A Night Like This (15 page)

Mr. Percy said, “Indeed.”

“Would you care to try one on, my lord?” Mrs. Percy asked. “I think you’ll find that the curve of the brim is most flattering.” He did need a new hat, so he reached out to take it from her hands, but before he could place it onto his head, the door to the shop opened, tugging onto a small bell that tinkled merrily through the air. Daniel turned, but he didn’t need to see her before he knew.

Anne
.

The air changed when she walked into a room.

“Miss Wynter,” he said, “what a lovely surprise.”

She looked startled, but only for a moment, and while Mrs. Percy regarded her with obvious curiosity, she bobbed a curtsy and said, “Lord Winstead.”

“Miss Wynter is governess to my young cousins,” he said to Mrs. Percy. “They are visiting for a short spell.” Mrs. Percy expressed her pleasure in making the acquaintance, Mr. Percy said, “Indeed,” and Anne was whisked off to the ladies’ side of the shop, where Mrs.

Percy had a dark blue bonnet with striped ribbons that would suit her
perfectly
. Daniel ambled along after them, still holding the black topper in his hands.

“Oh, your lordship,” Mrs. Percy exclaimed, once she realized that he had folowed, “won’t you tell Miss Wynter how lovely she looks?” He preferred her without a bonnet, with the sun glinting on her hair, but when she looked up at him, the sooty sweep of her lashes framing the dark, dark blue of her eyes, he didn’t think there was a man in Christendom who would have disagreed with him when he said, “Most lovely, indeed.”

“There, you see,” Mrs. Percy said to Anne with an encouraging smile. “You look like a vision.”

“I do like it,” Anne said wistfuly. “Very much. But it’s terribly dear.” She untied the ribbons with reluctant fingers, puled it from her head, then looked down at it with obvious longing.

“Such workmanship would cost you twice as much in London,” Mrs. Percy reminded her.

“I know,” Anne said with a rueful smile, “but governesses aren’t paid twice as much in London. So I rarely have much left over for bonnets, even those as lovely as yours.”

Daniel suddenly felt like a bit of a cad, standing there with the top hat in his hand, a top hat they all knew he could have bought and sold a thousand times without even feeling a pinch in his pocket. “Excuse me,” he said, clearing his throat awkwardly. He popped back over to the men’s side of the shop, handed the hat to Mr.

Percy, who said, “Indeed,” and then returned to the ladies, who were still gazing down at the blue bonnet.

“Here you are,” Miss Wynter said, finaly handing it back to Mrs. Percy. “I shal certainly tell Lady Pleinsworth how lovely your bonnets are. I am sure that she will wish to take her daughters shopping while she is visiting.”

“Daughters?” Mrs. Percy echoed, brightening at the prospect.

“Four of them,” Daniel told her amiably. “And my mother and sister are at Whipple Hil, as wel.” While Mrs. Percy was fanning herself, flushed from the excitement of having seven aristocratic ladies in residence so close to her hat shop, Daniel took the opportunity to offer his arm to Anne.

“May I escort you on your next errand?” he asked her, knowing full well how awkward it would be for her to refuse in front of Mrs. Percy.

“I’m almost done,” she told him. “I’ve only to buy a bit of sealing wax.”

“Luckily for you, I know exactly where that can be purchased.”

“The stationer’s, I would imagine.”

Good gracious, she was making this difficult. “Yes, but I know where the stationer’s
is,
” he said.

She motioned with her finger someplace vaguely to the west. “Across the street, I think, and up the hil.” He shifted his position so that Mr. and Mrs. Percy could not easily watch their conversation. Under his breath, he said, “Will you stop being so difficult and let me escort you to buy your sealing wax?”

Her mouth was pressed shut, which meant that the little snort of laughter he heard must have come through her nose. All the same, she still looked quite dignified as she said, “Wel, if you put it that way, I don’t see how I could possibly refuse.”

He thought of several replies, but he had a feeling none would be as witty from his lips as they were in his head, so instead he nodded in acknowledgment and held out his arm, which she took with a smile.

Once they stepped outside, however, Anne turned to him with narrowed eyes and asked, quite bluntly, “Are you folowing me?” He coughed. “Wel, I wouldn’t say
following,
exactly.”

