An Inconvenient Wife by Constance Hussey

Author:Constance Hussey
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Pink Petal Books
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

Blue skies and a light breeze carrying the scents of spring encouraged everyone to spend more and more time outdoors. Anne picked up her hat and gloves before going to ascertain that Danielle and Sarah were settled in the garden with Miss Caxton. She paused at the gate to survey the “pocket” garden, as Sarah called it. Although the vine-covered stone walls gave it the appearance of intimacy, the area held a small pond, meandering stone paths winding in a seemingly haphazard fashion, and several apple trees just coming into bud.

The girls were seated by the pond today; Danielle curled up on a blanket laid out beside Sarah’s chair and Miss Caxton on a nearby bench. Several flutes lay beside Danielle, but no practice had begun as yet. Conversation, interspersed with giggles, drifted across to Anne, and she slipped away without disturbing them. Westcott and Guy were no doubt already waiting for her at the stables.

The viscount was delayed, a groom informed her, but Guy was feeding his pony her daily sugar cube. “You are spoiling Polly dreadfully, young man,” Anne said.

Guy grinned at her and looked slyly at the piece of apple in Anne’s hand. “I do just as you do, Mother Anne. You also spoil Belle, oui?”

“Yes, you wretched boy.” Anne laughed and ruffled his hair. She turned then, as another groom approached with her mare. Head up and nostrils flaring, Belle appeared eager to relish the fine day as well.

“Thank you, Peter.” Anne fed Belle her apple and brushed the silky black mane aside to scratch lightly at the sensitive skin on the horses’s neck. There was a spot right there, and Belle snuffled her appreciation and butted her head against Anne’s arm.

“I know you like that but don’t be slobbering over my new habit, girl.” Anne left the mare to Peter to finish bridling while they waited for Westcott. She stood beside Guy, chatting idly, one part of her mind on the boy, whose adaptation to his new home and language was remarkable, and the other on Westcott, striding toward them. He was dressed in the fawn and brown colours he favored; breeches that clung to his strongly muscled legs; glossy, high black boots; and a creamy white shirt, opened a little at his neck, that was a sharp contrast to the form-fitting jacket of dark brown superfine. She liked looking at him when he was unaware of it. He was not a handsome man in the manner of the detested Major whose pursuit still haunted her dreams, but there was a pleasing strength in the firm chin and mouth. A mouth that, although infrequently, could soften into a warm smile. Was she deluding herself to think she had seen that smile more often this past week? More likely it is a combination of your imagination and the pleasant weather. Nothing has changed.

Shaking off the moment of discouragement, Anne turned to her horse and took the reins from the groom. “Have a good ride, my lady.

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