CHAPTER 2
“ Y ou must write immediately to the Dowager Duchess and tell her that I have arrived earlier than you anticipated,” Annabelle said as soon as Frederick entered the dining room, once again restored to his respectable dress and appearance.
She had decided it was best not to make any further reference to what she had seen upstairs, and certainly not to reveal how it had made her feel.
Frederick responded to her statement with an irritated snort as he sat down at the head of the table and pushed a letter towards her across the white linen cloth.
“It is not that simple,” he said. “Read it.”
Confused but curious, Annabelle accepted the letter and opened it as the maids served their ham and vegetables and then retired from the room. It was a recent letter from the Dowager Duchess to her stepson, dated only two days ago.
After the usual greetings and wishes for good health, the Dowager Duchess dove straight into family news.
… Penelope seems well and unworried, not wanting any fuss or disruption to her days. However, Dr. Murchison remains concerned about how large the child is and warns that it could arrive in the coming month. He wishes her to slow down. The midwife Maxwell has hired believes that it may even be twins…
“Twins!” exclaimed Annabelle excitedly, but Frederick only raised an eyebrow.
“Continue reading,” he ordered. “That is not the immediate issue.”
Maxwell has therefore asked me to stay here for another week to keep Penelope company and encourage her to rest in preparation for the birth. I plan to return to Heartwick Hall on the day of Annabelle’s arrival and have written to Mrs. Kimble to ensure the right arrangements are made.
“The Dowager Duchess will not be returning for another week? But I am already here!” said Annabelle, dropping the letter on the table, her eyes wide.
“So you are,” commented Frederick dryly. “What is to be done about that? I could ship you off to Norfolk, I suppose.”
“But I would miss the Season!” Annabelle wailed. “That is the whole reason they did not take me with them. Do not send me away.”
“Could you return to Colborne House?” he mused. “I know your brother has exhausted all other options.”
“Colborne House was closed up and most of the staff sent away.”
“Damn,” he swore. “What am I supposed to do with you?”
Annabelle sat back in shock at his undisguised rejection. Frederick clearly did not want her to remain at Heartwick Hall, but she had nowhere else to stay. Tears began to well up in her eyes.
“Stephen will sack Myrtle over this, I am sure. He is going to be so angry at her, and at me, regardless of what I do. I cannot stay here without a chaperone, but I have nowhere else to go.”
After some consideration, Frederick put down his cutlery and looked at her pointedly.
“Does Stephen have to know?” he said—a thought that had not occurred to Annabelle. “Only my family and you know that the Dowager Duchess intends to extend her stay at Walden Towers. My stepmother has no social engagements this week, and there is no reason for your brother to learn that she was absent at the start of your visit.”
“I would have to lie to him?” Annabelle thought aloud. “And to the Dowager Duchess?”
“An omission rather than a lie.” Frederick shrugged. “Do you have a better alternative? Or are you personally frightened of my company?”
A day earlier, Annabelle could have laughed and scoffed at his preposterous question. However, she had since seen something of his naked body as well as his other shady side. She silently acknowledged that she was indeed a little afraid.
“I do not have any better ideas,” she admitted quietly.
“Well then, let us make the best of things,” Frederick pronounced, putting the letter back in his pocket. “There is nothing more to be said on the subject.”
“There, as pretty as a picture and ready to start the day,” Myrtle declared proudly as she tied the pale green sash on Annabelle’s white muslin dress the following morning.
Annabelle smiled at the elderly maid in the mirror. Myrtle had indeed done a good job in arranging her simple dress and pinning up her mass of unruly curls. The old woman doubtless believed her own words, having known and cared for her young mistress in one way or another since babyhood.
“Thank you, Myrtle. My hair is always exactly right when you style it. I cannot trust anyone else’s hand, not even my own.”
“You have such beautiful hair, My Lady,” said Myrtle with satisfaction as she began to put away the brushes, combs, and other accouterments of the morning hour. “I have never seen curls as long and thick as yours.”
“They are a little too much,” sighed Annabelle, turning away from the mirror.
Everything about her appearance seemed a little too much to her. She was too short to be taken seriously as an adult woman, her figure too plump to be elegant in the fashionable Grecian styles, her breasts too full to hide completely without a wrap, and her hair too heavy to stay put in any style without heavy-duty pinning.
Annabelle had always longed to be more like her friend Penelope, who might also be diminutive in stature but had the slender limbs and pixie-like features to match, never mind the same perfect golden hair and blue eyes of her brother Frederick.
