If the Slipper Fits (32 page)

Leaving her bedchamber, she went to visit Nicholas. An oil lamp burned low on his bedside table. Since it was well past seven, he was already tucked into the four-poster bed with its blue-and-gold hangings. He sat propped against a mound of pillows with his nose in a book.

He glanced up and his green eyes widened. “Miss Quinn! You look like a princess!”

Laughing, she dipped a curtsy. “Why, thank you, Your Grace. That’s very kind of you to say so.” She walked closer and brushed back a lock of his flaxen hair, then bent down to give him a kiss on his brow. “Now, it’s time to set your book aside. You mustn’t stay up reading or you’ll fall asleep during tomorrow’s lessons.”

Nicholas placed the book on the table. As he wriggled deeper under the covers, he said rather wistfully, “It must be fun to go to a party.”

The longing on his face touched Annabelle’s heart. She couldn’t bear for him to feel left out of the festivities. It reminded her too much of her own childhood, when she had been forbidden to participate in celebrations with her fellow students. “Suppose I come back here at midnight and wake you up? I’ll bring you a surprise from the ball.”

For days, the kitchen had been a beehive of activity as sweets and other delicacies had been prepared for the midnight supper. It should be no trouble to find something special for him.

Nicholas’s expression perked up. “What will you bring me?”

“If I were to tell you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, now would it?”

“Will Uncle Simon come with you?”

Annabelle hesitated. It was a safe guess that Simon would spend the evening surrounded by his usual bevy of beauties. “He’s the host of the ball, darling, so he’ll be very busy tonight. However, I promise I’ll do my best.”

Nicholas seemed content with that, and after giving him a hug, Annabelle turned down the lamp and made her way downstairs. The murmur of many voices came from the great hall where the aristocratic guests were arriving. From the upstairs landing, she caught a glimpse of Simon’s dark head as he greeted people in the receiving line. A steady stream of stylish gentlemen and ladies proceeded up the grand staircase. As they reached the upper floor, she joined the procession and kept her gaze averted so as not to attract anyone’s notice.

Ludlow stood just inside the ballroom door and announced each arrival. The elderly man spied her, but Annabelle put a finger to her lips. Winking, he allowed her to slip into the party without fanfare.

The large room that appeared quite ordinary during the daytime now took her breath away with its splendor. Hundreds of candles glowed in the crystal chandeliers. The polished parquet floor shone from its new coat of beeswax. Large vases of asters and hothouse roses lent brilliant color to the scene. The finest decorations of all were the noble guests themselves, the gentlemen in tailored coats with white cravats, the ladies in elegant, low-cut gowns of every hue.

Annabelle knew that her own homemade garb could never quite meet the high style of these ladies who employed the finest dressmakers. Nevertheless, she felt confident in the sky blue silk with its cream underskirt. Simon had certainly admired it when he’d caught her trying it on.

You are so very beautiful.

A melting sensation curled inside her. Of course, when he’d said that, he had already peeled down her bodice and had been gazing at her bare breasts. So perhaps the compliment didn’t quite count in regard to her gown. But the heated look in his eyes when he’d walked into the dressing room was something she wouldn’t soon forget.

Would he dance with her tonight? Would he hold the governess in his arms in front of all his friends and neighbors?

It would be foolish to harbor any such expectation. He had issued the invitation to this ball when he’d hoped to make her his mistress. Out of a sense of chivalry, he had embraced her after her ordeal in the cave to offer her comfort. He had visited the nursery twice since then, but had paid more attention to Nicholas than to her.

More telling than anything else, Simon had made no further attempt to seduce her. Nor had he sent any more gifts beyond the shawl that she wore—and that was merely a replacement for the one ruined by the crow. She could only conclude that he had decided to abide by her refusal of him.

The too-brief romance between them had ended.

Refusing to succumb to misery, Annabelle accepted a glass of champagne from a silver tray offered by a footman. She strolled to the rows of gilt chairs at one end of the long room, where the matrons had gathered to gossip. Taking a seat at the rear, she struck up a conversation with an elderly lady who, upon finding out Annabelle was the governess, proceeded to regale her with complaints of a personal nature. By the time the musicians played the first tune, Annabelle knew every detail of the woman’s lumbago, rheumatism, and megrims. However, the one-sided chat proved to be a boon when the lady’s middle-aged son came to check on her and asked Annabelle to dance.

