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After speaking with the duke,Anna retreated again into her isolation. Repeatedly, she thought over their every interaction. He had been charming, always, but he had never shown her any bit of favoritism, she soon came to realize. She had no one to blame but herself for being so torn about his engagement. It was not as if he had confessed his love for her then either. While she did think it noble that he would go to such lengths for a friend, it also struck her as tragic. If she knew Benjamin at all, she knew he was not ready for marriage. Not yet at least.

But the matter was not up to her, and she could not wait until he was ready, as he was no longer her concern.

Emily had not been making any headway with Lord Tipton either. Charles Russel, the Earl of Tipton. An intelligent man, although a quiet one, he had a tendency to keep to himself. He was not one much for dancing either.

Anna had come close to finishing her story about the dastardly villainous Lord Pershore. A few nights ago, she had been tempted to rewrite it. The biggest change would be the motivation for the pirate to kidnap her. Not for wealth of a jewel or even a chest of jewels. No.

Out of love, strangely enough.

The idea had been sparked from a dream she had of the man in question.

How strange was her mind that she had a nightmare concerning Benjamin and then a pleasant dream of Jasper?

Several times previously, Anna’s dreams served as inspiration for her stories. Might her sleeping mind be aligning with her mother against her concerning Jasper?

Instead of working on the pirate story or the rewrite of it, she opted to start a new one. In this tale, Lord Tipton was madly in love with Emily and had to rescue her from the villain—yes, Lord Pershore again. Creating these stories were the only time her heart did not ache.

One day, near the end of November, she found her mother in the parlor, reading one of her stories.

“You should have asked first.” Anna suppressed the desire to snatch the pages from her mother.

“You have quite a talent.”

Anna flushed. “I am not that good at all,” she protested. “My stories are merely meant to entertain children—”

“Or a wider audience. You and I both read and enjoyedSense and Sensibility.A lady wrote that. Why cannot you consider doing the same?”

Anna gaped at her. The thought had never occurred to her. “But… but that’s not done!” Even so, her mind was already churning, and a fierce desire came over her. It would be a dream for her to sell her stories. Why, she could give the monies to charity!

Her mother placed the pages down on the table, gracefully stood, and clasped Anna’s hands. “I see how you are suffering and also how much enjoyment you get out of your writing. It occupies your mind and keeps you from thinking about the duke and his upcoming marriage.”

Anna’s eyes widened. She should not be shocked, but she had not confided Benjamin’s secret to her mother.

“I’ve been doing what I can to keep the circumstances hushed. I must say, that he is willing to do this for Florentina does say much and more about his character. Perhaps I misjudged him.”

“It is too late now,” Anna said stiffly.

“My dear…” Her mother squeezed Anna’s hands. “If he truly is the man for you, love will find a way, but I do wish you would go out more.”

“And find another gentleman?”

“Or merely see your friends.”

Anna lowered her head then nodded. “I take it you have an event in mind?”

“Actually…”

* * *

4th December, 1812

Anna fiddled with a dark curl that would not stay put, and her nerves would not settle. Her mother had conspired with the marchioness. Now, Lord Pershore, Lord Tipton, and the Duke of Barnet and his betrothed Florentina would all be coming over shortly.

“You are not listening to me at all, are you?” Emily sighed. She was sitting on Anna’s bed while Anna stood by the window.

“I am sorry. You were speaking about the house party.”

“Yes! It begins in two weeks’ time. I know your mother would be most pleased if you would come.”