Practically Wicked

by Alissa Johnson

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Amongst the wild ladies and wicked gentlemen.” She picked up and began filling a plate of her own. “Was it terribly exciting?”

  “I…No, not particularly,” Anna replied automatically, then wished she hadn’t. Nothing in Lady Winnefred’s tone or bearing suggested she was interested in condemning. Rather the lady was merely inviting Anna to share a story or two.

  And now the lady looked mildly disappointed.

  Anna swore silently. Speaking of her life at Anover House was not ideal, but it was shortsighted of her to rebuff a friendly invitation. She sought for a way to satisfy Lady Winnefred’s curiosity without horrifying her but couldn’t come up with anything more substantial than, “It was quite loud on occasion.”

  Fortunately, Lady Winnefred seemed appeased by that. She nodded in understanding. “London seems always to be prodigiously loud to me. I much prefer the peacefulness of the country.”

  Anna’s heart leapt at those words. Something in common. They had something in common. “I do as well,” she returned, picking up her plate once more. “I’ve only been here a very short time, mind you, but I always knew I’d like the country more than town.”

  “I always knew I wouldn’t like London, even before I’d ever visited.”

  Anna tried to recall what history she knew of Lady Winnefred, but couldn’t come up with more than, “You’re from Scotland, are you not?”

  “In a roundabout sort of way,” Lady Winnefred said. “I’m English born. When my father passed, I became ward to the late Marquess of Engsly. Lilly was a cousin to his second wife, recently orphaned as well and in need of help. We were taken to Scotland and left there.”

  Anna was caught off guard by that last statement, and the matter-of-fact tone in which it was delivered. She had an image of a carriage stopping just on the other side of England’s border, dropping off two young women, and turning round again.

  “Left there?”

  “At Murdoch House, my farm,” Lady Winnefred clarified, as she carefully selected a slice of roast beef.

  Anna wasn’t sure that was altogether better. “Alone?”

  “Very much so. Though I think Lilly, being responsible for the both of us, felt it more than I.”

  “How old were you?”

  “I was thirteen. Lilly…a few years older.” She smiled impishly. “She doesn’t like it when I mention her age.”

  “Good heavens. You were children.”

  “By some standards,” Lady Winnefred returned and reached for a thick slice of bread.

  Anna was floored by the realization that she had something very significant in common with Lady Winnefred and Lady Engsly. They too knew what it was like to be isolated from the rest of the world.

  “That must have been…” Terrifying, she thought. Thirteen ought to be childhood by everyone’s standards. “Difficult.”

  “Very, at times. But I’d not trade Murdoch House for the world. It’s home.”

  Anna didn’t have a response to that. Somehow, I’ve traded Anover House for the promise of a thousand pounds and a friendly dog didn’t seem right.

  Lady Winnefred jerked her chin at Anna’s empty plate. “Are you not hungry?”

  “What? Oh, right.”

  Rather than take a seat at the table, Lady Winnefred leaned a hip against the sideboard and waited while Anna filled her plate. “Tell me more of this Anover House. Is it true that the ladies really run about all day with the tops of their gowns down around their waists?”

  Anna nearly dropped the fork she was holding. “Where did you hear that?”

  “From Lilly, and she knows everything.”

  “She is mistaken.” Anna caught Winnefred’s fallen expression and took a risk. “Though perhaps not entirely mistaken. There are some women who, at some parties, are not averse to, shall we say, advertising their wares. But it’s not done by all the ladies, and it’s not done all day.”

  “I see. Have you ever—?”

  “No.”

  Lady Winnefred bobbed her head, thoughtful. “I can’t imagine being so bold. I’m no prude, mind you, but prancing about without one’s clothing…” She tilted her head ever so slightly and squinted her eyes, giving Anna the distinct impression that her ladyship was envisioning herself naked at the breakfast table. “No…No, I don’t think I could do it either. Should dearly love to see it, though. What a ridiculous sight it must be.”

  Anna had only caught sight of such a spectacle a few times. Ridiculous was the perfect description. “It’s not an experience one wishes to repeat.”

