Dante left the earl’s suite with a single purpose in mind; to speak with Anna. But no sooner had he ventured twenty feet into the hallway, his grandmother appeared from her private sitting room.
“A word with you.” His grandmother’s tone bespoke no time for argument, but Dante was not likely to oblige for too long this evening. He followed her into the room. The moment he entered the pink sitting room, the smell of peppermint assaulted his senses. He would always detest that smell.
He stood waiting for her to speak, not even attempting to hide his annoyance with her.
She sat perched on the edge of her seat, her posture perfectly vertical with the back of the chair. She had been a master at making him wait; dragging out the simplest discussion just to prove that she was in control.
“I hope you remember our agreement.” She pulled one delicate glove on her liver-spotted hand and then glanced up at him, narrowing her eyes, contemplating whether he understood.
“How could I forget?”
She smiled, clearly pleased with herself. “Excellent.” She began to pull on the other glove. “You may go.”
Dante would not give her the satisfaction of the last word. “I hope you remember that the choice of wife is mine. I will choose from any of the ladies in attendance.” His words had clearly struck a chord with her. He was playing with fire, but it was a chance he was willing to take to have Anna at his side.
Having made his final statement, he left the room, leaving his grandmother to stew in her own ultimatum.
* * *
As guests filled into the Italian room, Dante held his breath in nervous anticipation. When Gibbs had said her name, confirming her identity, he wanted to pull Anna into his embrace and rekindle what had been lost, but too many questions stood in their way. Anger and disappointment coiled through him like a snake about to strike. Why would her family tell him that she was dead?
“You look like you intend to kill someone,” his longtime friend Lord Colt said as he approached.
Dante was in no mood for idle talk. “I might have to,” he eyed his friend.
“What is the matter with you? Ever since you discovered that Lady Huntingdon had planned this house party you have been a volcano waiting to erupt.” His friend’s analogy was apropos. He had been dormant these past eight years and at any moment he felt like he would explode.
Running a hand through his hair, he turned to Colt and leaned close. “Do you remember the young lady who I had intended to marry eight years ago?”
“The one who died? Yes, you were a bloody mess for months.” Colt began to laugh. “Don’t tell me you are seeing ghosts again?” Colt had been his closest friend since he was a lad, had seen him through some of the darkest hours of his life, but he did not always have a way with words.
Dante shook his head. “Not ghosts, but the woman in the flesh and blood.”
Colt met his gaze, clearly stunned by what Dante had said. “But I thought her father told you she was dead.”
“He did, but I met her this afternoon.”
He shook his head in a double take, confusion wrinkling his features. “Where?”
“Here, in my house.” Dante could see the wheels turning in his friend’s mind. “No, I don’t believe she is here to extort or blackmail.”
“You never know,” he said with that sinister tone he had acquired after his own would-be fiancée had accused him of getting her with child and then abandoning her for another. Fortunate for Colt, the lady in question’s scheme was revealed before too much damage was done.
“She denied who she was and wanted nothing to do with me. And besides, Anna was not like that.” No, she was the most caring, honest woman he had ever met.
“Then how do you know it really is her?”
His patience was dangling by a thread, but he supposed he owed his closest friend some sort of explanation. “As we were arguing over her identity, Gibbs came into the room and said her name. It is her.”
“Did she explain why she was suddenly back from the dead and attending your grandmother’s house party?”
“No, she ran off.” Dante watched as another small group of guests entered the room. “But, I intend to get to the bottom of this tonight.” He would wait all night if needs be, even if he had to follow her to her room.
* * *
When Anastasia entered the Italian room with Philippa and Isabel by her side, all eyes seemed to turn toward them, but Anastasia felt the heat of the stares specifically on her. Her pulse was in competition with her heartbeat. Although she felt lightheaded, somehow she managed to make it to the nearest empty sofa without causing a scene. All propriety set aside, she plopped down and held her hand to her head, hoping that by the time she looked up, everyone would have found a new interest.
