Secrets of a Summer Night (6 page)

Dear Annabelle,
Is it a failing to love beautiful things? That must be an English notion, as we are certain that it has never occurred to anyone in Manhattanville. Just for that remark about feet, we’re going to make you play Rounders with us in Hampshire. You will love whacking balls with sticks. There is nothing quite so satisfying.

Dear Lillian and Daisy,
I will consent to Rounders only if you can persuade Evie to join in, which I highly doubt. And
though I won’t know until I’ve tried it, I can think of lots of things more satisfying than whacking balls with sticks. Finding a husband comes to mind…
By the way, what does one wear to play Rounders? A walking costume?

Dear Annabelle,
We play in our knickers, of course. One can’t run properly in skirts.

Dear Lillian and Daisy,
The word “knickers” is unfamiliar to me. Can you possibly be referring to undergarments? Surely you are not suggesting that we shall romp about outdoors in our drawers like savage children… ?

Dear Annabelle,
The word is derived from “Knickerbockers” — a level of New York society from which we are ritually excluded. In America, “drawers” belong inside a piece of furniture. And Evie says yes.

Dear Evie,
I did not trust my eyes when the Bowman sisters wrote to inform me that you have agreed to play Rounders in knickers. Have you really said so? I am hoping that you will deny it, as I had made my acceptance contingent upon yours.

Dear Annabelle,
It is my belief that this association with the
Bowmans will help to cure me of my shyness.
Rounders-in-knickers seems just the way to begin. Have I shocked you? I’ve never shocked anyone before, not even myself! I do hope that you are impressed by my willingness to jump into the spirit of things.

Dear Evie,
Impressed, amused, and somewhat apprehensive about what scrapes these Bowmans will land us in. Where, pray tell, are we to find a place where we may play Rounders-in-knickers unobserved? Yes, I am thoroughly shocked, you shameless hussy.

Dear Annabelle,
I am coming to believe that there are two kinds of people… those who choose to be masters of their own fate and those who wait in chairs while others dance. I would rather be one of the former than the latter. As to how and when
Rounders game shall take place, I am satisfied to leave such details to the Bowmans.
With all fondness,
Evie the hussy

During the flurry of these and other playful notes that were sent back and forth, Annabelle began to experience something she had forgotten long ago… the delight of having friends. As her past friends had moved into the hallowed existence of married couples, she had been left behind. Her wallflower status, not to mention her lack of money, had created a chasm that friendship could not seem to bridge. In the past few years she had come to be increasingly self-reliant, and had even made efforts to avoid the company of the girls with whom she had once talked and giggled and shared secrets.

However, in one fell swoop she had acquired three friends with whom she had something in common, despite their radically different backgrounds. They were all young women with hopes and dreams and fears… each of them entirely familiar with the sight of a gentleman’s polished black shoes walking by their row of chairs in search of more promising quarry. The wallflowers had nothing to lose by helping each other, and everything to gain.

“Annabelle,” came her mother’s voice from the doorway, as she carefully packed the boxes of new gloves into a valise, “I have a question, and you must answer it honestly.”

“I am always honest with you, Mama,” Annabelle replied, looking up from her task. Guilt swept over her as she beheld Philippa’s lovely, careworn face. Dear God, she was tired of Philippa’s guilt, and her own. She felt pity and despair for the sacrifice that her mother had made in sleeping with Lord Hodgeham. And yet, in the back of Annabelle’s mind, the unseemly thought occurred to her that if Philippa had chosen to do such a thing, why couldn’t she have at least set herself up properly as a real mistress instead of settling for the petty little wads of cash that Lord Hodgeham gave her?

“Where did those clothes come from?” Philippa asked, pale but earnest as she stared directly into Annabelle’s eyes.

Annabelle frowned. “I’ve already told you, Mama — they came from Lillian Bowman. Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Did these clothes come from a man? Perhaps from Mr. Hunt?”

Annabelle’s mouth fell open. “You’re actually asking if I… with
him
? Good Lord, Mama! Even if I had the inclination, I haven’t had the slightest opportunity. How in heaven’s name did you come up with such an idea?”

