The Raven Prince (7 page)

“Oh, no!” Anna felt a spurt of anger. Surely they weren’t saying Lord Swartingham was repulsive because of a few scars? “He’s not handsome, of course, but he’s not unattractive.” Quite attractive to her anyway, a small voice whispered inside. Anna frowned down at her hands. When had she stopped noticing his scars and instead started focusing on the man underneath them?

“Pity.” Rebecca appeared disappointed at the information that the earl wasn’t a hideous ogre. “I want to hear of his dark secrets and his attempts to seduce you.”

Meg quietly left.

Anna laughed. “He may have any number of dark secrets”—her voice hitched as she remembered the bill—“but he’s very unlikely to try and seduce me.”

“Of course he won’t while you’re wearing that awful cap.” Rebecca gestured with the teapot at the offending article of clothing. “I don’t know why you wear it. You’re not that old.”

“Widows are supposed to wear caps.” Anna touched the muslin cap self-consciously. “Besides, I don’t want him to seduce me.”

“Why ever not?”

“Because—” Anna stopped.

She realized—horribly—that her mind had gone blank, and she couldn’t think of a single reason why she didn’t want the earl to seduce her. She popped a biscuit into her mouth and slowly chewed. Fortunately, Rebecca hadn’t noticed her sudden silence and was now chattering on about hairstyles she thought would better suit her friend.

“Rebecca,” Anna interrupted, “do you think all men have need of more than one woman?”

Rebecca, who had been in the act of pouring a second cup of tea, looked up at her in a far-too-sympathetic manner.

Anna felt herself flush. “I mean—”

“No, dear, I know what you mean.” Rebecca slowly set the teapot down. “I can’t speak for all men, but I’m fairly sure James has been faithful. And, really, if he was going to stray, I think he would do so now.” She patted her tummy and reached for another biscuit.

Anna couldn’t sit still any longer. She jumped up and started examining the bric-a-brac on the mantelpiece. “I’m sorry. I know James would never—”

“I’m glad you know.” Rebecca snorted delicately. “You should’ve heard the advice Felicity Clearwater gave me on what to expect from a husband when one is with child. According to her, every husband is simply waiting—” Rebecca stopped suddenly.

Anna picked up a china shepherdess and touched the gilt on her bonnet. She couldn’t see it very well. Her eyes were blurry.

“Now I’m the one who’s sorry,” Rebecca said.

Anna didn’t look up. She’d always wondered if Rebecca had been aware. Now she knew. She closed her eyes.

“I think that any man who took his marriage vows so lightly,” she heard Rebecca say, “has shamed himself unpardonably.”

Anna set the shepherdess back on the mantel. “And the wife? Would she not be partly to blame if he went outside the marriage for satisfaction?”

“No, dear,” Rebecca replied. “I don’t think the wife is ever to blame.”

Anna felt suddenly lighter. She tried a smile, though she feared it was a bit wobbly. “You are the best of friends, Rebecca.”

“Well, of course.” The other woman smiled like a self-satisfied and very pregnant cat. “And to prove it, I shall ring for Meg to bring us some cream cakes. Decadent, my dear!”

A
NNA ARRIVED AT
the Abbey the next morning dressed in an old blue worsted wool frock. She’d stayed up until well past midnight widening the skirt, but she hoped she could now sit a horse modestly. The earl was already pacing before the Abbey’s entrance, apparently waiting for her. He wore buckskin breeches with brown jackboots that came to midthigh. These last were rather scuffed and dull, and Anna wondered, not for the first time, about his valet.

“Ah, Mrs. Wren.” He eyed her skirt. “Yes, that will do nicely.” Without waiting for a reply, he strode around the Abbey toward the stables.

Anna trotted to keep up.

His bay gelding was already saddled and busy baring its teeth at a stable boy. The boy held the horse’s bridle at arm’s length and looked wary. In contrast, a plump chestnut mare was standing placidly by the mounting block. The dog emerged from behind the stables and came bounding up to Anna. He skidded to a stop in front of her and tried belatedly to regain some of his dignity.

“I’ve found you out, you know,” she whispered to him, and rubbed his ears in greeting.