“Are you all right?” Philippa whispered from the seat beside her.
Anastasia could not even think clearly enough to form two words. From across the room she spied Lord Huntingdon eyeing her. She could have handled this evening much better if he weren’t present. She knew that at some point during the evening, he was going to corner her and ask questions. Some for which she would not have answers. She still could not comprehend why her family told him that she had died.
“Do you want to retreat?” Isabel questioned.
“No.” If only the firmness of her word was a match for the anxiety lurching within. If she had survived for this long, she could muster the energy to endure the house party. It was not like she could stay locked in her room until it was all over.
The trio sat on the settee in quiet contemplation. Philippa had the look of a woman who was about to scheme. Anastasia leaned in and in a hushed tone scolded, “I do hope that you are not plotting anything.”
Philippa’s eyes rounded with a Who, me? look. Anastasia was all too familiar with that look. It usually meant that Philippa was concocting some sort of scheme. “Please,” Anastasia began in her most pleading tone, “I beg you not to intervene.”
“I would not do anything that would bring any harm or embarrassment to you.” Philippa patted her hand. “Trust me.”
Anastasia did trust Philippa, but was still worried that she would play matchmaker. If Weston were here, he would agree. His wife had a knack for such craftiness. As if sensing that Anastasia might tell her so, Philippa excused herself to go and speak with Lady Lamden.
“I wish this evening was already at an end.” Isabel worried her hands in her lap. She appeared just as nervous as Anastasia, but for entirely different reasons.
“I know,” Anastasia said as she offered a sympathetic look. “It will get easier with time.” She was not going to remind Isabel how hectic the London season would be, but she wanted to offer words of encouragement. “And besides…” Her words died off as the room suddenly quieted.
Without even glancing in the direction of the opening, Anastasia knew who had just entered the room. The dread in the pit of her stomach was slowly forcing its way up her throat. She truly detested the way that woman made her feel. After several deep breaths and some incoherent reassurance from Isabel, Anastasia turned toward where everyone was glancing.
Lady Huntingdon made her grand entrance. Clad in black, she looked like death with her pale features and large biscuit-colored eyes. She settled a harsh gaze on Anastasia. A shiver ran down her spine and Anastasia had to fight the urge to get up and run from the room. She wished that somebody, anybody, would distract Lady Huntingdon from her target.
Help came from an unlikely source. “Grandmother,” Lord Huntingdon began as he stepped in front his grandmother, blocking her view of Anastasia, “Lady Brenda and Lady Mathilda were most curious about your recent holiday in Bath.” He did not give his grandmother the opportunity to speak, but guided her toward a group across the room, where Anastasia presumed the ladies in question were sitting. He glanced over his shoulder and gave Anastasia a sympathetic nod and reassuring smile.
Her body stilled, but those butterflies began to wreak havoc with her insides. She demanded her eyes glance away from Lord Huntingdon. She did not want to remember his dashing smile, or the way he made her knees weak with just a simple glance, and she definitely did not want to remember how his lips felt on her.
Warmth flooded her senses. The room seemed to close in about them. She could not draw her gaze away from his. He held her captive with those mesmerizing eyes. She swallowed hard, fumbling to open her fan.
“Miss Quintin, you look positively discombobulated,” Miss Saunders stated in her usual high-pitched squeak, which served to break the spell that Lord Huntingdon had over her. “Perhaps you would enjoy a turn on the veranda.”
“Yes,” she somehow managed to utter out between waves of her fan. “I believe I would enjoy some fresh air.” With more energy than she thought possible, Anastasia practically jumped off the settee. “Isabel, will you join us?”
Isabel really did not need any encouragement to escape the crowded room. Within a matter of moments, the three women had emerged into the cool night air. Isabel kept to herself, gazing across the moonlit landscape. Anastasia knew her dearest friend was longing for the quiet solitude of Knights Hall just as much as she.
