Belle of the Ball

by Dayna Quince

  He could admit he was nervous, too. He had no intention of failing, but the concept of pursuing a woman for marriage was entirely new to him. He knew the basics, every man did, but nothing basic would impress Anabelle. She wasn’t after the usual things like money and title. She wanted something deeper, and that was the unknown territory he was entering. What did he have to do to prove that he could be an acceptable husband? She considered him a heartless bastard so that would have to be addressed. But how? He’d never been anything but himself. Perhaps that was it. He needed to show his true self, the man who cared for his sisters, the man who doted on his mother. She could never think him inconsiderate when she saw him with them.

  It was true he hid his softer side from society, but Anabelle was different. Anabelle was the only person he needed to impress. It went against the grain. He’d never had to prove himself to anyone. It rankled his pride, but so did everything she had said about him last night.

  He approached the drawing room, still rumbling with the noise of polite conversation and waited for the butler to announce him. There was silence as he entered. The looks on the present men spoke of shock and dismay. He smiled, perhaps a tad maliciously, but it would quickly become clear that they were mere pups to his alpha status and run along, tails tucked firmly between their legs.

  Anabelle sat with her mother and Hazel, and an ungodly amount of flowers littered the room.

  “God almighty.” He stopped suddenly and looked around. “I’ve stumbled into a flower shop, apparently.”

  “Lord Draven, so nice of you to call.” Lady Wellsford smiled.

  He could see surprise and question in her eyes. No doubt, her husband would inform her of their meeting. “Lady Wellsford, Lady Anabelle, and Lady Hazel. You all look lovely this afternoon. Did you enjoy the play last night?”

  “I did,” Lady Wellsford nodded. “I didn’t realize you were in attendance.”

  “Everyone and their mother attended, Mother,” Hazel mumbled.

  Lady Wellsford snapped her head towards her sour daughter.

  “All except mine, I’m afraid, but I come bearing a letter.” Draven handed the invitation his mother had written inviting the Wellsford clan to dinner. Draven had been upfront with his mother about his intentions and she, of course, was ecstatic. She had jumped at the chance to host a dinner for his intended’s family.

  “Oh, I shall see to it immediately.” Lady Wellsford stood. “Don’t you dare leave. I will have something for your mother shortly.”

  Draven nodded obligingly.

  “How is your mother?” Anabelle finally spoke. She looked tense and entirely unimpressed by his appearance.

  “She is well,” Draven answered.

  The other gentlemen tried to fill in the conversational voids awkwardly, but one by one, they departed, and with each one, Anabelle grew more rigid on the sofa. Draven was tense himself as the last one departed.

  “Well, that’s a relief. Can you come every day?” Hazel appealed to him.

  “Am I required to bring flowers?” He quipped while sniffing at lily.

  “Absolutely not, but you are required to take some when you leave.”

  Draven laughed. “A woman who doesn’t like flowers?”

  “Not in this quantity.”

  “The flowers are an expression of our admirers,” Anabelle broke in testily. “An expression of genuine interest from potential suitors.

  “And should be chosen with care,” Draven said distastefully as he looked around the room. “Did you know that messages can be conveyed in flowers?”

  Anabelle stilled. She turned slowly towards him, watching him carefully. He was still addressing Hazel.

  “I’ve never heard of such a thing. What sort of messages?”

  “Hazel,” Anabelle warned.

  “Of the romantic sort, of course,” Draven answered.

  “How intriguing? How did you come by such knowledge? I wouldn’t have guessed you a connoisseur of flowers or botany in general.”

  “Thank you, I am not. It’s quite popular in France at the moment, and I have a French valet who frequently corresponds with his sister. He even has a book on the subject. It was very recently published.”

  “Sounds quite fanciful and idiotic,” Anabelle bit off.

  “I thought so too, but then again, some things are said better without words.”

  He was looking at her now. She could feel it. She refused to be baited by the soft deep tone he used. Silence fell, and Anabelle knew Hazel had to be very aware of the tension between them.

