The Worldly Widow (27 page)

After an interval, Annabelle said wryly, "Not you too, Bertie!
"

Bertie
'
s brow elevated a trifle. "I never said a word,
"
she averred.

"Your look spoke volumes!
"

"Well, since you
'
re asking for my advice…
"

"I never said so…"

"
…
I wish you would reconsider your decision to publish this particular work.
"

"Oh? You
'
ve suddenly become an expert on publishing too, have you?
"
said Annabelle without malice.

"No! But I trust Lord Dalmar
'
s opinion. And Lord Temple also said something which made me feel that in this instance you are not being very wise.
"

With the merest trace of exasperation, Annabelle exclaimed, "I don
'
t know why we bother developing policies if they are only going to be broken at the first real test. It
'
s not as though we are unscrupulous at Bailey
'
s, you know. We would never publish anything as gospel if we knew it was fabrication.
"

"Yes, dear,
"
soothed Bertie. "You
'
ve told me before that these policies are meant to make your business run more smoothly.
But
…
"

"I know! I
'
ve heard it ad nauseam—lawsuits, personal vendettas, threat to life and limb—Dalmar has been very eloquent on the subject.
"
After a considering silence, Annabelle let out a telling sigh. "Frankly, though it goes against the grain, I don
'
t mind admitting I
'
ve been having
second thoughts.
"
From the corner of her eye, she caught her friend
'
s quickly suppressed grin. With a quelling frown, Annabelle went on, "You needn
'
t think that Dalmar
'
s opinion weighs with me. He
'
s still a greenhorn as far as publishing goes, though I own he is a fast learner. No, it was Albert who pointed out that we have too many irons in the fire at present to take any chances. It
'
s not that I
'
ve given up the idea of publishing the memoirs, you understand. It
'
s just that I
'
m considering delaying the date of publication.
"

"Would you be so kind as to pour me another cup of tea?
"
said Bertie sweetly.

Annabelle obliged.

Beatrice Pendleton knew her friend too well to press her advantage. Where Bailey
'
s was concerned, Annabelle never took advice gracefully from outsiders. Time to let well enough alone, decided Bertie. Abruptly changing the subject, she asked, "What are you wearing to Dalmar
'
s ball this evening?
"

"Something demure,
"
said Annabelle, grinning broadly. "Don
'
t look so shocked, Bertie. I want to make a good impression on Dalmar
'
s friends and relatives. His younger brother will be there. Also, my own relations, Sir Charles and Henrietta.
"

"I heard something…
"

"Yes?
"

"Is it true that Dalmar has invited all your past and present beaux to this ball? He mentioned something of the kind, but I thought he must be funning.
"

Laughing, Annabelle said, "It
'
s no joke. He
'
s determined that they get the message loud and clear that Mrs. Annabelle Jocelyn is no longer in circulation.
"

"It should make, for an interesting evening,
"
murmured Bertie dryly.

"Yes. I daresay. Richard is beside himself because he can
'
t attend. Which reminds me: you were going to give me a progress report on the scamp or some such thing.
"

Mrs. Pendleton
'
s position in the household was ambiguous. Though always referred to as Annabelle
'
s "companion
"
— Annabelle would never admit to the title "chaperone
"
—she shared with her employer the responsibility for the education
of Annabelle
'
s son. In this instance, she
briefly outlined the curriculum she would be following in the next several weeks. From there the conversation moved to Rosedale and the upcoming house party which was to begin later that week and terminate with Guy Fawkes
'
night on November fifth.

"Have you spoken with your cousin?
"
asked Annabelle, deliberately casual.

"You mean about Amy? Yes. It
'
s all arranged, thank you. Amy is counting the days till we leave.
"

The ladies rose from the table and made for the front foyer. "I
'
ve been thinking,
"
said Annabelle. Bertie helped her into her claret velvet redingote.

"Yes?
"

Annabelle carefully eased her fine kid gloves over long, slender fingers. "I don
'
t suppose it
'
s worth mentioning, but if your cousin could be persuaded
…
what I mean to say is
…
Richard is a lonely child so much of the time
…
that is, Amy and he are almost of an age
…
"
She was getting into difficulty and trailed to a halt. She chanced a quick glance at her companion. Emboldened by what she read in the other
'
s expression, she said, "There
'
s no reason why Amy should not come to live here with us. It would do Richard a world of good. I know what you
'
re going to say. But really, Bertie, my marriage won
'
t make a jot of difference. Richard is going to need a governess for some years to come. Two children are scarcely more work than one. But I leave it up to you. Just remember, I
'
m only thinking of what
'
s best for me and mine.
"

She turned on her heel and made for the front door. Before it could be opened, she felt a restraining hand on her sleeve.

Bertie
'
s voice was as liquid as the brown eyes which were turned upon Annabelle. "You know, don
'
t you?
"
she asked softly.

