The Raven Prince (Princes #1)(53)
Author: Elizabeth Hoyt

“Sniffing you.”

“I probably smell fetid right now.”

“No.” Anna shook her head. “You smell… nice.”

He studied her upturned face for a minute. “Please forgive me. I don’t want you to hope. If there were any way—”

“I know.” She got to her feet. “I even understand.” She walked briskly to the door. “I came down to get something for Rebecca. She must be wondering what happened to me.”

“Anna…”

But she pretended she didn’t hear and left the sitting room. Rejection from Edward was one thing. Pity she didn’t have to take.

The front door banged open at that moment to admit a disheveled James Fairchild. He was like a vision from Bedlam: his blond hair stood on end, and his neckcloth was missing.

He looked wildly at Anna. “Rebecca?”

At that moment, as if in answer from on high, there came the wavering wail of a newborn baby. James Fairchild’s expression changed from frantic to dumbstruck. Without waiting for Anna’s answer, he bounded up the stairs, taking the risers three at a time. Anna noticed as he passed out of sight that he was wearing only one stocking on his feet.

She half smiled to herself as she turned to the kitchen.

“I BELIEVE IT’S almost time to plant, my lord,” Hopple said chummily.

“No doubt.” Edward squinted at the bright afternoon sun.

After a night of very little sleep, he wasn’t in the mood for chitchat. He and the steward were walking a field, checking to see if it would need a drainage ditch like Mr. Grundle’s. It appeared the local ditch diggers had an assured living for the foreseeable future. Jock bounded along the hedges lining the fields, poking his muzzle down rabbit holes. Edward had sent a note to Anna this morning to tell her that she need not come to the Abbey today. She could use the day to rest. And he needed a respite from her presence. He had come close to kissing her again last night, despite his word of honor. He should let her go; after he was married, he could hardly retain a female secretary anyway. But then she would have no source of income, and he’d a feeling that the Wren household needed the money.

“Perhaps if we put the drainage ditch there?” Hopple pointed to a spot where Jock was currently digging and sending up a spume of mud.

Edward grunted.

“Or perhaps—” Hopple turned and nearly tripped on a clump of debris. He looked down disgustedly at his muddy boot. “It was wise of you not to include Mrs. Wren on this outing.”

“She’s at home,” Edward said. “I told her to spend the day sleeping. You heard about Mrs. Fairchild’s confinement last night?”

“The lady had a difficult time as I understand. What a miracle that both mother and child are well.”

Edward snorted. “A miracle, indeed. Damned foolish for a man to leave his wife all alone, save a little maid, that close to her confinement.”

“I heard the father was quite appalled this morning,” Hopple offered.

“Not that it did his wife any good last night,” Edward said dryly. “Be that as it may, Mrs. Wren was up all night with her friend. I thought it only reasonable that she take the day off. After all, she’s worked every day excepting Sundays since she began as my secretary.”

“Yes, indeed,” Hopple said. “Except for the four days when you first left for London, of course.”

Jock flushed a rabbit and gave chase.

Edward stopped and turned to the steward. “What?”

“Mrs. Wren didn’t come to work whilst you were in London.” Hopple swallowed. “Except for the day before you came back, that is. She worked that day.”

“I see,” Edward said. But he didn’t see.

“It was only for four days, my lord.” Hopple hastened to smooth things over. “And she was all caught up on the paperwork, so she told me. It wasn’t as if she let her work lie.”

Edward stared thoughtfully at the mud beneath his feet. He remembered the vicar’s mention of a “trip” the night before. “Where did she go?”

“Go, my lord?” Hopple looked to be stalling. “I, er, don’t know if she went anywhere at all. She didn’t say.”

“The vicar said she had made a trip. He intimated that she’d gone to do some shopping.”

“Maybe he was mistaken,” Hopple said. “Why, if a lady couldn’t find what she wanted in the shops in Little Battleford, she’d have to go to London to discover better. Surely Mrs. Wren didn’t go that far.”

Edward grunted. He went back to staring at the ground at his feet. Only now he knit his brows. Where had Anna gone? And why?

ANNA BRACED HER feet and hauled on the old garden door with all her might. Edward had given her the day to herself, but she couldn’t stay that long asleep. Instead, after spending the morning resting, she thought she’d use the free time this afternoon to plant the roses. The door remained stubbornly shut for a moment, then it gave suddenly and flew open, almost throwing her on her rear. She dusted her hands and picked up her basket of gardening tools before slipping into the neglected garden. Edward had brought her here just over a week ago. In that little time, there’d been a great change within the old walls. Green shoots were poking up in the beds and between the cracks in the walkway. Some were obviously weeds, but others had a more refined air. Anna even recognized a few: the reddish tips of tulips, the unfurling rosettes of columbine leaves, and the dew-spangled palms of lady’s mantle.

Each was a treasure she discovered with delight. The garden wasn’t dead. It only lay dormant.

She set down her basket and went back out the garden door to bring in the remaining rosebushes Edward had given her. She’d already planted three in her own little garden. The rosebushes lay outside, still wet from the buckets of water. Each had begun to sprout tiny green buds. She looked down at them. They had brought her such hope when Edward had given them to her. Even though that hope was dead, it didn’t seem fair to let the roses languish. She would plant them today, and if Edward never visited the garden again, well, she’d know they were here.

Anna dragged the first batch into the garden and let them flop down in the muddy path. She straightened and glanced around in search of a likely spot to plant them. The garden had a pattern once upon a time, but now it was almost impossible to discern what it had been. She shrugged and decided to divide the plants evenly between the four main flower beds. She picked up her shovel and began hacking through the tangled growth in the first bed.