Sutton Park was the seat of the earldom of March. Hartford descendants had been living there for centuries. Grandfather hadn’t been the best custodian of the place during his tenure as earl. He preferred traveling the globe to languishing in the English countryside looking after his estates. Still, the great house occasionally served a purpose.
“He’s hosting a house party for the holidays. Gentlemen naturalists, mostly. A few tradesmen, too, I believe. Perfumers and the like. My grandfather plans to give them some of his newest strain of hybrid roses.”
Her eyes locked with his. “You’re talking about a Christmas party.”
Another Christmas party, she might have said.
“So what if I am?” he asked. “Is Miss Wychwood not worth the sacrifice?”
“My friends are worth anything,” she retorted.
“Then you know what you must do.”
Anne glowered. Folding her arms, she paced the length of the room, skirts twitching as she walked. She looked rather magnificent.
“There’ll be other ladies there,” he offered helpfully. “I expect my aunt will have a whole contingent of eligible young misses to throw at my head. Perhaps you can help me choose one?”
She shot him a sour look.
“It’s high time I married. A fellow wouldn’t want to end his days gathering dust on the shelf.”
He was pushing his luck and he knew it. Nettling her past all bearing. It had become a habit in his dealings with Anne. Anything to get a reaction from her. To rouse her from this infuriating role she’d chosen for herself as a mute, obedient, unquestioning shadow to her overbearing mother.
An angry Anne was preferable to one that was fading to nothing before his eyes. Slipping further away with every passing season.
Though why he should care anymore, he didn’t know.
“You could bring your horse,” he offered. “Spend the whole two weeks riding if you like.”
Her brows lowered in a scowl. “So long as I don’t wear black?”
He shrugged. “A small price to pay.”
Her skirts swished about her legs as she paced back to the fireplace. “December is a long way away. A great deal could happen between now and then.”
“It could,” he conceded. “Regardless, if I do as you ask—if I write this drivel to convince your mother to travel to Yorkshire—I’d expect you to hold up your side of the agreement, no matter what the intervening months might hold.”
Anne came to a halt in front of him. Her elegant features set with a sudden resolve. It was the look of a determined lady willing to endure the bitterest of medicines in order to vouchsafe a cure. “Very well,” she said at last. “You have yourself a bargain.”