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And then—only scant weeks later—Robert’s father died as well, and the future dowager Redford, current Lady Redford, presented herself upon their doorstep, seeking an audience not with Anne’s father—the good friend of her recently deceased spouse—but with Anne herself. “I would like above all else to speak frankly and plainly with you, Miss Larchmont, if I may?”
Startled from her Latin lesson with Harriet—whose governess had taken to bed with a cold and “yet elucidation must carry on” (from twelve-year-old Harriet herself, no less)—Anne had quickly directed her unexpected visitor to Mama’s morning room. Conversely located to catch the afternoon sun, the small parlor was Anne’s favorite.
Once tea had been served and the appropriate niceties observed—a second cup offered and declined—Anne placed her cup and saucer upon the table and turned to Lady Redford.
The woman, somewhere near sixty, remained remarkably attractive. Though her hair was more grey than not, it possessed a lustrous sheen, the thick mass wound at her nape, her face less lined than Anne’s own—younger—mother’s; Lady Redford’s figure trimmer too.
“Lady Redford,” Anne began, “you mentioned a frank discourse upon your arrival but as of yet”—Anne indicated their empty cups—“we have touched upon naught but the nonsensical. Please. You have traveled sufficiently to be here.” By carriage, their properties were a good four hours apart. “Speak plainly, if you would.”
“One moment.” If anything, Lady Redford looked relieved as she reached for her reticule. After forging but a moment, she withdrew a folded letter and handed it over to Anne.
Who recognized her own writing. “My condolence letter?” Nerves fluttered in her belly. Though why should they begin now? “I do not understand.”
“Your second condolence letter to be precise.” Lady Redford exhaled audibly and relaxed back against the settee for the first time since sitting. “The one you sent when my husband passed—though you no longer had any official connection to our family, not since…”
“Since your son Robert”—my erstwhile betrothed—“passed on. Aye. But why should this particular letter bring you here?”
“Without allowing myself to speak ill of those no longer with us”—which had all sorts of questions clamoring in Anne’s mind—“let me say that your letters, in some small way, conveyed to me who you are—as a person. A lady. Leads one to speculate, rather accurately I do believe, what manner of daughter-in-law, what manner of viscountess you shall make and…”
The older woman’s eyes took on a distant cast.
Just then, Beatrice, Anne’s one indulgence—a grey and white tabby—hopped up next to her mistress. “You baffle me, ma’am. As you say, with your son gone, there is no longer any connection between our families.”
Bea gave a merrowww, then jumped over to their guest.
“Aye, but there should be.”
Just as Anne started to cringe at her normally reticent pet’s forward behavior, Beatrice climbed into the lap of the distracted Lady Redford and started kneading.
The regal woman’s eyes focused once again, spearing Anne intently with their gleam. Lady Redford removed her glove and stroked her fingers against Bea’s sleek fur. “My third and youngest son has now inherited everything and completely without expectation. It is my fondest wish he might inherit you as well, or at least the betrothal, as it were, to you.”
“That is absurd.” Eyes widening, Anne slapped a hand over her lips. Then up to her forehead before lowering it and guiltily meeting Lady Redford’s expression, which was surprisingly indulgent. “Forgive my plain speaking. But the new Lord Redford will no doubt desire to choose his own wife when the time is right. Nay—”
When Lady Redford started to interrupt, Anne held out her hand. “We both know Robert did not relish a betrothal—much less a marriage—to me, else I would have seen his face more than a handful of times in the last eight years.” Anne could not recall ever meeting the youngest son, didn’t remember Robert ever so much as mentioning his brother’s name. “I am quite done waiting for any man, especially one who has no knowledge of me.”
And Lady Redford now sought a permanent union between them? Absurd, indeed.
“Brava, Anne.” Lady Redford tipped her head in a regal gesture. “You now illustrate exactly why I want you as family and for my Ward.”
Ward. Certainly a more uncommon name than that of his two brothers, John and Robert. But not an enticement to marriage.
After giving Beatrice her due, in the form of an enthusiastic chin rub, Lady Redford deposited the cat off her lap and stood, walking to the window that overlooked the manicured lawn and into the brilliant afternoon sun. “What I share next will only be spoken of once. I ask that you pay close attention and heed my words as the truth they are. I also ask that you refrain from ever uttering them to another.”
More startled than curious, Anne nevertheless stood as well. “You have my word.”
Lady Redford spun to face her. Outlined by the window, her face was in shadow but her voice remained strong and clear. “My husband and two oldest boys were not at all who—what—I would wish upon another. John was feckless.” Anne recalled an attractive, spry gentleman (quite the opposite of the lumbering Robert) with a propensity to flirt with outrageous abandon. “Not cruel, but someone who sought laughter and pleasure above all else. Robert and my spouse? Selfish bastards in the extreme.”
Anne bit her lips to stifle a gasp. Plain speaking, indeed.
“They cared naught for our lands and legacy, only for themselves. To be sure, Anne dear, you are vastly better off, not having married Robert. Now, Ward? He took after me—to my delight and his father’s derision. Too serious by half. Boring, insipid, without a dram of appeal. Those and a host of other unjust, undeserved complaints were heaped upon his head once he professed a greater interest in fine literature than French brandy, expressed more enthusiasm for training horses than in chasing women. Was it any wonder he took to soldiering?”
After all that, Lady Redford came forward and wilted into the nearest chair. Away from the bright sun, Anne could see her clearly. Speaking so bluntly had been a trial; for the woman looked older than she had thus far. “I would like that second cup of tea now, if you please.”
After Anne delivered the requested nourishment and a single sip had been savored, Lady Redford straightened her back and caught Anne’s gaze. “Now, along with our steward and solicitor, I have done what I could. Ward is on his way back to English soil after a rather nasty skirmish in Spain that resulted in significant losses on both sides.”
To Anne, it appeared as though Lady Redford steeled herself to impart the rest. “From what I gather, Ward himself was injured, but with time will heal. I shall meet with him upon his return, tell him of you and seek his agreement as well. His agreement to meet with you. That is all I ask. That you each consider yourselves betrothed to the other until you meet and decide for yourselves if you shall suit. In the meanwhile, I would like to extend an invitation for you to visit Redford Manor. Let me show you all there is to love about the place and let you see firsthand its allure.
“What say you, dear Anne? Would you grant me a measure of hope—that you may in fact become my daughter? The one I never had?”