“It is so pleasant here in the country,” Miss Saunders said as she went to the elegant balustrade.
“It is indeed. Do you not spend much time in the country, Miss Saunders?” Anastasia had always assumed that most only went to town during the season.
“No, most of my time is spent in London or Bath.” She gestured toward the shimmering lake. “Oh, but look how the moonlight plays upon the water. I would never leave if I had views such as this.”
Anastasia agreed with those sentiments. Paradiso was a splendid estate with all sorts of diversions. Any woman would be most fortunate to live in a setting such as this. It was a sobering thought. One of the ladies inside would be the next countess with him at her side. Anastasia turned away, hoping the darkness concealed her dismay.
“I’ve never been to Bath,” Isabel began as she guided Miss Saunders back toward the door.
“Oh, it is quite a lovely place. I prefer it much more than London.” Miss Saunders continued to ramble about why she preferred Bath, giving Anastasia plenty of time to regain her composure.
When she approached the pair, Miss Saunders turned her attention back to Anastasia. “You look much recovered, Miss Quintin.”
“I am, thank you.”
Miss Saunders smiled sweetly, the deep dimples lighting up the dim veranda. She really was one of the most thoughtful ladies she had ever met. She embraced Anastasia’s arm and said with much excitement, “I am glad to have met you. I hope you do not think me forward, but I feel a certain connection with you.”
Anastasia had noticed it too. This was not the only time that Miss Saunders had come to her rescue. It was nice to have friends that didn’t judge.
“I feel the same.”
Dinner was announced and the three walked in silence back into the Italian room. Philippa, Isabel, Miss Saunders, and Anastasia were all misfits in some way. Anastasia felt a certain camaraderie with her new friend.
Everyone partnered and filed into line. Anastasia knew that she would be the last to enter the dining hall. Holding her head high, she took her place beside Mr. Bacon. The man was eager, too eager in her opinion, to make her acquaintance.
“Lady Huntingdon has informed me that you are companion to Miss Albryght.”
“Yes, for the past eight years.” She detested this part of the evening, when she would be forced to make polite conversation.
“And you reside with Mr. and Mrs. Weston.”
“Yes, that is correct.” She shifted impatiently from one foot to the other, wondering how long they would be made to stand and wait.
“And I suppose that when Miss Albryght marries, you will seek a new position?”
Anastasia had not thought much about what would happen after Isabel married. She supposed she could not expect to be her companion forever.
Changes—too many changes. Not for the first time that evening had Anastasia wanted to run from the room and hide under the bedcovers like she used to when she was a little girl, frightened by thunder.
So lost in her thoughts, she did not hear Mr. Bacon until he repeated, “I say, Miss Quintin, don’t you agree?”
She had no clue as to what the man was referring to, so she simply smiled and nodded.
“I knew we were of the same mind.” His loud boisterous laugh echoed through the room, causing those around them, including Lord Huntingdon, to stare.
The couples paraded into the great dining hall with all the pomp and elegance expected from those who came from wealth and position. It was a scene from her childhood imagination. Only in those scenes, everyone was happy and pleasant, unlike most of the guests present, who only seemed to be putting on airs for Lady Huntingdon’s exclusive benefit. Anastasia longed for the leisurely, informal dinners at Knights Hall.
From the other end of the table, Anastasia could feel the heat of Lord Huntingdon’s gaze upon her. She did not know how much more she could handle in one evening.
“Would you care for buttered prawns?”
She blinked her eyes several times, trying to focus on the meal and not the way Lord Huntingdon made her feel.
“Yes, thank you, Mr. Bacon.” Her words were barely audible even to her own ears.
Despite how hard she tried to focus on the meal and the conversation that swirled around her, Anastasia continued to lose herself to thoughts of him. Why did he think her dead? Why had he never returned her letters? Why…?
“You are awfully quiet, Miss Quintin.” She did not know how long she had been lost in her musings, but Mr. Bacon’s intrusion and subsequent scold reminded her that she was on display.
