Ann gave a soft laugh. “A peer for a husband is a worthy wish? It seems rather common to me.”

  “The question beneath the question. Your reasons for the wish make all the difference. In fact,” he added, his voice dropping even lower, “I find them to be quite noble.”

  Her heart gave a small leap.

  While she stared at him in wordless surprise, he grimaced. “I must see to the horses, now the rain has stopped.” He moved back into the stable, leaving her at the door.

  After a while, Ann picked up her train, draped it over her arm and stepped carefully around the house to the drawing room doors.

  Back to the ordinary.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Ann spoke very little to Adam for the rest of the week they spent at Innesford, for he was rarely among the company in the house or on the rolled lawn outside. She saw him at meals and realized he was watching her. His mouth would lift at the corner in a small smile, before his gaze moved on.

  Great Aunt Annalies’ household of ladies returned to London after their few days in the countryside, all of them refreshed and their energy renewed by the visit, just as Annalies had predicted.

  All except for Ann. She could not settle to the work she had previously found absorbing. Only the fact that the house really needed someone to supervise and direct domestic concerns kept Ann going. The ladies in the house needed her services.

  At the breakfast and dinner table, conversation turned to Christmas. The idea of returning to family homes for the Christmas period to enjoy another small holiday, snared everyone’s attention.

  Great Aunt Annalies announced in mid-November that she had been invited to celebrate Christmas in Kirkaldy that year. “We are closing up the house again, Ann,” Annalies told her. “All the ladies are going home and so must you.”

  Ann sighed.

  Great Aunt Annalies peered at her over the top of her spectacles. “What is the matter, girl? Do you not want to go home?”

  “Oh, I miss Northallerton,” Ann said quickly. “Only nothing seems to satisfy me, these days. Not my work and certainly not my society friends. Everything seems…meaningless.”

  “I thought finding a husband was your singular ambition, Ann,” Annalies replied, her tone gentle.

  “It was. It is. Only, I seem to be moving further from that ambition every day and I cannot summon up the energy to do anything about it. I just don’t know what is wrong with me, Great Aunt Annalies.”

  Annalies studied her. “I believe a change of perspective might give you some insight.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Annalies shook her head. “Let me consider the matter. May I have a pot of tea, Ann?” She raised her brow.

  Two weeks later, in early December, Great Aunt Annalies made a highly satisfied sound as she read one of her morning’s letters. She lifted the pages and waved them at Ann. “There you are, my dear Ann. A fresh perspective, as the wise doctor ordered.” Her eyes twinkled.

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Ann replied. She put the serving spoon back in the oatmeal, placed Jennifer’s bowl in front of her, wiped her hands on her pinafore and took the letter Great Aunt Annalies waved at her.

  It was her father’s handwriting.

  “Your father has arranged for you to spend Christmas in Silkeborg with Mairin and Tor,” Great Aunt Annalies said. “I believe you’ll find his letter to you amongst your correspondence, when you get to it this morning.”

  “Silkeborg?” Ann replied. She handed the letter back to Great Aunt Annalies.

  “You will spend Christmas in the palace,” her aunt added.

  “It sounds wonderful!” Jennifer said, with a wistful sigh. “An actual palace! Do say yes, Ann! Then you can return and tell us all about it.”

  So Ann packed her trunk with all her barely worn ballgowns, as her mother had strongly suggested, then sailed to Denmark on the SS Britannic, arriving barely a week before the twenty-fifth.

  And still her energy had remained dismal…until she felt a stirring of surprise and discomfort when confronted by Filip Sørensen and his direct way of speaking.

  Was that why she had said yes to the man?

  Adam had warned her that her wish would be fulfilled from the least looked-for direction. Filip had been a most unexpected encounter. It seemed perfectly understandable, put in those terms, that she should agree to his proposal.

  So why could she not draw a full breath?

  The cheering of the people of Silkeborg grew more intense as the coach pulled up in front of the long pavement and broad steps up to the arched doors of the cathedral. Petals fell like snow over and around the coach, as the footman opened the door and stepped smartly to one side.

  Her father turned to her. “You are entering a whole new phase of life, dear daughter.” He kissed her cheek. “May you be as happy in your match as I am.”

  The murmured wish sent a jolt through Ann. She stared at her father, bewilderment stealing her voice.

  He frowned. “Your veil!” he said. “It is behind you.”

  “Oh! Oh!” Ann reached up to her hair to feel for the errant layer of tulle. “Oh, quickly, help me, Papa.” She had completely forgotten to lower the veil over her face.

  They scrambled to separate the top layer and lift it over the flowers in her hair and over her face. The fuss left her trembling and her heart thudding in a way that did not make her feel giddy with joy.

  In fact, she felt very much like crying.

  Her father helped her out of the carriage, for she wore thirty yards of cream satin, most of it in the bustle behind her and the twelve-foot train which followed.

  The bridesmaids, all of them virtual strangers to Ann and most of them unable to speak English, rushed up to help her sort out the train and the folds of her gown, while the crowd standing between her and the steps of the cathedral screamed their pleasure at catching their first glimpse of the bride. They clapped and cheered and shouted. The noise was unearthly loud and the horse pulling her coach gave a snort and stepped sideways.

