"We shall miss you," he said, smiling at Elizabeth.
"It has been my pleasure to be of service in this cause, but I truly think my work is done. Anyone who can successfully exchange sallies with Dare is ready to take on the ton. Anne?" Elizabeth said, reminding her of the task that awaited them.
When the two of them had left the room, Ian could no longer avoid Dare's eyes. And the earl, of course, wasted no time in commenting on what had just happened.
"You're quite right. She does have speaking eyes."
Despite himself, Ian laughed. "Anne seems to have taken you into dislike. Do you suppose it could have been because of your rather obvious baiting of her?"
"I wasn't talking about that," Dare said.
Ian should have known that his brother was too astute to have missed the look Anne had just given him. Or his reaction to it. He sincerely wished Dare were not so astute, but his brother had always been able to read him like an open book.
"Gratitude," Ian said tightly.
"I wasn't talking about that either," the earl said.
The blue eyes fell to examine the fit of the skin-tight pantaloons his brother was wearing. Ian could feel a different rush of blood, this one staining his face and neck.
"I can't ever remember seeing you blush," Dare said. "Surely you are a little old for such...schoolboy antics."
"Go to hell," Ian said softly, watching his brother's lips move into the familiar mocking smile. It was not one he usually employed en famille, and never, that Ian could remember, to him.
"I thought you were very quick to champion your ward when last we talked. At the time, I put it down to the effects of fever. I see now that your knight errantry has progressed in a rather...interesting direction."
"Let it go, Val," Ian warned, his voice cold and hard.
At the tone, the earl's head tilted. "If you're worried about what I said before, don't be. If Darlington's daughter is the woman you want, I'll make no objection. You know what they say about those who are happily married."
"That they can't resist meddling in things that are none of their concern?"
Ian had never intended for anyone to know how he felt about Anne, but of all the people he would wish to keep this particular secret from, his brother was first on the list. Dare would see through any excuse he might make, and unlike Elizabeth, he was well aware Ian had not previously lost his heart to any woman.
"I think I may claim to have a legitimate concern for your happiness," Dare said, his voice no longer mocking.
"Then I pray you will not bring this subject up again."
"There's no bar to your courtship of Anne Darlington. The fact that she is your ward may cause talk, but I can give you my personal assurance that no matter the gossip you must endure, the rewards of having the woman you love are well worth the cost."
"You are mistaken in what you think I feel, Val. You can be mistaken, you know."
"Mistaken in thinking you are enamored of the chit? Or in saying there is no bar to your pursuing that attraction?"
"Anne is my ward. That's all she is. And that is all she will ever be," Ian said, each word distinct.
His brother said nothing for a long moment, his eyes resting on his face. Ian was determined that his features would not reveal anything except the surety with which he had made that statement.
"Would you like to tell me why?" Dare said finally.
"Not particularly," Ian said.
"I see."
"Leave it, Val," Ian said again, his voice very soft. "There is nothing to be gained by pursuing this topic."
"Six months ago I might have believed this refusal to admit what was in that girl's eyes when she looks at you and what occurred when you saw that look had something to do with the extent of your injuries."
"Now, however, you know it does not," Ian said, his voice as controlled as his features.
"There are perhaps some lingering effects to your health, but nothing, surely, that should be any hindrance—"
"The hindrance is in my will," Ian said. "That is all you need to know."
And when he spoke again, all mockery had been wiped from Dare's voice. "Forgive me," he said. "You are right. What you choose to do in this matter really is none of my concern."
***
"I must apologize for my husband," Elizabeth said as they climbed the stairs together. "He is overprotective when it comes to his brothers. Especially Ian, who has been through so much."
"Why do I have the feeling you are trying to tell me something?" Anne said, smiling at her friend.
"I am, I suppose. Something I know Ian himself will never tell you. And yet something I believe you need to know."
"About Ian's injuries."
"About their effect, perhaps."
"I don't understand."
"I thought I should warn you."
"Elizabeth—"
"Let me finish, please. I need to say this before I leave. The last lesson I must teach you, if you will. And perhaps the most important one."
They had reached the first landing. Elizabeth turned and held out her hands. Unquestioningly, Anne placed hers within them. "You're frightening me," she said truthfully.
"I don't mean to. And I don't know how deeply your emotions are involved, of course. I do know, because I am not a fool, that your feelings for my brother-in-law are not simply those a young girl might quite rightfully feel for her guardian. Not just gratitude and respect. Or am I wrong?"
Anne wondered what Elizabeth would do if she denied what she felt. If she did, however, she might never find out what Ian's sister-in-law thought she ought to be told.
"I should very much like to know what I have done to give myself away," she said.
Elizabeth smiled at her. And then she freed her right hand and touched Anne's cheek. Offering comfort?
"Nothing so much. I saw the way you looked at him this afternoon. I have seen that same look in your eyes a dozen times in the last few weeks. Having recently been in love with a man I was sure I could never have, perhaps I am more sensitive to those feelings than someone else might be."