“I do apologize; I fear that I am not myself this evening.”
With an air of superiority, Mr. Bacon leaned back in his chair, rubbed his excessive belly and declared, “I believe an evening of rest is in order.”
This was the only comment of his with which she agreed. Anastasia had already formulated her plan for escape.
* * *
All bloody evening he had wanted to talk to her. She had offered artificial smiles to Mr. Bacon and incoherent responses while gazing at her half-eaten plate of food. He knew her to be uncomfortable and there was nothing he could to do to aid her. He was furious with his grandmother for the way she glared at Anna when she first entered the Italian room. He may not understand what was going on or why she suddenly appeared at this house party, but Anna did not deserve his grandmother’s contempt.
Throughout dinner Anna had looked like she wanted nothing more than to escape. Every time he glanced at her, she had the look of someone deep in contemplation. He knew how she felt. He could not escape thoughts of her. Dammit, he wanted answers. He glanced over at Colt who offered a half smile that barely concealed his amusement at the current situation.
By the time dinner had ended, Dante was in a foul mood. The ladies had retreated to the music room while the men went to the library. He didn’t want to join the men, but at least he was away from his grandmother’s calculating interventions, allowing him time to think. How could he protect his aunt and cousin, discover the truth about the past, and thwart his grandmother’s schemes?
Words from his most recent visit with his aunt rushed to the forefront of his mind: “Don’t let Lady Huntingdon’s own wants come at a sacrifice to yours. You deserve happiness. And don’t worry about us; we can rise above the gossip. It wouldn’t be the first time.”
He had spent his entire life crushed beneath the weight of his grandmother’s demands and it would end tonight. He had a second chance with the woman he loved within his reach. If he could not speak to Anna alone, he would enlist others to aid him. Mrs. Weston and Miss Albryght were the keys to help him unlock the past.
It seemed like days had passed while waiting for the appropriate time to rejoin the ladies. Dante tried to be a good host, but based on the teasing sneers from Colt, his attempt was not successful.
When he entered the room, he scanned it, hoping to find Anna alone. Not only had he not seen her alone, he had not seen her at all, and to make matters worse, his grandmother was approaching with Lady Brenda at her side.
“Lady Brenda has informed me that she is quite an accomplished singer, and when I told her that you played the piano forte, well, we both agreed that a duet was in order.”
Based on Lady Brenda’s red-stained cheeks, Dante suspected that she had never said anything of the sort. “Perhaps you would care to take a turn about the room instead?”
Grandmother seemed most pleased by his gesture, but his reasons were entirely his own. He had noticed on several occasions during dinner that Lady Brenda appeared quite enthralled with Lord Tabard. Why, it was beyond him. He was a potbellied middle-aged man in possession of an ill temper when he did not get his way. But if Dante could be assured Lady Brenda’s affections were elsewhere engaged, that was one less female his grandmother could foist upon him, and he could turn his attention to more important matters.
Lady Brenda accepted his arm, but her attention was engaged elsewhere. Dante followed the direction of her gaze. It led straight to the boisterous Lord Tabard.
“I see that Lord Tabard is enjoying himself this evening.”
“Oh? I hadn’t noticed.” The lady claimed nonchalance, but her inquisitive stare and subsequent question declared otherwise. “I’ve heard that Lord Tabard’s estate is one of the finest in the county, and that he recently renovated the entire house. I’ve heard that Lord Tabard has offered to host a picnic. Is that true?”
“Yes, I believe so. Lord Tabard is also to host a ball in London.”
“Oh yes, Lady Huntingdon did make a mention of that trivial detail. It is to be scheduled upon completion of the renovation, I believe.” She glanced away as if she had given too much of her feelings away.
It dawned on Dante that Lady Brenda was not at all interested in Lord Tabard, but his estates and vast wealth. Playing devil’s advocate, Dante inserted, “I believe he is making things ready for a new bride.”
