Chapter Thirteen
Nearly a fortnight later, the entire family had all gathered at St George of Hanover for the exchange of marriage vows between Lord Alexander Dutton and Lady Theodora Duncan.
As Beaufort looked out upon those gathering for the nuptials, he suppressed a shiver of revulsion—not for the process, for Navan truly believed in marriage and hoped one day to know his own bit of happiness, but rather for the pomp and the people.
“Are you prepared?” he asked Marksman as more guests streamed into the church to claim their seats.
“As prepared as any man on such a day,” Alexander responded.
Beaufort stepped into his place beside Alexander, but he watched Lady Annalise, who was seated with the Orsons and next to Lord Graham.
Like it or not, and Navan assuredly did not like his continued visceral attraction to the lady, a trickle of jealousy skittered down his spine.
Graham was always chatty, and women responded easily to his quick mind and his solidness.
Hell, during her rescue, Lady Emma had confessed more than one secret to the man.
A stir at the back of the church brought the others’ attention to Lady Theodora Duncan on her father’s arm.
Like each of them, Navan wished Lady Elsbeth Duncan was here for this moment.
Only he, Aaran, and Richard had actually spent part of their childhood with the lady, and Navan recalled how steadily the lady had won him over, though he had initially told Duncan that no one would ever replace his own mother.
The thing was, Lady Elsbeth made no attempts to replace the late Lady Aine Beaufort.
Instead, she treated him like a loving governess, a woman who held his hand when the world was truly closing in on him.
In his opinion, Theodora was pretty enough.
She greatly favored Lady Elsbeth, who was a strikingly beautiful woman, but there was enough of Macdonald Duncan in the girl’s features to present her with a more masculine look than say Lady Emma or Lady Annalise.
Theodora had never interested Navan. His heart, whether he wished to admit it, along with his eyes rested upon a red-haired beauty, sitting between two of his brothers.
He would spend a good deal of time this afternoon and early evening with Lady Annalise Dutton.
He could converse with her, laugh with her, and flirt with her, and, more importantly, test her as to whether she might consider becoming his wife when they all returned to London for the spring session of Parliament.
He would be required to be absent, though the dates for the new election for the Commons and the next session of Parliament indicated late November for the return, for he expected to be in Ireland longer than that.
Another letter had arrived from his grandmother’s man of business, begging for Navan’s assistance.
He hoped to have a promise of an engagement from Lady Annalise’s lips before he departed for Ireland.
Such would please all those in his homeland.
Settled. Creating children to inherit the title.
He could do all that, could he not? Orson had executed the changes in his life with ease.
Hell, even Alexander had stumbled into marriage and love.
Navan was not yet confident that he could actually love anyone, for, in his experience, love meant great heartache with the person’s loss, but he was quite fond of Lady Annalise Dutton, and he could treat her well.
They could both know a bit of happiness.
Annalise had spent a week at Duncan Place while Alexander and Theodora had private time after their wedding.
Though Lord Duncan was very kind to her and had described how he had found her father and Alexander, along with bits about Alexander’s education, and her brother’s many efforts to find both her and their mother, something was still missing.
She supposed it was that she was accustomed to having Caroline close at hand.
Duncan Place was, for all intents and purposes, a man’s home. How did she and even Theodora fit in?
At length, she finally joined Alexander and Theodora at Dutton Hall; yet again, Annalise felt as if she was an outsider.
The servants turned to Theodora for their instructions, which they should have, but Lady Theodora’s preferences rarely matched Annalise’s, for they were decisions made purely for the life of Alexander and Theodora.
She was wondering if she would ever know a place where she might exercise some control of her life and herself.
Moreover, she had innocently walked in on her brother and Theodora in a romantic embrace at least a dozen times each day.
Annalise knew she was the intruder, but she had no means to remedy the situation.
She had asked of the possibility of visiting with her mother’s relations, but Alexander said she must wait until they all returned to Derbyshire in a few weeks.
Annalise understood he wished to keep her close after so long of a separation, but she felt as if she was constantly underfoot in Lady Theodora’s household.
