Retreat From Love (7 page)

When they entered Anne was looking at some cloth at a table near the door. Her cheeks were flushed and she looked nervous. She and Mr. Howard had not exchanged another word after Esme’s greeting, which they obviously heard. Mr. Howard was in the back, tinkering with some items on display in a nervous manner.

“Mr. Haversham,” Anne said, flustered, “and Esme. Whatever are you doing in here?”

Esme looked at her oddly. “It’s the mercantile, Miss Goode. I come here all the time.”

Anne’s flush worsened, her cheeks going bright pink. “Of course you do, my dear!

How silly of me.” She cleared her throat and Brett could almost see her wrap her composure back around herself.

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Brett nudged Esme. “Run along and get some candy,” he urged her. Esme laughed and ran to the counter.

“You are very generous,” Anne told him wryly, “but I shall not come to your rescue when Mrs. Northcott rings a peal over your head.”

“Candy makes all children sweet,” Brett answered with a smile.

“Hmm,” was Anne’s skeptical reply.

“Hmm.” Brett eyed her critically. “Perhaps you need some candy as well.”

Anne burst into laughter. “I’m afraid it is too late for me, Mr. Haversham.”

Brett made a tsking sound and shook his head. “Then we shall have to find

something else to sweeten you.”

Anne blushed again, but she met his stare boldly, much like the siren he had first encountered at the pond the day before. His heartbeat raced, and in a flash he remembered her naked body rising from the water and her provocative comments.

“It may be too late,” she answered him breathlessly. “Sweetness is not my natural inclination.”

“Freddy tells me you are very sweet,” Brett told her, and he was taken aback by the rough, breathless timbre of his own voice.

“Freddy’s memories of me are those of a young boy,” Anne whispered.

“I think you would still taste very sweet, Anne,” Brett whispered back. He didn’t know what he was doing anymore. He had to control himself. Before she could answer they heard more voices at the door. Anne looked around as if she’d forgotten where they were. Brett certainly had.

Brett knew Freddy had come through the door before he even turned to look. The air in the store suddenly turned warmer, and he could smell Freddy’s distinctive cologne, a combination of sandalwood, citrus and Freddy. That smell always wrapped around Brett when Freddy was near. Today it mixed with the lilac scent of Anne, and the heady aroma made Brett lightheaded.

“Well met, my dears,” Freddy said quietly. “Are you all right?”

Anne’s look was impossible to decipher as she glanced between the two of them. “I am apparently sweet,” she informed Freddy matter-of-factly. “Or so Mr. Haversham informs me. He says you have vouched for my sweet nature.” She smiled beguilingly.

“But be warned, Your Grace. Sweet young girls can turn sour in their old age.”

Freddy laughed uninhibitedly. “Ah, my dear Miss Goode. Even sour you will be a taste to savor when you at last reach old age. But for now, you remain as sweet as sugar candy.”

Anne arched a brow. “Well, that is sweet.” She glanced behind Freddy and Brett followed her gaze. Mrs. Northcott and Bastian were still in the street looking in the window of another shop. She lowered her voice and leaned toward Freddy, her eyes darting to Brett who she beckoned closer with a small tilt of her head. All three shared 34

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conspiratorial looks, and Brett couldn’t help glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one else could hear, although he had no idea what Anne was going to say.

“How do you know what I would taste like?” Anne asked with that siren’s grin.

Brett caught his breath. This was the Anne he’d encountered yesterday. A woman who knew what went on between the sexes and who enjoyed playing the game. She’d met her match in Freddy.

“My darling Anne,” Freddy whispered fervently, “I only know what you taste like in my dreams. But with each passing moment you become a dream come true.”

Anne blinked several times. “Why, Frederick Thorne,” she said in a scandalized tone, “you have become a rake!” Her smile lit up the shop. “And a very good one, I’ll wager,” she said appreciatively.

Brett couldn’t contain his snort of laughter, and Freddy’s glance was sly and smug.

“I like to think so,” Freddy told Anne with satisfaction.

Anne straightened abruptly with a condescending smile. “Oh Freddy, all men like to think so.”

Freddy grinned with surprised delight. “Touché, my dear, touché.” Freddy turned to look at Brett. “And Brett? Do you classify him in the same category?”

Anne looked at Brett with her brow furrowed. “Hmm. Yesterday I had high hopes.

Today…” She shrugged as if disappointed and let the thought remain unfinished. Brett felt a flash of annoyance.

