Practically Wicked (Haverston Family Trilogy #3)

by Alissa Johnson

  “Me?” Anna gaped at her friend. “I was the picture of decorum.”

  Mrs. Culpepper inclined her head in mixture of apology and loyalty. “Of course you were, dear.”

  “He was exceedingly rude. He all but insisted I leave Caldwell.”

  “Did he, indeed?” Mrs. Culpepper sat even straighter and harrumphed. “Presumptuous devil.”

  “He was, quite,” Anna agreed, feeling sufficiently mollified. “Fortunately, he has since apologized.”

  “I should certainly hope so. Did he provide an explanation for his abysmal behavior?”

  “He was nurturing something of a grudge.”

  “Against you?” Mrs. Culpepper scoffed indignantly. “Outrageous.”

  “Not entirely,” Anna admitted. “Though your defense is much appreciated. He says he called on me at Anover House not long after we met. Repeatedly. Mother sent him away, saying I wanted naught to do with him.”

  “Oh, good heavens.” Mrs. Culpepper lifted her hand to her heart. “Oh, that dratted woman. I knew she was could be petty and spiteful, but such malice . . . I’d never have guessed—”She blinked and some of the color she’d regained drained away. “You know I’d nothing to do with that. You must know—”

  “Yes, of course.” The idea of Mrs. Culpepper conspiring against her was preposterous. She was the only person on earth Anna had ever been completely certain of, the only person who’d never broken her trust. “The thought never occurred.”

  Mrs. Culpepper dropped her hand. “I ought to have taken you from that house years ago.”

  “This is not your doing,” Anna argued. “The fault lies with Madame and Madame alone.”

  “She’d not have been able to do it alone.”

  “Very well, the fault lies with Madame and whichever maid or footman, likely gone on to other employment by now, aided in the deceit. It makes very little difference now.”

  It appeared to make some difference to Mrs. Culpepper. She pinched her lips tight, then grumbled, “I bet it was that Bridget Harbeck. She had a conniving air about her.”

  Anna couldn’t begin to imagine what constituted a conniving air, but she knew an unhappy air when she saw it. Determined to see her friend’s good humor and color returned, Anna swallowed her pride and set about drawing out a smile.

  “I ran into a bit of trouble on my walk this morning,” she said conversationally. “Nothing serious. Acquired a blister or two.”

  “I’ve a balm for that.”

  As Mrs. Culpepper had a balm for everything, Anna didn’t see the need for comment. Instead, she paused a moment for dramatic effect and then . . .

  “I came upon Lord Dane on my return. He insisted on carrying me back to the house.”

  “He . . . ?” Mrs. Culpepper’s eyes went even wider than they had before. “Carried you? All the way to the house?”

  All the way might have been ten yards for all Mrs. Culpepper knew, but Anna didn’t see the point in spoiling her fun.

  “All the way.”

  “Oh.” Mrs. Culpepper let out a long, satisfied sigh. “Oh, that is terrifically romantic.”

  Anna smirked and leaned over to pat her friend’s hand. “Never say I don’t know my governess.”

  Anna kept Mrs. Culpepper company, reading and talking, until the older woman professed a need for a lie-down. Abandoning he pretense that embroidery was holding her interest, Anna helped her friend become comfortable, then headed downstairs to further investigate the house.

  There was much she’d not yet seen, and if she was going to be at Caldwell Manor for days, she ought to know her way around. And if a particular gentleman should have returned early from the village, and if she should run into said gentleman, well . . .

  She ran into Lord Engsly, who, obviously, was not the gentlemen she’d had in mind. But she greeted him, and his offer to guide her down the hall of family portraits, with a smile.

  She kept that smile firmly in place as he led her to their destination, even though being in his company still made her a little uneasy. This is what she wanted, she reminded herself, a chance to know her brother, and for her brother to know her. Spending time together was the only way she’d ever learn how not to be uneasy, and the only way he might learn to see her as something other than the illegitimate half sister to whom he’d promised a thousand pounds.

