Page 52

In that moment, she felt with every fibre of her being that there was him, only him.

She choked back a sob.

St John blinked.

Then his eyes widened.

And, since he was in the midst of sipping champagne, he attempted to swallow and speak at the same time. He coughed and spluttered violently.

Anna quickly turned her back, her heart racing.

Please, don’t acknowledge me. Please, please…

Marchmont clapped him on the shoulder with a hearty laugh. “Went down the wrong way, did it?”

St John struggled to regain his composure, coughing, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

But Anna slipped away, not daring to glance back, praying silently that he would simply let the moment pass. She mingled with the crowd, hoping that he would believe his eyes had deceived him, or that he hadn’t recognised her after all.

But knowing St John, that was unlikely.

The gong sounded for supper and the double doors opened to a lavishly set banquet.

Anna breathed a sigh of relief. She wasn’t required to assist in the supper room as that was a job that was assigned to the taller footmen. Her hands were sweaty and her shoulders ached from carrying the heavy tray. Her nerves were on edge, and she felt so shaken from the encounter with St John she felt like bursting into tears.

With a last backwards glance, she saw St John cast a frantic, searching glance over the crowd of people, but then he was monopolised by a lady with a violet headdress, whom he had to escort to the supper room.

Her brother had offered his arm to the simpering Miss Marchmont.

When the doors closed, Anna slumped in relief.

How on earth would she get through the remaining evening?

* * *

While the guests dined, she had to collect the empty glasses and plates and take them down to the kitchen.

“Did you see the French comte? He cut such a dashing figure,” Hetty whispered to Anna as she picked up several plates and wiped the crumbs from a side table.

“He looks like a nincompoop who’s incapable of putting two words together,” Anna replied.

“But so very handsome! With such a tragic family story, too. I stood right by him as he regaled the ladies with his story.”

Anna repressed a snort.

“It appears he comes from a very old, very dignified French family who served the king directly as some sort of high-ranking official in the king’s household, a Grand something-or-other.”

“Grand Écuyer,” Anna put in as she balanced the empty glasses on her tray. “He was responsible for the king’s horses, stables and overall transportation.”

“Yes. So he was that. And then, imagine, Anna, a revolution broke out and instead of fleeing, the comte’s father remained behind, loyal to the king. All the way to the guillotine.”

Anna did not reply but continued arranging the champagne coupes on her tray, even though they did not need to be rearranged.

“Both his parents died, and he was but a babe, then. Is it not sad? His nanny smuggled him out of the country to England, and this is where he is now. Poor as a church mouse, but proud and ah, isn’t it so sad? I wonder why he is here.”

“To catch himself a rich heiress. What else?” Anna balanced the tray skilfully on one hand and took it outside into the antechamber. Hetty followed her.

“It must be. I hope for his sake he’s successful, though not with Miss Marchmont. He deserves better.”