Kay Springsteen

by Something Like a Lady

  Jon gripped the edge of the table until his fingers turned white. He routinely discounted his grandmother’s visions.

  Not this time. Not when it came to Annabella.

  “What is it, Grandmother?” he asked, his voice coming out terse over his tight throat.

  She settled a solemn look on him, somehow gluing Jon to his seat when he only wanted to race up the stairs to seek Annabella… to keep her safe.

  “Yes… yes… I see it now.” Gran wagged a finger at him. “You must protect your wife.”

  “Against what am I to protect her?”

  Her eyes rolled back in her head. “A man… evil… twisted. Dark.” She blinked. “That’s all I know… but I do feel this. Things are going to change and you must be mindful of the darkness.” Apparently that was all she had to say, since she reached for the teapot and a cup from the serving tray.

  “What am I to do with that information, Gran?” snapped Jon as irritation flashed. “Am I to put myself between Annabella and all dark men?”

  Gran sighed. “It might be for the best if you did.” She sipped her tea, studying him over the rim of the teacup. “You’d best ready yourself for the tournament, wouldn’t you say?”

  Yes… he should be readying himself, but as long as Annabella was still in her bedchamber dressing, he’d wait. Her proximity was becoming a source of discomfort he’d not be able to deny for much longer. If only he could be certain of her feelings. He left the dining room and headed for the study.

  ****

  “Just pull my hair back and secure it with a piece of leather at the nape,” Annabella instructed, thinking of the picture in the hallway near the study. If those ladies could do it, so could she.

  Marie gaped. “You mean leave it hanging down, my lady?”

  Suppressing a giggle, Annabella nodded. “Yes, leave it down and just secured, please.”

  “Certainly, my lady.”

  As the maid brushed her hair and pulled it back, Annabella examined herself in the mirror. Not the most flattering dress, to be sure. A simple green frock with a high waist and V-neck trimmed in red and overlaid with blue. Red triangles lined the bottom hem with the same blue edging. The puffed upper sleeves gathered at the shoulders and had the same triangle pattern while the lower sleeves fit snuggly and stopped just above the wrist. The official uniform for the Mercian Bowmen Archery Society.

  The maid collected the round black hat with the short brim from the vanity. “Shall I secure this with pins, my lady?”

  A white ostrich plume rising from the wide green band waved a greeting as Marie carefully settled it on Annabella’s head. I’ve certainly worn more fashionable head coverings.

  Though none had made her more proud to wear. Well, in thinking about it, maybe one did. Her thoughts drifted to the veil Jon had fashioned from his cravat for their wedding. She touched the center of her chest, seeking his signet ring, secured in place with a dark blue satin ribbon around her neck.

  They’d had so many false starts and sudden, heart-wrenching stops. And after the kiss near the servants’ entrance, he’d returned to his habit of keeping a cautious distance. Would he ever come to truly see her as his wife?

  She peered in the mirror, mentally tracing the lines of the shapeless gown. Likely not while I’m wearing this…

  “M’lady?”

  Right. The pins. With a start, Annabella realized she’d been lost in her thoughts. “Oh, no that won’t be necessary, Marie. Thank you.”

  A few moments later she descended the stairs to meet her husband and the dowager. The Earl of Seabrook was breathtaking in his crisp white shirt and breeches. His waistcoat was the same green as her dress, with a wide red lapel trimmed in blue. He wore white stockings with black half-boots and the same sort of black hat, though his ostrich plume was tucked into a black silk band.

  The dowager wore a beautiful white silk dress with a very untraditional tailcoat that matched Seabrook’s, although with a more feminine cut. Her hat matched his as well, only it was adorned with a red feather.

  Annabella brushed a hand over her skirt. “I appear to be very underdressed. You both look as though you’re going to a grand ball.”

  As she reached the last step, Seabrook took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “I fear the gentlemen will miss their marks, because they won’t be able to take their eyes off you. And the ladies will be so envious, they, too, will shoot poorly. Leaving you to bring home the silver arrow.”

  She tilted her head. “Silver arrow?”

