Once Upon a Wager (19 page)

“This will need airing out and ironing, Miss Annabelle.” Mary glanced dubiously at the heavy wrinkles across the bodice of the dress. “Let me take it to my room, and I'll be right back.”

Annabelle put on her nightgown. Walking to her nightstand, she rinsed her hands and her face, and freshened her mouth with tooth powder. In drying herself off with a small hand towel, she was wiping away all traces of her encounter with Alec. But of course, that was not true. She could still feel his lips on hers, feel his hands pressing against her body and caressing her breasts. She doubted she would ever forget those sensations. They'd been even more powerful than before, when he had kissed her so long ago. She had not wanted him to stop. She'd wanted to feel his hands all over her.

Even when they were at odds with each other, he was still the most handsome man she'd ever seen. But when he was kind and gentle, as he'd been at the museum and in the carriage when she'd lost her composure, he turned back into the man she'd worshipped for so long. The man she had loved.

What in the world did he want from her? He'd said he had no right, but what did rights or even wrongs have to do with any of it? It was entirely possible that if she let him, he would break her heart all over again.

She walked over to her dressing table and sat down, ready to brush out her hair for the evening. “Let me do that for you, Miss Annabelle,” Mary said, coming up behind her. “It's a proper bird's nest, after all. Who knows what you did to make it so?”

She blushed. A part of Annabelle wanted to tell her. Mary had known all about her feelings from before, had mailed her letters to Alec, after all, and waited with her for the responses that never came. Mary had seen her through the worst of those early days. Yet Annabelle held her tongue. Since her return, neither of them had spoken of that time, as if the subject was best left in the past, in the hopes that its pain would stay there as well.

A silly notion, now that she thought about it.

“You must be more careful with your hair and your dress,” Mary admonished, watching her closely in the dressing table mirror as she ran the brush through her curls. “They reflect on your reputation.”

“I will try, Mary. It was very windy this evening, and I tripped at the theater.”

They were plausible excuses. Any more lies, though, and Mary might guess at the real cause of her dishevelment. If she hadn't already.

After a sleepless night at his bachelor lodgings, Alec climbed the stairs to his mother's house, wondering if his perfidy was obvious for the world to see. He'd shamed Annabelle. He had not meant to, of course, but that wasn't an excuse.

He would have taken her innocence, right there in the carriage.

It hadn't been the behavior he owed to Gareth, and certainly not to Annabelle. He would have to go to Marchmain House today, much as he dreaded the notion. He would make his heartfelt apologies, and continue on the path that had been set. He owed it to his father. He would see Annabelle well settled, even though giving her into the care of another man might prove to be the most difficult thing he had ever done.

He gave a quick rap on the door, and Edmunds answered it promptly. “My lord, your mother will be happy to know that you are here. She is in the drawing room with her guests.” It was the heart of the day, when society paid its visits and gossiped about its members. Perhaps a few of her friends had stopped by. When he crossed through the doors of the drawing room, however, Alec was shocked by the number of people there. More than a dozen were in attendance, a suspicious mixture of young men and their mothers.

“Alec, my dear,” she called out when she spotted him. “Come in and see so many of your old friends.” She was being too kind. Surely he'd been away at school when these infants were still in short pants? Yet there were older gentlemen, as well. Cartwright, and that fop Petersham, and Marworth.

Damnation, he should have guessed it before now. They were here because of Annabelle, trying to ferret out information from his mother before planning their pursuit.

At least they had the good sense, upon gauging his mood, to scatter. Benjamin, for his part, made quite a show of begging his mother's indulgence for his abrupt departure before announcing that he was off to pay his respects at Marchmain House. At the mention of it, the room's other occupants also took their leave, and in short order, he and his mother were alone. “I seem to have cleared the room,” he said. “Am I dressed to offend? Potter won't be happy to hear it.”

“No, Alec, although you do look as if you are out for blood sport this morning.”

He could hardly tell her why. “I only hope that you weren't put out by so many visitors.”

“It's far better to have visitors than to be left alone,” Mother said, smiling as she sat back against her toile-covered fauteuil. “When your father died, I had legions of people who paid their respects. They wanted to know if I missed him, if I'd been well provided for, if I was worried I'd lose you to the war. All sorts of disrespectful questions, actually. Then rather suddenly, they stopped coming. After all, nothing is more depressing than a widow in her weeds, and they'd done their duty.”

“I am sorry, Mother.” When had it become easier for him to stay away than to return?

“Don't be sorry on my account. I daresay Annabelle has made me fashionable again.”

“About Miss Layton … how are your plans progressing?”

“They couldn't be better. After the opera last night, she's the talk of London, although there have been more than a few complaints that you barred the door to our box at intermission. A number of people were queuing up to meet her. Others claim you were stingy with introductions following the performance.”

“I was in no mood to make small talk. Do you know that Lady Marchmain had the audacity to leave Annabelle alone in my care? She saw an old friend and wandered off.”

“That was unfortunate, but she knows that you're not a threat to her niece's reputation. It was like leaving Annabelle with a brother.”

He felt his jaw tighten. “I am not her brother. It was not well done.”

“By all appearances, my dear, you won't have to play the chaperone for long. Several eligible gentlemen are already interested. Indeed, I think Marworth is among them, and he can hardly be faulted.”

“His faults are legion! And he's abominably flippant.”

“Alec, what is the matter? You're not yourself today. It's obvious to me you want no part in this.”

“That is not true. I am committed to helping Miss Layton, but she shouldn't be pushed at the first eligible suitor.” Certainly not at Marworth. Or any of the others either. All of them were wrong for her in one way or another.

“I thought you were eager for her to be settled, so you could refocus on important duties.”