  Lady Winnefred nodded, sent a wary glance at the door. “Lord, I’ll never hear the end of it if Lilly hears of this conversation, but I must know…Do the gentlemen ever participate?”

  Anna could scarce believe she was having this conversation with a lady. “Less often, but it has happened.”

  “Have you seen it happen?”

  She’d once caught a glimpse out a window of a gentleman’s bare backside as he’d dashed through her mother’s torch-lit garden after goodness only knew what. But before she could tell Lady Winnefred the story, they were interrupted by a voice in the doorway.

  “Has she seen what?” Lord Gideon inquired, eyeing them both when Lady Winnefred smiled at him without comment and Anna took an extreme interest in her selection of cheese. “Do I want to know what we’re discussing?”

  “No,” the women replied in unison.

  Anna glanced up in time to see Lord Gideon shrug lightly. “Fair enough. Just be careful Lilly doesn’t hear of it.” He looked to her and offered a jovial wink. “She lectures.”

  Anna felt a bubble of laughter catch in her throat as she shared a private smile with Lady Winnefred on their way to the table. They had a secret, she realized with growing wonder. A silly, harmless, even pointless secret, to be sure. But a secret nonetheless.

  Perhaps she wasn’t so inept at conversing with ladies after all, she mused. And as the afternoon progressed, she began to wonder if she might be able to get on well enough with all the Haverstons.

  After filling his plate, Lord Gideon joined in their conversation, which had moved on to the delights of country living. Lady Winnefred happily extolled the benefits of residing on a farm while Gideon teasingly baited her by extolling the benefits of residing with a happy wife, even if it meant extra time and travel for supplies and company.

  Lucien and Lady Engsly entered the conversation when they arrived minutes later, with Lady Engsly being a proponent of town life, while Lucien recused himself from the debate, declaring he couldn’t possibly choose between the pleasure of agreeing with his wife or contradicting his brother.

  When Mrs. Culpepper arrived, introductions were made anew and then, to Anna’s great delight, the conversation immediately resumed when Lord Gideon asked Mrs. Culpepper her views on country versus town life.

  Just like that, they had invited Mrs. Culpepper into their conversation, who appeared to take to it like fish to water. Or perhaps diplomat to compromise. She quickly agreed with Lord Gideon’s claim that it was one’s company that mattered, not one’s location.

  The lively debate continued with Max’s arrival.

  Whilst Anna’s enjoyment of it dimmed considerably.

  Max was quite vehement in his objection to residing anywhere but in town. Country estates were for visiting, he opined. London was for life.

  It came as no surprise to Anna, of course. He’d made clear his thoughts on the subject before. But it was disheartening, nonetheless, to hear him voice a view of the world so incompatible with her own.

  When he excused himself from the group soon after, Anna discovered with a heavy heart that she was unable, or perhaps merely unwilling, to look at him as he passed.

  It wasn’t until Mrs. Culpepper leaned over and whispered, “Eyes straight ahead, dear,” several minutes later that Anna realized she was staring at her plate. Anna sent her a smile that was half gratitude, half apology.

  Now
was not the time to be glum. She’d not let a divergence of opinion with Max ruin her day, and certainly not her success with the Haverstons. The laughter and teasing she’d spied in the front hall had returned. She wasn’t adding much to the discussion, but neither was she detracting from their enjoyment of it, and that was a tremendous improvement.

  Anna wasn’t ready yet to declare that she’d been welcomed in by the Haverstons. But she’d not been unwelcomed. And that was a promising start.

  Chapter 17

  Anna could not recall a time when she’d ever been so desirous of a nap.

  It was amazing, really, how a person might walk for hours about the fields and woods without exhausting herself, but a single hour amongst the lively Haverston clan and she could scarcely see straight.

  Exhausted but pleased, Anna twined her arm with Mrs. Culpepper’s as they walked down the hall toward their chambers. “What a day this has been.”

  “Indeed.” Mrs. Culpepper patted her hand gently. “What do you make of your family?”