"I'm not—" Anne began, but in the face of the kind understanding in the countess's blue eyes, she didn't continue.
"Ian is a man who is worthy of your love. I was afraid that because of your inexperience you would fall in love with someone who wasn't worthy and have your heart broken. And instead..."
Anne didn't question the hesitation, but a small knot of fear closed her throat. It was obvious Elizabeth could have no objection to Ian's character. She could have no doubt, just as Anne had none, that he would always protect his own.
"I never worried that his heart might be engaged," Elizabeth finished softly.
At first, the words caused a small surge of excitement. It was not until she had coupled them with the pity in the countess's eyes that she understood what they meant.
"Ian's in love with someone else," Anne breathed.
She searched her memory for anything, any word that had passed between them, that might have warned her. And despite her question as to why he had never married, there had been nothing. Not one thing. So perhaps...
"I have wondered how to tell you," Elizabeth said. "Or if I even should."
"I wish you had told me before," Anne said, fearing now that Ian, like Elizabeth, suspected how she felt.
"You are very young," Elizabeth said softly.
"Don't," Anne said. "I don't believe age has anything to do with what I feel."
"I know you don't, but perhaps in time—"
"Did she reject him?" Anne broke in.
"I don't know. Like you, I can't imagine that anyone could, but people very often love where their feelings aren't returned. And it is always possible, Anne, that that was his choice."
"His choice?" Anne repeated.
"Perhaps until Ian is completely recovered he feels as if he can't offer for any woman."
"If his injuries matter to her, then she truly doesn't deserve him," Anne sai
d.
"Would you ever believe anyone else deserved him?"
"If she loved him, nothing would matter," Anne said stubbornly, perhaps because she could not yet deal with the hard reality of what Elizabeth was saying.
"Knowing the Sinclair men as I do now, I have realized that there are some things which will always matter to them."
"You believe he never told her how he felt?"
Elizabeth shrugged. "I don't suppose we will ever know what happened between them. Ian, of course, will never tell anyone. Whatever the reason, I thought it only fair that you should know that Ian is not free to return your affection. As much as he might value it."
"I've been a fool," Anne said softly. "A fool to think that he could ever—"
"No," Elizabeth denied, pulling her close and putting her arms around her. "It's never foolish to love a man worthy of your devotion. It's only foolish if it's the other kind. And it may be that some day Ian will open his eyes and realize how lucky he would be to have your love. However..."
However. They both knew that the feelings she had sheltered so carefully in her heart were far more likely to wither and die unacknowledged, like a shaded flower that is never allowed to feel the warmth of the nourishing sun.
"Thank you for telling me," Anne said. "Thank you for everything."
She hugged the Countess of Dare tightly, and her eyes filled with tears as Elizabeth fiercely reciprocated her show of affection. Then Anne freed herself from that perfumed embrace and turned away quickly before Elizabeth could see her face.
She would do her grieving in private. If her foolishly romantic heart was breaking, it was her own fault. Ian had never led her to believe she was anything to him but his ward. Or that he had any desire that she would ever become anything else.
That had been her stupidity. Her mistake. Another necessary lesson perhaps, and no one except Elizabeth would ever be allowed to know what a very painful one it had been. If Ian Sinclair could hide his broken heart so well that she had never even suspected, then so, Anne decided, could she.
Chapter Eight
"Elizabeth asked me to remind you that you have a fitting today," Ian said. "I suppose that in the rush of packing she forgot to mention it to you last night."
A fitting for her ball gown, and without his reminder, Anne knew she would never have remembered that appointment. There had been too many other things to think about.
She had not gone downstairs again after she had said goodbye to Elizabeth. And she had spent most of last night and this morning with the conversations of the previous evening running endlessly through her mind. To the exclusion of almost any other thought.
"A fitting for my ball gown," she said, willing herself to look up. "I had forgotten."
Ian was standing in the doorway, his wide shoulders nearly filling it. He was dressed in a jacket of navy superfine and fawn pantaloons. The sunlight glinted off the highly polished leather of his boots and added highlights to the chestnut hair.
And despite what Elizabeth had told her, seeing him there produced again that peculiar hesitation in the normal rhythm of her heart. She forced her eyes away, afraid of what he might see within them, and focused once more on the letter she had been writing to Mrs. Kemp.
He seemed less tired, she thought, superimposing his features over the girlishly rounded script she was pretending to peruse. At least his face was not so strained as it had been when she had found him asleep in his chair yesterday afternoon.
She hoped that was because he had no cause to toss and turn last night. She prayed that whatever had given her secret away to Elizabeth had not been obvious to her guardian because she knew Ian would be troubled by her infatuation.
However, since she had acknowledged the depth of her feelings—which were much more than an infatuation, of course—it somehow seemed harder to ignore them. And more difficult to put him from her mind. Her eyes seemed drawn to him whenever they were in the same room.
"Would you like me to accompany you?" Ian asked. "Since Elizabeth isn't here. She seemed concerned that someone should give final approval of the dress."
