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“It’s what was expected of me, and I had little room to protest on my sister’s behalf,” he said coldly. “I had no intention of… this, being stuck where I am, loveless and forlorn, and—”
“Oh certainly, may you be spared the burden of your family wealth,” Anne uttered, saccharine and sarcastic. “I’m certain it’s unbearable to you.”
“I did not wish to offend, m’lady,” he said. A bustle from the kitchen door announced the arrival of dozens of steaming platters - dinner was soon to be served in full. Anne sighed, crossing her arms stubbornly atop her chest. It seemed no man had a mind for a woman with a heart of her own - not even those who professed to.
Chapter Four
She had decided not to waste her time that evening, waiting until the men decided to adjourn for cigars and brandy. With disappointment hung on her shoulders, the bitter exchange with what she thought may have been a man different than the others led her feet to instead carry her towards her carriage at the first possible contrivance. She knew she would likely catch hell for so impertinent an exit, before even the sixth course of the Earl of Carteret’s feast had arrived, but Anne had come only at the urgings of her poor father, whose pitiable position had left her rather heartbroken, for more than one reason.
Now, her shawl wrapped about her shoulders as night fell deep and cool over the hills and moors, she took a deep breath of the chill as she stood outside the rather ostentatious facade plastered and painted across the young earl’s manor. She scoffed in mild, contemptuous scorn; she had no taste for the level of excess and indulgence the young rake seemed to pride himself upon, and with a tilt of her gaze she pushed through the carriages in search of her own, where her attendant Smith no doubt waited impatiently - he had as much interest in these sorts of affairs as she. Navigating the maze of pathways carved between the carriages, Anne’s brow lofted when she heard a femme little giggle sneak between the vehicles, footsteps clacking quietly along the cobblestones. She stepped out from behind one of the lords’ regal, gold-filigreed carriage to see a sight she should have expected - a young brunette woman with a flowing dress, certainly a ‘lady’ of no more years than herself, being led churlishly by the hand - by none other than the Earl of Carteret himself. Anne chuckled bitterly to herself; and she thought she had been the one with poor manners, but what sort of manner would a man have to step away from his own dinner party for breathy dalliances?
She pulled her shawl tighter, her slippers resounding in mild irritation with each purposed step towards her carriage - though, to her own detriment, the mild rage building inside her set her steps too hard, and she drew the curious eye of the earl himself, dancing between carriages in search of a secretive place to no doubt have a rather raucous way with the young lady he gripped by the wrist. His eyes set upon Anne, to whom he had seemed to show no interest in the course of dinner (not that she had minded the lack of attention), the earl gathered up a gossamer little grin, his eyes awash in the mild and glazed glow of the vinegar-tinted English wine the party had suffered beneath the weight of at dinner.
“M’lady!” he cried out, his words laced with pleased giggles. He tugged his feminine charge along behind him; she seemed quite put off by his sudden taking of interest in the woman passing through the carriages - not too distant a reaction from that of Anne herself, whose nose wrinkled in distaste at the attention of the wild earl before her. “I hadn’t the chance at dinner to catch your name or title, m’lady, and so I thought it improper for me not to introduce myself.”
“I know quite well who you are, m’lord,” Anne retorted with the vexatious and fiery tone which had no doubt contributed to her reputation as not quite ‘ladylike’.
“Ah, but I’ve not had the pleasure of learning quite who you are, m’lady,” he said, his tone all full of the seductive charm she knew for certain a woman with less wherewithal may fall upon her knees at the sound of. Instead she stood firm and regarded him skeptically.
“And yet somehow, I found myself upon the list of admitted guests to a party upon your rather lavish estate,” Anne observed cannily. “How do you suppose such a contrivance came upon us, hmm?” The woman at the earl’s wrist began to pull impatiently at him, her expression cross; he resisted, his eyes taken by Anne’s beauty and his nature no doubt taken with her bucking of social authority.
“You did indeed, which suggests to me you’re a woman of some manner of importance, or else I would not have seen it proper for an invitation to find your door, lovely lady,” he coaxed her for a response, stepping boldly and brashly in Anne’s direction. Anne stood, diminutive and pretty but utterly unimpressed.
“Had you a look at the invitations before you sent them? I would presume so, as I predict you’d have felt it wise to ensure enough beautiful, eligible young women’s names sat upon the guest list,” Anne remarked cuttingly. The earl took a deep breath, feigning the strike of a rapier at his heart, and staggering back.
