Annabelle's Courtship

“Nonsense, Diana. Robert may take himself a bit too seriously, but he is not about to blame you for your grandfather’s indiscretion.”

“You are not like Robert. You don’t care so much what the ton thinks of you, but he is so very particular.”

So this was the reason for Diana’s questions in the garden the day before. If Chester P. Thorn were within striking distance right now, Annabelle had no doubt she would have boxed his ears without the least remorse. Poor Diana.

It shocked Annabelle that Diana could doubt Robert’s true affection. “Robert is as in love with you as any gentleman has ever been with a lady.”

“His love is as dependent upon my position in society as upon myself,” Diana stubbornly insisted, “If I lost that position or tarnished it, his love for me would be affected and I could not bear it. You must promise me that you won’t tell Robert about Mr. Thorn.”

Annabelle did not see another option. Diana’s fear may be unfounded, but it was real. “Very well. You must not attempt to meet this man alone. We will deal with this together.”

Diana nodded vehemently. “That is why I came. I know it isn’t fair to involve you, but I shall go mad otherwise.”

Annabelle thought furiously. The first thing they had to do was get hold of some money. She doubted the man would hand over the letters for the first payment, but by the time the next demand came she intended to have a plan in place to stop him.

Annabelle stood up and pulled the Kashmir shawl that Ian had given her around her shoulders. Its heavenly warmth lent her strength. They would defeat the miserable Thorn.

“We need to go to the bank before we go to meet this odious little man.” Diana smiled tremulously. “I knew I could count on you, Annabelle. You are the best of friends.”

Annabelle returned Diana’s smile. “The feeling is mutual.” On the way out the door, Annabelle took Creswell aside. “When Lord Graenfrae calls, please tell him that something unavoidable has come up and we will have to postpone our drive.” Relief surged through her that their discussion would have to be delayed. “Also, please inform my aunt that I have gone with Lady Hamilton and do not expect to return until late afternoon.”

Ian stared at the butler and swore. “Did the lass say where she was going?” Annabelle had promised and she would bloody well keep that promise, even if he had to track her down and have their discussion in front of Beau Brummell himself.

Creswell stood perfectly straight, looking neither to the right or the left. “No, milord, she did not.”

Ian swore again.

The butler bent forward slightly and spoke in a voice barely above a whisper.

“However, milord, were you to ask John Footman, he might have heard the direction given by Lady Hamilton to her coachman.”

Ian smiled. “Thank you, Creswell.”

Creswell unbent a bit more. “You’re welcome, milord. The staff is quite pleased with your suit, if I may say so.”

Ian only wished that Belle shared her servants enthusiasm. “That’s high praise indeed. I didna realize I had passed muster, but am proud to have done so.” The butler nodded regally.

The footman had indeed heard Belle’s direction. What could be so important at the bank that she had broken her word to meet Ian? He gave up trying to figure out what it could be as he came upon Threadneedle Street. Interesting that Belle would do her banking here among the greatest financial institutions in London. Although her family was an old one, he would have expected her to have an account with one of the smaller banks. Fifteen minutes later he was back behind the reins, not one wit closer to Belle. She

and Lady Hamilton had come and gone. An indiscreet clerk had let pass that Belle had withdrawn a hundred pounds and then made a remark about going to Gunther’s. This little farce was growing by the minute.

As he drove his team toward the popular treat shop, Ian mulled over things about his intended that didn’t add up. She had a reputation among the ton for being plain, but in fact she was enchanting. He lost his train of thought more than once when she gave him that particular quizzical glance she had. Her face might not be classical, but when she smiled all he could see was the sparkle in her eyes.

She did not wear expensive gowns or jewelry and from that he had inferred that she had mediocre means. Yet, she showed no interest in nabbing a rich husband. Belle was passionate about the rights of women and reform of England’s Common Law in regard to property rights for women. He would think she would be a woman void of romantic notions, but that was far from the truth. Her chief reason for refusing his offer was based on the ridiculous notion that marriage without love was not acceptable.

She was a confusing muddle of ideas and contradictions. He would be better served seeking a more amenable wife among that infernal list she kept. The very thought left him cold. He would bloody well have Belle, or no one at all. The fact that his inheritance was in jeopardy he laid squarely at her door. The foolish lass needed to realize that they belonged together.

The sight that met him when he entered Gunther’s did nothing to calm his raging temper. Belle sat at a small table in the corner with Lady Hamilton and a man. Ian could not see the man’s face because his back was to Ian. From the back, it did not look like that pasty-faced squire, or Mr. Green. Both of whom seemed to be underfoot whenever Ian wanted to see Belle, not to mention several other irritating hangers on.

