That had been the end of softness in him.
The end of hope.
Since then, every smile felt rehearsed. Every glance, calculated. Even now. Especially now.
And yet…
He looked back toward the house, jaw tight.
Anna didn’t flatter. She didn’t seduce.
She challenged. And that, God help him, might be worse.
What are you doing? Think, Henry.
CHAPTER 3
“You’ve been awfully quiet, Anna,” Gretchen said, swirling her glass.
The morning had started rather slowly, Anna sat with her friends in the sunlit morning room, their needles flashing as they embroidered delicate patterns onto muslin. A few ladies read quietly by the windows, their soft voices occasionally breaking the silence as they shared passages aloud. Outside, the sound of hooves drifted in from the lane where several gentlemen had gone out riding, while others lingered in the library, deep in conversation over the day’s news.”
“I’m just enjoying the morning.” Anna replied lightly, eyeing her discarded needlework.
“Enjoying it in silence?” Gretchen teased. “That’s new.”
“Maybe she’s thinking deep thoughts,” Sophia added, nudging Anna.
“Or plotting something,” Julia said with a sly grin.
“Ladies,” Nathaniel’s voice broke in as he strolled over, “conspiring without me?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Your Grace,” Natalie said sweetly.
“I doubt I’d believe that,” Nathaniel replied, wiggling his eyebrows.
“Then don’t,” Gretchen said coolly.
“I won’t.” He smirked and sauntered out.
Anna stood, smoothing her skirt. “I’ll be back in a bit.”
“Where are you off to?” Julia asked.
“Just… needing a moment,” Anna said with a faint smile.
“Don’t disappear for too long,” Sophia called after her.
She slipped down the corridor and found the drawing room unoccupied. The pianoforte stood near the tall windows, light spilling in warm puddles across the floor. She crossed the room, sat, and lifted the lid.
The notes slipped beneath her fingers, soft and wistful, echoing through the drawing room as sunlight pooled across the keys.Anna’s mind wasn’t on the music. Not really. Every chord, every melody, was only an excuse to replay the moment she couldn’t forget.
Henry’s face, close to hers. His breath, warm and uneven. The way his gaze had dipped to her lips before he’d stepped away, so close, yet not quite.
She struck a wrong note. Grimaced. “Foolish girl,” she muttered under her breath, letting her hands fall into her lap.
“Far from foolish,” came a voice from the doorway.
Anna startled, twisting around and rising to her feet. There he was—Matthew Grayson, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, a frown creasing his forehead.
