by Olivia Drake
They were heading straight toward Annabelle.
Chapter 13
She rose swiftly from her chair and adjusted the shawl around her shoulders. The last thing she wanted was for a gossipmonger like Mr. Tremayne to be privy to their conversation. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said, “I’d like a word in private with her ladyship.”
The assistant curate leaped to his feet, too. “Of course. Though I’d hoped that later we might…”
Annabelle stepped away, pretending not to hear him. It was best not to encourage a man who held such snobbish views. At least she’d found out quickly about his contempt for those born out of wedlock. That alone had revealed everything about him that she needed to know.
Lord Simon and Lady Milford met Annabelle halfway across the drawing room. She made her curtsy with pleasure. “My lady, I’m so very happy to see you here.”
Lady Milford greeted her with a warm smile and a kiss on the cheek. She exuded the delicate fragrance of lilacs. “It is indeed wonderful to meet again, Miss Quinn. You look especially lovely tonight. Don’t you agree, Simon?”
His cool gaze flitted over Annabelle. “Quite. Which is why she oughtn’t have been hiding behind the ferns with the assistant curate.”
“Mr. Tremayne was kind enough to keep me company,” she said, matching the hint of mockery in his tone. “I trust that was permissible.”
He frowned slightly. “I meant no criticism, only that it’s customary to mingle with all the guests.”
Meant no criticism—what bosh! Lord Simon clearly did not want his female employees to be associating with any gentlemen. “Alas, Mr. Tremayne was the only person I knew here,” she said. “Apart from you, of course, and you were otherwise occupied with your … admirers.”
Harem was the word Annabelle would rather have used if it wouldn’t have been extremely impolite. Lord Simon already looked annoyed and she could only think it was because he’d been forced to invite her to this party. Just to provoke him, she held his gaze and refused to cower like a servant.
With a faint smile, Lady Milford had been observing the exchange. Now, she slipped her hand through Annabelle’s arm. “Come, the three of us must sit and enjoy a chat. I’m sure Miss Quinn has much to relate about the duke’s progress in his lessons.”
“I’m afraid that will be impossible,” said Lord Simon. “I’ve given instructions to the head footman. Dinner will be served in a moment.”
On cue, the gong sounded out in the corridor. The guests began to line up according to rank for the procession into the dining chamber.
Lady Milford quickly took Annabelle’s hand and placed it on Lord Simon’s arm; then she moved to his other side and tucked her own hand into the crook of his elbow. “There, Simon, it will do your reputation well to be seen escorting two ladies in to dinner.”
The unconventional move put Annabelle in a quandary. The aristocratic guests would be offended if a governess led the way. Should she excuse herself and move to the rear of the line as custom demanded? But she had no wish to offend Lady Milford, who was only being kind.
Lord Simon cocked an eyebrow. “We cannot ignore precedent, as well you know.”
“Oh, la!” Lady Milford said with a flutter of her fingers. “This is merely an informal dinner in the country. The standards are not so strict as in town. Unless, of course, you have become too tediously dull to dare flout the rules.”
He glowered at her another moment, then broke into a laugh. “You always did know how to maneuver a man, Clarissa.”
With that, Lord Simon walked them to the head of the line. Annabelle could feel the stares of the other guests and heard their whispers, but she held her chin high. Their opinion held little weight since she didn’t belong to their exclusive circle, anyway. Why not enjoy the moment? Never had she imagined herself being escorted by the handsome—if infuriating—son of a duke.
How envious the teachers at the academy would be to see her now. Perhaps she would do well to remember that this venture into the upper crust was merely temporary. At the end of the evening, she would return to her little chamber in the nursery and her ordinary life as governess.
The party proceeded down the corridor and into the dining chamber. Mrs. Wickett had vanished, thank goodness. Annabelle didn’t think she’d be able to enjoy dinner with the housekeeper glaring crossly from the corner. Lord Simon showed Lady Milford to a place of honor at one end of the long table. Then he guided Annabelle to a seat nearby, where a small white placard displayed her name.