  “Here we are now.” Their mothers chipper tone cut through the strange tension that had filled the room. “Would you like to stay for tea, my lord?” She addressed Draven with a warm smile as she handed him a folded letter.

  “I’m afraid I cannot,” he said regretfully. “I’ve promised to take my sisters to the park.”

  “Well, another time then,” Lady Wellsford assured.

  “Have a pleasant evening, Lord Draven,” Hazel offered, though less warmly than he was received.

  Anabelle managed a passable smile as he made his farewells and departed. She immediately went to her room and counted the minutes before Hazel would arrive. She went to her writing desk where a box of flowers sat in the afternoon sun. A crown of sweet pea and white clover. An unusual arrangement and now she understood why. She didn’t yet know their meaning, but she would bloody well find out.

  Chapter 17

  Anabelle didn’t have to wait long before her next encounter with Draven. That evening at a quiet dinner at home, her mother informed her that she had accepted an invitation to dine with Lady Draven and her family two nights later. Anabelle was now in a carriage sitting beside Hazel while their parents shared idle chatter.

  She was a bit miffed. She speculated that perhaps her parents favored a match with Draven and why shouldn’t they? He fits the bill of a suitable husband perfectly if not for his manipulative, cold, and domineering ways. They had claimed that they would let her choose her own husband, but this was obvious encouragement of his suit.

  Hazel was quiet, but Anabelle could sense her rabid curiosity. She hadn’t come to her that afternoon after Draven left, hadn’t mentioned the odd flowers or asked any leading questions at all. It was disconcerting. Anabelle folded her arms over her chest and huffed.

  “Dear, is something wrong?” Her mother paused in conversation and looked to her.

  “No.” Anabelle turned her attention towards the window.

  “You don’t appear to be enamored of our dinner plans,” her father queried.

  “If I am to be honest, I am not.” Anabelle faced her parents. “I found Lady Draven to be quite charming, but it seems there is a plan afoot that I did not agree to follow to begin with.”

  Her mother and father shared a glance.

  “It’s only dinner, Anabelle.” Her father chuckled.

  Anabelle grew even angrier. “And what purpose does this dinner serve? Don’t pretend there isn’t an underlying meaning. I was told I had a choice in my future husband, but it is clear by this dinner that you favor Lord Draven and are pushing me in his direction.”

  Her father sighed. “Lord, save me from dramatic daughters. It is true Lord Draven has expressed his interest to me, but it is still only dinner. The choice is still yours. Try to at least be a polite guest tonight. This sourness is not becoming on you.” Her father finished with a hard tone.

  Anabelle was stunned and hurt. Her father never spoke to her so harshly.

  “Do you understand me?” he continued.

  “Yes, Father.” Anabelle bitterly put her anger in check. She had little time to compose a content expression before they arrived at their destination and the carriage came to a stop. They entered a modest though elegant townhouse. Giving her cloak to a footman, they were escorted upstairs to the drawing room where their host and hostess were waiting to greet them. Anabelle steeled herself for her first glimpse of him, but when she entered the room, there were two da
rk-haired girls who caught her attention.

  Warm smiles greeted her and bright cornflower blue eyes. They were the image of their mother with black bouncing ringlets of hair reminiscent of their brooding brother. They were lovely, one on the cusp of womanhood, and the other still a darling child.

  “Welcome to our home.” Lady Draven greeted them and invited them to sit. “May I introduce my two daughters, Miss Mary Wood and Miss Felicity.”

  “How do you do, Miss Wood and Miss Felicity?” Lady Wellsford smiled as the two young ladies stood and curtsied.

  “Very well, my lady,” Mary answered.

  “I am delighted to meet you,” Felicity squealed with rosy cheeks. Anabelle took a seat across from the Draven’s on the matching sofa beside her mother and sister. Draven’s sisters were darling. She couldn’t imagine what having a brother like him would be like. Was he distant? Did he converse with them or give them any of his attention? She peeked at Draven as he handed her father a tumbler of amber liquid. She pulled her gaze away and gave her attention to Lady Draven, who was talking of a new addition to their family, a puppy Draven had bought for the girls. Anabelle was all ears. It was a Spaniel puppy to be exact.