Her mother met her gaze without blinking. “You’ve mentioned Mr. Hunt quite often this season. Far more than any other gentlemen. And these gowns are obviously quite costly…”

“They are not from him,” Annabelle said firmly.

Philippa seemed to relax, but a question remained in her eyes. Unaccustomed to having anyone look at her with suspicion, Annabelle picked up a hat and set it at a smart angle over her forehead. “They’re not,” she repeated.

Simon Hunt’s mistress… Turning toward the looking glass, Annabelle saw an oddly frozen expression on her face. She supposed that her mother was right — she had mentioned Hunt quite often of late. There was something about him that made thoughts of him linger in Annabelle’s mind long after they had seen each other. No other man of her acquaintance possessed Hunt’s charismatic, wicked appeal, nor had any man ever been so openly interested in her. And now, in the last few weeks of a failed season, she found herself contemplating things that no decent young woman should ever think about. She knew that without much effort, she could become Hunt’s mistress, and all her troubles would be over. He was a wealthy man — he would give her whatever she wanted, pay her family’s debts, and provide her with beautiful clothes, jewels, her own carriage, her own house… all that in return for sleeping with him.

The thought sent a sharp quiver through her abdomen. She tried to imagine being in bed with Simon Hunt, what things he might demand of her, his hands on her body, his mouth—

Flushing deeply, she forced the image aside and toyed with the silk rose adornments on the corded band of her hat. If she became Simon Hunt’s mistress, he would own her completely, in bed and out of it, and the thought of being so completely at his mercy was appalling. A mocking voice in her head asked, “Is your honor so important to you? More important than your family’s welfare? Or even your own survival?”

“Yes,” Annabelle said under her breath, staring at her own pale, purposeful reflection. “Right now it is.” She couldn’t answer for later. But until every last hope was exhausted, she still had her self-respect… and she would fight to keep it.

I
t was easy to see why the name of Hampshire was derived from the Old English word “hamm,” referring to a water meadow. The county was rich with such meadows, not to mention heath and lush woodland that had once been earmarked as royal hunting grounds. With its contrast of dramatic scarps and deep green vales, and rivers flush with trout, Hampshire offered activities for every sportsman. The earl of Westcliff’s estate, Stony Cross Park, was set like a jewel in a fertile river valley that scored gently through acres of forest. It seemed that there were always guests at Stony Cross Park, for Westcliff was an accomplished host as well as an avid hunter.

From all appearances, Lord Westcliff deserved his reputation of immaculate honor and high principles. He was not the sort to be involved in scandal, as he seemed to have little tolerance for the intrigues and slippery morality of London society. Instead, he spent much of his time in the country, shouldering his responsibilities and caring for his tenants. On occasion he traveled to London to further his business interests or involve himself in a political matter that demanded his attention.

It was on one of these trips that Annabelle had met the earl, when they had been introduced at a soiree. Although he was not classically handsome, Westcliff was not without attractions. He was only of medium height, but he possessed the powerful form of a seasoned sportsman and an air of unmistakable virility. All that, combined with an immense personal fortune and one of the oldest earldoms in the peerage, made him the most desirable matrimonial catch in England. Naturally, Annabelle had wasted no time in beginning a determined flirtation with him when they had first met. However, Westcliff was inured to such attentions from eager young women and had immediately labeled her as a husband hunter — which had stung, even though it had been the truth.

Ever since Annabelle had been rebuffed by Westcliff, she had made an effort to avoid him. She did happen to like his younger sister, Lady Olivia, a
soft-hearted girl who was of an age with Annabelle and had been tainted by scandal in her past. And it was thanks to Lady Olivia’s kindness that Annabelle and Evie had been invited to this party. For the next three weeks, both the four-legged and the two-legged varieties of prey would be under siege at Stony Cross Park.

“My lady,” Annabelle exclaimed, as Lady Olivia came to welcome them. “How kind of you to invite us! London was positively stifling — the refreshing climate of Hampshire is precisely what we needed.”

