The hour passed slowly, but finally, the class ended, and Henry was free to go. He’d already determined to journey into town and visit Anne at home. He felt certain something had happened to prevent her from attending class. She’d said she was looking forward to it and to seeing him again. He wouldn’t be able to rest until he knew all was well with her.
Rushing to pile up the books left behind, Henry nearly made a mess of them before Violet steadied them while adding, “It seems our most promising student didn’t return after all. I’m somewhat disappointed. I was hoping she would overcome her fears and change her mind, but perhaps she needs more time. Let’s hope we see Mrs. Crawford on Saturday morning. I’ll prepare something a little more challenging for her just in case.
“Yes,” Henry said, trying to hide his concern.
“Good. Then I shall see you this Saturday. And I hope you will join us for tea this time. The twins haven’t seen much of their Uncle Henry since he’s been in Canterbury.”
“Of course, I’d love to see the twins,” Henry promised, trying not to appear to be rushing when he exited the classroom. As he walked, he made a mental note to revisit the toymakers before Saturday. The shops wouldn’t be open at this hour, but that was of no concern. He had a far more pressing reason to ride into town than buying toys.
It was a straight path from the college to the town, and Henry, half-fearful and half-hopeful, kept his eyes on the road for the mile-long journey. There was no sign of Anne.
He allowed his carriage to take him through Westgate and down The Friars but instructed him to stop before turning onto Orange Street. He thought it better to approach the seamstress’s shop on foot to draw as little attention to his visit as possible. He rounded the corner and then came to an abrupt stop.
Annabel stood outside the small shop, conversing with a gentleman. Though he stood quite a distance away, he could see the man in question was taller and broader built than Nate. A bushel of black hair and an equally thick beard confirmed her companion wasn’t Nate, whose build was slighter and whose hair was lighter in color and texture.
Anne’s back faced him as she peered up at the brawny stranger, but Henry didn’t need to see her expression. He could sense the intensity of their conversation. The man looked down at her, his expression intense. Then he reached into his pocket and withdrew a bag of coins. Anne shook her head as he tried to give it to her. He placed a hand on her shoulder, bent his head close to hers, and spoke again.
Henry sucked in his breath as he saw Anne accept the coins and allow the man into her lodgings—his hand still resting on the small of her back. He turned and hastened back to his carriage, his chest heaving and his mind whirling.
How many gentleman friends does the widow Mrs. Crawford entertain? Am I simply one of many? She claims Nate to be a family friend. How, then, will she explainthisgentleman? And how, then, does she explain me to others?
He climbed into his carriage and instructed the driver to turn the carriage around and take him home. “Do not venture down Orange Street!”
The driver took great pains to turn the carriage around in the curved, narrow street. It would have undoubtedly made more sense to traverse down Orange Street, which connected to High Street at its end. But Henry could not chance being seen by Anne. She’d accuse him of spying on her, and he’d look like a jealous fool. After all, he had no claim on her.
Yet, she’d accepted and sought out his hand in the darkness of the theater—under the guise of needing comfort—and she’d let him kiss her goodnight. He’d reacted with genuine concern to her discomfort.
Perhaps Anne used affliction to garner his sympathy and affection. Any decent sort of man would try to comfort a woman in distress, and a widow like Mrs. Crawford would know as much. Surely, it was no coincidence that she’d once again appeared anguished when speaking with her gentleman friend today. She’d even embraced him under the guise of needing comfort and protection. Henry recalled how Anne had lightly protested him purchasing the bear for Rupert, saying she’d never accept such an expensive present on her own behalf. He remembered how she’d led him to the tearoom on Sun Street with confidence and afterward insisted he take her to the theater, even though he made his reluctance about the play clear. He recalled how she’d snatched the cheese from the cheesemonger’s hand, even after Henry refused it on her behalf. And then there were the cheesemonger’s words as they left the market,“Bring any gentleman you like; it’s all the same to me so long as he has coins in his pocket,”she’d said.
Henry gritted his teeth until his jaw felt tight. Anne Crawford had played him for a fool.
Chapter Fourteen
Love bade mewelcome;
yet my soul drewback,
Guilty of dust andsin.
—George Herbert,Love
“Letters for you,my lord.” Henry’s valet, Jamison, lowered a silver tray in front of him.
“Letters?” Henry frowned at the tray. “I had no idea anyone knew I was here.” He put down his egg-filled spoon and reached for the envelope.
“It came from your estate in Sevenoaks,” Jamison said.
“Ahh,” Henry nodded, taking the letter opener, and slitting the envelope open. “That makes sense.”
Jamison nodded and left the room.
“Who sent it?” Ottilie asked as Henry scanned the note.
“My friend, Hobsworth. He wants me to visit him at Stokeford Manor. He says he’s going to perish of boredom if he spends one day longer holed up with my mother and his uncle.” Henry groaned. “Poor sod.”
“Why don’t you ask him to join us in Kent? We have plenty of room,” Bastin offered.
“He’d be most welcome.” Ottilie wiped the remnants of Alice’s breakfast from her mouth.
