Annabelle's Courtship

“This is Vivian Graves. Miss Graves, I would like you to meet Laird MacKay and Lord Finchley.”

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lords.” Finchley took her hand and bowed his head over it. “The pleasure is all mine, Miss Graves.”

Miss Graves blushed and smiled.

Ian grunted. “Miss Graves, I willna lie. I would rather we had met under other circumstances.”

Belle shifted impatiently next to him. “Really, must you continue harping on the unfortunate occurrence? Your resemblance to my old nurse is most regrettable.” Miss Graves gasped. “Lady Annabelle.”

Belle tugged her spencer to smooth it. “It’s true. Laird MacKay has a lamentable tendency to nag at me like a nursemaid.”

He didn’t know if he would rather pull her into his lap and kiss her or turn her over his knee. The second image was so ludicrous in the face of her independent nature that he almost laughed aloud. Belle would never tolerate that form of husbandly discipline.

“This inclination you have to laugh at me is most unpleasant, Ian.”

“I wasna laughing at you, Belle. ’Twas something I was contemplating.”

“Oh.” Her shoulders relaxed. They rode in silence until they reached Miss Graves’s home. Belle said good-bye to the other woman and Finchley escorted her to the door.

As the coachman drew away from Miss Graves’s home, Belle turned to Ian. “Do not speak of me as your future wife in front of others, Ian. It is unseemly.”

“What is unseemly about the truth?”

She twisted the strings to her reticule. “I am not your future wife and I do not like being the brunt of gossip because of you.” Tears sparkled in her eyes.

Pulling her near, he pressed her face into his coat and massaged her back. “Dinna cry, Belle.”

“I’m n-not crying. It’s just that you keep saying that I’m going to marry you, but you don’t mean it and there was an article about us in the society pages in most unflattering terms, and my…my hand hurts.”

He latched on to the last thing she said. Nothing else made sense to him. Of course he meant to marry her. Hadn’t he said so? As for the article, he had read it too and been satisfied that the ton recognized his claim on Belle. Robert had told Ian that it upset Belle to be the center of gossip. So, Ian had made an effort not to single her out or call on her too frequently.

Pulling away from her, he lifted her hand to examine it. “Let me see, Belle.” When she didn’t resist, he drew her glove off, being careful not to squeeze her hand in the process. An ugly purple bruise marked her palm. He wished that he’d taken the time to leave a few bruises of his own on the man that had done this.

“We’ll have the doctor look at it.”

She stiffened, blinking away the remnants of her tears. “I’m sure that’s not necessary. It’s just a bruise.”

“We must make sure nothing is broken.”

“Better safe than sorry, eh what,” Finchley said.

“If you are both going to badger me, I suppose that I have no choice.” Ian smiled at her cranky tone. “Aye, Belle, you have no choice.” And she had no choice about marrying him either. She would be his. She needed him to watch over her.

* * *

The Scotsman was becoming annoying again. William had thought the laird had moved on to greener pastures. For the past two weeks, he had found the field wide open.

William had danced with Annabelle at soirees and even managed several bouts of uninterrupted conversation. The laird had been conspicuous in his absence and William was certain his suit was progressing nicely.

Now this. Following Annabelle to the lecture had been easy. He hadn’t even had to pretend any real interest in the misguided woman speaking.

Property rights for women. Ludicrous. Where would William be now if his dead wife had had control of her own property? She had whined enough about the sad state of her wardrobe and the house. Would she have let him sell her small properties to buy his

hunters? Of course not. No one had the right to tell a gentleman how to spend his money.

Especially not his wife.

When Lady Annabelle had instigated a riot, William had been incensed. She was weak-minded like the rest of her sex. He had barely escaped the room with his skin intact.

His coat had been ripped. A new one was unthinkable right now. His tailor was not receiving him. Him! It was infamous. Did the man not know what a favor William did in giving the tailor his business?

Money. Money was definitely becoming a problem. He needed to marry Lady Annabelle soon or he would lose his hunters and maybe even his freedom to debtor’s prison. Maybe he should speak to Spinks again. The man was full of information.

