She broke the seal and scanned the contents of the letter once, then again, more slowly. Her expression did not change at first, and then she looked back at her mother. It was a letter thanking her. For what, she did not know.
“Where did this come from?”
“Ashford Hall.”
Anne folded the letter carefully. “So you already knew that I would receive it. Who is it from?”
“Dorian Blackwood,” Lady Carlisle said. “The Duke of Ashford.”
“What did you do?”
Lady Carlisle hesitated. “I sold him one of the horses, as I already told you”
“Which horse?” Anne asked.
Lady Carlisle shifted, and Anne’s stomach lurched. She had so easily said the three names before, so why was this any different?
“Tempest.”
All at once, Anne felt as though the ground was pulled from beneath her.
“No.”
“Anne, listen to me?—”
“No,” Anne repeated, more sharply. “You did not sell him. Tell me that you did not.”
“It was necessary. He was part of an asset group we could no longer maintain. Your father’s debts?—”
“Do not use him as an excuse. You have always hated Tempest.”
The room went still again.
It was not a lie. Lady Carlisle had been pleading with Anne to forget about her passion for horses and concentrate on finding a husband.
Anne could not help but wonder if her mother had simply used their position as a way to push her into doing as she was told. She stared at her for a long moment, then looked down at the letter again.
“Where is he now?” she asked.
“Ashford Hall.”
Anne placed the letter on the table beside her mother’s correspondence. “I am going there.”
“You will do no such thing.”
“I am not asking permission.”
“You are a lady of standing,” her mother protested. “You cannot ride alone to a duke’s estate.
“I am going to my horse,” Anne said simply.
“Anne, this is not a stable across the village. This is Ashford Hall. Dorian Blackwood is not?—”
“I do not care who he is,” Anne scoffed.
Her mother lowered her voice. “You should.”
But Anne was already moving.