  And it wasn’t such a difficult lesson to endure, she admitted after a time. In fact, she found the experience rather enjoyable. It was fascinating, walking down the long, wide hall, seeing the faces of her ancestors for the first time—great-great-grandfathers and -grandmothers, long-dead aunts and uncles and cousins. She’d never seen so much as a miniature of her mother’s parents; now suddenly she was surrounded by the images of family.

  At the end of the hall, they came at last to the portrait of the late marquess, their father. Anna studied the painting with a keen eye, but saw no obvious similarities between her and the white-haired gentleman staring at her through cool blue eyes. Then again, she saw no obvious likeness between the late and current marquess either.

  “The painting was commissioned five years before his death,” Engsly told her. “He detested it. He accused the artist of adding ten years to his life and refused to pay. Gideon and I had to settle the account in secret.”

  “And yet he chose to hang it in the hall?” The man was either a cheat or exceedingly odd.

  “No, I chose to hang it in the hall after his passing. It’s an accurate portrait.” His lips curved in a small smile. “And I wanted something for my money.”

  Anna had the feeling he wanted to poke at the old marquess, but she kept the observation to herself.

  Engsly turned his attention from the portrait to look at her. “What do you know of him?”

  “Very little,” she admitted. “My mother said only that he had blue eyes.”

  “So he did.” Engsly agreed, then pointed at the portrait of an earlier marquess they’d already passed. “You have our grandfather’s eyes.”

  “Do I?” She made a second, closer inspection of the middle-aged man in the powdered wig and pink velvet coat with elaborate gold trim. There, beneath the scowling brow was a set of almond-shaped gray eyes much like her own. Well, she thought, with some amusement, the mystery had been solved.

  “Handsome man,” Anna declared and was gratified when Engsly laughed. “And whose eyes do you have? Not our father’s or our grandfather’s.”

  He gestured at the portrait of a woman wearing a white gown in the classical style popular fifteen years earlier. “Gideon and I took after our mother in appearance.”

  Anna stepped closer to the painting. So this was the marchioness. Lady Engsly had beautiful black hair and eyes, and a pretty, quirked little smile that put Anna to mind of the Mona Lisa. Only friendlier. She was rather like Caldwell Manor, Anna mused. One knew one ought to be intimidated by the presence of such grandeur, but she was just so pretty. Perhaps it was she who’d had the shutters painted and the flowers planted.

  “She’s lovely,” Anna murmured, then winced inwardly. Lovely was not the appropriate word to have used. Beautiful, exquisite—those were the adjectives one employed when referring to a marchioness. Particularly when one was speaking to her son.

  Fortunately, Engsly appeared to take no offense.

  “She was a lovely woman,” he said gruffly, his eyes fixed on the portrait.

  Anna heard love there, and a deep respect. Suddenly, she felt ill at ease again. No matter how welcoming he was, some part of Engsly had to resent the insult her very existence presented to the marchioness. Surely he wasn’t wholly comfortable with proof of his father’s faithlessness running about his mother’s home.

  She sidled away from the marchioness’s portrait. This business of coming to know Engsly would need to be done slowly, she realized, and with great care. “I should look in on Mrs. Culpepper.”

  “Hmm?” Engsly turned to her, his face clearing. “Oh, yes, of course. I trust she is recovering satisfactori
ly?”

  “She is quite nearly herself again.”

  “Excellent. Excellent. Well then . . .” He performed a quick bow. “Then I shall see you both at dinner.”

  Anna felt a knot form in her belly as she curtsied.

  “We are quite looking forward to it,” she chimed and managed a credible smile until she turned about and walked away.

  She was not looking forward to it.

  The first time Mrs. Culpepper, Lord Engsly, and Max Dane gathered in the same room was going to be an unnerving event no matter the circumstances, but for it to occur at a formal dinner made Anna all the more anxious.

  She’d never attended a formal dinner in her life. Oh, she knew the rules of etiquette required to participate as a dinner guest. Mrs. Culpepper had not neglected those lessons. But Anna had never been given the opportunity to use the skills, only practice them. She always took her meals with Mrs. Culpepper in the sitting room off her chambers.

