A Lady by Chance (Historical Regency Romance) by Cheryl Bolen Page A
Authors: Cheryl Bolen
Tags: Regency Romance
Ads: Link
truth about his activities when he refused even to share her bed. At the core of her misery was fear over what would happen to him if she betrayed him.
Perhaps by going to the East End she could purge herself of self-pity.
On her way back to Mayfair after her visit to the East End, Anna lacked her usual feeling of satisfaction. She had brightened one day in their lives but had done nothing to improve their lot. Poverty bred poverty. These people had no skills, no knowledge. They were locked in a never-ending cycle of misfortune. If only they could learn trades to earn a living wage. But how could they?
She had an idea. She and Colette were skilled at needlework. Perhaps they could provide fine fabrics and threads and instruct the women. As their skills increased, the seamstresses might even be able to get commissions to sew for the upper classes. Her idea snowballed, and Anna's gloom shed like layers of an onion. Some of the women – with her assistance – would be able to open shops. A modiste. A milliner. A tailor. Glove maker. Purveyor of fine christening gowns.
Her eyes sparkling, Anna turned to Colette. "You and I are going to open a school for seamstresses in White Chapel."
An understanding smile lifted Colette's weathered face. " Tres bien . That is an idea most good, my lady."
Haverstock stifled a yawn as he attempted to decode a message from one of his men in the field. He had fitfully tossed and turned throughout the night, unable to sleep, fighting the yearning to go to Anna. Yet, his anger stopped him. No, anger was not the right emotion. Disillusionment was closer to the mark. His wife was an enigma. On the one hand, she was the loving innocent with whom he shared a touching intimacy; on the other, a scheming hoyden who got Morgie drunk and most likely cheated to take possession of his substantial funds. This same hoyden had conducted herself like a trollop at Lord Wentworth's.
As he had done so many times before, Haverstock wondered why Anna so fiercely wanted Morgie's money when her own fortune supplied everything she could ever need. Perhaps his mother had been right. Something about Anna's innocence did not ring true. While he cherished the maidenhead she brought to their marriage bed, he questioned her scruples. Was she a scheming seductress who delighted in manipulating men? Was he, indeed, bewitched by the daughter of Annette de Mouchet?
The thought disturbed him. Until last night when her actions enraged him, he had been totally smitten with her. Did she know what power she held over him? What a weakling he had been for a lovely face and soft, compliant body. Well, he would show her! He would have to resist the temptation of her lovemaking and free himself of the bonds of her entrapment.
He could never free himself with the divorce his mother so eagerly sought. After all, Anna was his wife. She could be carrying his child at this very minute. Lord knows they had ample opportunities to conceive. He would always be responsible for her.
He vowed to devote himself so much to his work he would have little time to dwell on Anna and her bewitchment. If he did not have to behold her loveliness, he could resist her and maintain his dignity. He would be safe from her charms while he continued to take her into society, but he would not himself be alone with her. And she would never again have the opportunity to humiliate him as she had done with Sir Henry.
His thoughts turned to his work, still troubled over Monsieur Hebert's announcement that a traitor lurked in the London office. Who could it be? If only he could learn the wretched creature's identity.
The posies began arriving at Haverstock House long before the gentlemen sending them started calling on the lovely sisters, putting the household in a flurry of excitement. Abigails scurried about with freshly pressed dresses and hair combs in an effort to render the ladies suitably attired to greet their bevy of admirers.
It fell to Anna to
Perhaps by going to the East End she could purge herself of self-pity.
On her way back to Mayfair after her visit to the East End, Anna lacked her usual feeling of satisfaction. She had brightened one day in their lives but had done nothing to improve their lot. Poverty bred poverty. These people had no skills, no knowledge. They were locked in a never-ending cycle of misfortune. If only they could learn trades to earn a living wage. But how could they?
She had an idea. She and Colette were skilled at needlework. Perhaps they could provide fine fabrics and threads and instruct the women. As their skills increased, the seamstresses might even be able to get commissions to sew for the upper classes. Her idea snowballed, and Anna's gloom shed like layers of an onion. Some of the women – with her assistance – would be able to open shops. A modiste. A milliner. A tailor. Glove maker. Purveyor of fine christening gowns.
Her eyes sparkling, Anna turned to Colette. "You and I are going to open a school for seamstresses in White Chapel."
An understanding smile lifted Colette's weathered face. " Tres bien . That is an idea most good, my lady."
Haverstock stifled a yawn as he attempted to decode a message from one of his men in the field. He had fitfully tossed and turned throughout the night, unable to sleep, fighting the yearning to go to Anna. Yet, his anger stopped him. No, anger was not the right emotion. Disillusionment was closer to the mark. His wife was an enigma. On the one hand, she was the loving innocent with whom he shared a touching intimacy; on the other, a scheming hoyden who got Morgie drunk and most likely cheated to take possession of his substantial funds. This same hoyden had conducted herself like a trollop at Lord Wentworth's.
As he had done so many times before, Haverstock wondered why Anna so fiercely wanted Morgie's money when her own fortune supplied everything she could ever need. Perhaps his mother had been right. Something about Anna's innocence did not ring true. While he cherished the maidenhead she brought to their marriage bed, he questioned her scruples. Was she a scheming seductress who delighted in manipulating men? Was he, indeed, bewitched by the daughter of Annette de Mouchet?
The thought disturbed him. Until last night when her actions enraged him, he had been totally smitten with her. Did she know what power she held over him? What a weakling he had been for a lovely face and soft, compliant body. Well, he would show her! He would have to resist the temptation of her lovemaking and free himself of the bonds of her entrapment.
He could never free himself with the divorce his mother so eagerly sought. After all, Anna was his wife. She could be carrying his child at this very minute. Lord knows they had ample opportunities to conceive. He would always be responsible for her.
He vowed to devote himself so much to his work he would have little time to dwell on Anna and her bewitchment. If he did not have to behold her loveliness, he could resist her and maintain his dignity. He would be safe from her charms while he continued to take her into society, but he would not himself be alone with her. And she would never again have the opportunity to humiliate him as she had done with Sir Henry.
His thoughts turned to his work, still troubled over Monsieur Hebert's announcement that a traitor lurked in the London office. Who could it be? If only he could learn the wretched creature's identity.
The posies began arriving at Haverstock House long before the gentlemen sending them started calling on the lovely sisters, putting the household in a flurry of excitement. Abigails scurried about with freshly pressed dresses and hair combs in an effort to render the ladies suitably attired to greet their bevy of admirers.
It fell to Anna to
Similar Books
