Kathryn Caskie - [Royle Sisters 02] (13 page)

“N
eedles and pins!” Anne sat up in the tester bed and scowled at the chirping blue bird outside her window that had had the cheerful audacity to wake her.

She flipped onto her stomach and scrunched a pillow around her head to block out the bird’s happy song. But it was no use. She could still hear it.

It was just as well, she ultimately decided. She rolled onto her back and grudgingly sat up. She should dress and depart the house as soon as possible, after all, if she wanted to avoid Laird in the breakfast room.

Lord above. There was no way she could face him today. Not after what happened last night.

But he wouldn’t be in her life much longer.
Not if she could help it. Anne flicked her hair behind her shoulders. She would not be angry with him, because he was what he was.
She
was the goose last eve to have convinced herself that he truly had changed.

But she had promised Laird to make Lady Henceforth see the gentleman in him, and in doing so earn her own freedom to cry off. So that was what she would do in earnest…beginning this very morn.

Anne did not break her fast, or even enter the breakfast room. With her black luck, Laird and Apsley wouldn’t have gone to bed yet, and would be sitting at the table munching on toasted bread with butter or sipping steaming cups of tea.

Anne’s stomach growled at the thought of a bite to eat, but instead of chancing a glance into the room, she gathered up her shawl and satin-banded straw hat and headed out the door.

The blue bird had called it right. It was a lovely morning—a welcome change after the horridness of last night. Just the sort of day to sweeten her sour mood.

As she walked into the drive, she stumbled over Apsley’s empty bottle. Angrily she snatched
it up and flung it as far as she could. When she heard it shatter, she smiled and began her walk again.

The air was soft and already beginning to warm in the heat of the sun. The sky was cloudless, as vibrant a blue as Laird’s eyes.

Good Lord, where did that thought come from?

His rakish blue eyes,
she amended.
Remember that.

Anne hastened her pace, trying her best to think happy thoughts—after all, she would soon be rid of Laird forever. That was reason enough for cheeriness, was it not?

She forced herself to smile. Yes, all in all, it was the perfect sort of day for a walk across the fields to Chasten Cottage, Lady Henceforth’s charming stone…Well, to speak plainly, it was actually a manor house. Nothing less.

Anne wasn’t sure why anyone would call the house a cottage, for it certainly wasn’t. The house was quite huge by any standard. After all, what sort of cottage had a ballroom—even a modest one? Or a massive dining room fit for a visit from Queen Charlotte?

No, the only thing humble about Chasten Cot
tage, Anne decided, was its absurdly inappropriate name.

Anne lifted her hem higher and higher as she walked through the tall, cool grass. The sun had yet to burn the dew from the tips of the green stalks, and soon her stockings were sodden.

Blast. Perdition.

But still she trudged on, lifting a false smile to her lips again.

She had promised to convince Lady Henceforth that Lord MacLaren had changed—that he had become a gentleman. And that she would do—as quickly as possible. Maybe even this morn.

Yes, today would be the day that she fulfilled her bargain with the blue-eyed devil and could then return to London…and put that desk in the library out of her mind forever. Nothing good ever happened when she was near that desk.

She had searched most every room in MacLaren Hall already, and the letters had not been found. What if there never were any letters? Anne picked up her pace as she thought about this possibility.

The Old Rakes had tricked her sister into marrying the Duke of Blackstone—what if the old
matchmakers had the same idea for her and Lord MacLaren? He was an earl, and a rake, which would make him just the sort of man they would choose.

No, preposterous. No, no, no. Even they would not go to these extremes to orchestrate such a match.

“Anne!”

She wrenched her head around. A horseman approached from the direction of MacLaren Hall.

“Anne, please wait.”

Drat it all. Laird.

Chasten Cottage was not so far away. It couldn’t be. She squinted at the rise beyond. It wasn’t visible yet, but Lady MacLaren had mentioned that Lady Henceforth’s property abutted the MacLaren north field, so it had to be close.

And so, Anne began to run.

“Anne, stop!” The sound of hoofbeats grew louder behind her, but she dared not look back at Laird.

After the rise ahead of her, the ground seemed to drop off downward, and beyond she could just make out a stream with a few flat stepping stones interspersed in the form of a make-do bridge. She made for that.

