by Laura Martin
Of course there was a bad side, too. Yesterday on the terrace he’d assumed control, taken over and made decisions that weren’t his to make. That was why she had to stop this reaction she had to him before it went any further. Never again would she give up her autonomy, not for anyone.
Pushing open the door, she stepped out into the sunshine.
‘Anna,’ Harry called as soon as he caught sight of her, ‘come join us.’
She hesitated, just for a moment, and then stepped off the patio and on to the grass, picking up a spare racket as she went.
‘Our record is twenty,’ Beatrice said, her eyes shining. ‘Lord Edgerton is rather good.’
Anna regarded her cousin out of the corner of her eye. If she wasn’t much mistaken, Beatrice was developing a little affection for Harry.
‘I hope you’re ready,’ Harry said, swinging his racket. ‘Whoever misses the shuttlecock first has to do a forfeit.’
‘What’s the forfeit?’ Anna asked.
Beatrice laughed and Harry hit the shuttlecock, powering it towards her. It had been years since Anna had picked up a racket, but she swung it instinctively, hearing the satisfying ping as the small shuttlecock bounced off the strings. It looped through the air towards Beatrice who hit it easily. Round and round the shuttlecock flew, faster and faster until Anna had to dive to reach it. The shuttlecock spun off the edge of her racket with a dull thunk, losing momentum and heading for the ground. Both Beatrice and Harry jumped forward, angling their rackets towards the small, tumbling object, but, before either of them could reach it, it hit the ground.
‘Congratulations,’ Harry said. ‘You won.’
‘What’s my prize?’
Harry stepped towards her, his eyes fixed on hers, took her hand and raised it to his lips. Anna shivered as he brushed the lightest of kisses against her knuckles. For a moment the rest of the world faded into the background and it was just the two of them on this patch of lawn. Then reality came tumbling back as Harry let go of her hand and stepped away.
‘An evening of entertainment. How do you ladies feel about the opera?’
Anna felt her heart sink. She hated the opera. All those people watching each other, their eyes fixed on the other spectators rather than the stage. It felt as though you were an exhibit in a museum.
‘I love the opera,’ Beatrice enthused. Anna had a sneaking suspicion her cousin would profess her love for any activity Harry suggested right now, even something as horrible as bear-baiting. There was a hint of adoration on Beatrice’s face every time she looked at Anna’s fake fiancé.
‘Anna?’
She almost lied, almost found herself professing a love for something that in truth she found disagreeable, but then she paused. After Lord Fortescue had died, after she had recovered from the rawest emotional and physical wounds she’d acquired in that marriage, she’d promised herself she would start to be true to herself. There was no need to do anything to please other people now; she could accept or decline invitations as she desired. No one could cajole or force her to do anything.
‘I am not keen on the opera,’ she said.
‘Anna,’ Beatrice said, her voice shocked and admonishing.
Anna shrugged. ‘I’m not. I see no reason to lie to Lord Edgerton.’
‘Harry,’ Harry corrected her. ‘And you’re right, there is no reason to lie to me.’
‘I would be delighted to accompany you to the opera, Lord Edgerton,’ Beatrice said.
Harry smiled indulgently, the smile of a big brother to a younger sister. ‘As much as I would enjoy that, we must find something that Anna enjoys, too.’ He turned to her, eyes narrowing. ‘What is it about the opera you dislike? The singing? The impenetrable language? The garish costumes?’
‘I find all that quite enjoyable. It is the audience I dislike, the feeling of being on display.’
Lord Fortescue had enjoyed the opera, often journeying to London for a performance. As always he’d required Anna to be exquisitely turned out for the trip, cataloguing any imperfection to punish her for later. Then he would spend most of the performance looking for signs Anna was flirting with other men. Of course it never happened, Anna wasn’t foolish—she kept her eyes fixed on either the stage or her husband—but the lack of evidence never deterred Lord Fortescue. It meant the opera had gone from a pleasant excursion to a place of fear and horror.
Harry regarded her, his blue eyes seeming to pierce through her protective layer.
‘Let me surprise you,’ he said eventually.
‘As you wish.’
‘Beatrice my dear, help your decrepit father inside,’ Anna’s uncle called from his spot at the edge of the patio.
Beatrice eyed her father reluctantly before bobbing a curtsy to Harry and gliding off to do as she was bid.
‘My cousin seems to adore you after just a few hours,’ Anna said as they were left alone.
‘She is a young woman of good taste,’ Harry said.
‘She is foolish and impulsive.’
‘Like all girls of eighteen.’ It was spoken as if he had personal experience with a foolish young girl.
‘You have a sister,’ Anna said as she slipped her hand through his arm.
‘I do.’
‘Is she the same age as Beatrice?’
‘She’s eighteen.’
‘Is she making her debut this year?’
Harry shook his head. Normally so easy to talk to, he was not forthcoming when it came to his family.
‘Next year, then?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘Are you her guardian?’
‘In a sense. My mother is still alive, but she leaves most of the decisions surrounding Lydia to me.’