Frederick. Oh, damn Frederick! Why must he keep appearing in my mind?
Yesterday’s luncheon and dinner had been difficult for Annabelle, knowing that she was entering into a domestic arrangement that would enrage her brother. She could not shake off her uncomfortable awareness of Frederick’s presence, or the memories of all that had passed between them since her arrival.
She sincerely hoped that her discomfort would not last for the duration of her visit. Annabelle grimaced. She could not allow her feelings to ruin her time at Heartwick Hall or undermine her determination to achieve her goal this Season.
“Are you going down for breakfast now, My Lady? It is a little early.”
Annabelle glanced at the clock; it was only a little after seven. It was far too early in the day for a layabout like the Duke, hence her early rising.
“I am hungry this morning. I shall see you after breakfast, Myrtle,” she said and made for the door.
“Good morning, Lady Annabelle,” said Frederick, folding and setting down his newspaper as she entered the breakfast room.
“Oh!” Annabelle said, caught by surprise. “You are awake early today.”
“I often am nowadays.” Frederick shrugged. “When Penelope married and moved away, I promised I would try to keep my stepmother company, so I normally adhere to her regular breakfast hours. I do not recall you being an early riser.”
“No,” Annabelle admitted with a slight blush, feeling caught out in her attempt to avoid him. “But I was hungry.”
She glanced surreptitiously across the table at Frederick as she lifted her coffee cup and a warm bread roll from the tray.
She noted that he looked exactly like his usual self, dressed impeccably in a summer suit with carefully combed hair adorning an almost boyishly handsome, seemingly carefree face. She could not reconcile the man seated before her with the rake she had disturbed yesterday during his clandestine activities.
The image of his half-naked body had burned itself into her imagination. Tense and awkward from the effort of controlling her wandering thoughts, Annabelle quickly ate her first roll and poured herself a second cup of coffee. Frederick sat in seemingly contemplative silence, which only unnerved her more.
This is ridiculous.
“Have you received any new word from Penelope or Maxwell? My last letter was four days ago,” she said conversationally. “Penelope did promise to keep me informed, but it sounds like they are too busy to write to anyone but family.”
Frederick smiled his familiar brilliant smile. “No, I have no more recent letter than the one I showed you from my stepmother. But I do believe you are more excited about this baby than its parents, Annabelle. Are you hoping to be godmother?”
She shook her head but could not help blushing once again. This was something she had hoped for, given that Penelope was her oldest and best friend.
“That will be a decision for the Duke and Duchess of Walden to make,” she said primly. “However, I am so looking forward to meeting the baby. I am certain it will be the dearest little thing.”
“I shall write and tell them that you must be its fairy godmother,” Frederick teased. “You are, after all, the only person small and sweet enough for such a role.”
Annabelle stopped short at the Duke’s unexpected compliment. For a moment, it felt as though yesterday had vanished and the slate had been wiped clean. If she allowed herself to rise to his gentle teasing, Annabelle suspected she could easily forget his other, darker half and resume their old relationship.
Unfortunately for her, she was a fundamentally honest person and could not permit herself to forget his impropriety or the way it had disturbed her.
Annabelle ruminated in silence. Frederick’s good-natured and innocent approach felt like a lie. She had seen his other side and could not unsee it. It unsettled her further to realize that, for some strange reason, she did not wish to unsee it. Frederick had been undeniably pleasing to look upon in his half-stripped, animalistic passion.
Oh, how I miss Penelope at this moment! Always so much wiser than I, and now an experienced married woman. She might have been able to help me work out my jumbled feelings, if not to explain Frederick’s behavior.
Annabelle decided not to react to Frederick’s teasing and to focus on her goal for the Season. Once she had achieved it, everything else would become inconsequential.
“I plan to attend the opera with Victoria Crawford this evening,” she announced, retaining her dignity while deliberately changing the subject. “She and her cousins have Maxwell’s box for the Season, and I have never seen Don Giovanni . Before that, I shall spend my day watercolor painting. The Dowager Duchess said that she would help me with my technique while I am here.”
Frederick raised an eyebrow at her news. “Unfortunately, attending the opera will not be possible tonight,” he said, to her irritation.
“While Stephen does not approve of Victoria’s household, he has no objection to my keeping company with her,” she protested. “Victoria Crawford is the sister of the Duke of Walden and she is perfectly respectable.”
Frederick held up his hands against her flurry of words. “I make no accusations against Victoria Crawford. In fact, I like and respect her a great deal. Nor has your brother left any instructions that would impede your friendship. It is simply that I am otherwise engaged this evening. Without a suitable chaperone, I cannot let you visit the opera house, especially not for Don Giovanni .”
