Miranda Neville by The Ruin of a Rogue

Author:The Ruin of a Rogue [Rogue, The Ruin of a]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

The next day it rained hard all day. Confined to the inn, Anne and Cynthia caught up on their correspondence, forwarded to them from Cynthia’s estate.

“Lady Ashfield is quite tetchy,” Anne reported. “She wants to know if I have heard from my guardian and when I will be coming to her. I think I shall tell her Morrissey’s last letter was lost in the Irish Sea.”

“She has no idea we are in Wiltshire, then?”

“Her sources of gossip are not as good as I thought. Maybe I should drop her a hint. I could write to her from here instead of sending the letter for your steward to forward to London.”

“Keep still, will you.” Cynthia looked up from the sketch she was making of Anne, in the absence of any Roman artifacts. She pronounced herself relieved to have a subject who was both alive and modern. “I think it’s time to leave here. We can go back to my house and with luck no one will ever learn that you have been Lord Lithgow’s maid of all work.”

“And wed Lord Algernon?”

“You are stronger than you think. You can summon the fortitude to resist your guardian without having to ruin your reputation.”

Anne thought Cynthia might be correct. She felt a different person from the timid young woman who doubted her ability to ignore the wishes of her elders. The old Anne would never have ignored her guardian’s order to stay at Lady Ashfield’s house. If this was what association with Marcus Lithgow had done to her, she couldn’t regret it.

“I want to stay longer. I’ve almost reached the furnace.”

“You’re quite mad. It’s December, for goodness’ sake. Very likely it will start snowing.”

“Give me a little more time. If I don’t find the furnace soon, I’ll stop and we’ll leave.”

“Praise God! No more housework!”

“You don’t mind polishing furniture, you said so.”

“True, I don’t. And I’ve enjoyed drawing those funny little things. But you do realize your next task is going to be cleaning the fireplaces. Have you ever watched a servant doing that? It’s a filthy business.”

“Scouring iron grates isn’t an appealing prospect,” she agreed, “but I haven’t minded the other work too much. It’s quite a lovely house.”

“I prefer a modern place with more light. And servants. And no ghosts.”

“You have no romance, Cynthia. I thought I was the staid and practical one.”

Cynthia arched her brows. “Romance? Could your passion for a very dilapidated manor be connected to its owner?”

“I’m not going to marry Lithgow.”

“That’s not an answer to the question.”

Anne had no answer. She didn’t want to talk about the way her head jerked toward the door at the sound of a footstep, the thrill when Marcus appeared, the disappointment when someone else came in. Nor could she bring herself to consult Cynthia about the belt buckle. Better not to know, she decided, and hid the thing behind a row of books.

“I’ve rarely enjoyed myself more,” she said instead. “The villa, you know.” And its owner. “While I agree on

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