petent woman her business, Annette tugged at her gloves. "If you want to keep Jack home from school for the next day or so, I will understand. Just do not make his absence extend too long. He is doing very well in his studies."
Surprised, Mrs. Farmer paused in refolding a blanket. "You will be keeping on with the school then?"
"Keep it on? Of course. Why would I close down the school?"
The farmwife cast a significant glance down the road. "It looks to me like you're going to be busy with a husband."
Annette also looked down the lane. "I am not marrying the baronet. And even if I did, the school would remain open."
"When a woman marries, her husband's wishes come first." Mrs. Farmer pursed her lips. "I heard tell the baronet weren't too pleased about your school."
Since that was the truth, Annette could not argue against it. "I am not marrying Sir Gerard."
Mrs. Farmer shrugged. "So you say. But I always figured you to be a woman who didn't spread her kisses around lightly."
Annette could only gape in helpless frustration. She did not kiss every man in sight, but protesting would only further confirm the other's supposition. Drat that man! She wished he was still within earshot so she could tell him what she thought of him. Naturally he had made good his escape—after kissing her in front of every man and his wife.
Gathering her skirts in one hand, Annette climbed into her landau. Attempting to regain her dignity, she said in a regal tone, "You may rest assured that the school will re-
main open. Please be sure to pass that word among the others who may wonder."
"I'll do it." The woman's tone was respectful, but Annette suspected its deference.
"If you need more food or other supplies, let me know. I will see about obtaining them."
"Thank you kindly, Miss Courtney. We shouldn't need too much, since the baronet will so quickly rebuild our home."
There was no mistaking the admiration Mrs. Farmer displayed for Sir Gerard. Annette tightened her lips. She suspected how that project was to be funded. She must take the matter up with the baronet at dinner tonight.
She managed to reply graciously. "I am glad he is taking care of his tenants so well."
"It must be your influence." Mrs. Farmer nodded at the thought. "You're a good woman, and he's a good catch. You've done well for yourself, but it's no more than you deserve."
Annette controlled herself with what she considered to be admirable forbearance. "I think you are a trifle premature."
The woman smirked. "We will see."
"Good day, Mrs. Farmer." Annette slapped the reins across the horse's rump, and the landau wheeled out of the yard.
While she drove home, she had plenty of time to reflect on Sir Gerard and his maddening actions. How dare he kiss her so boldly! He must have known it would mark her as his in everyone's eyes. She most certainly did not want to be his. Did she?
Annette remembered how good it felt to be in his arms. For a moment, everything else had faded away. Not even
her concern for those burned out of their home had crossed her mind. Only Sir Gerard had dominated her senses.
When she had accused him of using the fortune to rebuild the cottage, his surprise seemed genuine. Now she wondered how he intended to pay for everything. Was she misjudging him?
A tiny bit of optimism burgeoned within her as she admitted to hoping she was wrong. A man with a compassionate nature was one she could care for. Lulled by the steady beat of the horse's hooves against the frozen road, she drifted into a daydream where she married Sir Gerard and together they eased the needy misery in Upper Brampton village and its countryside.
She was picturing the thanks from a family for a new well, when she remembered she had yet to answer Sir Gerard's proposal. She shook herself free from the fantasy so fiercely that she tugged on the reins, causing the horse to slow.
With a cluck and a slap of the reins, she urged the animal forward. This inattention was plain foolishness. She needed to carefully think about Sir Gerard's offer.
The crowd at the farmyard expected her school to close. She would never permit that to happen. And then there was the money-lender. What did his presence indicate about the baronet's character?
When Annette entered her dining room, her inner tumult must have appeared on her face, for Lucille dropped her slice of toast.
"Oh, Annette, what happened out there? Don't tell me someone was hurt."
"No, no one was injured, but the Farmers lost their entire cottage."
"How awful! What are they going to do now?"
Annette seated herself at the table and began to fill her plate. All the morning's excitement had sharpened her hunger. "They are going to live in their barn until Sir Gerard rebuilds their cottage."
"The baronet? What was he doing there?"
Annette told her about his plans.
"That's news well worth smiling about," Lucille said. She eyed her friend carefully, but Annette concentrated on smoothing jelly on her toast. "So why are you so upset?"
"I am not upset."
"Something is certainly bothering you. I should think you would be glad the new baronet is taking such an interest in his tenants. It's what you've always demanded."
With an exasperated sigh, Annette set down her food. "I might as well tell you. You will certainly hear about it from everyone else."
Lucille's eyes rounded with curiosity. "Hear what?"
"Sir Gerard kissed me in front of everyone in the farmyard."
"He did!" Lucille clapped her hands in delight. "How wonderful! Annette, he will make you a wonderful husband."
"I have not said I am going to marry him," Annette reminded her. She had known that kiss would put such notions into people's minds. She'd known it.
"But you will. After all, you like him, and he apparently cares about you."
"No mention of love, I see."
"Pooh!" Lucille waved her hand in dismissal. "He is titled and handsome. How could you not love him?"
These qualities attracted Annette just as much as his character did. After all, she was a woman as well as a spin-
ster. She wanted to accept Lucille's statements, but hesitated in believing her friend. "Maybe he is just after control of the fortune."