At last, the evening of the Belewards’ ball arrived.
Annalise was eager to dance with each of Alexander’s brothers, but especially with Lord Beaufort.
With Lady Emma’s assistance, Annalise had chosen a pale-blue gown which set off her eyes and softened the harshness of her red hair.
Though she worried that someone would ask her of Moreau, none did so in a malicious or gossipy manner.
Most offered her words of encouragement, which Annalise held close to her heart, for she had feared something more malicious.
She had especially enjoyed her dance set with Mr. Hartley who had skillfully led her through a boisterous country dance, as well as with a more sedate minuet with Lord Graham, who supposedly rarely danced because of his damaged leg.
They laughed and teased each other throughout the dance, and Annalise realized it was the first time she had felt as if someone saw her for herself.
Finally, Lord Beaufort bowed before her.
“Lady Annalise, I believe this is my set,” he said with a smile.
He was dressed in a dark-blue coat and a rust-colored vest, each accentuating his black hair and the fairness of his skin.
His dark-brown eyes and high arched nose and thin lips were featured upon the most handsome face Annalise had ever encountered.
His nature was thought to be cold and distant, but Annalise fancied she knew him, at least as well as did his brothers.
In truth, he was the most caring and thoughtful man she had ever encountered.
She smiled at him. “I have been eager for our dance, my lord.”
He placed her hand on his arm and led her to the floor’s middle. He leaned his head to the side to say, “I doubt your brother realizes this particular dance is a waltz.”
“I do not know how to waltz,” she protested.
“Yes, you do. We waltzed in the garden at Amgen House.” He grinned. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” she replied quickly.
“Then follow my lead, my girl. You will be spectacular, and I will be the envy of every man in this room.”
Annalise placed her gloved hand in his. She would cherish every minute of their dance, even though she knew, as she had told herself repeatedly, Lord Navan Beaufort was not likely to learn to care for her as she did for him.
“Good morning, my dear,” her brother said as he entered the morning room. “You are up early.” He leaned down to kiss Annalise’s upturned cheek. “Did you sleep well?”
“Exceedingly well,” Annalise said, as an image of being in Lord Beaufort’s arms easily crawled across her memory. “Where is Theodora?”
Her brother chuckled. “You are not accustomed to the ways of society women. It is an unwritten law that they do not rise before noon after a ball.”
“I see. Now I feel foolish,” she admitted.
“It is acceptable if you follow a path that best suits you,” he said as he sat at the head of the table, and Mr. Glenstorm poured her brother’s coffee.
They ate in companionable silence for several minutes before he said, “I am glad we have these few minutes together. There is something about which I wish to speak to you.”
Annalise put her fork on the edge of her plate. “Assuredly.”
Her brother nodded to Mr. Glenstorm to leave the room before he spoke again. “Theodora,” he began, “has asked if we might have a week or so alone at Marksman Abbey before you join us in Derbyshire. She wishes time to establish herself as the abbey’s new mistress.”
Annalise felt as if the floor had disappeared beneath her.
This was her worst fear: to be left alone in a place where she was unfamiliar and had no say.
“I promise I will not be a bother to her,” she said as tears formed in her eyes.
“You said the abbey was to be my home—that we would share it together—that you could not wait to introduce me to all our relations.”
“Please do not make this more difficult than it is,” he pleaded.
“In truth, Alexander, I do not care how ‘difficult’ it is for you. You made me promises!” She tossed her serviette on the table.
“Leave. Do not leave. I do not care. Why should you be different from any other person in my life? I should never have switched my loyalty from Jacob Moreau to you. Even if I were also in jail, I would not be alone.” She started for the door, but paused to say, “It was my suggestion that you had another source of a continued fever. It is true that I did not search your body for the source, but it was not your precious wife’s insights that saved your life!
In fact, Theodora told me Mr. Rheem was an excellent surgeon and he could not have made a mistake.
Only after I made the suggestion did your wife miraculously find another source of your fever. She is no more your savior than was I!”