In contrast to her sharp gaze, her voice was soft, with a hint of huskiness he might find pleasing—if she would only say something pleasant.
“I cannot be certain until I’ve had a chance to look over the entire estate,” he said, “but if everything is as well run as the kitchen, perhaps not.”
She seemed relieved by his answer; the furrow in her brow disappeared.
“The past few years while the last earl remained abroad,” Madeline said, “Anna was quite involved in caring for the estate.”
“Indeed.” He took a sip of wine and gazed at Miss Colbrook. If she had been helping his cousin Horace manage things from overseas, that could account for some of her behavior since his arrival. Her dislike of him likely explained the rest.
“Anna,” Madeline said, “perhaps you should accompany Lord Wareton when he tours the estate tomorrow?”
“Mr. Evans will be here,” Miss Colbrook said, frowning. “He is planning on escorting Lord Wareton.”
“But you know the manor as well as Mr. Evans,” Madeline said.
“I am certain that Lord Wareton would prefer the steward’s company.” Miss Colbrook gave her stepsister a hard look. Everyone else at the table watched him, waiting for his response. He wasn’t eager to spend much time with her, but if she’d been involved in managing the estate for his cousin, it made sense for her to go with him.
“I can meet with the steward at another time,” he said. “I would be pleased if you would accompany me, Miss Colbrook.”
Her full mouth thinned into a familiar frown. Although she’d barely known him before they encountered each other in London six years ago, from the start she’d seemed offended by his reputation alone and had treated him with a chilly reserve. If he hadn’t deserved her contempt at first, he’d soon earned it with his rudeness. While he’d offended many people during his years in London, she’d been especially satisfying to unnerve. He suspected now it was partly because he found her gaze particularly piercing, her blue eyes reflecting too well the truth of what a wastrel he’d been.
He didn’t blame her for her past contempt. For years, he’d done his best to unnerve many attractive young women, including her. He’d looked at the world with disdain, and when he lost himself in drink or gaming or women, he’d been skilled at denying any sense of guilt or responsibility. For too long, he’d behaved without a thought for anyone else. But that was when he was a different man, before everything changed.
Well, maybe not everything.
As he gazed at Miss Colbrook, an old but familiar desire to annoy her overtook him. He couldn’t resist adding, “A ride together will allow me to tell you about all the improvements I have planned. If that is agreeable to you?”
“As you wish,” she said. Her tiny gold earbobs—the only jewelry she wore—flashed in the candlelight as she dropped her gaze to her plate. She began cutting up her asparagus, allowing her knife to squeak repeatedly against the china.
“Tell me, Miss Colbrook,” Lady Carlton said later that evening, “is it true you’ve received no offers of marriage these past six years?”
The sitting room was suddenly so quiet that Anna could hear the fire hiss in the hearth behind her. On the sofa across from her, Cecelia and Madeline turned towards Lady Carlton. Madeline’s mouth had fallen open in shock. Even Cecelia looked embarrassed. And Lord Wareton at least had the decency to cringe. The chair he sat in on the opposite side of the hearth—Anna’s favorite chair—creaked as he leaned back, closed his eyes, and began rubbing his temples.
He looked as if he wished he were anywhere else. One thing they could agree on, Anna thought.
She folded her hands in her lap and forced what she hoped was a serene smile. Meanwhile she silently wished the ground would open and swallow the new arrivals to Wareton Manor, leaving her and Madeline in peace.
Well, maybe not Cecelia. The earl’s sister might be quite tolerable away from her overbearing aunt. And Lord Wareton, unpleasant as some of his comments at dinner had been, was still vastly improved from years before. He was sober anyway.
He certainly looked healthier. He’d always been handsome, but now there was no hint of dissipation in him. His hazel eyes were unclouded by drink. His legs were more muscular than she recalled, and his shoulders broader. Not that she cared one bit about his impressive physique. Other than her fear that after a few more evenings, his large frame might break her favorite chair.
