“More like Caroline did. As if you expect your betrothal might end before the wedding.”
Annabelle said nothing for a long moment as her thoughts swirled. “I didn’t intend to marry any time soon.” Or ever, she added silently. But with each day that passed, it seemed as if her life would truly be changing and soon. Thomas’s suggestion that they marry in two weeks had shocked her and she was still adjusting to the idea.
As if sensing her unease, Margaret reached for Annabelle’s hand and held it tight as she turned to face her. “Have you concerns about Mr. Raybourne? I realize he’s reputed to be a rake, but he’s quite handsome and kind. More so than I expected.”
Annabelle managed a smile, not wanting to worry her sister. “I agree.” Her nerves would soon calm. There were several parts of marrying Thomas to which she looked forward. If only she could find the courage to discuss what their marriage would be like. Did she dare hope for a true partnership? Would he be happy to hear she wished to continue writing?
“Are you worried he won’t change his roguish behavior after you marry?”
“No.” She realized it was true. Lady Helen’s remarks might have unsettled her, but from what she’d seen, Thomas had already changed.
“Then what is it?”
“I worry that marrying will change me.” Annabelle blinked at the sudden moisture in her eyes. She hadn’t meant to tell Margaret any of this. After all, Annabelle was the older sister and should be an example to Margaret. She should be the wiser one.
“In what way?” Margaret’s question held no judgment, no quick dismissal of Annabelle’s worry.
“What if I don’t want to write anymore once we marry?” Already she’d been so caught up in all that was happening that she hadn’t managed to make any progress to speak of on her new story.
“But isn’t it good that you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to?”
“I suppose, though I can’t imagine not wanting to. It would be like not wanting to breathe.”
“I can certainly understand. I feel much the same way about designing gowns.”
“You know I often work late,” Annabelle said. “Or sometimes wake in the middle of the night when inspiration strikes and rise to write it down before I forget. I lose track of time and miss meals when ideas take hold. How will a husband fit into all that?”
Margaret held her gaze, her expression full of sympathy, but didn’t seem to have an answer.
“And...” Annabelle hesitated, uncertain how to explain it. “I don’t want marriage to change who I am.”
“New experiences tend to change us, whether we want them to or not. But you will always be Annabelle, a creative individual. And sometimes change is for the better. It helps us grow as people, don’t you think?” Margaret linked her arm through Annabelle’s and eased them forward along the pathway.
“I suppose so.” New experiences should make her a better writer, shouldn’t they?
“I think it’s unlikely that you won’t want to write anymore. Not when you enjoy it so much. Maybe marrying will actually make your stories even better. You’ll meet different people and have different adventures as Mrs. Raybourne, which will give you interesting ideas.” Margaret glanced at her with a smile. “And if you meet someone you don’t like, he or she can be the murder victim in your next book.”
Annabelle chuckled and gave Margaret a one-armed squeeze. “You understand me too well.”
“No purpose will be served in worrying about what might happen.”
Annabelle pretended to scowl as she studied Margaret. “When did you become so wise?”
“I learned from you and Caroline.”
“The two of you look thick as thieves.”
Annabelle glanced over at the sound of Caroline’s voice.
“I can’t help but worry when I hear my name in your conversation.” Caroline smiled at each of them. “Your discussion appears to be a serious one.”
“Very serious,” Margaret said, causing Annabelle to brace herself for what Caroline might say about her worries. “We’re having difficulty deciding between the green gown or the pink one for the wedding ceremony.”
Annabelle gave a quiet sigh of relief that Margaret kept their conversation private. While she’d already shared some of her concerns with Caroline, she wasn’t ready to discuss the issue further.
“Definitely the pink. The color makes your skin glow,” Caroline said, making Annabelle pleased she’d shown it to her during one of Caroline’s more recent visits.
“Excellent.” Margaret nodded. “We’re all in agreement.”
“Very well. The pink it is.” Annabelle’s tension eased as they walked through the garden, a sister on either side of her, listening as the two discussed how she should wear her hair. Affection for them both filled her. She was very lucky to have them in her life. Their love and support wouldn’t change when she married. That constant was a light in her life, one she cherished dearly.
Perhaps the time had come to make certain she and Thomas were in full agreement as to what their future might entail. A fragile bud of hope filled her at the thought that mayhap she’d found the perfect man after all.
Chapter Eighteen
Thomas ran a hand through his hair in frustration as he stared out the window of his office the following day. People walked along the pavement, going about their business. Carriages and carts rolled past as well, the scene so normal that he wanted to throw something because his life was suddenly anything but. A thick knot of worry had settled in the pit of his stomach since Sir Alexander’s visit and showed no sign of easing.
He’d reviewed the knight’s threat from every angle but couldn’t find a way to escape the net the man had cast without placing others in danger.
Joining Annabelle at the garden party the previous day had been out of the question as it would’ve been impossible to hide his distress from her. When Thomas had finally left the office several hours later, a man had followed him as had another one this morning. The knowledge was deeply unsettling.
