“I have not been invited,” Dorian cut him off without looking at him. “But I must enter. I need to speak to Lady Anne.”
“But—”
“If she refuses to see me, I will go, but I think she would like to hear what I have to say. It pertains to that horse of hers.”
At once, there was no defence in the footman’s eyes. He led him inside.
Voices carried before Dorian reached the drawing room. He paused at the threshold when he heard Lady Anne speaking. She was as furious with whoever she was speaking to as she had been with him, perhaps even more so.
“And I have already told you my answer,” she said.
Another voice responded, smooth and self-assured, belonging to a man that Dorian recognized.
Benedict Holloway was a widower of considerable wealth, a practical and ambitious man with whom Dorian did not have any personal qualms.
“You are making this more difficult than it needs to be,” he said. “Your circumstances are not what they once were. Estates do not survive purely on sentiment.”
“Then I am fortunate I am not an estate.”
Dorian stepped inside at that moment.
The room shifted subtly at his arrival. Lady Anne turned first, her eyes narrowing as though he was intruding, which he supposed he was. Holloway straightened slightly, assessing him. Lady Carlisle, whom he had not expected to see, remained still, her attention divided between all three.
Dorian did not acknowledge Holloway immediately, his focus instead remaining on Lady Anne.
“I need to speak with you,” he said.
Lady Anne’s gaze did not soften. “Now is not the time.”
“It concerns your horse,” he added.
That sharpened her attention.
Holloway made a faint, dismissive sound. “Even dukes are now consulting Lady Anne on matters of livestock. This is precisely what I am?—”
“I do not recall asking for your opinion,” Dorian said firmly.
Lady Anne stepped forward slightly. “If this is about Tempest, I already know what you are going to say.”
“Then this will be quicker,” Dorian replied.
“I will not go to Ashford Hall,” Lady Anne said, before he could continue. “I have no intention of coming to assist you withmyhorse.”
Dorian’s jaw tightened. Truly, she was as stubborn as anything.
“You have not heard the request.”
“I have heard enough requests,” Lady Anne scoffed. “They usually mean I am expected to fix something I did not break.”
“The horse is not settling,” Dorian said. “He is getting worse.”
“And you believe that makes it my responsibility? You told me he was yours now, so?—”
“I believe he responds to you in a way he does not respond to anyone else.”
Lady Anne softened at that.
It was not a difficult thing to confess, for it was simply the truth, but it seemed to matter a great deal to her.
