The Worldly Widow (30 page)

"There
'
s no comparison,
"
said Dalmar. "You
'
ll love Annabelle, you
'
ll see. She
'
s
just
…
different from the common run, that
'
s all. I know how fond you
were of Diana. Well, so was I. I
still am. She
'
ll be here this evening, by the by. So you
'
ll have a chance to renew an old acquaintance.
"

Falconer surprised both his companions by saying obscurely, "I
'
m glad she
'
s not like Diana.
"

Before Dalmar could ask him to explain his cryptic remark, a lackey entered with the intelligence that Mrs. Jocelyn and her party had arrived. Dalmar excused himself and went to greet his guests.

In the foyer, four people were being helped out of their wraps. Annabelle was flanked by Bertie Pendleton and a diminutive, dark-haired lady whose bright, birdlike eyes darted about her with keen interest. Their escort, a gentleman in his early forties, distinguished, with silver wings threading his short crop of brown hair, stiffened imperceptibly at the Earl
'
s approach.

Dalmar
'
s eyes were drawn to Annabelle. Her gown of diaphanous silk net was the color of rubies and was heavily embroidered along the borders of the bodice and hem with chenille garlands of pink roses. The skirt of her gown, though gored and slightly fuller than was fashionable, left nothing to the imagination. It was evident to Dalmar that Annabelle had reverted to her former habit of wearing not a stitch of underclothing. Her dark hair was swept high on the crown of her head in the classic manner, and a mass of tiny curls, like goose-down feathers, framed her face. Her blue eyes flashed like crystal prisms. Magnificent, he thought, and before she could take evasive action, he was at her side and had claimed a swift, proprietary kiss.

Under his breath he said, "This had better be for my benefit, or I
'
ll want to know the reason why.
"

His smile was lazy.

Hers was brilliant.

The introductions were soon made. Lady Jocelyn was effusive in her praise of the Earl
'
s house. Sir Charles was coolly polite, remote, and faintly challenging. Lord Dalmar, an uneasy suspicion taking hold in his mind, led the way to the book room.

Initially conversation was somewhat stilted, which was to be expected, given the circumstances. By degrees a slight thawing took place, and Dalmar, in his role as host, moved about freely, observing everything with a deceptively detached interest.

More guests began to arrive, for there were twenty invited to sit down to dinner and another sixty or so for the ball. Annabelle, radiant, played her part as the Earl
'
s hostess as if she had been born to the role. That most of the men were under her spell came as no surprise to Dalmar. But by the time the last sugared fruit and roasted nut had been passed and the ladies were on the point of retiring to the cloakroom to repair for the ball, his first unquiet suspicion had hardened into a solid conviction. Sir Charles was besotted with Annabelle. His wife was fully cognizant of this fact, though she hid it well. Annabelle, with her customary carelessness, was ignorant of or indifferent to the passions which fermented just below the surface.

Nor had Ransome
'
s attentions to Bertie Pendleton escaped the Earl
'
s eye. Nor the lady
'
s evident aversion to his friend. Dalmar could not think what had come over Ransome. He had never seen him so persistent where his attentions were not wanted. He watched covertly as Ransome laid a restraining hand on Mrs. Pendleton
'
s arm. She turned back and said something in an undertone. Ransome dropped her arm as if it were a scorching-hot poker, and the lady swept past him.

Dalmar
'
s eyes shifted to Sir Charles. That gentleman
'
s attention was diverted to Annabelle. Each time he looked at her his expression softened. The reason for Annabelle
'
s unconventional mode of living became very clear to Dalmar. She twisted men around her thumb as if they were threads of silk. He knew that no man, least of all the men who should have had some ordering of her life, her father, her deceased husband, and her brother-in-law, had ever faced her down when she was determined to have her own way. David Falconer was one man, he determined, who would never submit to being treated as a cypher by the headstrong lady.

Not that he had any wish to break her spirit. Far from it. He
'
d been drawn to her from the first by those fearless blue eyes which had looked at the world with a coolly challenging stare. Annabelle Jocelyn was her own person and judged the world on its merits. Not for her the place society assigned the female of the species.

He remembered that he
'
d found her in a Parisian brothel. He
recalled the riot in the Palais Royal, and the fatal duel where Annabelle
'
s presence of mind had saved him from the sharp edge of Livry
'
s blade. He thought of her at Bailey
'
s and how she had made her mark in the publishing world. But most of all he thought of her sweet surrender in his bed.

God, she was perfect for him! No other woman could satisfy the passion she excited. No other woman could provoke this longing to possess her until she surrendered everything to him. He could never, now, shackle himself to some docile, proper lady who would defer to his wishes as if he were some deity. His mother had been that sort of woman. And he and his brother had paid the price for her docility.

Childhood memories, long suppressed, surfaced in his mind. A pulse began to tick in his temple. After a moment, a long, weary sigh fell from his lips.

Annabelle was not like his mother, he reminded himself. She would never allow herself to become the victim of any man. Her children would never be submitted to what he and his brother John had endured for years. He had always had a terror that one day his control would slip and he would become the animal his father had been. The thought had haunted him. In his relationships with women, he had never felt free to relax his guard, had, in fact, in spite of his thankfully short engagement to Lady Diana, shied away from committing himself to any one woman. In transitory affairs, there was safety for a man of his unhappy background.

