Anna glanced back at the kindly older woman in a daze. “Hmm?”
She had not slept well. She had not slept at all, in truth, too worried about what the day would bring; rather,whoit would bring. It was almost as if the new Duke had been in her bedchamber with her, so close she couldn’t breathe properly, filling up her thoughts with worry and reminders of his mannerless behavior, robbing her of her rest as well as her home.
He claimed he respected me and my situation, yet he touched me. What sort of man can he be, if he deems that appropriate?It did not take much for her mind to repeat the memory of his closeness and the rough, warm touch of his hand upon her chin. The scent of him, too, so like the fresh morning air.
If she closed her eyes, she could see his dark eyes staring back at her, glinting from within that ruggedly handsome face… which was likely why she had not been able tokeepher eyes closed for very long last night, fearful that he might infiltrate her dreams as well as her manor.
“Breakfast, Your Grace?” the cook repeated. “I can bring it out to you, if you’d like to have it where you are? It’s a fine morning.”
Anna sipped her tea and gave a small nod. “Just something simple, if you please. My stomach is not quite settled today.”
“Are you unwell, Your Grace?” The cook stepped farther out into the quaint kitchen garden, the aroma of herbs adding subtle layers of exquisite perfume to the air. “Shall I have Joan make you a tonic?”
Anna smiled at the woman’s concern. “It is nothing a tonic can remedy, my dear Mrs. Wilton. It is a malady of the nerves, and it began with that… brute’s visit yesterday.”
Her breath caught as her mind replayed his proximity, how he had pinned her with such ease, such strength; yet, he had not been rough, just commanding. Sure of himself.
“I heard of it,” the cook said, a deep frown lining her freckled brow. “It’s all the servants could talk about at dinner. In truth, Your Grace, they’re suffering the same bout of nerves, wondering what it all means.”
Anna nodded. “I wish I could allay their fears, but I will not know more about it until the man comes to visit again today. It is my hope that he will heed my suggestion and venture off to London or the coast, but he is… difficult to read.”
“Did he say when he’d be back?” the cook asked, chewing her lip in consternation. “Do you think he’ll require a meal?”
A tight smile formed on Anna’s lips. “Perhaps he will, but you must not cook too well for him, Mrs. Wilton, otherwise he might be tempted to stay.” She exhaled a strained sigh. “We must chase this man away. He cannot have this home of ours. He cannot.”
“You don’t think he might be… like the old master, do you?” The cook came closer, her voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “Goodness, I couldn’t bear it if we had to endure all of that again.”
Anna took another sip of her quickly cooling tea and remembered all the awful stories she had heard about her former husband. The tales had come out in bits and pieces after Robert’s death, once the servants trusted her enough with the truth about the man she had married.
And though she wouldn’t admit it openly, out of fear of seeming wicked, Anna was actually more grateful that her husband had died on their wedding night beforeshecould become one of those cautionary tales.
“I have yet to make a proper measure of his character,” Anna replied. “But what I experienced has not made me very optimistic. He is uncouth, he is mannerless, he is rough, he is…”
Handsome. Intimidating. Entirely without propriety. Dangerous, no doubt, to me and my position.She recalled how he had held her arms behind her back, his grip so firm that she could not have hoped to free herself. Her face warmed as she remembered her futile efforts to writhe free, how her body had brushed against his, feeling the hard outline of muscle, and how his proximity had seemed to squeeze the air right out of her lungs.
“He is not a duke,” she concluded. “He is merely fortunate enough to have been born a man with very tenuous ties to my former husband. I saw the line of inheritance; he is barely related.”
The cook puffed out a breath. “I suppose that’s all it takes, sometimes.”
“Indeed,” Anna muttered, furious that men could just be lucky, while a woman could put everything she had into managing a home and an estate—doing it quite well, too—only for it to be taken away without warning.
Jeremy Bolt. Cousin of a cousin of a cousin.Perhaps, there had been another cousin; she could not quite remember. Either way, by that line of inheritance’s reckoning, she figured that half of England’s peerage would have had the same claim to her home.
Just then, shouts rang out from somewhere in the manor. A commotion that cut through the stillness of the lovely morning, shattering the tiny bubble of peace that Anna had managed to reclaim after yesterday.
“What on earth…?” Anna rasped as she jumped up to investigate.
Mrs. Wilton came with her, the two women hurriedly moving through the hallways of Stonebridge Manor, gathering more servants along the way. By the time they reached the entrance hall, they resembled a small army, pouring into the already somewhat crowded foyer.
Through the wide-open double doors at the manor’s entrance, unfamiliar servants in starched livery marched in, carrying chests, boxes, valises, and furniture. Anna watched with indignation as some of these newcomers moved her own furniture aside to unload what they were bringing in, then headed back out to fetch more things that did not belong in this house.
In the center of the room, wearing a face like thunder, Mr. Miller looked about ready to explode. “Get your hands off that! That is an heirloom!” the butler barked, as two men picked up a chaise longue from beneath the tall windows and shoved it unceremoniously into the nearest hallway. “You can’t put that there!”
At the same time, some of Anna’s footmen and maids were rushing around, trying to restore things to their proper place.
Anna watched a couple of her maids gather beloved items, such as precious vases, statuettes, ornaments, and one of the Persian rugs, holding them as if they were thieves caught in the act. She was protecting what was hers so that this invasion wouldn't destroy anything, although it seemed it was already too late for a small ceramic frog that had been knocked off the windowsill and lay broken in three pieces on the floor.
He has broken my sweet Hoppet…Anna’s heart clenched, for it was one of the only belongings she had managed to steal from her childhood home of Pembroke House. An object more precious than any vase or rug, for it had once sat in her beloved father’s study, named by her as a girl, and had been small enough to carry away with her when she left.