  Gran pulled on white gloves. “For the females, the archery contestant with the most direct hits and the one with the highest amount of points each win a silver arrow.” She shrugged and added, more as an afterthought, “The men compete for gold arrows.”

  Annabella’s stomach tightened into a ball of nerves. It sounded very cutthroat and a bit daunting. She’d wanted to see the contest, not participate in it. She was nowhere near ready to compete when the stakes were so high.

  Jon offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

  Part of her wanted to turn and flee. Her heart pounded so hard, surely it rattled her ribs. The notion of not only attending such a grand affair but being involved in such a manner suddenly terrified her. She wasn’t ready.

  Haven’t you done enough hiding in the past weeks? In the last few years? Time to hold your head up and start living. A chill rolled through her veins, bringing with it a sense of absolute calm.

  Annabella smiled and took Jon’s arm. “Very well, but you have no one to blame but yourself if I embarrass you today.”

  Gran let out an unladylike snort. “If Lady Wilmington performs as she did at our final contest last year, then you have no reason to worry about embarrassing yourself or us. Everyone will be more interested in whether Lady Wilmington’s bosom will spill out the top of her dress when she takes aim. More’s the pity, the men will be disappointed if it doesn’t.”

  “Grandmother!” Jon shot a glower at the dowager.

  Annabella rolled her lips inward to keep from laughing but her eyes burned with the effort.

  Gran stopped with her foot on the carriage step and peered over her shoulder. “Oh, pish. I’m quite certain that isn’t the most vulgar thing you’ve heard… or said yourself, Jonathan. Quit behaving as if I’ve laid down a wager on the matter in the book at White’s.” The dowager climbed into to the coach. “Well, come along then. We have a long ride ahead of us.”

  Jon shook his head. “Do you see why you have no reason to fear embarrassing yourself or us today? Gran is maintaining her usual sense of decorum.”

  “I daresay she does make it seem fun to shock people.” Annabella angled a look in his direction and smiled. Apparently, her husband still feared for her innocent sense of decency. Yet he was well aware she and Gran had kept close company in past weeks. Surely he didn’t believe the dowager had held her tongue in all that time.

  “Heaven help me, don’t tell me I shall have to keep my eye on both of you today.” He grinned then winked at her. “Although I find I can’t take my eyes off you, so it wouldn’t be much of a chore.”

  Heat flooded her face. The fear from a moment before was replaced by a discomfort of a different nature. She resisted the urge to squirm while he studied her as if she had on nothing but her undergarments. And how many times have you envisioned him with his chest bare and soaking wet? How the sensation of the cold water combined with his warm skin made your whole body tingle?

  He brushed a wayward strand of hair away from her face. The gentle touch of his fingers on her skin sent her senses reeling. She found the experience both exciting and scary… and a bit confusing. No, not so much confusing as… foreign. Unfamiliar. And becoming more and more intriguing.

  “It will not do well for the Captain of the Target to arrive late,” Gran snapped.

  Startled, Annabella jumped away from Jon, unable to meet his gaze any longer, and hurried toward the carriage. She was almost certain he let out a curse as he followed behind her.
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  Annabella settled in the seat across from the dowager, offering her a weak smile. Was that amusement dancing in Gran’s eyes?

  Jon sat beside her. “Let’s be off, then. Mustn’t keep Lord Anthony waiting.”

  The carriage rolled down the lane, its gentle sway already helping to ease her anxiety.

  “Beg pardon, but what is a Captain of the Target?”

  “That’s the official title of the contest judge. Gran will be sharing the duty with Lord Fergus Rupert, the eighth Earl of Anthony. A high honor, indeed. She’s the only female to ever serve in that capacity.”

  “And I’d do better without that lackwit,” the dowager grumbled, tugging on one of her coat sleeves.

  Jon sliced the air with his hand. “Must you speak every thought that comes to mind, Grandmother? It’s quite acceptable to keep such things to yourself.”

  Annabella peered out the window to hide the smile playing on her lips. How often had her mother — and Juliet, for that matter — said almost that exact thing to her?

  “You’d be surprised at how much I do refrain from saying aloud.”

