If the Slipper Fits (17 page)

Her head held high, she stepped into the arched doorway. Some three dozen elegantly clad gentlemen and ladies stood in small groups, while a few older women sat gossiping by the fireplace. Her gaze went straight to Lord Simon, for he was the tallest man in the room. His back to her, he was surrounded by several young women, including dainty blond Lady Louisa. They all seemed to be vying for his attention.

The sight of him caused a lurch deep inside Annabelle, and she attributed it to disgust for his neglect of his nephew. The man could spare no time for Nicholas yet he had ample leisure for flirting. How she would love to point that out to him—if it wouldn’t endanger her position in the household. She had to learn to bide her tongue with him, as she’d once done with Mrs. Baxter and the other teachers.

Accepting a glass of champagne from a passing footman, she scanned the party. There appeared to be a few more women than men present. Odd that, for she’d assumed her invitation had been tendered in order to balance out the couples. Perhaps there were additional gentlemen who had not yet arrived.

No one paid heed to her other than a pair of gray-haired biddies with raised eyebrows who whispered between themselves. Deciding to be amused rather than offended, Annabelle seated herself in a chair by a bank of ferns. The governess wouldn’t be expected to mingle, she reasoned. Here, she could sip her first ever glass of champagne and observe the habits of the haut ton from a discreet distance.

The bubbly taste proved a refreshing delight. But she was immediately distracted when a young gentleman separated himself from the throng and strolled toward her.

She nearly didn’t recognize him without his clerical robes. Garbed in a forest green coat and tan breeches, his wavy brown hair neatly combed, Mr. Harold Tremayne looked more like a stylish man-about-town than a lowly assistant curate.

He bent low and kissed the back of her hand. “My dear Miss Quinn. Have you come to rescue me?”

Glad to see at least one friendly face, she set down her glass on a nearby table and smiled up at him. “Why, Mr. Tremayne, rescue you from what? I cannot imagine how you could be in any danger here.”

“Until you walked in, I was in peril of dying of utter boredom.” On that absurd statement, Tremayne indicated the chair beside hers. “Do you mind if I join you?”

“Please do. I would enjoy the company.”

He seated himself, taking care not to wrinkle the tails of his coat. “Thank you. As you’re new to the district, too, I suspect you know as few people here as I do.”

“Have you not met all the better families in the parish, then?”

“Being in possession of a person’s name is vastly different from being able to chat with the familiarity of a friend. I vow, within five minutes of my arrival, I’d exhausted my repertoire of comments on the weather and the splendor of the room.”

He seemed to have no trouble conversing with
her,
and Annabelle suspected he was denigrating himself on purpose to make her feel more at ease. Then another thought distracted her. Since the assistant curate had been invited, did that mean the vicar was lurking somewhere as well?

Annabelle peered at the gathering, but many of the guests were standing in groups and they blocked the others from view. “Did you come alone?” she asked.

“Yes, I’m afraid poor Percival was denied an invitation.”

She tried to hide her relief. It would have been awkward indeed to encounter Mr. Bunting, especially since he’d looked coldly past her in church the past few Sundays. “I see.”

“You needn’t be polite,” Mr. Tremayne said, chuckling. “One can hardly blame you for not wishing him to be present. I understand there was quite the brouhaha in the schoolroom several weeks ago.”

Annabelle blushed to imagine how Mr. Bunting must have railed against her in the privacy of the vicarage. “I’m very sorry you had to hear of it.”

Mr. Tremayne placed his hand over hers. “Rest assured, I don’t think ill of you, Miss Quinn. Quite the contrary. I’ve only one complaint to lay at your doorstep.”

His familiar manner discomfited Annabelle, so she pulled her hand free and laced her fingers tightly in her lap. “What is that?”

“Bunting is no longer absent most of the day. Must you have sent the snarly fellow back to the vicarage to plague me?”

She stifled an indelicate laugh. “Really, Mr. Tremayne. You oughtn’t be making such impertinent remarks. But do tell me, will he disapprove of you for coming here tonight?”

Mr. Tremayne shrugged. “I reminded him that my invitation was due to my connections. You see, my late grandfather was Viscount Merriman—though I am only the second son of a second son. That is why I’ve been forced to earn my bread as a man of the cloth.”

