The Raven Prince (Princes #1)(51)

“Don’t you think so, my lord?” Hopple asked.

“Oh, most definitely. Most definitely.”

The steward looked at him strangely.

Edward sighed. “Just continue.”

Jock bounded into view with a small, unfortunate rodent in his mouth. He leaped the ditch and landed with a splash of muddy water, completing the ruin of Hopple’s waistcoat. Jock presented his find to Edward. It was immediately apparent that his treasure had left this life quite some time ago.

Hopple backed hastily away, waving a handkerchief before his face and muttering irritably, “Good gracious! I thought when that dog went missing for several days we were well rid of it.”

Edward absently petted Jock, the odoriferous present still in the dog’s mouth. A maggot fell with a plop into the water. Hopple swallowed and continued his explanation of the wonderful drain with his handkerchief over his nose and mouth.

Of course, after coming to know Anna, Edward had no longer found her so plain. In fact, he was at a loss to explain how he had so thoroughly discounted her the first time they met. How was it that he’d initially thought her rather ordinary? Except for her mouth, of course. He’d always been aware of her mouth.

Edward sighed and kicked at some debris under the water, sending up a splash of mud. She was a lady. That he had never been wrong about even if he had misjudged her attraction at first. As a gentleman, he shouldn’t even be thinking about Anna in this way. That was what whores were for, after all. Ladies simply didn’t contemplate kneeling in front of a man and slowly bending their beautiful, erotic mouths down to…

Edward shifted uncomfortably and scowled. Now that he was officially engaged to Miss Gerard, he must stop thinking about Anna’s mouth. Or any other part of her for that matter. He needed to put Anna—Mrs. Wren—right out of his mind in order to have a successful second marriage.

His future family depended on it.

WHAT FUNNY THINGS roses were: prickly hard on the surface, yet so fragile inside, Anna mused that evening. Roses were one of the most difficult flowers to grow, needing much more coddling and worry than any other plant; yet, once established, they might grow for years, even if abandoned.

The garden behind her cottage was only about twenty feet by thirty, but there was still room for a small shed at the back. She’d used a candle in the gathering dusk to light her way as she had rummaged about in the shed and had found an old washbasin and a couple of tin buckets. Now she carefully laid the roses in the containers and covered them with the bitterly cold water from the little garden well.

Anna stood back and regarded her work critically. It had almost seemed like Lord Swartingham had avoided her after he’d given her the roses. He hadn’t shown up for luncheon, and he’d only stopped by the library once that afternoon. But of course he had plenty of work built up over the five days that he had been gone, and he was a very busy man. She pulled the muddy burlap over the top of the washbasin and buckets. She’d set the containers in the shade of the cottage so they wouldn’t burn in the sun tomorrow. It might be a day or two before she could plant them, but the water would keep them vital. She nodded and went in to wash up for supper.

The Wren household dined on roasted potatoes and a bit of gammon that night. The meal was almost over when Mother Wren dropped her fork and exclaimed, “Oh, I’ve forgotten to tell you, dear. While you were gone, Mrs. Clearwater invited us to her spring soiree the day after next.”

Anna paused with her teacup halfway to her lips. “Really? We’ve never been invited before.”

“She knows you’re friends with Lord Swartingham.” Mother Wren smiled complacently. “It would be a coup for her if he attended.”

“I don’t have any influence over whether the earl will attend or not. You know that, Mother.”

“Do you really think so?” Mother Wren tilted her head. “Lord Swartingham hasn’t made any effort to join our social diversions. He accepts no invitations to tea or dinner, and he hasn’t bothered to attend church on Sundays.”

“I suppose he does keep to himself,” Anna admitted.

“Some are saying he is too proud to be seen at the country amusements here.”

“That isn’t true.”

“Oh, I know he is quite nice.” Mother Wren poured herself a second cup of tea. “Why, he had breakfast in this very cottage with us and very gracious he was, too. But he hasn’t gone out of his way to endear himself with many others in the village. It doesn’t do his reputation good.”

Anna frowned down at her half-eaten potato. “I hadn’t realized so many saw him in that light. The tenants on his land adore him.”

Mother Wren nodded. “The tenants might. But he needs to be gracious to those higher up in society as well.”

“I’ll try to convince him to come to the soiree.” Anna straightened her shoulders. “But it might be a job. As you say, he isn’t very interested in social events.”

Mother Wren smiled. “In the meantime, we need to discuss what we’ll wear to the soiree.”

“I hadn’t even thought of that.” Anna frowned. “All I have is my old green silk gown. There simply isn’t enough time to have the material I brought from London made into dresses.”

“It is a shame,” Mother Wren agreed. “But your green gown is very becoming, my dear. The lovely color brings roses to your cheeks and sets off your hair so well. Although, I suppose the neckline is sadly out of date.”