‘That must be difficult for you. The minds of young girls are impenetrable.’
Harry smiled stiffly, but didn’t answer, then, swiftly changing the subject, he said, ‘I thought we should discuss this house party I am arranging.’
‘Perhaps we should abandon the idea.’
‘No. It is the only way to get all of our suspects in one place.’
‘They won’t accept an invitation from me.’
‘But they will from me.’
‘How can you be sure?’
‘I’m an earl, people always accept my invitations. Who should we invite? Who might want to cause you harm?’
‘If we agree to have this party, we should invite my late husband’s three children, Miss Antonia Fortescue, the new Lord Fortescue and Mr Ronald Fortescue. Also probably my late husband’s brother, Mr Lionel Fortescue.’
‘Anyone else?’
‘Anyone else dislike me enough to murder my cat?’ Anna asked. ‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘I’ll draw up a guest list, include some old friends to keep it civil, then we can decide on a date.’
‘I haven’t decided whether I want to do this yet or not,’ Anna said.
‘Nonsense, it’s the best way. I’ll organise everything. All you need to do is turn up.’
‘I need more time to think.’
‘There’s nothing to think about. I have it all in hand. This is for the best.’
Anna stiffened, withdrawing her hand from his arm. ‘Do not presume to tell me what is best for me,’ she said icily. ‘You do not know me.’
‘Anna...’ Harry started to say, but Anna held up a hand.
‘I make my own decisions. I do not need any man to make them for me.’
‘I wasn’t trying to make any decisions for you.’
‘And yet that was the end result. I thank you for calling on me today, Lord Edgerton, but perhaps we should end our acquaintance here.’ Before Harry could protest Anna turned and swept away, her heart hammering in her chest. She was inside before he’d moved and safely upstairs before she heard his footsteps in the hallway.
‘Anna...’ she heard him call, followed by the polite, muted tones from the butler. A minute later the door opened and closed as no doubt Harry was shown out. Anna risked a peek through the curtains at her window, drawing back as Harry stood back from the house and looked up directly at her. She was angry. Angry at the presumptive way he’d tried to make such a major decision for her and angry at herself for allowing him to get so close. Independent and single, that was how she would spend the rest of her life, even if the idea of never seeing Harry again hurt more than it should.
Chapter Seven
‘So you’re not at risk of being the Black Widow’s fourth victim?’ Mr James Rifield asked, laying down a card as he spoke.
‘Don’t call her that. And, no, the engagement is purely a sham, a way to avoid a little scandal.’
‘I did hear a whisper you were caught in a rather compromising position, one where neither of you was wearing many clothes.’
Harry grimaced—here was the rumour mill at its very worst. He and Anna had been doing nothing more than conversing, albeit unchaperoned, and now half of London thought they had been caught midway through an evening of passion.
‘We were caught alone in a room together, nothing more.’
‘And you proposed to save her reputation. Little old-fashioned, isn’t it?’
‘There is nothing more damaging in this world than malicious gossip.’
Rifield’s expression hardened. ‘How is Lydia?’
Harry shook his head. ‘Just the same.’
‘She’ll get there, old chap.’
Sometimes Harry wondered if the miraculous improvement he was hoping for would ever happen. It had been over a year since his sister’s disgrace, over a year since the scandal had become too much for her. Now she sequestered herself away at Halstead Hall, refusing to come out of her room for days on end. It wasn’t the life he wanted for her.
‘So what happened?’ Rifield asked.
Harry shrugged. It was difficult to know. One minute they had been strolling through the garden, the next Anna had gone very pale and said that she had wanted to end their acquaintance. She’d been angry, although she’d not once raised her voice and her face had remained impassive, but Harry wasn’t entirely sure what had upset her.
‘Lady Fortescue is very independent. I think she felt I was trying to impose my ideas on her.’
Perhaps he had been a little forceful, ploughing on with the idea of a country house party without stopping to consider her views, but he’d been doing it for her. He hated the idea of her receiving any more unpleasant packages and worried that someone might actually try to do her harm.
‘Maybe it’s for the best. This engagement had to end at some point and now you don’t have to be the one to make the break.’
Harry nodded absently. It didn’t feel for the best. He’d promised he would help find whoever was terrorising her and now it looked like he wouldn’t even get the chance to look the main suspects in the eye.
‘Unless there was more to it than a temporary arrangement of convenience,’ Rifield said shrewdly. ‘I’ve never met her myself, but I’m told Lady Fortescue is very attractive.’
‘No more so than most of the other young women,’ Harry said. Strictly it was true—she had pleasant features, a slender physique and just the right amount of womanly curves in all the right places. What it was more difficult to explain was how he struggled to look away from her cool grey eyes or how her coppery hair reflected the sunlight on a bright day. There was something enthralling about Anna, something that was difficult to put into words.
‘She’s not like I expected,’ Harry said slowly.
‘So there is something more?’
‘No. No, I like her. I didn’t expect that, but she’s not exactly a suitable wife for a man who wants to settle down with a quiet and scandal-free wife.’