  Anna took a steadying breath and straightened her shoulders. There was no call to be worried, and there was every reason to be enthusiastic. Her very first formal dinner, and it wasn’t at Anover House. This was wonderful, exciting . . . an adventure.

  That’s what she told herself as she reached her chambers, and throughout the afternoon and early evening as she kept Mrs. Culpepper company whilst training one eye and ear on the front drive. It’s what she told herself as she dressed in her best gown of gold silk and headed downstairs for dinner, and it was what she repeated one last time when she saw Max, dusty and windblown, step in the front door just as she and Mrs. Culpepper reached the bottom of the stairs.

  This was all but a grand adventure.

  Max glanced up, caught her eye, and smiled. “Miss Rees.”

  Aware of Mrs. Culpepper’s assessing gaze, Anna kept her shoulder’s square and her voice steady. “Lord Dane, I am glad to see you returned safely. May I present my companion, Mrs. Culpepper? Mrs. Culpepper, Lord Dane.”

  She watched Max carefully for any sign of surprise or annoyance at having been introduced to a woman some might consider but one stepped removed from staff. But she saw only a gentleman greeting a lady with the polite regard he might afford any other guest. He expressed pleasure at their meeting, asked after her recovery from the journey, then begged leave to wash the dust of the road off before dinner.

  Anna felt a ridiculous spark of pleasure and pride. Though she doubted he knew it, Max could not have done more to win Mrs. Culpepper’s approval. The woman disliked presumed familiarity nearly as much as she did overt snobbery. Both were, in her opinion, highly disrespectful and therefore the height of poor manners.

  Anna wasn’t at all surprised when Mrs. Culpepper leaned down and whispered, “The boy has some potential,” after Max had left.

  But she was pleased, and with her confidence buoyed by the easy interaction, she found the first half hour of dinner a perfectly agreeable experience.

  Max joined them only a few minutes late, changed and tidied, which Anna knew had been necessary, but thought was something of a pity. He’d looked quite dashing in his riding attire, with his cravat askew and his hair tousled about his handsome face.

  Anna snuck a look over her bowl of pea soup and decided it was no hardship to see the man in his dinner attire either.

  He looked up, met her eyes, and smiled, and she quickly looked away, embarrassed to have been caught watching him. Mrs. Culpepper and Engsly didn’t appear to have noticed, but Anna resolved to remain focused on them for the rest of the meal, just to be safe.

  Engsly led a light conversation throughout the meal, asking innocuous questions of Anna and Mrs. Culpepper, listening respectfully to their responses, adding a response here and there. Though it was hardly what she might call scintillating conversation, Anna was grateful for the ease of it. Her nerves diminished with each minute that passed without incident, and she began to grow confident that the meal would go off, if not splendidly, at least reasonably well.

  Until Engsly asked, “Do you enjoy residing in London?”

  “Yes, quite,” she replied, mostly because it seemed the polite thing to say.

  She was more than a little surprised when Max smiled slyly over the rim of the wine goblet he held.

  “Is that the truth of it?” he asked. “And is there an aspect of town life for which you have a particular fondness? A favorite place in the city, perhaps?”

  No sign of irritation was allowed to reach her face. But in her mind’s eye she was glowering mightily at him and walking around the table so that she might deliver a swift kick to his shins. The blasted man knew damn well how rarely she left Anover House.

  She only wished she knew if he was indulging in a spot of harmless teasing, or he had some other aim. Again her lack of experience put her at a disadvantage, but she’d be damned before she let her discomfort show. If he was teasing, then she’d only look a fool for becoming upset. If he wasn’t teasing, she’d express her dissatisfaction with him in private.

  She reached for her wineglass with a steady hand. “I confess, there is no place I feel more at ease than in the comfort of my home’s own library. I have a great love for the written word.”

  Max’s lips twitched while Engsly smiled broadly.

  “Then we share a common interest,” the marquess said. “Have you explored Caldwell’s library?”

  “No, I’ve not yet had the pleasure.”

  “After dinner, then. I think it will please you.”

