Page 35 of The Heir

“Then you can pour me a glass, as well.”

“As you wish,” he replied, accommodating her order and filling a glass for himself, too. To Anna’s surprise, before either drinking or diving into his meal, the earl paused to wrench off his boots and stockings.

“I have it on good authority extreme heat is dangerous and one shouldn’t wear clothes unnecessarily, or so my footmen tell me when I catch them only half liveried.” He sipped at his wine, hiding what had to be a smile.

“I did not precisely tell them that, though it’s probably good advice.”

“So are you wearing drawers and petticoats?” the earl asked, waggling his eyebrows.

“No more champagne for you, if only two sips make you lost to all propriety.”

“You’re not wearing them,” he concluded, making himself a sandwich. “Sensible of you, as it seems even more oppressively hot today than yesterday.”

“It is warming up. It also looks to be clouding up.”

“More false hope.” He glanced at the sky. “I can’t recall a summer quite so brutal and early as this one. Seems we hardly had a real spring.”

“It’s better in the North. You get beastly winters there, but also a real spring, a tolerable summer, and a truly wonderful autumn.”

“So you were raised in the North.”

“I was. Right now, I miss it.”

“I miss Scotland right now, or Stockholm. But this food is superb and the company even better. More champagne?”

“I shouldn’t.” Her eyes strayed to the bottle, sweating in its linen napkin. “It is such a pleasant drink.”

The earl topped off both of their glasses. “This is a day for pleasant, not a day for shoulds and should nots, though I am thinking I should buy the place.”

“It is lovely. The only thing that gives me pause are the oaks along the lane. They will carpet the place with leaves come fall.”

“And the gardeners will rake them.” The earl shrugged. “Then the children can jump in the piles of leaves and scatter them all about again.”

“A sound plan. Are you going to eat those strawberries?”

The earl paused, considered his plate, and picked up a perfect red, juicy berry.

“I’ll share.” He held it out to her but withdrew it when Anna extended her hand. Sensing his intent, she sat back but held still as he brought it to her mouth. She bit down, then found as the sweet fruit flavor burst across her tongue that her champagne glass was pressed to her lips, as well.

“I really did not pack that champagne,” she said when she’d savored the wine.

“I did,” the earl confessed. “Nanny Fran is sworn to secrecy as my accomplice.”

“She adores you.” Anna smiled. “She has more stories about ‘her boys’ than you would recognize.”

“I know.” The earl lounged back, resting on his elbows. “When Bart died and she’d launch into a reminiscence, I used to have to leave the room, so angry was I at her. Now I look for the chance to get her going.”

“Grief changes. I recall as a child sitting for hours in my mother’s wardrobe after she died; that was where I could still smell her.”

“I recall you lost both parents quite young.”

“I was raised by my father’s father. He loved us as much as any parent could, probably more, because he’d lost his only son.”

“I am sorry, Anna. I’ve talked about losing two brothers, both during my adulthood, and I never considered that you have losses of your own.” He did not raise the issue of the departed Mr. Seaton, for which Anna was profoundly grateful.

“It was a long time ago,” Anna said. “My parents did not suffer. Their carriage careened down a muddy embankment, and their necks were broken. The poor horse, by contrast, had to wait hours to be shot.”

“Dear God.” The earl shuddered. “Were you in that carriage, as well?”