Lady Anne's Deception (The Changing Fortunes Series Book 4) by M. C. Beaton Page B

gown.
    She lay quietly studying his face. It was much stronger than it usually seemed, devoid as it was in sleep of its indolent charm. The mouth was set in a firm line. Two grooves of weariness were etched from his nostrils down each side of his mouth. His hair was tousled, one thick lock falling over his forehead.
    Annie tried to think that his vigil by her bedside was a sign of love but could not bring herself to believe it. She was sure he would also sit up all night in the stables if his favorite horse were sick. And on that cynical thought she fell asleep again, awaking again when the sun was high in the sky.
    There was no sign of her husband. The fire was blazing cheerfully, the hearth had been swept, and the curtains pulled back. Great white castles of clouds were being tugged across a chill, blue sky. Of her husband, there was no sign. Annie began to wonder if she had imagined the whole thing.
    Barton came in quickly and exclaimed on seeing her mistress awake. “We were very worried about you, my lady,” said the maid, coming forward to straighten the pillows behind Annie’s head. “Thank the Lord the fever has gone. There’s a epidemic of that nasty influenza all over London. People are dropping like flies. I told the master he should hire a nurse, but he insisted on doing all the work himself.”
    “He did? I didn’t dream it?”
    “No, my lady. He only went off to get some sleep when he found your fever had gone down. Everyone in London seems to have called, but he wouldn’t let anyone see you. Lady Marigold came straight up one day when he was out of the room for a moment, and he was so angry when he found her here.”
    “I seem to remember something about it,” said Annie.
    “Mr. Shaw-Bufford called as well,” said Barton. “He said to remind your ladyship that you had an engagement on Wednesday. I didn’t tell his lordship, for I was sure he would be annoyed. It was thoughtless of Mr. Shaw-Bufford when you are so ill.”
    Annie flushed guiltily, suddenly remembering with awful clarity her promise to give the chancellor money.
    The door opened and her husband strolled in. She searched his face for some sign of love, but his eyes held a strangely guarded look. He sat down on the edge of the bed and studied her face.
    “I’m glad to see you well, my dear,” he said. “The doctor says you are to continue taking your medicine for the rest of the week and you are to rest in bed. He will be along to see you this afternoon. You gave us quite a fright. When I arrived home I found the house full of chattering women and the chancellor of the exchequer making free with my study.
    “It puzzles me that Shaw-Bufford should champion women’s rights. I would have said that the only thing that man believed in intensely was the advancement of Shaw-Bufford.”
    Annie avoided his gaze and plucked nervously at the satin quilt. Barton left the room.
    “Now what is worrying you?” teased the marquess. “You have two little lines right in the middle of your forehead.”
    “I was wondering if I had any money of my own,” said Annie, still not meeting his eyes.
    There was a little silence. Then the marquess said lightly, “Did I not tell you? Your father deposited a great deal in a private account for you. He wrote to me only the other day about it, but you were too ill to receive the news. Certainly, it’s yours… as my money is yours.”
    It was on the tip of Annie’s tongue to say that she believed he hadn’t any. Instead she said, “Do you have access to my money?”
    “No,” he said, looking at her steadily, “which is a pity since I have already dissipated your dowry in riotous living. I assume that is what you expect to hear?”
    “Yes… I mean, no… I mean… Oh, what would you do if someone asked you for a large sum of money for a certain organization?”
    “If I believed in what the organization was doing and I thought they genuinely needed the money, and if I could afford it, then I would