The Raven Prince (Princes #1)(18)
Author: Elizabeth Hoyt

As it turned out, however, she did not need such a loyal barricade. For while she received several censorious looks and one cut direct, not all the ladies of Little Battleford were disapproving. In fact, many of the younger ladies were so envious of Anna’s new position as secretary to Lord Swartingham that it seemed to transcend her problematic championship of a prostitute in their eyes.

Anna was almost through the gauntlet of villagers outside the church and was beginning to relax when she heard an overly sweet voice at her shoulder. “Mrs. Wren, I do want you to know how very brave I think you are.”

Felicity Clearwater carelessly held her small cape in one hand, the better to show off her fashionable frock. Orange and blue nosegays tumbled over a background of primrose yellow. The skirt parted in front to reveal a blue brocade underskirt, and the whole concoction draped over wide panniers.

For a moment, Anna thought wistfully of how nice it would be to wear a gown as fine as Felicity’s; then Mother Wren bridled beside her. “Anna had not a thought for herself when she brought that poor woman home.”

Felicity’s eyes widened. “Oh, obviously. Why, to endure the displeasure of the entire village, not to mention the scolding from the pulpit she just received, Anna must not have had a thought at all.”

“I don’t think I shall take the lessons of Jezebel too seriously,” Anna said lightly. “After all, they might apply to other women in this village, too.”

For some reason, this rather weak rejoinder made the other woman stiffen. “I wouldn’t know anything about that.” Felicity’s fingers ran blindly across her hair like spiders. “Unlike you, no one could fault me for the company I keep.” Smiling tightly, Felicity swept off before Anna could think of a suitable riposte.

“Cat.” Rebecca’s own eyes narrowed rather like a feline.

Back at the cottage, Anna spent the rest of the day darning stockings, a talent that she’d by necessity become expert at. After her own supper, she crept up to Pearl’s room and found the woman much better. Anna helped her sit up and eat some porridge thinned with milk. Pearl was quite a pretty woman, if worn looking.

Pearl fidgeted with a lock of her pale hair for several minutes before finally bursting out, “Why’d you take me in, then?”

Anna was startled. “You were lying by the side of the road. I couldn’t leave you there.”

“You know what kind of a girl I am, don’t you?”

“Well—”

“I’m a trollop.” Pearl said the last word with a defiant twist to her mouth.

“We thought you might be,” Anna replied.

“Well, now you know.”

“But I don’t see that it makes any difference.”

Pearl appeared stunned. Anna took the opportunity to spoon some more gruel into her open mouth.

“Here now. You aren’t one of them religious types, are you?” Pearl’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Anna paused with the spoon in midair. “What?”

Pearl agitatedly twisted the sheet covering her knees. “One of them religious ladies that grab girls like me to reform them. I heard that they feeds them nothing but bread and water and makes them do needlework till their fingers bleed and they repent.”

Anna looked at the milky gruel in the bowl. “This isn’t bread and water, is it?”

Pearl flushed. “No, ma’am, I suppose it isn’t.”

“We’ll feed you more substantial fare when you are up to it, I assure you.”

Pearl still looked uncertain, so Anna added, “You may go any time you like. I sent a letter to your sister. Perhaps she’ll arrive soon.”

“That’s right.” Pearl seemed relieved. “I remember giving you her direction.”

Anna stood. “Try not to worry; just sleep well.”

“Aye.” Pearl’s brow was still wrinkled.

Anna sighed. “Good night.”

“ ’Night, ma’am.”

Anna carried the bowl of gruel and the spoon back down the stairs and rinsed them out. It was quite dark by the time she retired to a small pallet made up in her mother-in-law’s room.

She slept dreamlessly and didn’t wake until Mother Wren gently shook her shoulder. “Anna. You had better get up, dear, if you’re to get to Ravenhill on time.”

Only then did it occur to Anna to wonder what the earl would think of her patient.

MONDAY MORNING, ANNA entered the Abbey library warily. She’d walked all the way from her cottage dreading the confrontation with Lord Swartingham, hoping against hope that he’d be more reasonable than the doctor had. However, the earl seemed just as usual—rumpled and grumpy with his hair and neckcloth askew. He greeted her by growling that he had found an error on one of the pages she had transcribed the day before. Anna breathed a grateful sigh of relief and settled down to work.

After luncheon, however, her luck ran out.

Lord Swartingham had made a short trip into town to consult with the vicar about helping to finance a renovation of the apse. His return was heralded by the front door crashing against the wall.

“MRS. WREN!”

Anna winced at the bellow and the subsequent slamming of the door. The dog by the fire lifted his head.

“Damnation! Where is the woman?”

Anna rolled her eyes. She was in the library where she always could be found. Where did he think she might be?

Heavy-booted feet stomped across the hall; then the earl’s tall form darkened the doorway. “What’s this I hear about an unsuitable refugee at your home, Mrs. Wren? The doctor was at great pains to tell me of your folly.” He stalked over to the rosewood desk and braced his arms in front of her.

Anna lifted her chin and attempted to look down her nose at him, no small feat since he was employing his great height to tower over her. “I found an unfortunate person in need of help, my lord, and, naturally, brought her to my home so that I might nurse her back to health.”

He scowled. “An unfortunate bawd, you mean. Are you insane?”

He was far more angry than she had anticipated. “Her name is Pearl.”

“Oh, fine.” He pushed away from her desk forcefully. “You are on intimate terms with the creature.”

“I only wish to point out that she is a woman, not a creature.”

“Semantics.” The earl waved a dismissive hand. “Have you no care for your reputation?”

“My reputation is hardly the point.”

“Hardly the point? Hardly the point?” He swung around violently and began pacing the carpet in front of her desk.