Free Lady Anne's Lover (The London List) by Maggie Robinson Page A

she muttered.
    “Oh, everyone wanted Bronwen, Annie. Even wrinkled old Martin, I expect.” He held out his elbow. “Into the fire and brimstone, Mrs. Mont. Are you ready?”
    The narrow hallway opened up immediately to the parlor. Ian Morgan was seated on a hardback chair in front of a fitful fire and didn’t rise at their entrance. He pointed to two equally uncomfortable-looking chairs opposite him. There was no upholstered furniture of any kind, not even a footstool, no decorations on the wall, no knickknacks on the mantel or tables. The lace curtain on the window seemed luxuriously out of place. Here was a man who took his abstinence from worldly comfort very seriously. “Sit and tell me why you dare disturb my morning.”
    Gareth obliged, his long legs relaxed before him. “I believe it’s almost afternoon, coz, and we shan’t disturb you for long. Mrs. Mont and I intend to marry. We’d like you to call the banns.”
    “What?”
    “It’s time I married, don’t you think? Better to marry than to burn, as someone or other says in the Bible. Mrs. Mont has agreed to be my wife.”
    “She hasn’t even been here a week!” The minister turned to Anne. “Has he forced himself upon you? It’s a scandal that the two of you have been up there without a chaperone. Everyone is talking.”
    “No! Of course not. Gareth and I have decided we suit.” Anne gave what she hoped was a confident smile, but Morgan’s burning glare was hard to withstand. If she were a member of his congregation, she’d be frightened out of her wits every Sunday and the rest of the week besides.
    Morgan turned his glare on the major. “A housekeeper, Gareth? That’s a new low, even for you.”
    The judgmental bastard. “About that,” Anne said, trying to appear unruffled at his insult. What kind of clergyman was he if he had no heart for the poor? ‘And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done unto me.’ “Gareth, will you excuse us for a few minutes? I have something to speak to Mr. Morgan about.”
    “I wish you’d let me stay, darling,” Gareth said with a wink.
    Anne had no idea he could be so playful. Charming. It quite transformed him.
    “You promised.”
    Gareth rose. “I did, didn’t I? A gentleman keeps his promises, even if my cousin doesn’t think I’m much of one. I’ll wait at the inn. Will you be done in half an hour?”
    “You promised about that, too,” Anne said, her voice edgy. She didn’t want to haul an inebriated Gareth out of the inn.
    “So I did. But a cup of Mrs. Chapman’s hot rum punch won’t harm me. You can join me for one for the ride home. Look outside. It’s snowing.”
    Fat flakes swirled beyond the lace. Anne was cold now, even sitting before the fire. The ride home would not be pleasant, particularly if she could not get Ian Morgan to agree to her scheme.
    “I’ll take the horses with me. Cousin, may I depend upon you to escort my fiancée to the Silver Pony? You may of course join us for a bowl. Family unity and all that to celebrate the New Year.”
    Morgan looked appalled. What a stick he was.
    “I do not consume spirits, as well you know, Gareth. I am not you .”
    “I’m not sure I’m me either. Annie has set out to reform me.”
    Morgan sniffed but said nothing else.
    Gareth put on his hat. “Cousin, I trust everything Annie says to you will be held in the strictest confidence, and I also trust you will be amenable to her proposal. Your spotless reputation depends upon it.”
    Morgan shot out of his chair. “Are you threatening me?”
    “I believe I am. Good luck, Annie.” Gareth gave her another wink and was gone.
    Morgan remained standing, bristling in indignation, his fists clenched.
    “Surely it’s not sporting to want to hit a one-armed man? Aren’t you supposed to turn the other cheek?”
    “I’ll not have you lecture me on my Christian duty, Mrs.