  Unable to contain it any longer, Annabella chuckled.

  Jon let out a sigh. “Annabella, I beg you, don’t encourage her.”

  “Nonsense. Don’t you listen to him, Frenchie. Men have been suppressing women for centuries. And do you ask me, instead of ordering the citizens of Coventry to stay indoors and shut their windows, Lady Godiva should have encouraged them to witness her ride! She could have doubled her husband’s income while lowering taxes on his tenants.”

  Annabella’s eyes went wide and she covered her mouth with both hands, unable to control the laughter bubbling out.

  Jon shook his head. “Honestly, Gran. That is far from polite conversation. And please tell me you did not regale Annabella with that story.”

  The carriage fell quiet. Jon glanced between her and his grandmother, his eyes bulging and jaw dropping as realization dawned. Annabella locked eyes with the dowager. Etiquette dictated that she should be horrified by the conversation… by what was being inferred. Instead, she and the dowager burst into gales of laughter.

  Still chuckling, Gran brushed at her skirt. “You’ve socialized with Wyndham for too long, Jonathan. You’ve completely lost your sense of humor.” She leveled a raised-eyebrow stare on Annabella. “My dear, how did you keep from letting the duke wear you down?”

  Annabella sat up straight, shocked, her amusement from moments earlier replaced by alarm. The dowager knew her stepbrother. Of course she does… I should have realized. Did the dowager know Markwythe had given her and her mother the cut? Apparently not, or she wouldn’t have welcomed Annabella with such open arms. Would the dowager treat her differently when she found out?

  At Jon’s light squeeze to her hand, Annabella glanced at him, and he gave her a reassuring smile.

  “Annabella is far too spirited to be anything but strong-willed. Unbreakable.”

  ****

  Lively chatter and laughter seeped into Annabella’s awareness. She yawned and stretched… or rather tried to. With a jolt, she sat up and opened her eyes. Flames danced across her face. Devil’s bells! She’d done it again! Used Seabrook as a pillow.

  “I’m sorry,” she grumbled as she smoothed her dress.

  “It was my pleasure. I’ve grown accustomed to listening to the sound of your snoring while traveling.” Grinning, Jon handed over her hat.

  Annabella narrowed her eyes. “And I’ve grown accustomed to traipsing around the country wondering when you’ll lead me to the devil’s lair.” She took a cautious sniff of the air but found it fresh, not like the light sulfur smell that sometimes closed around Blackmoor.

  “My lady, were you my companion, I’d gladly make the trip on a daily basis.” He lowered his head, keeping his eyes locked on her.

  A mixture of anticipation and anxiety set Annabella’s heart fluttering. Her mind warned her to move away, not to let him kiss her. But her body was drawn to him, and refused to budge… welcomed him as a drowning man would water.

  Rustling and a low moan drew Annabella’s attention to the other seat, the spell broken, and she jerked away from him.

  The dowager sat up and rubbed her neck. “Why must carriages be so cramped and uncomfortable? I’ll be unable to bend my neck to the right with ease for days.” Gran peered out the window. “Thank heavens we’ve arrived. I need to stretch my legs.”

  Panic set in. It had been so long since Annabella had attended a large social gathering. She’d grown accustomed to spending most of her time alone or in the company of Juliet. The prospect of socializing, while exciting, unnerved her. Worry coiled in her throat, squeezing until her eyes stung. Her heart pounded faster, and she pressed one hand to her chest, trying to calm the erratic beating. What if she made a fool of herself? Embarrassed Jon and the dowager? What if—

  Jon covered her hand with his and squeezed. “Annabella, are yo—”

  “You aren’t being led to the gallows, my dear. Even if you do like the French.” The dowager cast a reassuring smile. “Now, sit up straight and hold your head high. Be mindful of the amount of port you drink, and you’ll be fine. And stay away from the lemonade, no matter how much Lady Winslow tries to convince you to try it.” She gave an exaggerated shudder.

  The dowager needn’t have worried on that score. Annabella preferred never to see that foul fruit again.