Lady Brenda stopped short, her hand squeezing Dante’s arm with much more force than he thought possible from a woman of her petite stature. “He is engaged?”
Dante’s assumptions were correct. “Not yet.” The pressure from her hand eased with those two simple words. “I believe he is the market for his next viscountess.” Lord Tabard’s first wife had died leaving him without an heir, or any children for that matter. He had made it known that a wife who fulfilled his fondest desire of providing him with an heir would have whatever she desired.
“And has he discovered said lady?”
Clearly Lady Brenda was willing to trade love, good companionship, and looks for money. Not that Dante thought very highly of Lady Brenda to begin with, but the woman went down several notches in his esteem.
“Not that I’m aware.”
Lady Brenda’s features lightened as she sighed, clearly relieved that she had not lost her opportunity. “If you will excuse me, I believe I will rejoin my friends.”
Any normal man might be offended by her request, but Dante wanted to be rid of her just as much as she apparently wanted to be rid of him.
“Not at all.” No sooner had the words exited his mouth than Lady Brenda sauntered away in the direction of Lord Tabard. He did not wish the woman ill, but by pursuing a life with Lord Tabard, she was sentencing herself to a miserable existence, of that much he was certain.
Relieved that he no longer had to worry about any advancements from Lady Brenda, Dante searched the room. He needed to solve the next conundrum.
Mrs. Weston and Miss Albryght were off to themselves in a quiet corner of the room. He knew exactly what his next course of action would be. Ignoring the daggers his grandmother shot at him, he strolled toward the two ladies he believed could aid him.
“Good evening, Mrs. Weston, Miss Albryght.” They looked warily at each other. “Might I have a word with you—on the veranda in ten minutes.” It wasn’t a question or even a demand; it was a request, and he did not give them any time to refuse. After speaking his desire, he turned and took his leave of them. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the approval in his grandmother’s eyes. Clearly she had not heard any of his transaction otherwise. Dante was most certain that she would interfere. It was best to keep up pretenses than to deal with his grandmother at this moment.
Dante circumnavigated the perimeter of the room before ducking out onto the veranda, hopefully unseen. He did not have to wait long for Mrs. Weston and Miss Albryght to join him.
“Thank you for meeting me. There is a matter of great importance that I must discuss with you.” Dante kept his tone hushed, wanting to avoid those who might try to eavesdrop.
“You must be referring to Miss Quintin,” Mrs. Weston said in a protective voice.
“Why would we give you any information that would…?”
“Isabel, please,” Mrs. Weston put her hand on Miss Albryght’s shoulder as she stepped in closer to Dante. “We need to hear what Lord Huntingdon has to say before we scold.”
This was going to prove to be more difficult than he first assumed. What was he to expect? These were her closest friends. He would first have to earn their trust.
“Mrs. Weston, you have known me for quite some time. I don’t believe that I have ever done anything to jeopardize that friendship.”
“No, you have not.” He could sense Mrs. Weston’s resolve begin to soften toward him. “What is it that you desire of us?”
“I need to see her. Please tell me where she hides herself away during the day.”
Although the words were hushed, they were anything but soft. “And why should we when you broke her heart?” Isabel stood her ground, waiting for him to answer.
“It was not as if I set out to break her heart. The day I went to ask for her hand, her father informed me that she had died. He had apprised everyone in the village of her demise and even held a small funeral for her. Why would I believe otherwise?” He fought to control the rage boiling inside. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, and felt it tremble against his skull. “Don’t you understand? I didn’t know.” The words came out on a jagged breath. He fought hard to tamp down the pain that had never gone away and had lain dormant for the past eight years, festering inside, eating away at him.
“What about the letters she sent? Why didn’t you respond?” Miss Albryght’s tone had softened, but her words still held a sharp edge about them.
“I never received her letters.” Dante turned and clutched the cold balustrade, hoping for some relief from the boiling anger.
Mrs. Weston stepped in closer. “We will help you.”