Page 50 of One Night with an Earl

Ana shook her head, then bit the inside of her cheek to stay silent. Her luxurious accommodations had already aroused question by Lady Malvern, and she knew better than to argue with the young maid. There was no sense causing additional gossip among the staff, especially if her protests reached the long-time housekeeper.

Ana hurried to dress and entered the dining room only to discover that the Malverns were not the only guests at Rosedown. A local landowner, Mr. Cummings, and his wife, Mrs. Eloise Cummings, had joined them. Oliver sat at the head of the table with Lord and Lady Malvern by his side. The Cummings were seated next, followed by Penelope and Ana.

Ana dared to meet Oliver’s gaze. She glared at him in what she hoped was irritation—a way to let him know that she was annoyed by his highhandedness in assigning her opulent bedchamber, as well as his insistence on her joining everyone here tonight.

But her efforts backfired as soon as their eyes met across the table. His meticulously tailored coat made his shoulders appear a mile wide, the snowy white cravat contrasted with his tanned face, and his perfect lips curved in a smile. He looked every inch the lord of Rosedown, and despite everything—the difference in their social standing, the threat to her way of life, and the fact that she was here as a guest in her own home—she feared she was powerless to deny her attraction to him.

She snapped open her napkin and placed it on her lap.

Other than eating breakfast with Penelope in the early mornings, Ana was not accustomed to sharing meals with the family and often joined the servants in Malvern Hall’s kitchens. It was a far cry from her earlier days of dining with her own family, but she’d come to enjoy the easy camaraderie and gossip of the staff.

Tonight was entirely different.

The door opened, and a procession of servants carried in laden trays of succulent dishes of roasted duck, ham, salmon in a delicate lemon sauce, and a selection of fresh vegetables. A footman stood behind each guest and refilled their empty wineglasses before one had to ask. Ana had simply to nod and a piece of sliced duck accompanied by asparagus was placed on her plate. The meals were never so lavish when she’d lived here, but then her father had not been as wealthy as the Earl of Drake.

Lady Malvern cleared her throat. “Penelope plays the pianoforte exceptionally well, my lord. Is there a music room at Rosedown?” Lady Malvern inquired.

“There is,” Oliver said. “It’s been a while since it has been put to good use.”

“Lady Malvern,” Lord Malvern said, turning his attention to his wife. “I’m sure there will be time to enjoy music during our stay. No need to fit all in on our first evening.”

Ana thought Lord Malvern’s demurral a wise one, especially since Penelope could hardly be described as “exceptional” when it came to music of any sort. The girl only tolerated lessons at her mother’s insistence.

“Father’s right,” Penelope said. “Traveling is exhausting.” At her mother’s scowl, she quickly added, “But I look forward to riding tomorrow.”

“I’m looking forward to this myself,” Mr. Cummings said. “Rosedown has prized horseflesh, and his lordship’s horses are the envy of all when they are at auction at Tattersall’s.”

Ana knew their value only too well. Just one of those sales could pay for her brother’s schooling for a year. The duck suddenly tasted like ash, and she swallowed then reached for her wineglass.

“I planned a hunt for the gentlemen tomorrow,” Oliver said.

Both Mr. Cummings and Lord Malvern set down their forks, their bland expressions transforming into ones of boyish excitement.

“Oh, the poor foxes,” Mrs. Cummings said.

“Not foxes, but ducks,” Mr. Cummings corrected.

“Why must men feel the need to hunt either?” Lady Malvern said.

“It’s sport,” Lord Malvern interjected.

Ana thought her ladyship’s comment amusing since the woman was more adept at hunting the earl than her husband could ever be with Rosedown’s fowl.

Penelope leaned close to Ana. “At least they forgot about the pianoforte.”

The meal finished, everyone pushed back their chairs. The men would drink port and smoke cigars in the study while the women gathered in the parlor.

Penelope’s exhaustion was evident, and her mother dismissed her so that she would appear refreshed the following day. Since Ana’s services were no longer needed for the evening, she was more than happy to head for her own room, but she swiftly changed her mind when she came to the library entrance.

With its dark paneling and tall shelves crammed with books, it was the one room that had not changed. She’d spent hours reading here as a young girl, but the books did not call to her tonight. The sideboard by a pair of leather armchairs beckoned her instead.

Crystal decanters and glass bottles held colorful liquor, but only one interested her, and she couldn’t resist a peek. Would her father’s arak or tispouri still be here?

The liquor only got better with age, and her heart leaped in her chest when she spotted a bottle of arak.

She snatched it, along with a glass. A water pitcher was nearby, and she filled the glass more than halfway with water. Made of grapes and aniseed, which gave it a slight licorice taste, arak was traditionally served with two parts water and one part alcohol. She could drink in her room, or she could enjoy the one place she loved most at Rosedown. Glancing both ways before leaving, she headed for the French doors leading outside.

Moonlight bathed the gardens in an effervescent glow and beckoned to her like a long-lost lover. What was the likelihood that she’d ever return to Rosedown again? She couldn’t allow an opportunity like this to pass, especially since no one would notice or care about her absence.