A Lady by Chance (Historical Regency Romance) (11 page)

Haverstock snapped to attention. "Who?"

"Mr. Hogart," Cynthia chided.

"Never heard of him," Haverstock said gloomily.

"Well, I can tell you all about him," Charlotte said, her eyes sparkling. "He has neither money nor family, but he is wonderfully kind. He is quite pious and plans to become a minister."

Kate rolled her eyes. "Charlotte, my dear, you can do far better. Pray, do not encourage the poor man."

"If he should do me the goodness of calling, I assure you I will be all that is amiable to him," Charlotte said with spunk.

Anna applauded Charlotte's deep goodness but deemed it wisest to keep her own views private for fear of angering Kate or Cynthia. Besides, she did not feel like talking. She still stung from her husband's words.
Schemed to become my wife. No love on your part
.

With those thoughts – and Sir Henry's instructions – keeping her awake, Anna was unable to sleep. She heard Charles in his dressing room, but he never came to her. It was the first night since she had been at Haverstock House that Charles did not share her bed.

Lydia and her brother, fresh from riding in the park, joined Anna in the breakfast room the following morning.

"Oh, Anna," Lydia said excitedly, "the chestnut Charles bought me is undoubtedly the best piece of horseflesh in London. Charles said she was your idea, and I do most gratefully thank you."

"Seeing your face so lively is thanks enough," Anna said. Davis entered the room and directed his gaze at Haverstock. "Her ladyship requests your presence in her chamber, my lord."

"You sent for me?" Haverstock asked, striding into his mother's gilded chamber where she took a breakfast tray in bed. He noted the grim set to her face. Even in her youth, his mother had not been a beauty. But she possessed what his father wanted in a wife. She was the daughter of earl who settled a generous dowry, and she bore him seven children while maintaining a cool detachment from her husband.

"Sit down," she commanded, her voice sharp.

He did as bid.

"I have been delivered a letter this morning – never mind who sent it. It informs me of your wife's deplorable conduct last night. You have brought me untold disappointment in your choice of a wife, Charles. Once a whore, always a whore."

Overcome with rage, Haverstock rose and towered over his mother. His voice quivered with anger. "I will not allow you to speak of my wife in such a manner. She is a total innocent. If she behaved with impropriety last night, it was because she is ignorant in the ways of the
ton
."

"She has bewitched you," the dowager said with disgust. "We cannot have the daughter of that horrible woman bear the title Marchioness of Haverstock. Divorce her before she can become the mother of the future marquess. Don't you see, Charles?"

"I see that you are dangerously close to breaking the bond of my filial duty, Mother. My wife made an innocent mistake. Do not speak so of Anna again."

He turned on his heel and left the room.

Chapter 12

Today, more than any time since her mother's death, Anna was in a blue funk. A terrible one. She had not slept at all the night before.

Over and over she had remembered the harshness of Charles' words spoken in anger – anger she richly deserved. She wondered how she could learn from Charles the truth about his activities when he refused even to share her bed. At the core of her misery was fear over what would happen to him if she betrayed him.

Perhaps by going to the East End she could purge herself of self-pity.

On her way back to Mayfair after her visit to the East End, Anna lacked her usual feeling of satisfaction. She had brightened one day in their lives but had done nothing to improve their lot. Poverty bred poverty. These people had no skills, no knowledge. They were locked in a never-ending cycle of misfortune. If only they could learn trades to earn a living wage. But how could they?

She had an idea. She and Colette were skilled at needlework. Perhaps they could provide fine fabrics and threads and instruct the women. As their skills increased, the seamstresses might even be able to get commissions to sew for the upper classes. Her idea snowballed, and Anna's gloom shed like layers of an onion. Some of the women – with her assistance – would be able to open shops. A modiste. A milliner. A tailor. Glove maker. Purveyor of fine christening gowns.

Her eyes sparkling, Anna turned to Colette. "You and I are going to open a school for seamstresses in White Chapel."

An understanding smile lifted Colette's weathered face. "
Tres bien
. That is an idea most good, my lady."

