Annabelle's Courtship (17 page)

“At any rate, I hope she is wise enough to realize that men like Ian do not come along every day in a woman’s life.”

She would have to be a fool not to realize that Ian was unique among men.

Annabelle was not a fool.

* * *

Throwing the glass of inexpensive port against the wall, William growled curses he had learned playing cards in the seedy hells his fortunes had forced him to. The sound of glass shattering did not abate his fury. The nerve of the chit! Once he was married to her, she would learn the folly of ignoring him for another man. How dare she wear some other man’s flowers when he had spent his precious blunt on a posy for her?

She had also allowed the laird to monopolize her time. William had struggled in vain to get near Lady Annabelle in the drawing room and join her party. When he had finally come within speaking distance, the upstart Scotsman had spirited her out to the garden.

The ignorant gel didn’t have the sense to stay out of dark gardens with gentlemen. If William was not careful, his prey would end up in a compromising position with Lord Graenfrae and all would be lost.

The almost empty port bottle joined his glass in a splintering explosion across the room. The smell of cheap wine mixed with his own sweat as he threw himself into his favorite chair. The only piece of furniture not covered with soiled garments. His disloyal valet had left. Could William help it if he was a little behind in the man’s wages? Surely a loyal servant would have stayed, but William had returned to his rooms to find his valet gone the day before.

Toying with the money he had left over from the Lady Hamilton’s first payment, William considered his options. He had over ninety pounds still left after buying the posy, a few bottles of port and dinner at his club. Ninety pounds wasn’t a bad stake in the games of chance to be found in the lower east side of London.

Mulling the idea over, he pulled off his sweat-stained shirt and dressed in garments more suitable to the stews. He headed out the door and hailed a passing hackney. If his luck continued, he would be a good deal richer in the morning.

Then he would rehire his valet. He discarded the idea. He would hire a new man.

Why reward the disloyalty of his old servant? William’s mood improved by the prospect of a night spent in his favorite pursuit. He smiled to himself.

Lady Annabelle would be his, and soon.

Chapter Eleven

Ian walked toward Rundell, Bridge and Rundell, surprised that such an unimposing building housed one of London’s most prestigious jewelers. Finchley had been insistent.

This jeweler serviced the needs of most of the polite world.

Ian’s grandfather’s resistance to England had not only cost his estates and his people, all of the family baubles had long since been sold off as well. His mother’s wedding ring had been a simple band of gold. He wanted to give Belle a ring to seal their betrothal.

Something that would declare to the world that she belonged to him.

He just had to convince her of that fact.

It would also do his nerves a world of good to convince her to leave off pursuing her causes. He grew cold at the thought of Annabelle in the clutches of a man like the one she had met with at Gunther’s.

Thinking back over his conversation with her in the garden, Ian was convinced that she was hiding something from him. He couldn’t begin to guess what. All he knew for certain was that the lass was in over her head with a man like that.

The door to the jeweler swung open and a lady came out. Her head was bent, so Ian did not at first recognize her. As she passed him, however, he noticed something familiar about the set of her shoulders and shape of her head.

It was Lady Hamilton.

“Good morning, Lady Hamilton.”

She walked past him as if he had not spoken and it was then that he noticed tears sliding down her cheeks. She rushed to her waiting carriage and stepped inside before Ian could form a question in his surprised brain.

Deciding he might find some answers for the lady’s strange behavior within, he stepped into the jewelers shop. It was empty save a wizened-looking man who stood behind the farthest display case appraising a strand of pearls. They looked remarkably like the ones Ian had seen on several occasions gracing Lady Hamilton’s neck.

Stepping forward, he decided to test the theory that had formed in his mind. He could not credit that Belle would countenance her friend selling her wedding pearls, even for Belle’s cause. “A lovely strand of pearls, that.” The jeweler looked up. “They are. They are. Just as lovely as the day I strung them.” Ian put his hand out to examine the necklace. “I might be in the market for something like this.”