So she’d been right to identify him as a member of the gentry. “You’ve chosen an admirable vocation. Will you take holy orders soon?”

“Next year, if all goes well. Until then, I’m condemned to share quarters with your archnemesis.”

His vilification of the vicar, while gratifying, seemed inappropriate for the setting. “We shouldn’t speak of this here. And please know that I bear no grudge against Mr. Bunting. I would as soon everyone forgets our disagreement.”

“As you wish.” With a genial smile, Mr. Tremayne changed the subject. “It would be proper for us to speak sedately of books, I think. Then anyone rude enough to eavesdrop will be most impressed by our intellects.”

“Now you’re teasing me.”

“What else is a man to do at such an event than tease the prettiest girl in the hopes of making her laugh?”

Annabelle
did
laugh at his silliness. “I’m too old and sensible to heed such flattery, Mr. Tremayne. Now, perhaps I should not be keeping you from the other ladies. There may be one who is more deserving of your attention.”

“Ah, modesty becomes you. As to the other ladies, I’m afraid they seem far more interested in our host.”

The reference to Lord Simon tempted Annabelle to glance in his direction. As before, a bevy of beauties clustered around him. She had to concede he looked arrestingly handsome tonight in a midnight blue coat, his white cravat a complement to his sun-burnished face and thick dark hair. The other gentlemen in the drawing room paled by comparison to his broad-shouldered strength and cool confidence.

He abruptly turned his head and looked straight at her. Annabelle experienced the burn of those dark gray eyes in the form of a mad pulsation deep within her. She felt overheated and sorely in need of a fan. He didn’t appear pleased to see her here … or did he object to her sitting with Mr. Tremayne?

On her first visit to St. Geren’s Church, Lord Simon had rudely ended her conversation with the assistant curate by rushing her and the duke away to the coach.
I didn’t engage your services for you to be flirting with the locals,
he’d said.

How ludicrous. If Lord Simon disapproved of her speaking to any one of his guests, he shouldn’t have commanded her to attend this dinner party in the first place.

She aimed a deliberately flirtatious smile at Mr. Tremayne. “It does appear that you’re stuck here in the corner with me. We shall have to find a way to keep ourselves entertained until dinner.”

“My dear Miss Quinn, whatever words leave your pretty lips are bound to fascinate me.” He leaned closer, his voice full of fervent emotion. “I can absolutely assure you of that.”

The ardent look on his face disturbed her. Mr. Tremayne seemed a trifle forward in his manners, especially for someone who had dedicated his life to the church. Perhaps his upper-class background had given him a sense of entitlement. If he was one of those gentlemen who viewed the governess as fair game, she would have to take care not to encourage his attentions.

She was casting about for an excuse to escape him when Lord Simon’s voice cut through the buzz of conversation in the drawing room.

“I see our guest of honor has arrived at last,” he said.

Leaving his flock of admirers, Lord Simon made his way to the door as a slim, stately lady in claret-colored silk glided into the chamber. He placed his hands on her shoulders and leaned down to kiss her cheek. The dark-haired woman smiled up at him, speaking words that could not be discerned over the murmurs of the guests.

Annabelle caught her breath in pleasure. “It’s Lady Milford!”

A thought jumped to the forefront of her mind. Could
that
be why she had been included in the dinner party tonight? Because Lady Milford had requested her presence? Yes, it all made sense now. The invitation had not come from Lord Simon by some magnanimous decree, but because he’d been honoring the wishes of a venerated family friend.

“Do you know her, then?” Mr. Tremayne asked.

The assistant curate was looking rather intently at her, so Annabelle explained, “Lady Milford recruited me for the position of governess here at Castle Kevern. I owe her a debt of gratitude.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Is there something wrong?”

Mr. Tremayne pursed his lips as if he were considering a tactful way to put his thoughts into words. “I’m merely surprised. Her ladyship is hardly the sort to seek out governesses. You see…”

Knowing little about the mysterious woman, Annabelle was intrigued by the prospect of learning more. “Pray go on.”

“It isn’t for the ears of a virtuous young lady like yourself. Perhaps I’ve already said too much.”

“Don’t be coy, Mr. Tremayne. I am hardly ignorant in the ways of the world.”

