Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

March 1814

Anne laid her embroidery hoop on the table next to her chair and rolled her head, stretching the stiff muscles of her neck before rubbing her tired eyes. She'd been at her work for over two hours, trying to distract herself.

She wondered if Thomas would ever return, a thought reinforced a few days ago, when she and Emma were in town. They encountered Lady Dalrymple leaving Ford's. The viscountess lifted her chin, looking down her substantial nose at Anne.

"I'm told Mr. Weston remains in London, some five months hence. I suppose nothing demands his swift return to Highbury when so many entertainments are available in the city," she said, a malicious gleam in her eyes.

Before Anne composed an appropriate reply, Emma answered, "I imagine you'd be familiar with such things, as I understand Lord Dalrymple enjoys frequent trips to London, my lady."

All of Highbury was aware that the viscount spent more time in London by himself than in Highbury with his wife, and the gossip reported that he kept a mistress in town. It shocked Anne that Emma had evidently heard the rumors.

Lady Dalrymple's face turned florid and she narrowed her eyes before storming off without another word.

"Emma!" Anne scolded. "That was inappropriate." Yet she couldn't keep from smiling, even as she shook her head.

"What?" Emma asked with wide-eyed disingenuity. "I merely made conversation," she said, linking her arm with Anne's as they walked home.

Anne shook herself out of her reverie at the tap on her door, followed by Emma's face cautiously peeking around the edge after opening it.

"You received a letter," she said, eyes dancing mischievously as she approached, holding out the missive.

Anne took the letter, her heart skipping a beat at the familiar handwriting. She looked up to find Emma watching her raptly.

"Aren't you going to open it?" the young woman asked, her body almost vibrating with impatient excitement.

Anne tamped down her own impatience to eye her serenely. "Yes, but not until I have privacy to do so."

Emma huffed out a frustrated sigh. "Very well, but I shall expect to hear any important news," she said loftily before leaving.

With trembling fingers, she opened the letter.

27 March 1814

My sweet Anne,

I am coming home next week. And I would take great delight in calling upon you.

April 1814

Thomas waited in Highbury's front hall, having declined Miss Woodhouse's kind invitation to join her in the morning room until Anne appeared. He'd been early to pick her up for their planned picnic, but he was so anxious and excited to see her again after nearly six interminable months apart that he couldn't help himself. He tried not to pace under the discreet yet watchful eye of the footman.

When he departed Highbury the previous autumn, he'd had no notion that he would be gone for so long. If he had, leaving would have been much more difficult.

At last he heard footsteps on the stairs and his eyes shot to the top to find Anne descending, dressed in a soft blue. She blushed prettily, but her face was uncertain. Of him?

He met her at the bottom with a smile he hoped would put her at ease, lifting her fingers to his lips as he bowed. "Miss Taylor, you are a vision," he said, drinking her in, loath to relinquish her hand.

"Thank you, Mr. Weston," she said, seeming to savor the contact as well as she searched his face.

He cleared his throat. "Shall we go, then?" He tucked Anne's arm through his as he escorted her to his gig. It was an unusually fine April day, the weather finally having warmed from the bitterly cold March.

Anne looked pleased when she saw the conveyance. Handing her in, he went around and pulled himself up beside her, breathing in her familiar scents and reveling in the warmth of her next to him.

They made easy conversation as he drove them to his favorite spot at Randalls, next to a bubbling creek, and laid out a blanket beneath the shade of a willow tree. There were little sandwiches and scones and cakes, which he pulled out along with a bottle of lemonade .

It was a lovely meal and a congenial atmosphere, but nervousness increasingly coursed through him. By the end, he had no appetite for the cakes. He watched Anne eat, relishing her thorough enjoyment of food.

"That's one of the things I adore about you, Anne. While some people see food merely as a way of meeting basic needs, you savor every bite. You don't take such sensual experiences for granted."

As Anne's astonished eyes shot to him, her cheeks turning pink, he realized how his words might have been construed. "No, not-- not like that, I-- sensual as in those things that cater to our senses, not, not in any type of... lascivious... nature," he stammered, his face heating as Anne began to giggle. "Oh, bollocks," he whispered, and she laughed outright.

He was dazzled. Her smile brightened her sapphire eyes and lit her skin with otherworldly radiance. The sunlight brought out glints of gold in her hair, which Anne arranged with soft tendrils around her face. He reminded himself to take his next breath.

Thomas suddenly couldn't wait another moment to kiss her.

Reaching out slowly, he stroked her soft cheek with the backs of his fingers. Her smile turned shy and inviting, an intoxicating combination.

Thomas leaned forward, cupping her chin, and pressed his lips to hers. With the slight pressure of his thumb at the corner of Anne's mouth, she opened it, and he slipped his tongue in to gently tease hers.

He tasted the apples from the cake, the tang of the lemonade, and Anne's own sweetness. She touched his tongue gingerly with hers, and he groaned, tearing his mouth away before he lost his head.

He rested his forehead against hers for a few moments before pulling away, smiling at her dazed expression. "I think it's time we discuss our future, Anne."