“Not exactly?” Her lips were doing a very good job of not smiling, but her eyes were not.

“Wel,” he said, adopting his most innocent expression, “I
was
in the hat shop before you came in. Some might even say that you were folowing me.”

“Some might,” she agreed. “But not me. Or you.”

“No,” he said, biting back a grin. “Definitely not.”

They began walking uphil toward the stationer’s shop, and even though she had not pressed the matter any further, he was enjoying the conversation far too much to let it go, so he said, “If you must know, I had been made aware of your possible presence in the vilage.”

“Clearly, I must know,” she murmured.

“And as I was also required to complete a few errands—”

“You?” she interrupted. “Required?”

He decided to ignore that. “
And
as it looked as if it might rain, I thought it my duty as a gentleman to make my trip into the vilage today, lest you get caught in inclement weather without proper conveyance home.”

She was quiet for just long enough to level a dubious stare in his direction, then said (not asked,
said
), “Realy.”

“No,” he admitted with a grin, “I was mostly just looking for you. But I do need to visit with all the shopkeepers eventualy, and I—” He stopped, looked up. “It’s raining.”

Anne held out her hand, and sure enough, a fat drop landed near her fingertips. “Wel, I suppose that shouldn’t be a surprise. The clouds have been gathering all day.”

“Shal we see about your sealing wax and be off, then? I came in my curricle and am more than happy to see you home.”

“Your curricle?” she asked, eyebrows up.

“You’ll still get wet,” he alowed, “but you’ll look very stylish while doing so.” At her answering grin, he added, “And you’ll get back to Whipple Hill faster.” By the time they took care of her sealing wax, choosing a deep, dark blue the exact color of the bonnet she’d left behind, the rain was coming down lightly but steadily. Daniel offered to wait with her in the vilage until it let up, but she told him she was expected back by teatime, and besides, who was to say that it would let up? The clouds were covering the sky like a thick blanket; it could very well rain until next Tuesday. “And it’s not raining
that
hard,” she said, frowning out the stationer’s window.

True enough, but when they reached Percy’s Fine Hats and Bonnets, he stopped and asked her, “Do you recall if they sold umbrelas?”

“I think they did.”

He held up a finger, signaling for her to wait, and was back out with an umbrela in no more time than it took for him to direct them to send the Bill to Whipple Hill and Mr. Percy to say, “Indeed.”

“My lady,” Daniel said, with enough galantry to make her smile. He pushed the umbrela open and held it above her as they made their way down to the posting inn.

“You should hold it over yourself as wel,” she said, carefuly stepping over puddles. The hem of her dress was getting wet, even as she tried to lift it off the ground with her hands.

“I am,” he lied. But he didn’t mind getting wet. His hat would resist the rain far better than her bonnet, in any case.

The posting inn wasn’t much farther, but when they arrived, the rain was coming down with a bit more vigor, so Daniel suggested once again that they wait for the rain to let up. “The food is rather good here,” he told her. “No kippers this time of day, but I’m sure we can find something to your liking.” She chuckled, and to his great surprise, she said, “I am a bit hungry.”

He glanced at the sky. “I don’t think you’ll be home by teatime.”

“It’s all right. I can’t imagine anyone would expect me to walk home in this.”

“I shal be completely honest,” he told her. “They were deep in discussions about the upcoming wedding. I sincerely doubt anyone has even noticed you’re gone.” She smiled as they headed inside to the dining room. “That is how it should be. Your sister should have the wedding of her dreams.” And what of
your
dreams?

The question traveled to the tip of his tongue, but he held it back. It would make her uncomfortable and ruin the lovely, easy camaraderie that had settled upon them.

And he doubted she would answer.

He was growing to treasure each tiny drop of her past that slipped by her lips. The colors of her parents’ eyes, the fact that she had a sister, and both loved to fish

. . . These were the little things she revealed, and whether she did so by accident or on purpose, he couldn’t be sure.

But he wanted more. When he looked in her eyes, he wanted to understand everything, every moment that had brought her to
this
moment. He didn’t want to call it obsession—that seemed far too dark for what he felt.

A mad infatuation, that’s what it was. A strange and giddy flight of fancy. Surely he wasn’t the first man to have been so quickly enchanted by a beautiful woman.