  “One of the puppies from Lord Dunwick’s litter?”

  “Why, yes.” Lady Draven nodded

  “How adorable!” Hazel cried. “May we see it? Anabelle and I had the joy of holding them when they were very little.”

  Mary jumped to her feet. “Can I fetch her, Mother?”

  “I suppose it will be all right. Just for a moment. Ring for Jacobs, he can bring the puppy.” Lady Draven turned back to Lady Wellsford. “Our little Raven is still growing accustomed to the idea of manners.”

  Jacobs soon entered and was dispatched to fetch the puppy. He returned shortly with a squirming bundle of shining black fur. Mary stood and took the puppy and set it on the floor.

  “My, how they’ve grown,” Anabelle said in awe.

  “I do wish we could have gotten one now.” Hazel pouted.

  “When you are mistress of your own home, you can have all the dogs you desire,” Lady Wellsford said.

  The little puppy made a circle between the two sofas, pausing to sniff at their hems. Anabelle reached down and stroked her little head and was rewarded with a happy lick to her hand. Unable to resist, she picked the puppy up into her lap. “You are so very dear.” She nuzzled the soft fur and sighed in delight.

  “And so very tiny,” Hazel remarked.

  “She’s just a little cocker. The smallest of the litter. Lord Dunwick didn’t require much convincing to let me have her,” Draven offered.

  Anabelle spared him a brief glance. She set the puppy down and it circled the carpet again.

  “Let’s not test the waters of fate. Be a dear and ring for Jacobs again, Mary.”

  Hazel had taken one last longing pat of the adorable puppy before Jacobs retrieved her. Dinner was announced on the heels of the puppy’s departure and they shuffled into the dining room. It occurred to Anabelle how unusual it was for them to have such an informal and intimate dinner when they were such new acquaintances. Normally, more guests would have been invited to even the male to female ratio, and Draven’s young sisters would not be in attendance. She was pleased, nonetheless. They were delightful and well behaved, and they also gave her a peek into a Draven she didn’t know. Perhaps that was his aim?

  She took the opportunity to converse freely with his sisters and see what she could learn. Mary was fourteen and Felicity only ten. They were eager to participate in the conversation and not to be left out. Anabelle often found herself smiling at their innocent observations. The conversation remained light, and never once was anything about Draven and Anabelle mentioned. No alluding to an engagement or any sort of attachment. It was a relief, but she was also intrigued.

  He had made it clear what his aim was, and her parents were onboard. But so far, nothing about the evening felt pushed or contrived. So why was she disappointed? She had come prepared for battle, but found no opponent. Dinner finished and the ladies removed to the drawing room. The girls settled at a table to play games, and Hazel and Anabelle joined them. She didn’t care for the idea of Draven alone with her father, but there was naught she could do about it. Mary produced a deck of cards and proceeded to teach them a game she had made up.

  It was only a short time before the gentlemen returned, but Anabelle was so engrossed in the antics of the two children that she didn’t notice Draven until he was directly behind her.

  “She cheats, you know. The entire game is skewed in her favor.”

  “You rat. I would never do such a thing,” Mary shot back at him.

  “Then tis amazing how you always win.”

  “I knew it all along,” Felicity said in agitation. “You said I was too little to understand the game, but I understand it just fine.”

  “How about we play another game,” Anabelle offered before they broke into all-out warfare. “Spillikins, perhaps?”

  “Oh, yes, I am very good at Spillikins,” Felicity brightened.

  “Spillikins it is.”

  Draven fetched the game and Anabelle was surprised to see him return with a chair for himself. He squeezed it in between Mary and herself. Mary looked surprised as well.

  “I didn’t know you played, brother.”

  “I was once a child myself, Mary. Everyone knows how to play Spillikins.”

  “Even rakehells like you,” Felicity piped in.

  A stunned silence fell over the table.

  “I beg your pardon, young lady, but where did you ever hear such a word?”

