A Touch of Silver by Lynne Connolly

Author:Lynne Connolly
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2019-07-01T21:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

FOLLOWING GERALD’S INSTRUCTIONS, Annie visited the ladies’ room, lingering as long as she dared before she went downstairs. Although she described her cloak and hat carefully to the footman, she had to reject one set much finer than her own before the man brought the correct ones. Reluctantly, the servant helped her into them, so Annie did not give him a vail. Servants in grand houses expected money for services they were paid to provide. Normally, she was glad to oblige but, in this case, when the service was given so grudgingly, she would not do it.

She climbed into the carriage in solitary splendor, and sighed with relief when she settled against the soft leather squabs. The coach was still moving when the door opened and Gerald swung into the vehicle. Suddenly, the carriage didn’t seem so spacious. He smelled of sandalwood and cedar and pure, virile male.

Gerald sat next to her instead of opposite her, draping her wide skirt over his lap. As the vehicle jolted into motion, he leaned his head against the squabs and let loose a long sigh. “Thank goodness I’m out of there.” Reaching out, he took her hand, tucking it warmly in his. Annie did not object, or try to pull it back. He pressed her hand, tugging a little so she had to lean closer. “You are too kind. But then you are, are you not, Annie Cathcart? You think of everyone but yourself. Do you not want something for yourself sometimes?”

The only thing she wanted for herself was what she could not have. Namely, more of the Earl of Carbrooke. A thought began to thread through her mind, the mere notion of an idea so outrageous she could barely think of it. “Talk to me, Gerald.”

He studied her face, his gaze passing over her features restlessly. “Yes. What you witnessed upstairs is my greatest shame, and the reason we are not deeper into society’s good opinions. I am entirely at fault and, tonight, I understood how far it has gone. I should have repaired the omission years ago.” He swallowed. “I can place where it all began. Do you remember the anti-tax riots in London?”

“There have been a few. We always lock our doors and pray our windows don’t get broken.”

“I was caught in one once.”

She gasped. “How terrible!” Mobs went insane during riots, striking out at others, breaking into breweries and looting shops. An angry mob was a dangerous thing.

“I was torn out of my mother’s arms and carried along with the mob. I can still remember the stink of sweat, beer and stale tobacco in my nostrils, the shouts, the angry demands. And being five years old, I thought it was all because of me.”

“Why would you think that?”

He gave a tight, humorless smile. “Because my mother had been berating me for something. I cannot even remember what it was. We were standing on a small street near to St. Paul’s. The crowd came out of nowhere, like a river of people, and I was lost.

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