one of deceit and lies as the heroine and her friend try to come to terms with their life in a madhouse. Miss Smith says she wants to hear my opinion on the trials of women when I see her next.’
‘Well, it seems that you certainly hold one. Do you like Miss Smith?’
‘I think at first she frightened me. But she is strong. She does not take nonsense easily.’
‘Nonsense like witchcraft?’
‘You have been speaking with Mama? I made the mistake of telling her that perhaps Miss Smith was a witch when I first saw her and she took up this thought and would not stop speaking of it. I didn’t realise how much anger she suddenly seems to be full of, though Prudence had warned me of it before she left.’ She hesitated for a moment and then continued. ‘I was wondering if I could ask Miss Smith to stay for morning tea when she comes. I know how busy she is, but the cook could make her famous scones and we have the raspberry jam from last year’s crop at Balmain.’
‘Of course. I won’t need the carriage so she can be taken home in it afterwards.’
‘Will you be here to join us?’
Lytton shrugged his shoulders. ‘I have a meeting in the city which is important.’
‘But if you can be here, would you?’
‘I will try.’
* * *
In the afternoon Lytton visited the Thornton family banker and was reassured by the state of the finances. He knew the numbers himself, of course, but since attaining the Earldom he had been very careful to check every detail of his investments. He did not trust anyone.
He had a family to look after, thousands of acres of land to tend, servants and workers to provide for. The days of being careless were over, he had accepted that on the death of his father.
The keeping of a mistress was a lot less persuasive than it had once been as well. Susan Castleton had sent him copious notes trying to win back his favours, but he had replied to none of them.
He had heard from Edward how his name had been slandered by her in society, but that was the least of his worries. After the weeks of his sister being so sick, to have a glimmer of light in the future was gratifying and he did owe it to the unusual Miss Annabelle Smith.
Her vibrant blue eyes watched him in memory and for just a second he wondered what it would be like to have her beneath him tumbling into his bed.
The shock of that brought him to a standstill. There was no way in the world that he could enjoy her like that. The next woman he bedded would have to be his wife and she would need credentials and breeding that were incomparable to become a countess.
Still, the vision of Annabelle Smith naked with her dark curtain of hair falling around them was hard to shake off. Was she a virgin? Had she any experience with the pleasures of the flesh? God, even that thought had him hardening, here in the street with the daylight of London all about him and myriad shoppers walking past.
He could teach her everything he knew, every nuance of desire.
‘Thorn.’ The voice came through a haze and he turned to find Summerley Shayborne crossing the street to reach him.
‘You look preoccupied.’
He smiled. ‘I’ve just come from the bank.’
‘Good news?’ Shay knew of the trouble he’d been in last year with the estate when things had been turned upside down.
‘Everything is fine and long may it stay that way.’
‘You’re the new and shining light of the financial world, I hear. An earl who seems to be able to pinpoint a lucrative investment without comparison? Most peers are holding on to the family plot by their fingernails, but it seems your latest project has just come through with flying colours.’
‘The canning factory outside London? People need to eat and preserved fruit and vegetables are within the budget of most. Every large town in England by the end of the year will sport such a factory. Come in with me as a partner. I’ll get Lian and Edward on board as well.’
‘You’re serious?’
‘I am.’
‘When can we draw up the contracts?’ Shay looked excited.
‘Next week. But keep it quiet for I don’t want someone else beating me to the post.’
‘Have a drink with us now, then. Celeste is at the town house and we would love your company.’
‘Very well.’ He hailed his carriage and they both piled in.
Lytton had always admired Shay’s wife. She was tough in a way that intrigued him and beautiful enough to take his breath away every time he saw her.
She also was nothing like the bride that the ton had thought the lauded Summerley Shayborne, Viscount Luxford, would choose for himself.
* * *
‘You said you would come to Luxford in the early summer, Thorn, but you didn’t.’ Celeste looked puzzled.
‘I’ve been at Balmain for quite a few weeks because my sister has been sick. We have only just returned to town.’
‘I’ve heard that just lately she is making some sort of a recovery?’
‘I hope so. I have engaged a healer to try to coax her out of bed where she has been languishing. Miss Annabelle Smith from Whitechapel is her name and she seems to be making quite a difference.’
‘The herbalist? She is the woman my lady’s maid was speaking of so highly the other day, Summer. I should very much like to meet her. Is she at your town house this week seeing your sister?’
‘Tomorrow she is, but only very early. At nine. She keeps unusual hours.’
‘Could we call in? It might be my only chance to talk with the woman and she sounds more than fascinating.’
‘Well, I don’t see why not.’
Lytton had organised a meeting for the morning, but he supposed he could cancel it. His thoughts from earlier on had not left him and he felt...anxious. He could not quite imagine Annabelle Smith chatting about things with his sister and Celeste over jam scones and a cup of tea. He wondered, too, if Celeste had read any of the writings of Mary Wollstonecraft?
* * *
It was her birthday.
Well, her birthday as Tante Alicia had deemed it given she was four when she had turned up in the French village without any past whatsoever.
The third of July. A hot morning in the village of Moret-sur-Loing when a nun had delivered a sick child to the house of the local healer and pleaded for the girl to be taken in.
This much she did know for Alicia had retold this story over and over and never a mention of the people who had abandoned her.
Annabelle had celebrated
