to Fenton School?
An idle threat, considering that during the past week she had pined for its safe familiarity. She regretted the thought as soon as it formed. Whatever Mrs. Martin meant, Mr. Sinclair had risked his life to save hers. And at last, it seemed she would have the opportunity to tell him how grateful she was.
Finally the housekeeper stopped before one of the doors. She leaned her ear against it for a moment before she straightened and knocked.
“Come in,” someone instructed.
Anne couldn’t tell if it had been her guardian’s voice, but she wasn’t given much time to wonder. Mrs. Martin opened the door and indicated with her hand that Anne should step inside.
Only when she had did Anne realize that the housekeeper wasn’t coming in with her. She started to protest, just as the housekeeper stepped away from the door she had opened and started down the hall. Anne drew a fortifying breath and then looked back toward the room she had just entered.
Ian Sinclair was seated in a comfortable chair before the cheerful fire. He was fully dressed, as elegant as the first time she had seen him. Expecting an invalid, perhaps even a dying one, Anne could not have been more surprised had she entered the room and found one of the men who had attacked them that night holding court.
“I understand you have been ill,” she said, walking forward.
There was a small, uncomfortable silence.
“And I wonder who told you that?” her guardian asked.
He sounded as if he really wanted to know. Remembering Mrs. Martin’s warning, Anne understood why. And despite the servants’ coldness, she had no wish to get any of them into trouble.
“After several years of looking after the younger girls, my powers of deduction are well-honed,” she said. “You disappeared the night we arrived, and I haven’t seen you since. In that time, both a physician and your brother have come to the house, the former on several occasions and the latter for a visit of some days. It seemed rather obvious.”
“I’m sure none of your charges were ever able to put anything over on you,” Mr. Sinclair said, laughing.
And then his laughter became hard coughing. Lucy Bates had died last year of such a cough. Of course, Lucy had never been very strong to begin with, Anne reminded herself, remembering the fragile little girl, whose arms and legs had been more like sticks than like the sturdy, rounded limbs of most of her girls.
And just because something terrible had happened to Lucy Bates didn’t mean anything terrible would happen to Mr. Sinclair. She could not, however, control the surge of anxiety as she listened to the deep congestion the cough revealed.
“Are you all right?” she asked finally as it faded.
“Of course,” he said.
His hand was pressed against the center of his chest. However, since Mr. Sinclair preferred it, Anne gave in to the pretense that what had just happened had not happened and that he had not really been very ill at all.
“I have wanted to thank you since that night,” she began, determined to say all the things she should have said then and had not had the chance to say since.
“I truly wish you would not.”
“I owe you my life, Mr. Sinclair. Or at least…”
She almost said my virtue, but then thought that the expression of that reality might be improper. Although she had had a sheltered upbringing, there had been no doubt in her mind about the kind of danger she had faced.
“You owe me nothing of the kind,” he said into her pause. “Quite the reverse, I believe. If you hadn’t taken a hand, the outcome might have been very different. You had an uncomfortable journey and a dangerous encounter with a couple of rogues you should never have been exposed to. On top of that you have spent a lonely holiday in a house full of strangers. I can only promise you that was not my intent and apologize profusely.”
“I am not to express my gratitude for your rescue, and yet you may apologize for a series of things that were not your fault and were undoubtedly beyond your control?”
“As your guardian, I should never have put you in the position of having to be rescued, either from rogues or a broken axle or a snowstorm.”
“And if you had not, I should probably never in my life have seen the outside of Fenton School,” she retorted.
“I take it, then,” he said, smiling at her, genuinely relieved, she realized, “that your experiences have not all been unpleasant.”
The memory of her arms wrapped around his body while they knelt together in the snow brushed through her mind. She supposed that was not the kind of experience Mr. Sinclair meant.
“Indeed they have not. Your home is very lovely.”
“And the servants have seen to your needs?”
Except for the need of company, she thought, but she didn’t say that, either. If he could be gracious, despite his illness, then surely she could manage not to mention that she had indeed been both bored and lonely in his home.
“Yes, thank you. I have been very well looked after.”
“And yesterday was Christmas Day,” he said, his voice regretful. “I’m afraid I didn’t even have an opportunity to shop for a present, but I do have a surprise for you which I hope will help in some way to make up for that lack.”
“A surprise?” she echoed hesitantly. Surprise?
“As you know, most young women your age have already been introduced into society. Since your father was away with the army, I understand you have not yet been formally brought out.”
“Brought out?” Anne repeated, bewildered by the introduction of this topic. Surely, he didn’t mean…
“In London,” Mr. Sinclair clarified.
Anne swallowed, allowing the images that the very name of the capital evoked to fill her head. Provincial she might be, but even the girls at Fenton School knew about the famed London Season. Several of them had been quite confident of the opportunities that would be afforded them by that experience. And confident that it was in their near future, as soon as their schooling was complete.
Anne had listened to their talk with idle interest, knowing her father would never go to the trouble or expense of arranging for her own coming out. And as far as she was aware, she had no relatives who might be called upon to shoulder that burden.
She had put the possibility from her mind years ago, quite content with the direction of her life. And when Mrs. Kemp had talked about the wonderful opportunities that were opening up for her, this was one which had never even occurred to her.
“The Season starts in a few months,” Ian continued. “I’m afraid there is a great deal of preparation required if we are to be ready in time.”
The Season. The words seemed to reverberate inside Anne’s head, almost blocking the rest of his words.
“Mr. Sinclair, I assure you that I have no desire to be brought out. I am quite content—”
“I believe it would have been your father’s wish, Miss Darlington. After all, it is only what is expected for a young woman of your class. I know it is Mrs. Kemp’s wish. She was quite clear on that score. And I have promised her that as your guardian, I should see to it that you were given this advantage.”
Anne drew breath, preparing to again refuse, before she remembered her own promise to the headmistress. Headstrong or not, I shall endeavor to do whatever Mr. Sinclair thinks is best. She, too, had given her word.
And after all, she would spend the rest of her life at Fenton School. Although she was truly not interested in being presented to society, she was also not sure she was ready to return forever to the only world she had really ever known.
Actually,