But as they settled into their seats in the inn’s busy dining room, he looked at her across the table and it wasn’t her beauty he saw. It was her heart. And her soul.

And he had a sinking feeling that his life was never going to be the same.

“O
h, my,” Anne said, alowing herself a little shiver as she sat down. She’d been wearing her coat, but the cuffs did not fit tightly, and the rain had slid down her sleeves. She was now drenched to her elbows and freezing to boot. “It’s difficult to imagine that it’s nearly May.”

“Tea?” Daniel asked, signaling to the innkeeper.

“Please. Or anything that is hot.” She puled off her gloves, pausing to frown at a little hole that was growing at the tip of her right forefinger. That wouldn’t do. She needed all the dignity she could muster in that finger. Heaven knew she shook it at the girls often enough.

“Is something amiss?” Daniel inquired.

“What?” She looked up and blinked. Oh, he must have seen her glaring at her glove. “It’s just my glove.” She held it up. “A small hole in the seam. I shal have to mend it this evening.” She gave it a closer inspection before setting it down on the table beside her. There was only so much mending a glove could take, and she suspected hers were nearing the end of their tether.

Daniel asked the innkeeper for two mugs of tea, then turned back to her. “At the risk of revealing myself to be completely ignorant of the realities of life in service, I must say that I find it difficult to believe that my aunt does not pay you enough to purchase a new pair of gloves.” Anne was quite sure that he was, indeed, completely ignorant of the realities of life in service, but she did appreciate that he at least acknowledged the deficit. She also suspected that he was completely ignorant of the
cost
of a pair of gloves, or just about anything else, for that matter. She had been shopping with the upper classes often enough to know that they never bothered to inquire the price of anything. If they liked it, they bought it and had the Bill sent to their homes, where someone else would take care of making sure it was paid.

“She does,” she said to him. “Pay me enough, that is. But there is virtue in thrift, wouldn’t you say?”

“Not if it means your fingers are freezing.”

She smiled, perhaps a little patronizingly. “It will hardly come to that. These gloves have at least one or two more mendings left in them.” He scowled. “How many times have you mended them already?”

“Oh, goodness, I don’t know. Five? Six?”

His expression turned to one of mild outrage. “That is entirely unacceptable. I will inform Aunt Charlotte that she must provide you with an adequate wardrobe.”

“You will do no such thing,” she said with haste. Good heavens, was he mad? One more show of undue interest from him, and Anne would be out on the street. It was bad enough that she was sitting with him in front of the entire vilage at the posting inn, but at least she had the excuse of the inclement weather. She could hardly be faulted for having taken refuge from the rain.

“I assure you,” she said, motioning to the gloves, “these are in better condition than most people’s.” Her eyes fell to the table, where his gloves, made of gloriously

“I assure you,” she said, motioning to the gloves, “these are in better condition than most people’s.” Her eyes fell to the table, where his gloves, made of gloriously luxurious lined leather, sat in an untended heap. She cleared her throat. “Present company excluded.” He shifted very slightly in his seat.

“Of course it is quite possible that your gloves have been mended and remended as wel,” she added without thinking. “The only difference is that your valet whisks them from your sight before you even notice they require attention.”

He did not say anything, and she instantly felt ashamed of her comment. Reverse snobbery was not nearly so bad as the real thing, but still, she ought to be better than that. “I beg your pardon,” she said.

He stared at her for a moment longer, then asked, “Why are we talking about gloves?”

“I have absolutely no idea.” But that wasn’t quite true. He might have been the one to bring it up, but she had not needed to go on about it. She’d wanted to remind him of the difference in their stations, she realized. Or maybe she’d wanted to remind herself.

“Enough of that,” she said briskly, giving the overdiscussed handwear a pat. She looked up at him again, about to say something completely benign about the weather, but he was smiling at her in a way that made his eyes crinkle, and—

“I think you’re healing,” she heard herself say. She hadn’t realized how much sweling there had been along with the bruise that wrapped around his eye, but now that it was gone, his smile was different. Perhaps even more joyful.

He touched his face. “My cheek?”

“No, your eye. It’s still a bit discolored, but it doesn’t look swolen any longer.” She gave him a regretful sort of look. “Your cheek looks much the same.”