“Do not look so shocked,” Lady Carlton said, glancing around. “I only raise the most important issue, one that is on everyone’s mind.” She returned her gaze to Anna. “After all, you are the one we shall likely have the most trouble finding a husband for.” Lady Carlton pointed an embroidery needle in Anna’s direction. “You lack the direct connections or fortune of Cecelia and Madeline. And your age presents a challenge. However, I was married for the second time at your age, and I refuse to give up on anyone, no matter how old.”
“You are too kind,” Anna said, unable to keep her tone even.
It was their first night at the manor. She must try to be polite, no matter how much she had been dreading the new earl’s arrival, and no matter how rude his aunt was. And she knew the topic of marriage would be unavoidable. Which was fine, so long as no one pried too much.
“Who was the gentleman who offered for you?” Lady Carlton asked.
“Mr. George Harley,” Anna said.
“Yes, I recall now,” Lady Carlton said. “I heard you turned him down.”
Anna said nothing. Let her believe that. She’d allowed so many people to believe it for so long, she’d almost convinced herself. The truth would have been far too painful for Madeline as a child. Perhaps now that Madeline was old enough to not necessarily blame herself, Anna would finally tell her stepsister what had really happened. But not yet. And certainly not here, in front of people who were practically strangers.
“And is it true your parents left you only four thousand pounds?” Lady Carlton asked.
“Yes,” Anna said.
“A modest sum,” Lady Carlton said, “but enough to attract a suitable gentleman for you, I would think.” She pointed the needle at her again. “If you would only make it clear that you would welcome an offer, you might manage to find a suitor.”
“Anna remains unmarried because she chooses to,” Madeline said, “not for lack of a suitor.”
Wonderful. Anna glared at Madeline, adding her stepsister to the list of people she wished the earth would swallow.
“Indeed, Miss Madeline.” Lady Carlton jabbed her needle into her embroidery, leaving it there. “And what gentleman has expressed interest in your stepsister?”
“I am…” Madeline glanced at Anna and looked quickly away. “Not at liberty to say.” Madeline grabbed her own needlework from the table beside her and hunched over it until her dark curls hid her eyes.
Lady Carlton leaned forward. “I shall learn soon enough, so you may as well tell me now—”
“I have no suitors,” Anna said, “because I have made it known that I wish to remain here with Madeline until she marries.”
“An older sister waiting for a younger to marry?” Lady Carlton scowled. “Nine years younger? Ridiculous!”
Madeline’s fingers stilled on her embroidery. She lifted her head and glanced toward Anna.
Anna pushed away a familiar stab of annoyance. It was not Madeline’s fault that her grandfather had been so cruel. She never wanted Madeline to feel guilty for what had happened. She met Madeline’s gaze and smiled.
Madeline quickly returned the smile and resumed her needlework, her head held higher.
Anna leaned back in her chair. She met Lady Carlton’s sharp gaze and smiled again. Lady Carlton’s frown grew.
Horrid woman. And yet, she should still probably welcome her arrival. And Lord Wareton's.
Madeline was eighteen now, at last old enough to marry, and Lady Carlton and Lord Wareton would help secure her future. Anna wanted more than anything to see Madeline happily s
ettled. And once Madeline wed, Anna would finally be free to do so as well.
But she’d be damned if Lady Carlton would choose one gown for her, let alone a husband. She refused to be manipulated into marriage and to be used as a commodity like her mother was. When she married, it would be on her own terms.
The truth was, although once she’d been desperate to escape Wareton Manor, everything had changed when the old earl, Alfred Sinclair, had died.
His heir, Horace Sinclair, the sixth earl, had been in no hurry to leave his beloved home in the West Indies. Anna had boldly written to him and offered to manage things in his absence. Miraculously, he’d agreed.
So after years of being a poor relation relegated to the shadows, she had become caretaker of a vast estate. She’d immersed herself in improving Wareton, challenging herself to see how quickly and how thoroughly she could banish the dismal atmosphere that had hung over the estate for so long. She’d fallen deeply in love with Wareton, and at last it had felt like her home.