  “We’ve only just met them, but they seem kind. What do you think?”

  “I think they are men and women of honor.”

  Anna pulled back a little for a better view of her friend’s face. “That is a very definitive opinion for so short an acquaintance.”

  “You forget, I was aware of your brothers’ reputations long before meeting them.”

  “And you set great store by reputation?” Anna inquired, knowing full well the answer was no.

  Mrs. Culpepper stopped them in the hallway between the doors to their chambers. “In this instance, with your family…Yes. Their reputation for being an honorable family was, and is, of importance to me.”

  Anna wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. The sentiment was so unlike her friend. According to Mrs. Culpepper, reputation was rarely representative of a person’s true character. “Why would you make an exception for them?”

  “Because everything about them has the power to affect you.” Mrs. Culpepper took a step toward her door. “I should like a word with you inside, please.”

  Anna wanted to take a step back. “You look dreadfully serious.”

  “It is a matter of some gravity that I wish to discuss. Inside, dear.”

  “Yes, all right.” Only it wasn’t all right, particularly. They’d had a lovely afternoon. What sort of somber business was there to discuss?

  Mrs. Culpepper wasted no time in answering that question. Upon entering her chambers, she walked to the middle of the room, turned about, and announced, “The time has come for me to retire.”

  Anna stepped inside and closed the door behind her. “You are retired,” she said slowly. “You left employment when we left Anover House.”

  “Allow me to rephrase. It is time for me to leave.”

  “Caldwell Manor?” Anna shook her head lightly, more confused than upset. “I’ve not received the thousand pounds yet. I can’t leave.”

  “No. You shouldn’t leave Caldwell, but that is another discussion.” She caught Anna’s gaze and held it. “I am leaving, dear. I am going to my sister’s. She has been desirous of my company since her husband died three years ago, leaving her quite alone, and she is not as strong as she once was.”

  “Oh.” Anna crossed the room and took her friend’s hand. “Oh, Mrs. Culpepper, I am sorry. Is she ill? Why did you not—?”

  “She is not ill. But we are of an age, dear.”

  “Of an…?” Annoyed, Anna dropped Mrs. Culpepper’s hand. “You are of the ideal age to be looking forward to a long and happy life.”

  “And so I shall,” Mrs. Culpepper calmly agreed. “With my sister. I have kept her waiting long enough.”

  Three years, Anna thought. It was a long time for her to have put off the trip. “Why did you not say something before?”

  “I would never have left you at Anover House and I’d not have cared for an argument on the subject.”

  “I’d not have—”

  “Nor would I care to have an argument on the subject now,” Mrs. Culpepper said sternly. “I have been waiting for the Haverstons to arrive so that I might take measure of the family as a whole. This afternoon has convinced me you are safe here at Caldwell.”

  Anna bit the inside of her cheek to keep from arguing and to keep calm. Why Mrs. Culpepper had kept her silence until now was not the problem. The fact that Mrs. Culpepper was determined to leave, that was a problem. It was on the tip of Anna’s tongue to promise Mrs. Culpepper that she’d not have to leave alone. Surely Lucien could now be convinced to pay the thousand pounds.

  But Anna couldn’t make herself offer the promise. She couldn’t leave Caldwell. Not yet.

  Instead, she surprised herself by blurting out the rather childish and embarrassing confession, “I still need you.”

  Mrs. Culpepper’s features softened. “This time was to come eventually, dear. You are too old for a governess and no longer in need of a paid companion. You’ve family now.”

  Anna wanted to say that Mrs. Culpepper had been more than a governess and companion. She’d been more than a friend. She was family. But the words caught in her throat. Mrs. Culpepper was many things—compassionate, clever, witty…and wholly uncomfortable with open displays of sentiment.

  It would be inexcusably selfish of her to try to convince Mrs. Culpepper to stay. More, a fuss would accomplish nothing but to leave them both feeling doubly miserable.

  Anna cleared her throat, finding it difficult to swallow past the lump forming there. “When are you to go?”