Perhaps there was something else William could use to his benefit. He needed stakes for a night of gaming. One good night at the gaming tables would set him up nicely until he could convince the spinster to marry him.

Chapter Seven

Annabelle twirled the pencil lead in her hand and stared at the blank foolscap on her escritoire. She had come to her room for some needed peace and quiet. The soft lavender walls and white bed hangings offered refuge from her tumbling thoughts. She smiled at the posy of violets her maid had placed on the white gilded table at which she sat. Purdy liked to remind her mistress that for all her modern ways, she was still a lady.

She couldn’t focus on writing her treatise on women’s issues. Her mind insisted on dwelling on the previous day’s events. Had she truly cried all over Ian’s shirtfront?

He had indeed insisted on calling for the doctor. Aunt Griselda had been beside herself and all over a little bruise. Okay, not so little. Her hand had throbbed well into the night, although the doctor had treated it with a topical salve. Surely that was why she had such trouble sleeping. It was merely coincidence that she spent the dark hours tossing and turning as images of furious brown eyes flashed through her mind.

Ian had been so angry. It made no sense. The day before he had defended her to Robert, but when he rescued her from the riot he had been livid. And then he had held her when she cried. His hands had been so gentle against the back of her spencer. She still tingled when she thought of him rubbing circles on her back.

She scratched a few lines on the foolscap. Looking down at the paper she couldn’t even remember what she had written. Restless, she stood up and moved to gaze out the window. The brown air of Town put a pall over the beautiful garden behind her aunt’s townhouse. She did not want to go back downstairs and listen to further lectures on her behavior. Lady Beauford had not exhausted her ire and continued to chastise Annabelle with very little provocation. To hear her aunt or Ian, one would think that she had deliberately put her very life at risk.

Ridiculous. The man who had called her ducks had indeed been angry, but not murderously so. It would be worse tonight. Undoubtedly Aunt Griselda would inform Robert of Annabelle’s mishap when they met at the theater later that evening. Her one

consolation was that Ian had declined her aunt’s invitation to join them. She would at least avoid his disappointment.

She did not understand his refusal. For a man who must marry within the year, he was taking quite a cavalier attitude toward courtship. She paced to her wardrobe and looked through the simple gowns inside. A few were actually quite lovely. She had found some vibrant color combinations that she liked. Her aunt had approved. Being on the shelf had its advantages.

Mr. Green had complimented her attire on more than one occasion. Ian should take some lessons from th

e young gentleman. Perhaps she would tell him so.

* * *

Ceddy joined Annabelle and her family in Lady Beauford’s box. She couldn’t quite summon a smile of welcome for her old friend. His and Ian’s interference had led to a rather ugly bear-jawing by her brother earlier. Aunt Griselda had not waited until they met at the theater to tell him about Annabelle’s mishap.

“This seat taken?” Ceddy asked with obvious deference.

She inclined her head. “You may sit there if you wish.” He cleared his throat twice before speaking. “Lady Beauford still angry with you?” She knew what he was asking. He wanted to know if she was still angry with him.

“A little.”

His face fell. “Sorry to hear that, don’t you know?” Yes, she did know, but she could not help it. Annabelle still smarted from some of the things Robert had said earlier. He had accused her of not caring about him or the family name. His final words of thankfulness that she was all right had done little to assuage the pain in her heart at his allegations. She sighed heavily.

Ceddy looked at her with alarm. “Feeling quite the thing?”

“I’m fine.” Her hand still pained her, but she wasn’t about to admit it. “Ceddy, I do appreciate you and Ian showing up when you did yesterday.” He leaned his head to one side. “Thought you weren’t too happy when MacKay went for the doctor.”

Annabelle grimaced. “No. I was left with a great deal of explaining to do to Aunt Griselda. She was terribly upset to discover I had attended the lecture. That was nothing compared to Robert’s reaction when he found out.”

“Regret that, don’t you know?”

She nodded. It was no use staying angry with Ceddy. “Apology accepted.” He had not been the one to insist on telling her aunt anyway. “Where is Ian tonight?” She hadn’t meant to ask that.

Ceddy tugged on his ear and harrumphed a couple of times. “He’s about, I’m sure.” His gaze slid to a box opposite theirs.