The Raven Prince (Princes #1)(77)

“I’m sorry, too. Sorry that you couldn’t have children together.”

Anna wiped her face with her palm and heard her mother-in-law’s skirts rustle as she came near.

Plump, warm arms wrapped around her. “But he had you. Do you know how happy I was when Peter married you?”

“Oh, Mother…”

“You were—are—the daughter I never had,” Mother Wren murmured. “You’ve taken care of me all these years. In many ways, I’ve grown closer to you than I ever was to Peter.”

For some reason, this made Anna weep harder.

Mother Wren held her, rocking slightly from side to side. Anna cried great, heaving sobs that tore from her chest and made her head hurt. It was so painful to have this part of her life exposed when she’d kept it hidden away from the light so long. Peter’s infidelity had been her own secret shame to bear and suffer alone. Yet, all this time, Mother Wren had known, and what was more, she did not blame her. Her words felt like an absolution.

Finally, Anna’s sobs slowed and quieted, her eyes still closed. She felt so weary, her limbs heavy and listless.

The older woman helped her to lie down and smoothed the coverlet over her. “Just rest.”

Mother Wren’s cool, soft hand gently brushed the hair from her forehead, and she heard her murmur, “Please be happy, dear.”

Anna lay dreamily and listened to the click of the other woman’s heels as she went downstairs. Even with her headache, she felt at peace.

“GONE TO LONDON?” Felicity’s voice rose until it nearly cracked.

Two ladies walking by the Wren cottage glanced over at her. She turned her back to them.

The elder Mrs. Wren was looking at her oddly. “Yes, just this morning with the earl. Lord Swartingham said he couldn’t do without her at his club meeting. I can’t think now what they are called, the Aegeans or some such. It’s amazing what these society gentlemen find to amuse themselves with, isn’t it?”

Felicity fixed a smile on her face as the old woman babbled on, though she wanted to scream with impatience. “Yes, but when will Anna return?”

“Oh, I shouldn’t think for another day or so.” Mrs. Wren’s brow knit in thought. “Perhaps even a week? Surely by the fortnight.”

Felicity felt her smile congeal into a grimace. Good God, was the woman senile? “Quite. Well, I have to go. Errands, you know.”

She could tell by Mrs. Wren’s faltering smile that her parting was less than genteel, but Felicity didn’t have the time right now. She climbed into her carriage, banged on the ceiling, then groaned as the carriage pulled away. Why had Chilly been so indiscreet? And which of her servants had gossiped? When she got her hands on the traitor, she would make sure they wouldn’t work again in this county. Only this morning the squire had become irate at the breakfast table. He’d demanded to know who had been sneaking from her rooms the week before. It had quite put her off her coddled eggs.

If only Chilly had climbed through the window instead of using the servant’s entrance. But no, he’d insisted that the stone on the window ledge would tear his stockings. Silly, vain man. And as if Reginald’s suspicions about Chilly weren’t enough, he’d commented only yesterday on Cynthia’s red hair. It seemed red hair hadn’t appeared in the Clearwater family in living memory. If ever.

Well, of course not, you stupid man, Felicity had wanted to scream. Her red hair doesn’t come from your family. Instead, she’d made some vague references to her grandmother’s auburn locks and hastily turned the conversation to hounds, a subject that always enthralled her spouse.

Felicity ran her fingers over her own perfect coiffure. Why was the squire finally looking at his daughters now after all this time? If that letter turned up on top of his suspicions about Chilly, her standing would take a considerable fall. She shuddered. Banishment to a shoddy little farmhouse was possible. Even divorce, that most awful of fates, might happen to her. Inconceivable. Not to Felicity Clearwater.

She had to find Anna and get that letter.

ANNA ROLLED OVER and punched the heavy down pillow for what seemed like the hundredth time. Impossible to sleep while waiting to be swooped down on by a circling earl.

She hadn’t been surprised early this morning when Fanny, her chaperone by default, had been relegated to a following carriage. That had left Anna to drive alone with Edward in the phaeton to London. She’d been sure to position Jock between them on the phaeton’s seat and had been almost disappointed when Edward hadn’t seemed to notice. They’d driven all day and arrived at Edward’s London town house after dark. Apparently they’d woken the staff. The butler, Dreary, had opened the door in nightshirt and cap. Still, the yawning maids had lit fires and found a cold meal for them.

Then Edward had wished her a polite good night and bid the housekeeper show her to a room. Since the servant’s carriage with Fanny hadn’t yet appeared, Anna had the bedroom to herself. In her room was a small connecting door, and she had grave suspicions about it. The bedroom was far too grand to be simply a guest room. He couldn’t have put her in the countess’s suite, could he? He wouldn’t dare.

She sighed. Actually, he would.

The clock on the mantel had already chimed the one o’clock hour. Surely if Edward was coming to her, he would have done so before now? Not that it would do him any good to try her doors. She’d locked both.