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Chapter Ten
July 17, 1819
Anne was both pleased and anxious when Lady Worthington invited her to tea in the morning room of Worthington Hall. As soon as she arrived in the room, the dowager began talking.
“I know my son has promised to take you to the fair this evening, but I wanted to have a sit down with you and catch up. You and he have been thick as thieves for the last week.” She gestured, and the late afternoon sun glimmered off the bejeweled rings on her fingers. “Come, sit with me.”
“Well, he has promised to partner with me on this ballooning endeavor, as well as fund the entire flight, so I want to make certain Lord Worthington understands exactly what he’s paying for.” She arranged the skirts of her jonquil gown over her legs and then accepted a teacup from her hostess. “Besides, he’s rather an interesting man when he lets down his guard.”
“You mean when he ceases to hide behind fear or the risks he’s calculated for himself.” One of the dowager’s eyebrow went up. “I’ve known my son longer than you.”
“I meant no offense.”
“And I took none.” The older woman glanced toward the door, and finding their position still secure, she continued. “I spoke privately with Benedict yesterday.”“Oh?” Jane fought off the urge to blush as she took refuge in sipping her tea.
The dowager nodded. “He’s different somehow, and I can’t help but think your influence has brought about that change.”
Oh, drat. Surely Benedict hadn’t revealed details of their intimacy. “If my presence in his life has perhaps caused him personal growth, I’m pleased. Otherwise, I don’t know what you mean.”
Her mind jogged to that hayloft from two days ago, and heat sank into her cheeks. Even now, she still felt his lips on her skin, the touch of his hands on the sensitive portions of her body, remembered the way he’d sent her flying without wings.
She could hardly admit to that passionate interlude, or say, “Oh by the way, I was the one who tugged your son into that barn by his cravat and more or less pushed him into seduction.”
“I think you do.” Lady Worthington put her teacup into its saucer and made no pretense of politeness. Her response to Anne’s deflection yanked her from the musings. “He didn’t give away the secret you’re seeking to hide—yes, I can see it in your eyes—and I take no exception to that, for it’s nice Benedict is finally showing interest in a woman.” With a certain elegance, she laid the saucer on the table in front of her. “However, I can’t help but think he might come out of this falderol with his heart broken, and that I won’t support.”
“I can appreciate your wish to protect him.” As calmly as she could, Anne continued to sip her tea. “But please believe me when I say that I have no intention of hurting your son. I’m not in the habit of doing around destroying men’s hearts.” Yet she couldn’t, in good conscience, accept his proposal that had been issued out of duty and guilt for that quick tryst in the barn.
“I know you won’t. I also understand you mean what you say, but you’re a rather independent woman.” The dowager held up a hand. “Which I’m all for and fully believe more women need to challenge the patriarchal society we currently labor under. With that said, sometimes these viewpoints buck up against tradition and men who might seem old-fashioned in their values. It doesn’t mean those values represent shackles or clipped wings. They merely mean those men have fallen hard and fast.”
Anne huffed in frustration even as her heart both squeezed and tightened. I don’t accept that Benedict is in love me. Such things don’t happen so fast. She couldn’t determine how much Benedict had actually told his mother or what the dowager only guessed at, but she refused to mention that tryst. “You’re speaking of love.”
“Of course I am. What else is there in this life that’s as wonderful as that state?” Her eyes sparkled with an intent Anne didn’t quite trust.
“Ambition. One’s work. Making history. Guiding one’s own life.”
The dowager snorted. “Clever girl. However, my husband and I fell in love at first sight, for I firmly believe we were meant to find each other.” She calmly poured out tea as if the conversation weren’t bordering on the awkward. “I was cheeky and a dreamer like you, but he supported everything I wished to do. Marriage only enhanced that, and in some ways made things easier.”
Was the older woman attempting to play matchmaker or warning her away from her son? It was too difficult to tell. “I’ll bear that in mind, Lady Worthington. For the moment, please know my focus remains on my goal, and if your son wishes to be an integral part in that, I’ll let him. I’ve grown to rely on his company.” She stared down the older woman without fear or dissembling. “Anything else is quite a private matter between the two of us. For good or for ill, we will either grow from the experience or learn from it.”
For several seconds, the dowager held her gaze. Finally, she nodded. “I like your mettle, Lady Anne. I only hope you’re not the one singed in this tangle brewing with that newspaper man. However, I’ll be there cheering you on nonetheless.” Then she waved a hand, clearly dismissing the matter. “By the by, I’ve had a letter from your mother.”
“Oh? That’s an interesting development.” She clasped her fingers together to quell their shaking. “I’d assumed she’d washed her hands of me after this latest scandal.”
The corners of the dowager’s lips twitched. “She and your father intend to attend the traveling fair to see your flight.” Again, that maddening eyebrow rose. “It would behoove you to put some stick into your performance. Meanwhile, I’ll drop a bug in your mother’s ear that respect goes both ways.”
“I appreciate your help.” To her mortification, tears sprang into her eyes. “I do so wish to make a good showing.”
“There is no doubt in my mind you’ll be the talk of London after this.”
“Ha. When am I not?” That was the sad fact and something she should never have brought to Benedict’s doorstep. In some confusion, Anne rose. “Your so is… Well, he’s a good man. I don’t take that for granted.”
“Time will tell, my girl.” The dowager waved her hand again. “You’d best run. He’s anxious to show you about the fair before it becomes abuzz with your wager.”
An hour later, Anne strolled the grounds at the south end of Benedict’s property where the fair had been set up. Tents and caravans of colorful wagons dotted the landscape. Squeals of delight and laughter rang through the air. Knots of people clustered about men doing pantomime or others running various games for trinkets and prizes. Sweet scents of roasted and sugared nuts wafter to her nose vying for attention with the savory smells of meats on spits.
“No doubt this will be a successful fair,” she said from his side. Though the July sun was high and hot, a gentle breeze blew over the area that brought relief with it.
“I hope so. The Romani people are a cheerful, hardworking lot; they’re travelers wishing to help. They don’t deserve the contempt they receive throughout England.”
