Christa flushed. “Of course I shall stay if you wish me to. I promise to keep a better guard on my tongue.”
“Oh, don’t do that! I need someone to put me in my place now and then, and my brother is far too polite.”
The two girls looked at each other, then suddenly they were laughing, a little weakly perhaps, but with genuine amusement. When they had sobered, Annabelle asked, “Do you know if my brother is at home now?” After Christa’s nod, she said, “Will you help to make me more presentable? I must talk to him.”
Christa felt almost giddy with relief. “Of course, Miss Annabelle.” If her mistress was concerned about her appearance, she was definitely back among the living. And Christa would not have to leave the Kingsleys.
Alex pushed the sheet of foolscap away with a sigh. He had been working at home more than at the Admiralty for the last week, but his concern for his sister eroded his writing ability. He had had ample time to chastise himself for his former naive belief that being head of a family was easy—he half-expected to hear from Eton that Jonathan had impregnated three different girls and all of the fathers were demanding marriage. Or worse.
He looked up at the sound of footsteps to see his sister approaching. Annabelle looked thinner but composed, her hair freshly styled and her dress a flattering soft blue that put a little color in her cheeks. He stood and said, “Belle! It is good to see you up again. How are you feeling?”
She smiled self-consciously. “Much better. Christa read me the Riot Act a short while ago, and I have decided it is time to stop feeling sorry for myself.” She swallowed, then said, “I am truly sorry for the trouble I have caused you, Alex.”
He had come around his desk and was leaning against the front of it several feet away from her. He looked tired, and his voice was low when he said, “Why did you run away without even trying to talk to me, Belle? Were you afraid of me? I had thought we were friends.”
For the first time, Annabelle looked at him clearly, not as the omnipotent big brother whom she had placed on a pedestal, but as an individual. With a pang of shame she saw him unconsciously rub his left side as if trying to relieve a habitual pain. She had known that he was gravely wounded scarcely six months before, yet had accepted his blithe assurances that he was completely well now. His own sister had seen less than a servant.
Now she could see her brother as a man who had known pain and loneliness, depression and self-doubt, and who needed her friendship as much as she needed his. Her mental pedestal crumbled away, and he seemed both nearer and dearer in its absence. With a rush of affection Annabelle hugged him, carefully, so as not to injure his side. “I haven’t understood friendship very well, Alex. But I promise I shall do better in the future.”
He hugged her back, hard, then held her away from him. “Next time you take it into your head to get married, will you at least talk to me first?” His amber eyes searched hers.
She smiled at him. “Of course! A man who won’t meet my family isn’t worth the knowing. Tell me,” she asked curiously, “did Father really make no provision for Jonathan and me?”
Alex nodded. “Entirely true. There were instructions in case I died before he did, but not much more.” He thought a moment. The continually increasing pain in his side made him aware that the shell fragment was shifting, and he had recently made sure that his affairs would be left in order.
“This is probably as good a time as any to explain what I have done for you and Jonathan. There are trusts being set up for each of you, with the income becoming available when you reach your maturity—next week, in your case. Until the age of thirty, you would need my agreement to spend any capital. After that, it is entirely your own. If something should happen to me, you and the family lawyer will be joint guardians of Jonathan until he is twenty-one.”
Annabelle looked at him very seriously. “Is anything going to happen to you, Alex?”
He smiled casually. “Not that I know of. It is merely good sense that a man in my position make a will.”
Since Alex didn’t want to discuss his health, Annabelle changed the subject, after making a mental note to watch her brother more closely. “So if Sir Edward had waited, he could have had me and a fortune with no strings attached.”
“Exactly. I can only be grateful that he was precipitate.”
Annabelle shuddered. “I couldn’t agree more! Though now that I think of it, it was all very educational. The next fortune hunter will have to be much more convincing.” She suddenly giggled. “You were quite splendid. Are you really so bloodthirsty as you led Sir Edward to believe?”
