The carriage rumbled around the corner and pulled up before the front steps. The earl climbed out and held the door for Anna. Eagerly, the mastiff started down the front steps ahead of her.
Lord Swartingham frowned at the animal. “Not you.”
The dog lowered its head and went to stand at his side. Anna placed her gloved hand in the earl’s as he helped her into the carriage. For a moment, strong, masculine fingers tightened around hers; then she was released to sit on the red leather seat.
The earl leaned into the carriage. “You needn’t bring a lunch tomorrow. You will be dining with me.”
He signaled the driver before she could thank him and the carriage lurched forward. Anna craned her neck to look back. The earl still stood before the steps with the huge dog. For some reason, the sight filled her with a melancholy loneliness. Anna shook her head and faced forward again, chastising herself. The earl had no need of her pity.
EDWARD WATCHED THE carriage round the corner. He had an uneasy feeling that he shouldn’t let the little widow out of his sight. Her presence beside him in the library that afternoon had been strangely soothing. He grimaced to himself. Anna Wren was not for him. She was of a different class than he, and, moreover, she was a respectable widow from the village. She wasn’t a sophisticated society lady who might consider a liaison outside of wedlock.
“Come.” He slapped his thigh.
The dog followed him back into the library. The room was cold and dreary again. Somehow it had felt warmer when Mrs. Wren had sat here. He strolled behind her rosewood desk and noticed a handkerchief on the floor. It was white with flowers embroidered in one corner. Violets, perhaps? Hard to tell since they were a bit lopsided. Edward lifted the cloth to his face and inhaled. It smelled of roses.
He fingered the handkerchief and walked to the darkened windows. His trip to London had gone well. Sir Richard Gerard had accepted the suit for his daughter. Gerard was only a baronet, but the family was old and sound. The mother had borne seven children, five of whom had lived to adulthood. Also, Gerard owned a small unentailed estate bordering his own in North Yorkshire. The man balked at adding this land to his eldest daughter’s dowry, but Edward felt sure he would come around in time. After all, Gerard would be gaining an earl as a son-in-law. Quite a feather in his cap. As for the girl…
Edward’s thoughts stopped, and for a horrible moment he couldn’t think of her name. Then it came to him: Sylvia. Of course, Sylvia. He hadn’t spent much time alone with her, but he’d made sure the match was agreeable to the girl. He’d asked her point-blank if the smallpox scars repelled her. She had said they did not. Edward balled his hand into a fist. Did she tell the truth? Others had lied about his scars and he had been fooled in the past. The girl could very well be telling him what he wished to hear and he would not find out her loathing until later. But what alternative did he have? To remain unmarried and childless the rest of his life for fear of a possible lie? That fate was untenable.
Edward stroked a finger across his cheek and felt soft linen against his skin. He still held the handkerchief. He stared at it a moment, rubbing the cloth with his thumb; then he carefully folded the handkerchief and laid it on the desk.
He strode from the room, the dog shadowing him.
ANNA’S ARRIVAL HOME in a grand carriage caused an excitement in the Wren household. She could see Fanny’s white face peering through the sitting room curtains as the coachman halted the horses outside the cottage. She waited for the footman to pull down the steps and then descended from the carriage self-consciously.
“Thank you.” She smiled at the young footman. “And you, too, John Coachman. I’m sorry to put you all to such a bother.”
“Twern’t no bother, ma’am.” The coachman touched his fingertips to the brim of his round hat. “Just glad we could see you safely home.”
The footman leapt onto the back of the carriage, and with a nod to Anna, John Coachman clucked to the horses. The carriage had barely pulled away when Mother Wren and Fanny tumbled out of the cottage to bombard her with questions.
“The earl sent me home in his vehicle,” Anna explained as she led the way back inside.
“My, what a kind man,” her mother-in-law exclaimed.
Anna thought of the way the earl had ordered her to take the carriage. “Quite.” She removed her shawl and bonnet.
“Did you meet the earl himself, then, mum?” Fanny asked.
Anna smiled at the girl and nodded.
“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.”