Though tempted to share what he knew with Aberland, doing so held too much risk. There was no one with whom he could speak, not when doing so might cost the life of a person he cared about.
He had yet to decide what he was going to tell Annabelle.
That question had also kept him awake late into the night caused him to rub his forehead as he stared at the street scene, wishing he could do something—anything—to put an end to Sir Alexander and the threat he posed.
The man who’d followed him to the office earlier stood across the street, waiting. No doubt his every move would be reported to the knight.
A hackney drew to a halt outside his office, and to his utter dismay, Annabelle alighted, escorted by her maid. Fear for her safety threatened to choke him. Thank goodness the man who had been following him remained where he was, showing little interest in her arrival.
A wave of remorse and regret washed over him as the pair made their way to the door. During the long night, he’d determined the only way to keep her safe as well as the others they cared about was to do as Sir Alexander ordered and cancel her contract.
He dreaded the task ahead as he knew that no matter how he worded it, the news would hurt Annabelle. But going through with it would ensure her wellbeing and provide time to try to find a way to resolve the situation if such a thing was possible.
The sound of her voice as she spoke with Bing sent his heart thudding painfully. He reminded himself that she was more important than the publication of her book.
Then she stood in the doorway, stealing his breath as she so often did, a golden light in his dark world. He didn’t care for the wary look in her eyes or the fact that he was about to worsen it.
“Annabelle, this is a lovely surprise.” He forced a smile though he was certain she’d see through it. She already knew him too well.
“Thomas. I hope the day finds you well.”
“Indeed, it does.” He moved around the desk
to take her hand. “And you?”
“Well enough.” She glanced over her shoulder as Bing closed the door to give them privacy. “I came by as I have something I wished to discuss without delay.”
“All right. My apologies for missing the garden party yesterday,” he began, wishing he could tell her everything. “Something unexpected arose.” He gestured for her to take a seat and released her hand, taking care to avoid looking at her any more than necessary.
“Oh? What’s happened?”
He glanced up to find worry filling her expression and briefly closed his eyes, telling himself to take the opportunity she offered. “I’m afraid I have bad news.”
Fear of losing her crept over him, tightening his chest and restricting his breath. He knew how important her stories were to her and could only hope she’d eventually forgive him for what he was about to say.
“Please tell me there hasn’t been another murder.”
“No.” He sat heavily in his chair then folded his hands on his desk as he met her gaze. “Artemis Press has decided not to distribute the second printing of your first book or publish your latest work.”
Her eyes went wide with shock. “What do you mean? You said you liked it. We already have a contract.”
“After discussions with my brothers, we have decided to pursue literary works and memoirs rather than mysteries.” Though tempted to tell her that they were merely delaying publication, he feared Sir Alexander might find out he hadn’t cancelled her contract, which would risk everything, including her.
“I see,” she said. His heart pinched as her surprise turned to hurt, clearly visible in her expression. “Actually no, I don’t. What brought about this decision?”
He waved his hand in the air, hoping to suggest that the details behind it mattered little. “As I said, a meeting with my brothers.” He couldn’t hold her gaze as he lied. He reminded himself this was for her safety as well as her family’s. “My eldest brother, the Earl of Carlington, has a penchant for memoirs and poetry as well as non-fiction.”
“Memoirs...” She said the word slowly as if he spoke a foreign language with which she was unfamiliar.
“I don’t suppose you’ve considered writing something of the sort. A book of poetry, perhaps?” He raised a brow even as he prayed that she’d say no. He didn’t want her to write at all until Sir Alexander had been stopped.
“No.” Her gaze shifted, looking anywhere but at him, causing his heart to lurch. “Definitely not.”
“Annabelle—” He didn’t know what he could say to ease her disappointment, but before he could think of anything, she stood abruptly and held out a gloved hand, palm up.
“No need for further explanation, though I must say I’m disappointed you’re choosing to break our contract. We have nothing more to discuss at the moment.” She turned and strode toward the door as if anxious to escape only to turn back. “I would like my manuscript returned to me.”
“Of course. I have it at home though.”
She gave a single nod. “Please have it delivered as soon as possible.” Then she reached for the door.
“Annabelle, wait.” He rose, wanting her to stay so he knew she was safe. So that he could make certain she didn’t hate him as much as he feared she did. “You said there was something you wished to discuss with me.”
“You already answered the question I had. Good day.” She glanced over her shoulder, and he was relieved not to see any tears.
But he quickly realized the icy distance in her expression was far worse.
~*~
Annabelle hurried out of the publishing house, telling herself to breathe, hoping the tingling numbness of her limbs wouldn’t prevent her from gaining the privacy of the waiting hackney. She didn’t look back to see if Lizzie followed.
Blast Thomas and his change of heart. While she’d been the one to suggest they postpone publishing her second novel until the murders were resolved, she hadn’t thought for a moment that Artemis Press wouldn’t publish it at all.
Did he not realize this threatened the fragile beginning of their life together? At least, it did for her. Had this been his attempt to tell her that he didn’t want her to write anymore?
Dear heaven, she thought as her breath caught on a sob. How could she marry him now?
