Annabelle, The American

by Lavinia Kent

  CHAPTER NINE

  Annabelle blinked at the sudden brightness as she allowed herself to be handed down. The house glowed so brightly it was almost like stepping into the midday sun.

  She had so many things to say, so many questions to ask.

  And now was so clearly not the time. A long line of guests wound up the steps to the door. Several minutes, at least, would pass before they could enter, but they would not be moments for private conversation. She glanced over her shoulder at Thomas and saw the same frustration mirrored in his eyes.

  He leaned forward and brushed a curl from in front of her ear. “She died before I left England the first time. I realize I cannot say more now, but I did want you to know that, at least.”

  Before she could give any type of reply, a voice came from behind. “Annabelle, I am so pleased to see you here. I was told you would be—but you’ve attended so few of Stonebridge’s affairs in the past.”

  “Elizabeth, I am delighted to see you—and so delighted that you pointed out how few of my father-in-law’s parties I’ve been invited to.” Oh, that was catty and she hadn’t really meant it, but Annabelle was still off balance from Thomas’s revelation.

  Elizabeth’s chin went up. “Forgive me, Annabelle. I did not mean to be rude.”

  Annabelle felt Thomas’s hands slip around her waist, offering her support. She forced herself to relax as well. It was always hard to tell what Elizabeth meant. “I do understand. I know that things have not been easy for you.” She leaned closer. “Linnette explained everything.”

  A single eyebrow rose on Elizabeth’s dramatic face. “I won’t even ask what she said.”

  “No, nothing like that—but this does not seem to be the place for this conversation.” Annabelle glanced about her, looking at all the couples. Her glance caught Thomas’s and he nodded, admitting the truth of her words—if for a very different reason than Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth leaned close one last time. “We do need to talk . . .”

  “If you say so.”

  “Then perhaps we can take a walk in the park—staying far from the lake—and talk.”

  Annabelle laughed lightly. “That would be lovely.” And perhaps it would be. What could Elizabeth want?

  And then they were swept up the stairs and inside, the duke and duchess greeting them politely, and perhaps even with some genuine warmth. Annabelle could see Thomas and the duke eye each other. Each trying to decide what to say and then leaving it at mere politeness.

  The duchess did lean forward and hug her son, but her back remained stiff.

  “I am glad that is over. Now we only have dinner to get through,” Thomas said quietly.

  “I did not realize you felt that strongly. I’ve never understood your relationship with your parents.”

  “I am not sure that I always understand it. Once we have a chance to talk, perhaps you will understand more.” His dark eyes were filled with significance—and desire. It seemed impossible that one look—one look in the midst of everything—could affect her so strongly, but Annabelle would have sworn that her toes curled at the heat in his glance.

  “You are here.” Annie came up and gave her a hug.

  “I am so glad that you came.” Kathryn was dressed as befitted a duchess, her gown a work of art in gold silk, but her smile was warm and welcoming.

  Linnette walked up behind her and studied Thomas. “You came together?” she asked.

  “Of course,” Annabelle answered.

  Linnette nodded and a look passed between all the ladies. Did they know something she didn’t?

  No, she knew what they did not. They knew only innuendo—she knew fact—or at least some of it.

  She turned to her husband, debating for the briefest second if she trusted him—and realized that she did. She trusted him with her whole heart. She trusted him with her heart.

  She gulped in air as she realized what her thoughts meant. That was what the last days had been about. She could be endlessly angry with the man. She was still far from ready to forgive him—and he definitely had to explain everything—but she did trust him. It was why she had not walked away, why she was here with him now instead of at home sulking and fuming. She trusted him—and she loved him. It was that second part that had her hands shaking.

  She had vowed she did not love him.

  And now she did.

  And it did not feel so awful. She didn’t know if he would ever love her, but it was becoming clear that there was trust, trust that flowed both ways.

  Looking back at the ladies, at her friends, she beckoned them closer.

  She glanced back at Thomas. It was his secret not hers, but she knew that the truth was safer than letting rumor run.

  “The girl in the cartoon is his daughter. No, I can’t say more—and I beg you not to repeat it—but please try to discourage any rumors that he has a mistress and children. I’ll tell you more when I can, but please help me. Help us.”

  There was another moment of whispers and then the three women stepped back, determination on their faces, and went to dam a whole flood of rumor and gossip. Her friends had her back. Annabelle felt as if she’d been holding her breath and could finally relax. She turned and found Thomas still standing there, searching her face.

  “That was brave,” he said.

  “I don’t know why you should say that.”

  “Well, first you didn’t know my response. I have spent almost two decades protecting Margaret and Grace, hiding their existence—and now in a single moment you have let all of London know.”

  “I hardly—”

  “You know very well that it is true.”

  “I do believe that at least for tonight they will squelch rumors rather than start them. Tomorrow may be different, if I do not satisfy their questions, but for tonight they are our greatest allies.”

  “I will accept that—for now. But what of tomorrow? You do not know the whole story and yet you trust that it is something that can be told. That is what I find brave.”

