Page 38 of What's an Earl Gotta Do?
“I read it,” Scudamore said.
“Oh?” Michael said. “What did it say?”
Scudamore’s grin was smug. “Oh, you know. This and that.”
Michael tried to mask his annoyance. He wasn’t about to give Scudamore the satisfaction.
Tomlinson screwed up his face. “What is it her charity does again?”
“Well,” Michael said, tugging at his cravat. Given that he hadn’t opened any of Anne’s letters, the truth was that he had no idea what the Ladies’ Society did, beyond his father’s assurances that it was a “magnificent success.” He knew the possibilities Anne had been contemplating before his departure, but he had no idea whether she had been able to found a model lodging house, as she had hoped, or had ended up starting with something more modest, such as a soup kitchen. “It’s, uh, a bit complicated,” he prevaricated.
“They knit scarves for the poor,” Scudamore said.
“They what?” Michael’s head jerked toward Scudamore. The man was regarding him evenly.
“They knit scarves for the poor,” Scudamore repeated. “Isn’t that right, Gladstone?”
“What?” Gladstone blinked at Scudamore three times. “Oh, right—Lady Wynters runs a knitting circle. Of, er, great esteem.”
Michael made an effort to relax his brow, which he realized was furrowed. A knitting circle? Anne had never expressed any interest in that sort of thing. “Is that all they do?” he asked, striving to sound casual.
“Of course not,” Scudamore said. “They also knit stockings and caps. And every year at Christmas, they distribute plum puddings to the poor.”
Michael was studying Scudamore, trying to decide if he and Gladstone were bamming him, when Tomlinson perked up. “That’s right, there was an item in The Gentleman’s Magazine about the plum puddings last Christmas. I did read that one.” He laughed. “My godmother, Mrs. Wriothesley, is on the board of her charity. That explains why she’s constantly knitting.”
“I… I see,” Michael said. He didn’t trust Scudamore and Gladstone as far as he could throw them, but Tomlinson wouldn’t lie to him.
It must be true. Anne ran a knitting circle.
He felt a keen disappointment for Anne, who had dreamed of accomplishing so much, and had clearly had to settle for something much more modest. Of course, it must be difficult to start a charity out of nothing. Michael was sure Anne was doing the very best work she was able to do, given the circumstances she had encountered. And if the most she’d been able to accomplish was organizing a ladies’ knitting circle, there was no shame in that.
The orchestra started to tune up. “Well,” Tomlinson said, slapping him on the shoulder, “I’d best go find my partner. Welcome back, Morsley.”
Scudamore and Gladstone had turned their backs on him and were already walking away. Well, the feeling was mutual—it wasn’t as if Michael wanted their company.
Yet he found himself stuck directly behind them as a small crowd formed before the doors to the ballroom.
“So,” he overheard Scudamore say to Gladstone, “which dance do you have with her?”
“The third,” Gladstone returned.
Scudamore grunted. “I have the fourth.”
Michael realized they were talking about Anne. He’d seen her dance card, after all.
“Ha,” Gladstone said, “looks like I’ll get to ask her first.”
Ask her? Michael didn’t like the sound of that one bit.
“She won’t accept you, you know,” Scudamore countered. “Not with the debts your father ran up.”
Gladstone shrugged. “Probably not. Still, it’s worth a try. There aren’t many girls who come with thirty-five thousand pounds who can fill out a dress like that. Believe me, I’ve looked.”
Scudamore wagged a finger. “Have a care. That’s the future Viscountess Scudamore you’re talking about.”
Michael fumed. The hell Anne was the future Viscountess Scudamore.
“You mean to ask her tonight, then?” Gladstone asked.
