Practically Wicked (Haverston Family Trilogy #3)

by Alissa Johnson

  Really, all she needed to concern herself over was how to make herself agreeable to a perfectly courteous man, which shouldn’t be too terribly difficult. She’d had a lifetime of facing the judgment of strangers, courteous and otherwise, and she’d muddled along well enough.

  Surely she could muddle along just as well for an hour or two at Caldwell Manor. She could smile and curtsy and swallow her fear and pride this one last time, and then she would be free.

  Probably . . . Maybe . . . Blast it, this was different. Vastly different. Smiles and curtsies were, most often, all that had been expected of her at Anover House. The marquess would expect her to speak. He would expect her to converse.

  In the whole of her life, she had conversed with only one other gentleman. And he’d not sought the experience out a second time.

  A bubble of nervous laughter escaped before she could tamp it down. “This is madness.”

  Next to her, Mrs. Culpepper stirred, pushing her bonnet out of her face. “What is it, dear?”

  “Nothing, I . . .” Anna trailed off as she glanced over and saw that her companion’s skin had gone from green to gray sometime in the last hour. “Mrs. Culpepper, are you all right?” Mrs. Culpepper waved a large hand. “Quite. Good heavens, have we arrived?”

  As if to answer the question, the carriage rolled to a stop. “It would appear we have.”

  “For pity’s sake child,” Mrs. Culpepper gasped and began a frantic bid to right her appearance, “why did you not wake me earlier?”

  As there was little to be gained in explaining that she had, in fact, attempted to rouse Mrs. Culpepper on two separate occasions, Anna turned her attention out the window instead and came to the startling realization that Caldwell Manor was rather lovely up close.

  She’d not expected a peer’s country estate to be lovely. She’d expected grand and imposing. The house may have laid some claim to the first, particular at a distance, with its stone façade and impressive size, but she could see now that the severe lines of its three stories were softened by gently arched windows, cheerful blue shutters, and the somewhat awkward and whimsical addition of a small turret at the back corner of the house. What might have been an austere entrance was brightened by the inclusion of potted plants at the front doors and colorful flowers along the base of the portico.

  Almost, it appeared inviting. Almost.

  Waiting on that portico was Lucien Haverston, the Marquess of Engsly . . . along with a goodly number of his staff, which was most odd.

  “Why on earth would he—?”

  Anna snapped her mouth closed when the carriage door swung open and a footman appeared, ready to assist her down.

  She blinked at him, at the harsh sunlight beyond the carriage, and at the almost-but-not-quite-welcoming front portico.

  And suddenly, she wished the front lawn and been a little larger, the drive a little longer.

  “Chin up,” Mrs. Culpepper advised in a whisper. “Shoulders back and eyes straight ahead.”

  It was the advice Mrs. Culpepper always delivered before Anna was forced to make an appearance for her mother. The familiarity of it gave her the courage to step from the carriage.

  After a moment’s adjustment to the bright light, her eyes landed on the unfamiliar gentleman standing in the center of the portico. Tall and lean, in finely tailored suit, the Marquess of Engsly looked very much as Anna had expected, with the notable exception of his hair being a little messy and his deep-set eyes being rather dark. She had pictured the marquess with the lovely blue eyes of his father.

  Their father, she reminded herself as she assisted Mrs. Culpepper out of the carriage and up the steps of the portico. The late marquess was their father.

  “Miss Rees.” Engsly bowed low as they approached. “Welcome to Caldwell Manor.”

  And this man was her brother, standing right before her, and still it didn’t feel real to her.

  “My lord.” She curtsied smoothly, relieved when her knees of pudding held. “It was most kind of you to invite us. May I present my companion, Mrs. Culpepper?”

  Engsly bowed again but straightened with a slight frown. His eyes flicked from Anna and back to Mrs. Culpepper. “I . . . Forgive my bluntness, Mrs. Culpepper, but are you unwell?”

  Observant, Anna noted. And interested in the well-being of someone a man of his rank might consider well beneath his notice.