“But I must see Victoria,” Annabelle said with dismay. “I must go. She is engaged for the rest of the week.”
In Penelope and Madeline’s absence, Victoria Crawford was the next best female counsel Annabelle possessed. Although still unmarried, Victoria’s extensive education, wide travels with her older brother, and broad acquaintance with the intellectual elite afforded her a worldliness and a degree of good judgment that Annabelle knew she herself often lacked. She would need all the help she could get to achieve her goals.
“I am sorry, Annabelle,” Frederick answered. “I have business in London tonight.”
“Business?” she repeated, unable to keep the mocking tone out of her voice. “Is that what you call it?”
“Yes, I do,” Frederick snapped crossly, clearly smarting at her jibe. “My sister will soon give birth to a child who will not only be Maxwell’s heir but also mine, in the absence of any family of my own. There are legal and logistical arrangements to be finalized, and my timing is uncertain. I do not even know if I will return here tonight.”
“I would be perfectly safe with Victoria,” Annabelle tried to insist one last time. “You need not escort me.”
“Yes, I do,” he answered tersely. “Especially because you do not even understand why it is necessary. If you had told me about your plans sooner, we might have accommodated them, but you cannot expect me to rearrange everything on such short notice. Or do you think the world revolves around you, Annabelle?”
It was Annabelle’s turn to smart at his whip-like words. She did not believe that the world revolved around her, but his accusation still stung. The look in Frederick’s eyes told her he would not change his mind.
“I see,” she said, draining her second coffee and rising from the table. “I shall be preparing my equipment in the parlor near the conservatory.”
There was no point in arguing further. Annabelle sensed that Frederick was being truthful about his commitments in London.
She frowned. She had no intention of letting him ruin her plans. She could not think of a reason to cancel her date with Victoria and her cousins at the theater. Frederick was simply being as pernickety as her brother often was, perhaps even at Stephen’s instruction.
Neither of them would get in her way.
“The emerald earrings, please, Myrtle,” Annabelle instructed. “The ones my grandmother left to me. They will look lovely with my blue silk dress.”
“Is this wise, My Lady?” said Myrtle doubtfully, while opening the jewelry box as she was bidden.
“Everyone dresses up at the opera,” Annabelle said, dismissing her concern with a smile. “There will be ladies with far finer jewels than mine on display tonight. In any event, I shall either be in the coach with you or inside the opera house with Victoria. I do not expect to meet any footpads or jewel thieves in the Duke of Walden’s box at the Lyceum.”
“I did not mean that, My Lady. Is it really wise to go to London tonight without a proper escort? I know Lord Emberly would not like it at all.”
“Stephen need not know anything about it any more than he needs to know about your forgetting to send that letter,” Annabelle said meaningfully. “I am doing nothing improper. I shall be with you or Victoria for the entire evening.”
“His Grace, the Duke of Heartwick, will be furious,” Myrtle added anxiously. “He did not give his permission, did he? What will happen if he returns to Heartwick Hall before you and does not find you?”
“I am one-and-twenty now, Myrtle, and Frederick is Penelope’s brother, not mine. I do not need his permission for an entirely respectable evening at the opera. I even told Stephen last week that I planned to attend this performance, and he raised no objections, although he does not like the story himself.”
“That is because Lord Emberly assumed you would be properly accompanied in London, Lady Annabelle. It is not a respectable opera,” continued the maid in a final attempt at dissuasion. “I have heard that it is about a man who has his way with many women and then is taken by the devil for his sins. You do not want to see that, do you?”
“All the ladies of the Ton seem to have watched Don Giovanni, Myrtle, except me, and it has caused no scandal. It cannot be that bad. Moreover, as I do not speak Italian, I shall simply enjoy the music and the acting. Pass me my cloak. The carriage is already waiting for us outside.”
With some reluctance, Myrtle handed over the silvery-grey velvet cloak to Annabelle and fastened her own black woolen coat and hat, shaking her head sorrowfully all the while.
Annabelle reflected that the scene she had witnessed in Frederick’s bedroom the other day had been infinitely more indecent than anything she was likely to see on the stage that evening.
“You came,” said Victoria Crawford with a grin, bending to embrace Annabelle with her usual enthusiasm as the latter entered the opera house. “I hoped you would.”
