Annabelle, The American Page 6

  “If that is her name, then yes, Margaret.”

  She could see it then in his face, the answer she had been dreading, denying. What else could a mere girl give him that she, his wife, could not? “You do. You love her.”

  He paused too long. He wanted to lie—but she knew he would not, she read it in the dropping of his gaze, the pursing of his lips. When he raised his glance back to her, it was too late.

  Slipping her legs over the edge of the bed she stood, more glad of the chemise than ever. She felt tears burning behind her eyes. Thomas didn’t love her. He’d told her without difficulty that he didn’t love her. But ask about this girl whom he could have known only months and he didn’t answer, which was more of an answer in itself.

  Back straight, she turned and walked toward the door that led to the sitting room and then to her chamber.

  “Stop, Annabelle. You don’t understand. It’s not what you think.” Thomas’s feet hit the floor with a thump.

  She stopped, but did not turn.

  “Do you deny that you love her? Speak now if you wish.” She kept her gaze focused on the handle to the door.

  “God, Annabelle, what do you want from me?” She felt him behind her, his breath on the back of her neck.

  “Why would I want anything from you, Thomas? You’ve clearly already given me all that you can.” She turned her head then, staring at him as he stood straight and proud, unbending. He was still nude, but now she didn’t care. She could not see past the unshed tears that blurred her eyes. “I just wish you hadn’t given her what you cannot give me. It is my own fault I did not ask you last night. I think I just wanted a little bit more time to hold my delusions tight.”

  The door handle was cool to her touch. It turned without a single squeak or catch. Stepping forward she pushed the door open.

  It was nonsensical to be so upset when she did not love him—but in this moment the emotions would not be denied. She walked through the door.

  There was no sound from behind. He did not reach out to catch her or take a single step to halt her progress.

  The breath froze in her chest and she refused to allow it exit. She could breathe when she was alone.

  “Annabelle, please listen.” His words were impossibly low.

  “I will listen if you have anything to say, but I don’t think you do.” Couldn’t he just let her go? She was going to break at any moment and she could not bear for him to be there.

  “It truly is not what you think.”

  “Then what is it?”

  He did not answer. She had not expected him to. She shut the door behind her with only the gentlest of clicks.

  THE MAIDS

  Jane rushed up to the window, scanning the large collection of prints and cartoons.

  “Is there another one?” Abby asked, coming up behind. The two girls had taken to meeting regularly to search the window for new prints and to discuss whatever gossip they had heard.

  “No. I don’t see one.”

  “There must be one.” Abby pressed in beside Jane and looked over the glass herself.

  “Lady Tattingstong’s younger sister was at Lady Smythe-Burke’s yesterday afternoon and evening. She plays the flute like a songbird, but there was very little talk. I kept bringing in extra tea and cakes, but nothing. I can’t believe they didn’t talk about the marquess and that girl, but they didn’t—at least not when I was about.”

  “So you don’t know if it’s true? How can it be? I did hear that Tattingstong and his wife went for a drive yesterday in the park. Surely she wouldn’t go with him if he was having an affair, keeping a mistress, and she knew it.”

  Jane turned from the window, finally convinced there was nothing new to see. “These ladies can be a little strange. Anything to keep up appearances. She might very well stay with him rather than face the embarrassment of having people know the truth.”

  “But people will gossip anyway.”

  “She is American. Maybe she doesn’t realize there is not a way to stop it.”

  The smell of fresh bread wafted down the streets and Jane turned, realizing how many hours it had been since her predawn breakfast. “I am still not sure. She is so beautiful, with all that bright blond hair and those eyes. I’ve seen her a couple of times when she brought her sister to Lady Smythe-Burke’s. And she is so sweet, truly nice. I can’t imagine that the marquess doesn’t value her.”

  Abby nodded. “And she’s rich.”

  “You’re certainly right about that,” Jane answered. “I was talking to her maid, Molly, last week in the park. Did you know she received a silver tea service for her wedding that weighs over a hundred pounds? It takes two footmen to carry it out. And she has a punch bowl that’s the same.”

  “That’s just silly.”

  Jane giggled. “Yes, it is. Can you imagine trying to pour?”

  “Well . . .” Abby brushed her hands down her skirt. “What really matters is if the marquess would risk all that for another woman.”

  “I don’t see what he’s risking. It’s already all his—and he is a man.”

  “He most certainly is that.”

  Jane turned back to the window. “We’ll just have to hope for more tomorrow. My day would just not be the same without them to dream about.”

  “Tomorrow, then.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  How had everything turned so quickly? Last night he’d had doubts, been concerned that the blasted cartoon might change things between them—but then, then everything had progressed far better than he could ever have imagined.

  This morning he’d woken with a smile, confident that his world was as it should be.

  And then that blasted question.

  Did he love Margaret?

  Of course, he loved Margaret. Margaret was his daughter, as was Grace. How could he not love them? He might have seen little of them this past decade, only a few visits back to England, but he’d loved each of them from the moment of her birth and could not stop now. His two precious daughters.

  Standing a moment more, he debated going after Annabelle, telling her the whole story—but what then?

