A Lady by Chance (Historical Regency Romance) by Cheryl Bolen Page B

provide chaperonage, since the dowager had made known her own refusal to leave her chamber. As Lydia conveyed her mother's message to Anna, she blundered. "I declare I do not know what has come over Mother these past weeks. She seldom leaves her room. Why, since Charles' marriage – "
    Anna's stricken face halted Lydia in mid sentence.
    "Oh, I am so very sorry, Anna," Lydia whispered, her face flaming.
    "I daresay your mother cannot help but resent me."
    Lydia walked to the dressing table where Anna sat and embraced her sister-in-law. "Give her time," Lydia said. "When Mother knows you better, she will accept you as she does her own daughters."
    "Forgive me for saying I do not find that comforting, given what I perceive as your mother's lack of maternal affection."
    Lydia sank on Anna's bed, her brows plunging together. "You are right. Mother has never been overly affectionate to her daughters. I believe it was because her own mother died when she was but a toddler. She had no example of motherly devotion. All of her love was directed at her sister, Aunt Margaret. You know Aunt Margaret was your father's wife?"
    Anna's eyes widened. "I did not," she said softly. "It explains so very much."
    "Mama and Aunt Margaret were like two bodies sharing one heart. When Aunt Margaret suffered in her marriage, Mother felt it just as keenly. I believe it is because of your mother's role in Aunt Margaret's unhappiness that mother resents you."
    Anna nodded solemnly and did not speak for some time. "You said your mother has shown little affection to her daughters. What about her sons?"
    "Though you have probably observed little evidence of it, Mother has always been terribly wrapped up in Charles. He always had to have the best. He had to be at the top of his class. And Charles being Charles, he endeavored to please. Only in his choice of a wife was he not guided by her. She has always made it clear she wanted him to marry Lady Jane Wyeth." Meeting Anna's pensive gaze, Lydia added, "I don't think the woman has been born who would be good enough for Charles in Mother's eyes."
    Anna's chamber door whipped open, and Charlotte came flying into the room, wearing a posy of wilted pansies. "Oh, Anna, Mr. Hogart is downstairs as we speak. Can you please accompany me now?"
    Though Anna wanted to know more about Lady Jane Wyeth, this was no time to ask. She rose from the dressing table, giving a last fleeting glance into her looking glass at her peach-colored muslin. "Of course." Turning to Lydia, she asked, "Do you accompany us?"
    "I wouldn't think of missing the opportunity to meet the paragon, Mr. Hogart."
    By the time the three ladies entered the saloon, several other expectant young bucks awkwardly occupied chairs throughout the room. As hostess, Anna greeted them first, then ordered tea. Within minutes Cynthia and Kate – both dressed to perfection in Madame Devreaux's creations – sailed into the room with smiling faces.
    To Anna's astonishment, Kate fixed her attention on a Mr. Reeves, whom Anna judged to be forty years old. He possessed neither title nor good looks. He squeezed into clothing he must have worn when he weighed two stone less. His fleshy chin sunk into his highly starched cravat, and the top of his balding head reflected the afternoon sun that shafted into the room.
    Anna watched with interest as Cynthia singled out the dashing Captain Smythe, who appeared to appreciate Cynthia's fair beauty as much as Cynthia was attracted to his handsomeness. Anna appreciated Cynthia's taste. Captain Smythe's broad shoulders filled his red coat with its highly polished buttons. He was tall and dark with a ready smile and elegant manners.
    Though Anna knew with certainty four men now in this room had sent flowers to Charlotte, Charlotte chose to wear the pitiful bouquet sent from the modest Mr. Hogart. Anna observed that no one except Charlotte spoke to the common-looking man and was reminded of Kate's remark that he stuck out like a sty on