The Apple Blossom Bower (Historical Romance Novella) Read Free Page B

returned to the table and witnessed Mr. Corston’s careless shrug. “It makes no difference. They’ve got Lizzie, who’s better company than me. They’re parading her before all the provincials.”
    “I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that the Incomparable Miss Cosrton has more admirers than she can count.”
    The difference in the baronet’s tone was immediately apparent to Annis. She’d heard vague but persistent rumors of a distant lady-love. Her hand was unsteady as she refilled his empty glass—had he noticed?
    Mr. Corston beckoned her to his side of the table, and she also poured wine for him. “How late do the coaches run in this district?” he asked Sir Edwin.
    “I’ve no intention of returning to Harbourne Court tonight. The rains left the roads in a terrible state, and the journey isn’t short. Miss Kelland, do you happen to know whether bedchambers are available?”
    Avoiding his gaze, she stacked plates onto her serving tray. “I’ll ask Mrs. Russell.”
    “I’d be most grateful.”
    She hoped the landlady’s answer would be a negative one—the prospect of sleeping in the same location as Sir Edwin Page was singularly unnerving.
    Her mother’s former employer, elated by the prospect of filling all the beds that night, had a single unoccupied room, the one she’d offered to Annis.
     Knowing Mrs. Russell’s dislike of losing paying customers, Annis said, “I shan’t mind sharing with Polly. One gentleman can have the bed that was Mother’s, and the other must sleep on the trundle that was mine.”
    “It’s far from being my best room, as you well know. Not nearly worthy of Sir Edwin Page. Or his friend.”
    “You did say the sheets are clean,” Annis reminded her.
    “And the rug was beaten this just morning. Of course I’ll give them the room—better that than letting them seek one elsewhere.”
    Annis delivered the substance of this message to the guests in the parlor, leaving out the part about the rug. She circled the table once more, taking up the few remaining utensils and Mr. Corston’s bowl of soup, which he’d scarcely touched.
    Tugging the long braid that hung down her back, he leered up at her. “I wonder, is the serving maid at the Castle as accommodating as the landlady?”
    “Mind your manners, Garth,” Sir Edwin reproved him.
    “Don’t be such a prude, Eddie. She ain’t offended. Are you, m’dear?”
    “Let this be your answer,” Annis shot back, tipping the contents of the soup bowl into her lap.
    Mr. Corston leaped to his feet. “Slut—I’ll have you sacked for that, I will!”
    “You can’t,” she told him triumphantly. “I don’t work here.”
    Before storming out of the room, she dared to look toward the baronet. His eyes met hers for an instant. Was it really amusement she read in his face, or merely a trick of the light that made her fancy it?
    That’s hardly likely to impress him, she chided herself, returning to the kitchen.
    It made no difference, not really. Sir Edwin Page had made up his mind about her long ago. He liked her well enough for bussing and groping—and for tumbling in the grass, no doubt—but it would be madness to expect anything more.
    For days after the harvest dinner she’d cherished a foolish hope that his intentions were more honorable than not, until her mother had set her straight. After scolding Annis for allowing the baronet to steal a few kisses, she’d warned that titled gentlemen wanted but one thing. And after getting it from one lass, they sought it from another. If Annis had her heart set on becoming a ladyship, she was destined to be sadly, tragically disappointed.
    Much later, wearily climbing the long and crooked stairway to the female servants’ garret, she reflected upon her mother’s doleful prophecy. Just as she reached the uppermost step, the door opposite the landing swung open. Sir Edwin Page stepped out.
    “Might I have a word with you?”
    His frown indicated that the words would not be the