  Other horses were also shying and prancing, their drivers trying to calm them with soft words and a touch of their whips.

  A tall figure standing at the nose of one unsettled horse caught Ann’s attention. While the bridesmaids fussed, she looked over their shoulders, studying him. It was Adam. He had come to Silkeborg for the wedding just as the rest of the family had done but was lingering away from everyone as usual.

  At least he could not complain about the tea, here, she thought, as her heart gave a great, sickly lurch.

  He looked up from the horse. His gaze met hers.

  He gave her a small smile. For a moment, it was as if they were back in the stable at Innesford, while rain thundered upon the roof instead of people screaming at her in Danish and German and Norwegian and a dozen other languages.

  “Ann.” Her father tugged on her arm as the bridesmaids lined themselves alongside her.

  “What?” Ann said distractedly, looking around.

  Three men stood upon the wide blue carpet which ran from the curb to the top of the steps into the cathedral. They were setting up a contraption that Ann thought might be one of the new-fangled cameras.

  “Oh…” Ann breathed, as her heart gave another sickly lurch. This moment was about to be captured and contained for all time.

  How did she come to be here?

  “Beside your daughter, if you please, my lord,” one of the men setting up the camera directed her father.

  Jasper stepped beside her, not bothering to correct the man’s impression of his rank. He stood stiffly upright in his uniform, his chin square.

  “Papa…” Ann whispered, on the very verge of asking for help and revealing the agony spearing her insides.

  The photograph was taken and everyone relaxed. The man taking the photograph looked very pleased as he withdrew a flat square plate from the back of the device and dropped it into a leather case at his feet.

  The bridesmaids chatted among themselves in German. The high singing note in Ann’s mind muffled their words.

  Her father picked up her hand and tucked it under his elbow and patted her fingertips. “Ready?” he asked loudly, over the noise of the crowd.

  Ann let out a breath that shuddered. “I…”

  Her father was perhaps not hearing properly either. The shouting and clapping crowd drowned all but direct shouts.

  One step toward the cathedral steps.

  Another one.

  There was no thought in it. No calculation. Pure terror swamped her, growing with each step toward the grand building, until the power of it propelled her in a wild swing away from it. She lurched in stumbling steps, her heart screaming.

  “Ann!” her father called, alarm loud in his voice. Perhaps the odd note was disapproval.

  Ann saw Adam still stood by the nose of the horse. A thought which could barely form beneath her panic suggested that out of everyone—including her father—Adam would understand the jumbled mess in her middle and why she was wheeling away from the cathedral and Filip, who waited inside.

  Silkeborg people made room for her as she arrowed toward him, all of them voicing their concern and alarm. Their displeasure.

  Ann did not let herself look at any of them. She could barely hear them, and they all spoke in Danish, which was a small reprieve, for she could well guess what they were shouting at her.

  Adam’s expression was puzzled, not surprised. He did not glare at her as she hurried up to him, but tilted his head. “This is not the way to the altar,” he pointed out.

  “Please, God, Adam, please…take me away from here as swiftly as you can.”

  His hand dropped from the horse’s cheek strap. “Away?” His gaze flickered over her shoulders where she was sure everyone had gathered around them and was screaming at her to return to the blue carpet and provide the spectacle they had come to see.

  Her trembling worsened. “Yes, away,” she insisted, as firmly as her voice could manage, which was not firm at all. She could feel tears building in the back of her eyes.

  “Then, you do not want to be married?” He sounded confused.

  “No… Yes.” She squeezed the posy holder. “I do not know. I must think and I cannot think here and there is no time, anyway. Please, Adam. I need silence.”

  It was just the right thing to say. Adam understood about silence. His gaze met hers. He nodded.

  Her relief was diluted by the fear building in her. She did not dare glance over her shoulder.

  Adam moved down the side of the carriage and opened the door.

  The shouting and calling behind her intensified. At any second, she expected her father’s hand to land upon her arm and turn her firmly back toward the cathedral. She shuddered as she hurried to where Adam held out his hand and lifted herself up into the carriage.

  Adam scooped up the twelve yards of train and bundled it into the coach behind her and shut the door. He moved to the driver’s seat and his weight rocked the carriage as he climbed up to it.

  For the first time Ann saw the people who gathered behind her. Behind them, her father stood upon the blue carpet, surrounded by bridesmaids who were strangers to her.

  Ann pressed her fingers to the window. I’m sorry… she mouthed to her father.

  He did not look angry, only puzzled. Yet he gave a tiny nod of his head. He’d understood. He made no move toward the coach as Adam got it moving.

  Instead, disappointed Silkeborgians hammered upon the side of the coach as it passed.

  Ann shifted to the far corner, away from them and the cathedral. She held herself, shuddering, and trying to breathe properly instead of panting.

  Thought was impossible right now. That must come later.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  St. James’ Park, London. At the same time.

  Vaughn leaned against the shady old oak with one shoulder, trying to look as much like any of the other gentlemen strollers taking the air. The afternoon jacket and tie and stiff collar he wore felt more restrictive than he remembered them being, before.