  Or fearful his guests had brought a plague to Caldwell Manor. It was difficult to say.

  Mrs. Culpepper inclined her head briefly. If she was impressed by a man of Lord Engsly’s stature, it didn’t show. But then, Mrs. Culpepper had witnessed any number of peers engaging in any number of unflattering behaviors at Anover House. The nobility’s thin layer of charm had no doubt worn away long ago.

  Or it might have been the carriage sickness. Also difficult to determine.

  “Quite, my lord,” Mrs. Culpepper replied. “It is only that travel does not agree with me.”

  “I understand. My sister-in-law is much the same.” He made a subtle motion with his hand and two maids in crisp white aprons immediately stepped forward. “Allow Faith and Mary to escort you upstairs. Would you have me send for the physician?”

  “Thank you, my lord, but no. I shall be quite well now that I’ve feet on solid ground once more. And I shall be well enough for the time being to remain here with Miss Rees—”

  “Nonsense,” Anna pressed. “You must have a rest.”

  “Well . . .” Mrs. Culpepper glanced at the maids, and Anna knew the woman was in more discomfort than she had let on, to even be considering the suggestion. “If you are certain?”

  Anna nodded and, not trusting herself to speak again, lest the selfish sentiment I take it back, don’t leave me alone with these people should come spilling out, pressed her lips together in what she hoped was some facsimile of a confident smile.

  Evidently, it was good enough for the ailing Mrs. Culpepper. She sent Anna a sickly and grateful look, along with a weak pat on the shoulder Anna assumed was meant to be bolstering, then allowed the maids to lead her away.

  Feeling cut adrift, Anna watched the line of staff shuffle a bit as the trio passed. A footman stepped aside to allow them entrance into the house . . .

  And that was when she saw him, standing bold as you please next to one of the pretty potted flowers.

  Lord Maximilian Dane.

  Oh, hell. Oh, holy hell.

  For the first time in her life, Anna knew what it meant to have the air stolen from one’s lungs. It felt, she discovered, very much as the phrase described, as if someone had reached inside her and snatched away her breath.

  She’d truly believed she’d never see him again, and his sudden presence before her now felt, if not like blow, then an impossibly hard shove. She had the ridiculous urge to step back and call out for Mrs. Culpepper, or turn about and head straight back to the carriage. At the very least, she wanted to swear loud and long.

  This was dreadful. This was inconceivably awful.

  In the days and weeks following the realization that Max Dane would not be returning to Anover House, Anna had indulged in a daydream or two (or several dozen) of what it might be like should they meet in passing sometime in the future.

  The exact content of those daydreams had varied, but on the whole she had envisioned herself to be surrounded by a bevy of friends and admirers. She’d been flawless in appearance, composed in manner, and eloquent of speech. In short, her dreams had been flights of extreme fancy in which Max Dane had come to the realization that not returning to Anover House had been a judgment error of colossal proportions.

  Now here she was, dusty and rumpled from travel, alone for all intents and purposes, and stunned speechless.

  Oh, how she wanted to get back into the carriage.

  Fortunately, a lifetime of keeping her chin up, shoulders back, and eyes straight ahead stopped her from making a complete cake of herself. She even managed after a moment to school her features into a serene express
ion.

  Coherent speech, however, remained elusive.

  “I . . . Er . . .”

  Max did not appear to be similarly affected. He quickly stepped forward and executed a smart bow.

  “Miss Rees. All of this has come as something of a surprise to me as well.”

  This wasn’t a surprise. A surprise was finding an unexpected gray hair at one’s temple, leaving one to wonder if one was a trifle older than previously estimated.

  Seeing Max Dane at Caldwell Manor was an outright shock. And seeing him close up prompted the immediate and entirely useless thought that he’d grown more handsome. Probably it was merely that he was (presumably) sober. There were no shadows beneath his hazel eyes, no sallowness to the skin that spoke of too much drink and insufficient sleep. Lord Dane didn’t look like the dissolute rake she’d met at Anover House four years ago, the dashing but inebriated young man whose sensual mouth and captivating charm had tempted her into initiating the most wicked moment of her life. That man had been fascinating and charismatic and, at times, in very real danger of losing his seat.

