Page 54

Chapter Twenty-Five

A nna finished her sweep of the guest chamber.

Satisfied she’d packed all of her belongings, she moved to the bed and snapped her luggage chest closed.

That was that. They were leaving. Time to crawl out of the pit of despair where she’d allowed herself to wallow since riding away from Chissington Hall—and Caden.

If only it were that easy.

A knock sounded at her door. Her grandmother, coming to collect her for breakfast, no doubt.

She crossed the room on stockinged feet, fixing her sunniest smile on her face.

As predicted, her grandmother stood in the hallway, dressed in a spiffy traveling gown of silvery-grey silk.

“Good morning. How was your morning walk?” She bustled into the chamber.

“Invigorating. The sunrise this morning was spectacular.”

Lady Wentworth regarded her a long minute. “Oh, my dearest. As bad as all that, is it? ”

Her forced smile faltered. “I’m not sure what you mean?”

The older woman made a tut-tut sound and ambled toward the small sitting area. She sank into one of two armchairs.

“I’m old. I’m not blind. You’ve been heartsick from the outset of our journey. It’s one of the reasons I decided we should stop.”

She’d thought she’d kept her dismal feelings under wraps. Caden’s many admonitions she refrain from playing poker rang in her head.

“I don’t understand. I thought we stopped here for you to rest prior to continuing our journey home.”

She joined her grandmother, taking the adjacent wingback chair. She curled her legs under her skirts and propped her chin on her knees.

“I wanted to give you some time to be certain of your decision.”

She heaved a sigh. “You must think me a total ninny, pining after a man who doesn’t love me.”

“I think nothing of the sort. If anything, I feel responsible for your current state. If you recall, I hand-picked your young man for you after much deliberation. We attended the Fenton’s party precisely to bring the two of you together.”

“You certainly had me pegged. I fell hook, line, and sinker, whereas he…” Anna shook her head. The truth spoke for itself. “…did not.”

“Are you so sure?”

“He let me go,” she whispered. “When I told him we no longer had to go through with the fake engagement, he…” Her brows puckered, remembering.

He had gotten quite obviously annoyed. For a split second she’d thought he meant to fight for her. She’d all but forgotten that.

“What precisely did he say?”

Anna’s cheeks flamed with heat. She would not mention the possibility of a child. Not unless circumstances dictated she must.

She plucked at her skirts. “He said there was nothing fake about it. Then I said I didn’t want marriage based solely on his need to always do the right thing.”

Her grandmother gaped. “You mean to tell me, he wanted to go through with the thing, and because he showed integrity, you rejected him?”

She cocked her head, considering. “That’s very close to how he reacted. He sputtered something to the tune of you make honor sound like a bad thing.”

Lady Wentworth’s peeved expression said she agreed with Caden.

Anna bounded from the chair to pace. “It’s not that I don’t want a man like Caden, who does right, who protects those he cares for at the expense of himself.”

Her grandmother’s brows shot up. “Well, then? Why did you call things off?”

“Because I want him to love me, grandmother. I couldn’t bare the thought of him marrying me only for honor’s sake.”

Understanding flickered in her eyes. “Because you love him.”

“I do.” She covered her face with her hands. “And now I wish I never laid eyes on him.”

She heard the creek of wood and the rustle of skirts as her grandmother rose from her chair. A moment later, her arms went around Anna.

“Darling, did it never occur to you he took your rejection as a sign you didn’t really want to marry him? After all, you never said a word about your feelings for him, did you?”

She peeked at her grandmother through her fingers. “No. I didn’t want him to feel obligated.”

“It seems to me you have a choice. We can return to Chissington Hall, today, now, and you can tell him how you feel. Or… ”

Anna met her grandmother’s eyes. “Or?”

“Or we can wait him out a day or two longer. I believe, if he truly loves you, he’ll come to his senses before too long and come after you.”

Anna’s heart filled with equal parts agonizing hope and desperate fear. Her chin trembled. “And if he doesn’t? We can assume he doesn’t love me?”

Her grandmother pursed her lips. “He may or may not in that case. If he doesn’t love you, good riddance. If he does, but doesn’t have the spine to speak up, then I suppose you still have the first option.”

She frowned. “What should I do? What would you do?”

Lady Wentworth tapped her forefinger on her chin. “I’d say, any man who couldn’t bring himself to risk his pride to have you isn’t one worth having. But that’s just me.”