Laird had to be only a few yards behind her now. His call was insistent, but she wasn’t going to stop for him.

“Anne—you’ve got to stop! Ahead of you—”

Anne’s leading foot suddenly stepped into naught but air above a rocky crevasse. She tried to stop, but her momentum carried her forward, and she screamed as she slipped over the edge.

“Anne!” Laird leapt from his horse and ran to the precipice.

She dangled precariously, about two feet below the lip of the rock face, from a thick root poking between a crevice in the wall. Her golden eyes peered pleadingly up at him. She gasped, “Help me!
Please
.”

“Hold tight, Anne.” Laird dropped to his chest and moved to the edge of the cliff. He reached down and grabbed her wrist. “I’ve got you. Now put your boots against the rock to get a foothold while I pull you up.”

Anne nodded, and indeed scrambled up the wall as he lifted, until he was able to pull her over the lip to solid ground.

Laird had just rolled onto his back, pulling the
minx next to him, lest she try to run and get herself into an even worse predicament.

“Are you all right?” He felt the movement of her head nodding against his chest as she struggled to catch her breath.

“I-I scraped my knee,” she panted. “Nothing more.”

“Well done!” came a woman’s familiar voice from the distance, followed by a rousing round of applause.

Laird sat up, and Anne along with him.

There on the far side of the crevasse, just up a tree-dotted hillock, stood four women of varied ages, shapes, and sizes. Easels and painting tables were set up behind them.

One of the women broke from the group and walked down the hill.

“It seems being a hero has become a way of life, my lord.”

She started to laugh, but she stopped abruptly and patted the white plaster stretched across the bridge of her nose.

“Constance,”
Laird murmured.

“I told you, I can walk. Why, I could dance if I wished it!” Anne protested. “Put me down,
Laird, at once! Go see to your horse or something.”

Laird carried her through the door of MacLaren Hall and into the drawing room, where he stretched her out upon a claret-hued damask settee. “I shall fetch Lady MacLaren’s personal physician to make certain you are well.”

“Not Doctor Willet, please.” Anne settled her head in her hands. “After he plastered Lady Henceforth’s nose, I am sure he already thinks me a menace to the whole of St. Albans.”

“I shall send my mother to wait with you. Do not move.” Laird raced from the room.

La, why was he making such a to-do about this? She flung her head back against the settee in frustration. He was probably just feeling guilty about last eve. Humiliating her, then heading off into the night with Apsley and his giggling barmaids.

That had to be why he was making such a fuss over her leg. After all, she had told him she was fine. Anne glanced down at her knee and winced. She was fine. She was…mostly.

Lady MacLaren hurried into the drawing room. At once her gaze targeted Anne’s bare bloodstained knee. “Dear me, what now?” She
called frantically for a maid to bring her water and a cloth, and immediately set about dabbing the blood off Anne’s knee.

“Please, Lady MacLaren, there is no need to bother yourself. ’Tis but a scratch.”

Gravel crunched and popped outside. Anne glanced over the back of the settee and out the window. She could just see the rear of a landau as it drew up before the house.

There was a knock at the door, and soon Lady Henceforth, a freckle-faced girl of perhaps fourteen summers, and two matrons were ushered into the drawing room.

Lady MacLaren came to her feet as Anne pulled herself upright on the settee. Her knee stung as she covered it once more with her chemise and Indian chintz walking gown. She forced a thin smile as Lady Henceforth introduced her aunts, Mrs. Forthwit and Mrs. Bean, and her young cousin, Hortense.

“We have to come to see to your welfare, Miss Royle.” Lady Henceforth’s words seemed genuinely filled with concern, but the almost amused expression in her eyes told Anne otherwise.

“And to meet the hero,” Miss Hortense blurted, before she could be hushed.

“Well, the
hero
is not at home, but I am quite well.” Anne smiled most hospitably, though her knee had really begun to throb.

“Yes, ’tis a scratch, that is all,” Lady MacLaren quipped. “No need for anyone to be concerned. But thank you for coming.” Her eyes narrowed as she met Lady Henceforth’s gaze, but her smile remained hostess-worthy.