  Trust. There was that word again. “I know you, Thomas. It seems strange that even as I discover you have secrets, I feel I know you. But it is true, I do believe that, whatever the story is, it cannot be that bad.”

  He paled slightly. “You must remember that I was young—young and naive.”

  She leaned forward and placed a hand on his cheek. “I will remember.”

  He was going to say more. She could see it in his face. But then a friend of his father’s called his attention and they were separated. She should have remembered that married couples were not actually supposed to spend time together at parties.

  She allowed herself to be drawn away, but her gaze kept going back to her husband, her very strong and handsome husband.

  Three hours later Annabelle was not feeling so happy. Nearly three hours had passed and she had not managed to have another word with her husband. At dinner they’d been seated several places apart and then Thomas had danced with a procession of family acquaintances. There had been several long meaningful glances, but she needed to talk to him.

  She might have decided that she trusted him, but she wanted the full story. How could he have had a wife that nobody knew about—and a grown daughter? Why had nobody said anything? Was it really possible that nobody knew?

  “You are allowed to dance with him once or perhaps even twice, you know.” Thomas’s mother had come up behind her.

  “I have heard that, but I would have to be able to get near him first. It seems that every time we approach each other some cousin slips between us.”

  “They are only trying to help.” The duchess sounded sincere.

  Annabelle knew her doubt showed on her face.

  The duchess elaborated. “They are showing that they support him, that they accept him—and they may not be sure how things stand between you and they may be trying to offer him some—some separation from you.”

  “Forgive me, your grace, but I do believe the last thing that Thomas and
I need right now is to be separated. Matters would be much better served if we were allowed some discussion.”

  “You have not talked to him yet? You do not know the truth—and yet you are here with him?”

  Annabelle closed her eyes for a moment, wishing she knew the right thing to say. Without knowing more from Thomas it was hard to know what his mother knew, what it was safe to say. “He told me some of it. We have not had much time alone.”

  “But you do know about the girl—or perhaps I should say girls?”

  So his mother did know something. “You mean Margaret and Grace?” Annabelle asked.

  “Yes. I only met them once, but they seem like lovely girls. I was sorry Margaret did not come tonight. The duke has decided it might be best if she were recognized and brought into society.”

  Annabelle bit her tongue in the effort to hold back questions. She wanted her answers from Thomas and no one else. “Tell me, is there somewhere in this house we can be alone, Thomas and I?”

  The duchess looked uncertain for a minute. “You would be missed. Thomas is Stonebridge’s heir, despite the difficulties of the last year.”

  “That was not my question. Is there somewhere we can be alone?”

  “I would offer my own chamber up the stairs, but Thomas would most probably feel awkward.”

  “I imagine he would.”

  “There are several rooms on this floor that should be unoccupied, but one never knows. Guests do seem to find their way into the strangest of places.”

  “I imagine that they do. But perhaps I am willing to take that risk.”

  “Do you really wish to be overheard?”

  That was the problem. Annabelle did trust Thomas, but it was hard to know how much privacy was required when she did not know what the story was. “No, I do not—but,” and she glanced about the large ballroom, “given the size of this house, there must be someplace that we can meet.”

  “I know it would seem that there should be, but between guests and servants I am not sure where. You could choose almost any room, but there always seem to be interruptions—other couples seeking a private corner.”

  “Perhaps we should just leave.”

  “No, that will lead to speculation that something is wrong—either between you and Thomas, or between him and his father.”

  “Then where?”

  The duchess suddenly smiled, her eyes more mischievous than Annabelle would ever have imagined. “The nursery.”

  “What?”

  “I think you should ask Thomas to show you the nursery—after you have a dance with him. I do think one dance is required to demonstrate that all is fine between you. We do want the duke to feel that his party was successful.”

  “I am still not sure about the nursery.”

  Patting her arm, the duchess continued to smile. “It is the only place that I can never remember odd objects being found in after a ball. I can’t imagine that anyone ever even thinks to climb all those stairs.”

  Annabelle could understand the reasoning behind that. “If you will forgive me then, I will go and find my husband.”

  “And I will find mine. The duke does begin to say things he should not if I leave him alone for too long.”

  Annabelle wondered if sometime in the far distant future she would ever refer to Thomas as the duke. It seemed impossible. She certainly never thought of him as the marquess.

  Where was his wife? Thomas had never thought he’d wish to be taller than his six-foot stature, but as he looked around the crowded ballroom he would have gladly accepted another foot of height. Only his father would ever have considered this a small, hurried affair.

  Seeing his Aunt Teresa walking his way with purpose, Thomas turned and fled. There was no better word for it. He would have liked to pretend to stroll, but this was full-fledged flight. He’d spent a good hour speaking with Aunt Teresa earlier in the evening and he wasn’t sure he could handle another discussion of rose pests and why the lack of panniers for skirts was leading to the downfall of society. A man could only be expected to take so much.

