“It was never proven, of course, but sometimes the mere suggestion of a scandal is enough to make it so. He died before his name could be cleared. As a result, his business failed. In the last two years the family has lost almost everything. Fortunately, Thorley married well prior to the rumors, but now I fear he’s finished in London. He’s growing desperate, and desperate people make me nervous.”
“Then why did you accept his invitation?” Owen fell into step next to him as they headed in the same direction Miss Thorley had gone.
Treadwell tapped his walking stick against the ground with each step. “He may make me nervous, but I still count him among my friends. Plus he is one of the most amusing chaps I know. Always good for a laugh.”
Once a person entered Treadwell’s inner circle, he was not easily ousted, even if his character was questionable.
Treadwell popped open his pocket watch and checked the time. “It does amaze me how you manage to find adventure wherever you go, and I was bored to death talking with old Farley all afternoon while you played the hero.”
The mention of Farley seized Owen’s interest. After all, Farley was the very reason Owen opted to remain in London instead of returning to Fellsworth after their trip to the north. He would never choose to be away from his work and his daughter unnecessarily, but Treadwell’s meeting with the old landowner had been too important.
Owen lowered his hat to guard his eyes against the oppressive afternoon sun. “How did the conversation go?”
Treadwell swiped a piece of wood out of his path with his walking stick. “Oh, you know Farley. He doesn’t care for me and never has. In fact, I’m probably the last person with whom he would want to discuss such a matter. But these are trying times for a lot of people, and Farley’s no exception. I did mention to him that you were interested in purchasing Kirtley Meadow. He said he’d never sell, but what else would he say? He will be at the Baldwins’ ball tonight. I’ll talk to him then.”
Owen clenched his jaw. He had wanted to approach Farley himself. He did not like relying on another for anything, even a trusted friend like Treadwell. But this was the world he was in. A man in Farley’s position would not conduct business with a gamekeeper, let alone keep company with him. Their stations were too disparate. No, Farley was the sort of man who would only deal with another landowner.
“Don’t worry, Locke. He will come around. I’ll see to it.” Treadwell slapped a heavy hand on Owen’s shoulder. “He’ll sell you the land, and then you can live out your dreams and hunt on your very own property until your heart is content. You just can’t leave my estate without a gamekeeper. That is my one stipulation.”
Treadwell’s confidence should have encouraged Owen, but he was far too suspicious to share Treadwell’s optimism. Whereas Treadwell was accustomed to getting his way, Owen had worked diligently for everything in his possession, and he would continue to do so until he was certain he was providing the very best he could for his daughter. Becoming a landowner in his own right was part of that plan, and he would not rest until he did just that.
Chapter Four
There. It’s finished.” Crosley propped her hands on her hips, tilted her head, and studied Annabelle’s reflection in the looking glass. “Are you pleased?”
Annabelle fixed her gaze on her likeness and pivoted to her right, then to her left. Crosley had been correct yet again.
Night was falling and darkness shrouded the room, but even in the dimness the newly added Belgian lace overlay on the buttery-yellow silk gown enhanced her shape, and the length of gold cord sewn along the hemline added a dramatic flair.
Annabelle ran her fingers along the new scalloped satin piping adorning the neckline. “Thank you, Crosley. It is much improved. I only hope that no one will notice it is the same gown I wore to the Dennison dinner last month.”
“That’s not likely.” Crosley pushed a lock of blonde hair from her face and scurried around the chamber to gather the discarded scraps of ribbon and lace. “If I had more time I would have added a netting overlay to the skirt as well, but perhaps next time.”
Next time.
There had been a time when wearing a gown to an event twice was an unforgivable misstep, and now she was planning for it.
As if sensing Annabelle’s hesitation, Crosley frowned. “I can always sew the lace to the green silk instead, if you prefer.”
Annabelle tensed. The mere mention of the green gown she had worn the night of her engagement to Samuel Goodacre soured her mood. She would never wear the dress again.
“Oh no,” she stuttered. “The yellow will do.”
Crosley stepped closer to her, concern darkening her fair features. “Are you well, miss? I could fetch some tea—”
“I am well,” Annabelle snipped. How could she admit that she was thinking about Samuel? Her chest tightened at the recollection. His black hair. His mesmerizing green eyes. The touch of his hand on hers.
Annabelle smoothed her hand down the front of her gown, forcing her attention back to the task of dressing. Daydreaming and wishing for a different reality would not make it so, nor would it lessen the pain. Hiding away was not an option, not with her brother’s current demands.
She would have to make the most of the situation.
She would attend the ball in the refurbished yellow silk gown.
She would be the object of many stares and the source of much gossip.
She would likely encounter Samuel.
And through it all, she would hold her head high.
Annabelle moved to the dressing table. Crosley joined her and removed the pins from Annabelle’s hair, allowing the shiny tresses to cascade over her shoulders.
Determined to ponder no more on Samuel, Annabelle allowed her thoughts to drift to the odd interaction on the street earlier that day. “I can’t stop thinking about Miss Stillworth. The poor woman!”