He was a tongue-tied, portly gentleman, yet she welcomed the chance to join the other guests on the dance floor. Annabelle knew the steps from her days at Mrs. Baxter’s Academy, for she often had been required to assist the girls in their dance lessons. But never had she had the opportunity to participate herself in such a glittering assemblage. Even at the dinner party all those weeks ago, she had played the pianoforte in the corner while everyone else had danced.

Over the course of the evening, Annabelle partnered with several other gentlemen, and she derived a quiet enjoyment from the activity. She steadfastly refused to look for Simon. Nevertheless, she caught sight of him from time to time as he squired a succession of young ladies. She was standing alone at the edge of the throng when she spied him with Lady Louisa.

It was a waltz, and Simon had his hand at the girl’s dainty waist as they whirled around the floor. Lady Louisa looked like an angel in her airy white gown, a diamond tiara glinting in her blond curls. Despite Annabelle’s resolute gaiety, the sight was a dagger thrust to her heart.

He had claimed that Lady Louisa was merely a family friend. But it didn’t appear that way to Annabelle. Or perhaps, she admitted to herself, she was merely jealous.
She
wanted to be the one in his arms.

“They make a lovely couple, don’t they?” said a voice behind her.

She turned to find Lady Danville eyeing her with a superior smirk. “Who do you mean?” Annabelle said coolly.

“Don’t pretend coyness, Miss Quinn. You know perfectly well that I am referring to Lord Simon and my daughter.”

Annabelle had no intention of cowering before this woman. “I am never coy, my lady. I believe in speaking my mind.”

Lady Danville pursed her lips. “Then I shall do likewise. You should know that Simon’s mother and I planned for them to marry from the time Louisa was born.”

“Indeed? How peculiar, then, that he has not yet offered for her.”

Lady Danville’s nostrils flared in her patrician face. “Why, you insolent chit. Are you implying he has no intention of doing so?”

“Certainly not. I cannot pretend to know his private thoughts. Nor can you. He will make his choice without any help from either of us.”

“Perhaps you hope he will select
you
as his bride. Have you no shame in aspiring so very far above yourself?”

“I am as much a lady as any here. Perhaps even more so.”

Turning away, Annabelle left the woman gaping like a fish out of water. The air suddenly felt too close and she craved escape. She’d had enough of these snooty aristocrats. She would join the staff at their festivities outside.

As was the custom on Samhain, the guests had brought their servants. The employees took turns serving at the ball so that all of them would have the opportunity to take part in the revelry outdoors.

But as Annabelle fetched her shawl and went outside, she realized she didn’t quite belong there, either. She stopped near the raised portcullis and watched from a short distance away. The servants were enjoying a very different sort of party with a huge bonfire lit alongside the front drive and a fiddler playing a lively song.

The wild music had an energizing effect on the crowd. Women danced, their skirts thrown in the air, while men in animal masks playfully gave chase. She spied the stout figure of the cook in the thick of the action, along with several of the maids and footmen. From time to time, a couple broke away from the multitude to head into the darkness of the forest. Annabelle preferred not to imagine what amorous activities they had in mind.

“It’s quite stimulating, isn’t it?”

She gasped, for the man standing beside her seemed to have materialized out of nowhere. He was dressed casually with his cravat tied loosely in the manner of a common laborer. “Mr. Tremayne! What are you doing out here?”

“Lord Simon neglected to send me an invitation to the ball. So rather than miss all the fun, I thought I would come and observe the servants at their revels. They have quite the unfettered way of marking the feast of the dead.”

“It’s the final celebration before the dark time of year,” she said. “At least that’s how Samhain was described to me in the kitchen. But I don’t understand why some of them are wearing masks.”

“On this night, the veil between this world and the next is reputed to be thin. The costumes are meant to confuse any evil spirits that cross over from the netherworld in an attempt to lure us to an untimely death.”

A shiver ran over her skin. “How do you know that?”