The jeweler shook his head sadly. “Can’t sell them to you yet. Promised the lady to keep them for at least two weeks. To tell the truth, once her lord finds out she’s sold ’em, I’m betting he’ll be here post haste to buy them back.”

“Did the lass who was just in here sell those to you?”

“Right you are. Gambling debts or some such thing, I’m bound. Thinks she’ll keep it from her husband, but things like this have a way of becoming known.” Ian nodded. They did indeed. “You promised to keep them at least two weeks?”

“Yes, but if you’re that interested in some pearls, I’ve got a nice set here in my display case.”

The jeweler leaned down and pulled out a beautiful strand of beads. They made a soft clicking noise as they rubbed together. When the jeweler named a price, Ian winced.

Several cottage roofs could be thatched for the money. When he pictured how the glistening pearls would look nestled around Belle’s slender throat, Ian was tempted to buy them anyway.

He shook his head, not without regret. “I’m looking for a betrothal ring.” The jeweler laid his finger alongside his nose and tugged on his ear. “Ah. It’s that way, is it?” He nodded again. “I think I have just the thing.” He pulled a display case from the cabinet and laid it before Ian. Pulling back the protective velvet, he exposed several rings of various stones and settings. Ian’s eye was drawn to a ring that resembled a rose. It held no gems like the others, but the artistry of the delicate rose could not be denied. Lifting the ring from the tray, Ian announced, “I’ll take this one.”

The jeweler offered him a keepsake box carved in the same rose motif to carry it in.

Ian agreed to buy that also. Belle, with her fondness for roses, would love it.

Now he just had to convince her to accept the gift.

Annabelle paced the drawing room. Ian had not said what time he would call today, but she knew in her heart he was coming. What would she say? He had told her she had until the end of the season to accustom herself to the notion of their marriage, but she felt as if time had run out. She knew that she could not go on rejecting a proud man like her Scottish suitor and expect him to continue calling.

“Annabelle, sit down. Your pacing is going to wear a hole in my carpet.” Aunt Griselda sat near the empty fireplace working on garments for a soon to arrive grandchild.

Annabelle smiled at her aunt’s irritable tone. The dear woman hated fancy work, but forced herself to complete a perfectly gorgeous christening gown for each of her grandchildren.

“I’m sorry, Aunt.” Annabelle sat down at the spinet and trailed her fingers across the keys aimlessly.

The older woman harrumphed. “If you are going to make noise at least make it pleasant.”

Poor Aunt Griselda. She must be tatting lace to be this cranky.

“Very well.” Annabelle began to play a soft Scottish ballad.

“That’s nice, dear.” Her aunt worked in silence, letting Annabelle play first one, then another song from the North. “Have you discovered that Laird MacKay is the best you are likely to do for a husband, yet?”

A discordant note sounded as Annabelle’s fingers slipped on the ivories.

Aunt Griselda lifted her gaze from her tatting and frowned. “He
is
a good man. If you let him go looking elsewhere, I’ll wash my hands of trying to find you a proper mate once and for all.” The deep concern in her tone belied the severity of her speech.

“He is a good man.” Annabelle spoke the truth quietly and let her fingers still above the keys of the spinet.

Ian
was
a good man. He was also a stubborn man, an arrogant man and a man who affected her equilibrium by walking into the room. There was nothing simple or straightforward about her feelings toward the maddening Scottish laird.

Aunt Griselda set the fold of snowy white fabric in her lap. “I only knew your uncle a week when I decided he was the one for me. However, it took another month to bring him to the same conclusion. Men can sometimes be dense.”

Annabelle felt a faint stirring of hope. “Yes, it took Robert two seasons to discover he couldn’t live without Diana.”

Returning to her work, Aunt Griselda nodded. “Just so.” Annabelle remained silent. Could Ian live without her? Or, was she just a means to an end? She was certain of only one thing.
She was approaching the condition when she
could not live without Ian
.

He was all that she wanted in a husband. He turned her insides to butter when he kissed her. He listened when she talked. He did not criticize her views or her cause. He might criticize his perception of her putting herself in danger, but even that was a nice change from being ignored. He lacked only one thing, the proper view of love. Oh, she knew he cared, but did he care enough?

