand pounds, blast it. I want to open my mill with Josephine, so that when Mother starts in about…” Charlotte’s mouth tightened.

Anna scooted closer. “We’d better have a look at the pink book. Where are we now?”

Charlotte drew it toward her, pulling out a little golden pen. “We had three hundred pounds before Charon’s sale, and eight hundred pounds from that. Can you imagine, eight hundred pounds from one horse? We’ve grown it a bit since then, even with our recent losses.” She scratched out some figures and looked up in wonder. “Anna! We have two thousand pounds! Two thousand, one hundred fifty-three pounds and two shillings, to be exact.”

“It’s a long way from five thousand pounds each.”

Charlotte tilted her head. “I know! Let’s have Marby place bets on Chatham’s horses. And then, perhaps you encourage a favorite to lose—”

“—and get deported to Australia on a prison ship. No, thank you.”

“It was just a thought,” Charlotte muttered.

An idea came to Anna. It had been rattling around in the back of her brain for weeks now, but perhaps its time had come. She leaned forward and dropped her voice. “Let’s run a race. A flat two miles against any lord in London.”

“There are races every week. I’m not sure—”

“A race with me as the jockey.”

“Oh.” Charlotte considered. “Oh!”

“It’s what they want, you know it is. Half the reason the gentlemen bet with us is the novelty of it, the desire to show us how wrongheaded we are. Every one of them wants to beat us gambling. But what they really want is to beat me, on a horse, where I seem to believe myself better than they are.”

Charlotte looked over hesitantly. “But, Anna, can you really beatanyone? Onanyhorse? I don’t mean to doubt, but—”

“That’s why it’s so clever! I didn’t sayanyone. I saidany lord in London. There are only two I fear, Lord Iverho and Lord Hartley. Lord Iverho has too much pride to race a woman, and Lord Hartley left yesterday for Scotland.”

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