No gentleman ever spoke to Anna the way Drake did, as an equal, seeking her opinion. Anna could only believe that such intimacy of his thoughts was reserved for those whom Drake esteemed the most. And as Lucy had not mentioned it, Anna was certain Drake had not confided in her. He had confided in Anna. His attention to Lucy was a temporary blinding, that was all. After all, it happened to most of the gentlemen who met Lucy.
A temporary blinding… but still Anna tossed and turned at night, her mind full of conflicting thoughts and torrid images of Drake and Lucy, his hand on her breast, then his mouth on her breast, then the two of them, naked and copulating.
The disturbing dreams led Anna to believe that her only hope of holding fast to Drake’s esteem was to learn the art of seduction herself, and at the same time, strengthen Ardencaple’s suit to Lucy, which, she was sorry to note, had been less than vigorous of late. But Lucy adored the slightest amount of attention, and therefore, with even slighter provocation, Lucy would charm Ardencaple into her web.
Anna could make it happen.
Only one question remained, and that was if Anna was pushing an outlaw into her sister’s embrace. While that had a certain scandalous appeal, she could not, in good conscience, see Lucy harmed.
The coach slowed, interrupting Anna’s thoughts. She looked out the window, saw they had arrived at Hampton Court Palace.
The rain had stopped, which Anna took as a favorable omen. She bade Bentley to wait. “Are you certain I can’t drive you, miss?” he asked with a worried squint.
“I’ll be quite all right, Bentley,” she assured him, and with her pelisse pulled closely around her, her reticule firmly in her hand, she set out in search of Mrs. Merriman in the clutter of village that surrounded the old palace.
It didn’t take her nearly as long as she feared; the fishmonger in the marketplace was well acquainted with Mrs. Merriman. “Of course!” he said, delighted to be of some assistance. “Mrs. Merriman buys her fish here every Friday, as regular as rain.”
“Might you have a direction? I’m afraid I’ve gone a bit daft and can’t remember other than that she lives near Hampton Court.”
“Oh, you’ll find her on the row along the Thames,” the man said jovially. “And if you would be so kind, tell her we’ve some right fine lampreys this morning.”
“I will certainly do so,” Anna said, and walked on, to the row of neat town houses along the Thames.
At the third door Anna tried, a daily maid opened. “I beg your pardon, but I am looking for Mrs. Merriman,” Anna said politely.
“Aye,” the girl said, eyeing Anna up and down. “And who shall I say is calling, miss?”
Aha! “Miss Addison,” she said happily. “I should like to speak with her about her aunt, Lady Battenkirk.”
“All right, then, please step in,” the girl said, admitting Anna to the foyer. She left Anna standing there and walked down a narrow hallway, rapped lightly on a door, and at someone’s beck and call, stepped inside. A moment later, a tall, thin woman with black ringlets about her face stepped out and came striding forward.
“Miss Addison?”
“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Merriman?”
The woman nodded.
“I am Anna Addison, Lord Whittington’s daughter. My father is a distant relative of Lady Battenkirk’s, and she often summered with us in Devonshire.”
“Yes, I recall that she did,” Mrs. Merriman said, regarding her suspiciously.
“I hope you will forgive me, but I have come to inquire as to Lady Battenkirk’s whereabouts, as there is someone come to town to call on her.”
“Oh?” the woman asked, clasping her hands at her waist as she assessed Anna. “Unfortunately, my lady aunt is in Wales just now. An archaeological dig of some sort and quite impossible to reach. If I may ask, who exactly is seeking her?”
“Ah, well… it’s rather odd, really,” Anna said, “but the gentleman in question is a Scottish earl—”
“A Scottish earl?” Mrs. Merriman repeated, clearly confused.
“Scottish,” Anna nodded, “And he is quite desperate to find a woman named Amelia, who happens to be a friend of Lady Battenkirk—”
“Amelia? Surely you must mean Amelia Litton! She and Auntie were fast friends until the day she died.”
A rush of disappointment washed over Anna. “She died?”
“Yes, from bad meat, just last summer. Oh, you mustn’t fret, dear. She was ancient,” Mrs. Merriman assured her.
Anna looked curiously at Mrs. Merriman. “Ancient, you say? Not a girl, a young woman?”
Mrs. Merriman twittered at that. “Lord, no! She was an old spinster governess that once taught Auntie—I beg your pardon, forgive my manners, Miss Addison. Might I invite you in for a cup of tea?” she asked, gesturing to the parlor.