Expelling a breath she did not know she was holding, Annabelle said, "I don
'
t know anything. Not really. But I
'
m not blind either. I suppose I
'
ve been putting two and two together without consciously thinking about it. I may have jumped to the wrong conclusion.
"

"Amy is my daughter.
"
There was a wealth of pain and longing behind the simple statement.

"Yes,
"
said Annabelle, and tentatively patted her friend on the shoulder.

Bertie smiled.

Annabelle smiled.

Everything was going to be all right.

It was Annabelle who broke the silence. Almost gaily, she said, "Tell Nancy to look through my wardrobe for the plainest ladylike frock I own. She can give it a good airing for Dalmar
'
s ball this evening.
"

Equally gay, Bertie responded, "Annabelle Jocelyn, you don
'
t own a stitch that could possibly pass for 'ladylike
'
and you know it.
"

"Then I
'
ll just have to borrow something of yours, won
'
t I, Miss Prim and Proper?
"
was Annabelle
'
s parting shot.

The carriage was waiting for her just outside the front door. A fine drizzle had been falling intermittently for the last number of days, typical weather for October. She settled herself against the squabs and thought fleetingly of the children in every hamlet and town who had been gathering fodder for the bonfires which would blaze throughout the length of Great Britain to mark the anniversary of the Gunpowder Plot. Canny housewives and shopkeepers were known to nail down or lock up anything flammable and movable in an attempt to foil the gangs of children who roamed the streets like the troops of a well-organized army foraging for supplies. Rain, sleet, or snow notwithstanding, nearly every common would blaze with its own bonfire and effigies of Guy Fawkes, the man who almost succeeded in blowing up the House of Lords more than two hundred years before.

Her thoughts turned from children in general to one particular little girl, Amy, four years old. Bertie had given out that she had been a widow for six years or more. Annabelle could not help speculating on who the child
'
s father was, or what had prevented the parents from marrying. Amy
'
s existence explained Bertie
'
s reticence with members of the opposite sex. She was a handsome woman and had attracted her share of attention. But Bertie had never been attracted to anyone as far as Annabelle could remember. She felt a twinge of regret, as if her own forthcoming marriage was in some sort a
betrayal of their friendship. She had thought not so very long ago that she and Bertie would go on as they were for years to come. The prospect had been a pleasing one. But that was before Dalmar.

She made a small moue of impatience. Just as all roads led to Rome, all Annabelle Jocelyn
'
s thoughts,
of late, led straight to the Earl. It wasn
'
t, she assured herself, that she was in love with the man, or suffered from a schoolgirl infatuation, or anything of that ilk. There were things about Dalmar she could not like. He took far too many liberties, stole kisses in broad daylight, and whispered the most outrageous things at the most inopportune moments, causing her untold agonies of embarrassment. No one would believe, to look at the man, with his grave expression and that level stare from intelligent gray eyes, that he was capable of such utterly ungentlemanly conduct. He was a knave! A scapegrace! A rascal! And she was sure she could not explain even to herself why she was shaking with laughter.

He was like no other man she had ever known. No gentleman of her acquaintance ever tried to draw a lady into a conversation on politics, or religion, or commerce. It was as if the Earl actually admired a woman of intelligence, a woman who wasn
'
t afraid to take a stand and argue her point of view with vigor. And his interest in Bailey
'
s was gratifying, to say the least. There was no facet of its operation that did not seem to fascinate him. And she had never talked so much in her whole life.

In one month he
'
d wormed all her secrets out of her, and she was not sure how he
'
d managed it. About his own life he was reticent. He made light of his experiences in the army, told her amusing tales about his school days at Eton, and had shared the odd anecdote about scrapes he had fallen into with his younger brother when they were boys. But over anything that touched on his life with his parents he had drawn an impenetrable veil. Not that he had not mentioned them in passing. But what little he had told her she could quite easily have written on the head of a thimble.

She was not one to intrude on another
'
s privacy uninvited. Pride was something she understood only too well. A facile
sympathy he would have scorned. She respected that. But it was the loneliness at his core which drew her like a river to the ocean. She sensed that he reached out to her in ways that he had never reached out to anyone. He
'
d told her often enough that he wanted a home, a wife, children. But he had never adequately explained why he had chosen her to be his
mate. Not that it mattered…
there was something in her own feminine psyche that responded to all the unexpressed needs of the man. What she felt was not love. She
'
d been in love once before. Annabelle Jocelyn never made the same mistake twice. She and Dalmar both wanted the same things. In her opinion, that was a better basis for marriage than love could ever be.

By degrees she became aware that they were approaching their destination. It was an excursion which Annabelle was in the habit of making twice a year. On this occasion her journey was not part of her normal schedule. Her errand was of a particular and pressing nature.