“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.” Rafe’s mind was already working. He wanted to meet Stone, and he wanted to visit this parish church in Croydon. The latter was probably pointless, but Rafe would investigate every clue.
Selina’s gaze crackled with resolve. “I’m going to Croydon with you.”
“I don’t think I could stop you,” he said wryly. “Nor do I want to.”
“Good. Let me know when you arrange to meet Stone. And make it soon.”
“It will be.” Rafe would make it a priority. The priority. He looked to Beatrix. “Thank you.”
“For what? Having the luck to picnic near that folly?” She waved her hand. “Perhaps this was the way it was supposed to happen.”
Fate? Rafe didn’t believe in such things. Yet, it was some sort of providence. Perhaps it was simply time that the puzzle of his life—and Selina’s—came together. He’d lost hope that their past would ever be revealed.
“I don’t know if I believe that,” Selina said. “But I’m glad you were there—and that you were observant.” She tossed Beatrix a knowing smile that provoked a flash of envy in Rafe. They had a true sisterly bond. He’d abdicated that sibling closeness when he’d left Selina to fend for herself. She said she forgave him, but he wasn’t sure he could ever forgive himself.
Perhaps, if he could find the truth about their past, he could start.
Setting the book down in her lap, Anne shoved an errant lock of hair into the band tied around her head. A streak of striped fur leapt into the open book but didn’t linger, and in her escape sent the tome tumbling to the floor.
Anne exhaled. “It’s a good thing I wasn’t particularly interested in that.” A second blur of tawny, striped fur blazed past her chair, clearly in pursuit of the first one. Given the sizes of them, she guessed the first had been Daffodil, who was the smaller of the two kittens, and the second was her sister, Fern.
Jane, Anne’s older sister by four years, strode into Anne’s small sitting room. “Where did they go?”
Daffodil streaked by Jane’s leg, rustling her gown. Fern followed, leaping back over the threshold in a merry chase.
“Sorry.” Jane gave Anne an apologetic smile. “Did they disturb you?”
“Never. They’re kittens. I’m only sorry they’ve gone so quickly.”
“They’ll be back. Unless they get tired, in which case they will look for Anthony.” Jane’s husband was their favorite thing to sleep on.
“True.” Anne set the book on the table beside her chair.
“Do you mind if I sit for a minute?” Jane asked.
“Not at all.” Anne gestured toward the other chair angled near hers in front of the small hearth.
Jane sat and smoothed her hands over her bottle-green gown. Her blonde hair was perfectly dressed, every strand in place, unlike Anne’s, which seemed to live apart from the rest of her body, possessing a mind and desire of its own.
“The Season is nearly over,” Jane said.
It wasn’t a question, but Anne could guess what Jane wanted to know. Anne had chosen to come live with her and Anthony after they’d wed a few weeks ago. Their parents had retreated to the country following Anne’s scandalously aborted wedding. Had it already been nearly four weeks since that disastrous day?
No, not disastrous. Marrying Gilbert Chamberlain would have been the true disaster. Instead, she’d only suffered the humiliation of her groom being arrested at their wedding.
Honestly, she hadn’t been humiliated by that part, even if Society thought she should be. Far more horrifying was that she’d allowed herself to become betrothed to someone like him. Worse than that, to someone she hadn’t loved.
“The furor over the wedding has died down…somewhat,” Jane said with what sounded like fake optimism.
“Somewhat but not entirely.”
“It will.” Jane said this with confidence.
“By next Season, perhaps.”
“Are you saying you prefer to continue to decline invitations?” Jane asked.
Miraculously, Anne still received some. But that was due to Jane’s founding membership in the Spitfire Society and the powerful friends she’d made because of it.
Anne frowned. “I don’t know.”
“You know I’ll support whatever you want to do. I can well understand wanting to completely withdraw and thumb your nose at Society.”
Of course she could, because Jane had done it herself a couple of months ago. After five years on the Marriage Mart, she’d had enough. Much to their parents’ horror, she’d declared herself a spinster and moved into a house in Cavendish Square owned by her friend Phoebe, who was now the Marchioness of Ripley.
Jane had waited to claim her independence until after Anne had become betrothed to Gilbert so as not to impact Anne’s reputation. Anne had felt sorry for Jane at the time, but in retrospect, she envied her.
Because of Jane’s failure on the Marriage Mart, their parents had put all their hopes on Anne to make a good match. The pressure and expectation had been almost too much to bear. Which was how she’d found herself betrothed to a man she didn’t love. She hated to be grateful that he’d turned out to be an extortionist, but she couldn’t deny how she felt. Not just because she’d escaped marriage to him, but because she was still free.
Free to choose another path, if it even existed. She thought of Lord Bodyguard often and wished she could see him again. He no longer went to Hatchard’s on Thursdays. She knew because she’d started going again two weeks ago. And she planned to continue to keep their appointment, even though it was far too late.
“Ripley is hosting a grand ball to celebrate the end of the Season at Brixton Park in a few weeks. Do you want to attend with us?”
Anne shrugged. She hadn’t ever encountered Lord Bodyguard at any of the Society events she’d attended since March and had no reason to think he’d be there. He was perhaps the only thing that could entice her to reenter Society, even for one ball.
“Well, you have time to decide,” Jane said with a small smile. “After that, Anthony and I will be going to Oaklands.” His country seat. “You’re welcome to accompany us, of course. Or you can stay here, and we can have Mrs. Hammond act as your chaperone.” Mrs. Hammond was an old family friend who had occasionally performed chaperoning duties along with Anne’s godfather’s daughter, Deborah, Lady Burnhope.
“I noticed you didn’t suggest I go home,” Anne said drily.
Jane choked on a laugh. “I would never.”
“Good, because I won’t.” Anne plucked at a loose thread on the arm of her upholstered chair. “Do I really need a chaperone? Perhaps I’d like to declare myself a spinster. Or a spitfire.”
“I should find no quarrel with that, but you’re far younger than I was when I made that decision.” Jane paused to send her a meaningful look. “Once you do, you can’t go back.”
“Given the debacle of my wedding, I’m not sure it matters.”
“People don’t blame you. Chamberlain is being transported, for heaven’s sake.”