He held the chair for her, and as she sat down, she glanced, up to voice a polite thanks. Much to her shock, he was staring down at her—or rather, at her bosom. His brooding gaze shifted to hers, and their eyes held for a long heated moment. She glimpsed something dark and powerful and raw in him, something that stirred her deeply. Then he strode away to take his place at the opposite end of the table.
Afraid she might be blushing, Annabelle lowered her gaze to the table to avoid catching the eye of any guests filing into the dining chamber. She felt utterly shaken and unable to put a name to the firestorm that Lord Simon had ignited inside her. What had that look meant? Was he attracted to her?
It didn’t seem possible. The man was hardly even civil! He had never before given her cause to believe he might harbor a romantic interest in her. Except, of course, for that moment in his study a few weeks ago, when Mrs. Wickett had walked in to find them standing close together.
And then there’d been that day in the library when Annabelle had almost blurted out to Ludlow the secret of the tunnels. Lord Simon had caught hold of her hand to caution her to keep silent. His nearness had rendered her weak-kneed, though she’d convinced herself the reaction was one-sided.
But what if he too felt this wretched tug of desire?
The possibility thrilled her, even as common sense warned against drawing conclusions based on a burning look or a brief touch. A man in his exalted position would never marry a governess, let alone one of dubious lineage. If Lord Simon felt anything at all for her, it could only be lust—and she had no intention of ever engaging in an illicit liaison.
A footman brought a tureen of soup, and she ladled a clear beef consommé into her bowl. Her gaze strayed to Lord Simon, who sat at the far end of the table. He smiled and conversed with the young ladies seated on either side of him, one a scrawny brunette and the other, the beauteous Louisa.
Now there was the sort of lady he would choose as his wife.
Annabelle acknowledged a knot of envy inside herself. The cold, hard truth was that the son of a duke would never court a woman like herself. He could want her for only one purpose—and she should count herself lucky that he seemed disinclined to charm her into his bed.
Nevertheless, she couldn’t deny a buoyant happiness inside herself. The dining room took on a brilliant glow as she gazed down the linen-draped table at the flickering candles in the silver candelabra, the bouquets of red roses and white asters, the sparkling china plates and the engraved silverware. The footmen in their formal wigs moved among the guests, helping to serve the guests while the butler poured burgundy wine into crystal glasses.
She spotted Mr. Tremayne sitting midway down the long table, thankfully too far away to embroil her in conversation. Lord Simon had objected to her speaking to the man. Could his criticism have arisen from jealousy?
How foolish of her to want to believe that! But even more foolish was this desire she felt for Lord Simon. Perhaps her weakness for him arose from the fact that she’d known so few men in her life. Maybe it was only natural that upon leaving the girls’ academy she would feel drawn to the first handsome gentleman she met …
“You look rather familiar,” said the balding man beside her. He was Lady Louisa’s father, Lord Danville, an affable man with ginger side whiskers and a reddened nose. “Have we met?”
She manufactured a polite smile. “I’m Miss Quinn, and perhaps you remember me from St. Geren’s. I’ve been bringing the Duke of Kevern to
services each Sunday.”
“Oh-ho!” Lord Danville said with a big smile. “Why, that’s the very thing. But I still think your eyes remind me of someone … why, it might be Princess Victoria, I believe. Very pretty blue eyes, indeed!”
Seated across from them, Lady Danville was as elegantly slender as her husband was comfortably stout. “She’s merely the governess, Nigel.”
Lord Danville glanced dumbly at his wife. “What—oh, very good,” he said, looking a bit confused. “Very good, indeed.”
As he returned his attention to his soup, Lady Danville flashed him a disdainful look that made Annabelle dislike the woman all the more. She could not forget the humiliation of that day when Lady Danville and her daughter, Lady Louisa, had laughed at Annabelle for spilling the sugar onto the floor.
Lady Danville aimed a speculative gaze at Annabelle. “There is something familiar about you, Miss Quinn. From where do you hail?”
“Yorkshire, my lady.”
“And who are your people, your family?”