Crosley clicked her tongue as she drew the silver brush through Annabelle’s long locks. “I never would have believed it had I not seen it with my own eyes.”
Annabelle reached for a strand of pearls on the dressing table and ran it between her fingers. Their upbringings had been very similar. Both had been raised in London. Both had been educated by governesses and had enjoyed an advantageous betrothal that was broken by scandal.
Was Annabelle’s story to be the same? She shuddered to think that if it were not for her brother, she might be suffering the same fate.
She lifted her gaze and watched Crosley manipulate the light-brown strands. “I cannot recall the last time I saw her. How long would you say it has been? Two years? Three? It had to be before Papa died, at least.”
The lady’s maid pinned a curl into place. “I wouldn’t know, miss.”
Annabelle pressed her lips together. Of course Crosley knew the last time Miss Stillworth had been at their home. Crosley noticed everything and forgot nothing. Annabelle sighed and studied Crosley’s reflection as she wove a narrow, beaded ribbon into Annabelle’s hair. Crosley was slight of figure and short of stature. Her stark gray linen gown nearly swallowed her, and wisps of honey-blonde hair escaped her white cap.
“Oh, I almost forgot.” Crosley lowered the excess ribbon, reached into her apron pocket, and retrieved a small pouch. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and held the bundle at her side. “I did something, and I am not certain I behaved in the best manner.”
Annabelle paused at the odd admission and faced Crosley. “What did you do?”
“When the men were clearing the room this morning, I went through the drawers of one of the side tables while they were taking a load out to the cart. I found this.” Her face paled, and Crosley thrust the pouch toward Annabelle.
Annabelle took it in her hands and turned it over. She didn’t recognize it.
“I did not mean to steal it, exactly, but I thought you would want me to rescue this if I could.”
Annabelle untied the pouch and tipped it to the side, cupping her free hand below it
to capture the contents. She gasped. In her hand was a miniature portrait. “My mother painted this! It’s me, as a child. And Thomas. Where did you say you found this?”
“In the dining room in one of the drawers. I did not mean to intrude, but I saw the boorish men removing the furnishings and thought I should check for items of a personal nature.”
Annabelle let out a sigh of relief. “You are forever thinking of me, and I am so grateful. I have so few of her paintings left. I’ll treasure this.”
Crosley nodded as she kept her attention fixed on the piece. “She had a talent. One that you share.”
Annabelle placed the portrait on her dressing table and smiled at the memory of time spent with Mama. “She did try to instruct me, but I was such a flighty thing. She was so patient.”
The room fell silent, and Crosley resumed dressing Annabelle’s hair. After several moments the brushing slowed. Annabelle glanced up to see a frown curve Crosley’s thin lips downward and her forehead crease.
It was unusual for Crosley to display any emotion at all, let alone present such a worrisome air. “Is something bothering you, Crosley?”
She did not take her gaze from Annabelle’s hair, but she lowered the brush. “There is one other thing I have not yet mentioned.”
Concerned by the sober tones underlying Crosley’s words, Annabelle turned in her chair and waited.
Crosley exhaled, and her eyes narrowed with the intensity of one who had a secret to share. “You are aware that your brother is having guests here.”
“I am.”
“One of the guests is a man by the name of Mr. McAlister.”
“Yes, I know him. He was a friend of my brother from their days at Cambridge.”
“Mr. McAlister’s valet is traveling with him, and he asked me to give you this.” Crosley pulled a small, folded note from her apron pocket.
Annabelle frowned. “What is it?”
Crosley extended it toward her. “I have not read it, of course. But his valet was insistent that I present this to you and then return with a response as soon as possible.”
Annabelle raised her eyebrows and received the note. “Well, I shall be the judge of whether or not a response is warranted. It’s most forward of him, isn’t it? I am already a target for every gossip in London. Can you imagine if word that I received notes from male guests in my home were to get out?”
Crosley stepped back to give Annabelle privacy. “Well, they shan’t get the information from me.”
Annabelle unfolded the letter and angled it toward the candle to catch the flickering light.
Miss Thorley,
Please forgive the presumptive nature of this missive. I am well aware of the inappropriateness, so please forgive me for intruding on your privacy.
I will be forthcoming. Miss Thorley, your brother is in danger, and I must beg your assistance in this matter before the danger intensifies. Your brother is a great friend, and it is because of the depth of this friendship that I write this letter. We must speak. Please send word where we can converse privately, and when.
I am yours, respectfully,
Mr. William McAlister
Crosley’s words broke her contemplation. “I hope it’s nothing too vexing.”
“Oh, Crosley.” As soon as the words escaped, Annabelle snapped her mouth shut. She had been warned her entire life to watch what she said around the servants—even the ones who tended her personally.
“They are not equals. They will steal from you. Deceive you. A trusted servant is a rare thing indeed. One of affluence must always be on guard.”
How often had Papa spoken those words of caution?
Crosley, too, understood the intricate dance around the narrow line between mistress and servant. She had honed the fine art of saying just enough to build trust without being intrusive. Displaying enough interest to earn confidentiality without becoming too involved.