He shook his head as if to clear his mind of painful memories. He was not like his father. He would make it so. Never once, when Annabelle had thwarted him, had he been tempted to do more than wallop her exquisite derriere. He tried to imagine what tack she would take when he finally wrested Monique Dupres
'
s diaries away from her.

Ransome offered him the brandy decanter, and Dalmar shrugged off further unprofitable speculation.

In the downstairs cloakroom, Annabelle took in the white face and trembling fingers of her companion.

"Bertie, are you all right?
"
she asked, and put out a gloved hand to touch her friend solicitously on the shoulder. "You
'
re shaking!
"

"I think I
'
m coming down with something,
"
admitted Bertie, her cheeks coloring.

Lady Jocelyn looked up from adjusting the folds of her skirt. Her quick eyes fastened on the heightened color of Annabelle
'
s companion. She laughed and said archly, "Colonel Ransome is a very presentable gentleman, wouldn
'
t you say, Mrs. Pendleton? In your place, I
'
d snap him up before some other lady takes a fancy to him. Oh, you needn
'
t look daggers at me. Anyone with eyes in his head must have seen that he was more than a little civil to you. Though why
that
should ruffle your feathers is something of a mystery.
"

There was an embarrassed silence. Annabelle had no recollection of Colonel Ransome paying her friend more attention than he had paid any other lady. Of course, her mind had been preoccupied with other things. Slicing a chilling glance at her sister-in-law, she said, "Bertie, did that gentleman say something to upset you?
"

"No! No, really. What gave you that idea? We were merely asking after mutual friends.
"

"Oh, you know him from before?
"
asked Henrietta.

"I met him a time or two in town, oh, years ago. Look, Annabelle, this has nothing to do with Colonel Ransome. Really, I
'
m not feeling well. Would you mind terribly if I took the carriage home and sent it back for you? You know I wouldn
'
t miss your ball for the world
, but I just cannot… oh…
what should I do?
"

Annabelle was all for sending for the Earl, but at this suggestion Bertie became even more agitated. Soothingly, Annabelle promised that her friend should effect her escape (for that was how Annabelle had come to think of it) before any of the gentlemen could be apprised of what was afoot. A maid was sent to order the coach round and accompany Bertie to Greek Street. Since the cloakroom was on the ground floor and the gentlemen were in the upstairs dining room, the thing was accomplished very easily.

"You
'
re sure you
'
ll be all right?
"
asked Annabelle. She had walked Bertie to the front door.

"Yes, dear. Don
'
t worry. I
'
ll see you tomorrow at breakfast. I
'
ll be as right as a trivet by then, if I
'
m not mistaken. My one
regret is that I shall miss the surprise you
'
ve arranged for the Earl. You must tell me all about it tomorrow.
"

Later, in the receiving line, Annabelle asked Dalmar a few pointed questions about his friend Colonel Ransome.

Having told her what she wished to know, he murmured, "Why do you ask?
"

Frowning, Annabelle replied, "There
'
s been some talk. It seems he monopolized Bertie
'
s society from the moment she stepped over your threshold. I don
'
t like it.
"

Mildly he reproved, "My dear Annabelle, whether you like it or not has nothing to say to anything. Mrs. Pendleton is of age. If she doesn
'
t care for Ransome
'
s attentions, let her tell him so. You keep out of it, d
'
you understand?
"

Bristling, Annabelle turned on him, but at that moment one of the last of the guests to arrive had caught her eye as she ascended the wide sweep of the stairs with her escort, and the retort died on Annabelle
'
s lips.

The lady, a child really, thought Annabelle, was exquisite and as perfect as a china doll. There was no art to those becomingly flushed cheeks and soft, rose-petal lips. And such hair—a glorious profusion of guinea-gold ringlets. Blue eyes like saucers, rimmed with so
ot, regarded Annabelle unblink
ingly. The sweetest smile trembled on her lips.

"Lady Diana Merril,
"
the majordomo announced.

At the name Annabelle
'
s smile slipped a smidgen. She
'
d heard tell of Dalmar
'
s former
fiancée
. It did not seem possible that this angel in a confection of pink satin, surely no older than eighteen or nineteen, could possibly be the lady in question. In her ignorance, she had supposed that Lady Diana was of an age with herself. But even the voice which murmured a polite greeting was girlishly high and husky. In comparison, her own response, two octaves lower, seemed as if it had been articulated by the voice box of a bass-baritone. Annabelle cleared her throat.

Lady Diana passed down the line. From the corner of her eye Annabelle observed the warm welcome the girl received first from Dalmar himself and then from his brother.

At her ear, Henrietta
'
s voice, edged with acid sweetness,
intoned, "She
'
s been the toast of the town since her first season.
"

"I'
ve
never met her before,
"
said Annabelle, sniffing.

"My dear, we
'
re talking Court circles. We
'
re small fry in comparison. She
'
s very young looking, isn
'
t she?
"