The Ravenstone Heir

Chapter Seven, Scene 2

Two more days passed before Fletch could travel back to the village. When he did, he brought the Ravenstone carriage to escort the woman who had haunted his days and nights to dinner with the new earl. When delightful apple tarts had appeared at luncheon the day before, he had wondered if she had come to deliver them, but Mrs. Hale told him a boy had made the delivery.

Lights glowed in the windows when the carriage stopped in front of the Hale house and Fletch stepped out. In his experience ladies liked to keep a man waiting, but that seemed too coy for his Anna. Their dealings had been marked by plain speaking, promptness, and efficiency, businesslike qualities he admired in a person. He wasn't disappointed. She waited with her father in the parlor when the maid of all work answered the door.

Businesslike ended there. The vision in front of him wore a fashionable gown of a fine blue fabric shot with golden highlights that flattered her color and hugged her curves hinting at treasures underneath. It wasn't the gown of a duke's daughter, but superb for that of a baker. Her hair, which he had always seen pulled back in a practical bun, was held up with tortoise shell combs that left curls cascading down her neck, her long graceful neck. His mouth went dry.

"What sort of man is the heir?" she asked him when the carriage lurched forward to begin their journey.

"Well enough." The dozen things he meant to share with her disappeared, and his tongue felt tied to the roof of his mouth. He could laugh and share with his Anna the businesswoman, but couldn't think what to say to the glorious creature who rode with him. He couldn't tell if the slight frown on her face originated from nervousness about the earl or irritation at his silence. They arrived before he could puzzle it out.

When he led her into the withdrawing room where they assembled for dinner, Anna found the newcomer and Gordon in companionable conversation. She curtsied to the earl who seemed to find it amusing. "Daniel, please, Miss Hale," the man said with a twinkle in his eyes. "I'll never get used to all this bowing and my-lording." When her eyes flashed to Gordon and back, he chuckled. "I see you noticed the resemblance."

"What do you think Anna?" Gordon said. "All that fuss about a ring when no one who looks at him next to me could doubt we're cousins. Almost look like brothers." He grinned at his cousin, and Fletch felt a sharp pang of jealousy. He did not plan to share his only brother with a stranger from Missouri, even one who had treated the boy with a blend of respect and apologetic kindness when they had swiftly established the man's credentials.

Anna smiled at the newcomer. "You've heard about our mystery?" she asked.

Fletch took her hand and kissed her fingers when her smile at the earl sent an even bigger jolt of jealousy through him. "My fiancée believes her cat may be the criminal, but Gordon begs to doubt it."

When he said 'fiancée' her face clouded. "Where is Mr. Walker tonight?" she asked looking around.

"Walker scampered back to Manchester as soon as the papers were signed," Gordon told her.

Fletch did not like the expression on her face nor the tightness in her voice when she said, "We need to talk later."

Gordon, oblivious to the byplay, took up the subject of her cat. "Rob Roy looks fine, Anna. I made sure to feed him, and Mrs. Hale did as well."

"I did indeed hear about the miscreant cat. I gather the fellow hasn't shown any sign he ingested a piece of jewelry— at least he hadn't as of this morning. Perhaps we ought to check on him," Daniel suggested. His raised brow resembled Gordon so much even Fletch began to soften toward him.

The major domo announced dinner, preventing them from acting on the suggestion. When Fletch winged his arm to lead Anna in, Gordon reminded him that, as host and highest ranking male, Daniel had the privilege of leading in the highest ranking lady. "Or in this case, only lady. You'll have to work on numbers when you entertain formally, cousin," the boy said ignoring the expression Fletch generally used to great effect on incompetent dockhands.