Hiding her alarm, Annabelle took a sip of her wine. “Alas, I’m an orphan. I lost my parents long ago.”
She looked down at her plate, striving for a sad expression in the hopes that the woman would show compassion and pry no further.
But Lady Danville persisted. “Don’t be coy. You must be privy to their names. Do tell me at once.”
Lady Milford spoke from the foot of the table. “Miss Quinn is not subject to your inquiries, Harriet. It should be enough for you to know that she came highly recommended. I am happy to report that His Grace is flourishing under her care.”
“With all due respect, Mr. Bunting might disagree,” Lady Danville said. “He told me that it was her interference that caused him to be barred from the schoolroom here.”
Lady Milford glanced at Annabelle in such a way that it was apparent she hadn’t known about the vicar’s dismissal. Then she laid down her spoon and aimed a steely stare at Lady Danville. “Miss Quinn is my protégée. The next time you spread rumors about her, kindly remember that.”
Lady Danville’s gaze faltered. She compressed her lips and uttered no retort, much to Annabelle’s amazement. How was it that Lady Milford wielded such power over the shrew?
Lady Milford went on in a milder tone. “Nigel, why don’t you tell us about the hunt? It is to be the day after tomorrow, is it not?”
A smile creased Lord Danville’s robust features. “Indeed, we will make quite a large party. Since my dear Louisa has made her debut, she will be joining us this year. She has become quite the crack shot, I must say. She will put all of us gentlemen to shame!”
“The gentlemen will be more interested in her beauty,” Lady Danville corrected, glancing down the table at her daughter. “Or shall I say, one man in particular.”
Lord Simon.
The soup went tasteless in Annabelle’s mouth, but she forced herself to finish it. It was no concern of hers which blue-blooded girl he chose to court. She and Lord Simon lived in different worlds. She didn’t even like the rude, arrogant, insufferable man.
Except when he had defended Nicholas against the vicar’s cruelty. Oh, then Lord Simon had been like the hero in a storybook. What a shame he had failed ever since to show his nephew even the smallest sign of affection.
As the footman bore the soup dishes away and Lady Milford deftly guided the conversation onto the latest news from London, Annabelle strove to be quiet and unobtrusive. It was a relief to have the attention turned away from her. And she refused to allow any further thoughts of Lord Simon spoil this rare evening of luxury.
Instead, she concentrated on savoring the sumptuous courses of fish and quail and cheeses, followed by an apricot cream cake that she’d watched Mrs. Hodge prepare in the kitchen that morning. At the time, Annabelle had never imagined that she’d be upstairs enjoying a slice herself in the company of the best families. How very different it was from sharing a tray with Nicholas in the nursery.
After dinner, the ladies retired to the drawing room for tea and gossip while the gentlemen remained in the dining chamber to drink their port. Annabelle hoped to use the opportunity to slip away, but Lady Milford insisted they sit together on a chaise out of earshot of the other women.
“I have been on pins and needles,” her ladyship confided, patting the back of Annabelle’s hand. “You cannot imagine my delight upon hearing that you’d ousted that dreadful man from the schoolroom. Pray tell me how you accomplished the matter so swiftly.”
Annabelle related everything from her initial assessment of the vicar’s poor teaching skills to her attempts to convince Lord Simon to look into the boy’s rigorous schedule, and finally the moment when they’d caught Bunting in the act of striking Nicholas.
Distress on her fine features, Lady Milford shook her head. “I could see the child was unhappy the last time I came to visit, and I suspected it was due to the vicar. But Simon would hear nothing of it.”
“He was skeptical,” Annabelle admitted. “It took me three attempts before I was able to convince him.”
“He can be quite obstinate at times. I am suitably impressed by your persistence in standing up to him.”
“I had to keep trying for the sake of His Grace. Nicholas is such a darling boy. I’ve grown very fond of him.”
A misty quality entered Lady Milford’s beautiful violet eyes. “There, I knew you would be the perfect governess. You have accomplished even more than I’d hoped.”
Feeling undeserving of the woman’s praise, Annabelle glanced down at her lap. “I’ve done my best for him, yet he needs love from—” She stopped, not wanting to sound critical of Lord Simon.
