Page 5

***

Anna drew the shutters closed, blocking out most of the late afternoon sun, and strode for the adjoining door of the guest suite. “Rest well, madame. Call out, should you need anything. I’ll be just on the other side.” She crossed the threshold, hand on the brass lever.

Lady Wentworth lifted her silver-haired head from her pillow and arched a brow at Anna. “Napping,” she said in a flat tone.

Anna laughed softly. “Yes, napping.”

The woman knew her too well. Anna never napped, yet she could hardly take her employer up on her suggestion she explore the grounds for the next hour or so. Too risky.

“At least you’ll be rested for tonight’s festivities.”

“Yes. Now go to sleep.” She closed the door softly and tried to tamp down the excitement coursing through her veins at the casually spoken words. Tonight’s Festivities .

She ought to have argued for hanging back in their chamber.

She knew very well she needed to stay out of sight as much as possible.

Instead, she’d listened in stunned silence as the older woman blithely announced Anna would accompany her to pre-dinner cocktails and partake of the evening’s formal meal.

“If I must suffer these fools, you must suffer alongside me,” she said by way of explanation—not that she needed one. She was Anna’s employer.

Still, despite the fact mingling with so many people had the potential to bring disaster crashing down on her, a tide of excitement rose up within her, dispelling her fear—save for one worry. She could not bear to show up wearing her tired servant’s garb.

Lady Wentworth had taken care of that.

Heart pounding with anticipation, she approached the wardrobe on stockinged feet making as little sound as possible for no reason she could think of except she felt the need to do so.

The austere wooden cabinet had previously housed only her servant’s dresses fashioned of grey and brown wool. She pulled open the door and gazed inside at the half dozen shimmering gowns hanging inside. Bernadette’s cast-offs according to Lady Wentworth.

She ran her fingers over the silk, chiffon, and tulle nestled within. Anticipation sang through her as rife a child’s on Christmas morning.

She knew why. It was because of him. Bother. Why did the thought of him seeing her dressed in a gown fit for a princess have to thrill her so?

She closed the wardrobe and moved to the oriel window where she curled-up on the padded bench to gaze out at the pristine grounds below.

The late afternoon sun’s rays bathed the gardens and rolling green hills in majestic gold, creating a vista so similar to one in her memories it hurt to look at it. Still, she didn’t turn away, and instead indulged in a rare moment of pure melancholia.

Squinting her eyes, she imagined she saw the lush expanse of land comprising the border between her family’s summer cottage and the fairy-tale castle-on-the-hill that was Chissington Hall.

On an afternoon like today her mother would be toiling in her gardens while her father hunted, or fished, or read his scientific journals. And Anna would be playing out-of-doors with Caden.

She saw him as he appeared the day they first met.

By pure accident, she had wandered upon him, his brother Zeke, and another of their friends on the riverbank, skipping stones across the river. A mere twelve years old, he already stood tall, lean and lanky. Whisking shiny gold hair out of his eyes, he introduced the three of them.

He aimed his gleaming, sailor's smile at her, and she was lost.

She covered the chaotic feelings within her with a veneer of hauteur she’d witnessed her mother employ on more than one occasion. She informed them she was the daughter of Dr. George Masters, recently arrived from London, and that she intended to join them.

Zeke was not impressed. He wanted nothing to do with her. She was too young. Too small. Too female.

To her surprise, Caden had championed her cause—and afterward paid a hefty price.

Her heart squeezed a little remembering him standing there, hands fisted at his side, body quivering with indignation, as the two older boys mounted up and rode away sneering something about leaving the girls to play amongst themselves.

A wry smile twisted her lips. Poor Caden. She’d repaid his kindness by demanding he play what she wanted when she wanted at every turn.

She especially loved acting out Prince Charming rescues the stolen princess.

He did not relish the role—save for the times he had to scale a tree, or storm a hill, or hack away a thicket to rescue her.

The worst part, according to him, was the obligatory kiss.

But truly, everyone knew a prince must bestow a kiss on his lady after saving her.

In the spirit of fairness, she had agreed to play his favorite game, as well. Robin hood. Everything about the dashing, heroic archer, appealed to him. She, on the other hand, disliked clambering awkwardly after him in skirts, pretending to be one of his merry men.

