Lucy eagerly nodded her agreement. “He recited it just last evening, in the Valtrain gardens. Would you like to hear it?”
No, Anna did not want to hear it, she was certain she didn’t, but the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach prevented her from speaking immediately, and before she could utter a word, Mother said, “Of course!”
The three of them paused on the walkway. Lucy put the tip of the parasol on the ground, stacked her tiny hands atop the handle, and with a smile, lifted her face to the sky and said, “ ‘In the moonlight was her heart thus taken; a chaste kiss, another vow forsaken. And when the sun rose again on her lovely face, there she did lie in love’s sweet embrace.’” She lowered her happy gaze to her mother and sister.
“I had no idea Mr. Lockhart was a poet!” Mother exclaimed genuinely.
They turned twin smiles to Anna. But Anna’s heart had stopped beating, and as she could not draw air into her lungs, she gaped at Lucy as she tried to grasp what Lockhart had done. Surely he had not given her poem to Lucy. Surely not.
“It’s rather provocative, isn’t it?” Lucy whispered excitedly.
But Anna was still gaping, trying to comprehend how Drake Lockhart could give her poem to Lucy.
Lucy’s smile faded. She turned a frown to her mother. “Do you see, Mother? She takes the pleasure from everything!”
Mother frowned at Anna. “Darling, is there nothing you can say to Lucy about her lovely poem?”
Say? There was plenty she could say, all right, but her mother would be shocked by such vulgar language. “It’s… grand,” she made herself say. And it was a grand poem, especially grand when it had been for her.
Anna trailed behind her mother and sister, her disappointment mounting, her confusion about Lockhart and men in general steeping inside her. How could he do such a horrid thing? Did he think she and Lucy would not compare notes? When had he done it? When he returned to her with the cider, he’d escorted them both back inside, and had left their side to dance with Miss Netherton. Maybe he had told Lucy of his poem for Anna and she had misunderstood. Oh yes, it had to be something as simple as a misunderstanding on Lucy’s part, for what gentleman would create a poem and read it to two women?
Anna was so lost in thought that it took her a moment to realize that Mother and Lucy had stopped beside a handsome curricle. She started as she looked up to see who drove it.
Her traitorous lips formed a smile, completely independent of her. It was The Imposter, Ardencaple. And Mr. Fynster-Allen.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” Ardencaple said, tipping his hat and smiling broadly.
“Good afternoon, my lord!” Lucy called. “May I introduce you to my mother, Lady Whittington? Mother, please meet my friend, Lord Ardencaple.”
Anna watched as the Fraud of Ardencaple, charmer that he was, leapt from the curricle and landed lightly on his feet before Mother, leaving Mr. Fynster-Allen to climb down in a much less dashing fashion from the other side of the curricle. He took Mother’s hand, bent over it with a flourish, and straightened again. “It is me great pleasure to make yer acquaintance, Lady Whittington.”
“Oh, my lord, the pleasure is mine,” Mother said with a curtsey, then stepped back, gesturing for Anna to join them. “Might I introduce you to my other daughter, my lord?”
Ardencaple’s gaze slid to his right, landing on Anna. His smile suddenly seemed frozen. “We’ve met. How do you do, Miss Addison?”
“Very well, thank you,” she said, and turned a smile to Mr. Fynster-Allen. “Good afternoon, sir.”
Bless him, but the man turned an appalling shade of red. “Good afternoon, Miss Addison,” he muttered. “Lady Whittington. Miss Lucy,” he muttered further, now bobbing so quickly and often that he looked a bit like a duck.
“Mr. Fynster-Allen! Why, we’ve not had the pleasure of your company all Season!” Mother declared.
“Ah…I beg your pardon, my lady, but we did indeed meet at the Davenport supper,” he said, nervously taking his hat from his head. “Actually, we took a bit of cake together.”
Mother’s smile faded into a hint of confusion. “Did we?” she asked, brushing imaginary lint from her pelisse, then suddenly broke into another wreath of smiles. “Ah, of course we did, sir! You must forgive my abominable lack of memory!” she declared.
“Mother and I were enjoying the glorious weather,” Lucy said, as if Anna was not present. “Perhaps you gentlemen would care to escort us for a time?”
“’Twould give me great pleasure, it would,” Ardencaple said instantly, and smoothly moved in between Mother and Lucy, offering them both an arm, which they took as they beamed up at their handsome escort.