“From Percival Bunting, of course. The fellow talked of naught else but Druid nonsense in the vicarage. Which is why it’s a good thing he’s locked in a cell tonight. It means he can’t observe the occasion in his usual manner.”

Annabelle glanced sharply at the assistant curate. “His usual manner?”

The firelight cast harsh shadows on Mr. Tremayne’s face so that it looked as though he wore an otherworldly mask. “Haven’t you guessed? Bunting fancied himself a Druid priest. On feast days like this, he held secret rituals with other devotees like himself.”

“Who? Do you mean people who live around here?”

“Walk with me and I’ll tell you what I’ve found out.”

Mr. Tremayne took hold of her arm and tried to urge her toward the shadows of the forest, but she balked. Something in his manner made her uneasy. Was this merely an excuse to press his attentions on her? Nothing could be more abhorrent.

“Whatever you have to say can be said right here,” she stated.

The assistant curate frowned. “As you wish, then. I’ve found a diary hidden in the vicar’s study. In it, Percival described participating in all manner of rituals, including blood sacrifices made to pagan gods.”

Annabelle controlled another shudder. She would have thought such a tale preposterous of anyone else. But she knew firsthand the vicar’s predilection for the Druids. “The diary would strengthen the case against him, especially since he’s denied any wrongdoing. Have you told Lord Simon about it?”

“Actually, I brought the book with me. It’s in the saddlebag of my mount. Come, we’ll fetch it.”

Grabbing her hand, Mr. Tremayne tugged her down the darkened drive. Annabelle attempted to dig her heels into the gravelly dirt. But it was downhill and hard to stop her momentum. She had a strong suspicion the diary was merely a ruse to get her alone with him. No wonder Simon had warned her to stay away from this man.

She tried in vain to jerk herself out of the assistant curate’s tenacious grip. “I am
not
going anywhere with you, Mr. Tremayne. It’s high time I returned to the ballroom.”

“And I say it’s high time you gave me a taste of what you’re giving Lord Simon.”

He yanked her close and tried to mash his lips to hers. Annabelle turned her head to the side just in time. At the same moment, she lifted her foot and thrust the heel of her slipper down hard on his instep.

He bit out a curse, his fingers loosening. As she broke free and backed away, he glowered at her. “Speak of the devil,” he muttered.

With startling swiftness, he spun around and scuttled off into the darkness. Then her astonishment cleared as she realized Simon was striding down the drive. Anger radiated from his tall, broad-shouldered form.

He stopped beside her, his hands drawn into fists. “Was that Tremayne?”

“Yes, but there’s no need to bluster. He’s gone now.”

“What did he do to you?”

“Nothing of consequence. Simon, he said he’s found a diary that belongs to Mr. Bunting. Perhaps you can ask him about it tomorrow.”

Simon frowned. “Never mind that. He had his hands on you, and you were struggling. The scoundrel deserves to be knocked in the dirt where he belongs.”

“It’s over now.” Seeking to defuse his temper, Annabelle gently rubbed his fist, coaxing his fingers to relax. “Let’s go back inside. Then you can tell me what brought you out here to mingle with the lower class.”

He gave her a penetrating look as they started back toward the bonfires. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“I needed air.” He mustn’t know that she found air in short supply right at the moment, too, for his very presence constricted her lungs and filled her with unwanted joy. “And unlike you, I belong out here.”

“Bosh,” he chided, turning his hand and lacing their fingers together. “If that were true, I wouldn’t have come in search of you. Nor would I be asking you to join me for the supper dance.”

All the magic returned to the evening. Her heart took flight on wings of foolish hope. Never had she dreamed Simon would single her out for the most coveted dance of all. A gentleman reserved it for the one lady he favored above all others because afterward, they would share supper together. Breathlessly, she said, “Lady Danville won’t be very happy about that.”

He chuckled. “She did try her best to arrange matters otherwise. But I informed her I’d already chosen my partner.
If
you’ll accept me.”

Oh, my
. Annabelle realized she’d been very wrong to believe Simon had given up on romancing her. It was clear he still wanted to coax her into his bed. So much so that he would display his interest in her before all his guests.