  The Lord Dane before her now had bowed with an easy grace and restrained strength. He looked strong and hale and . . . and not particularly pleased to see her. His handsome face was set in hard lines, his mouth unsmiling.

  Was he angry with her?

  Surely not. He had no call to be. Surely, he was simply taken aback, as she was.

  Anna managed a credible curtsy, caught between an involuntary thrill at seeing him again, and the ardent desire to be somewhere, anywhere, else at present.

  She had kissed this man. She had leaned forward and pressed her lips to those lips. And then she’d never seen him again.

  “Lord Dane . . .” She began, and then, to her mortification, found she was unable to add anything more substantial than, “. . . Hello.”

  She watched him smirk a little, which both confused and annoyed her. Of course he wasn’t out of sorts. He’d obviously had some warning of her arrival.

  “Hello,” he echoed. “Your journey was uneventful, I trust?”

  They’d become stuck in a rut for two hours. She’d almost turned the carriage around a half dozen times. Mrs. Culpepper’s illness had required they stop repeatedly. One stop had come too late.

  “Quite.”

  “We are all happy to hear it, I’m sure.”

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  Go away, she begged silently. Please, please go away. She could face her new brother, or she could face the man who’d broken her heart. She couldn’t face them both together.

  Engsly cleared his throat, drawing her attention. “Dane’s estate of McMullin Hall is but twenty miles away,” he explained. “Our families have been friends for generations.”

  “How lovely.” Please do make him go away.

  “Miss Rees may wish to hear of our history another time,” Max suggested, and then, as if he’d heard her thoughts and had a care for her discomfort—both of which she highly doubted—he bowed and added, “If you will excuse me, I’ll leave the two of you to become better acquainted.”

  Anna watched him walk away and felt marginally better when he disappeared inside the house.

  Lord Engsly cleared his throat again. “Lord Dane has been a true friend to the Haverstons for many years. His presence here doesn’t make you uneasy, I hope? I’d thought—”

  “Not in the least,” Anna lied. Because, really, what else could she possible say? Your dearest friend makes me exceedingly uneasy. Please do remove him from your home for the few hours I am here.

  “Excellent. Excellent. I should like for the two of you to be friends as well.”

  “I’m sure that would be lovely.”

  She was sure there was scarcely a chance in hell of that occurring. But as Lord Dane had clearly not seen fit to inform his dearest friend of their history, she thought it might be best to keep her peace on the matter as well.

  She remained mostly silent while Engsly introduced her to the staff—a formality that confused her—and as she was ushered into the front hall with its soaring ceiling, sweeping twin staircases, and marble balustrades. And she was quiet still as she was led down a wide hall lined with windows that let in broad beams of sunlight to warm the air.

  Engsly was saying something about the front of the manor being an addition made in the last century, and the rear of the manor retaining many of its Elizabethan charms. But all the while, she kept thinking, My brother. This man is my brother.

  And willing herself to feel something other than concern for Mrs. Culpepper, continued unease at the presence of Max Dane, and the desire to be done with Caldwell Manor and on her way as quickly as possible.

  “Here we are,” Engsly announced, gesturing her through an open set of doors. “The family parlor.”

  He’d brought her to the parlor rather than his study? Anna hadn’t expected that, but after a moment’s thought, decided to take it as promising sign that he viewed her as something more than a distasteful matter of business. Which, incidentally, and less promising, was an indication that he didn’t intend to give her the thousand pounds straight away.

  There would be a discussion.

  “Please,” Engsly encouraged, gesturing toward a settee. “Make yourself comfortable.”

  “Thank you. It is a lovely room.” Anna had the overall impression of sturdy, old-fashioned, but well-kept furniture and muted colors on the walls and carpet, but the details of the room escaped her. She kept her eyes on the marquess as she settled on the edge of a seat.

  He, in turn, kept his eyes on her as he took up position in a chair across from her.

