The Raven Prince (Princes #1)(85)

She knew no other way to protect him.

“YOU WOULD REJECT my daughter for a-a…!” Sir Richard’s face darkened to a dangerous shade of puce. He looked in imminent danger of an apoplectic fit.

“A widow from Little Battleford,” Edward finished the other man’s sentence before he could find a less-suitable description for Anna. “Yes, sir.”

The two men faced off in Sir Richard’s study.

The room reeked of stale tobacco smoke. The walls, already a muddy brown color, were made dimmer by the soot streaks that started halfway up and disappeared into the gloom near the ceiling. A single oil painting hung slightly askew over the mantel. It was a hunting scene, with white and tan hounds closing in on a hare. Moments from being torn limb from limb, the hare’s flat black eyes were serene. On the desk, two cut-glass tumblers stood half full with what was undoubtedly a fine brandy.

Neither glass had been touched.

“You have played with Sylvia’s good name, my lord. I’ll have your head for this,” Sir Richard bawled.

Edward sighed. This discussion had turned even uglier than he’d anticipated. And his wig, as always, itched. Surely the old fellow wasn’t going to call him out? Iddesleigh would never let him hear the end of it were he forced to duel a stout, gout-ridden baronet.

“Miss Gerard’s reputation will not suffer from this at all,” Edward said as soothingly as possible. “We’ll put it out that she dismissed me.”

“I’ll take you to court, sir, for breach of promise!”

Edward narrowed his eyes. “And lose. I’ve infinitely more funds and contacts than you. I will not marry your daughter.” Edward let his voice soften. “Besides, court would only serve to make Miss Gerard’s name the talk of London. Neither of us wants that.”

“But she has lost this entire season to find a suitable husband.” The pendulous flesh under Sir Richard’s chin trembled.

Ah. Now the real reason for the man’s temper. He was less worried about his daughter’s name than the prospect of funding another season for her. For a moment, Edward felt pity for the girl with such a parent. Then he seized the opening.

“Naturally,” he murmured, “I’ll want to recompense you for your disappointment.”

Sir Richard’s little eyes creased greedily at the corners. Edward sent up a prayer of thanks to whatever gods watched over him. He’d come altogether too close to having this man as his father-in-law.

Twenty minutes later, Edward emerged into the sunlight on the Gerard’s front stoop. The old man had been a keen bargainer. Like a pudgy bulldog with one end of a bone he refused to relinquish, he’d growled and tugged and shook his head furiously, but in the end they’d come to an agreement. Edward was considerably lighter in the pocket as a result, but he was free of the Gerard family. All that remained was to return to Anna and make wedding plans.

He grinned. If his luck held out, she’d still be in his bed.

Whistling, he ran down the steps to his carriage. He only paused to pull off the awful wig and toss it to the ground before entering the vehicle. He glanced out the window as the carriage pulled away. A ragpicker was trying the wig on for size. The white-powdered wig with its stiff side curls and tail contrasted strangely with the man’s filthy clothes and unshaven face. The ragpicker bent, grasped the handles of his wheelbarrow, and jauntily trundled off.

By the time the carriage pulled up before his town house, Edward was humming a bawdy tune. With the Gerard engagement out of the way, he saw no reason why he shouldn’t be a married man in a month. A fortnight, if he could get a special license.

He shoved his tricorn and cape at a footman and took the stairs two at a time. He still had to win an assent from Anna, but after last night, he felt sure that she’d capitulate soon.

He rounded the stairs and strode down the hall. “Anna!” He pushed open the door to his room. “Anna, I—”

He stopped short. She wasn’t in the bed. “Damnation.”

He strode through the connecting door into the sitting room. It, too, was empty. He heaved a sigh of exasperation. Walking back into his bedroom, he stuck his head out the door and bellowed for Dreary. Then he paced across the room. Where was the woman? The bed was made, the curtains drawn. A fire had burned out on the grate. She must’ve left the room some time ago. He noticed Elizabeth’s red book sitting on the dresser. There was a scrap of paper on top of it.

He started for the book as Dreary entered the room.

“My lord?”

“Where’s Mrs. Wren?” Edward picked up the folded paper. His name was written on the front in Anna’s hand.

“Mrs. Wren? The footmen informed me that she left the house at about ten o’clock.”

“Yes, but where did she go, man?” He opened the note and began to read it.

“That’s just it, my lord. She didn’t say where…” The butler’s voice buzzed in the background as Edward comprehended the words written in the note.

So sorry… must go away… Yours always, Anna

“My lord?”

Gone.

“My lord?”

She’d left him.

“Are you all right, my lord?”

“She’s gone,” Edward whispered.

Dreary buzzed around some more, and then he must have left, because after a while, Edward found that he was alone. He sat in front of a dead fire in his bedroom, alone. But then that was what, until very recently, he’d been most used to.