  Pleased, as it happened, did not begin to describe how Anna felt upon entering the library after dinner. She was astounded, enthralled. Even the fact that Max had declined to join them could not dampen her delight.

  The Caldwell Manor library was the stuff of dreams . . . provided one’s dreams were very grand indeed. It was simply enormous, its selection of reading material seemingly infinite.

  All Anna could do was stand in the center of the enormous two-storied room and do her best not to gape. She was surrounded by books, shelf after shelf of them, more than a person could take in with a single glance, more than any one person could hope to read in a lifetime.

  Next to her, Mrs. Culpepper murmured, “My heavens, what might we have accomplished with a library such as this at our disposal.”

  Anna nodded wordlessly. There looked to be books on every conceivable topic. At Anover House, Mrs. Culpepper had been forced to tailor Anna’s education around the materials already made available in the large, but not particularly well-stocked library. As a result, Anna was poorly versed in subjects such as the mathematics and British history between the fifteenth and seventeenth centuries. Alternatively, she had a very thorough understanding of geography and a phenomenal grasp of sixteenth-century Italian architecture.

  She’d known at the time that much of the information she was acquiring would likely never be of use to her or anyone else. But she did so love the process of learning, of taking in the contents of a book and making them her own.

  What a joy it would be to study here—she could spend weeks, months, even years and still learn something new every day.

  Oh, how she adored this library. She felt her face breaking into a wide grin but hastily assumed a more appropriate expression. She might feel like an urchin in a sweet shop, but she would not embarrass Mrs. Culpeper or herself by acting the part.

  As Mrs. Culpepper meandered off to inspect the cases at the far end of the room, Engsly gripped his hands behind his back and asked Anna, “Is there something in particular you might like? A favorite author or subject?”

  All of them. Everything. “I’ve too many to name. This is . . . this is wondrous, my lord. I don’t know where to begin.”

  “You might begin by addressing me by my given name and allowing me the same courtesy. We are family, after all.”

  The invitation drew Anna’s attention away from the books. “Are you certain—?”

  “ ‘My lord’ is too formal for family, and Engsly was our father,” he said by way of explanation. “I
prefer Lucien.”

  Most people went the whole of their lives without being invited to address a peer of the realm by his given name. This was her second invitation in a single day. Anna decided to take it as a sign she was comporting herself reasonably well at Caldwell.

  “Lucien, then,” she agreed. “I’d be honored if you would call me Anna.”

  “Excellent.” He bobbed his head, appearing most pleased with the development. “Excellent. Well . . . allow me to show you around a bit.”

  As fascinating as the tour of her family portraits had been, it could not compare to the thrill of being escorted about such a tremendous library. Lucien guided her in a loop around the room, showing her where to find particular subjects and authors, pointing out some of his favorite tomes.

  “You’re welcome to any book at any time, of course. Mrs. Webster has the keys to all the locked cases, if you’d like a closer look at anything inside.”

  “Truly?” Some of the cases were locked for good reason. The books behind the glass were extremely old manuscripts, beautifully handwritten works that were as fragile as they were valuable. She desperately wanted a closer look at them. “Some of them are irreplaceable.” Likely all of them. “If you’d really rather—”

  “I’ll have Mrs. Webster give you any necessary keys.”

  Anna wasn’t sure what to say to such an offer. She wasn’t certain how she felt. It was such an incredible show of trust. The only other person to have shown that sort of confidence in her was Mrs. Culpepper.

  “If I’ve made you uncomfortable,” Lucien said in her ensuing silence. “I apologize.”

  “No, no,” she was quick to assure him. “You’ve not made me uncomfortable at all.” If he could trust her with his priceless manuscripts just to please her, she could damn well lie to please him. “I’m simply overwhelmed by the offer. It’s exceedingly generous of you. Thank you.”

  “My pleasure, Now, if that’s all settled, I’ll leave you to continue your exploration of the library in peace.” He bowed, turned to leave, then turned about again, looking slightly less sure of himself. “I hope . . . That is, I very much hope you will be comfortable here.”