  A lengthy silence followed.

  “Well,” she tried, and brushed a hand down her skirt.

  “Well,” he countered.

  The eyeing continued until a maid, whose name had already escaped Anna, brought refreshments into the room.

  Anna snatched up a biscuit the moment they were within reach and took a small bite. “These are quite good.”

  They could have tasted of mud and she’d not have cared. She was just grateful to have something to discuss.

  “I’m glad they please you,” Lord Engsly said, taking one for himself as the maid disappeared again. “They’re orange and spice. One of Gideon’s favorite. He’ll be arriving soon. And my wife. They’re traveling from Scotland.”

  “It will be a pleasure to make their acquaintance,” she replied and hoped it was true.

  At least she’d not been expected to greet the family all at once. Perhaps the experience would be less traumatic if her exposure to the Haverstons was done slowly, bit by bit.

  Or perhaps it would be like amputating a limb with a butter knife.

  “Acquaintance,” Lucien repeated, and a small furrow worked into his brow. “Yes. I had hoped you might meet with my brother’s wife as well. Unfortunately, Winnefred also finds long trips to be unpleasant. I am told she is learning to ride, which should make travel easier for her.”

  “That seems wise.” She fiddled with the biscuit in her hand until it began to crumble, forcing her to stop. “Well,” she said and would have kicked her own shin if she’d been able. Surely they’d moved beyond “well” by now.

  Engsly cleared his throat. “Yes . . . Well.”

  Or perhaps not.

  She put the remainder of the biscuit in her mouth, smiled politely around the food, and chewed slowly. If she couldn’t say something intelligent, she might as well have an excuse for it.

  Engsly reached for another himself but paused with his hand halfway to the plate. Suddenly, he swore under his breath, rose from his seat, and stalked to the fireplace and back whilst vigorously scrubbing his hand over his head.

  The last went a long ways toward explaining the peculiar state of his hair. The rest made Anna distinctly nervous.

  He didn’t strike her as friendly and welcoming now. He struck her as agitated.

  “Allow me to be frank, Miss Rees.” He stopped before her and blew out a
short breath while her stomach tightened into a knot. “I haven’t the foggiest notion of how to go about this . . . this . . .” He waved his hand about in an indecipherable manner. “This business of having a sister. I’ve no experience with sisters. I feel overwhelmed. And a little idiotic. I am not generally so inept at making conversation.”

  To her surprise, she felt a small smile form on her lips. What a relief it was to acknowledge the awkwardness of the situation rather than making things worse by trying to dance about it; and what a relief to know he wasn’t about to inform her that he’d booked her passage on a ship to the Americas.

  “I’ve no experiences with brothers,” she offered. “I’ve no siblings of any sort.”

  She also felt like an idiot, but she was willing to take commiseration only so far.

  Evidently, it was far enough for Engsly. His shoulders visibly relaxed and the hint of a smile touched his lips. “I quite like my sister-in-law, mind you.”

  “But it is not the same,” she guessed and reached for a second biscuit. Perhaps this one would taste like oranges and spice, after all.

  “No, it is not.” He resumed his seat and took his second biscuit. “I like to think, however, that we will become every bit as comfortable with each other over time. A few weeks here and—”

  “A few weeks?” Anna nearly choked on her food. “You wish for me to stay a few weeks?”

  He couldn’t be serious.

  “Or longer, if it suits you.” He gave her a bemused look. “How else are we to come to know each other?”

  Why on earth would you wish to know me?

  “I . . . had not anticipated a protracted visit. I thought . . . a day or two”—or an hour or two—“and Mrs. Culpepper and I would be on our way. She has a sister in the north.” She stopped awkwardly, and with the realization that she’d not answered his question. “I had hoped, of course, that we might develop an ongoing correspondence.”

  She hadn’t really. She hadn’t allowed herself to hope or expect anything beyond a few hours of his time and the thousand pounds.

  He digested that quietly before responding. “Miss Rees, it will be several days yet before Gideon arrives. You must stay here until then, at the very least. He is most eager to meet you.”