Alex chuckled. “I wouldn’t describe myself as bloodthirsty, though I can do what is necessary. After seeing what a Bartholemew baby he was, I was sure words would suffice.”
“You were certainly accurate in your judgment. If you ever need rescuing yourself, do not hesitate to call on me.” Annabelle said the words lightly, but she meant them in dead earnest. She owed Alex far more than she could ever repay him.
Sybil Debenham had taken unusual care with her preparations for the Kingsley ball, starting her toilette a full six hours before the appointed time. As the host, Lord Kingsley would have to be in attendance all evening and she felt sure that would give her some useful opportunities to attach him.
As she turned slowly in front of the cheval glass mirror, she could find no flaw in her appearance. The gauze overskirt was woven with tiny golden stars that floated over the shimmering silk dress below, her parure of diamonds and gold would attract attention anywhere. The simple pastoral style was not for Sybil.
Her mother came into her chamber as she was completing her survey and nodded approvingly. “Very good, Sybil. Lord Kingsley cannot fail to admire you. Have you heard the on-dit about his sister?”
Sybil gave a most unladylike snort. “That Sir Edward Loaming was seeking to fix the affections of a mouse like her? An unlikely story.”
Claudia Debenham said dryly, “She hasn’t your fashion flair, but I wouldn’t call her a mouse. They were seen walking in the park several times. My guess is that her brother found out and sent Sir Edward on his way.”
“More likely she was too gauche for him. I don’t think there is another man in London with Sir Edward’s style. He cast a number of lures my way, you’ll recall,” Sybil said, giving her plump golden ringlets a complacent pat.
“The man’s a gazetted fortune hunter, so one can guess what attracted him to Miss Kingsley, and to you.”
Her daughter scowled. “Nonsense! Sir Edward was absolutely besotted with me. And if he were more than a mere baronet, I would not have been at all averse to his suit.”
Her mother decided not to pursue the point. “I do trust you are making progress with Lord Kingsley?”
Sybil’s enchanting lower lip stuck out in an undeniable pout. “Not as much as I would like. I know he admires me, and shows me more attention than any other lady, but he seems to have no desire for further intimacy.”
“Well, if you can’t attach him, you had better look around for someone else,” Claudia said dispassionately. “I heard they’re betting in the clubs whether you’ll land a title this year.” At her daughter’s shriek, she added with a trace of malice, “They’re calling you the ‘Luscious Loser.’ ”
Sybil spun around, abandoning her mirror image to glare at her mother. “Why, that’s absolutely outrageous! And they call themselves gentlemen! How dare they!”
Claudia suddenly wished she hadn’t mentioned it; her daughter seemed likely to explode on the spot. She shrugged and said, “You know how men are, with their stupid ‘gentleman’s code.’ It makes no sense at all—they can be incredibly coarse about a woman, then call another man out for saying something that is no more insulting. There is no accounting for them.”
Sybil’s glare threatened to leave her mouth and eyes twisted into permanent slits. Then her face relaxed as something her mother said set off a train of thought. The gentleman’s code … With a snap, she said, “I know how to
land Kingsley. With any luck, this very night, but I’ll need your help.” She explained what she had in mind.
Claudia shook her head doubtfully. “I can’t say that I like it. And it’s chancy—what if he repudiates you?”
“He won’t,” Sybil said viciously. “The stupid rules men have won’t let him. ‘The Luscious Loser’ indeed! He’ll pay for that insult.”
“No one said Kingsley was involved in any betting. I must say, it don’t seem his style. He’s always been very gentlemanly.”
Sybil’s teeth were bared. “He’s a man, isn’t he? He’ll pay for all of them!”
Alex drew a quick breath as Annabelle came down the winding stairs to meet him. She walked like a queen, her crown of golden tresses bound with Grecian ribbons, curls spilling down her back. Her cream-colored dress had the elegance of absolute simplicity, falling about her graceful figure in a manner that hinted rather than boldly advertised. Around her neck was a single strand of pearls, Alex’s birthday gift to her. He offered her his arm.
