Once Upon a Wager (20 page)

“Please tell me. I have no memory of the events surrounding my brother's death. All I know is that a race between Lord Dorset, Gareth, and Mr. Digby went horribly wrong.”

“I think Alec's role haunts him this day.”

She could see that now. Perhaps it was why he'd first offered to help her this season. But surely something else was blossoming between them? Something that might help them both to heal? “We all make decisions that we regret,” she said after a long moment. “And I know how hard he worked for his father's respect. Even though I am still struggling with Alec's reasons for leaving, I understand the pressure he must have felt.”

“My apologies again,” Lord Marworth replied. “I'm afraid I'm not following you.”

“Alec left after the race in order to limit the damage to his family's reputation. That was why he could not wait to see Gareth buried. Or even to see if I would recover.”

“Miss Layton, who told you such a thing?” He was clearly dumbfounded. “You are mistaken.”

“My mother told me. I wouldn't believe her at first, that Alec could abandon us for so shallow a reason. She blamed him for Gareth's death, after all.

“But then all of my letters to him went unanswered,” she continued. “He made no effort to contact me. Perhaps it was too painful for him to remember his part in that day. Perhaps I reminded him too much of my brother.”

She fell silent then. She had been over it in her mind so many times. She didn't know why she expected to come up with new answers now. Her heart and her head no longer seemed to be working in concert with each other. And after last night, her heart was making all of her important decisions.

Lord Marworth opened his mouth as if to contradict her, but then he seemed to think the better of it. He appeared shocked by what she had told him. As they walked on, Annabelle heard Mary call her name. When she turned, her maid was ashen-faced.

“Mary, are you all right? Has something upset you?”

“I'm fine, Miss Annabelle,” she said, looking away quickly. “But the sun is setting. We should return to the house.”

“I shall hate to relinquish your company, Miss Layton. I may even need to observe a period of mourning before setting out to my evening appointments.”

She laughed, charmed despite her pensive mood. “Do you find it difficult, Lord Marworth? Swallowing past that silver tongue?”

His eyes swept her with ill-disguised interest before settling on her face.

“My dear Miss Layton, how you wound me. If only you would offer me the slightest encouragement …”

“According to my aunt, you are very busy keeping up with the many ladies who encourage you. I should hate to burden you further.”

When he flashed another of his wicked smiles, she was tempted to return it. Were it not for Alec, she'd be very tempted indeed.

Why couldn't she learn a lesson once and be done with it? Three full days had passed since that night in the carriage, when Alec had kissed her.

On the first day, she'd gone on a series of morning calls to meet Aunt Sophia's acquaintances and friends. In the late afternoon—because those morning calls were euphemistically termed—they'd received a flattering number of visitors at Marchmain House. Lord Alvanley had paid her an additional visit, bringing several gentlemen with him. He was an exceptionally witty man, with a dry sense of humor and preposterous compliments. Viscount Petersham, the mysterious man in brown from the park, had also come to call. By all accounts, he had a scandalous reputation, but Annabelle was amused by his studied, lisping manner. She'd also enjoyed her walk with devilish Lord Marworth, who was so handsome.

But when Alec had not called by the second day, she'd turned anxious. She kept hoping for a note to explain why he'd been detained. As of this morning, though, there had been no visit or note. No word at all. Which meant he wanted nothing to do with her. It was why he'd apologized. He had kissed her because he was a man with needs. Wasn't that what the oaf at the Assembly Rooms in Bath had called it? She was to blame, of course, for assuming that his actions had meant something—not so much the kissing, because that was separate and apart—but the kindness and the sympathy and the affection.

The kissing had swayed her good judgment. She'd known for any number of years the kind of person he was. He abandoned his friends when things became difficult. He appeared steadfast yet was anything but. And he played with people's emotions, just like the other night in the carriage, when his kiss reawakened so many feelings. She'd felt desired, hoping he was as caught up in those wondrous sensations as she was, but he'd fooled her again.