Anne knew it was difficult for Lady MacLaren to bear seeing the woman, who had so disgraced the family, now standing in the MacLaren drawing room. Anne had to commend her for her fortitude. Lady MacLaren’s manners were impeccable. Truth to tell, Anne doubted she would be able to remain so calm were she in the same circumstance.

When it became clear that the ladies were not ready to depart, Lady MacLaren invited the women to sit, and then sent for tea.

“Is it true, Miss Royle, that you had drowned in the Serpentine and that Lord MacLaren breathed life back into your body?” Mrs. Bean leaned forward as she awaited the answer.

“Well,” Anne sputtered, “in a manner of speaking, yes, he did.”

The two aunts exchanged glances and tittered excitedly.

“He is such a strong and capable gentleman.” Mrs. Forthwit addressed Lady MacLaren. “Of course you were not there, but less than an hour past we saw your son pluck Miss Royle from the face of a cliff and lift her into his arms as if she were as light as a bird.”

“Good heavens, Anne!” Lady MacLaren’s white eyebrows fluttered like dove’s wings. “Laird did not mention a word of this to me. Only that you fell and injured your knee. Is this true, Anne?”

“Well, yes,” Anne repeated. “More or less.”

Lady MacLaren slapped her hands to her cheeks. “Do you mean you fell into the crevasse bordering the north fields?”

“Yes, yes, she did. We all saw her fall. We were painting just on the other side. If Lord MacLaren had not been there to save her, she would surely have fallen to her death!” Mrs. Bean exclaimed.

Anne brought a hand to her brow to conceal her rolling eyes.
Yes, but I wouldn’t have fallen at all if he hadn’t been chasing me.

“Anne, you might have been killed.” Lady MacLaren set her hand down upon Anne’s knee. Anne gasped, and the older woman snatched back her hand. “I do apologize, daughter.”

Daughter?
Anne’s heart thumped within her breast.

“Daughter?” Lady Henceforth flicked a sable eyebrow at the reference. “But Lord MacLaren and Miss Royle are only betrothed. A betrothal is but an ephemeral promise of something that has not yet come to be.”

Poppy-colored blooms burst upon Lady MacLaren’s cheeks. “Some people hold promises dearer than do others.”

“What are you saying, Lady MacLaren?” Lady Henceforth goaded. “That I did not keep my promise to your son?”

Anne clenched her fist. Lady Henceforth was drawing dreadfully close to the edge of Anne’s patience. It did not matter how much Laird had hurt her last eve, Anne was not about to allow Lady Henceforth to malign him—or hurt Lady MacLaren more than she had already.

The countess was too much of a lady to respond to Lady Henceforth, but her hands shook as she poured tea for them and their guests.

Lady Henceforth was not so gracious. “How could I honor a promise when
he
—”

“Saved a woman and her three…cats from a burning bakery in Cheapside the very day he
returned to London!” Anne blurted. “Surely you read of the incident in the London newspapers.”

Gads, where did that lie come from?
It just seemed to leap unbidden from her mouth and straight into the drawing room.

Lady Henceforth chuckled. “Oh, really? He rescued a woman
and
her cats? Somehow I am finding this story of yours quite incredible, Miss Anne.”

Anne prayed that her cheeks would not flush with color from the lie. The cats, well, that might have been a bit much. But Laird
had
saved her this very day, after all. She owed it to him to defend his name.

“My word, I remembering reading about that fire. At least a dozen people died,” Mrs. Forthwit said. “I did not know it was Lord MacLaren who saved the baker’s wife…and cats as well, you say?”

“My son is very courageous,” Lady MacLaren chimed in. She looked to Anne and gave a firm nod, as if her comment somehow bolstered Anne’s own outlandish story of Laird’s heroism.

“Mama, when will Lord MacLaren return?” Hortense said softly, turning to Mrs. Bean. “I want to meet the hero
today
!”

“Well, you can well understand why I immediately agreed to our betrothal,” Anne said, most matter-of-factly. “I did not know him until he returned to London after his mourning. But I never met a better man in all my life. He is the most courageous, generous—did you know he gave a goodly sum to the Royal Military Hospital in Chelsea?—kindest gentleman I have ever had the honor to know.”

Oh no.
She’d done it again! She’d made him a hero thrice over, and now a philanthropist, too.

A chorus of appreciative sighs filled the air.