But she’d been deceiving herself.
She never truly belonged here, as the new earl’s presence demonstrated. His aunt had already returned her to her proper place as a step-relation, fortunate to be permitted to live in a household so far above her birth. Undoubtedly, she should be grateful for the past few years of happiness. At the moment, she just couldn’t bring herself to feel thankful.
“Now that we are living with Madeline,” Lady Carlton said, “there is certainly no reason to continue to deny yourself opportunities. I shall help—”
“Lady Carlton,” Anna said, rising, “it is kind of you to concern yourself with my happiness, but you must excuse me. I have a book I am eager to finish.”
“Books,” Lady Carlton murmured, frowning. “No wonder.”
That comment snuffed out any guilt Anna felt about not remaining by the fire. She snatched a book from a nearby shelf and marched to the window seat at the far side of the room.
A person could only endure so much in one day.
Adrian envied Miss Colbrook’s escape.
As his aunt began to interrogate Madeline about local bachelors, Adrian stood. He took a turn about the room, wandering from painting to painting. He only half-listened to the ladies’ conversation about potential husbands, though he knew he should probably pay close attention. Marrying them off was of primary importance.
Unquestionably, Miss Colbrook would be the most difficult to find a match for. Her decision to remain with her stepsister had undoubtedly cost her any chance of marrying. In spite of his aunt’s determination, Miss Colbrook would probably end up a spinster, likely living with Madeline when she married.
Yet if Miss Colbrook already had a suitor, as her stepsister implied, perhaps there was still hope. Then again, she might have little interest in the gentleman or in marrying at all. Remaining at Wareton to care for her stepsister might simply be an excuse to avoid marriage altogether.
As he neared her, he paused. “What are you reading?” he asked.
“A book.” She didn’t glance up, but briskly turned a page and kept reading.
She hadn’t changed much. She was still an extremely irritating woman. And now she was snubbing him on his first night at his new home. After nearly a week of traveling, three days under constant barrage from Lady Carlton’s prattle, and now faced with Miss Colbrook’s rudeness, he found his patience was wearing thin.
He crossed his arms. “What is the title?”
“A Guide to Game Keeping.” She kept her eyes on the book.
“Game keeping.” Leave it to her to be reading something so unconventional for a woman.
“Yes.” She finally looked up from the book. “Have you not read it?”
“No.”
“Ah.” The look she gave him implied that she’d expected as much. “You really should read it. It is considered the best—”
“I am familiar with it.” Arrogant woman. Did she believe he was that ignorant?
“Then why have you not read it?” She drew a bookmark from her lap and dropped it between the pages. She gently closed the cover and gazed up at him. “Do you not keep game at Eastgate?”
Her eyes were a lovely deep blue, and so deceptively sweet-looking.
“I do,” he said, irritated at himself for noticing her eyes. “My steward has read it.”
She straightened and frowned. “Ah.” And there it was again, that look both disapproving and yet not surprised. “Of course.”
She might have time to sit about reading every detail of estate management, even those best left to the staff, but he had more pressing matters to see to.
“Is the steward here not competent?” he asked.
Her eyes widened and then narrowed. “Mr. Evans is quite competent. I hired him myself.”
“And the gamekeeper as well?”
“Of course.”
“And yet you still feel that you must read this?” he asked.
She scowled. “One cannot judge competence from a position of ignorance.” She flipped the book open again.
A blatant insult now. He felt a jolt of anger that energized him; for the first time in days, he realized that he didn’t feel tired and bored. Annoyed, but at least not bored.
“Indeed,” he said. “But the care of the estate is no longer your concern.”
She flinched, and he pushed away a twinge of guilt. He only spoke the truth, a truth she obviously needed to be reminded of. Besides, she’d been rude to him since his arrival.