  “Looking for your wife, are you?” The voice came at him from the left.

  He turned and stared at the man. It took a moment to recognize him. It was the man who’d made rude comments about the cartoons the other morning—the one who’d confronted him just after Thomas first saw them. He held his temper, barely. “Yes, have you seen Lady Tattingsong?”

  The man let out a long sigh. “You mean besides in the apothecary’s window? I can’t imagine why you’d want her when you could have that delightful bit you had your arm around in the drawing. She seems much more comfortable than your wife.”

  “Do I know you, sir?” Thomas rarely wished for his father’s ability to look down on the whole of existence with the pronunciation of a single syllable, but at this moment he wished he’d studied more.

  “Mr. Swatts. I am heir to Doveshire. I was introduced to your wife at the opera.”

  Annabelle had said something about an incident at the opera, although she’d been far more interested in gossiping about what she thought Doveshire and Linnette had been doing behind the curtains of their box. Annabelle’s comments had almost given him a desire to attend the opera himself. Based on his wife’s flushed cheeks, he’d not been the only one having naughty thoughts.

  Where was she? He glanced about the room again, wishing Swatts would disappear. The man clearly wished him no good.

  Not seeing Annabelle, he turned back to Swatts. “Is there something you wished to speak to me about?”

  Swatts looked put out at the direct question. “No. I just wished to make your acquaintance. I was curious to see how you were managing.”

  “You, sir, are far too direct for our limited introduction. I suggest you find conversation elsewhere.” There, that had sounded almost like his father. It was not as hard as he had thought. All it required was that he truly disliked someone.

  Swatts sputtered, paled, and moved away.

  It must have been him that Annabelle had discussed after the opera. Thomas remembered her disappointment that her adversary had not fought, but had run instead. He understood her feeling. He would have enjoyed sending a few more barbs Swatts’s way.

  “I’ve been ordered to have you ask me to dance.” And there she was.

  He turned to Annabelle, holding out his hand. “And one must obey an order. Will you dance with me, my lady?” He added a touch of emphasis on the my, doing his best to let her know that he did consider her his.

  “Your father and your mother will both be pleased, as will Lady Smythe-Burke. I must confess I was most surprised when she came and told me that you were being too slow to request my hand for the dance and that I had better do something about it. I wasn’t quite sure how to respond. It is strange to live in a world where every action is so watched.”

  “It always made me feel like a bird in a cage. I think it’s why I left for America.” It was at least part of it.

  The music began, a waltz, as he pulled Annabelle closer and led her out onto the floor. For a moment they moved without speaking, the few inches where they touched sending sparks through his whole body. Annabelle had always liked to dance and for a moment he could see the old joy returning. She’d been dancing the first time he saw her and he’d thought that no girl could be more beautiful.

  She was even more beautiful now. A few years’ maturity gave her an added grace and femininity. And that wasn’t even thinking about her dress—or lack of it. If he had liked her as a girl, he loved her now.

  He loved her. No, he did not mean that—did he?

  He glanced down at her, at the half-smile that marked her lips while more serious thoughts were hidden in her eyes. He knew she was still upset with him, that she was waiting for the whole story, but she was here with him, willing to give him a chance, to support him in public, even to act agreeable with his parents. What more could he have ever wanted?

  He thought back to Mary, to their young love. He’d be
en sure that he could never love another woman the way he had her. He’d been determined not to, in fact, convinced that he had let both her and his children down. Now, in Annabelle’s constant support, he saw that he had been granted a second chance.

  Yes, he did love her.

  There was still work to be done, but a seed of hope formed deep in his chest. Pressing his fingers into her waist, he pulled his wife closer. She glanced up at him, unsure of his movement.

  Their eyes met and he tried, tried for all he was worth, to put his thoughts into his gaze.

  He watched her pupils widen, her eyes grow darker, her breath quicken. She might not have quite understood his thought, but she definitely understood something. She lowered her lashes and then glanced up at him from under them, her lips turning up as if she knew some mysterious secret. “Your mother suggested that you show me the nursery.”

  “The nursery?”

  “That was my response, as well. She seemed to believe it would be quiet and that we could talk.”

  He considered for a moment. He didn’t think he’d been up to the nursery in well over twenty years. It was odd to think that it still existed. There was probably not a great deal of call for the space. His parents had more than adequate servants’ quarters and the attics were huge. “I suppose that is true. I cannot imagine that one would be likely to wander into it by mistake—or on purpose.”

  The music ended and they slowly drew apart. His hands felt empty without her.

  “Should we go?” She stepped away from him, her eyes measuring the space between them.

  Glancing about, he saw Linnette and Annie speaking to several other ladies. They glanced at him and smiled, reassuring. He did not see Kathryn, but Elizabeth stood across the room speaking with Lucille. His wife’s sister looked more relaxed than he’d seen her in weeks. Elizabeth froze suddenly, growing pale. He followed the direction of her gaze and watched a big bear of man enter the room. Westhampton? No, it couldn’t be. Could it?