“As you wish, then. Once upon a time, Lady Milford was mistress to one of Mad King George’s sons, although I don’t recall which one. It stirred up a frightful scandal.”

Lady Milford, a royal concubine? Annabelle was shocked and fascinated in equal measures. Never had she suspected that the kind, graceful woman could harbor such a notorious background.

Across the drawing room, Lady Milford was greeting the other guests. She possessed a rare beauty that was untouched by the ravages of time. Yet her allure transcended the physical. Even in her advanced years, she had an unusual magnetism that had the gentlemen crowding around her and the other ladies staring in envy.

Annabelle glanced at Mr. Tremayne. “How do you know this? Were you a member of the court?”

“My parents moved in high circles. One overhears things as a child.” He paused, his gaze slightly narrowed. “I do recall that she was bastard-born, so I suppose one would expect such a female to carry on illicit affairs.”

Stung, Annabelle compressed her lips. Not a soul here at Castle Kevern knew of her own lack of parentage, so Mr. Tremayne couldn’t possibly guess that he’d insulted her as much as Lady Milford. “Yet she does bear the title of lady.”

“The prince arranged a marriage for her, I believe. To a doddering old lord who didn’t mind if his young and beautiful wife took a lover…” Mr. Tremayne flashed Annabelle a shamefaced look. “I do beg your pardon. I can see that I’m embarrassing you. It’s crude of me to be speaking of such matters.”

Annabelle nodded coolly. Better he should think her afflicted by maidenly modesty than to guess at the true nature of her disgust. He could have no inkling that the gossip he’d imparted had made her all the more loyal to Lady Milford, for they both had suffered criticism because of an accident of birth.

She found herself eager to renew an acquaintance with the woman. Scandal or no scandal, she owed Lady Milford a great deal. Perhaps during the course of the evening an opportunity would present itself for them to exchange a few brief words.

Then the decision was taken out of her hands.

Lady Milford leaned close to speak to Lord Simon. He offered her his arm and they came strolling across the drawing room.

They were heading straight toward Annabelle.

Chapter 13

She rose swiftly from her chair and adjusted the shawl around her shoulders. The last thing she wanted was for a gossipmonger like Mr. Tremayne to be privy to their conversation. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said, “I’d like a word in private with her ladyship.”

The assistant curate leaped to his feet, too. “Of course. Though I’d hoped that later we might…”

Annabelle stepped away, pretending not to hear him. It was best not to encourage a man who held such snobbish views. At least she’d found out quickly about his contempt for those born out of wedlock. That alone had revealed everything about him that she needed to know.

Lord Simon and Lady Milford met Annabelle halfway across the drawing room. She made her curtsy with pleasure. “My lady, I’m so very happy to see you here.”

Lady Milford greeted her with a warm smile and a kiss on the cheek. She exuded the delicate fragrance of lilacs. “It is indeed wonderful to meet again, Miss Quinn. You look especially lovely tonight. Don’t you agree, Simon?”

His cool gaze flitted over Annabelle. “Quite. Which is why she oughtn’t have been hiding behind the ferns with the assistant curate.”

“Mr. Tremayne was kind enough to keep me company,” she said, matching the hint of mockery in his tone. “I trust that was permissible.”

He frowned slightly. “I meant no criticism, only that it’s customary to mingle with all the guests.”

Meant no criticism
—what bosh! Lord Simon clearly did not want his female employees to be associating with any gentlemen. “Alas, Mr. Tremayne was the only person I knew here,” she said. “Apart from you, of course, and you were otherwise occupied with your … admirers.”

Harem
was the word Annabelle would rather have used if it wouldn’t have been extremely impolite. Lord Simon already looked annoyed and she could only think it was because he’d been forced to invite her to this party. Just to provoke him, she held his gaze and refused to cower like a servant.

With a faint smile, Lady Milford had been observing the exchange. Now, she slipped her hand through Annabelle’s arm. “Come, the three of us must sit and enjoy a chat. I’m sure Miss Quinn has much to relate about the duke’s progress in his lessons.”

“I’m afraid that will be impossible,” said Lord Simon. “I’ve given instructions to the head footman. Dinner will be served in a moment.”