Lucy’s expression dissolved into dejection. She brought a hand to her face. “But… what could he possibly have to write, for your eyes only?” she asked, her voice smaller and, amazingly, her amber eyes dark and tinged with sadness.
That surprised Anna. She could hardly look at Lucy when the girl looked so unexpectedly wistful and vulnerable. “That he…” Was it possible that Lucy really did esteem Drake so very much? Was it possible that she really did desire a match with him as much as Anna?
Lucy blinked up at her, waiting. Anna cleared her throat. “That he, ah… ahem! That he hopes I shall impress on you his many good qualities,” she said softly.
For a moment, it seemed as if Lucy had not heard her, but then in a blink of an eye she whirled around to the mirror on the vanity and resumed her primping. Behind her, Bette looked at Anna skeptically, but Anna shrugged slightly, tossed the vellum into the fire, and picked up her wrap.
“How do you suppose he’ll offer?” Lucy asked excitedly. “Before everyone at the ball? Or do you think he shall speak privately with Father?”
“Really, Lucy!” Bette said, but she was looking at Anna, clearly puzzled.
“I suppose he’ll speak to Father—wait!” Lucy cried into her mirror at Anna’s reflection as she moved quietly to the door. “Where are you going?”
At the door, Anna turned around and looked at both of her sisters. Bette was looking at her as if she pitied her, and Lucy, who had twisted around on the vanity bench, was all smiles, her eyes bright with excitement. Anna’s predicament was feeling heavier, and she forced a smile as she pulled the door open. “I think I should like a walkabout before the gathering this evening,” she said, and with a less-than-cheerful wave, she quit the room before either sister could call her back.
She slipped into her green pelisse and took the servants’ stairs down, lest she encounter anyone she’d rather not encounter, and walked through the kitchen with a terse wave, not even hearing the many “G’day, misses” tossed out to her.
Outside the kitchen, men in various liveries were milling about around a mound of baggage that might have been ten feet high if it were one, waiting for the Featherstone underbutler to assign them to their rooms. Anna walked on, through the stone gates that led through the kitchen garden and laundry quarters, where some maids were still cleaning chamber pots.
She was oblivious to the bustle, for it was as if her mind were rearranging itself altogether, moving things about that had been in place so long that they left deep grooves. This was an awfully foolish feeling, to have wanted something for so long and on the verge of achieving it to realize it wasn’t what she wanted in the least.
As she entered the quiet space of the east lawn rose garden, she realized that all her life she’d believed in that old saying that if she wanted the fruit of life, she’d have to climb the tree to get it. She’d set out to do just that, to chart her future and control her destiny instead of giving into the social forces around her, reaching for something just beyond her grasp.
It was exactly what she’d done with Drake. She had wanted him—she had thought him the most beautiful man in all of London. And she had reached for him, disregarding all societal rules and proprieties in her quest. Now that he seemed to want her, too, she had no idea what she wanted. She was horribly confused, particularly since the only thing she knew with certainty was that she had fallen in love with Grif, a man who was beyond her capacity to reach—far, far, beyond her grasp.
“Anna!”
The whisper of her name startled her out of her wits; she whirled around, hoping it was Grif… but it was Drake who stepped out from the roses to stand before her, smiling warmly. “Anna,” he said again, reaching for her hand. “You received my note?”
She nervously tried to collect herself. “I, ah…I did,” she said, and suddenly smiled. “How silly you are, sir! I’ve not been gone more than a few days.”
Drake’s gaze greedily swept her body. “Think me silly if you will, Anna, but it has seemed an eternity since last we met.”
She took a small step backward. “Mr. Lockhart!” she said gaily. “You flatter me.”
“I do not,” he said earnestly, matching her small step with a forward step. “I have come to admire you dearly, Anna. I esteem you greatly—can’t you see that I do?”
“Indeed? Then your opinion of me has changed.” She took another small step backward. “There was a time when you could not seem to recall me at all, sir!” she said laughingly.
He cocked a brow and smiled. “Do you believe a man cannot change?”
“Would you have me truly believe you’ve changed?”
“Indeed I have. I have come to esteem you in a way I did not think possible,” he said, his smile fading, and he laid his hand tenderly against her cheek.
His response astounded her—Drake had flirted with her, kissed her, but he’d never spoken as earnestly as he did now.