Though Anna hadn’t disguised her footsteps, the two seemed oblivious to her presence. She managed to listen to Rupert give a very inaccurate account of Lord Byron, describing that debauched lord as “fiery” and “bold,” and winning Charlotte’s excited responses in return.

The conversation soon turned to other topics, and Anna learned that Charlotte had not been still in her pursuit of knowledge. She’d not only read Childe Harold, but had memorized entire passages and was perfectly able to discuss them with enthusiasm, if very little understanding.

Not that it mattered—to judge by his rapt expression, Rupert thought Charlotte’s every utterance brilliant.

Good God, what had she done? Best to halt this little flirtation before it progressed into something more serious. Anna cleared her throat, immediately gaining the attention of the two on the bench.

They sprang apart, looking amazingly guilty. Anna frowned. She didn’t like this at all.

Charlotte stood, nervously fidgeting with her book. “There you are, Anna!” she said in a breathless voice. “I was looking for you.”

“Were you?” Anna said, pasting a smile on her face. “And now you’ve found me. Rupert, perhaps you should go and check on the horses. They might wander off.”

He stood. “Of course. Miss Melton, it was a pleasure to meet you.” He took her hand and placed a kiss on the back of it.

Anna watched as Charlotte’s face pinkened with pleasure. “Rupert,” Anna said ominously, “you had better hurry. I think I heard a dog barking and you know how skittish Majesty can be.”

Rupert nodded, though he didn’t take his eyes off Charlotte, his hand still holding hers. “Of course.”

They remained where they were, hands clasped, staring into each other’s eyes until Anna was certain she’d explode. “Oh for heaven’s sake,” she finally exclaimed, tromping forward and taking Charlotte’s hand out of Rupert’s grasp. “Go and tend the horses.”

He reddened and with one last lingering glance at Charlotte, he turned and hurried up the path.

Anna stayed only another half hour, and all in all, it was a wasted trip. Charlotte was distracted, her gaze straying far too often in the direction Rupert had disappeared. Frustrated, Anna had abruptly said her good-byes and left. But the worst was yet to come, for on the way home, she had to listen to Rupert’s gushing admiration for the “nymph,” as he called Charlotte. By the time Anna reached Greyley House, she was so disgusted with the whole thing that she dismounted her horse and marched up the stairs without saying a single word to Rupert or anyone else.

She reached her room only to flounce upon her bed and lie staring up at the ceiling. Anna was certain Rupert’s interest in Charlotte was only a passing attraction, something that would burn out as quickly as it began. Or so Anna hoped. She could just imagine Anthony’s fury on discovering that his intended had fallen in love with Rupert—and she knew full well whom Anthony would blame.