Haverstock stifled a yawn as he attempted to decode a message from one of his men in the field. He had fitfully tossed and turned throughout the night, unable to sleep, fighting the yearning to go to Anna. Yet, his anger stopped him. No, anger was not the right emotion. Disillusionment was closer to the mark. His wife was an enigma. On the one hand, she was the loving innocent with whom he shared a touching intimacy; on the other, a scheming hoyden who got Morgie drunk and most likely cheated to take possession of his substantial funds. This same hoyden had conducted herself like a trollop at Lord Wentworth's.

As he had done so many times before, Haverstock wondered why Anna so fiercely wanted Morgie's money when her own fortune supplied everything she could ever need. Perhaps his mother had been right. Something about Anna's innocence did not ring true. While he cherished the maidenhead she brought to their marriage bed, he questioned her scruples. Was she a scheming seductress who delighted in manipulating men? Was he, indeed, bewitched by the daughter of Annette de Mouchet?

The thought disturbed him. Until last night when her actions enraged him, he had been totally smitten with her. Did she know what power she held over him? What a weakling he had been for a lovely face and soft, compliant body. Well, he would show her! He would have to resist the temptation of her lovemaking and free himself of the bonds of her entrapment.

He could never free himself with the divorce his mother so eagerly sought. After all, Anna was his wife. She could be carrying his child at this very minute. Lord knows they had ample opportunities to conceive. He would always be responsible for her.

He vowed to devote himself so much to his work he would have little time to dwell on Anna and her bewitchment. If he did not have to behold her loveliness, he could resist her and maintain his dignity. He would be safe from her charms while he continued to take her into society, but he would not himself be alone with her. And she would never again have the opportunity to humiliate him as she had done with Sir Henry.

His thoughts turned to his work, still troubled over Monsieur Hebert's announcement that a traitor lurked in the London office. Who could it be? If only he could learn the wretched creature's identity.

The posies began arriving at Haverstock House long before the gentlemen sending them started calling on the lovely sisters, putting the household in a flurry of excitement. Abigails scurried about with freshly pressed dresses and hair combs in an effort to render the ladies suitably attired to greet their bevy of admirers.

It fell to Anna to provide chaperonage, since the dowager had made known her own refusal to leave her chamber. As Lydia conveyed her mother's message to Anna, she blundered. "I declare I do not know what has come over Mother these past weeks. She seldom leaves her room. Why, since Charles' marriage – "

Anna's stricken face halted Lydia in mid sentence.

"Oh, I am so very sorry, Anna," Lydia whispered, her face flaming.

"I daresay your mother cannot help but resent me."

Lydia walked to the dressing table where Anna sat and embraced her sister-in-law. "Give her time," Lydia said. "When Mother knows you better, she will accept you as she does her own daughters."

"Forgive me for saying I do not find that comforting, given what I perceive as your mother's lack of maternal affection."

Lydia sank on Anna's bed, her brows plunging together. "You are right. Mother has never been overly affectionate to her daughters. I believe it was because her own mother died when she was but a toddler. She had no example of motherly devotion. All of her love was directed at her sister, Aunt Margaret. You know Aunt Margaret was your father's wife?"

Anna's eyes widened. "I did not," she said softly. "It explains so very much."

"Mama and Aunt Margaret were like two bodies sharing one heart. When Aunt Margaret suffered in her marriage, Mother felt it just as keenly. I believe it is because of your mother's role in Aunt Margaret's unhappiness that mother resents you."

Anna nodded solemnly and did not speak for some time. "You said your mother has shown little affection to her daughters. What about her sons?"

"Though you have probably observed little evidence of it, Mother has always been terribly wrapped up in Charles. He always had to have the best. He had to be at the top of his class. And Charles being Charles, he endeavored to please. Only in his choice of a wife was he not guided by her. She has always made it clear she wanted him to marry Lady Jane Wyeth." Meeting Anna's pensive gaze, Lydia added, "I don't think the woman has been born who would be good enough for Charles in Mother's eyes."

Anna's chamber door whipped open, and Charlotte came flying into the room, wearing a posy of wilted pansies. "Oh, Anna, Mr. Hogart is downstairs as we speak. Can you please accompany me now?"

Though Anna wanted to know more about Lady Jane Wyeth, this was no time to ask. She rose from the dressing table, giving a last fleeting glance into her looking glass at her peach-colored muslin. "Of course." Turning to Lydia, she asked, "Do you accompany us?"