The cut of the man’s coat was all wrong. If he didn’t know better, Ian would think that Belle and her sister-in-law were conversing with a cove from one of the stews near the docks.

Unreasonable fear crawled up his spine. No. Surely not. This could not be one of her new cohorts. He swore under his breath. It made sense. Belle would believe that her precious cause would justify breaking their date. She refused to accept that her involvement in the volatile political issue put her at risk. Now, she appeared to be placing her sister-in-law at risk as well. Hamilton would be livid if he knew.

Ian frowned. His first reaction was to storm over and demand an explanation, but he had learned from past experience that demanding anything with Belle led to more

argument than acquiescence. He moved further into the room, taking up a position where he was partially shielded from view by a large cabinet. He watched Belle speaking passionately to the man in the ill-fitting coat. After shaking his head, the man shrugged.

He handed Belle what looked like a letter. She unfolded it and read it. When she looked up again, her eyes were shooting sparks. Lady Hamilton looked ill. Well she should, getting herself involved in one of Belle’s schemes.

Belle reached into her reticule and handed a wad of notes across the table to the man.

Ian felt his gut clench. She was too bloody trusting. There she was giving this sly-boots her hundred pounds, based on some caper-witted story.

Ian waited until the man rose from the table and followed him. He would seek Belle out later and they would discuss more than their future.

Chapter Ten

That evening, Annabelle looked in consternation at the array of posies resting on her dressing table. She knew which one she wanted to wear. Ian was already infuriatingly arrogant regarding her eventual surrender, however. She had stood him up this afternoon.

Some attempt at appeasement was called for. Ian’s flowers were also the loveliest arrangement of the bunch.

Mr. Green had sent her a fistful of wildflowers. Romantic to be sure, but hardly fitting with her formal gown of silver net over Bordeaux underslip. A posy from a widower with six children did not even tempt her. Although the orchids were exotic, she had no desire to become his brood’s newest mother. Word among the ton was that not only was he under the hatches, his children had gone through a record nine governesses since their mother’s death less than two years ago. She shuddered.

Smiling, she looked at Ceddy’s offering. It was a simple arrangement of tiny burgundy flowers and silver ribbon. It would match her dress perfectly, but then so would Ian’s.

&nbsp

; She lost her smile when her eyes fell on the squire’s posy. What had the man been thinking? It was an elaborate concoction of some of the ugliest flowers Annabelle had ever seen. The note that accompanied it explained somewhat. It was a verse comparing her attributes to the flowers. Something about strength of character and mind being like the unattractive blooms. Hardly flattering, but then she was sure the squire had not intended insult. He was just a forward-thinking man, a man who understood women’s rights and her interest in antiquities.

He was nothing like Ian, who argued with her at every turn and thought her interests more dangerous than noble.

“Which one will you wear, milady?”

Annabelle sighed and gave up arguing with herself. “I’ll wear Lord Graenfrae’s flowers in my hair and Lord Finchley’s attached to the bosom of my gown.” There, that should prevent Ian from believing his offering had been singled out.

When Purdy was finished dressing her hair, Annabelle looked at herself critically in her dressing table mirror. Soft tendrils of hair fell from the pile of curls on top of her head. Purdy had expertly attached Ian’s flowers amidst the curls so the effect was something like a fountain of roses and ringlets. Ceddy’s flowers enhanced the neckline of her gown.

Later, at the Beauford ball, Annabelle wondered if it had been wise to wear flowers at all. They were bound to wilt in the heat caused by the packed rooms and plethora of candles. Having been deserted by her aunt for the card room, she made her way toward the sound of Diana’s laughter.

A hand on her arm stopped her. “Good evening, Belle.” Lifting her eyes, she looked into the fathomless mystery of Ian’s gaze. “Hello, Ian.” He seemed to take in her entire appearance with one sweeping glance. He scowled at the flowers on her bodice.

She was quite proud of herself when she was able to smile at him serenely. “Surely you didn’t think I would refrain from wearing other gentlemen’s favors, Ian. I’ve made it perfectly plain that I do not consider your suit settled.” His look sent shivers down her spine. “Aye, Belle. ’Tis no that I mind you wearing Finchley’s flowers. ’Tis where you have them placed. Is the neckline on your gown not low enough that you need to draw more attention to it?” She frowned at his words. “I didn’t notice you minding the neckline of my gown in the carriage the other evening.”

She regretted speaking, the moment the words left her mouth. The last thing she wanted to do was remind Ian of her wantonness in his arms after their quarrel.