• • •

The last several days hadn't gone at all as Alec had planned. He was sitting in the Dorset carriage with his mother, Lady Marchmain, Miss Fitzsimmons, her father, and Annabelle. They were on their way to Hampstead Heath, a vast parkland set on one of the highest spots in the city, where an elaborate picnic had been set up for them by his family's efficient staff. Marworth would meet them there, along with several other young ladies and gentlemen, all properly chaperoned, of course. The picnic was intended to introduce Annabelle to a wider circle of friends, and at least the weather was agreeable today.

He couldn't say the same about Annabelle.

She sat across from him, implacable and silent. Not that he could blame her. He hadn't seen her since the night at the opera. He'd stopped by Marchmain House after speaking with his mother that next day, but she'd been out on a walk with Benjamin. An unpleasant discovery, since it meant Marworth might be pursuing her in earnest. Rather childishly, he had decided not to leave his card.

But then he'd been unable to return. He'd learned the House of Lords would begin debate on his bill within the week, and he'd locked himself away in the library at Dorset House, fine-tuning his proposal. Not even Marworth had made it past Edmunds, although he'd tried several times. Indeed, Alec had ventured out on only one occasion, meeting with Lord Fitzsimmons at his home, where he learned that Jane was much recovered.

Yet it was unconscionable that he had not spoken with Annabelle. Did she think he'd forgotten that night? Nothing could be further from the truth. Outside of the soldiers' bill, he'd thought of little else. A small part of him could admit, though, that he hadn't known what to say to her, or how to express his feelings, which suddenly felt immense and uncomfortable. He didn't like to think he was a coward, but there was hardly another excuse for his actions. He had been battling the two sides of himself: the one that wanted to honor his father's wishes, and the one that wanted to decide his own future.

His father had spurned the woman he loved in order to satisfy his sire. And Alec, like a puppet on a string, had let his father's beliefs about Annabelle dictate his own. He'd pursued the very suitable Miss Fitzsimmons, taken up his seat in Parliament, and authored legislation that would have a lasting legacy. How pleased his father would be. Yet there was no pleasing a dead man. Any choices were now his to make. Why had it taken so long for him to recognize it?

He stole a surreptitious glance at Annabelle, but she was staring fixedly at him, along with everyone else in the carriage. “My apologies,” he said. “Have I missed something?”

“Distracted, are you, my boy?” Lord Fitzsimmons boomed in that distinctive voice of his, oddly high and squeaky despite its impressive volume. “Lord Dorset is no doubt thinking about the fight ahead, my ladies,” he continued. “We have been hard at work this week on the soldiers' bill. Dorset, myself, and my darling Jane. We make a formidable team, don't we?”

“Father, please don't overstate my contributions,” Jane said, her face flushed with color.

“Nonsense! My Jane is sharp as a whip. I am deuced proud of her, although she's only a woman, with too many tender sensibilities. If she were a man, she'd be a fine addition to our government. As it is, though, she'll have to trust her ideas to me, and perhaps to Dorset going forward, eh?” Fitzsimmons laughed at that, and nudged Jane, who looked as if she wanted to leap from the carriage. “They make quite a pair. Yes, they do.”

Lord, this was awkward. Alec stole another look at Annabelle, but she was staring out of the window. Her beautiful eyes were hidden from his view, but by her stiff posture and the tense line of her chin, he could tell she was upset. Rightly so. He only hoped he would be able to explain things properly.

“Lord Fitzsimmons,” his mother interrupted smoothly. “I saw your treatise on farming innovations in
The Times
. Could you share your ideas with those of us who hadn't the pleasure of reading it?”

Jane's father preened and settled into a long dissertation on the subject. So long, in fact, that no one else spoke for the remainder of the ride out to the Heath.

• • •

“Lord Fitzsimmons is a pedantic boor,” Aunt Sophia said once they were finally free of the carriage, and at a distance that encouraged honest discussion. “Why Dorset would wish to align himself with that pompous flap-jaw, let alone his bluestocking daughter, I will never know. They've quite driven me to drink.” Spying a wine steward, she slipped away.

