Chapter Eleven #2
“No, of course not.” Julian took a glass for himself as his thoughts turned to his own future.
Being a tad lower than her on the societal ladder, his familial obligations were not quite as rigid.
Nevertheless, as heir to Highfield Hall and its estates, he was expected to marry responsibly.
Marriage to the daughter of a viscount was a fine feather in his hat.
And search as he might, he could find no fault with Miss Aitken.
Quite the contrary, may his hesitant heart be damned.
“I trust your thoughts are worth a penny, at least.” The duchess’s voice drew him from his contemplation.
Julian winced. “Forgive me, Duchess, my mind wandered.”
“Hmm.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Would it have anything to do with Miss Aitken, by chance?”
He cleared his throat. “It would seem my aunt has kept you well-informed.”
“Not without a little prompting from me.” She took a sip of her drink. “I was curious to know more about you. Your aunt indicated an engagement to the young lady might be in your future.”
“It does seem likely, yes.”
The duchess appeared to study him for a moment. “Miss Aitken is very fortunate, I think.”
“Thank you, Duchess. I consider myself fortunate also.”
“Despite your uncertainty?”
Julian took a sip of his drink. “You’re very perceptive.”
“I pride myself on it.” She gave him a playful nudge. “You’re not difficult to read, sir. And please take that as a compliment.”
He grimaced. “But stay away from the gaming tables?”
She laughed. “Yes, probably wise.”
Seeking to change the subject, Julian looked to where the double doors of the long gallery stood wide open. Judging by the sunlight spilling through the gallery’s impressive line of windows, the rain had stopped. “I probably should have asked earlier. Have you been to Myddleton House before?”
A vague look of amusement came to her face. “No, regrettably.”
“Ah, then you are in for a treat, Your Grace.” In a dramatic fashion, he swept his hand through the air toward the gallery doorway. “Please allow me to escort you.”
“With pleasure, sir,” she replied, and took him by the arm again as they entered the gallery. “Are any of Josiah’s works on display here?”
“I don’t believe so,” Julian replied, pausing to gaze upon an impressive landscape scene. “He rarely comes north, and when he does, he never stays for very long. He prefers the city.”
“Yes, that he does.” The duchess studied the painting for a few moments before moving onto the next. “It appears to be a remarkable collection.”
“One of the best, north of London.” Both Julian and the duchess turned at the sound of Lady Hutton’s voice. “I trust my godson is being hospitable, Duchess?”
“He is, indeed.” Smiling, the duchess glanced up at Julian and released his arm. “Hospitable and charming.”
“Glad to hear it,” his aunt replied. “I would have expected nothing less from him. But then, all the Northcott men are mindful of…”
The rest of his aunt’s remark sank into obscurity as Julian’s attention drifted to the figure of a solitary woman, standing some distance away at the rear wall of the gallery.
Dark-haired, petite, and clad entirely in black, she had her back to him and looked to be busy arranging some flowers in a vase on the nearby table.
Judging by the few blooms sitting askew in the vase, it appeared she’d barely begun her task.
The remaining flowers occupied two large buckets at her feet.
The woman had a grace of movement that seemed oddly familiar, yet her approach to her task lacked efficiency.
Or perhaps confidence. Even as he watched, she took a single flower from the bucket and placed it in the vase, only to remove it a moment later and return it to the bucket.
Then she stepped back, head cocked as she appeared to study the vase.
An odd little tingle crept across Julian’s scalp, causing him to frown.
His aunt’s voice, close to his ear, drew him from his scrutiny.
“I used to do a lot of Myddleton’s flower arrangements myself, albeit with Catherine’s help,” she said.
“Catherine is no longer at Myddleton, of course, but I still like to arrange the odd one now and then. It’s a very relaxing pastime. ”
Julian glanced at his aunt and then pointed his chin at the woman, who was currently taking her time studying the buckets before choosing a different bloom. “Not in this young lady’s case, Aunt. I get the impression she doesn’t really know what she’s doing.”
“Maybe she’s simply a perfectionist,” the duchess said, as the previously chosen bloom went back into the bucket again. “Though I agree, she does make the task look rather laborious.”
“I don’t recall seeing her here before.” Lady Hutton appeared to ponder. “I believe Janet is doing most of the arrangements today. She must have taken on an assistant.”
“Who appears to be in mourning,” the duchess said, “given her sad attire.”
“She’s young to be in mourning.” His aunt flicked her fan open and wafted it at her throat. “I imagine you’re looking forward to seeing Miss Aitken tomorrow, my dear.”