The other woman frowned as she considered this reminder. "You said he intended to rebuild the burned-down cottage. That shows he's a good man."
Since Annette agreed, she brought up the doubt that Mrs. Farmer had provoked, "But what about his opposition to the school?"
"You surely were not planning to teach once you married. That was only a temporary thing."
"I never meant for the school to be temporary."
"If you are so set upon it," Lucille soothed, "it can be one of your charities as the baronet's wife. You can still oversee its running."
It was the daily interaction with the children that Annette enjoyed so much. "You are assuming a whole marriage on the basis of one kiss," she muttered.
"A very public kiss."
Seeing she would get no support from her companion, Annette abandoned that topic. Pouring a cup of tea, she said, "It bothers me that Sir Gerard promised so much to the Farmers."
"/ think it's wonderful of him to do so."
"But what if he cannot fulfill his pledges?" Annette tore her toast into pieces. "He will leave them worse off because their hopes will be dashed."
"Why would he not rebuild their home?"
"Since I have known him, Sir Gerard has always informed me about his lack of money."
Lucille offered hopefully. "Maybe he found some."
"Maybe, but he never said where he was going to get the funds." Annette stirred the sugar into her tea. "That
money-lender bothers me. I do not know much about money management, but I do know one should avoid the cent-percenters at all costs."
In a more subdued tone, Lucille said, "I'm sure there is a reason."
"Perhaps we can find out tonight. He has invited us to
dinner at Hathaway Hall."
At this news, animation returned to Lucille, and she began to plan their wardrobes. Content to listen to her friend's bustling, Annette did not dare tell her of Sir Gerard's proposal. Not until she knew herself what her answer would be.
Sir Gerard rode Silver Shadow for a long, glorious trip through the forest and meadows. Despite the February winter, the early morning light sprinkled trees, bushes, and ground with a fresh sparkle. The snow gleamed among the dark bare branches. He spotted a tardy rabbit hurrying for his den. A hidden songbird thrilled a melody that aptly expressed his own feelings of bliss.
That same positive hunch cloaked him which he sometimes sensed when betting on a sure thing. Pictures of Annette flashed again and again through his mind. His attention lingered over the way her face looked that morning with her hair blown astray and concern deep in her eyes. He flicked the reins and remembered her at the Assembly. He smiled at her awkward attempts to flirt and at the determination she had displayed in preventing him from entering the card room. He could no longer think of her as Miss Courtney. Not when he had tasted her lips and held her close.
He had gambled when he kissed Annette, and it still re-
mained to see if this wager would be a winner. But how could he lose?
He did not fully understand why he had proposed. Logic dictated against her as a choice, but logic had never been his strong suit. A man who lived by his wits must learn to rely on instinct as much as rational thought.
During this ride, he soared on his sensations. He relished the strength of Silver Shadow's muscles moving beneath him, the sting of the cold on his nose, but so refreshingly clear in his lungs, and the crunch of his horse's hooves against the crust of the snow.
It was close to midday before he returned to Hathaway Hall. After informing the butler to prepare for dinner guests that evening and receiving his mail, Sir Gerard strolled into the library.
Sprawled on a chair, Linton looked up from the newspaper he was reading. "So at last you've come home. You certainly do keep country hours out here with such early rising."
Shrugging, Sir Gerard began to open his letters. 'Town hours will not work in Upper Brampton."
"Nothing works when the countryside is as dead as a doornail," his friend grumbled.
"I am sorry this visit is not to your liking." Sir Gerard's reply was perfunctory as he scanned his mail. The invitation to dinner at the local vicar's was probably not Linton's idea of a good time, but they would go, since it was something to do. The invoices for horse feed and other supplies he set down to handle later.
The last envelope, a thick and creamy one such as a duke might use, intrigued him. He turned it over, but there was no crest imprinted on the sealing wax. Slitting it open, he pulled out the letter.
The signature said Mortimer Wallace. The letter was a demand reminding Sir Gerard the full amount of his loan was due at the end of February. No extensions would be granted. Missing payment would not be a good idea.
His knees wobbled. Sir Gerard stumbled to a chair and fell into it. How could he meet this outrageous ultimatum? The money he intended to raise through a mortgage was earmarked for the estate's needs. He had nothing left to pay off the full debt to Wallace. He could only rely on the quarterly rents to pay the installments. When he had signed the loan, worrying about full payment had not concerned him. He was supposed to be a rich man!
His blissful morning shattered, he rubbed his temple.
"Bad news?"
"It's from Wallace." Sir Gerard answered. He lifted the letter from his lap and stared at it. Although the letters blurred before his stunned gaze, their wording remained the same.
Linton grimaced. "That is bad news. What does he want?"
"He still demands I pay the full loan amount at the end of the month."
"What are you going to do?"
"There is nothing I can do. He will be paid off in the quarterly amounts we originally agreed to. I will send him a letter reminding him of that."
Linton shook his head. "He won't like it. Nasty things happen to those who displease him."
