To Each Her Own
Anne trotted smartly up the steps to the door of her brother's house on Stratford Place, digging in her reticule for her key. She stopped short in surprise when the front door swung open.
"Goodness, Williams, have you been waiting for me?"
The prim butler looked uneasy. "Mr. Carmichael has stepped out, ma'am, and in the interim has received a visitor, with whom you are not acquainted, I believe."
"This early?" Anne wondered aloud as she stepped into the foyer. Henry rarely appeared downstairs before three o'clock; it was most unusual for him to be out and about at one. "And is our unexpected guest waiting for him in the library?"
"Yes, Miss Carmichael."
"His name?"
"Lord Wolfridge, ma'am."
Anne glanced at him in surprise. "Do you expect my brother soon?"
"I'm afraid I don't know, ma'am. He did not see fit to honor me with his intended hour of return."
"I see. Well, thank you, Williams," she replied, with a warm but dismissive smile. The butler nodded and stepped backwards, silently slipping into the dining room. Anne's smile quickly dropped into a frown of annoyance. The Devil only knew why Pierce Weylin, Earl of Wolfridge, had shown up at Henry's door, but if Anne were a gambler as Wolfridge notoriously was she would have bet her purse that his sudden appearance signified trouble. The "Black Wolf" ran with, or rather ran, a much faster pack than Henry and his set of gamesome, fashionable fellows, and if Henry was now moving in his circles, it could only mean that he was setting his feet down a path of extravagance, folly, and vice.
Anne pulled off her bonnet and rubbed her brow distractedly. Why would Wolfridge call early and unexpectedly to a home in which, to Anne's knowledge, he had never been granted previous entry? Clearly, Henry must owe him money, she realized with a surge of irritation. Though Wolfridge was an infamous gambler, he was not known to lose. She clicked her teeth in aggravation and glared at the library door, wondering just how much the ruthless reprobate had fleeced from her jovial sibling. She had nearly shoved the heavy door open before she remembered herself. She couldn't very well storm into the library and begin scolding a man she had never met, a man whose station and title commanded respect and decorum, even if his reputation did not live up to his name. Anne abhorred rudeness and impropriety with every fiber of her being and she would rather bite her own tongue than speak to any man, but especially one such as Wolfridge, without a proper introduction.
Besides, she realized with a sinking feeling, more likely than not the Black Wolf's visit was entirely expected, which would explain Henry's anomalous schedule. Perhaps she had better just go upstairs and wait for her brother, hoping that their unwanted guest would leave before he returned. Anne stomach twisted with anxiety. Careless and self-indulgent though he may be, Henry was neither stupid nor cowardly, and it would be most out of character for him to gamble beyond his considerable means and then run from the debt. She chewed her lip and rubbed her forehead, wracking her brain for what on earth he could have lost that would cause him to turn tail and run like a gutless cur. His horses? His house? His title? A sick surge of panic washed over her. Dear God, what if he had lost it all? What if he gambled away the barony, this house, Whiteoaks, his fortune she drew in a shuddering breath and murmered a quick, calming prayer. Henry would never be so senseless as to wager the family name and ancestral estate, and more to the point, he would have no claim to do so, not so long as their father lived. Whatever trouble he had gotten himself into, dire though it must be to have the Black Wolf barking at his door, it could not possibly be as awful as her worst imaginings.
Straightening her spine and her resolve, she glared once more in the direction of the library. If Henry was in over his head, it was no doubt because Wolfridge, a man several years his senior in age and eons in sordid experience, had tricked him somehow. Whatever he had swindled from her brother, he would just have to give it back.
Would you rather Anne:
"Goodness, Williams, have you been waiting for me?"
The prim butler looked uneasy. "Mr. Carmichael has stepped out, ma'am, and in the interim has received a visitor, with whom you are not acquainted, I believe."
"This early?" Anne wondered aloud as she stepped into the foyer. Henry rarely appeared downstairs before three o'clock; it was most unusual for him to be out and about at one. "And is our unexpected guest waiting for him in the library?"
"Yes, Miss Carmichael."
"His name?"
"Lord Wolfridge, ma'am."
Anne glanced at him in surprise. "Do you expect my brother soon?"
"I'm afraid I don't know, ma'am. He did not see fit to honor me with his intended hour of return."
"I see. Well, thank you, Williams," she replied, with a warm but dismissive smile. The butler nodded and stepped backwards, silently slipping into the dining room. Anne's smile quickly dropped into a frown of annoyance. The Devil only knew why Pierce Weylin, Earl of Wolfridge, had shown up at Henry's door, but if Anne were a gambler as Wolfridge notoriously was she would have bet her purse that his sudden appearance signified trouble. The "Black Wolf" ran with, or rather ran, a much faster pack than Henry and his set of gamesome, fashionable fellows, and if Henry was now moving in his circles, it could only mean that he was setting his feet down a path of extravagance, folly, and vice.
Anne pulled off her bonnet and rubbed her brow distractedly. Why would Wolfridge call early and unexpectedly to a home in which, to Anne's knowledge, he had never been granted previous entry? Clearly, Henry must owe him money, she realized with a surge of irritation. Though Wolfridge was an infamous gambler, he was not known to lose. She clicked her teeth in aggravation and glared at the library door, wondering just how much the ruthless reprobate had fleeced from her jovial sibling. She had nearly shoved the heavy door open before she remembered herself. She couldn't very well storm into the library and begin scolding a man she had never met, a man whose station and title commanded respect and decorum, even if his reputation did not live up to his name. Anne abhorred rudeness and impropriety with every fiber of her being and she would rather bite her own tongue than speak to any man, but especially one such as Wolfridge, without a proper introduction.
Besides, she realized with a sinking feeling, more likely than not the Black Wolf's visit was entirely expected, which would explain Henry's anomalous schedule. Perhaps she had better just go upstairs and wait for her brother, hoping that their unwanted guest would leave before he returned. Anne stomach twisted with anxiety. Careless and self-indulgent though he may be, Henry was neither stupid nor cowardly, and it would be most out of character for him to gamble beyond his considerable means and then run from the debt. She chewed her lip and rubbed her forehead, wracking her brain for what on earth he could have lost that would cause him to turn tail and run like a gutless cur. His horses? His house? His title? A sick surge of panic washed over her. Dear God, what if he had lost it all? What if he gambled away the barony, this house, Whiteoaks, his fortune she drew in a shuddering breath and murmered a quick, calming prayer. Henry would never be so senseless as to wager the family name and ancestral estate, and more to the point, he would have no claim to do so, not so long as their father lived. Whatever trouble he had gotten himself into, dire though it must be to have the Black Wolf barking at his door, it could not possibly be as awful as her worst imaginings.
Straightening her spine and her resolve, she glared once more in the direction of the library. If Henry was in over his head, it was no doubt because Wolfridge, a man several years his senior in age and eons in sordid experience, had tricked him somehow. Whatever he had swindled from her brother, he would just have to give it back.
Would you rather Anne: