Page 3 of The Return of the Rake

“There’s only one way to extricate me, Lawrence, and that’s to marry me.”

He stared at her.

“You must be joking.”

Anne swallowed heavily. Well, there was her last chance, gone up in smoke. Foolishly, she had believed Lawrence would rally to help her. Despite knowing he did not wish to marry her, she had thought these circumstances would bring out his chivalrous instincts. Apparently not.

“Forget I asked,” she said, pushing to her feet. She would not stay here a moment longer. There was no one in the world who cared about her, that much was clear. She had always hoped Lawrence was different, but he was just a man in the end, and, like all men, he would do what suited him best. How nice it must be to have the power to choose.

“Oh, don’t stalk off,” he said crossly, hurrying after her. “I told you, we need to think about this with clear heads. It might not be so bad as you believe, and even if it is, well, there are always options.” “No, Lawrence, there are no options. Not unless you’re a man.”

“Dammit, Anne. I’ll come round tomorrow, and we’ll talk.”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” she said, unable to keep the catch from her voice. “I don’t ever want to talk to you again.”

“Christ almighty, why must you make everything into a Cheltenham tragedy?” he demanded.

“Because this is a tragedy!” she cried, turning to face him, tears streaming down her face. “This is the end of my life. I’m ruined, Lawrence. The only one who could save me was you, and if you won’t… well, that’s the end of it.”

She stared up into his handsome face, seeing his exasperation, frustration seething through every inch of his frame. “If there’s really no other way, I’ll marry you, dammit,” he growled furiously. “But I’m not offering until I’m bloody sure there’s no other option.”

“Oh, how very noble you are,” she said, pressing her hands to her heart, her lips twisted into a sneer before turning around and grasping the door handle. She yanked the door open, turning to look at him for the last time. “Go to hell, Lawrence.”

“Miss?”

Anne looked up from her position on the bed where she had thrown herself an hour ago. She had cried and cried until there were no tears left and all she could do was make odd little keening noises. Her life had never been precisely easy but never had she felt such despair.

For one, she had always trusted Lawrence would cheer her out of her doldrums. Besides that, she had always believed she could outwit her fate, no matter what. Her father said she was too bold, too outspoken, too capable in a world where women were supposed to be quiet and demure and in need of a man’s protection. True enough, but she did not feel bold or capable now. Instead, she felt like a fool, caught in a snare the verriest ninny would have avoided by behaving as she ought. But not Anne. Oh, no. Ever certain of her own worth and her own abilities, she had flung herself headlong into disaster.

“Miss Harding?”

Anne sat up, peering into the darkness as the gleam of a candle suddenly appeared, making her squint. “Who’s there?”

“It’s Mrs Fairway.”

Anne blinked in surprise as the angular figure became more than just a shadowy outline.

“I’ve brought you a nice cup of tea, and some cake. Nothing ever looks so dreadful once you’ve got a slice of excellent cake in front of you,” the lady said firmly.

Anne made a choked sound, stunned by the kindness of a woman she knew little, though she had been with the family for years as their cook. Anne’s father had strict rules about fraternising with the servants and so, while she had always loved spending time in the kitchen, she had not grown to know Mrs Fairway well.

“You’re very kind,” Anne said thickly, certain she could swallow nothing, let alone the large slice of cake the woman had brought her. She glanced up, seeing pity and compassion soften the woman’s rather harsh features. “I-I suppose all the servants kn-know?”

Mrs Fairway put the tray on the bedside table and then sat on the edge of the bed, though Anne had not invited her to do so. She didn’t mind it, desperate for any small gesture of kindness in a world that seemed colder and more frightening than ever before.

“Aye, what with your father bellowing fit to rattle the windows. Never thinks of any but his own feelings, does he?” she said, shaking her head with sorrow.

Anne’s breath caught. She had never heard anyone bold enough to criticise her father before, certainly not a servant, and not to her. She stared at Mrs Fairway in astonishment. The woman’s mouth quirked, her lips thinning.

“I’ve seen how he treats you. The miserable old buzzard don’t deserve such a lovely girl as you, and as for that mother of yourn… well, least said the better,” she added with a sniff.

“You th-think I’m l-lovely?” Anne said, too startled not to voice her surprise. “B-But I’m too outspoken and rude, and I have a dreadful temper—”

Mrs Fairway laughed and reached out, pushing a lock of Anne’s frightful red hair out of her eyes. “That’s because of these fiery tresses. Nowt you can do about your nature, my dear, but don’t you believe what ignorant folks tell you. Least of all, your ma and pa. You listen to me, for I’ve watched you grow from a girl to a young woman, and I know that you’re kind-hearted, clever, talented, and far too good for this family, let alone some wicked marquess what thought he could push you around like a piece on a chessboard.”

Anne gasped, then threw her arms around Mrs Fairway’s narrow frame and sobbed.

“Ah, there, there, deary. Don’t take on so. You going to let them beat you?”