“Despite the reservations of my maid, who believes Don Giovanni to be the devil’s work, yes, here I am.” Annabelle laughed. “I offered Myrtle a seat in the stalls, but she prefers to wait for me in the carriage.”
“Dear old Myrtle,” Victoria commented merrily. “I am sure she has your best interests at heart, but she must be past eighty. The world has moved on.”
Tall and graceful, with golden-brown hair and steady blue eyes, Victoria possessed a striking degree of self-assurance despite being the same age as Annabelle.
“Exactly,” Annabelle agreed as the two women proceeded arm-in-arm towards the box. “The world moves on, and we must move with it. I cannot sit still and let life pass me by, or I will end up an old maid.”
“Being a spinster is not so very bad, as long as you have money,” Victoria pointed out, having always rejected the idea of marriage. “No man to tell you what to do and how to do it. Freedom, independence, and none of the mess and danger of childbirth.”
“It is all well and good for you,” sighed Annabelle. “You are set to be rich whether you marry or not. I would end up the kind of spinster who must live with her family forever. Stephen is too particular to ever marry, and if he did, his wife would probably be dreadful. Either way, I would be a burden, and we would all drive one another mad.”
“That does sound exhausting,” Victoria commented without further judgment.
“Yes, it does. I know that I am already a burden to my family in some respects, and it will only get worse. So, you see, I have one goal for this Season, and I am determined to achieve it. This year, I will find a husband.”
“Oh my!” Victoria laughed. “You sound as though you are going to war and launching a military campaign.”
“I suppose I am,” Annabelle reflected. “But does it sound silly? I know I am not the catch of the Ton, but my family and dowry must count for something.”
“My dear Annabelle,” said her friend with an amused but concerned expression, before pausing for a moment. “It does not sound silly at all. Young women have so few options. I know how lucky I am. A deliberate campaign to find a good husband might be the only sensible way to go about marriage. Love is certainly too unreliable.”
“That is also how I feel,” Annabelle sighed. “When I was younger, I had dreams of falling in love—as all girls do, of course… Except for you, Victoria. I wished so hard that I would grow up to be beautiful, like Penelope, so that my dream gentleman would love me back. Now, I want only to find a man who is kind, good, and meets Stephen’s exacting requirements.”
Victoria nodded thoughtfully and put an arm around her friend’s shoulders.
“You do not have to be polite, Victoria,” said Annabelle with a sad smile. “Though I would appreciate your help. I know some call me a gossip because I know everyone in the Ton by reputation, but I do not really know them as people, especially the men. You possess many male friends. How can I meet men who might consider me as a wife?”
“Let me give that some thought,” said Victoria with a glint in her eyes as she accepted the challenge. “Come, let us take our seats before the curtain rises.”
Annabelle could almost see the cogs in Victoria’s mind turning throughout the performance, her opera glasses in frequent use although rarely trained on the stage itself.
“Let me introduce you to some new acquaintances,” Victoria whispered as the curtain fell after the final act. “I have already spotted some potential husbands for you here tonight, and we might be able to catch one or two in the lounge before they leave the theater.”
“Really?” asked Annabelle, excited and slightly daunted by the news as she followed Victoria towards the theater’s refreshment area. “Who?”
Aside from a party of serious-looking elderly ladies with orchestral manuscripts and pince-nez, most women in the room behind the bar were there in the company of men. Victoria, however, was not at all intimidated by entering the male-dominated environment.
There followed a bewildering and frustrating series of introductions to men who seemed too old, too young, too distant, too familiar, and far more interested in either Victoria’s work or Annabelle’s family than in Annabelle herself.
Annabelle yawned as they walked away. She doubted that a single one of her new male acquaintances would remember her in the morning. She could not say that she regretted that fact, although it did make her feel like a failure.
“I am sorry, Victoria. I do not seem to be very good at this, do I?”
“Tonight is just a first practice,” Victoria assured her. “Do not worry. Oh, I have just spotted Alexander Marston and his sister Julia. Do excuse me and wait here for one moment while I check the date of their next scientific salon. I daresay it is of no interest to you. I shall be right back.”
As Victoria’s dynamic figure dashed away in pursuit of an elegant middle-aged couple in black walking away from the bar, Annabelle found herself alone in the still-crowded barroom, feeling very self-conscious. Looking around for Victoria’s cousins or any familiar lady she might easily approach, she gasped as she spotted one particular blond-haired, blue-eyed face regarding her steadily from across the room.
What is Frederick doing here?!
Annabelle felt a surge of guilt about her deceit but also a sense of injustice at being followed. As she had told Myrtle, she was one-and-twenty and deemed legally fit to make her own way in the world, if men like Stephen and Frederick would only stop hindering her.
