Retreat From Love (11 page)

“Your Grace!” Reeves exclaimed in horror. “The Prince Regent himself has admired that room.”

Freddy made a face. “Well that decides it. The green drawing room must go.”

Brett laughed. “You are duke now, Freddy.” He leaned over and lightly squeezed Freddy’s forearm. “I think it is high time you made Ashton Park yours.” Brett sat back before Freddy could capture his hand and hold it on his arm, which was his inclination.

Brett was oblivious. “What do you plan to do?”

Freddy sighed. “I’m not sure. But I think I would like a little less formality. No matter what my mother thinks, this is not a royal residence.” He gestured around them.

“I am quite taken with this scheme here. I shall have a decorator look at this room and then proceed from there.” He turned to Reeves. “Reeves, find out who decorated this room. Perhaps Jerome had more changes in mind and discussed it with the fellow.”

“Shall you make it a bachelor’s residence?” Brett asked a little too nonchalantly.

Freddy wasn’t sure what Brett wanted to hear. He’d denied Freddy repeatedly.

Would he be happy if Freddy wed and left him alone? Or did he want Freddy to say yes, to confirm Brett would always have a place in his home? Freddy answered carefully. “No, I do not think so. There will be women here.” He deliberately didn’t say who they might be, but some devil made him add, “Perhaps even your wife, Brett.”

Brett spun about, startled. “My wife?” He shook his head. “I don’t believe I shall ever marry, Freddy. Don’t plan around that.”

Freddy leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on the table. “Why not?”

Brett raised a sardonic brow. “I simply don’t foresee it. And what about you? Your duchess will certainly have to be taken into account.”

Freddy felt a pit open in his gut. Brett said that without any hesitation.
Your duchess.

“Yes, I suppose eventually there will have to be one. But I am in no great hurry.” He 53

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stood up, and Brett was clearly surprised by the abrupt move. “What would you like to do today?” He paused as he set his napkin on the table. When he continued, he and Brett spoke at the same time.

“I would like to go see Anne.”

“Let’s go and see Anne.”

The two men shared a smile and Brett stood and followed Freddy from the room.

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Anne,

I have held my thoughts inside like a prayer, or a curse. I can do so no longer. This place,
this time, this war—they have worn me down. There is little of Brett left here. Who am I then? I
see myself in Bertie’s eyes, and that reflection is the only thing that reassures me I am still here
at all.

What utter rubbish. I shall certainly never send this letter. It is this damned arm. I tell
everyone it is all right, but the truth is it is festering. That bloody French bayonet was poison.

Knightly, a damned ingenious bully, told me to douse it with whiskey. He is the only one who
realizes that it pains me still. I won’t bother the doctor with it. He is busy enough with the truly
injured. I took Knightly’s advice and nearly screamed like a young girl. But it does look better
today.

Bertie is worried about his little brother. He hasn’t heard from him since his arrival. Bloody
little bastard. Bertie writes him constantly, begging for a letter. I shall be hard pressed not to
plant him a facer when I see him.

Listen to me, I act as if I shall just return and blend into Bertie’s life. But I know that won’t
happen. Bertie will return to you, and to that rotten little brother, and I will return to…nothing.

Perhaps I am preparing for that? I shall just fade away here before I fade away in England. I am
fading fast, Anne. I only hold tight for Bertie’s sake. Who else would watch his back? Trouble is
attracted to him like a magnet. I didn’t tell him that bayonet was meant for him. Bloody fool.

Hell, Anne, we’re a lot of bloody fools.

That is enough, I think. Even I tire of my endless complaints. I wrote you because Bertie
received another letter today. It smelled so strongly of lilacs even the campfire couldn’t disguise
the sweet scent. He passed it around and every man got two minutes to sniff it, with Bertie
standing guard behind them to make sure they didn’t try to steal it. I wonder if you know that
we are all in love with you?

Brett

* * * * *

Anne had been anxious all morning. She hadn’t slept well last night, kept awake by visions of Brett and Freddy and all the deliciously naughty things she’d like to do with them, some she wasn’t even sure were possible but she was willing to try. Would they come to see her today? If they didn’t, she wasn’t sure what she would do. She couldn’t very well waltz up to the door at the Park and expect to be welcomed inside with open 55

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arms. As soon as Bertie had left England she’d been barred. It was simply habit now to avoid the Park. The only time she’d been there had been to try to deliver Bertie’s letters.