  “P-Perhaps I-I—” The words caught and she cleared her throat. “Perhaps I might just watch—”

  “Annab—”

  “I find it hard to believe you have it in you to quit,” the dowager murmured without turning from the window.

  “To be perfectly honest, I don’t have it in me to lose,” Annabella shot back.

  The dowager shifted her gaze from the carriage window to Annabella, eyes piercing. “Which is why you’ll not quit. Losing is nothing more than someone who quit trying, after all.”

  “Well said, Gran.” Jon winked at Annabella. “At any rate, the hard part is behind you.”

  She crossed her arms. “And that would be?”

  “Shooting well enough to impress Gran.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles one at a time. “You’ll be splendid.”

  A tiny jolt of delight chipped away some of her fear. Jon and Gran didn’t seem at all concerned about her ability. Mayhap she should just take their advice and enjoy herself. Besides, after the position she’d put Juliet in by sending her to London so the poor girl, according to Jon, was being subjected to the torture of social events, being placed on display for the amusement of the ton, it seemed fitting that Annabella should suffer some of the same fate.

  The carriage stopped and a footman opened the door. Jon — every inch the Earl of Seabrook — descended and offered first the dowager then Annabella a hand down. So many people! Why, the whole town had to be in attendance. A number of them had on the same uniform she wore.

  Several tents in varying sizes sat on the outer edge of the clearing. The biggest tent sat atop the hill at the far end of the field. Two footmen stood at the entrance.

  “What’s the big tent for?”

  Jon turned to follow the direction of her gaze. “That’s the banquet hall. After the contest, the club members will hold a feast with music and dancing. The winners will be presented with their arrows.”

  “Oh.” Annabella hadn’t realized just how grand an affair the archery contest would be.

  “Don’t be uneasy. I meant what I said. Everyone will adore you. You’ll fit right in,” Jon whispered.

  “Excuse me, dears. I see Lord Anthony, and I must speak with him about the preparations.” She settled a sharp stare on Jon. “Remember what I told you.” Gran hurried off without awaiting a reply.

  Annabella stepped to the side and tilted her head to better see her husband. “What she told you? Did she warn you to behave yourself, then?”

  “Now, that would prove no fun at all, would it?” quipped Jon with a chuckle. H
e shook his head. “No, just a matter of Gran’s ‘gift’ again. It seems she had a vision about a dark, dangerous man. She seems to be worried for your welfare.”

  Annabella’s heart stammered at the thought that someone might care so deeply about her.

  Jon raised an eyebrow and laughed again. “Really, I’m quite certain ‘tis nothing to worry overmuch about. We’ve all grown used to Gran’s ‘sight,’ and I assure you, what she sees is seldom what comes about.”

  The wind ruffled the shock of dark brown hair falling across his forehead. Smiling, Annabella reached up and pushed it from his eyes. Then she drew her fingers down along his strong jaw.

  “My darling Seabrook,” she murmured, stifling her giggles. “Your grandmother might well have been describing you.”

  Jon’s eyes flared with warmth as he captured her hand in his. He said nothing, just held her gaze as though speaking a silent language. Annabella’s blood heated and her lungs squeezed against her chest.

  A child jostled past, startling her and restoring her wits. How had she forgotten the sheer number of people surrounding them?

  “May I show you about?” asked Jon softly.

  “Please.” Annabella accepted his arm.

  Her gaze darted all around the field. So much to see! Wooden benches had been scattered about the lawn — some close to the tents, others clustered in front of makeshift tables with groups of people eating and drinking. A number of archers shot at targets, with the bystanders cheering when they hit their mark and jeering when they missed. Barefoot children chased each other, laughing and playing and scooping up spent arrows from the ground.

  “Goodness!” She frowned at the bedlam. “Does no one worry about accidentally shooting a child?”

  Jon coughed and hid his expression behind a stroke of his chin. “In the case of some of them, I should think they’d be considered good for moving target practice.”

  Annabella stared at her husband, shock rendering her speechless. But his obsidian eyes were dancing with the laughter he held inside. She slapped her hand against his chest. “You…” she murmured, leaning close, “…are at least as bad as Gran.”