Free Regency Sting by Elizabeth Mansfield Page A

appalled. Her friend would no doubt have glowed with joy at the prospect of love in a cottage. Anne could almost hear her: “Just think, dearest, how lovely it would be! You could plant roses round the door, and bake your own bread! Just imagine it—when Arthur came in after making his rounds of the parishioners who were ill, he’d find you in the kitchen up to your beautiful elbows in fragrant dough … and he’d try to embrace you, and you’d spill flour on his shoulder and across his cheek … and you’d both laugh …”
    Ugh! The entire picture made Anne shudder. How could she bear it in Shropshire, so far from the balls, the opera, the shops, the libraries, the gossip, the excitement, the gaiety of London? How could she exist in a place where she would be forced to wear last year’s gowns, chat with the farmers’ wives and find herself patronized by the local gentry? The prospect was utterly repellent.
    On the other hand, could she bear to refuse Arthur? To live without him—perhaps to see him wed to another? That was the dreadful alternative.
    She arrived home before she could even begin to find a solution to the problem. She came in quietly, hoping to make her way to her room unnoticed, to give herself an opportunity to think without being disturbed. But in the foyer, she came upon a scene which drove everything else from her mind.
    Coyne and Lady Harriet were confronting a creature Anne took at first to be an enormous gypsy. But of course, she immediately recognized her strange American cousin-by-marriage. He was dressed in the most peculiar coat she’d ever seen. It was made of an unrecognizable animal skin and sewn with the fur on the inside. It had no collar or lapels, but it was edged all around—even on the bottom—with the fur. In his hand, the American carried a round-brimmed, round-crowned black hat. He looked very much like a backwoods trapper she’d once seen in a sketch in a book of American explorations. “Good God!” she exclaimed. “You’re not going out in that coat, are you?”
    Lady Harriet turned to her with an expression of intense relief in her eyes. “I’m so glad you’ve returned, love,” she said with less than her usual placidity. “We’ve been trying to make Jason understand that he should not step out into the world just yet.”
    Anne giggled. “Yes, I can quite see why.”
    Jason frowned at her in mock reproof. “I’m happy to be able to provide you with a fittin’ subject for ridicule, ma’am. But I wish you’d stop your laughin’ long enough to help me convince your mama that no harm will come if I take a bit of a stroll. I’ve set my heart on purchasin’ a suit of armor, and I’d like to look at the shops—”
    â€œNo harm?” Anne cut in bluntly. “You’ll have the whole of London laughing by nightfall if even one person sees you in that rig.”
    â€œLet ’em. Ain’t no skin off my nose.”
    Anne, trying to make sense of his unfamiliar aphorism, blinked up at him, only to become aware of a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Are you laughing at me , sir?” she demanded, putting her chin up haughtily. “If I’ve been slow in responding to your witticism, it is only because your American language is so barbaric.”
    â€œNonsense, girl,” he came back, grinning. “There wasn’t a word in that sentence you don’t know.”
    Challenged, Anne went over the sentence again. “‘Ain’t no skin off my nose.’ Oh, I see! It’s similar to ‘Sticks and stone may break my bones, but words—’”
    â€œExactly,” he said approvingly, “but shorter and more to the point.”
    Anne smiled back. “I admit it’s a colorful expression.”
    â€œThat may be,” Lady Harriet said, “but it’s not very much help in the