“I assure you, Miss Goode, that I can hold my own in that category.” He sounded peevish. How embarrassing.

Anne actually waggled her brows at him with a grin. “If you are holding your own, sir, then that is not the category for you.”

This time both Brett and Freddy burst into surprised laughter.

“What is so amusing?” Mrs. Northcott said as she came through the door with a smile. “We could hear you laughing down the street.”

Before any of them had to answer Mrs. Northcott glanced over and saw Esme at the candy counter. “Oh no! Esme, you know you cannot have any candy.” She turned to Brett with a frown. “You did not buy her any, did you, Mr. Haversham?”

Anne backed up a step with a sly grin. “Not yet, Mrs. Northcott, but he informed me all children need candy. To sweeten them up, I believe was his logic.”

“Nonsense!” Mrs. Northcott proclaimed. “Little girls do not need candy. It will only instill a taste for sweets as they grow older that will become burdensome.”

Brett thought about the kind of sweets a woman like Anne would enjoy. He saw Anne looking at him and Freddy with undisguised mirth. She bit her lower lip and her eyes got wide. Brett had to rub his upper lip to disguise his own smile, and Freddy coughed. The shared, secret amusement between the three felt so good that Brett was taken aback. He’d known he’d feel something for Anne when he finally met her face-to-face. But he’d expected that something to be tenderness or protectiveness. He did feel 35

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those things, certainly, but he also felt this overwhelming
connection
, as if they’d known each other for years, as if they were old friends. It was unexpected and alarming.

Freddy captured everyone’s attention then and no one noticed Brett’s slight withdrawal.

“Well, of course he is right!” Freddy proclaimed. “It is a sacred duty to buy children candy so that they stay sweet. Is that not right?” he asked Mr. Howard. Anne was recalled to her duties.

“Oh I’m so sorry. Your Grace, may I introduce Mr. Howard? He has had the

mercantile here for almost ten years now.” She turned to Brett. “And Mr. Howard, this is Mr. Haversham, a friend of His Grace.”

Freddy shook Mr. Howard’s hand. “We have met before, have we not, Mr.

Howard?” Freddy’s genuine warmth relieved Mr. Howard’s nervousness.

“Yes, Your Grace, when you were a boy, right after I came, just before the accident.”

Mr. Howard didn’t need to elaborate. Everyone knew what accident he was speaking of—the carriage accident that had killed both Freddy’s father and Anne’s.

Freddy was nodding. “Yes, yes, I remember now.” He turned to Anne. “I had run off from Ashton Park, and I met up with the Goode Vicar, Anne. He took me to the village and we walked around for half the day. He brought me here and bought me candy, then we looked at fishing gear, and we went and had lemonade at the inn.”

Freddy was smiling, his gaze distant as he remembered. He focused on Anne again.

“He returned me to the duchess later that day with no explanation for her. I was on bread and water for a week for giving her such a fright.”

Brett was fascinated. Freddy didn’t talk much about his childhood. Brett had always had the impression it was not a happy one. Bertie had told him that Freddy was coddled and suffocated by their mother. Bertie had often lamented that she would never let Freddy grow up. In Brett’s own experiences with her he could see that Bertie had been right. Freddy was growing up against her wishes, and she didn’t like it one bit.

“Yes, Freddy, I remember,” Anne said. “He told us all about it at dinner that night.

That was one of the last times you were at the Park for any length of time. It was so rare to get a chance to see you or talk to you in those days. We were always hungry for news of you.”

Freddy reared back in surprise. “Were you? How odd, to be the subject of such interest. The Park and the parsonage were like two different worlds in those days.” He smiled with his usual devil-may-care attitude. “Well, I am here now to satisfy your hunger, my dear. Whatever you wish to know, I shall endeavor to enlighten you.”

Anne raised sardonic brows. “Will you now?” She sniffed and smiled. “I think I prefer to find out gradually, Your Grace. Too much information at once might overwhelm me.”

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Freddy laughed as Mr. Howard and Mrs. Northcott looked on, perplexed. Brett realized that the underlying meaning of their conversation was becoming, if not apparent, at least suspected.

“Esme,” Brett asked loudly, “have you chosen yet?” He turned to her brother. “And Bastian? Would you care for some candy?”

“Yes, yes,” Freddy said, moving over to the children. “Pick as much as you like. As the duke here it is my job to buy candy for everyone when I come to the village.”