How could she marry a man who did not love her, and yet how could she not when she loved him so much she ached with the strength of it?

“You’ll work it out in your mind, my dear. Just do not take too long in doing so. I would hate to see that dear boy go looking elsewhere.” The thought of Ian as a dear boy brought a small smile to Annabelle’s lips, but her aunt’s other words filled her heart with dread. Would he go looking for another wife, a more tractable woman?

She read similar concern in her aunt’s eyes and knew the source was not Annabelle’s status as a spinster. Aunt Griselda loved her and wanted her to be happy.

A rush of warm feeling toward the older woman spread over Annabelle and she got up from the music bench to give Aunt Griselda’s shoulders a squeeze. “You have been a rock since Mama and Papa died. I don’t know what I would have done without you.” Her aunt’s eyes were suspiciously misty, but she said, “Enough of this maudlin talk.

Just see that you don’t ruin your chances at happiness, gel.” That was exactly what Annabelle did not wish to do, but what way would lie happiness? Marriage to a man who did not love her or the desolate years stretched out ahead of her without the man she loved?

She was no nearer a solution to her dilemma when Creswell announced Ian’s arrival an hour later. Ian gave her aunt a perfunctory greeting and then turned to Annabelle.

“Belle, do you still have the list you made for me when we first met?”

Annabelle felt a lead ball forming in the pit of her stomach.
He wanted the list?

Now?
Surely, not. She took a fortifying breath to steady her voice before speaking.

“Yes.”

“I would like you to fetch it for me.”

Her heart contracted painfully. He had given up. He was ready to move on to more easily wooed ladies. She could not help herself. She asked, “Do you need it
now
, Ian?”

“Aye, Belle, now.”

She felt her world constrict around her until she was conscious of only the overpowering man before her and the shattered sensation in her own heart. She inwardly cursed her own stubbornness. She had started this by making the now hated list for Ian.

She had even been proud of herself when she had successfully introduced several of the ladies on it to him, but then she had fallen in love.

None of the women whose names were on the list would make Ian a proper wife.

How could they? They did not love him as she did. They would not ache to help him rebuild his lands and improve the lives of his tenants.

She felt like cursing and crying at once. She didn’t want him to give up. She wanted him to love her, to care enough to demand marriage to her and her alone. Tears burned her eyes, but she blinked them away. She could cry later. She would not lose her composure now and become an object of his pity.

He waited silently, his face expressionless, for her to do as he bid. She could think of no alternative, but to get the list.

Turning to her aunt, she excused herself. The look of disappointment in Lady Beauford’s eyes sliced through Annabelle like a blade.

Having retrieved the list and gotten a measure of control over her emotions, she returned to the drawing room.

In a final effort to stave off the inevitable, she babbled, “I made the list before I knew you well, Ian. I’m not sure any of the names would be that helpful to you now. It’s probably not at all what you are looking for.” Ian wordlessly put his hand out for the list. She handed it to him, trying to control the fine tremor in her hand as she did so. Ian took the paper and began to methodically rip it into shreds. She watched stupidly while he reduced the heavy stationary to nothing more than a pile of bits. He then threw it into the dustbin near her aunt’s chair.

“I told her it was no use making it. When a gentleman of character makes his plans, he does not change them.” Her aunt’s words were complacent, but she had not been able to mask the relief in her voice.

“Aye.” He nodded toward Aunt Griselda and then turned to face Annabelle. “Are ye ready to leave now?”

She nodded wordlessly. After the past horrifying moments when she thought she had lost him, she was more than ready to discuss their future.

She met him in the hall. He did not say anything, but led the way to his carriage without a word. Hardly the day for a drive, gray clouds filled the overcast skies and an unseasonable chill filled the air. She shivered in her light muslin clothing and wished she had thought to bring her Kashmir shawl.

Ian pulled a soft carriage blanket from the seat of the carriage and wrapped it around Annabelle so that it not only covered her shoulders like a cloak, but it also draped across her legs. She smiled her thanks.