"What can he do?" Sir Gerard asked reasonably, despite the apprehension that shivered down his spine. "He is in London and I am miles away in Upper Brampton— where nothing ever happens."
His attempt at humor recalled his friend to his griev-
ance. "I am not sure which is worse, the weather or the lack of activity." Linton shook the newspaper.
"If you want to go outside for activity, then join me for a morning ride."
Linton shuddered. 'Too cold."
"Then you probably would not enjoy outside in London either," Sir Gerard commented. "Perhaps you will take pleasure in the guests I have invited for dinner."
Peering over the newspaper, the other man asked, "Who?"
"Miss Courtney and her companion Mrs. Downes."
"The spinster and the pig farmer's widow."
A burning anger flashed through Sir Gerard. With two steps, he reached Linton's side and snatched the newspaper from his hands. "That rude remark is uncalled for. You will watch your tongue while the ladies are my guests."
His friend stared in astonishment. "Indeed. I know enough to do the pretty at the dinner table."
"It is your lack of respect towards the lady to whom I have offered which concerns me."
"You proposed to the spinster? Good for you!"
Mastering his anger, Sir Gerard released the newspaper. "I hope she accepts me."
"Don't worry, she will," Linton said. "I won't do anything to wreck your chances." Sir Gerard started to smile at the man's assurances, when Linton continued, "When you get your fortune, you won't have any more problems with that money-lender and can escape from this dreary countryside."
Sir Gerard froze, ready to take the man to task. Then his shoulders slumped. What would be the purpose? At one time, even he agreed with Linton's plan. Would no
one believe that he had proposed without a thought of the money in mind? Not even Annette.
He glanced at the letter lying where it had fallen on the rug. Life would be much simpler if he controlled the fortune. He may not have considered the money when he offered, but it very much dominated his mind now.
Perhaps because he wanted to hear Annette's answer, the day passed slowly until the dinner hour. He busied himself with a letter to the bank about a mortgage and brushed Silver Shadow's coat until the horse impatiently fidgeted under the attention. Then he wandered aimlessly through Hathaway Hall's grounds. The dead grass poked up through the light layer of snow. The air was quiet and still, as befitted the dead of winter. No bird's song trilled to break the silence. No longer did he see the sparkle in nature.
Now dread filled him. He feared her rejection.
At last, dusk fell and the ladies arrived. The welcoming bustle and the exchange of pleasantries occupied the time before they sat down to eat. Throughout the dinner, he tried to interpret Annette. What message did she send? She wore a blue gown made from a silk surely smuggled from France. Was such a dress a good omen? Or did the darkness of the blue mean to dampen his hopes? It was an extravagant choice for her, but it flowed on her with a smooth motion that made him want to kiss her again. Did she feel the same?
Her face offered no clue. In the flickering candlelight, he could not read the depths of her eyes. When he held her close that morning, the clarity of her gaze and the taste of her lips had lured him on.
Tonight she ate the soup and seemed to like the smoked
ham with pickled onions. He tasted nothing himself. Apprehension killed his taste buds.
She laughed at Linton's jokes and smiled uncertainly at his friend's extravagant compliments. He could have told the man that effusive praise only worried his practical Annette, but worry made his own tongue incapable of coherent speech.
After dinner as they returned to the drawing room, Linton said to him in a low tone, "I'll keep doing the pretty with Miss Courtney. She'll be so dazzled by my stories of Lond
on society, she'll accept your offer."
"No, she's not that type," Sir Gerard protested, reaching out to halt him, but his friend had already sauntered ahead.
In the drawing room, he poured Linton a glass of brandy and one for himself. The women seated themselves and took the glasses of ratafia he offered. Conversation centered around the doings of the village.
Sipping his brandy smuggled from France like the silk of her dress, Sir Gerard watched her. A log shifted in the fireplace, momentarily sending up a burst of extra light. Against this scene of domestic tranquility, his dinner lay heavy in his stomach. How could he draw her aside to hear her reply?
"Do you intend to go to London this spring?" Linton asked Annette.
"I had not planned to. My school is doing quite well now that it has a new stove." The smile she flashed at Sir Gerard warmed him like the stove must function for her students.
"I was not thinking of a business-related trip, but one of pleasure," Linton said. "The Season is definitely the time to visit the city."
Annette considered his statement. "I do not know how much pleasure there would be going to a city where I am unknown."
Sir Gerard recognized this as his opening. "An entree into society is what you need. I would be happy to introduce you." He leaned forward to say more, but Linton interrupted.
"Sir Gerard knows everyone. With him to guide you, London can be very exciting."
"Thank you for your very kind offer." Sir Gerard could see that Annette's interest was only polite.
Linton was not finished. "There is so much to do. Lots of people whom you would want to know. Parties and routs and theater—something is always happening. It's exciting and stimulating." The more he exclaimed, the more flushed his face became. He winked at his friend.
Sir Gerard frowned. Could the man not rein in his tongue long enough so he could speak? The social round did not appeal to Annette. He would lose her if Linton kept on.
Lucille said, "How can you ever choose what to do? There sounds like so much."
From the shine in her eyes, Sir Gerard knew Linton had won one supporter.
The spinster and the wastrel Page 13