headed to the shipping company offices to try to catch up on paperwork. It had been a gruelling day, with the Lady Magdalene still missing and the clients who had their goods aboard the ship getting restless.
‘Lady Fortescue would like some tea,’ Mr Maltravers said, ushering Grace away with a shake of his hand.
‘Grace,’ Anna said sharply, ‘I have a headache. I think I will lie down.’
Her effusive business rival had insisted on escorting her home after turning up uninvited at the shipping company office earlier in the afternoon. Anna had argued, strongly enough that anyone else would consider her rude, but Mr Maltravers had been unaffected by her protests and escorted her home anyway.
‘A cup of tea will cure that,’ Mr Maltravers said, taking her by the arm and leading her into the drawing room.
As always Anna stiffened at his touch, visibly shuddering at the feel of his clammy palm on her arm.
‘Thank you very much for your escort, Mr Maltravers,’ Anna said firmly, ‘but I am weary and feel unwell. You will have to forgive me for being a terrible host and not offering you any refreshment before you leave.’ Despite her conciliatory words Anna kept her tone and manner as cold as possible. Mr Maltravers was irking her, making her feel uncomfortable in the one place she normally felt safe.
‘I could wait.’
‘No.’ She wasn’t above begging him to go, but instead placed a hand on his arm and guided him back to the front door, even opening it herself.
‘I shall call on you tomorrow to check you have recovered. I worry about you, Lady Fortescue.’
‘Please do not trouble yourself.’
She hadn’t once encouraged him, hadn’t ever been anything more than polite and most of the time had been downright frosty towards him, but still Mr Maltravers insisted on popping up in every aspect of her life.
Anna shut the door while he was still on the top step, closing her eyes and leaning her head against the wood.
‘Shall I bring you a cold compress for your head, my lady?’ Grace asked, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
‘It is a miracle I do not truly have a headache after spending close to an hour in Mr Maltravers’s carriage with him puffing away on that disgusting pipe.’
‘Lady Fortescue, you have a guest,’ Williams, the elderly butler, announced. He grimaced. ‘He is in the garden.’
Uncle Phillip’s town house was large and well proportioned, but like many houses in the city it didn’t have much of a garden. A small patio with a stretch of grass beyond it, it took less than five minutes to stroll around the whole perimeter.
‘The garden?’ It was a strange place to put a guest.
‘With Mr Tenby and Miss Tenby.’ Williams paused and Anna could sense there was more to be said. ‘They are playing shuttlecock.’
Of course Harry would come to call today. He came to call most days, but for some reason today seemed more significant than any other. Anna wondered if he’d felt it too, that spark, that flare of attraction as they stood together in the Carmichaels’ garden. For a moment she’d wanted to kiss him, wanted to fall into his arms and feel his lips on hers. It was ridiculous, worse than ridiculous, and now Anna could feel the butterflies in her stomach as she walked slowly towards the doors to the garden.
For a few seconds she stood and watched the scene outside. Harry and Beatrice had expressions of furious concentration on their faces as they hit the shuttlecock backwards and forward. Uncle Phillip was seated in the sun, shouting out words of encouragement. It looked like an idyllic family scene.
Harry was in good spirits as usual, his shirtsleeves rolled up to expose strong forearms and his eyes sparkling in the sunshine. He was a good-looking man, there was no denying it, but Anna knew that wasn’t the only reason she felt a tightening inside her as she watched him. There was more to him than a desirable exterior. There was a drive in Harry to look after people, to ensure they came to no harm. He quietly got on and made the important decisions without causing too much fuss.
Of course there was a bad side, too. Yesterday on the terrace he’d assumed control, taken over and made decisions that weren’t his to make. That was why she had to stop this reaction she had to him before it went any further. Never again would she give up her autonomy, not for anyone.
Pushing open the door, she stepped out into the sunshine.
‘Anna,’ Harry called as soon as he caught sight of her, ‘come join us.’
She hesitated, just for a moment, and then stepped off the patio and on to the grass, picking up a spare racket as she went.
‘Our record is twenty,’ Beatrice said, her eyes shining. ‘Lord Edgerton is rather good.’
Anna regarded her cousin out of the corner of her eye. If she wasn’t much mistaken, Beatrice was developing a little affection for Harry.
‘I hope you’re ready,’ Harry said, swinging his racket. ‘Whoever misses the shuttlecock first has to do a forfeit.’
‘What’s the forfeit?’ Anna asked.
Beatrice laughed and Harry hit the shuttlecock, powering it towards her. It had been years since Anna had picked up a racket, but she swung it instinctively, hearing the satisfying ping as the small shuttlecock bounced off the strings. It looped through the air towards Beatrice who hit it easily. Round and round the shuttlecock flew, faster and faster until Anna had to dive to reach it. The shuttlecock spun off the edge of her racket with a dull thunk, losing momentum and heading for the ground. Both Beatrice and Harry jumped forward, angling their rackets towards the small, tumbling object, but, before either of them could reach it, it hit the ground.
‘Congratulations,’ Harry said. ‘You won.’
‘What’s my prize?’
Harry stepped towards her, his eyes fixed on hers, took her hand and raised it to his lips. Anna shivered as he brushed the lightest of kisses against her knuckles. For a moment the rest of the world faded into the background and it was just the two of them on this patch of lawn. Then reality came tumbling back as Harry let go of her hand and stepped away.
‘An evening of entertainment. How do you ladies feel about the opera?’
Anna felt her heart sink. She hated the opera. All those people watching each other, their eyes fixed on the other spectators rather than the stage. It felt as though you were an exhibit in a museum.
‘I love the opera,’ Beatrice enthused. Anna had a sneaking suspicion her cousin would profess her love for any activity Harry suggested right now, even something as horrible as bear-baiting. There was a hint of adoration on Beatrice’s face every time she looked at Anna’s fake fiancé.
‘Anna?’
She almost lied, almost found herself professing a love for something that in truth she found disagreeable, but then she paused. After Lord Fortescue had died, after she had recovered from the rawest emotional and physical wounds she’d acquired in that marriage, she’d promised herself she would start to be true to herself. There was no need to do anything to please other people now;
