Page 27 of A Rogue to Ruin
“An indoor picnic is exciting, though, isn’t it?”
Exciting wasn’t the word Anne would use. “It’s better than no picnic.”
“Just so, just so.”
The footmen had laid blankets around the ballroom and were beginning to set up the food. Outside, the sky had darkened further, and the second storm that had threatened when they’d come inside now unleashed itself upon the earth. Water sluiced down the ballroom windows, and wind shook the trees.
“I’m quite delighted to be inside,” Sir Algernon remarked. “I daresay the trip back to London will take twice as long as the journey here.”
While he spoke, Anne scanned the ballroom, then stared at the main entrance. The arrival of two people made her breath catch until she recognized them—her godfather’s daughter, Deborah, and her husband, Lord Burnhope.
Anne seized on the opportunity to excuse herself. “Pardon me, Sir Algernon. I wish to welcome Lady Burnhope.” She gave him a warm smile before hastening across the ballroom.
By the time Anne arrived at Deborah’s side, her husband had already gone. “I thought perhaps you weren’t coming,” Anne said.
“Just late.” Deborah patted a slender hand against the back of her elegantly styled brown hair. She always looked as though she’d stepped from the pages ofLa Belle Assemblée. “We were caught in that horrendous storm, and that delayed us further.”
Lord Stone came toward them, his brows drawn as he surveyed his daughter. “Deborah, you are quite tardy. As usual.” His lips pressed together in disapproval.
“My apologies, Papa. Burnhope had business that held us up, and the weather was uncooperative.”
“Writing another treatise on beetles, was he?” the earl asked with a touch of sarcasm. “Well, you are here at last. We’ve moved the picnic indoors. It would have been nice to have your help when the arrangements needed to be adjusted.”
Anne shifted uncomfortably. She’d been present for too many occasions when her godfather had needled his daughter, and Deborah typically pricked his ire in return. It was a contentious relationship. Once, Lord Stone had told Anne he wished she’d been his daughter instead. He’d promptly apologized, but Anne had never forgotten.
Deborah’s eyes hardened, but her mouth curved into a smile. “How can I help now that I’m here?”
“I believe it’s all been handled. Just supervise Anne, if you will. You’re good at that.” Stone winked at Anne before going to speak with some of his guests.
“You’re good at that,” Deborah mocked. She dashed the back of her hand over her brow. “My apologies. Do you actually require supervision?”
The irony was that Deborahwasn’tgood at that. She’d been a terrible chaperone back when she’d allowed Anne to sit by herself at Hatchard’s for two hours every Thursday. She’d also been disappointed when Anne’s mother had put an end to those excursions so that Anne could focus on her Season. Anne had never asked what Deborah had been doing during those afternoons, but she’d long suspected the time had been spent conducting a romantic liaison.
“No, but your company is most welcome,” Anne said. “I was trapped speaking with Sir Algernon.” She sent a guilty glance toward him and was glad to see he was now occupied with a group of other guests.
Deborah followed her gaze. “He is on Papa’s short list of potential husbands for you.”
“He has alist?” Anne let out a soft groan.
“Yes, sorry.” Deborah let out a light chuckle as she looked down at Anne from her well-above-average height. “He’s absolutely committed to seeing you wed with the utmost haste. He was hoping for the end of the Season, but since that is nigh, I expect he’ll be disappointed. Unless you marry someone by special license.” She laughed again.
Anne couldn’t imagine that happening. Not when the only person who came to mind when she considered marriage was Rafe. Andthatwasn’t happening, with a special license or otherwise.
“I take it you are not interested in satisfying Papa’s expectations?”
“Not at all.” Anne gave Deborah a sardonic stare. “Do you blame me after what I went through with Gilbert?”
“Heavens, no. Why you chose him is still a mystery to me.”
Anne wasn’t about to tell her about the kissing. Besides, it was more than that. She’d chosen someone she could like but not love, which she hadn’t realized until after the wedding had been canceled. That she’d somehow found Gilbert likeable was a testament to his skill at cultivating relationships that would benefit him.
“It hardly signifies since nothing came of it,” Anne said, eager to dispose of the topic. “In any case, I’ve no desire to rush into marriage any time soon. As you said, it’s nearly the end of the Season anyway.”
Deborah eyed her with curiosity. “I suppose I understand, but remember, it’s every young lady’s responsibility to marry and marry well. And, goodness, it’s not as if the road to success is always straight and simple as mine was. Look at your sister. Five years on the shelf and now a viscountess. Though, hopefully, you won’t have to wait so long.” Her brow creased, and she tapped her fingertip against her chin. “Alas, you are the victim of a scandal, just as she was.”
Anger roiled in Anne. She wasn’t a victim. At least, she didn’t want to be.
“It’s good that Papa is helping you,” Deborah continued. “Your reputation was not as damaged as your sister’s, but it was still wounded. Papa’s support will fix things. And it does help that your sister married a viscount, even if he is a wastrel.”
