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Chapter Three
July 12, 1819
Anne absently took a sip from her teacup while watching the lace-edged curtains flutter in the summer breeze. The fresh air filling the drawing room carried the scents of wildflowers, grass, and sun-drenched growing things. It was one of her favorite times of the year, and normally she couldn’t wait to spend the summers at Doverton Hall. However, too many things had changed in her life over the last several years which put her haven into the background.
What did windswept grasses compare to the freedom of sailing through cloud-dotted blue skies?
The excitement from her flight of yesterday had yet to wear off, and she allowed her mind to wander. Oh, that trip had been glorious! That was the longest trip she’d made by herself. She’d covered that ten mile stretch in twenty minutes, which was almost forty minutes faster than by carriage. Balloon travel would completely change how people travelled… if they would only release their fear of that which was different.
With another sip of tea, her thoughts shifted, but not far. The gentleman she’d met upon that bit of a crash landing yesterday—Viscount Worthington—was different as well. She’d never met a man who wore spectacles before, to say nothing of a man singularly more wrapped up in risks and outcomes as he was. Something held him captive, something that kept his soul from soaring free, but what?
A tiny smile flirted with the corners of her mouth. He’d been intelligent enough, when he hadn’t been babbling, but then, she supposed coming upon a balloon in such an abrupt fashion might tend to make anyone tongue-tied. Yes, he’d been angry enough, but that only meant he was capable of great emotion, a trait that seemed to be missing by many within in the ton. Too many men had been raised to think showing any sort of feelings was wrong or even a weakness. It had been refreshing to know the viscount didn’t worry about such.
The fact he hadn’t dismissed her out of hand when she’d more or less ordered him to act as her assistant had raised her opinion of men in general and him in particular. Would he wish to carry out that role again, perhaps accompany her on her next flight?
For that matter, what sort of man was he when he wasn’t taken off guard? Just the remembrance of his rugged jaw and his soulful hazel eyes sent a shiver down her spine, which was easily dismissible. Useful as an assistant or even a friend? Certainly. Those were difficult to come by currently. A potential sponsor should she require additional funding? Possibly. A candidate for a long-term relationship? Absolutely not. Matrimony wasn’t on her agenda, not even to a man as intriguing as the viscount.
“Anne, you’re woolgathering again.”
The sound of her mother’s voice yanked her from her thoughts. She directed her attention to her parent and sighed. “I apologize. The day beckons, don’t you think?”
“No, I do not.” As she stirred sugar into her tea, the subtle tinkle of the spoon against the china set Anne’s teeth on edge. “You should spend some time this afternoon writing an apology letter to Mr. Davies.”
“Ha!” She finished with her now tepid tea and then set the cup onto the low table in front of her. “That man isn’t worthy of an apology or anything else. I don’t care who he is.” After shaking the crumbs from her violet skirts, she sighed. “He was rude to me, is always rude.”
“That was no reason for creating such a spectacle last evening.” After she took a sip, her mother narrowed her eyes. “A lady should display grace and elegance at all times. We do not go around slapping men in the face merely because our dander is up.”
Anne pointed her gaze to the ceiling. “Really? Papa never aggravated you to the point your fingers itched to smack him merely to make him see reason?”
“If he did, I’m sure I found a different way to bring about a solution.”
No, she didn’t suppose her mother would let deep emotions affect her, for she’d always been the calm one of the Lewis family. Anne blew out a breath that ruffled a couple of curls on her forehead. “In any event, I won’t apologize to that man. He’s been nothing but horrid toward me, and he wants my confidence shaken besides.”
“But the scandal… everyone who was here last night saw your behavior…” The disappointment on her mother’s face tugged at her chest.
“Well, Mama, it’s not as if I’m not used to landing in the middle of gossip.” She took a small jam cake from a plate. They were one of her favorites. “Yet you didn’t hear his goading. Why are men allowed to act as ugly as they want, but the moment women step out of a line drawn by society, we’re considered unstable?”
“It’s assumed we can control our reactions better.” She leveled a look on Anne that would have quelled most people into following her dictates. “Why can you not see I only want the best for you, and for you to be happy?”
“Because you refuse to actually acknowledge what will bring me to that state.” She popped the cake into her mouth and chewed. The sweet sponge mixed with the tart raspberry fruit to create heaven on her palate. Once she’d swallowed, Anne smiled. “Please trust me enough that I know what’s best for me.”
“By remaining a spinster?”
“By steering my own life.” She refilled her teacup with a measure of the remains of the amber liquid in the teapot. “Mama, what do you know of Viscount Whittington?”
“Very little. His mother is still alive.” Lines of concern creased her brow. “I believe he lost his father a month after he returned from the war. Something about his brain, a stroke or some such. It happened rather quickly.” She glanced at Anne. “Why do you ask?”
Anne shrugged. “I was in Cranleigh yesterday and happened to meet him.”
“Oh?” Interest lit her mother’s expression. “That’s encouraging.”
“Perhaps, but don’t read anything into it. My balloon went down unexpectedly in the road, which spooked his horse.” She really should call on him and ask after his injuries.
“Not this again.” Her mother’s eyes dimmed. She crumbled a biscuit into tiny crumbs upon the plate that sat in her lap. “Did you speak to him about your… interests?”
“Of course. There was copious time for it while waiting for Matthew to come ‘round with the wagon.”
A moan escaped her parent. “He no doubt thinks you’re mad.”