Bastian wrinkled his nose. “That seems a bit backward to me, Your Grace. Isn’t it polite for people to buy you things when you come, as a welcome gift?”

Freddy looked properly horrified. “Why whatever for? As if I have need of

anything!” He shook his head vehemently as he pointed at the candy Esme was eyeing and nodded at Mr. Howard. Mr. Howard immediately put a generous amount in a paper wrapper for her. “No, no. My tastes are too particular, I’m afraid, to blithely accept just any gift. Much better to give than to receive.” He pointed at several other items and Mr. Howard dutifully wrapped them up. Then Freddy turned to Anne.

“Miss Goode, did you have anything else you needed while we’re here?”

At his question Anne flushed and nervously fingered her reticule. “I, ah, no, Your Grace, no, not a thing.”

Freddy looked puzzled. “Then might I inquire as to why you came over?”

“Ah…”Anne was stammering. Mr. Howard interrupted.

“You said you had a list, Miss Anne,” he insisted. “I can fill it for you while you show the duke and Mr. Haversham around.” He looked smug at Anne’s consternation.

Freddy imperiously held out his hand. “Do give me the list for Mr. Howard, Anne.

Then we can be off.”

Anne reluctantly gave Freddy the list and he passed it to Mr. Howard without glancing at it. Mr. Howard looked down and read it quickly, and then glanced at Anne in shock.

“Sugar? Flour?”

Anne blushed. “Mrs. Tilton is going to make His Grace some shortbread, Mr.

Howard.”

“Ah,” Freddy said from where he was inspecting some combs and brushes. “Do put that on my account, Mr. Howard.” He gave Anne and the shopkeeper an absentminded smile and then turned back to the items he was inspecting. “Mrs. Tilton is making that for me.” He looked at himself in a hand mirror and adjusted his cravat. “And I do not plan to share it,” he added, distracted.

“Really, Your Grace,” Anne said in a rush, “there is no need.”

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Northcott said with a sidelong glance at Mr. Howard. “If His Grace is going to eat it all, then he should pay for it.”

Anne was speechless at the woman’s rudeness, but Freddy just agreed.

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“Absolutely, my dear Mrs. Northcott.” He put the mirror down decisively and held out his arm to Anne. “Shall we move along, Miss Goode?” He spared another glance for Mr. Howard. “Perhaps you should double that order, and have those items delivered to the Goode cottage, if you would, Mr. Howard.” He bowed at Mrs. Northcott and Esme, and then at Mr. Howard. “Good day.”

“Oh,” Anne said, as indecisive as Freddy was decisive. “I suppose so, Your Grace.”

She put her hand on his arm and let Freddy lead her out of the store, but she glanced back with a grimace at Mr. Howard, who was smiling in triumph, as was Mrs.

Northcott. Then she looked helplessly at Brett.

Brett smiled inwardly. Oh yes, Freddy knew just how to play this game. The man was a genius.

“Good day,” he said quietly as he put his hat back on. Both Mr. Howard and Mrs.

Northcott looked startled. They’d clearly forgotten he was there. Brett mentally shrugged. Freddy had that effect on people.

And so it went at every shop they visited that afternoon. At the millinery, the butcher, the bakery—the proprietors would look nervous and slightly guilty as Anne introduced them, but they were unfailingly polite, even affectionate to Anne. She had, after all, known most of them her entire life. Freddy would make charming small talk, and Brett would smile and stand solemnly and make appropriate polite conversation.

Then as they were leaving Freddy would inquire whether or not Anne needed anything at that particular shop. She would say no, the proprietors would remember something and Freddy would find some excuse as to why it should go on his account. Anne protested in each shop to no avail. After the first few times she stopped protesting and resorted to sarcasm. That did not deter Freddy either.

The glovers was different. As soon as they entered, Brett took Anne’s arm and walked her over to the counter. He had her try on all their best ladies gloves, and he picked a beautiful pair to replace the old worn ones he had ruined. He tucked the old gloves in his pocket while she tried on the new pair, the softest kid gloves she had ever felt, in a beautiful shade the exact color of thick cream. They fit her exquisitely.

“I shouldn’t,” she said softly, petting the back of one glove with her bare fingers after Brett told the shop girl they’d take the gloves. “I really shouldn’t accept such a gift.” When she raised her eyes to Brett the look he gave her was achingly tender.