But lately the two had spent more time together. And Annabelle had a fondness for Crosley.
But Crosley was her lady’s maid.
A servant—not a friend.
It would never do to confuse the two.
But what did she have to lose? Her family was crumbling. Her status had fallen. Her friendships had dissolved. Sharing the letter would snap the thin wall separating mistress from servant.
She extended the missive with a sigh. “You may read it if you like. There is nothing to hide.”
Crosley took the note, and the women sat in silence as Crosley read it.
Annabelle rubbed her forehead. “I’ve known he is in trouble. How could I not? He has changed so much since Papa’s death. So bitter and angry. We have never been overly close, but now he is as a stranger. I don’t think there is any way I can help him.”
“Every person is on a journey. You. Me. Mr. Thorley. Miss Stillworth. Every single one of us.” Crosley lowered the letter. “Some of us will learn and grow, and some will struggle and fail. I know I certainly could not judge another. All we can do is be there for the ones who have been put into our lives.”
Annabelle stood and paced the small space between the dressing table and the bed. “I do not care for this new side of him. Not one bit.”
“Your family has experienced a great deal of pain, miss. No one can predict how he will respond to tragedy, and Mr. Thorley is no different. Responsibility changes people, and he has had a great deal dealt to him.” Crosley returned the note to Annabelle. “Would you like me to deliver a response to Mr. McAlister’s valet?”
Annabelle shook her head. “It would be a dangerous business to get into the habit of delivering notes to the men who are guests in our home. I’ll just find the opportunity to speak with him at the ball tonight.”
“Whatever you think is best. I will do as you bid.”
Annabelle gazed at her reflection in the looking glass. The face looking back at her appeared much more confident than she felt. As she placed the portrait back in the pouch, her brother’s voice echoed from the hall, demanding that she hurry.
Exasperated, Annabelle exchanged glances with Crosley, then turned to face the looking glass one last time.
She had no way of knowing what the night would bring, and her imagination began to weave possible scenarios. But even though her immediate future was unclear, she could predict with near certainty that no good could come from it.
Chapter Five
Night had fallen, and warm rain had persisted all evening, infusing the atmosphere with muggy oppressiveness.
Within the walls of the Baldwin house was no different. Annabelle flicked her painted fan open and waved it before her flushed face.
Low-hanging chandeliers boasting an assemblage of flickering candles added warmth to the already stifling room, and the throng of shifting guests intensified the thick heat.
Annabelle pressed her back against the wall as she stood alone, observing the festivities from the shadowed corner. The musicians’ lively strains filled the room, mingling with voices and laughter. The dancers whirled by at dizzying speeds, and the ladies’ elegant skirts of silk and muslin flowed in the breezes created by their own movement.
She lifted to the tips of her toes to see above the crowd. Her friend Katherine had vowed to be in attendance, but as of yet Annabelle had not seen her.
She dropped back to her heels. Feeling faint from the overpowering stickiness, she abandoned her perch along the wall and moved toward the corridor in search of fresher air. Her steps slowed as she caught sight of someone she wished would have remained hidden.
Samuel Goodacre.
Would her heart ever cease pounding at the very sight of him, her breath cease growing faint and shallow?
It was not a surprise to see him at the Baldwins’ gathering. He stood near the opposite wall, dressed in buff trousers and a crisp blue tailcoat with shiny brass buttons. The candle’s yellow glow highlighted the careless, familiar manner in which his jet hair swooped over his broad forehead, and his freshly shaven jaw was a testam
ent to his valet’s attentions. He smiled—nay, laughed—at something the pretty Miss Templeton, who stood at his elbow, had said to him.
A pang of jealously struck her. Once he had paid such attention to her, praising and flattering her, but now another stood in her stead.
Bittersweet memories bombarded her. Ever since they had been children, their fathers were business acquaintances, and they made no effort to hide their plans for the future. Annabelle had been told from a very young age that one day she would be Mrs. Samuel Goodacre, and she had no reason to question it.
The plan was perfect: His family was established and flaunted impressive connections. Her father was wealthy but lacked the benefit of an esteemed family name. When the two families united, their power would be great.
Or so she had thought.
They had been betrothed for a year when the first hint of her father’s scandal surfaced, and within mere weeks Samuel broke their engagement. She’d believed every word of his eloquent courtship, and the sting of knowing that his praise had been for her fortune and not her merit still burned. Not only had he possessed her heart, but she had counted him her dearest friend, and to have that role removed so cruelly pained her to this day.
Her heart now ached at the absence of such a companion, and it longed for acceptance and a loving family of her own.
From her safe distance Annabelle studied the lady at his side, who was dressed in silver muslin and draped in gold. A ruby pendant glittered at her neck, paling only to the bright diamond tiara atop her golden curls.
At that singular moment of quiet contemplation, Samuel turned his green eyes toward her, silencing Annabelle’s thoughts.
She had been caught staring. A lady would never be caught staring at a gentleman.
They locked gazes for several seconds, neither smiling, neither looking away. Even at this distance, a lifetime was captured in the depth of his eyes.
A Stranger at Fellsworth Page 3