A scratch at his study door diverted his thoughts. He smiled, hearing his sisters chattering away on the other side of the door. “Enter,” he bid them.
Once they were both inside, Elizabeth held up a note. Simon’s first thought was one of disappointment that perhaps Anne had sent word that she was not coming, thus not staying true to her part of their bargain.
“Simon,” Elizabeth began, “The Duchess of Scarsdale sent an invitation to tea at her home. May we attend?”
He nodded, pleased his sisters were making friends—and that he would be all but alone in the house with Anne, except for the servants.
“Thank ye, Brother,” Elizabeth gushed, at which Caitlin simply rolled her eyes. “I’m going to go see what I might have to wear. The ladies’ gowns here are so…well, never mind.”
It was just like sweet, thoughtful Elizabeth not to want to burden him by asking for a new gown. “We shall purchase new gowns for ye both,” he told her with a smile.
“Oh, thank ye!” Elizabeth exclaimed, her joy apparent on her face. “Though, I wonder where one acquires a new gown here in the country…”
And Simon knew just the lady to ask…
“I’ll find that out,” he assured his sister, then chuckled as she grinned with obvious delight and rushed out the door, leaving him with Caitlin. When she stood there as if she wanted to say something, he nudged her. “Aye?”
“What are ye doing with Anne?” she asked, her hostile tone surprising him.
“Becoming acquainted with her,” he answered evasively. “Did she ask you as well to call her Anne?”
Caitlin nodded. “I like her. And I’m fearful of how ye might hurt her.” Her chiding tone and stern look she gave him surprised him further.
“I thought ye detested the English.”
“I do,” Caitlin replied, “but she seems different. Do ye not agree?”
She did in many ways, he had to admit. “Perhaps,” he answered, disliking the sudden tug of guilt he felt regarding his plans for Anne.
“Elizabeth told me that one of Anne’s shoes was odd when she took them from her yesterday.”
“Odd how?” Simon asked, recalling her claim of lameness.
“Elizabeth said the sole of one of Anne’s shoes was much thicker than the other, as if to make her legs match in length.”
By God, Annehadbeen telling him the truth. He felt like the worst sort of scoundrel for not believing her, and the guilt at using her increased. Yet, if he did not use her, he would not obtain his revenge. And he needed to do so for his mother, to honor her memory.
“Are ye planning to use Miss Adair somehow for revenge against her grandfather, Simon?”
His sister’s keen observation did not surprise him, though his eyes widened at her insight. Caitlin had always been one to see things others did not. “Aye,” he confessed, unwilling to lie to his sister.
She nodded. “I suspected. I want vengeance upon Rowan as much as ye for his part in mother’s death…”
“But?” he asked, sensing there was more to be said.
“But I would caution ye to be certain revenge is worth the price of destroying Miss Adair before ye take any action.”
He nodded, even as his sister turned to take her leave. Once he was alone in the quiet of his study, he stared out the window at the falling snow, thinking upon Anne, her grandfather, his own grandfather, and his mother. The last time he’d seen his mother alive was on a snowy day like this one. She’d been bundled up and waving farewell to him as he had been leaving to come to England to seek his grandfather’s help. The snow had been falling, and the sky had been heavy and gray—just as it was now. The next time he’d seen her was when he had helped to bury her.
Knots tightened in his belly. Rowan apparently adored Anne, and Simon could easily hurt him by ruining her. Or could he? If she was as good as she seemed, how could he use her? It was unsettling to be unsure whether he hoped she was truly a good person or not. His desires were at war with each other, and he hadn’t a clue what to do about it.
“Your Grace,” Perceval said, entering Simon’s study later that afternoon. “Miss Adair is here to see you.”
“Aye,” Simon answered, getting used to this mistake of Perceval’s as he’d made it at least once daily. “I see that, since Miss Adair is standing beside ye.” As Simon swept his gaze over Anne, resplendent in her green silk gown, he wondered not for the first time why his grandfather had retained Perceval. He was a horrible butler, yet a good man, and such actions did not fit with Simon’s belief that his grandfather had been all bad. Yet the man had been. The past was proof. He had never once tried to reach out to his own son, meet his grandchildren, or apologize to Simon after forcing him from England. Simon had found some letters recently at his grandfather’s London townhome that were between his grandfather and a Bow Street Runner he had hired. It seemed his grandfather had tracked the progress of Simon’s timber company. Likely to attempt to try to swindle it from Simon somehow. Yet death had claimed the old devil first.
“If you’re too occupied for me today, Your Grace,” Anne started, capturing Simon’s full attention and making him realize his thoughts had strayed.
“No,” he quickly replied, standing. “My focus is yers now,” he added, which was the whole truth. Anne was exquisitely lovely with her hair piled up on her head to expose the delicate length of her neck. He found himself wondering what kissing it would be like, and as he gazed at her, he noted her cheeks pinked with the awareness of his stare. Desire heated him. Seducing Anne certainly would be no hardship. The difficulty came in if he even should.