“From his uncle,” Lady Milford said with an astute nod. “We must speak frankly, my dear. Simon does indeed shun the child for reasons you’ve probably learned from gossip belowstairs.”
“I’ve heard that he courted the late duchess,” Annabelle admitted.
“He seldom speaks of Diana, though I’m certain he has never forgotten her treachery. A man who loves so deeply suffers greatly when his heart is broken.” Lady Milford squeezed Annabelle’s hands. “You must help him heal, my dear.”
“Heal?”
“Why, yes, by convincing him to accept Diana’s son, Nicholas. I am depending upon you to bring them together.”
Annabelle released the breath she’d been holding. What a relief to know that the woman wasn’t suggesting Annabelle take a romantic interest in him. “I wish I knew how.”
Lady Milford’s lips curved in a mysterious smile. “You seem a resourceful woman. I’m sure you’ll find a way.”
Annabelle felt daunted by the assignment. Did Lady Milford realize what she was asking? It was one thing to reorganize the schoolroom and quite another to confront the master about his private affairs. Besides, she’d already asked him to pay more attention to Nicholas, only to be rebuffed in no uncertain terms.
She was about to tell Lady Milford so when the gentlemen returned to the drawing room. The young ladies crowded around Lord Simon and begged him to allow dancing. On his order, the furniture was moved aside and the rugs rolled back. A pair of footmen carried in a pianoforte and placed it in a corner. Mindful of her position on the lowest rung of the social ladder, Annabelle offered to play.
It was somewhat of a relief to select the appropriate music sheets and then sit down to let her fingers flow over the keys. She was no great musician, but the guests were too busy dancing and laughing to notice the occasional small mistake. From her vantage point in the corner, she took pleasure in watching the graceful movements of the gentlemen and ladies.
Too often, her gaze strayed to Lord Simon as he squired various ladies, both young and old. The man was a study in contrasts. He could be cold and cantankerous at times, yet charming and witty to his guests. He could ignore his nephew, yet pay close attention to the ladies. He could snap and snarl at Annabelle, yet subject her to a stare so hot it made her bones melt.
A man who loves so deeply suf
fers greatly when his heart is broken.
Those words disturbed her. She would rather believe him shallow than capable of feeling a deep, abiding love. Perhaps Lady Milford didn’t know him as well as she thought. The woman might have been making conjectures about Lord Simon based on her own experiences with men. If he was really such an admirable person, he would show a little love for Nicholas. It shouldn’t matter to him who had mothered the boy.
Mr. Tremayne came to turn the pages for her. “What a pity you have to sit here,” he said. “I should have liked to have danced with you.”
Preferring to be alone with her thoughts, Annabelle pretended to be concentrating on the music. “I don’t mind. I enjoy playing.”
To her consternation, he remained beside the pianoforte, making small talk and blocking her view of the dancers. She soon found herself gritting her teeth behind a fixed smile. What had been a pleasant task became a chore when she could no longer see the other guests.
Mr. Tremayne seemed oblivious to her irritation. “We never did finish our conversation. Perhaps you’ll take a walk with me on the morrow.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible. I shall be busy with His Grace.”
“Can you not ask a nursemaid to watch him for a while?”
“I take my role as governess very seriously, Mr. Tremayne. I’ve no spare time whatsoever.”
She hoped that statement would be strong enough to discourage his attentions. Yet he continued to chat as if her words meant nothing to him. As she finished playing the song, Lord Simon strolled into view, carrying a glass of champagne.
“Miss Quinn needs a rest,” he told the assistant curate. “Perhaps you’d be kind enough to seek another lady to take her place.”
A scowl flitted over Mr. Tremayne’s face. The two men exchanged a long glance as if gauging each other. Then Mr. Tremayne nodded to Annabelle and stalked away into the milling crowd.
Annabelle hardly dared to look into Lord Simon’s eyes. The lifting of her spirits couldn’t possibly have anything to do with the man who had come to her rescue. She simply wouldn’t allow it.