“I am. But before she marries, Annabelle could use some measure of happiness. She hasn't had much of it these past few years.”

“You do know that marriage and happiness aren't meant to be mutually exclusive? I certainly hope you expect more from Miss Fitzsimmons than a political alliance. That is, if she is still in your sights.”

He looked down at the floor. “She is. I expect we will deal quite well together.”

“Yet you haven't even asked me about our ride home together last night.”

“Was she feeling any better? I've thought of little else since the morning.” And he had just lied to his mother. What kind of man was he turning into?

“She will be fine after a day or so. She was very embarrassed by the episode.”

Jane was not the one who should be embarrassed. She deserved far better. “I will wait then to pay her a call.”

“Perhaps I shouldn't pry, Alec, but about Miss Fitzsimmons … she is a lovely girl, but I've seen little evidence of any real affection between you.” He looked up to find that she was watching him, her face serious and sober. “Why do you wish to make her your wife?”

“Miss Fitzsimmons is a fine woman from a respected family, and she has a pristine reputation,” he replied. He had been over her qualifications any number of times. “She's a skilled hostess, which will be an asset as I move forward in Parliament. She will value our family's name and its legacy.”

“I recognize that logic.” His mother sighed. “Those are the same assets your father sought to gain when he married me.”

“Which validates their worth, don't you think?” he asked, smiling gently, hoping to coax away the sadness that had settled over her.

“I only know that at the time, I wanted to be loved. I wanted to be desired for myself, rather than for what I could bring to a marriage. I tried to be a good wife. Eventually, I grew to love him, but I'm not sure he ever felt the same way.”

“Of course he loved you. How could he not?” They had grown closer when he was away during the war, hadn't they? Hadn't they loved each other in the end? “You were a wonderful wife. You are a wonderful mother.”

“I have no doubt that your father bore me some affection after all of our years together, but it took time. You see, he was in love with someone else when we married.”

Alec felt as if the world had just shifted dangerously, leaving him standing on unsteady ground. “Why do you say that, Mother?”

“I'll not bother with the details of who she was. I will only say that she was unsuitable, and your grandfather was a severe and demanding person. He had great expectations for his only son. He would not let Henry follow his heart. You are familiar, of course, with the type.”

Alec swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. “I didn't know any of this.”

“It wasn't necessary for you to know. And he was happy when you were born at last, even if he wanted a child with her and not with me. He loved you, although I don't think he knew how to show it.”

No. He had never had.

“I'm sorry I was not here for you, Mother. You should not have had to bury him alone.”

“You did what you needed to do at the time, Alec. You served your country with distinction. And Henry seemed so healthy.”

He'd always exuded such an air of invincibility, but of course, no one was invincible.

“You are your father's son and mine as well. Above all else, though, you are your own man. You shouldn't be made to live a life someone else planned for you. Henry did that already, and once is more than enough. I merely want you to be happy. I hope you will remember that.”

• • •

“Lord Marworth, thank you for suggesting this stroll. It's a lovely day, and it was exceedingly warm in my aunt's drawing room.” Annabelle had barely been able to breathe.

“Between all of those flowers and eager swains, there was hardly any air in the room. I could hardly stand by and watch you expire from an excess of adulation.” He flashed perfectly straight, white teeth.

What an excessively beautiful man he was, like an angel from a Renaissance-era painting. Not one of the effeminate ones, but the kind who battled dragons and devils in a full suit of armor. Then again, weren't angels supposed to be saintly? She doubted Lord Marworth had a pious bone in his handsome body.

“Thank you, as well, for the flowers you sent. They are most impressive.”

“Impressive is too kind a word, Miss Layton. I was appalled when I saw them in your drawing room.”

“The florist was paying a tribute to your patronage.” His arrangement had been very pretty, after all. It had just been very large, with two footmen needed to carry it into the house.

“Perhaps my florist should stick to neckcloths and waistcoats.”

“Lord Marworth,” she said. “That comment fairly screams for an explanation.”

“My valet is a creative sort. When I mentioned that I wished to send you flowers, he took it upon himself to create the arrangement. My family enjoys a large garden behind our home here in London.”

“That was very thoughtful.”

“Yes, but he managed to denude nearly all of my mother's flower beds in the process.”

“Was she very disappointed?”

“I doubt it. Withers is a marvelous eccentric. He keeps things interesting.”

“I understand completely, my lord. My father defines eccentricity.”

“I remember meeting Sir Layton several years ago. A charming man, and a great fan of butterflies and moths, as I recall.”

“You have a gift for understatement.”

They walked companionably for a few moments, enjoying the afternoon sunshine as Mary followed a short distance behind, acting as chaperone. “Are you enjoying London, Miss Layton? It's quite a bit busier than Nuneaton.”

“There is that gift you have, on display again. And yes, I'm enjoying it very much. Now I know why Gareth found it so difficult to leave.”

“Gareth ran with a rather unsavory crowd here. To be honest, more time spent in Nuneaton would have served him well.”

“Did you often see him in the city?”

“I always enjoyed his company, of course, but in that last year or two, he was more interested in gambling than in meeting up with old classmates.” He suddenly turned toward her. “I'm sorry. That was poorly said. I didn't mean to dishonor your brother's memory.”

“You have not said anything I didn't already know. He and my father argued about money whenever he returned home.”

“Gareth fell in with a man who made him risk far more than he could afford.”

“Are you referring to Mr. Digby? I met him the night before Gareth died.” She shuddered at the memory. “He was a very unsettling man.”

“He was a cheat and a dangerous character. At least Dorset made sure it would be a long while before he could get his hooks into anyone again.”

It was her turn to stop suddenly. “What do you mean?”

“I am sorry, Miss Layton. My tongue is running away with me today, spouting things I've no business discussing.”