“Realy?”

“Wel, actualy worse, I’m sorry to say, but that’s to be expected. These things usualy look worse before they look better.” His brows rose. “And how is it that you have come to be such an expert on scrapes and bruises?”

“I’m a governess,” she said. Because realy, that ought to be explanation enough.

“Yes, but you teach three girls—”

She laughed at this, cutting him off rather neatly. “Do you think that girls never get into mischief?”

“Oh, I know that they do.” He tapped one hand against his heart. “Five sisters. Did you know that? Five.”

“Is that meant to invoke pity?”

“It certainly
should,
” he said. “But still, I don’t recall them ever coming to blows.”

“Half the time Frances thinks she’s a unicorn,” Anne said plainly. “Trust me when I tell you that she acquires more than her fair share of bumps and bruises. And besides that, I’ve taught little boys, too. Someone must give them instruction before they go off to school.”

“I suppose,” he said with a little shrug of concession. Then, with a cheeky quirk of his brows, he leaned forward and murmured, “Would it be improper of me to admit that I am inordinately flattered by your attention to the details of my face?”

Anne snorted out a laugh. “Improper
and
ludicrous.”

“It is true that I have never felt quite so colorful,” he said, with a clearly feigned sigh.

“You are a veritable rainbow,” she agreed. “I see red and . . . wel, no orange and yelow, but certainly green and blue and violet.”

“You forgot indigo.”

“I did not,” she said, with her very best governess voice. “I have always found it to be a foolish addition to the spectrum. Have you ever actualy
seen
a rainbow?”

“Once or twice,” he replied, looking rather amused by her rant.

“It’s difficult enough to note the difference between the blue and violet, much less find the indigo in between.” He paused for a moment, then, lips twitching with humor, said, “You’ve given this a lot of thought.” Anne pressed her own lips together, trying not to smile in return. “Indeed,” she finaly said, then burst out laughing. It was the most ridiculous conversation, and so perfectly lovely at the same time.

Daniel laughed with her, and they both sat back as a maid came by with two steaming mugs of tea. Anne instantly put her hands around hers and sighed with pleasure as the warmth seeped through her skin.

Daniel took a sip, shivered as the hot liquid went down his throat, then sipped again. “I think I look very dashing,” he said, “all mottled and bruised. Perhaps I should start making up stories of how I was injured. Fighting with Marcus lacks all excitement.”

“Don’t forget the footpads,” she reminded him.

“And that,” he replied in a dry voice, “lacks all dignity.”

She smiled at that. It was a rare man who could poke fun at himself.

“What do you think?” he asked, turning as if to preen. “Shal I say I wrestled with a wild boar? Or perhaps fought off pirates with a machete?”

“Wel, that depends,” she returned. “Did you have the machete or did the pirates?”

“Oh, the pirates, I should think. It’s far more impressive if I held them off with my bare hands.” He waved them about as if practicing some ancient Oriental technique.

“Stop,” she said, laughing. “Everyone is looking at you.”

He shrugged. “They would look, regardless. I haven’t been here in three years.”

“Yes, but they’ll think you a madman.”

“Ah, but I’m alowed to be eccentric.” He gave her a dashing half smile and let his eyebrows bob up and then down. “It’s one of the perks of the title.”

“Not the money and the power?”

“Wel, those, too,” he admitted, “but right now I’m most enjoying the eccentricity. The bruises help the cause, don’t you think?” She roled her eyes, taking another sip of her tea.

“Perhaps a scar,” he mused, turning to present her with his cheek. “What do you think? Right along here. I could—” But Anne did not hear the rest of his words. She only saw his hand, slicing through air from his temple to his chin. A long, furious diagonal, just like—

She saw it—George’s face as he ripped the bandages from his skin in his father’s study.

And she felt it, the awful plunge of the knife when it had gone through his skin.

She turned away quickly, trying to breathe. But she couldn’t. It was like a vise around her lungs, a great weight sitting on her chest. She was choking and drowning at the same time, desperate for air. Oh, dear God, why was this happening now? It had been years since she’d felt this kind of spontaneous terror. She’d thought she was past it.