“Belle, you are breathtaking,” he complimented. “Are you ready to conquer London?”
She took his arm and smiled back. “I spent the afternoon following Christa’s advice. She said that when you wish to be especially lovely, lie down and think yourself beautiful.”
Alex chuckled. “She said that? It seems to have worked.”
“You are rather breathtaking yourself,” Annabelle pointed out. “There is something about a uniform.”
Alex had chosen to wear his captain’s dress uniform and was resplendent in navy blue and gold braid, the expert tailoring setting off his wide shoulders and lordly height to perfection. He grinned and said, “I’m sure that if you surveyed the young ladies who will be attending, they would agree that a Navy uniform is not to be compared with that of a Hussar. Shall we go and greet our guests?”
It was soon clear that the evening was going to be one of the most successful social events of the Little Season. The Arabian decorations were greatly admired, and apparently everyone who had received a card had decided to attend. The ball even attained the exalted height of being declared “a sad crush.”
If some of the guests wanted to see Miss Kingsley wearing the willow for Sir Edward Loaming, their hopes were dashed: the guest of honor was convincingly lighthearted. Annabelle was charming to older guests of both sexes, found partners for less-popular young ladies, and distributed her dances impartially to the crowd of men who surrounded her when she was not otherwise engaged. She accepted even the most fulsome compliments graciously, her behavior never crossing the line of what was proper for a miss making her come-out.
Alex was proud of her. Hard to believe that a week ago she had been so emotionally devastated that she would not even leave her room. Only he could see the trace of defiance in her manner, as if daring anyone to think that she could have lost her heart to a fortune hunter. He was feeling lighthearted himself, having shared a few too many toasts to his sister’s health. He did some dancing but spent more time talking to guests and unobtrusively overseeing the ball. He decided that it was not all that different from managing a ship; here he merely dealt with French pastries and footmen rather than salt pork and sailors.
It was nearing midnight when his path crossed Miss Debenham’s. He blinked at her dazzling self; she was very nearly blinding in her golden gorgeousness. “Good evening, Miss Debenham. You are looking particularly fine tonight. I trust you are enjoying yourself?”
There seemed to be a rather strange light in her eyes before she cast them down bashfully, fluttering her fan over her lower face. “Actually, my lord, there has been something amiss.” She glanced up, her eyelashes fluttering in time to her fan. She paused delicately, then said, “This is very bold of me, but … I very much need to speak with you. Is there some place where we might be private for a few moments? Perhaps that alcove at the far end of the ballroom?”
Alex was a little surprised at the request, but saw no reason not to comply. After all, Sybil was not a miss in her first Season—spending a few minutes closeted with a man was unlikely to ruin her reputation. “At your service, Miss Debenham,” he said cheerfully as he offered his arm.
Claudia Debenham watched the pair from across the ballroom. Perhaps Sybil was going to bring it off after all. Well, her mother was willing to do her part. She checked the wall clock next to her, then went to collect two friends.
The alcove was curtained from the main room and a good distance from the orchestra, so speech was possible at a normal level. “What do you wish to discuss, Miss Debenham?” Alex prompted when his guest seemed uncertain where to begin.
She raised her pale blue eyes to his helplessly. “Indeed, Lord Kingsley, it is very hard to know where to start. Society frowns on what I am about to do.” More fan fluttering.
Puzzled but unsuspicious, Alex said, “Are you interested in purchasing a yacht?” He could think of no other area of his expertise that might be of value to her. “I should be very happy to advise you if that is your desire. Sailing is wonderfully enjoyable, and while it is unconventional, there is nothing improper about it.”
She gave a little moue. “That is not it at all! Indeed, I suffer from mal de mer even on river ferries.” She drew very close to him, her breasts almost touching his chest as she gazed up. “No, my lord, I wish to confess something. I fear that I have lost my heart to you in the most unladylike way. Since the first time I met you, I have dreamed of you, so handsome, so brave.” She laid one hand on his arm.
