Page 11 of The Risk of Rogues
Musing a moment, he shoved away from the table. “How about this? Why don’t we go for a walk, and I’ll ask you questions aboutyourhopes for the future? Because that will tell me what I need to know.”
“If you already don’t trust me with the truth about your life,” she said, rather snippily, “how will asking me questions help? For that matter, how can you even be sure I’m telling the truth?”
“Well, how could you lie? You don’t know what I want to hear.” He smiled. “Come on, Anne. You like to walk. It’s a pretty day.”
“It’s the middle of winter!”
He shrugged. “We’ll stick to the cleared paths.” Mischief gleamed in his eyes. “At least you know I can’t try anything naughty when we’re bundled up in our winter clothes.”
True. And to her chagrin, she was rather disappointed that he couldn’t.
Four
A SHORT WHILElater, they left the house to wander down a gravel walk that led to a Palladian bridge, which looked like a long, skinny Greek temple spanning the frozen pond.
Hart’s mind still reeled from their discussion in the breakfast room. Anne kept her and her mother’s expenses in line? That didn’t seem like the girl he’d known. Then again, she was older now. And her fatherhadbeen a merchant. Some of it must have rubbed off on her.
But she did seem overly distressed about his gambling, considering that plenty of gentlemen played cards for entertainment. Before he let that worry him, he must figure out why. Did her concern stem from the finances of it? He could understandthat. But if morality was what bothered her... well, spymasters didn’t always get to choose the places they got to frequent. If she’d grown so high in the instep that she objected to his frequenting gaming hells, that could prove problematic.
He’d deal with that later. Right now, he should keep the conversation light until she felt more comfortable with him. “Why are you so interested in hats?”
She halted. “Hats!” Whirling on her heel, she started to head back the way they’d come. “Oh, Lord, I entirely forgot. I’m supposed to be helping set up for the charity sale. We’re selling a number of my creations, so I—”
He moved to block her path. “I passed by the ballroom before I found you, and there were at least ten people in there working already. The ladies can do without you for another hour, can’t they? When else will we get to speak uninterrupted?”
Biting her lower lip, she gazed at the house worriedly. Then her face cleared. “You’re right. I can spare an hour. It’s not as if anyone woulddoanything to my hats, after all.”
With a laugh, he took her arm to lead her along the path again. “You speak as if they’re your children.”
“Don’t be silly. One does not sell one’s children. Or one shouldn’t, anyway. But yes, I like hats.”
“Why? Or rather, why so much?”
“It started as a way to cover my dreadful hair as much as possible.”
That provoked a visceral reaction in him. “There isn’t anything remotely dreadful about your hair,” he growled.
She flashed him a sad smile. “That’s very kind of you, but most of our countrymen wouldn’t agree. The phrase ‘redheaded stepchild’ didn’t arise from nowhere.” She sighed. “And ginger is so very hard tomatchwith anything. Brown hair is neutral, blond is neutral, black is neutral. Red is anything but neutral.”
He’d never looked at it that way. “Do youwantto be neutral? To look like everyone else?”
“I did when I was young. I didn’t want everyone staring at me and remarking upon my carrot top and my hot temper and other nonsense associated with ginger hair. So I wore big hats to make people focus on them, not the hair.” Her expression turned pensive as they approached the bridge. “Then it just sort of... grew on me.”
“The hats?”
“The liking of them. You see, hats are practical. Everyone needs them—to keep their heads warm in winter and protect their skin from sun in summer. Even the poor have basic ones. But while fashionable gowns are costly, anyone with a creative bent and a keen eye can afford a fashionable hat.”
He didn’t follow. “Because they’re smaller than gowns?”
“No, silly. Because anyone can trim a hat with anything. If you can’t afford ribbons, a strip of lace or a strip of embroidery isn’t too onerous to make. If you live by the sea, you can trim your hat with seashells. If you live in the country, feathers abound.”
“True. I know a peacock with a sore bum who can testify to that.”
She swatted him with her fur muff, leaving it dangling from her wrist by its fancy chain. “All I’m saying is it can be inexpensive. It doesn’t even have to be anything permanent. Why, you could use real leaves and flowers and fruit if you didn’t mind retrimming every day.”
As she paused inside the bridge pillars to stare up at him, a brilliant smile crossed her face. “Hats are the most egalitarian creations in fashion. And that, sir, is why I love them.”
In that instant, he glimpsed the old Anne. The one who didn’t care if a person was rich or poor, young or old. The one who believed that everyone could have a beautiful hat, and who would laud them all equally.