Julian hid a twinge of irritation behind a smile. “Yes, I am, Aunt.”
Perhaps he hadn’t hidden his irritation well enough, given how his aunt’s brows first lifted and then fell into a brief frown. Julian took another sip of his drink and steeled himself against what was sure to be a coercive attack. It appeared the duchess was correct about him being easy to read.
“Your parents’ expectations of you do not include entering into a loveless marriage, dear.” His aunt snapped the fan shut and used it to tap his shoulder. “Obligations have their limits.”
Julian gaped at her for a moment and then laughed. “I confess, Aunt Eleanor, that was not at all the response I expected, but I thank you for it.”
“And I’m in total agreement with your aunt,” the duchess added. “You’re young, handsome, and eligible, Mr. Northcott. You can have your choice, I should think.”
His aunt nodded. “Of course, that’s not to say you shouldn’t marry well, Julian. You’re the heir to that marvelous estate, after all, which is where most of those obligations come in.”
“I’m fully aware of that, Aunt.” Julian’s gaze shifted, carelessly, back to the flower girl. “As it happens, Miss Aitken and I get along extremely well, and I’m seriously considering a propo—”
Julian’s ability to speak further, to even take his next breath, deserted him.
All he could do was stare at the young woman in the gallery who, not even a minute earlier, was bent over a bucket of flowers, her back toward him.
She was still there, standing beside the buckets, a white flower clutched in her hand.
Except she was now standing upright and looking straight at him.
Recognition washed over him in a heated wave, stealing his breath. His glass slid from his grasp and shattered at his feet, yet he remained stock-still, looking upon a face he never thought to see again.
Annabelle?
His aunt’s voice, edged with urgency, pushed through the strange rushing sound in his head. “Julian, dear, what on earth is the matter?”
Intending to respond, he opened his mouth, but immediately forgot what his aunt had said. Then he felt a touch on his arm, and the duchess spoke. “What is it, Julian? What’s wrong?”
Then his aunt’s voice again, anxious. Fearful. “Are you ill, dear? Answer me. Should we fetch someone?”
Julian blinked once, twice, and tore his gaze away from the one who held it.
“Er, no, I’m…” He swallowed and then drew breath. “I’m all right, Aunt Eleanor, quite all right. Forgive me. I was taken by surprise, that’s all.”
“Taken by surprise?” She shook her head. “How come?”
“I wasn’t prepared to see, I mean, I never imagined…” Fearful he’d been mistaken, he looked again, and his stomach clenched. A single, white flower lay on the floor and the buckets now stood alone. “What? Where…?”
Did I imagine her? No, I didn’t. It was definitely her. Miss Fairfax. Annabelle. She was definitely there.
As if to affirm her presence, or rather her sudden departure, the north door at the other end of the gallery banged shut, the sound echoing through the vast space.
It further reassured him he had not been mistaken.
Besides, the look of shock on Annabelle’s face surely indicated she’d recognized him too.
But why had she run? Perhaps she simply feared facing him.
Feared answering the questions raised by her presence at Myddleton House.
She couldn’t know he was already cognizant of what had occurred on her wedding day, and how her father had died.
“Wasn’t prepared to see what, Julian?” His aunt’s demand intruded into his thoughts once more, followed by the audible click of her fan opening. “Gracious, I thought you were having an epilepsy.”
Julian turned to see her fanning herself so hard that the delicate pink feather in her hair looked about to take flight. He parted with a remorseful groan. “Forgive me, Aunt Eleanor. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He looked down at the mess on the floor. “And I’m sorry about the glass.”
His aunt huffed and continued to fan herself. “I couldn’t care less about the glass, my dear. I’m just worried about you.”
“Has it something to do with that girl?” the duchess asked. “The one arranging the flowers? Do you know her?”
“I’m fine, Aunt, really. And yes, Duchess, I do know the young lady. Well, sort of.” Again, Julian looked at the buckets of flowers, uncertainty and certainty swapping places in his head. “At least, I think…no, I’m sure it was her.”
“Who is she?” his aunt demanded. “And where has she gone? She hasn’t finished the arrangement yet. How come you know her, Julian?”
“Of all the places on earth,” he continued, as much to himself as anyone. “I can hardly believe it.”
“But who is she?” The duchess linked her hands, prayer-like, beneath her chin. “Tell us, please. I just know there’s a story here.”
“A rather long story, actually,” Julian replied, and set off through the gallery, throwing an apology over his shoulder as he went. “Forgive me, Aunt Eleanor, Duchess. I’ll explain later!”