To make matters worse, Frederick had not approached her. He watched her unblinkingly from his position at the bar, like a teacher in a schoolroom or a prison warden with a captive.
Annabelle noticed that the women around him were casting appreciative glances in his direction, and several attempted to catch his eye with welcoming smiles. The sight infuriated her and raised her suspicions. She narrowed her eyes and wondered if he, in fact, was there for an altogether different reason.
“Well, you are too pretty a little girl to be here all by yourself, are you not?” said an unfamiliar man sporting a mustache and reeking of whiskey as he approached from her left, interrupting her vexed thoughts.
The man was around forty, and his clothing and voice implied that he was someone of rank and means, to whom good manners might normally be owed. However, his drunken and over-interested expression made Annabelle distinctly uncomfortable, and she shrank away from his approach. Lord Silverbrook had also been a man of rank and means, but he had turned out to be a blackguard.
“I am here with friends,” Annabelle said shortly, hoping that this would deter him from seeking further acquaintance. “They will return presently.”
“You have lost your friends? Well then, I shall be your new friend. As Don Giovanni showed us, young women should not be left unprotected in this wicked world.”
The man’s smile was almost a leer as he placed a hand on her gloved arm. She jerked away with alarm and revulsion, smelling the drink on the man’s breath even more strongly now as he loomed over her.
“Keep your distance, Sir!” she ordered him as sternly as she could while keeping her voice down and attempting to step out of his reach.
The last thing Annabelle wanted was to make a scene in the opera house that would draw public attention and likely Stephen’s wrath when he heard about it. She quickly ran through her options. Perhaps the best plan was to simply run away and seek the safety of her carriage. However, she realized with dismay that the vile man was standing between her and the nearest doors.
A woman as tall and athletic as Victoria or Madeline would physically push this rude, intrusive man aside, but Annabelle knew that she was far too small for such a maneuver. Feeling panicked and helpless, she feared that she was going to have to scream in order to save herself from being publicly manhandled by this stranger.
“Go away!” she hissed, realizing from his amused expression that her anger was only entertaining him.
“I want to be friends,” he said. “You look like a friendly girl to me.”
As he reached out his hand a second time, another hand shot out, grasping him firmly by the wrist and twisting it with a force that made him cry out in alarm.
“Be careful, the floor is a little unsteady here,” said Frederick’s voice rather menacingly, although anyone other than Annabelle might only think he was warning the man of a genuine hazard. “You would not want to fall and injure yourself.”
“I am sorry. I thought the young lady was here alone,” the man tried desperately to excuse himself as Frederick continued to twist his wrist. “I meant no harm.”
“Then go,” Frederick ordered. “Get out of my sight and never let me see you forcing your unwanted attention on a woman again.”
His wrist now released, the man stumbled away and through the doors towards the exit, his face contorted with confusion and fear.
“My word! What was that about?” exclaimed Victoria as she rejoined them, her astonished eyes following the stranger as he fled through the doors and then returning to Frederick.
Annabelle blushed sheepishly, feeling that the incident and rows that were bound to follow were all her fault. She waited for Frederick to upbraid her, but, to her surprise, he did not.
“A man with too great an appetite for alcohol and too little regard for vulnerable young ladies,” he said, the cold anger that had made his face so hard a few moments earlier fading into solicitous concern. “I hope he did not frighten you too much, Annabelle.”
“There are too many such men in London.” Victoria tutted. “I am sorry I left you alone, Annabelle. It was remiss of me.”
“I am perfectly well,” Annabelle said, her voice unconvincing even to her own ears as she struggled to hold back the tears forming in her eyes. “He did give me something of a shock, but Frederick dealt with him.”
“He certainly did,” Victoria said with a nod. “I saw that much. Maxwell always said there was steel under your silk, Frederick. Now I know what he meant.”
Annabelle choked back a small sob, disoriented and overwhelmed by the events that had taken place in such a short time. There was indeed a steely substance beneath Frederick’s disarming, silky charm. She felt as though she was beholding a third side to him in little more than a day.
“It is time for us to return to Heartwick Hall,” he announced decidedly, watching her struggle to keep her composure. “Should we escort you home on the way, Victoria?”
“No, my cousins will be waiting for me in our carriage by now.”
After quick farewells, Annabelle walked outside to the carriage on Frederick’s arm, glad for the solidity of his form beside her, but dreading the admonitions she knew would eventually follow.