“You are what a woman dreams of. Please don’t run away,” she pleaded as Alex showed signs of flight. “I do not expect you to declare any such passion for me. A hero like you must always have foolish females falling at your feet. I just … wanted to tell you how I felt, just once.” Her aquamarine eyes were shining with a hint of tears, the exquisite heart-shaped face full of sweet longing.
Alex’s primary reaction was embarrassment; he had trouble imagining himself as the answer to a maiden’s prayer. But she was very lovely, and she seemed to be expecting a response of some kind. Besides, it was about time he attempted to find another woman whose kisses were as sweet as Christa’s.
He bent his head and lips to hers as a clock in the ballroom began striking midnight. He took his time, since this was in the nature of a test; and by the twelfth stroke he had decided Miss Debenham could in no way compare with his memories of the French girl. For all Sybil’s beauty, kissing her had no special charms for him beyond a man’s natural response to an attractive woman.
Alex tried to break away but she clung to him. In the moment before he could gracefully disengage, the curtains in the alcove swept aside and three women entered. One was Sybil’s mother and the other two were highly respected social leaders. He froze for a moment as Sybil leaned into his embrace.
Claudia Debenham stopped dead, then her eyes widened and she rushed toward him. “Lord Kingsley, how wonderful! I am delighted to welcome you as a son-in-law. All my life I have hoped my dear girl would win the heart of a man like you.”
One of the other dowagers stepped forward. “Such a handsome couple you make. Let me be the first to wish you happy.”
Son-in-law? Alex felt paralyzed. He glanced down at Sybil, still clinging to him, but now with possessiveness in her grip. Her gaze was an artful blend of innocence and excited pleasure, and she made no move to deny her mother’s assumption.
Disastrously, his mind blanked. It was like the horrible exams at school and in the Navy, when under pressure he could find no words. Alex could have managed if action were appropriate, but that was no solution here. Other people were crowding into the alcove, curiosity bright in their eyes. Among them was Annabelle, her eyes wide and startled.
Since his paralyzed brain had no suggestions how to talk his way out of this imbroglio, the viscount’s training in manners took over and with a stiff face he began acknowledging congratulations. Within half an hour the news was all over the ballroom: their host was to marry the beautiful
Miss Debenham. It was generally thought to be a very reasonable match—both were wealthy, and her exceptional beauty compensated for her lackluster breeding. The only guests who faulted the arrangement were those who had had designs on one half or the other of the happy couple.
Christa had spent the evening in the lady’s retiring room. With a chambermaid to assist her, she fixed damaged dresses and coiffures, patted cooling lavender water on the brows of overheated dancers, and generally repaired the ravages of an evening’s entertainment. She was kneeling on the floor when a new arrival hailed the matron whose dress Christa was pinning up. “Sophia! Have you heard the news about Lord Kingsley?”
“No. What has happened?”
“He’s going to marry Sybil Debenham!” was the excited reply. “The engagement was just announced.”
Christa’s hand jerked and the tin of pins she was holding sprayed across the floor. The matron glared down at her.
“Be more careful, you clumsy wench! Servants are impossible these days.” Speaking to her friend, the woman said, “I can’t believe Kingsley offered for that hussy. Why, I was thinking that he would be perfect for my Emily.”
The bearer of news, who had no marriageable daughters, said with a hint of malice, “Emily is a pretty little thing, but there’s no denying Miss Debenham is a diamond of the first water.”
Thoughts jumbled chaotically in Christa’s brain as she went through the motions of gathering up the pins, then getting out needle and thread to baste the ripped hem. Alex was getting married? It was just two weeks since he had asked her to be his mistress. She had seen Sybil Debenham in the park sometimes—once the woman had walked with Annabelle and Alex for a while as Christa followed. Certainly she was very beautiful, but Alex seemed to have no special interest in her. Indeed, Christa had observed that his lordship was surprisingly quiet around the ladies of the ton, not at all like he was in private. Could he really be in love with Sybil Debenham?
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