‘In a couple of years people will have forgotten the scandal with Lydia. And then you’ll be stuck with a dull wife you care nothing for.’
‘You’re a romantic at heart, Rifield,’ Harry teased and then became serious again. ‘I failed her, I failed Lydia. I should have seen how low the whole affair brought her, should have anticipated...’ He paused, closing his eyes for a second while trying to block out the awful night he’d found his sister trying to take her own life. ‘Anyway, this engagement to Lady Fortescue is temporary. We shall break off our betrothal within a few months and I can go back to looking for an amiable, respectable young woman to be my wife.’
‘But what about love, Edgerton? What about passion?’
Harry grunted, flicking open his hand of cards and focusing on the numbers. He didn’t believe in love, or at least he didn’t believe it was a good idea to base an entire marriage on it.
‘Love has no place in a marriage,’ he said.
The two men played on in silence for a few minutes. They’d had this argument many times before, although not of course with the complication of Lady Fortescue. Rifield was a rare man among the titled and wealthy—he believed marriage should be to someone you loved. Harry had no such beliefs. Marriage was about a lot of things—money, titles, land, reputations—but the one thing it wasn’t about was love.
‘You’re nothing but an old sceptic,’ Rifield said as he laid down two cards.
‘I’d rather a quiet, straightforward companionship with a woman I admire than a marriage filled with destructive passion any day.’
He’d seen what a marriage based on love could be like. His own parents had been madly in love and their union had been anything but content. By the time his father had died, his mother had become a husk of her former self and he wouldn’t want to inflict that on anyone. No, he planned on doing his duty by Anna, helping her find whoever was terrorising her and then he would return to his search for a companion he could envisage himself spending a quiet and passionless marriage with.
‘Will you try to salvage things with Lady Fortescue?’ Rifield asked as he frowned at his cards.
‘I must. She needs me, even if she’s too stubborn to admit it.’
‘So a bouquet of flowers and a trip to the opera?’
Grimacing, Harry shook his head. He knew it would take a lot more than that to win round his reluctant fiancée.
Chapter Eight
‘Please, Anna, everyone is going to be there. I can’t miss out.’
‘I thought your father was going to take you.’
‘He has one of his headaches, he can’t get out of bed.’
‘There will be other operas, Beatrice.’
‘But what if tonight is the night I’m destined to meet my future husband? If I’m not there, I might be condemned to the life of a spinster.’
Anna fought the urge to roll her eyes. She’d been young and romantically inclined once, too, although possibly not this naïve.
‘Who will we be sitting with?’ Anna asked reluctantly.
‘Thank you, thank you, thank you,’ Beatrice gushed, throwing her arms around her cousin. ‘Mrs Towertrap and her three daughters.’
Anna wished she could take back her agreement. Mrs Towertrap was pleasant enough, but Anna had met Anastasia, the eldest of the Towertrap daughters before. The young woman had been rude, verging on cruel, and Anna had no desire to renew their acquaintance.
‘Will you come home with me now to get ready?’ Beatrice asked.
Looking down at the mound of paperwork on her desk, Anna sighed. It would be there tomorrow. The Lady Magdalene still hadn’t turned up nearly two weeks after the big storm and the losses looked to be catastrophic. Still, there was no point worrying about that now, tomorrow was another day.
‘Do you have your carriage?’
‘Of course. Father has forbidden me from coming to see you here,’ Beatrice said, looking around her in barely concealed excitement, ‘but Smith, the coachman, knows I would
just find another way to get here if he didn’t bring me.’
‘You really should listen to your father. The docks are no place for a well-bred young woman.’
‘You spend all your time here,’ Beatrice said.
‘That’s different.’
‘Because you’re a widow?’
‘Because I know a bit more about the cruel realities of the world.’
Beatrice rolled her eyes. Quickly Anna tidied away the papers she’d been working on and followed her cousin out of the office and down the stairs to the street below.
‘What happened between you and Lord Edgerton?’ Beatrice asked as the carriage wove its way through the busy docks.
‘Nothing.’
‘You’re refusing to see him because of nothing?’
‘I should never have agreed to this sham engagement in the first place,’ Anna said. ‘I just came to my senses, nothing more.’
‘I liked him.’
‘He is a very likeable man. That doesn’t change the fact that I do not wish to have any man in my life.’
‘Not even the perfect man? One who would bring you a lifetime of happiness.’
‘No such person exists. Everyone is flawed.’
‘You might be lucky with your fourth marriage,’ Beatrice said, looking out the window.
‘It’s not worth the risk,’ Anna murmured, too quiet for her cousin to hear her.
Of course she sometimes wondered if she was making the right decision, embracing her widowhood in such a manner. The future stretched out before her, years full of solitude. One day Beatrice would marry and at some time in the distant future her uncle would pass away. She’d have friends, but they would have their own husbands, their own children. Still, a lifetime of loneliness was better than one of misery and that would be what she was risking if she married again. You couldn’t truly know a man until you shared a life with him.