Brushed by Scandal by Gail Whitiker Page A

humble servant
B.
    Anna folded the letter and tapped it against her chin. So, the matter was resolved. The Marquess of Yew had been informed as to the identity of the guilty party and had been willing to accept an olive branch in the form of a promise and a written apology. Sir Barrington had handled the matter admirably. As long as the marquess honoured his word, Peregrine would be free to go about London without the finger of blame being pointed at him at every turn.
    Just as well, since Anna was quite sure he would have bolted had such been the case.
    Unfortunately, as she set out for her afternoon visit to the Baroness von Brohm, Anna realised that the entire affair had left a bad taste in her mouth. Not only were her feelings towards Peregrine affected by what she had learned, but her brief acquaintance with Sir Barrington Parker had been tainted by the events they had both unwittingly been drawn into. She had insinuated that he hadn’t known his business, accused him of misjudgement and gloated when she’d believed him wrong. She owed him an apology.
    But was he the type of man to whom apologising was easy? She remembered the way he had teased her over her steadfast belief in Peregrine’s innocence, mocking her belief in the man’s inability to tell lies. Would he be condescending of her apology now? Had he been waiting for just such a moment to say, ‘I told you so’? Anna hated to think of him as being deliberately cruel, but, not knowing the nature of the man, she had little else to go on.
    She was not at all surprised that thoughts of him occupied her fully during the carriage ride to Mayfair.
    * * *
    Julia von Brohm was not what Anna had been expecting. Thinking to see a pale, unhappy woman in her mid-forties wearing the unrelieved black of a widow still in mourning for her husband, Anna was surprised to be greeted by a slender and very attractive woman of no more than thirty, garbed in a stunning gown of rich burgundy satin. Her honey-brown hair was arranged in a simple but elegant chignon at the nape of her neck, and her eyes were a clear, bright blue that appeared even brighter against the translucent whiteness of her skin.
    ‘Lady Annabelle,’ the baroness said, extending both hands in greeting. ‘I cannot tell you how pleased I was to receive your note.’
    ‘And likewise, how pleased I was to receive your acceptance,’ Anna said. ‘I regret that my good friend, Lady Lydia Winston, was unable to come, but her mother was taken to bed with a terrible head pain and required her assistance.’
    The baroness’s pretty face softened in sympathy. ‘Poor lady. Having had a mother-in-law who suffered with megrims, I know the role a daughter must play. But I am so pleased that you were brave enough to come on your own.’
    Anna tilted her head to one side. ‘Brave?’
    ‘Come now, Lady Annabella. You must surely have heard the rumours—that I am a lonely widow who cannot stop crying for her late husband. That I am a beautiful woman whose company must be endured, but not enjoyed.’
    The smile came easily to Anna’s lips. ‘I knew you were a widow, Baroness, and I assumed that you would be lonely. But I certainly did not hear that you were dismal company or someone to be avoided. And even if I had, I would have come anyway and drawn my own conclusions.’
    ‘I am very glad to hear it,’ the baroness said in her charmingly accented voice. ‘And I think that you and I are going to become good friends. Ah, Smith,’ she said to the young maid who appeared in the doorway. ‘We shall have tea and a plate of pastries. Cook would be most upset if we did not offer our guest a sampling of her wares.’
    As the maid curtsied and withdrew, the baroness turned back to Anna. ‘I hired most of the staff upon my arrival, but dear Frau Hildenbaum has been with my family since I was a girl. She insisted on coming to London with me and when she heard I was having an English lady to tea, she set to work. She has been