Anna pressed her lips together. “Say he does come for me. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“I only just found you. I don’t want to be apart from you again.”

Her grandmother’s eyes welled with tears in an instant. “I suppose I could be convinced to stick around Derby for a while.”

A knock sounded on the door.

Anna gaped. They stared at each other for a timeless moment.

Finally her grandmother waved her toward the closed door. “Only one way to find out, girl.”

Her heart in her throat, she approached the door. She opened it wide, and found a stooped chamber maid, the same she’d seen in the corridor this morning.

The woman shot a furtive glance inside the room while somehow keeping her gaze on the ground. She hunkered over a rolling cart on which sat a silver tea service, and two covered dishes. “Breakfast, m’ladies. ”

Tamping down an unreasonable flood of disappointment that Caden had not magically appeared, she turned to her grandmother. “You ordered breakfast?”

Her grandmother spread her delicate hands. “I didn’t. Perhaps the innkeeper took it upon himself as we had yet to come down to eat.”

The white-capped woman pressed the cart inside. She looked worn, bent over the cart as she was.

Anna studied her. Poor thing. Something about the way she moved told her she was not a young woman, as were most of the inn’s chamber maids. She did boast a mop of curly red hair, not so neatly styled. It barely fit under her cap.

Having parked the cart between the arm chairs, the maid turned and hurried from the room, with a muttered, “Pull the call bell when ye’ve finished, if ye please.” The door closed behind her with a bang.

“Good help is hard to find, even in the nicest of establishments,” her grandmother said with a sniff.

Anna eyed the cart. “Nevertheless, I could eat.”

“Solving the world’s problems does work up one’s appetite. Shall I pour?”

Anna resumed her seat and unfolded her serviette.

“What do you think? Shall we away to Chissington Hall after we eat?”

She lifted her chin. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like a day to consider my best course of action.”

They tucked into dishes consisting of boiled eggs, ham, and toast, and sipped lukewarm tea in companionable silence.

Anna felt better than she had in days. Despite the ever-present heart ache, having shared her inmost feelings with her grandmother had eased some of her pain .

She smiled at her grandmother, who blinked back at her and issued a giant yawn.

The act proved contagious, and Anna yawned, as well.

They both chuckled—and yawned again.

“Perhaps some more tea to wake us up?” Anna asked, already pouring.

“It’s not the best tea I’ve had. Their standards are slipping.”

Anna nodded, sloshing a bit of the tepid liquid over her grandmother’s cup into the saucer. “Oh, dear.” She giggled.

Her grandmother squinted at her. “I feel…not quite whight.” She shook her head. “… whight,” she repeated, once more mispronouncing the word.

Anna chuckled. “I’m not sure why everything seems funny.” She picked up her teacup and sipped, watching as her grandmother reached for hers.

It slipped from her fingers, crashing into the saucer. Tea splashed over the surface of the cart.

Anna flopped back in her chair, dismayed by the task of cleaning the spill. “I’ll wipe that…moment…need to…rest…”

She awoke from a bizarre dream involving Caden and her late father’s wife. In it, Angelique had hidden her away in an attic while Caden wandered the town in possession of one of her slippers—half the set she’d worn at the Femsworth house party. She never had found that missing slipper.

She tried to open her eyes and found her lids resistant as if held down by glue.

She moaned softly. Her head hurt, she was very thirsty, cold to the point of shivering, and her shoulders ached of all things, probably because she had fallen asleep in the carriage, slumped sideways, with her arms behind her .

The carriage. They’d departed? Hadn’t they discussed waiting? She tried and found it impossible to pull her arms from behind her. With effort, she peeled open her gritty eyes.

She noted several things at once. Though she indeed traveled by coach, she was not riding in her grandmother’s pristine vehicle.

Her nose, and the light from at least one low burning lamp illuminating the cabin interior, told her that much.

The cushions, the fabrics, the musty pervasive scent, in short, everything about her surroundings screamed dingy.

She slid her gaze to the window nearest her. Someone had drawn the short curtains, but slits of light coming from beneath and between the folds said the sun still shone outside, albeit weakly. She’d been asleep a few hours, then.

She took a bracing breath and straightened in her seat, fighting off a wave of nausea the shift heralded. When it passed, she peered around her, freezing in place as a shock of recognition jolted through her.