“If you are through playing with that animal, Mrs. Wren.” Lord Swartingham frowned at the dog.

Anna straightened. “I’m ready.”

He indicated the mounting block, and Anna hesitantly approached it. She knew the theory of mounting a horse sidesaddle, but the reality was a bit more complicated. She could place one foot in the stirrup but had trouble pulling herself up to hook her other leg over the pommel.

“If you’ll allow me?” The earl was behind her. She could feel his warm breath, smelling faintly of coffee, on her cheek as he bent over her.

She nodded, mute.

He placed his large hands around her waist and lifted her without any visible effort. Gently, he set her on the saddle and held the stirrup steady for her foot. Anna felt herself flush as she looked down at his bent head. He’d left his hat with the groom, and she could see a few strands of silver threading his queue. Was his hair soft or bristly? Her gloved hand lifted and, as if of its own accord, lightly touched his hair. She immediately snatched back her hand, but the earl seemed to have felt something. He looked up and stared into her eyes for what seemed a timeless moment. She watched as his eyelids lowered, and a faint flush seeped across his cheekbones.

Then he straightened and caught the horse’s bridle. “This is a very placid mare,” he said. “I think you’ll have no trouble with her as long as there are no rats around.”

She stared blankly down at him. “Rats?”

He nodded. “She has a fear of rats.”

“I don’t blame her,” Anna murmured. She tentatively stroked the mare’s mane, feeling the stiff hair beneath her fingers.

“Her name is Daisy,” Lord Swartingham said. “Shall I lead you about the yard for a bit so you can get used to her?”

She nodded.

The earl clucked and the mare rocked forward. Anna clutched a handful of the mare’s mane. Her whole body tensed at the unfamiliar sensation of moving so far off the ground. The mare shook her head.

Lord Swartingham glanced at her hands. “She can feel your fear. Isn’t that right, my sweet girl?”

Anna, caught off guard by his last words, let go of the horse’s mane.

“That’s good. Let your body relax.” His voice surrounded her, enfolding her in warmth. “She responds better to a gentle touch. She wants to be stroked and loved, don’t you, my beauty?”

They walked around the stable yard, the earl’s deep voice enchanting the horse. Something inside Anna seemed to heat and melt as she listened to him, as if she were enchanted, too. He gave simple instructions about how to hold the reins and sit. By the end of a half hour, she felt a good deal more confident in the saddle.

Lord Swartingham mounted his gelding and led off at a walk down the drive. The dog trotted beside them, sometimes disappearing into the high grass beside the drive only to reappear a few minutes later. When they reached the road, the earl let the bay have its head, galloping down the road a short distance and back again to work off some energy. The little mare watched the male antics without any sign that she wanted to break out of a walk. Anna lifted her face to the sun. She so missed its warmth after the long winter. She caught a flash of pale saffron beneath the hedges that lined the road.

“Look, primroses. I think those are the first this year, don’t you?”

The earl glanced to where she pointed. “Those yellow flowers? I haven’t seen them before.”

“I’ve tried to grow them in my garden, but they don’t like to be transplanted,” she said. “I do have a few tulips, though. I’ve seen the lovely daffodils in the copse at the Abbey. Do you have tulips as well, my lord?”

He seemed a little startled by the question. “There may be tulips still in the gardens. I remember my mother gathering them, but I haven’t seen the gardens in so long. . . .”

Anna waited, but he didn’t elaborate. “Not everyone enjoys gardening, of course,” she said to be polite.

“My mother loved to garden.” He stared off down the lane. “She planted the daffodils you saw, and she renovated the great walled gardens behind the Abbey. When she died . . .” He grimaced. “When they all died, there were other, more important things to be seen to. And now the gardens have been neglected for so long, I should have them taken down.”

“Oh, surely not!” Anna caught his lifted eyebrow and lowered her voice. “I mean to say, a good garden can always be restored.”

He frowned. “To what point?”

Anna was nonplussed. “A garden always has a point.”

He arched an eyebrow skeptically.

