“You will inform me of the outcome of the meeting?”
“Of course.”
Daniel made his way to the door, and as he turned to say good-bye, he saw that Hugh was struggling to rise to his feet. His tongue touched the top of his mouth, ready to say, Don’t, but he bit back the word. Every man needed his pride.
Hugh reached out and grasped his cane, then made his achingly slow progress across the room to see Daniel out. “Thank you for coming this evening,” Hugh said. He held out his hand, and Daniel took it.
“I am proud to call you my friend,” Daniel said. He left then, but not before he saw Hugh turn swiftly away, his eyes wet with tears.
The following afternoon, after spending the morning in Hyde Park doing three remeasurements of Rotten Row, Anne sat at a writing desk in the Pleinsworth sitting room, tickling her chin with the feather of her quill as she considered which items to put on her to-do list. It was her afternoon free, and she’d been looking forward all week to running errands and shopping. Not that she ever had much to purchase, but she rather enjoyed poking about in shops. It was lovely to have a few moments during which she had responsibility for no one but herself.
Her preparations, however, were interrupted by the arrival of Lady Pleinsworth, who came sailing into the room in a swish of pale green muslin. “We leave tomorrow!” she announced.
Anne looked up, thoroughly confused, then stood. “I beg your pardon?”
“We cannot remain in London,” Lady Pleinsworth said. “Rumors are flying.”
They were? About what?
“Margaret told me that she has heard talk that Sarah was not actually ill on the night of the musicale and was instead trying to spoil the concert.”
Anne did not know who Margaret was, but it could not be denied that the lady was well informed.
“As if Sarah would do such a thing,” Lady Pleinsworth continued. “She is such a superior musician. And a dutiful daughter. She looks forward to the musicale all year.”
There was no comment Anne could make about that, but fortunately for her, Lady Pleinsworth did not seem to require a response.
“There is only one way to combat these vicious lies,” she continued, “and that is to leave town.”
“To leave town?” Anne echoed. It seemed extreme. The season was just getting underway, and she’d thought that their main objective was to find a husband for Lady Sarah. Which they were unlikely to do back in Dorset, where the Pleinsworths had lived for seven generations.
“Indeed.” Lady Pleinsworth let out a brisk sigh. “I know that Sarah looks as if her health has improved, and perhaps it has. But as far as the rest of the world is concerned, she must be at death’s door.”
Anne blinked, trying to follow the countess’s logic. “Wouldn’t that require the services of a physician?”
Lady Pleinsworth waved this off. “No, just healthful country air. Everyone knows one can’t properly convalesce in the city.”
Anne nodded, secretly relieved. She preferred life in the country. She had no connections in the southwest of England, and she liked it that way. Plus there was the complication of her infatuation with Lord Winstead. It behooved her to nip that squarely in the bud, and two hundred miles of countryside between the two of them seemed the best way to do it. Setting down her pen, she asked Lady Pleinsworth, “How long will we be in Dorset?”
“Oh, we’re not going to Dorset. And thank heavens for that. It’s such a grueling journey. We’d have to stay at least a fortnight for anyone to think Sarah had got the least bit of rest and respite.”
“Then wh—”
“We’re going to Whipple Hill,” Lady Pleinsworth announced. “It is only near Windsor. It won’t even require a full day to get there.”
Whipple Hill? Why did that sound familiar?
“Lord Winstead suggested it.”
Anne suddenly began to cough.
Lady Pleinsworth regarded her with some concern. “Are you quite well, Miss Wynter?”
“Just . . . ehrm . . . some . . . ehrm ehrm . . . dust in my throat. I think.”
“Well, do sit down, if you think it will help. There is no need to stand on ceremony with me, at least not at the moment.”
Anne nodded gratefully and retook her seat. Lord Winstead. She should have known.
“It is an ideal solution for us all,” Lady Pleinsworth continued. “Lord Winstead wants to leave London, too. The notoriety, you know. Word is getting out that he has returned, and he will be deluged with callers. Who can blame the man for desiring a peaceful reunion with his family?”