"And she didn't trust me to do that," Anne said, her eyes still resolutely on her letter.
They treat me like a child, she thought. Of course, they had from the beginning, and nothing was likely to change.
She took a breath, fighting that silly resentment. Because she was a child, certainly in terms of experience. If she compared what she knew about life with what Ian and Elizabeth had been forced to learn, she supposed she would have a hard time arguing she wasn't.
"I'm sure that isn't what she meant to imply," Ian said.
"Then what did she mean?" Anne asked.
She finally lifted her eyes to his again and was surprised to see something within them that she had never seen there. Before she could begin to identify the emotion, however, it was gone. Controlled. Or destroyed.
Had Elizabeth betrayed her? she wondered with a stab of anxiety. And then she reassured herself that the countess would never have broken her confidence. Whatever change had been wrought in her relationship with her guardian would have to be laid at her own door, quite possibly because she had so foolishly decided yesterday that she had only to let him know what she felt, and then she had believed he would...
Would what? she wondered. She wasn't sure what she had expected to happen when she had made that decision. In any case, in light of Elizabeth's revelation, it didn't matter now.
"I'm sure she meant nothing more than a reminder of how difficult it is to assess an ensemble given the limitations of a cheval glass. It's much better to have the opinion of someone who can objectively observe the full effect."
Objectively observe. Which certainly seemed clear enough.
"And that is what you propose to do?" she asked.
"Unless you have some objection."
"Why should I? You have the right to oversee your investment."
His head tilted, as if he were considering her tone. "You believe I'm concerned about my...investment?"
"I mean no disrespect, I assure you, but you have invested heavily in the success of my Season. It's only natural that you should be concerned with the effect of what you've spent."
There was a small silence, and then Ian said, "If you don't want me to accompany you, Anne, a simple no will suffice. I assure you my offer was not prompted by a desire to make sure I'm getting my money's worth."
For the first time since she had known him, there was an edge of coldness in Ian Sinclair's voice. And it hurt her to hear it there, although she had deliberately driven this wedge between them. It might be safer for her heart to have it in place, but it was also incredibly painful.
Besides, she knew she had been unfair. Childish. Ungrateful. And foolishly in love.
"I should be very glad for your company," she said.
The words sounded stilted and a little ungracious to her ears, but the corners of Ian's mouth lifted in response. It was this same smile that had attracted her on the day she met him.
"You're missing Elizabeth," he guessed. "I should have asked her to stay, at least until you have a few more outings to your credit. I must confess, however, that when she told me about the baby—"
He broke off as Anne's mouth fell open to accommodate the quick intake of breath his unexpected announcement had required. "You didn't know," he said softly.
She shook her head, feeling for some reason as if she had been betrayed. Elizabeth was her friend. And she would have expected her to have joyfully shared this news. That she hadn't made Anne feel even more like an outsider.
"Perhaps she thought you already knew," Ian said, obviously trying to rectify the countess's omission.
And there had been a dozen small clues, now that she thought about it. Telltale signs Anne had never put together because she had been too concerned with her own dilemma.
"I didn't," she confessed, feeling childish again.
"I thought it safer to send Elizabeth home before..."
Ian hesitated, forbidden by the dictates of their society from discussing these matters with an unmarried female.
"Before she increases," Anne said evenly.
He fought the upward tilt of his lips, eventually winning the battle, but not before she was aware of his amusement.
"It seemed best," he said.
"I am very glad for them," Anne said, realizing belatedly that she was. She loved children, and she couldn't imagine that someone as kind as Elizabeth wouldn't also. As for Dare... Of course, Elizabeth was very obviously in love with the earl, so perhaps she was judging him too harshly.
"But you are also disappointed that she didn't confide in you," Ian said.
"A little," she confessed, smiling at him for the first time. She had always been able to count on Ian's understanding and sympathy. Those were important assets in a friend. And if that was all he was ever to be to her, then she should cherish them even more. "And that's foolish, I know. I am not family, after all."
"I think she wanted to tell her husband before she told anyone else. If she had sent for Dare herself, he would have suspected something, so the message that brought him was mine. And when Elizabeth asked you to help her pack last night, I thought she was making an opportunity to tell you her news."
It was possible she had been, Anne realized. And then perhaps she had decided, as a friend, that there was something more important to tell Anne in the few minutes they would have alone. Something vital to Anne's well-being. And after the countess had performed that final act of kindness, Anne had run away. There had been no chance for Elizabeth to share the news about the baby.
"I shall write to her and tell her how happy I am for them," Anne said. "Perhaps one day she'll need a governess and remember me," she added with another smile, this one almost teasing.
Ian laughed, seeming relieved that whatever had colored the atmosphere when he had entered the room was no longer between them. And in all honesty, so was she.
Even if she were destined to carry an unrequited love for Ian Sinclair the rest of her days, she fervently hoped that he would never be aware of it. And unless she could pretend that nothing had changed in their relationship, he would be.
Wilson, Gayle Page 11