speak up!”
“He’s wooing me,” she repeated in a louder voice, lifting her head again. “That’s what he says, anyway.”
The earl’s lips twitched.
“Are you laughing at me, Papa?”
“At the moment, yes, I am.” He sat back in his chair, a rare smile softening his features. “Just be aware that Maximilian Trent is not his father.”
That stopped her, and she returned to her own seat. “What do you mean by that?”
“Oh no, you don’t. You’ve kept me out of this, and so you can just continue to do so. As far as I’m concerned about it, all I meant was that you shouldn’t think he does anything frivolously, my dear. He hasn’t come to be where he is by accident.”
Scowling, Anne leaned forward. “Papa, where is he, and how do you know? You haven’t even mentioned his name in a year.”
The earl chuckled. “Let’s just say that I’ve followed his career more closely than you have, Annie. I’ve written him letters, and he’s written back.” He opened the accounts book on his desk. “Now if you don’t mind, I have some work to do.”
“You aren’t being very helpful.”
“Hm. Neither have you been. You might have asked my advice before you told him what I would or wouldn’t do.”
Still frowning, Anne left the office for the more congenial domain of the morning room. She’d expected her father to be livid when he’d finally summoned her to discuss Lord Halfurst. Maximilian. The sheep farmer, who apparently had some secrets.
She’d barely picked up her embroidery when Lambert scratched at the door. “Come in,” she called, smoothing her skirt and trying to pretend that her heart wasn’t racing. He’d come calling every day, and Lord and Lady Moreland’s skating party on the Thames was that afternoon.
The butler entered. “My lady, Lord Howard is here to inquire whether you are at home.”
“Lord Howard? Yes, of course.” She’d barely thought of Desmond in almost a week, except to cancel the museum visit he’d suggested.
The viscount entered, still shaking snow from his tawny hair. “Anne,” he said with a smile, coming forward to take her hand, “I’m pleased to find you home.”
“Yes, I’m afraid I’ve been rather occupied the past few days.”
“Monopolized is more like it,” Desmond returned. “May I sit?”
“Of course.”
He took a seat in one of the overstuffed chairs, while she sat opposite him on the couch. She’d known him since her debut in London, and as she thought about it, he’d always been available to dance with, to escort her to various soirées and fireworks displays, and most of the other amusements the town had to offer.
“Do you attend the Moreland skating party?” he asked.
“I’m invited. I haven’t yet decided whether I—”
“You mean Halfurst hasn’t asked to escort you yet.”
“Desmond, I am obligated to spend a certain amount of time with him.”
The viscount lurched to his feet, striding to the window and back. “I don’t see why you should feel obligated to him at all. You’ve told me again and again how he’s ignored you for your entire life.” Abruptly he sat beside her, taking her hand in his. “Which makes me wonder—why is he here now, in London?”
A little uneasy at Lord Howard’s outburst, she frowned. “He read about me making snow angels with Sir Royce Pemberly.”
His grip on her hand tightened. “That explains it. He perceived that another man had an interest in you, and hurried to London to make certain he still had a claim on you—and your money.”
Whatever his monetary situation, Maximilian obviously had enough blunt to purchase an all-new wardrobe and to open his house on High Street again. On the other hand, she knew of some families completely without funds who had still managed to dissemble for years before the truth came out.
“In all honesty, my lord, you’re the only one who’s mentioned Lord Halfurst’s money problems.”
“Ha. You don’t expect him to tell