“Is all well, miss?” Lizzie asked as she settled onto the bench beside her and the hackney lurched forward.
“No.” Not at all. She pressed a gloved hand to her lips to hold in a shuddering cry.
Had he decided the novel wasn’t as good as he’d originally told her? Had one of his brothers read it and disliked it? While she knew not everyone would enjoy it, that didn’t mean it was poorly written.
Ideas for stories flowed when she was happy and knew others enjoyed what she wrote. Those first moments of success with the chapters in the broadsheet had given her such joy and filled the well of creativity within her, spurring her on. She’d never experienced anything like that before. That was until she became involved with Thomas. He’d brought her happiness as well.
“Is there anything I can do?” Lizzie tilted her head to the side, concern wrinkling her brow.
Annabelle shook her head even as she held a hand against her aching heart. Books were something she and Thomas enjoyed together. At least, she thought they had. Without that common thread to bind them, what did they share? What would they talk about in the years ahead? How could she trust Thomas with any part of her life if he didn’t support one of the most important ones?
The thought shattered the delicate hope she’d held that they might have something special together.
She pressed her lips tight to hold back a sob. This was her worst fear come to life. The reason she hadn’t wanted to marry. With Thomas, she had begun to believe that worry was groundless. Now what did she do?
How could she marry a man who didn’t support her dream?
~*~
Thomas swirled the last of the port in the crystal glass, only to set it aside. Spirits had done little to ease his anguish in the two days that had passed since he’d seen Annabelle. Imbibing more seemed unlikely to change that. He glanced about Boodle’s with little interest. He had no desire to play cards or dice or any of the other vices he used to enjoy. It seemed he truly had lost his taste for his previous way of life.
All he wanted was to be with Annabelle, but he had the feeling she wasn’t ready to be with him if she ever would.
If only he could think of some way to resolve the mess. But each strand of the tangled knot he contemplated pulling on to loosen the situation would only worsen it. That was something he couldn’t risk. It seemed as if he was damned if he did and damned if he didn’t.
The silence from Annabelle since he’d cancelled their contract made matters worse. The fact that she hadn’t argued or protested or sent a message suggesting they meet to further discuss it worried him. He’d thought she would insist he honor their agreement.
No doubt the circumstances caused her to reconsider their betrothal. He drew a deep breath to ease the sudden ache in his chest the worry brought, only to discover it did no good.
Losing her as his future wife was preferable to risking her life, but the realization brought little comfort.
The club wasn’t especially busy this evening. As if sensing his foul mood, his fellow members kept their distance, leaving him alone. Voices drew his notice from the doorway, and he glanced up to see Lord Thornton pausing to speak with others about Wellington’s efforts to lead the coalition to defeat Napoleon, something that was topmost on everyone’s minds.
From what Thomas had witnessed, the man rarely went anywhere without Sir Alexander. Now that Thomas knew what a despicable person the knight was, he had to assume Thornton was much of the same ilk. Did Thornton know about Sir Alexander’s plans to take over Sir Reginald’s dock? Even more importantly, did he know of the methods the man employed?
The thought made Thomas consider approaching Thornton to demand answers. Or did T
hornton only follow Sir Alexander around like a pup because the knight used the same heavy-handed methods against him?
If that were the case, Thornton still might be worth speaking to, but how could Thomas persuade the man to talk?
He watched the lord for a time, noting that he downed two drinks rather quickly. Surely that suggested he had sorrows he wished to drown.
Deciding the moment was as good as any to speak with him, Thomas rose then dumped the rest of his glass into a nearby potted plant before approaching the table where Thornton sat. Playing the part of a rake required alcohol, but that didn’t mean he actually had to drink it.
Thomas lifted his glass toward a nearby waiter. “Another, please.” He leaned one elbow on the back of a wingback chair and turned to view the room, doing his best to appear the worse for drink and therefore harmless. “Evening, Thornton.”
The man nodded. “Raybourne. Shouldn’t you be with your betrothed at some ball or other?”
“She’s not especially pleased with me at the moment.”
Thornton chuckled. “Problems before you make it to the altar, eh? That’s a risk one takes when forced to propose.”
“I suppose.”
The lord gestured for him to join him at the table, which Thomas did. “Changing from a rogue to an aboveboard, married man is no easy task,” Thornton advised. “It will only succeed if one is properly motivated.”
Thomas heaved a sigh, hoping it suggested he wasn’t certain if changing was worth the effort. He said a silent prayer that what he was about to say would never reach Annabelle. “I’m not certain whether to thank you and Sir Alexander for coming upon us in his library or to curse you.”
Thornton laughed then took another deep drink. “Interrupted you at an inopportune time, didn’t we? And to think the knight worried that you were up to no good in his library.”
Thomas stilled. Perhaps he truly could convince the man to share what he knew. “One would think he has something to hide if he believed that.”
Thornton took a sudden interest in his glass then downed the rest of its contents. “Nothing of the sort.”
A Rogue No More (The Rogue Chronicles Book 3) Page 20