  “And how to use it accurately,” Hazel mumbled. Draven threw her a glare before returning his admonishing gaze to his littlest sister.

  Felicity shrunk into her seat under his gaze. “Twas Mary who said it.”

  Draven turned his gaze to Mary. It was withering and reminiscent of quite a few looks Anabelle had received from her own father growing up. It suddenly occurred to Anabelle that Draven, though their brother was also their father figure. It was startling.

  “And where did you hear such a word?”

  Mary shrugged. “I receive most of my education in profanity directly from you, but I could have heard it in passing from a maid or at the park.”

  Draven blinked. “And you saw fit to repeat it in front of your sister.”

  Now Mary did look a bit regretful. “That was not wise, I suppose.”

  “You suppose?” He needled. “It was now repeated in company. You suppose that was not wise? I suppose a trip to the museum is no longer in order if you can’t manage to hold your tongue around such innocent ears.”

  Anabelle bit her tongue. The poor girl looked thoroughly chastised now, but it was not her place to intervene.

  “I think it’s time for you to retire. Please escort your sister to the nursery.” He turned away from her.

  Mary’s face crumpled, but she didn’t say a word as she stood and collected a very displeased Felicity. “Goodnight, Lady Anabelle, Lady Hazel.” Felicity mirrored her words weakly. They said goodnight to Lady Draven and Anabelle’s parents and then departed sullenly.

  “Pot meet kettle, wouldn’t you say?” Hazel spoke first.

  Draven didn’t look up as he set up the game. “A young lady should not utter such words in polite company.”

  “It doesn’t stop you.”

  “Hazel,” Anabelle warned.

  “I am not a young lady.” Draven smirked. “Thankfully.” His gaze touched on Anabelle and she saw a glint of heat in his eyes.

  She quickly pulled her eyes away. “It is unfortunate their evening had to be cut short, but I understand the ramifications if such a thing had been said in the company other than friends.”

  He was still watching her. She could feel it.

  “My point is, he should not reprimand them so forcefully when he himself has no care about the words he utters in gentle hearing. In fact, I think you enjoy it at times,” Hazel accused.
r />   “That’s true. But their future rests entirely on my shoulders, and it is up to me to guide them into the social snake pit that is polite society,” he said it with little emotion, but Anabelle had watched him under her lashes and saw the tenseness of his shoulders, the way his fingers curled tightly into his palm.

  She decided to change the subject before the entire evening fell apart. “Well, let’s have a game, shall we?” She took the box from his hands and set up the sticks. Hazel and Draven were silent, but the tension eased as they played. The evening came to a close soon after they finished, and Anabelle found herself feeling pensive as she entered the carriage. Many of her expectations were not met, but she was left with a lot to ponder.

  She hadn’t had the courage to ask Draven about his father. Something seemed to warn her away from it, but she had every intention of finding out for herself. Draven was becoming a riddle that she needed to solve, especially if she wanted to come out of this courtship with her wits intact.

  Chapter 18

  Anabelle found herself on the sidelines of the Foster Ball, which had turned into a surprise engagement ball. The roar of gossip was almost deafening, but Anabelle paid it no mind. She didn’t care how Miss Foster came to be so suddenly engaged. She only cared about the way she looked at her betrothed and the way her betrothed looked back at her. They were clearly besotted, and Anabelle was envious. Balled in her palm was her list of prospective husbands and all had been crossed off but one. Lord Henry Collins, now betrothed to Miss Felicity Foster. She was not upset that he was engaged, she was upset that she was not, and she had little hope of finding herself in such a situation any time soon.

  She shouldn’t feel rushed, but she was. She wanted what they had found, and she wanted it now. She reminded herself there was always next season, and the next and the next. But like the flowers in the drawing room, her time was limited, and the more seasons she had under her belt, the less value she had on the marriage market. It was a horrible thought. She was not a wilting flower. She was not a bag of potatoes due to expire. She was Anabelle, and all she wanted was a man to fall in love with. Hazel came to her side and nudged her.