Annabelle's Courtship

Although he continued to claim the customary two dances when they attended the same fete, he had not offered his escort for the evening since the Markham ball. He had not called at Lady Beauford’s townhouse either, nor had the promised trip to the museum materialized.

He had sent her a Kashmir shawl with a note saying it was to ward off the chill of London’s fog without putting undue constraints on her aunt’s coal supply. The jest had made her smile. Her smile had come rather sparsely of late when the gift was not followed up with a visit.

The final bit of evidence that convinced Annabelle that Ian no longer sought to court her was the fact that although Robert had been in Town for nearly a week, Ian had not approached him for permission to pay his addresses to her.

Diana would have told Annabelle, even if Robert did not. To hear Diana tell it, the two gentlemen found a great deal else to discuss. Annabelle had been right. They shared a mutual interest in crop rotation and fertilizers. In fact, the last time Annabelle had seen Ian had been in her brother’s drawing room. She had been visiting with Diana. Ian politely inquired about her aunt’s health and then went off to find Robert.

Diana’s voice interrupted her thoughts.”Oh, look at this one. It is so lovely.” Annabelle peered at the fashion plate Diana waved before her. It showed a split gown with a surprisingly low décolletage over an underskirt of contrasting color, both skirts ending in a double flounce. It was just the other woman’s style. “It would be scrumptious on you, I’m sure, Diana.”

“I was thinking of you.”

“I don’t carry off flounces well and the bodice is a bit low for my figure.” Diana frowned. “You are too hard on yourself by half. If you would give some of these fashions a chance, I’m sure you would be surprised at how well they look on you.”

“You know what I think—” Annabelle began, but was interrupted by a raised hand from her friend.

“I know, I know, you can’t make a peacock out of a peahen with tacked on feathers.

Really, Annabelle, I can’t imagine why anyone would want to make a peacock out of a peahen anyway.”

Annabelle smiled at Diana’s assertion. “Come, show me something more my style.”

“This is your style if you would but try it.” When Annabelle moved away, Diana abandoned the fashion plate. “At least you wear some interesting colors now, but you still have a lamentable tendency to dress plainly.” Annabelle grinned. “Now you are starting to sound like Aunt Griselda. If you begin comparing my dress to that of the domestic help, I shall not be responsible for my actions.”

“Perish the thought,” declared Diana.

The modiste caught Diana’s attention and soon she was busy looking through another set of fashion plates.

As Annabelle picked up bits of lace and rubbed fabric swatches between her fingers, she wondered why she was not a great deal happier that Ian had finally accepted her refusal of his marriage of convenience. She should be elated, but instead an awful sense of desolation pervaded her.

The interest of other suitors did nothing to dispel it. It had come something of a shock when more gentlemen began sending her flowers and calling on her. Lady Beauford was convinced that Ian’s suit had sparked interest in other gentlemen.

Annabelle smiled cynically to herself. Undoubtedly, her aunt had the right of it.

Several had become quite marked in their attention. Mr. Green had called at her aunt’s townhouse twice and sent her a small posy of violets. Ceddy had also become a frequent guest in her aunt’s drawing room.

At first, Annabelle had believed that to be because he was looking after his friend’s interests. Now she wasn’t so sure, considering the fact that Ian no longer showed any particular desire to be with her. Two widowers had also taken it into their heads that she would make the ideal wife.

She wanted to laugh, but felt more like crying. The constant callers and attention took precious time away from her causes. Ian had no right to set such a course in motion and then abandon her.

A masculine hand reached out and plucked the mustard lace from her fingers, catching her gloved hand. “I dinna think this color suits you.” Annabelle’s head shot up and her eyes clashed with dark brown ones. “Ian.” His name came out in a disbelieving whisper.

“Good day, Belle.”

“How did you come to be here?”

“Hamilton and I have just attended a very informative talk on sheep breeding.”

“Sheep breeding?”