  Perhaps something would happen before then to change Mrs. Culpepper’s mind. Her sister might decide to remarry, or move closer to London, or—

  “At dawn.”

  “At…tomorrow?” There was no possible chance of an engagement by tomorrow. “But…so soon.” It was too soon. She wasn’t ready.

  “I did not want a long good-bye.”

  Anna opened her mouth, shut it. She didn’t know what to say to that, what to do with it.

  I don’t want to say good-bye at all. I don’t want you to go.

  “I need…I should like a walk,” she announced, and headed for the door. She had to get out of the room. “We’ll discuss this later.”

  If Mrs. Culpepper had a response to that, Anna neither heard nor saw it. She was out the door and down the hall in the blink of an eye. A few minutes, that was all she needed. A few minutes alone to clear her head and calm herself. Or better yet, a few minutes alone with Max. If she couldn’t argue the matter with Mrs. Culpepper, then she could talk it through with Max. It was bound to help.

  Only Max wasn’t available.

  Lord Dane, a maid informed her, had left for Menning and was expected to return early tomorrow. Anna knew Menning as a town ten miles away, a halfway stop between Caldwell Manor and McMullin Hall. Sadly, the maid had not been informed why His Lordship had found it necessary to hie off to another town.

  Menning wasn’t any larger than Codridgeton. It hadn’t any attractions one couldn’t just as easily find in Codridgeton.

  Unless, of course, the attraction one sought had a specific name.

  Anna didn’t want to think about that, about Max’s love of the demimonde, and the demimonde’s love of excess…every sort of excess.

  But now that she was thinking on it, she was forced to admit that it was naïve to have assumed Max didn’t have a mistress. He might very well have several. For all she knew, he had a legion of them, scattered about the countryside and the various neighborhoods of London. Where was the fun in being moderate in one’s excesses, after all?

  He might have children as well, she realized. He might have dozens. He might…

  Anna stopped in the hall outside the library and took a deep, calming breath.

  She was working herself into a snit over nothing. Or quite possibly nothing. Either way, it was rash and unfair of her to presume there was something. Max might have been summoned by an ailing friend, for all she knew. Why assume the worst?

&
nbsp; Why presume she had any right to care at all? They’d made no promises.

  Anna shoved that thought aside. “One trouble at a time.”

  And right now, that trouble remained Mrs. Culpepper’s immediate departure from Caldwell.

  And right now, Anna was left with no other choice but to spend the next half hour in the library, feeling very much alone. And then, when she was confident she could do so with her composure intact, she returned to Mrs. Culpepper’s chambers to help her friend pack.

  Chapter 18

  The next day dawned all too soon, and with weather that was fittingly miserable. A steady drizzle had begun the night before and persisted into morning when it grew into a proper downpour.

  Anna had listened to it pelt the windows in the front parlor as Mrs. Culpepper said her good-byes to the Haverstons, and now she stood under the sheltering portico and watched it soak the footmen loading Mrs. Culpepper’s carriage.

  Next to her, Mrs. Culpepper supervised the proceedings. “Your mother’s staff might take a lesson or two from these fine people. Tremendously efficient.”

  Anna made a noncommittal noise that may or may not have been heard over the rain.

  Mrs. Culpepper gave her a bolstering pat on the shoulder. “Here now, not so glum, dear. We are at the start of new adventures, you and I. When next we meet, we shall have such stories to tell.”

  Anna nodded, but said nothing. She wanted to be perfectly self-possessed for Mrs. Culpepper, the very picture of composure. It would make things easier on both of them and, better yet, make Mrs. Culpepper proud. But it was all she could do to breathe past the damned, awful lump in her throat. She’d hoped it would lessen with sleep, but it seemed to have only grown during the night.

  “Now then,” Mrs. Culpepper pressed on. “Should you need assistance for any reason—”

  “I know.” Anna cleared her throat, kept her gaze focused on the drive ahead of her. “And should you need me—”

  “Yes, of course.” Mrs. Culpepper brushed at the sleeves of her traveling gown. “And you must promise to write faithfully or I shall know the reason why.”