24. Chapter 24
Annabelle gave up attempting to sleep after an hour of tossing and turning, fretting and stewing, all interspersed with slipping, nearly, into sleep to find herself immersed in a nightmare from which she dragged herself awake to lie there, panting as if she’d just taken the stairs at a dead run.
It was misery incarnate. Stomach burning with fatigue and nerves, she threw off her bedcovers, stumbled to the window to fold back the shutters, and called for Babette to help her dress.
The maid arrived moments later bearing a welcome tea tray. The knowing twinkle in her eyes left Annabelle under no doubt as to whether she’d been among the servants Caroline claimed were actively listening to her conversation with Lord Randall this morning.
Really. Eavesdropping on the master of the house and his guest. Babette should really be schooled in more seemly behavior.
Annabelle hated to dim the girl’s ebullient spirits, however.
Besides, considering how inappropriate their actions had been…
She would not take responsibility for him carrying her to his private chambers.
Still, perhaps she should have donned something more than her night clothes before confronting him on the stairs, in her bare feet, no less—she decided against broaching the matter.
“Babette, do you happen to know the viscount’s sister, Lady Caroline?”
Babette’s hands, occupied with pinning Annabelle’s coiffure, stilled. She met her eyes in the vanity mirror. “Yes, milady. Lady Caroline is a fine lady. She lives in London. In a large manse in Mayfair.”
Annabelle frowned at Babette’s sudden, rapid-fire speech.
She shifted on her cushioned stool to face the maid. “Babette, whatever impression you’ve gained, Lady Caroline has a gentle and kind disposition. She will not hurt you.”
Babette shook her head. “Please don’t send me back to London. I want to stay here, with you.”
“Well, of course, you must stay with me,” Annabelle stated before pausing to consider. In truth, though she had come to see Babette as her own personal maid, Babette was not in her employ.
One glance at Babette’s hope-filled expression, however, and her mind was made up. She sent her an encouraging smile and shifted around on the seat. “I will have a word with Lord Randall and ask him if it isn’t possible for me to hire you. Would you like that?”
Babette nodded, relief washing over her features. She resumed combing and pinning Annabelle’s hair.
“Now that’s settled, I only asked about Lady Caroline because she arrived this morning and will be…” She broke off, uncertain how to finish her sentence. Would she be escorting Annabelle home to London, or witnessing her wedding ceremony in one day’s time?
***
A short while later, she entered the dining hall, surprised to find Lady Caroline already present.
She was seated at the table in a chair adjacent to the one which Sterling normally took, and across from Annabelle’s customary place. Her eyes were closed, and she cradled a delicate-looking porcelain teacup in her hands. A matching teapot was set before her.
Lord Randall was not present.
She drew a bracing breath. “Good morning.”
Caroline opened her eyes and smiled at her. “You couldn’t sleep either?”
Annabelle sat and reached for the coffee urn to pour herself a cup, then added a large dollop of cream. “I had too much on my mind,” she admitted.
“I can understand that. I gather Sterling plans for the two of you to wed tomorrow.”
In the process of drawing her cup to her lips, her hand trembled so violently, she splashed several dark drops on the white cloth covering the table. “Oh, dear. Not sure how that happened.”
Caroline blotted the spill with her own serviette. “No harm done.”
Annabelle knew better than to show a lack of confidence.
She’d been raised to carry herself with absolute aplomb.
To care not a whit for the opinion of others.
Nevertheless, words tumbled from her lips.
“You must think me awful, Lady Caroline. You must believe I set out deliberately to entrap Lord Randall.” She pressed her lips together when her chin began to wobble.
What was the matter with her? Her mother would be aghast.
Her mother. What would she say about Annabelle’s supposed forthcoming nuptials?
She would applaud Annabelle’s masterful coup. She would call her a dutiful daughter, for once following her brother’s example.
“No,” Caroline murmured. “You must wipe the notion from your mind.”
She could not meet the woman’s eyes. Lady Caroline would say that.
She had a kindness about her not common amongst the members of the ton.
Annabelle had no doubt that it had been one of the things that had drawn Gaston to her in the first place.
But he’d have seen it as a weakness. A frailty to manipulate.
“Your brother accused me of plotting to marry him from the start.”
“And yet, he, not you, has been the one to insist upon a hasty ceremony. What does that tell you?”