Although with Freddy in residence perhaps things would be different.

Anne was sitting by herself in the small dining room, drinking tepid tea again and nibbling on a day-old biscuit. If she didn’t hear from them in the next two, no, three days perhaps she’d go to the Park and inquire about…her mind was blank. Well, she’d think of something to inquire about besides whether the duke and Mr. Haversham were still in residence, and if they might like to fuck her silly, perhaps? Anne snorted at her musings. She could just see Reeves’ face at her question.

She sighed. Breakfast was long over, and there were all the minutia and endless, mind-numbing chores living in a small cottage on an even smaller income required.

Soon her mother would be coming in to check on her. She tried to give Anne as much time and space as she thought an independent twenty-six-year-old woman required, but she was still a mother at heart. A mother who carried around an endless list of things that needed to be done.

Anne grudgingly stood up, prepared to martyr herself like a responsible,

independent twenty-six-year-old woman should. Her mother still handled many of the duties normally assumed by the wife of the vicar. Mr. Matthews was as yet unmarried, and he appreciated Mrs. Goode’s help. Anne could hardly complain about doing some weeding when her mother was tending a houseful of sick children and their mother over at the Ferstons. It would also mean that they’d be paid in chickens and eggs by the Ferstons, and the parsonage would send over some much needed staples as well. Anne smiled as she remembered they didn’t need so much now, not after Freddy had taken care of them yesterday.

Her heart lightened considerably when she remembered Freddy’s kindnesses

yesterday. With a sigh she relived the day, pausing on the vision of Brett’s tender look as he’d begged her to accept the new gloves he purchased for her. Of course, the thought of the new gloves made her think of the old ones and Brett’s hand working its way inside, and she got that marvelous shivery feeling all over and she was back at the start again. Would they come today?

Anne finally managed to make it out of the dining room. She found her gardening gloves by the kitchen door. “Mrs. Tilton,” she told the older woman, who was happily mixing shortbread and humming as she worked, “I shall be in the garden if you happen to see Mother.” She wasn’t truly worried about her mother’s ability to track her down.

She was thinking of other potential guests. Just then there was a firm knock at the cottage door. Anne spun about and, lifting her skirt indecorously, took off running for the front of the cottage. “I’ll get it,” she hollered back at a surprised Mrs. Tilton.

Without pausing Anne breathlessly yanked open the door at the same time she came to a teetering halt. Freddy and Brett were standing on the other side, grinning widely from surprised faces. “Hello,” Anne said breathlessly with a huge smile.

“Good morning, Miss Goode,” Freddy said, clearly amused.

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He reached for her hand and she stuck it out only to realize she still had on her gardening gloves. “Oh bother,” she muttered as she yanked them off.

Freddy couldn’t contain his laughter, and Anne saw Brett rub his upper lip in the way she’d noticed yesterday when he was trying to hide a smile. “You seem to have a great deal of trouble with gloves,” Freddy drawled as he took her naked hand in his. He was still wearing his expensive gloves, and Anne’s knees literally got weak at the feel of the leather against her palm. Her breathing hitched and Freddy’s gaze held hers knowingly as he kissed the back of her hand. Oh my God, was that his tongue? Anne thought in shock, feeling the soft, warm, wet tip tracing a little pattern along the vein in the back of her hand.

“I’m becoming obsessed with them.” Anne’s voice was shaky. Freddy pulled away with a puzzled look. “Gloves, I mean.”

Freddy’s look darted to Brett, who was watching them with an odd look. “Yes,”

Freddy said quite clearly, “I myself have had one or two thoughts about gloves since yesterday.”

Brett blinked and looked at the two of them. His cheeks turned pink as he realized what they were referring to. “I am sorry I ruined your gloves, Anne,” he apologized again.

“I’m not,” Anne told him, and she put every ounce of longing and desire she’d been feeling into the words. Freddy still held her hand and his grip tightened.