“My own mother had a lovely one when I was growing up at the vicarage,” Anna said. “There were crocuses, daffodils, and tulips in the spring, followed by pinks, foxgloves, and phlox, with Johnny-jump-ups running throughout.”

As she talked, Lord Swartingham watched her face intently.

“At my cottage now, I have the hollyhocks, of course, and many of the other flowers my mother grew. I wish I had more room to add some roses,” she mused. “But roses are dear and take up quite a bit of space. I’m afraid I can’t justify the expense when the vegetable garden comes first.”

“Perhaps you could advise me on the Abbey’s gardens later this spring,” the earl said. He turned the bay’s head and started down a smaller dirt track.

Anna concentrated on the business of turning the mare. When she looked up, she saw the flooded field. Mr. Hopple was already there, talking to a farmer in a woolen smock and straw hat. The man was having a hard time looking Mr. Hopple in the face. His eyes kept dragging lower to the amazing pink waistcoat Mr. Hopple wore. Something black was embroidered along the edges. As Anna drew nearer, she saw that the embroidery seemed to represent little black pigs.

“Good morning, Hopple, Mr. Grundle.” The earl nodded to his steward and the farmer. His eyes flicked to the waistcoat. “That’s a very interesting garment, Hopple. I don’t know that I’ve seen the like before.” The earl’s tone was grave.

Mr. Hopple beamed and smoothed a hand down his waistcoat. “Why, thank you, my lord. I had it made at a small shop in London on my last trip.”

The earl swung a long leg down from his horse. He gave the reins to Mr. Hopple and walked to Anna’s horse. Gently grasping Anna’s waist, he lifted her down. For the briefest moment, the tips of her breasts brushed the front of his coat and she felt his large fingers tighten. Then she was free, and he was turning to the steward and the farmer.

They spent the morning tramping through the field, examining the water problem. At one point, the earl stood knee-deep in muddy water and investigated a suspected source of the flood. Anna took notes in a small book he provided for her. She was glad she had chosen an old skirt to wear since it soon became thoroughly filthy about the hem.

“How do you intend to drain the field?” Anna asked as they rode back to the Abbey.

“We’ll have to dig a trench across the north side.” Lord Swartingham squinted thoughtfully. “That may be a problem because the land there runs into Clearwater’s property, and for courtesy’s sake, I’ll have to send Hopple to ask permission. The farmer has already lost his pea crop, and if the field isn’t made tillable soon, he’ll miss his wheat—” He stopped and shot a wry look at her. “I’m sorry. You can’t be interested in these matters.”

“Indeed, I am, my lord.” Anna straightened in her saddle and then hurriedly grabbed Daisy’s mane when the horse sidestepped. “I’ve been most absorbed in your writings about land management. If I understand your theories correctly, the farmer should follow a crop of wheat with one of beans or peas and then with one of mangel-wurzels and so on. If that is the case, shouldn’t this farmer plant mangel-wurzels instead of wheat?”

“In most instances, you would be right, but in this case . . .”

Anna listened to the earl’s deep voice discussing vegetables and grains. Had agriculture always been this fascinating and she’d never realized it? Somehow she didn’t think so.

A
N HOUR LATER
, Edward found himself bemusedly holding forth on various ways of draining a field during luncheon with Mrs. Wren. Of course the topic was an interesting one, but he’d never had occasion to talk to a woman about such masculine matters before. In fact, he had hardly any occasion to talk to women, at least since the death of his mother and sister. He’d flirted when young, naturally, and knew how to make light social chatter. But to exchange ideas with a woman as one did with a man was a new experience. And he liked talking with little Mrs. Wren. She listened to him with her head tilted to one side, the sun streaming in through the dining room window gently highlighting the curve of her cheek. Such utter attention was seductive.

Sometimes she smiled crookedly at what he was saying. He was fascinated by that lopsided smile. One edge of her rose-colored lips always tilted upward more than the other side. He became aware that he was staring at her mouth, hoping to see that smile again, fantasizing about what it would taste like. Edward turned his head aside and closed his eyes. His arousal was pressing against the front placket of his breeches, making them uncomfortably tight. He’d found he had this problem almost constantly of late when in the company of his new secretary.