“You did what?” Oliver practically shouted.
“Do not speak to me in such a disrespectful tone, my boy.” It was two days later, and the dowager swept into his study and settled on the sofa, which Oliver observed had fast become her favorite seat in his home.
Oliver joined her and crossed his booted feet at the ankles. He swallowed and prayed for patience. Not for the first time, his grandmother had arrived unannounced. He’d been working, going over the wine stock in the mansion’s cellars to ensure a sufficient amount would be on hand for the winter and any upcoming events. He felt the beginnings of a headache at his temples.
“After learning of your plans to visit one of your country estates, I invited the Malverns to Rosedown for a short respite.”
Oliver had mentioned his plans to travel to Hertfordshire briefly only to let her know he would leave town for a few days. His grandmother suffered from frequent illnesses even in good weather. Her staff was generally competent to aid the dowager, but when he was in town, he also put himself at her disposal.
“You didn’t just invite them; you sent the invitation in my name.” He’d first found out when his butler, Burk, had delivered him Lord and Lady Malvern’s response. Oliver immediately knew who was responsible.
“The older I get, the more I see the need to take initiative,” she said.
“It’s highly inconvenient. I have business to attend to at Rosedown, a dispute between the tenants that I hope to quickly resolve.”
“Then you shouldn’t mind guests.” She pulled out a handkerchief from her reticule and blew her nose.
His annoyance with her was quickly replaced with concern. Sometimes he forgot she was well into her seventies. “Are you well?”
“I went for a walk in the park yesterday. I should know better by now that the flowering blooms this time of year do not agree with me.”
Then it was best if she did not accompany him to Rosedown. The place had an abundance of flowering shrubs and wild rosebushes, many towering on trellises over six feet tall.
Oliver rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger as he tried to come up with a more convincing argument for why her idea was not the best. “It’s during the Season. No doubt the Malverns would rather attend romps, parties, and all other manners of entertainment over a country house party.”
“It is not a house party,” she corrected, “but a short respite, and Lady Malvern was quite receptive.”
“You mean the ambitious woman is eager to keep her daughter within eyesight.”
“She is not the only one.” The dowager waved her hand at the papers littering the surface of his desk. “We’ve been over this many times, my boy. You work too hard, and there are other pressing matters that the earldom requires.”
“You mean a wife and heir.” Oliver ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. She meant the best for him, but he felt like a fox at a hunt pursued by a pair of bloodhounds masquerading as matrons. The thought had barely crossed his mind when another followed, and he recognized a distinct advantage to his grandmother’s matchmaking.
“The Malverns accepted the invitation?” Oliver inquired.
His grandmother nodded, then blew her nose once more. “Oh, yes. Lady Malvern was quite eager.”
“And her daughter will accompany the family?”
“Of course.”
If Penelope attended Rosedown, then Ana would as well.
The throbbing in his temple eased a bit, and the tension in his neck and shoulders loosened. An image focused in his mind of a pair of hazel eyes, magnificent curves, and lustrous mahogany hair. Ugly gowns could no longer conceal what lay beneath.
His scowl erased, he glanced at his grandmother. “On second thought, I think it is a splendid idea.”
She blinked. “You do?”
“Yes. How else will I know if the lady and I are suited if we don’t spend time together? The refreshing country air away from the crush of London ballrooms offers a perfect opportunity.”
An opportunity to be close to Ana. To spend time with her, to learn her dreams and desires, and if all went well, a chance to convince her they should share more than one night, and to bring out the passion he knew simmered beneath the surface.
Naturally, Ana was nervous to risk a liaison in London. Too many ears and eyes in the city. But the country was different—isolated, quiet, and discreet. Now that he’d considered the benefits of a country sojourn, no matter how brief, he couldn’t wait to leave.
The dowager nodded, a satisfied smile curving her mouth. “Splendid. I’ll make the arrangements.”
…
“Lord Drake has invited us to his country estate in Hertfordshire for a few days.” Lady Malvern held the invitation in her hand over breakfast. “I know this is during the Season, but I’ve accepted. The earl’s interest must be growing, Penelope, and I’m pleased.”
“That is good news indeed, Mother,” Penelope said.
A low buzzing sounded in Ana’s ears as she stared, wide-eyed. Rosedown was in Hertfordshire. Surely he wasn’t inviting the Malverns to join him there, was he? The earldom had a multitude of estates. Perhaps he meant another. She quickly lost interest in her plate of eggs, sausage, and dry toast.
Unable to hold the question to herself any longer, Ana set down her fork. “Which one?”
“Pardon?” Lady Malvern said.
“Which estate?”
Lady Malvern glanced at the invitation, then back at Ana. “Rosedown. Why?”
Ana felt the blood drain from her face, and her fingers twisted the napkin on her lap. She drew in a shuddering breath. “I assume my services will not be required for this trip, my lady.”
Lady Malvern’s lips thinned to a sharp line. “Don’t be ridiculous. You will accompany us and act as Penelope’s chaperone when she is alone with the earl. I cannot act as such without interfering.”
Oh God. This was a nightmare. How could she return to Rosedown, her family home, without weeping at the sight, knowing it no longer belonged to them? It should be her brother’s. It was his inheritance, his birthright.
Even more concerning, some of the staff might recognize her as Miss Anahit Woodbridge, daughter of the previous owner, and not Miss Gardner. Would her unattractive gowns, floppy bonnets, and caps sufficiently conceal her identity?
What was Oliver thinking to invite the Malverns? He was not interested in Penelope, nor she in him. Was he doing it to get closer to her? And why was she strangely flattered at the thought?
Good grief, what was wrong with her? Did she have some perverse self-destructive wish? Why else could she not control the strong passion within her when he was near, even knowing it was disastrous to her future and devastating to her heart?
“Summon your maid to help pack your best gowns,” Lady Malvern instructed her daughter. “We leave tomorrow.”
Her ladyship turned her attention to Ana, her voice coolly disapproving. “You as well, Miss Gardner. We have an earl to catch.”