Clearly Brett didn’t know what to say. His face reflected her own desire, but it was as if something prevented him from forming the words. Silently Freddy passed Anne’s hand to Brett, and he took it in his and turned it over before he pressed a lingering kiss on her palm. Anne’s heart flipped over.

“Oh Your Grace, Mr. Haversham,” Mrs. Goode said warmly from behind Anne.

“Back so soon? Thank you so much for escorting Anne to the village yesterday.” She stopped next to Anne at the door, and Brett released her hand and stepped back. Mrs.

Goode turned to Freddy. “Thank you also, Your Grace, for your generosity. There is no need for you to pay for your own shortbread.” She smiled wryly. “But I thank you for the sentiment as well as the provisions.”

Freddy bowed over her offered hand. “It was my sincere pleasure, ma’am.” His eyes twinkled. “I do love Mrs. Tilton’s shortbread.”

Mrs. Goode laughed. “Everyone loves Mrs. Tilton’s shortbread, and it’s been a very long time since we’ve had it.” Mrs. Goode stood back and gestured them into the house.

“I daresay half the village will make an excuse to stop by the cottage today in hopes of getting a taste.”

Freddy and Brett entered, Brett bowing over Mrs. Goode’s hand as he passed. “Well then, I shall have Mr. Howard send some more of whatever you need,” Freddy offered.

“That is, if Mrs. Tilton doesn’t mind baking all day.”

Mrs. Goode led them into the same drawing room where they’d had tea yesterday.

She laughed at Freddy’s remark. “No, I don’t think she’d mind at all.”

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Anne trailed after them. She knew she shouldn’t resent her mother’s presence, but she did. She wanted to be alone with them. It was probably better this way, because if they were alone she’d just embarrass herself by throwing herself at them shamelessly.

Of course, they might catch her just as shamelessly, and wouldn’t that be fun?

Mrs. Tilton brought the tea tray and Freddy helped her with it, making a great deal of her baking the shortbread for him. A plate of the delicious treat was on the tray, fresh from the oven. After tea was served, Anne took a bite and closed her eyes in appreciation. She’d forgotten how good Mrs. Tilton’s shortbread was. She opened her eyes to see Freddy and Brett staring at her, their own shortbread forgotten. A quick glance at her mother showed the older woman sipping her tea as she politely looked out the window pretending not to notice the men staring at her daughter.

Anne swallowed quickly and choked a little, grabbing her cup to take a sip. Brett half rose from his chair. “Are you all right?” She was afraid he was going to thump her on the back. How mortifying!

She nodded quickly, holding up a hand to stay him, and he sat back down. “Fine,”

she gasped, “just fine.”

Freddy said teasingly as he reached for his cup, “You needn’t rush, Anne. I promise I’ll leave some for you.”

The other three laughed as Anne blushed. She looked at her mother to see if she had noticed Freddy’s familiarity, but she said nothing.

“How long will you be staying here at the Park, Your Grace?” Mrs. Goode inquired.

“I heard from several people that your plans are indefinite.”

“Yes, we’re going to be here indefinitely,” Freddy affirmed, including Brett without blinking an eye. Anne had heard they were close, but how close? It seemed that they lived in one another’s pockets. Perhaps some of the things she’d fantasized about last night were possible. She grinned into her teacup.

“His Grace is thinking about redecorating the Park,” Brett said casually.

Anne’s teacup clattered onto the saucer half a second before her mother’s. “What?”

Mrs. Goode asked a little louder than was polite. “I beg your pardon,” she murmured, her cheeks turning red.

Brett’s brow wrinkled in consternation. “Why does everyone seem so horrified by that?” He was clearly annoyed. “It is his house, after all.”

Mrs. Goode set her cup and saucer down on the table in front of her and clasped her hands in her lap. “I’m not horrified. Just the opposite, actually. But I am surprised.

The duchess redid the entire house less than a decade ago.”

“Right after my father’s death,” Freddy said matter-of-factly. “I remember.” He took a meditative sip. “But in her defense, the house was looking rather ramshackle in places.” He sighed. “Unfortunately she and I have different tastes.”

Mrs. Goode smiled sadly. “Yes, as did she and your father. He wouldn’t let her redo it during his lifetime, you know. He loved it the way it was.”