They were welcome to him. If Annabelle still harbored any illusions about Alec Carstairs, the ride here effectively shattered them. Why hadn't she guessed it before now? He was on the verge of proposing to Jane. He'd known it when he kissed her.

Which was why she was determined to put him behind her once and for all. She would see him at the Hertford's party tomorrow night, and then at her come-out ball, to be held in a few weeks' time at Marchmain House. Afterward, she need never speak to him again. And if there was a sudden lump in her throat making it difficult for her to swallow, she'd recover. She'd recovered from far more painful things.

Alec's mother had picked one of the most bucolic corners of Hampstead Heath for their picnic. A large white linen tent was set up in the middle of a long sweep of grassy lawn, complete with pennants that fluttered in the soft breeze, like something out of a medieval tournament. She could see several long tables inside, each topped with pristine white linens, and a veritable groaning board of assorted foods. Small seating groups were set up beneath the shady trees that dotted the lawn, and there were perhaps two dozen people in attendance, including Lord Marworth and a number of the gentlemen who had called on her. She didn't know any of the young ladies who sat in a pretty array of pastel gowns with their mothers, but hopefully she would find a friend among them. There would be lots of opportunities today to meet new people. Lady Dorset had planned a series of lawn games and ordered horses brought from the Park Lane mews, in case any of her guests wanted to explore the heath.

Hopefully, Alec would take one of those horses and ride straight into the Thames.

“Miss Layton?”

Lord Marworth was walking toward her with those long strides of his. “Although I told her I wished to keep you all to myself, our hostess has insisted you meet a few of the gentlemen and ladies of my acquaintance. Will you join me?”

Pasting on her brightest smile, she said, “Do you promise that none of them bites? If so, I shall be delighted, Lord Marworth.”

“Not a one of them will bite you,” he replied with a sly grin. “But I might.”

• • •

By all appearances, Annabelle was enjoying herself immensely. All afternoon long, Alec heard her laughter in the distance, as she and the other guests played the lawn games. There were pantomimes, word puzzles, and even an archery contest, during which Annabelle amazed all with her prowess.

But as free as her laughter was, she didn't smile at him. Not once. Indeed, she looked away whenever their eyes met, and he hadn't yet had the opportunity to speak with her. Lord Fitzsimmons had trapped him into a discussion about parliamentary procedures, and he was too old for the games anyway. But they looked like fun. Annabelle enjoyed them, and he wanted to share her joy. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt as carefree as she seemed today, smiling in the company of her new friends.

“Lord Dorset,” Jane interrupted prettily, earning a look of censure from her father. “I hope you won't mind if I return home with Lady Fairbanks and her daughter, Miss Traemore. We are well acquainted through my work with the Society for Indigent Children, and we're all quite fatigued by the afternoon's festivities.”

“Not in the least, Miss Fitzsimmons. I've enjoyed your company, and I appreciate your help with Miss Layton.” Thankfully, her father decided to join Jane in an early departure. Alec was finding it difficult to think of anything besides his need to speak with Annabelle.

As he looked about, however, she was nowhere to be found. Indeed, most of the guests had disappeared. Had he and Fitzsimmons missed the entire picnic? He vaguely remembered a footman bringing them plates of food, but that had been quite some time ago. After a quick perusal inside the tent, he turned to find Benjamin standing directly behind him. The man was as quiet as a cat.

“Have you seen Miss Layton?” Alec asked.

“I have indeed. She's the sort that makes your eyes linger.”

“She's not one of your flirts, Benjamin. Where has she run off to?”

“Miss Layton and her aunt left with your mother several minutes ago. You were distracted by Miss Fitzsimmons.”

“I couldn't get away from her father. I wanted to speak with Annabelle privately.”

“I've been trying to speak with you privately all week, but you refused to see me.”

“I know, and I am sorry. I've been busy preparing my arguments for the bill.”

“I wanted to talk to you about Miss Layton,” Benjamin said. “I have important news to share.”

Alec was suddenly uneasy. “Tell me your intentions toward her. She's no woman to be made a sport of.”