“Mrs. Clearwater’s soiree is tomorrow night.” Her voice creaked.
“I don’t intend to accept Mrs. Clearwater’s invitation.”
Anna refused to look at him, but Edward’s voice didn’t sound much better than her own.
“You’re the most important aristocrat in the area, my lord,” she said. “It would be gracious to attend.”
“No doubt.”
“It is the best way to hear the latest village gossip.”
He grunted.
“Mrs. Clearwater always serves her special punch. Everyone agrees it is the best in the county,” she lied.
“I don’t—”
“Please, please go.” She still didn’t look at him, but she could feel his gaze on her face, as palpable as a hand.
“As you wish.”
“Good.” Anna jammed her hat on her head and then remembered something. She opened her center desk drawer and took out The Raven Prince. She carried it over to Edward’s desk, laying it softly on top. “This is yours.”
She turned and left the room before he could reply.
THE HALL WAS stiflingly hot, the decorations from two years ago, and the music off-key. It was Felicity Clearwater’s annual spring soiree. Every year, the citizens of Little Battleford who were lucky enough to receive an invitation put on their very best clothes and drank watery punch at the Clearwater home. Felicity Clearwater stood by the door to welcome her guests. She wore a new gown, an indigo-blue muslin this year with cascading flounce down the sleeves. The underskirt sported a pattern of flying crimson birds on a light blue field, and there were crimson bows in a V outlining her bodice. Squire Clearwater, a portly gentleman in orange-clocked stockings and the full-bottomed wig of his youth, fidgeted beside her, but it was clearly understood that the event belonged to Felicity.
Anna had made it through the receiving line with only a frosty greeting from Felicity and a rather abstracted one from the squire. Relieved to have gotten that ordeal out of the way, she hovered at the side of the room. She’d unwarily accepted a glass of punch from the vicar and now had no choice but to sip it.
Mother Wren stood beside Anna and cast anxious glances at her. Anna hadn’t told her what had occurred in the stables between Edward and herself. Nor did she intend to. But her mother-in-law still sensed something was wrong. Evidently, Anna wasn’t very good at pretending cheer.
She took another grim sip of the punch. She wore her best gown. She and Fanny had spent some time over it, trying to make the alterations as neat as possible. The dress was a light apple green, and they had freshened it with the addition of white lace at the neckline. The lace also hid the modification of the neckline from a curve to the more fashionable square. Fanny, in a fit of artistic invention, had devised a rosette for Anna’s hair from some of the lace and a bit of green ribbon. Anna hardly felt festive, but it would have hurt Fanny’s feelings not to wear the rosette.
“The punch isn’t bad,” Mother Wren whispered.
Anna hadn’t noticed. She took another sip and was pleasantly surprised. “Yes. Better than rumored.”
Mother Wren fidgeted for a moment before coming up with another conversational foray. “It’s too bad Rebecca couldn’t attend.”
“I don’t see why not.”
“You know she can’t be seen at social occasions, dear, so close to her confinement. In my day, we didn’t dare set foot out of the house once we began to show.”
Anna wrinkled her nose. “It’s so silly. Everyone knows she’s increasing. It isn’t as if it’s a secret.”
“It’s the propriety that matters, not what everyone knows. Besides, Rebecca is so far along, I don’t think she would like to stand for hours. There are never enough seats at these dances.” Mother Wren looked around the room. “Do you think your earl will come?”
“He’s not my earl, as you well know,” Anna said somewhat bitterly.
Mother Wren glanced at her sharply.
Anna tried to modulate her tone. “I told him that I thought it a good idea for him to attend the soiree.”
“I hope he comes before the dancing commences. I do like to see a fine, manly figure on the dance floor.”
“He mayn’t come at all, and then you’ll have to be content with Mr. Merriweather’s form on the dance floor.” Anna gestured with her cup to that gentleman, standing across the room.
Both women looked at Mr. Merriweather, a skeletal gentleman with knock-knees, who was talking to a substantial matron in a peach-colored frock. As they watched, Mr. Merriweather leaned closer to make a point and absentmindedly tilted his punch cup. A thin stream of liquid trickled down the décolletage of the lady’s dress.
Mother Wren shook her head sadly.
“Do you know,” Anna said thoughtfully, “I’m not sure Mr. Merriweather has ever made it through a reel without losing his place.”
Mother Wren sighed. Then she glanced over Anna’s shoulder at the door and visibly brightened. “I don’t think I’ll have to make do with Mr. Merriweather after all. There’s your earl at the door.”
Anna turned to view the entrance to the dance room and raised her cup to her lips. For a moment, she forgot it there as she caught sight of Edward. He wore black knee breeches with a sapphire coat and waistcoat. His black hair, brushed in an uncharacteristically neat queue, gleamed like a bird’s wing in the candlelight. He stood nearly a head taller than any other man in the room. Felicity was plainly delighted with her luck at being the first to entice the elusive earl into a social setting. She had a firm hand on his elbow and was introducing Edward to anyone within speaking distance.
Anna smiled wryly. Edward’s shoulders were bunched, and his expression was grim. Even across the room, she could tell that he was holding on to his temper by a thread. He looked to be in danger of making the faux pas of walking away from his hostess. He glanced up at that moment and caught her eye.
She sucked in her breath at the contact. Impossible to read his expression.
He turned back to Felicity and said something, then began to make his way through the crowd toward Anna. She felt liquid coolness on her wrist and glanced down. Her hand was trembling so hard she was sloshing the remains of the punch on her arm. Anna clasped her other hand around the cup to steady it. For an instant, she came close to bolting, but Mother Wren was right beside her. And she’d have to face him again sometime.
Felicity must have signaled the musicians. The violins let out a shriek.