Deborah followed her gaze. “He is on Papa’s short list of potential husbands for you.”
“He has a list?” Anne let out a soft groan.
“Yes, sorry.” Deborah let out a light chuckle as she looked down at Anne from her well-above-average height. “He’s absolutely committed to seeing you wed with the utmost haste. He was hoping for the end of the Season, but since that is nigh, I expect he’ll be disappointed. Unless you marry someone by special license.” She laughed again.
Anne couldn’t imagine that happening. Not when the only person who came to mind when she considered marriage was Rafe. And that wasn’t happening, with a special license or otherwise.
“I take it you are not interested in satisfying Papa’s expectations?”
“Not at all.” Anne gave Deborah a sardonic stare. “Do you blame me after what I went through with Gilbert?”
“Heavens, no. Why you chose him is still a mystery to me.”
Anne wasn’t about to tell her about the kissing. Besides, it was more than that. She’d chosen someone she could like but not love, which she hadn’t realized until after the wedding had been canceled. That she’d somehow found Gilbert likeable was a testament to his skill at cultivating relationships that would benefit him.
“It hardly signifies since nothing came of it,” Anne said, eager to dispose of the topic. “In any case, I’ve no desire to rush into marriage any time soon. As you said, it’s nearly the end of the Season anyway.”
Deborah eyed her with curiosity. “I suppose I understand, but remember, it’s every young lady’s responsibility to marry and marry well. And, goodness, it’s not as if the road to success is always straight and simple as mine was. Look at your sister. Five years on the shelf and now a viscountess. Though, hopefully, you won’t have to wait so long.” Her brow creased, and she tapped her fingertip against her chin. “Alas, you are the victim of a scandal, just as she was.”
Anger roiled in Anne. She wasn’t a victim. At least, she didn’t want to be.
“It’s good that Papa is helping you,” Deborah continued. “Your reputation was not as damaged as your sister’s, but it was still wounded. Papa’s support will fix things. And it does help that your sister married a viscount, even if he is a wastrel.”
Anne gently elbowed Deborah in the arm. “You do realize she’s still my sister, and I love her very much? And that I currently reside with her and the wastrel, whom I also happen to love as a brother?”
Deborah laughed gaily. “Yes! I didn’t mean to insult, but facts are facts, dear. You are always welcome to come live with me.”
Anne would never. She didn’t dislike Deborah, but she didn’t necessarily like her either. It was a complicated relationship, as many were in families. And Anne considered Deborah, Lorcan, and her godfather family. In particular, Anne didn’t like the way Deborah treated her husband. Lord Burnhope was a quiet sort who enjoyed entomology. He was about as different from his fashion-loving, pompous wife as one could be.
“I’m quite happy residing with my sister and brother-in-law.” Anne worked to keep her voice even.
Deborah’s gaze strayed to Jane and Anthony, who stood together near one of the doors leading outside. “They seem well-suited.” Was there an edge of envy in her tone?
“Yes,” Anne agreed. “To wed for love is very lucky, isn’t it?”
“Only if it’s to the right person. Marrying well is paramount. If there’s love in the bargain, then yes, that’s fortunate indeed.”
How cold. And yet that’s precisely what Anne had been raised to believe. Until she’d met Rafe, she hadn’t thought too deeply about whether she’d fall in love. The hope had been there, certainly, if not the expectation. Then she’d met him, and her world had shifted.
Until it had tipped her right back to where she was supposed to be. Only to toss her into uncharted waters.
Anne looked seriously at Deborah. “Did you fall in love with Burnhope?”
Waving her hand, Deborah laughed lightly. “Don’t be silly, Anne. Ladies don’t discuss such things.”
“But you said—” Anne had been about to say that she’d commented on Jane and Anthony; however, the arrival of Rafe in the ballroom stole the words right out of Anne’s mouth as well as the air from her lungs.
He entered in the company of his sister and Mr. Sheffield and…the housekeeper?
“Who is that blond gentleman?” Deborah asked with keen interest.
Anne stiffened but didn’t answer her. She was too focused on the fact that Rafe looked a bit pale. As did his sister.
Deborah’s sharp inhalation drew Anne’s attention. “And who is the woman with him?” She narrowed her eyes and started walking toward them—they were on a direct path to Lord Stone.
“That’s Mrs. Sheffield,” Anne answered as she walked quickly to keep up with Deborah’s longer stride. “The blond gentleman is her brother, Mr. Bowles.”
“Her brother?” Deborah scowled as she continued toward them.
Lord Stone extricated himself from the group he was with and greeted Rafe and the others with a furrowed brow, his gaze settling on the housekeeper. Her presence with them was…odd.
Deborah inserted herself into the group, taking a position beside her father. Anne moved to his other side, her attention entirely on Rafe and his impassive expression. He glanced toward her, his nostrils flaring slightly, before he fixed his gaze on Lord Stone.
The earl pivoted briefly toward Deborah. “Allow me to present my daughter, Lady Burnhope. Deborah, I believe you know Mr. Sheffield. This is his wife, Mrs. Selina Sheffield, and her brother, Mr. Raphael Bowles.”
Selina’s eyes narrowed and her jaw clenched as she regarded Deborah, who had an almost identical expression.
Deborah spoke, offering an icy smile. “What a pleasure to see you again, Selina.”
The color that had been missing from Selina’s face returned. It was clear—at least to Anne—that they knew each other. And the relationship wasn’t friendly.
“I beg your pardon,” the earl said, “are you already acquainted?”
“Yes,” Deborah said, but was drowned out by the housekeeper.
“I’m sorry
