15. Chapter 15
Dusk had fallen as Sterling started Zeus up the graveled drive toward Stoneford Castle.
Sterling. She frowned to herself. When had she begun to think of him by his Christian name? She supposed when he’d taken the liberty of calling her Annabelle.
Face frozen with cold, she gazed upon the stalwart fortress, an odd sense of coming home pervading her as they made their way across the castle’s graveled forecourt.
Then, without a word of warning, Sterling halted Zeus at the base of the stone ramp.
He dismounted and lifted her from the saddle, depositing her on her feet.
She expected him to release her immediately.
Instead, they stood there, the domed dusk sky fanning above them like infinity.
An unreasonable awareness of his large hands, still wrapped around her waist, of the stillness surrounding them as neither spoke, and their breaths, white puffs of air, mingled.
The moment felt unbearably intimate and intoxicatingly good.
And then, Babette came shooting out of the castle’s front door. Her squeal of delight as she dashed down the ramp elicited a snort of amusement from Lord Randall.
“I’ll leave you to Babette’s care,” he said, already turning in the direction of the stables, reins in hand.
Paying him no notice, Babette ushered her inside, taking charge of her cloak and gloves, before seeing her up the stairs to what she now thought of as her chamber.
“Here now, you sit,” the maid said, urging her into the armchair positioned before the hearth. She stoked the flames as Annabelle bent forward to begin the process of removing her boots.
“Have you eaten, milady?”
Annabelle shook her head. “There wasn’t time, what with the shifting tides.”
Tutting, the maid disappeared, returning minutes later, bearing a most welcome tea tray and a selection of finger sandwiches.
She poured a steaming cup and pressed it into Annabelle’s hands, then smiled down at her with indulgent affection. “I knew milady would return.”
“So you did,” Annabelle confirmed. She had not been so pampered since…she could not remember when. It felt quite foreign, and very nice.
A knock sounded on her door.
“Come,” Annabelle replied, breathless for no good reason.
The door opened to reveal Chip and Mr. Cogsworth. The two men appeared to be laboring over the delivery of…
“A bath?” she asked in wonder, eyeing the large, claw-foot copper tub.
“Aye,” Mr. Cogsworth replied, moving aside for Nell to pour the first of many buckets of fragrant water into the tub.
A half hour later, Annabelle gazed out the window of her cozy, grate and candlelit chamber and sank deeper into the cooling, but still-warm water. She didn’t know what to make of the unexpected luxury.
Had Lord Randall requested it on her behalf? Though the notion filled her with a secret, effervescent delight, she decided it was more likely Babette who had done so. The maid fawned over her, unabashedly. And, too, the viscount had made no mention of any such intention.
In any case, she’d never know. Her pride would not allow her to ask.
Hearing a soft scratch at the door, followed by the doorknob turning, she looked over her shoulder to see Babette entering the shadowed chamber. Folded over her arms, she carried what looked to Annabelle like a gown, fashioned of a deep rose fabric.
“What have you there?”
Babette moved to the wardrobe where she hung what was definitely a dress. A dinner dress by the glint and glimmer of whatever embellishments adorned the garment.
“I’d begun working on it before Lord Randall announced your departure,” she murmured. “I finished it today, along with your slippers.” She turned to Annabelle with an almost smug grin.
“How did you know?”
Babette ignored Annabelle’s query. She moved to the hearth to stoke the coals into renewed flames, then returned to the bath.
“Shall I help you dry, milady? I have an idea for styling your lovely hair tonight. Wearing your new frock, your hair just so, you shall look positively stunning.” She plucked up a large, white towel from the stack and held it open for Annabelle, obscuring herself from Annabelle’s view and giggling. “The master will be quite undone.”
Annabelle rose, gooseflesh covering her skin, and stepped over the tub’s edge. “Babette, it hardly matters how I look for Lord Randall. You know very well that he and I are…” What were they? Not friends, certainly, but not precisely enemies, anymore either.
Enemies did not put each other up for the night. They didn’t pay each other’s debts. Didn’t change their travel arrangements to make the trip more palatable for the other. They didn’t provide new gowns or delicious baths.
But they did track down those who’d colluded against their family.
Guilt and confusion enveloped her along with the fluffy towel in which Babette wrapped her, because she should see him as an enemy. He’d played a part in her brother’s death before scampering from the city like a rat to avoid questioning. Hadn’t he?
She closed her eyes. She would not be deterred from learning the truth before she returned home, she vowed, no matter what that said about her.
“You do not wish me to dress your hair?” Babette asked, her tone dejected as she squeezed the moisture from Annabelle’s tresses.
She eyed the dress hanging in the open wardrobe.
Never had a gown held more appeal, primarily thanks to her abject desire not to re-don the one she’d arrived wearing.
And she did enjoy Babette’s skill with her hair.
Besides, she didn’t want to disappoint the woman who had done so many thoughtful things for her.
“I would dearly love for you to style my hair, and…Babette, thank you. For the tea. For the bath. For the dresses. For the slippers. You are…kind.”
Almost immediately, she questioned the impulse that led her to speak in such a personal manner with the maid. Her mother would be aghast if she witnessed the interchange. Ladies do not befriend the servants, she would undoubtedly say.
