Page 96 of Souvenir of Love

“I’m not trying to charm you. Damn it, woman, I’m trying to propose to you. If I do not return with you to Moreham Hall, how shall I request your hand in marriage? You must agree, considering the circumstances, that a letter would be grossly inadequate.” Elizabeth stopped mid-tirade, her lips forming a perfect O.

James laughed. “I was going to seal my declaration of love with another kiss, but with your mouth agape…”

“You said you wouldnevermarry me?—”

“I, too, can learn from experience.” His hand slid from her shoulders down her back, and the wind conspired with them to draw her into his embrace. “As I am discovering, I have been mistaken about many things…”

He bent his head to kiss her, but she pressed a hand against his chest to stop him.

“What if Rafe refuses you?”

“I will not be refused,” he declared, knowing it as surely as he knew anything in this world. “You are mine, Elizabeth Harcrest. You always will be.”

Anne glancedover the fan of her cards at Agatha, annoyed her hand wasn’t better. Her cousin took a card from the center of the little round table in the green room and smiled.It was a good thing the woman didn’t gamble, Anne thought disagreeably;anyonecould read the state of Agatha’s hand from her face. She rubbed her temple. “Agatha dear,” she said loudly, “I’m afraid we must discontinue play; my head is simply pounding.”

Agatha’s smile melted into disappointment. “Are you certain, Anne?”

“Quite positive,” she said, folding her hand into the deck.

Agatha watched as Anne slid the deck into an ivory box. “I had thought we might compare hands”—she sighed—“just to get a sense of how the game might have turned out.”

Anne assumed a practiced expression of pain, one she’d long ago perfected in front of her looking glass. She reached for Agatha’s hand. “You are right, of course, sweet cousin, but I couldn’t bear it, not with the way my head feels. The numbers and the symbols seem to be performing a most uncivilized ballet.”

“You poor thing.” Agatha was instantly apologetic. “Suffering in silence while I’m rattling on about a silly game. You must lie down. I will ring for something cold. Or would you prefer something hot?”

“I’ll be fine.” Anne pressed two fingers to her forehead and rose from her chair as if it hurt to do so. Walking stiffly toward a yellow and green brocade armchair near the window, she closed her eyes as if the light hurt them. “I’m sure it’s all the worrisome thoughts in my head that are causing this pain.”

Agatha drew up an embroidered footstool and settled at Anne’s side. “If you’d like, I’ll rub your hands, and you can tell me all about what’s bothering you.”

Anne stretched out one long, pale hand, watching as Agatha’s wrinkled fingers moved deftly over it. Her head reallydidseem overladen with worries. Should she expose Rafe Moreham’s involvement in trade now, or wait until next season? And why had the Comtesse de La Brou said that Elizabeth was at Hartsdale? Had she gone there at some point in the summer, or was she missing from Moreham Hall? And then there was the letter Anne had intercepted yesterday, from Sir Edmund Bogglesworth, addressed to her father. The memory of the letter truly made her head throb.

Sheneededto talk to James. She’d have to make do with Agatha.

“Sir Edmund Bogglesworth would like to apply for my hand in marriage.”

Agatha nodded.

Despite their proximity to each other, Anne suspected her cousin couldn’t hear, but appreciated that she had mastered the art of listening. She continued to muse out loud. “I’m thinking it would not be such a terrible thing to be his wife.” She paused. “He can be frightfully dull, but he isn’t stupid. Indeed, he is a great deal more sensitive to what is going on in the world than one might think.” Now she sighed. “Another man might not have given a second thought to Moreham’s peculiar activities in France, but Sir Edmund, he filed it away.” She tapped her temple with her free hand. “Heremembered.”

Agatha smiled at the gesture. “Extraordinary, isn’t it, how rubbing the hands helps ease the head? My mother used to do this for me when I was a child. Now give me your other hand.”

Anne obeyed. “Not that he made use of what he knows; he maneuvers rather clumsily around the ton. And I should be marrying beneath my station and my style should I agree to his proposal… But I do believe that if one cannot make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, one can artfully conceal it, if one has the wherewithal. And Sir Edmund has so very much money.” She smiled. “Justthink, Agatha, how nice it would be to buy pretty things without worrying. Never again to decide between a new pair of gloves or butter with tea.”

“As soon as I’m done with your hands, I’ll ring for some tea,” Agatha agreed.

“But I worry about my father.” Anne frowned. “About leaving him alone, especially now that James is gone. It was fine when he was just puttering about upstairs, planning his forays, but…” She trailed off. “He could be frightening to someone who doesn’t understand what a sweet gentleman he is. I would never dream of sending him away. Not merely because of the scandal itwould create, all the talk of madness in the Dinsmore blood, but because I should never forgive myself if he were to come to harm because I was not there to oversee his care.”

Agatha patted Anne’s hand; then there was a discreet knock at the door. Anne withdrew her hand and straightened. “Come,” she called, clearly enough to be heard by the doorman she knew to be standing in the hall.

He entered, crossing the green and gold diamond pattern of the carpet, a silver salver balanced in one hand. “A letter, my lady.” When he reached the arm of her chair he lowered the tray.

Anne picked up the cream-colored envelope, turning it over, and frowning at the address. “That will be all.” She dismissed the footman.

“It’s for you,” she said to Agatha as soon as she heard the door click closed behind him.

“Whoever could be writing to me?” Agatha inquired, reaching for the envelope.

Anne placed it in her hand. “Someone at Moreham Hall.”