Despite the grubby nails and unkept hair that came with the role, appeasing him had one major benefit. When Caden got his way, he turned that blinding smile on her—just like today.

Without warning, her chin quivered and her eyes burned with unshed tears. He hadn’t remembered her.

She recognized her lunacy, of course. She needed him not to know her.

And, too, why would he? It had been eleven years since they’d seen one another.

Her hair, golden from youth and days spent out-of-doors had since turned dark, just as her mother’s had done.

More to the point, unlike her, he didn’t have the benefit of putting her real name with her face.

She scrubbed her eyes with her palms, firming her jaw and her resolve.

For two years she’d been Mrs. Anna Jones, companion to Lady Wentworth of Northumberland, safely hidden from the authorities and Angelique alike.

Everything depended on her maintaining her false identity.

If Caden—if anyone—ever learned the truth of what she’d done, there would be hell to pay.

“What’s down there that’s drawn your menacing eye?” Lady Wentworth spoke from the now-open doorway linking the chambers.

Anna somehow managed to speak in a normal voice. “You know how your suitors scale the walls and disturb your rest when given half the chance. Speaking of which, you’re up early.”

“I tossed and turned, consumed with thoughts of those gowns Claudine had delivered.”

Anna huffed out a laugh. “Why-ever for?”

Lady Wentworth gave her an appraising look. “I’m torn between the rose and the gold silk. Chop chop.”

“Chop chop?”

Her employer gave her an exasperated look. “You must try them both on. My money’s on the gold.”

***

Caden inclined his head at something Harrison asked and forced his face into a politely disinterested mask, the polite part being the main difficulty.

He brought the champagne flute to his lips and searched the crowded parlor for a plausible escape.

Any excuse to extricate himself from the foursome made up of himself, Harrison, the besotted greenhorn, and the Misses Egerton and Applegate.

Regardless of the sharp intellect Sterling Randall claimed his younger brother possessed, Harrison seemed oblivious to the ladies’ attempts to out-maneuver one another to capture Caden’s attention.

He hoped to make-off before well and truly sabotaging Harrison’s efforts to charm the unremarkable chits.

Caden had seen it time and again. For some inexplicable reason, women flocked to him.

All ages, shapes, sizes, and walks of life.

He’d long since given up trying to understand the why’s and wherefores, choosing instead to accept what he’d heard too many times to count. He’d inherited his father’s charm.

Where he’d gotten the devil’s own luck—something his father never had—was anyone’s guess.

Charm and luck. Was that the extent of what people saw when they looked at him?

He was, so he’d been told, more than passably attractive.

However, for most women, looks did not make up for the lack of a title, of which he had none.

Wealth could tip the scales, though for much of his life he couldn’t boast that, either—though he had amassed a substantial base for himself between his quarterly allowance and, again, uncanny luck, both with choosing investments and at the tables.

He would no longer receive said allowance thanks to the recent argument between him and Zeke.

It galled him anew, recalling Zeke's sanctimonious presumption when Caden requested to avail himself of a large sum of money from the family accounts.

True, he’d recently admitted to his brother he occasionally gambled. Also true, he had refused to tell Zeke why he needed the money .

But damn it he’d wanted to surprise Zeke and Kitty as a sort of belated wedding present, and it wouldn’t be much of a surprise if he told them what he was doing with the money.

Besides, he’d told Zeke he didn’t gamble with funds he couldn’t afford to lose—and he was not a liar.

So why had Zeke assumed he’d asked for money to cover a gambling debt? Because he expected the worst from Caden whose quote-end-quote lifestyle he did not approve of.

Zeke, the until recent-times world-traveler, adventurer, concerned with no one but himself, suddenly thought to measure one and all by his new and improved moral standards.

Caden would not stomach it. He told Zeke to stuff his brotherly admonitions, along with his quarterly allowance. Now he was free as any man could be. Zeke no longer had any say in what he did or did not do with his life.

So why was he gripping the champagne flute in his hand so tightly it threatened to shatter? He relaxed his hold and forced his mind back on point—women, him, moths to a flame.