"I wouldn't think of missing the opportunity to meet the paragon, Mr. Hogart."

By the time the three ladies entered the saloon, several other expectant young bucks awkwardly occupied chairs throughout the room. As hostess, Anna greeted them first, then ordered tea. Within minutes Cynthia and Kate – both dressed to perfection in Madame Devreaux's creations – sailed into the room with smiling faces.

To Anna's astonishment, Kate fixed her attention on a Mr. Reeves, whom Anna judged to be forty years old. He possessed neither title nor good looks. He squeezed into clothing he must have worn when he weighed two stone less. His fleshy chin sunk into his highly starched cravat, and the top of his balding head reflected the afternoon sun that shafted into the room.

Anna watched with interest as Cynthia singled out the dashing Captain Smythe, who appeared to appreciate Cynthia's fair beauty as much as Cynthia was attracted to his handsomeness. Anna appreciated Cynthia's taste. Captain Smythe's broad shoulders filled his red coat with its highly polished buttons. He was tall and dark with a ready smile and elegant manners.

Though Anna knew with certainty four men now in this room had sent flowers to Charlotte, Charlotte chose to wear the pitiful bouquet sent from the modest Mr. Hogart. Anna observed that no one except Charlotte spoke to the common-looking man and was reminded of Kate's remark that he stuck out like a sty on the eye. Indeed, the poor man was as out of place with these pinks of the ton as a briar patch at Kew Gardens.

Except for his limp white shirt, he dressed entirely in black, in clothing that had long ago fallen from fashion. A slight man of medium height, he looked much younger than the other men in the room. His hair was still a pale blond, framing a too-earnest face. Despite his lack of fashionable clothes, Mr. Hogart, with his clear blue eyes and fine nose, exuded an elegance of person. Anna decided she quite liked the boy.

"Charlotte tells me you plan to be a minister," Anna said to Mr. Hogart as she handed him his tea. "Church of England?"

He clumsily took the cup. "No, my lady. I am a Methodist."

The banter of a dozen young people suddenly stopped and all eyes riveted to the ill-dressed Mr. Hogart. Had he said he was a Buddhist, they could not have been more repelled, Anna thought.

"How very interesting," Anna said, forcing a smile. "I confess to having found Mr. Wesley's tracts rather thought provoking."

"If only my parents were as enlightened as you," Hogart said. "They do not approve of my choice."

"What is it they wanted for you?" Charlotte asked timidly, admiration in her eyes.

"My father had hoped I would take over his farms."

"He is a squire?" Anna asked.

He nodded.

Turning her attention to Captain Smythe, Anna asked him to tell the gathering about his activities on the Peninsula, which he did, fully enrapturing Cynthia. Even Kate, who scorned him as a second son, seemed to hang on his every word.

As darkness began to fall, Haverstock entered the salon, his eyes meeting Anna's first, then addressing the visiting gentlemen.

Anna noted with pride that he did not scorn Mr. Hogart as the others had. She scooted over on the sofa so Charles could sit next to her, but he remained standing, pacing the room. He refused Anna's offer of tea and seemed preoccupied with his own thoughts.

After the callers took their leave, the sisters queried Haverstock.

"Did you find Captain Smythe to be possessed of all that is agreeable?" Cynthia asked.

"Though Mr. Hogart is much reserved, I could tell you liked him," Charlotte said. "Didn't you, Charles?"

Haverstock stroked his sisters with the responses they desired. Meeting Kate's gaze, he said, "Did I detect a preference on your part for Mr. Reeves?"

She nodded, her lashes coyly sweeping downward.

"How can this be?" Charlotte asked. "You spurned the man two seasons ago."

"But that was before it was known that he stood to succeed Blassingame's dukedom. It seems His Grace of Blassingame failed to sire sons," Kate said. "And Mr. Reeves is his nephew," she announced brightly.

Cynthia whirled at her elder sister. "Do you mean to say you would marry Mr. Reeves solely to become a duchess?"

Kate held her shoulders regally, her eyes dancing. "Why should I be content to be a mere lady when I could be a duchess?"