She kept her eyes on the book, frowning. But she was only pretending to read; he could tell that her eyes were moving over the same lines again and again.
“I also have no need of a book on the subject,” he added, “as I am quite knowledgeable from firsthand experience. But I am not surprised you require such a book, you likely have no personal experience with—”
She abruptly raised her head. “You know almost nothing about me.” She dropped her gaze back to the page.
He knew one thing about her—she wasn’t hampered by an overabundance of good manners. He found it both irritating and refreshing.
“Adrian!” Lady Carlton called out. “I must speak with you.” He turned away, but as he crossed the room, he glanced back at Miss Colbrook.
She was right—he didn’t know her at all. He had the sudden disturbing notion that he wanted to know more about her, much more. Purely to find a way to convince her to marry, of course.
The sooner she left his home, the better.
2
While waiting for Lord Wareton outside the stables the next morning, Anna discovered a thick smudge of chocolate on the sleeve of her riding habit. Last night it had taken her hours to fall asleep and then she’d overslept. She’d been forced to eat a hasty breakfast in her room while she dressed, which explained the chocolate. As if she weren’t already mussed enough, she thought.
In addition to the stain, her left boot was noticeably scuffed, and her hair was already falling from beneath her hat. Those annoyances only added to her already dark mood, brought on by the fact that the entire household was treating Lord Wareton’s arrival with as much enthusiasm as if he were the Prince Regent himself. Even Madeline seemed completely taken in by him.
“Good morning, Miss Colbrook.”
She turned to see Lord Wareton emerging from the stable entrance. She nodded, unable to force a smile. “Lord Wareton.”
His dark green double-breasted coat, black breeches, and striped cravat were spotless. He looked as if he never went out with one thread out of place, let alone a stained coat.
He smelled good too. As he strode past her, she inhaled the scent of his shaving soap, a clean, masculine aroma that was startlingly unfamiliar.
It had been a long time since a gentleman had resided at Wareton, and at thirty, he was far younger than any in her memory. He mounted his horse in one graceful motion. Like the previous evening, he seemed restless, as if he might easily ride all day—so different from the lazy, alcohol-influenced mann
er he’d possessed in the past.
Yet he wasn’t completely changed. He was still rude, and his comments last night about her book had been particularly obnoxious. Perhaps she hadn’t been completely well-mannered either, but he’d been worse. He’d made it clear that her help with the estate was no longer needed, yet he still expected her to accompany him today.
She mounted her chestnut mare and declined the groom’s offer to accompany them. She nudged her horse onto a path that ran to the north, towards the woods and the tenant farms. The day was warm and breezy with only a scattering of puffy clouds. Yet the perfect weather only made her feel worse; she wished it were gloomy out, like her mood.
As Lord Wareton rode alongside her, looking much too pleased with his new inheritance, her mood dropped even further. As much as she’d braced herself for his arrival, his presence was affecting her even more intensely than she’d expected.
She knew she must pull herself together. But each time she glanced at him, her heart ached more.
She should at least be grateful that he was improved from the wastrel she’d encountered occasionally in London and at family funerals. Apparently, the war had changed him dramatically, and he had even been honored for bravery, though she knew little of the details. But the experience had seemingly so altered him that since his return, he’d behaved irreproachably for over a year now. Or so went the gossip.
Still, for all his improved behavior, she’d heard that his estate at Eastgate was deeply in debt. Would he manage Wareton any better? Most likely he would have little involvement in the details—his attitude towards reading about game keeping certainly suggested as much. He was probably a gentleman who would enjoy shooting but think little of the work that made it possible.
He slowed his horse and gestured towards a small hill crowned with a Grecian-style temple. “A lovely spot to construct a terrace,” he said. “The view would be wonderful.”
Her mother had designed the site soon after arriving at Wareton, but it had fallen into disrepair after her mother’s death because the old earl had refused to pay for its maintenance. This past spring, Anna had spent several weeks repairing and updating the temple with new plants and statuary.
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