  Or perhaps it was merely his conscience prickling and prodding him, for he should not be here.

  He watched the entrance to the park, waiting for her to arrive as she did most afternoons. It would be fitting that today be a day when she failed to arrive, just when he’d wound up the courage to be here.

  It had taken him weeks of combing Hyde Park and Rotten Row to learn that Laura did not take her morning constitution there, as most of fashionable London did.

  Vaughn did not know where she lived while in London. Not anymore. Her family would not speak to him, so asking them for her address would earn him only insults.

  Instead, he traced every other park and garden where society liked to stroll, watching for a tall, slender figure most likely wearing green, with dimples in her cheeks and a pert mouth.

  There were a great many parks to consider just in Mayfair and St. James. It had taken weeks. By then, the Season had ended and Laura had left London.

  Now it was June again. In late May, Vaughn had first spotted Laura in St. James’ Park. His heart had stopped for a moment, then hurried on with a hard beat that hurt. He had not approached her then, for he had been wearing the working man’s clothes that were all he could afford.

  Vaughn straightened from the tree as he spotted Laura’s slender figure as she turned in through the gates, her parasol over her head. She was accompanied by the companion whom Vaughn did not know—an older woman who was dressed as a paid companion might, in subdued greys and no embellishments.

  He tugged at the lapels of his expensive gentleman’s jacket, straightening it. He had a small amount of cash he had squirrelled away which he used to buy a suit which would not have him turned away from any of the establishments the ton frequented, had he tried to enter them. He had spent the money just for this moment.

  This was the eleventh day he had watched Laura enter the park and not spoken to her, even though he lingered here instead of working at the factory as he should. That work would be lost to him now, if he dared tried to resume it. The foreman would boot him from the premises.

  Vaughn didn’t care about any of it. Not now.

  He studied Laura as she and her companion turned along the path which cut diagonally across the park, as usual. It would bring them alongside him…if he remained where he was.

  For ten days, he had turned away before she reached the spot, his courage failing him.

  As long as he did not speak to her, he would not confirm for certain that she despised or hated him or looked down upon him for his changed circumstances. Only, the agony of not speaking to her had grown to outweigh the possibly of seeing disgust in Laura’s eyes when she looked at him.

  He had to know.

  This time, he made himself move to the edge of the footpath so he arrived there as Laura did.

  She lifted the edge of the parasol to see his face, as she would with any well-dressed stranger.

  The companion gave him a polite, completely empty smile and nod. “Good morning, sir.”

  Society dictated that one could not pass a peer without acknowledgement. He had counted upon that.

  Laura, though, did not smile. She stared at him, her lips parting. Worse, she grew pale.

  Vaughn squeezed his fists to stop himself reaching out to her, to offer comfort or support. “Good morning, madam,” he told the companion, barely glancing at her before bringing his gaze back to Laura’s horrified face. “Countess,” he added, to Laura.

  The word made his throat ache. She had married the Earl of Kempston, the month Vaughn had been incarcerated. The news had taken another month to reach him, which had added to the bleakness of his life in prison. He had raked his soul with the knowledge that he had forced her to it.

  He knew now why Laura had married so quickly. She had been attempting to escape the stain of having been Vaughn’s fiancé by becoming the wife of another peer. Yet it had taken months for Vaughn to reach that understanding. He still could not accept it, not deep in his gut, which was why he stood before her now. Just once, he wanted to see her eyes when she looked at him.

  Laura gripped the parasol hard. He could not see her knuckles beneath the lace gloves. “You should not be here.” Her cheeks thinned.

  The companion further confirmed her paid status by not demanding an introduction. She instead glanced at Laura, her brow lifting, then shifted her gaze back to Vaugh, her curiosity gleaming there.

  “I will not stay for long,” Vaughn assured Laura. “I wanted to speak to you, just for a moment, to say—”

  “I, on the other hand, do not wish to speak to you,” Laura replied.

  Vaughn hesitated, his chest aching. It was as bad as he had feared it might be. “Laura…”

  Laura shook her head. “Your company was very nearly the ruin of me, Lord… Mr.…” She frowned. “What are you calling yourself these days?” Her tone was rich with withering contempt.

  The companion avidly absorbed every nuance.

  “You used to call me Vaughn,” he said. “You still can.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “The days of such familiarity are long gone, Mr. Devlin. We have nothing to say to one another. Turn around and leave my presence.”

  He drew in a sharp, hard breath.

  “Now,” she added, her voice low. “Or I will call for help and tell whomever responds that you are bothering me…and they will respond. I can see at least six gentlemen I know within calling distance.”

  She raised her chin, her dark eyes holding steady upon his face. Her jaw flexed. She was angry.

  Vaughn raised his hand in a gesture of appeasement, his heart working too hard and draining his strength. This was far worse than he had anticipated.

  Why was she angry with him? Their last conversation, she had said…

  It didn’t matter what she had said, he realized. That conversation had happened a long time ago—a distance greater than the few years which had passed lay between them now.

  “I’m sorry, Laura,” he told her. “For all of it. Everything. If—”

  “Do not call me that,” she ground out. “You no longer have that right.”

 

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