“Such tone and razor wit!” the earl exclaimed. “I’ve no doubt then, that you belong among my company.”
“Funny, as I had gotten the feeling upon our exchange at dinner that you had little interest in a woman who could speak her mind,” Anne returned harshly.
“Perhaps you’d enjoy coming to speak your mind with m’lady…” the earl glanced back to his friend, who bristled with anger.
“Lady Rochester of Roth!” the young woman erupted in angered disbelief at the earl’s impertinence. Anne watched with a sigh.
“Perhaps you’d like to join us, then?” The earl offered.
“Join you in what, exactly?” Anne queried skeptically. The earl stepped boldly closer to her, and she shrunk away, finding his presence rather unsettling.
“We simply hoped to learn more about one another in the absence of dinner and bustle and proper manner, something I think you ought to find rather inviting, yes?” the earl murmured, a smirk growing upon his lips. Anne’s lip twitched, a quiet rebuke heavy in her throat.
“Your sly machinations may work upon women of less character than myself, m’lord,” Anne spat the man’s title with venom, “but I’ve more interest in life than knitting and giggling upon every silly joke brash and rakish men of wealth attempt clumsily to make.” The statement seemed to have passed unheard - or misunderstood - by the Lady Rochester, who looked upon the exchange rather obliviously.
“You’ve quite a tongue for a woman,” the earl returned harshly.
“My father taught me well,” Anne remarked haughtily. Just as Anne’s eyes locked in unflinching resolve with the earl, whose charm had begun to slip beneath the skewering independence of the woman before him, a loud clear of a man’s throat drew both of their gazes back towards the estate - where, upon the cobblestone paths littered with parked carriages and bored carriage drivers stood another man, clad in a coat and tall hat. A man Anne recognized - and upon recognizing him, she regretted the fact that she did.
“Ah, Duke Amhurst,” the earl announced with drunken pride; clearly the wine had summoned the young rake’s ire. “Have you come to enjoy the cool air and freedom of the outdoors as well, Lawrence?” The earl’s words cut shame across the duke’s expression; he looked away, clearly having hoped not to encounter anyone in the course of his own swift and socially impertinent exit - most certainly he had hoped not to find himself in the company of the host, nor in the scathing and judgmental gaze of the woman with whom he had shared both pleasant - and painful - conversation only an hour or thereabouts before.
“In point of fact, m’lord, I must beg your pardon in taking my leave early for the e
vening. Affairs at the Amhurst estate have gone rather ragged in the course of the past week or so,” the duke responded, his uncomfortable gaze shifting briefly back to Anne. She rebuffed his prying eyes with arms crossed atop her chest; she could tell a lie when a bad liar conjured one, and the Duke of Amhurst was clearly a quite incapable liar.
“Certainly, then,” the earl gave a deep bow, the alcohol burning in his blood nearly tipping him onto his head. The lady at his side giggled and tugged at him. “I suppose, then, my beautiful friend and I ought to get to know one another elsewhere upon the carriage lot,” the noble miscreant added, before a snakelike gaze shot across the cobblestones, back at Anne. She did not flinch. She had handled more than her share of this sort of man - the sort of man incapable of seeing a woman as his equal, or of seeing the value in her unabashed vocalization of her thoughts. She had spent the better part of her life convincing the men in service to her father that she had in her every capable bone and muscle as he had - and a rapscallion of an earl would do little to convince her to place her feelings and comments within a locked box inside of her for the sake of social posterity.
“Perhaps you should,” Anne contested. Surprise wove upon Lawrence’s face as he listened to her - she saw it as a welcome change to the melancholy that had stricken the duke since their first words exchanged, and which had only recently returned to his gaze. The earl stood silent and tense for a moment, quite unable to process a woman not only immune to the charms he had woven upon so many, but indeed apparently quite repulsed by his word and manner. It didn’t simply surprise him - in fact it seemed to anger him.
“Come, Lady Rochester,” he demanded, his fiery, wine-reddened eyes never once leaving behind the contemptuous glare upon Anne. He pulled at his companion’s wrist and with a few wandering footsteps the two had set off among the carriages once again, disappearing beneath a veil of giggles and murmurs. Now Anne remained among the gaudy vehicles and the moonlight with only Lawrence, who looked away, his senses forlorn, clearly nursing the wounds inflicted by his earlier exchange with the woman.
“M’lady, I feel I owe an apology for the exchange between us before,” he finally spoke, after a moment of pained silence passed.