Lady Olivia smiled. Although she was a small and rather unassuming girl with average features, she seemed extraordinarily pretty on this occasion, her face glowing with happiness. According to Lillian and Daisy, Lady Olivia was betrothed to an American millionaire.
“Is it a love match?”
Annabelle had asked in her last letter to them, and Lillian had written back that it reportedly was.
“However,”
Lillian had added wryly,
“my father says that the alliance between the two families will certainly be to Lord Westcliff’s financial advantage, which is why he gave his approval.”
To the earl, romance was not nearly as important as practical considerations.

Bringing her mind back to the present, Annabelle smiled as Lady Olivia took her hands in a welcoming clasp. “And you are precisely what
we
needed,” Lady Olivia exclaimed with a laugh. “The place is overrun with males in search of sport — I informed the earl that we simply
had
to invite some women to keep the atmosphere reasonably civilized. Come, let me accompany you to your rooms.”

Picking up the skirts of the new salmon pink muslin from Lillian, Annabelle followed Lady Olivia up the front steps into the entrance hall. “How is Lord Westcliff?” Annabelle asked as they ascended one side of the grand double staircase. “In good health, I hope?”

“My brother is quite well, thank you. Although I fear he is driving himself to distraction with plans for my wedding. He insists on overseeing every detail.”

“A reflection of his great affection for you, I’m certain,” Philippa said.

Lady Olivia laughed wryly. “It is more a reflection of his great need to control everything within his reach. I’m afraid that it won’t be easy to find a bride who will be strong-willed enough to manage him.”

Catching her mother’s meaningful sideways glance, Annabelle shook her head slightly. It would do no good to encourage Philippa’s hopes in that direction. However… “I happen to know of a strong-willed and quite charming young woman who is yet unmarried,” she commented. “An American, as a matter of fact.”

“Are you referring to one of the Bowman sisters?” Lady Olivia asked. “I have not yet made their acquaintance, though their father has stayed at Stony Cross before.”

“Both sisters are delightful in every regard,” Annabelle said.

“Excellent,” Lady Olivia exclaimed. “We may yet find a match for my brother.”

Reaching the second floor, they paused to glance at the people milling about the entrance hall below. “I’m afraid there are not as many unmarried men here as one could wish for,” Lady Olivia commented. “But there are a few… Lord Kendall comes to mind. If you like, I will introduce you to him when the opportunity presents itself.”

“Thank you, I would enjoy that
very
much.”

“I’m afraid he is somewhat reticent, though,” Lady Olivia added “He may not appeal to someone as high-spirited as you, Annabelle.”

“On the contrary,” Annabelle said quickly, “I find reticence to be a most attractive quality in a man. Gentlemen with dignified reserve are so much more pleasant than those who are forever swaggering and boasting about themselves.”
Like Simon Hunt
, she thought darkly, whose high self-opinion couldn’t be more obvious.

Before Lady Olivia could reply, her gaze was caught from afar by that of a tall golden-haired gentleman who had come to stand in the entrance hall below. He stood in a cultivated slouch, resting his shoulder against a column, his hands thrust into his coat pockets. Annabelle knew instantly that he was an American. His irreverent grin and blue eyes, and the relaxed way he wore his elegant clothes, gave him away. Moreover, Lady Olivia blushed and seemed to require an extra breath or two, from the way he was looking at her. “Do pardon me,” she said absently. “I… my fiancé… he seems to require me for something…” And she drifted away with a dreamy over-the-shoulder comment about their room being the fifth on the right. Instantly, a housemaid appeared to show them the rest of the way, and Annabelle heaved a sigh.

“There will be vicious competition for Lord Kendall,” she fretted aloud. “I hope he hasn’t already been taken.”

“He can’t be the
only
unmarried gentlemen here,” Philippa remarked hopefully. “One must not forget Lord Westcliff himself.”

“Don’t entertain any hope in that direction,” Annabelle told her wryly. “The earl was distinctly
under whelmed by me when we met.”