Cautiously, fearing the reproach she might see lurking there, Annabelle lifted her gaze to Caroline’s—and found only warmth.
“I do not know what to make of it,” she admitted. “What does it tell you?”
Sterling’s sister rested one elbow on the table and dropped her chin into her hand. “That he has decided, of his own free will, to marry you, of course.”
She wanted to stomp her foot. That much was obvious.
“Annabelle—you do not mind if I call you by your given name, now we are to be sisters?”
A sister. Wonder filled her. So much so, she could not speak. She’d always wished for a sister. And to have one such as Caroline…She shook her head.
Caroline smiled and began again. “Annabelle, no one can make my brother do anything he does not wish to do. And trust me when I tell you: The man never reacts. He acts.”
“I don’t follow,” Annabelle said.
Caroline straightened and glanced at the doorway as if to ascertain no one lurked nearby to overhear her next words. “He does not make decisions based upon emotion, but upon reason, and always in keeping with his planned course of action.”
Annabelle considered that—then dismissed the notion out of hand.
Viscount Sterling Randall hadn’t planned to kiss her on the roof—or kiss her back, depending on one’s viewpoint. He’d made up his mind not to.
And yet, after she’d pressed her lips to his, he’d been a definite participant.
Too, he hadn’t planned to kiss her in the kilns. But he had, with delightful results, however brief.
No doubt, both those events led to his determination to marry her, and she was quite certain he hadn't planned to marry her.
Although the last was debatable. She set down her cup. “Now you mention it, he no doubt chose this course after weighing the potential downside of not doing so.”
“Which is?” Caroline asked, looking thoroughly entertained.
“Why, having tarnished his own shiny honor, of course, and let’s not forget bringing scandal upon his family, should anyone discover I’d been here?” She scowled. “Is that the point you wanted to make?”
Caroline gave an unladylike snort. “Hardly.”
Now Annabelle was well and truly lost.
“I don’t think either of those reasons explains his desire to wed you, Annabelle.”
“You don’t?”
“I think his decision is entirely based—or near enough so as to be entirely—upon emotion.”
“Good morning, ladies.”
Lord Randall, here, now, this second? Though his sleep scratchy baritone struck her as rather charming, it was all Annabelle could do not to order him back to his chambers so she could continue her conversation with Lady Caroline.
His shadow fell over the table. “I see Caroline has had breakfast. Annabelle, you are not yet hungry?”
She blinked up at him. “I only just arrived and haven’t had a chance to fix my plate.”
“Allow me.”
“Very well.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Caroline hiding a grin.
Surely she did not think the simple act of his offering to fill a plate for Annabelle indicated anything other than a controlling nature and an odd obsession with seeing that his guests ate.
After he’d taken his seat, his breakfast before him, and Annabelle’s before her, he resumed speaking, his tone matter-of-fact.
“Everything is arranged. We shall convene at St Mary’s, promptly at nine am.” He seemed not to notice the stunned silence that followed his pronouncement as he forked up a bite of eggs. “We’ll plan to leave here no later than eight thirty.”
Across the table from her, Caroline gave an exasperated sigh. “No, sir, we shall not leave here at eight thirty.”
He paused in the act of lifting his fork. “It wouldn’t do for us to arrive late.”
Caroline gave him a peeved look. “Lady Annabelle and I shall take one conveyance, and you shall take another.”
“Ah.”
“Following breakfast, you will not lay eyes on her again until tomorrow, when she joins you at the altar.”
“I see.”
“And has any consideration been given to what she shall wear? I thought you mentioned something about her things going missing with the…er…dead maid.”
He slid Annabelle a brief glance. “Babette has been availing herself of items from your wardrobe for Lady Annabelle’s use. I’d assumed Babette would perform another such alteration in this instance.”
Annabelle sent Caroline an apologetic grimace.
Loosing a soft chuckle, Caroline eyed her. “I thought that gown looked familiar. Although it looks far better on you than it ever looked on me.”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” Annabelle muttered, embarrassed.
Caroline went on, apparently unfazed. “An excellent notion, Sterling. If anyone can transform an ordinary country gown into one fit for a future viscountess’s wedding ceremony, Babette can.”
“You know of her skill?” Annabelle asked, delighted. “Oh, of course. Your brother must have told you of her when he…when circumstances dictated he bring her here. She is a wonder with needle and thread, and styling hair, and any number of things.”
Caroline nodded and sipped her tea.