And yet, seeing Babette glow under the praise warmed her.
“Milady deserves to wear beautiful things,” she said softly. “Beautiful on the inside and out. She just needed someone to remind her.”
Annabelle did not feel beautiful on the inside. What had she ever done for someone else the way Babette seemed to do, and even grouchy Sterling seemed to do by second nature?
Even her goal of solving her brother’s death had less to do with aiding her mother as she claimed and everything to do with aiding herself.
***
At promptly eight o’clock that evening, with the gong of an unseen clock echoing in the corridor, Annabelle approached the arched dining hall entrance.
At a glance, she took in the table set for two, the polished silver candelabras, reflecting their tapered candles’ stuttering flames, the crystal chandelier’s glowing candlesticks, and no sign of her host.
Disappointment so poignant the backs of her eyes stung shamed her to the core. She wasn’t simply anxious to prove his guilt. She hungered for the sight of him.
Squaring her shoulders, she stepped one foot across the threshold—then froze as a rush of wind stirred the fine hairs on her nape and rushed over her exposed skin.
The ensuing rumble of masculine voices, one of which sent a shiver of recognition up her spine, had her peering down the corridor toward the foyer.
The rapid clip of boot steps sounded, growing louder with each footfall.
A moment later, Lord Randall, wearing his black greatcoat, cheeks flushed and thick hair disheveled from the elements, appeared at the end of the hall. He rushed headlong in her direction with seemingly no notice of her presence.
She knew the moment he spotted her, as his eyes widened and he skidded to a halt, looking almost like a boy who’d been caught running indoors.
She shifted to face him.
His dark gaze drifted over her, moving from her head to her feet, then back. He swallowed, hard.
It was everything she could do to keep her lips from curving in a triumphant smile. She had done that to him.
“Lady Annabelle, good evening.”
“Good evening.”
“I apologize for my tardiness to dinner. A matter in town required my attention.”
“I see. No apology necessary.” Next, he’d make his excuses, no doubt.
“It has been a long day. I’m certain you wish to proceed with dinner.”
As she’d expected.
“But, if you have a mind to wait, I shall wash up and join you.”
Warmth, lovely and wholly unwelcome, blossomed in her chest. “I do not mind waiting. You must eat, after all. Shall I await you in the parlor?”
For her efforts, Lord Randall bestowed his brief, dashing smile, then he hurried toward the stairs.
***
A quarter hour later, Sterling’s rapid steps slowed as he rounded the final bend in the stairwell en route to the parlor to collect Annabelle.
Seeing Babette, standing sentinel at the base of the stairs, hands clasped behind her back, brought him to a sudden halt.
“My lord,” she said, not waiting for him to inquire after her presence, “milady awaits you in the parlor.”
As he very well knew. “Thank you.”
He eyed her for any telltale signs of a coming disturbance.
With the maid, one never knew exactly what might set her off.
One thing, however, had become clear since Annabelle’s arrival: Babette’s work as a lady’s maid grounded her, leastways in service to Annabelle.
He wasn’t sure what that portended for the girl when Annabelle departed in several days’ time.
She seemed in no danger of a breakdown at the moment. He nodded to her and started down the corridor.
She fell into step beside him. “I took the liberty of fitting one of my Lady Caroline’s gowns for milady.”
As he’d noted at a glance, earlier. She’d looked bloody delectable in the rose-colored frock. “Well done, Babette. I’m sure Lady Annabelle appreciates your efforts.”
She ducked her head, a shy smile curving her mouth.
He expected her to slow her pace and let him go on his way. He did not expect her to hasten forward, shift to face him, and block his path.
Nevertheless, the diminutive maid took the liberty of doing so.
Tamping down his burgeoning impatience, he arched a querulous brow. “Yes?”
“Milady has been hurt.”
He blinked at her. “I beg your pardon? Lady Annabelle, you mean? Who hurt her?”
Only when the girl flinched did he realize he’d raised his voice. With effort, he composed himself and tried again. “Did a mishap occur during my absence?”
She shook her head, her lips firming. “Before.” She spared a moment to peer behind her toward the parlor. When she spoke next, he had to strain to hear her. “It’s why she hides her beauty.”
He really did not have time for this. Lady Annabelle’s beauty was…far from hidden. She was undeniably stunning, and well she knew it.
As if she’d discerned his thoughts, Babette gave him a pitying smile and tapped her chest. “Inside, milord. One only has to”—she shook her head in clear frustration—“see past the prickles to the why.”
He was being schooled by a young woman who flitted about the house, waving her favored feather duster like a magic wand. He had no earthly notion how to respond.
She fixed him with unblinking eyes as if willing him to comprehend. “It’s kindness she needs, milord, to let the sweetness locked inside, out.”
By her expression, he gathered she expected a reply. “I see. I’ll…er…take that under advisement, Babette.”
She nodded once, as if satisfied, and slid out of his path, then she sent him a coy smile. “A compliment would not go amiss, milord. A lady always appreciates one of those.” With that, she picked up her skirts and darted away.
He scrubbed a hand over his jaw, regretting the growth of stubble he hadn’t had time to run a blade over, and started for the parlor.