“Anne,” Daniel said urgently, reaching across the table to take her hand. “What can be wrong?” It was as if his touch snapped some sort of constricting band, because her entire body suddenly spasmed with a deep, convulsive breath. The black edges that had It was as if his touch snapped some sort of constricting band, because her entire body suddenly spasmed with a deep, convulsive breath. The black edges that had been squeezing down on her vision shimmered and dissolved, and very slowly, she felt her body returning to normal.

“Anne,” he said again, but she didn’t look at him. She did not want to see the concern on his face. He had been joking, she knew that perfectly wel. How on earth would she explain such an overreaction?

“The tea,” she said, hoping he did not remember that she had already put down her mug when he’d made his comment. “I think—” She coughed, and she was not faking it. “I think it went down the wrong way.”

He watched her face intently. “Are you certain?”

“Or maybe it was too hot,” she said, her shoulders quivering in a nervous little shrug. “But I’m almost recovered now, I assure you.” She smiled, or at least tried to. “It’s terribly embarrassing, realy.”

“Can I help you in any way?”

“No, of course not.” She fanned herself. “My goodness, I’m suddenly quite warm. Are you?” He shook his head, his eyes never leaving her face.

“The tea,” she said, trying to sound bright and cheery. “As I said, it’s quite hot.”

“It is.”

She swalowed. He saw through her act, she was sure of it. He did not know what the truth was, just that she was not saying it. And for the first time since she’d left home eight years earlier, she felt a pang of remorse over her silence. She had no obligation to share her secrets with this man, and yet, here she was, feeling evasive and guilty.

“Do you think the weather has improved?” she asked, turning to face the window. It was hard to tel; the glass was old and wavy, and the inn’s large overhang shielded it from the direct onslaught of the rain.

“Not yet, no,” he replied.

She turned back, murmuring, “No, of course not.” She fixed a smile on her face. “I should finish my tea, in any case.” He looked at her curiously. “You’re no longer too warm?”

She blinked, taking a moment to remember that she had been fanning herself just a few moments earlier. “No,” she said. “Funny, that.” She smiled again and brought her mug to her lips. But she was saved from having to figure out how to set the conversation back on its previous, easygoing course by a loud crashing noise just outside the dining room.

“What can that be?” Anne asked, but Daniel was already on his feet.

“Stay here,” he ordered, and strode quickly to the door. He looked tense, and Anne saw something familiar in his stance. Something she’d seen in herself, time and again. It was almost as if he was expecting trouble. But that made no sense. She’d heard that the man who had driven him out of the country had dropped his quest for revenge.

But she supposed that old habits died very hard. If George Chervil suddenly choked on a chicken bone or moved to the East Indies, how long would it take her to stop looking over her shoulder?

“It was nothing,” Daniel said, coming back to the table. “Just a drunkard who managed to wreak havoc from the inn to the stables and back.” He picked up his mug of tea, took a long swig, then added, “But the rain is thinning out. It’s still drizzling, but I think we should leave soon.”

“Of course,” Anne said, coming to her feet.

“I’ve already asked them to bring the carriage around,” he said, escorting her to the door.

She gave him a nod as she stepped outside. The fresh air was bracing, and she did not mind the cold. There was a cleansing quality to the chily mist, and it made her feel more like herself.

And right then, in that very moment, that wasn’t such a bad person to be.

D
aniel still had no idea what had happened to Anne back in the dining room. He supposed it could have been exactly what she’d said, that she’d choked on a bit of her tea. He’d done so before, and it was certainly enough to set a body coughing, especialy when the tea was steaming hot.

But she’d looked terribly pale, and her eyes—in that split second before she’d turned away—had looked hunted. Terrified.

It brought to mind that time he’d seen her in London, when she’d stumbled into Hoby’s, scared out of her wits. She’d said she’d seen someone. Or rather, she’d said there was someone she did not want to see.

But that was London. This was Berkshire, and more to the point, they had been sitting in an inn full of vilagers he’d known since birth. There hadn’t been a soul in that room who would have had cause to harm so much as a hair on her head.

Maybe it
was
the tea. Maybe he’d imagined everything else. Anne certainly seemed back to normal now, smiling at him as he helped her up into the curricle. The half canopy had been raised against the rain, but even if the weather held, they would both be thoroughly chiled by the time they reached Whipple Hil.