“Aye, ’tis something I wouldna mind improving at Graenfrae. My father kept good diaries. He wanted to follow in Sir John Sinclair’s footsteps and bring the latest farming techniques to Graenfrae.” A brooding look settled on Ian’s face. “I have taken his dreams as my own.”

“I see.” She did too. Ian needed the money his stepfather had left him to keep his father’s dreams alive. Realizing that he still had hold of her hand, she pulled it free.

She noted her brother and Diana looking through the pattern books. Diana had confided that Robert believed she wore her necklines too low. From the mutinous look on her friend’s face, Annabelle surmised that to be the topic of their current debate.

“I did not realize that Robert intended to join us on our shopping expedition today.” Ian raised his brow. “I believe your brother seeks his wife’s company as often as possible.”

Annabelle bridled at Ian’s amused tone. “My brother loves Diana. It should come as no surprise he enjoys being with her.”

“Dinna bite my head off, Belle. I dinna mean insult.” She inclined her head, in no mood to extend him forgiveness. The man had promised to court her and then promptly lost interest. Righteous indignation coursed through her.

He should be ashamed of himself. “As you say.” She turned back to the display of lace and pretended absorption. “This lace is not up to Madam’s usual standards.”

“I dinna know about that.”

“No, I do not suppose you do.”

His eyes narrowed. “What is wrong, Belle?”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Come, are you two ready?” Robert’s voice penetrated the silent battle of wills between Ian and Annabelle.

“Ready for what?” Annabelle asked.

Robert faced Ian. “Didn’t you ask her?”

“I didna have the chance.”

Annabelle crossed her arms under her chest and tapped her foot. “Ask me what?”

“Whether you and Diana would like to take a small break from your shopping and visit Gunther’s with us.”

Usually, Annabelle would like nothing better. Shopping was not her favorite pastime. Ian’s unsettling presence caused her to consider declining, but she could think of no way to gracefully abandon the foursome. “Very well.” Robert raised his brows. “I thought you would be relieved to get a reprieve from Diana’s zealous shopping.”

“Your sister is not so weakhearted,” Diana said. Robert led Diana out of the modiste’s and Ian offered his arm to Annabelle. She acted as if she did not see it and followed the other couple on her own. As she came into the street, she nearly bumped into a woman passing out penny pamphlets. “A pence to help war widows, milady?” Annabelle dug in her reticule and extracted some pence. The woman smiled brightly.

“Thank you, milady.” She handed Annabelle a pamphlet before moving on.

Annabelle seized the pamphlet without looking at it and made her way to Robert’s carriage. He was already seated inside with Diana, so Annabelle had no choice but to accept Ian’s help in ascending. As he grasped her firmly by the waist and lifted her up, Ian gave her a mocking smile. She gasped and glared at him. “You forget yourself.” Ian ignored her rebuke and leaped into the carriage beside her. She scooted as far away from him on the seat as she could get. His eyes filled with sardonic amusement, but he said nothing.

“What is that you have in your hand?” Robert asked.

Annabelle looked down at the paper. “Oh, it’s just a penny pamphlet.” She handed it to Robert.

He scanned the pamphlet and then slapped his leg with it in disgust. “Do not tell me you paid someone a pence for this?”

Already annoyed with Ian, Annabelle had no patience for a remonstrance from her brother. “No. I paid several pence.”

“Annabelle, you must stop and look before giving your money to this riff-raff on the street.”

Sitting up perfectly stiff, she matched her brother glare for glare. “The woman was a war widow, not riff-raff.”

“You expect me to believe a respectable war widow would be peddling this?” He waved the paper in the air between them.

She snatched it from him and read the first paragraph. It was a statement deploring the state of laws regarding women in England. Annabelle’s temper ignited. “Yes. As a matter of fact I’m certain the woman selling these is indeed respectable. What is wrong with making the shocking plight of women known?”

“This is not about the plight of destitute women. It is an indefensible attack on English Common Law and should not be tolerated.” Robert’s voice had taken on the pompous edge that Annabelle despised.