  The room darkened suddenly, a cloud passing before the sun, and he turned and walked back to the bed, staring at the rumpled sheets, at the strand of precious pearls lying cast aside.

  He picked them up, running them between his fingers, remembering how lovely Annabelle had looked on their wedding day, the robin’s egg blue of her gown, the sapphire clips in her hair—and that smile, a smile that could have lit the darkest night.

  That image was overshadowed by the way she’d looked this morning, stricken, her heart cut out of her. And he had done that to her.

  He closed his eyes. Should he tell her the full truth? Could he tell her the truth?

  He’d promised his father that he’d never say anything. It had not been a promise he’d wanted to make, but it had been the only way the duke would agree to support the girls after their mother’s death.

  Mary. His sweet Mary. He’d loved her from his fourteenth year. She’d been a year older, but that had never mattered. Sweet Mary, one of the multitude of dairymaids on his father’s estate. Sweet Mary, an Irish girl with the most delightful lilting voice. He’d loved that voice long before he’d fallen for her more physical charms.

  Dropping Annabelle’s pearls onto the bed beside him, he stood, stretching his arms high.

  It was not the time to think about the past. The present was what mattered.

  He glanced at the closed door to the sitting room. There was nothing to be done about Annabelle at this moment. He didn’t know what to say to her and until he did, she was best avoided.

  First, he would call on Margaret and Grace. The cartoon was bound to cause disruption in their lives. He needed to prepare them for what might come—particularly if he did tell Annabelle.

  His gut churned at the thought. His wife had made it very clear she would not be happy if he had a child—how did he tell her he had two and that the old
est was but five years younger than herself?

  Striding to the wardrobe he pulled out a pair of breeches and pulled them on, calling for his valet. His second call that morning would be his overdue visit to his father. The duke might no longer provide for him or his children, Thomas’s marriage to Annabelle had taken away the need for that, but displeasing his father was never a smart move. The duke had power and enjoyed using it.

  His valet entered and Thomas allowed himself to feel almost hopeful. He suddenly had the beginnings of plan. He could proceed.

  Annabelle sat in her parlor and stared down at her needlepoint unhappily. Normally she was an accomplished needlewoman, but today for every stitch she took she pulled out two. It was hard to be careful when her eyes kept blurring with tears.

  Putting down the cloth, she walked to the window and peered out at her gardens. Even when she was in the darkest of moods, they normally cheered her. The bright colors and careful blendings brought joy to her heart.

  A riot of pansies played in the gentle breeze, their faces shining in a glow of purple, orange, and crimson. Today they didn’t even make her smile.

  She’d never felt so out of sorts, so unsure of what to do. She’d taken a great risk last night and now it felt like she’d jumped off a burning ship into shark-infested waters.

  And she still hadn’t decided what to do about Lucille.

  “Of course, she’s receiving. Don’t even try to tell me otherwise.” The voice was unmistakable. Linnette, the Dowager Duchess of Doveshire, swept into the room. Annie, Lady Richard, and Kathryn, the Duchess of Harrington, followed behind. The fifth of their group, Elizabeth, the Countess of Westhampton, was conspicuous in her absence. “You do want to see us, don’t you, Annabelle? I am sure that you don’t wish to go through this alone. I know when that cartoon of James and myself was published that I wanted to hide for a day, but then I did desire my friends about me. Do tell me you desire the same?”

  Annabelle stood to greet them. The last thing she wanted at this moment was to talk to anyone. If it had been possible, she’d have asked them all to leave, but friendship went two ways. Annabelle could see that it was important to them to stay, to feel helpful. She pasted a bright smile upon her face. “Of course, I am overjoyed that you are here. Nothing could make me happier.” If only it were possible to feel any happiness at this moment. “And where is Elizabeth?” She glanced at Kathryn. “Although I suppose a certain incident in the park may explain her absence.” She turned and studied Linnette.

  Linnette reddened in the fashion that redheads were prone to. “We have not quite resolved that. I would like to pretend that it never happened, but Elizabeth is not willing to take that step. Neither one of us admits fault. It leaves an uncomfortable situation—and all over a swim in the park.”

  “Fully clothed.” Annie giggled a bit. It was clear she was remembering just how silly Linnette had looked emerging from the lake like a half-drowned rat.

  Linnette shot her a look and then turned to Annabelle. “I was moving in the direction of thinking that perhaps Elizabeth was not behind the cartoons—and now this one. How can I be sure that she is not still bent on damaging us? For reasons I do not understand. It made some sense when she was after me. I did know that she fancied James and was not at all pleased that he had turned his attentions to me. I could even understand the earlier cartoon that showed me with Harrington. I am sure that she simply did not consider how this would all affect Kathryn. But why would she want to hurt you, Annabelle? What could she possibly want in hurting you? Did she ever act interested in your husband?”

  Lucille. Annabelle sank back into her chair. She had managed to banish her sister from her thoughts, but it was clear that the mess must be dealt with—now. Summoning the porter, she asked to have her sister fetched, then she turned back to the ladies. “While it is true that Elizabeth has never fully warmed up to me, neither has she ever given me any reason to believe she wished me harm. I have never seen her even glance at my husband in a way that was not polite. I know that I do not move in society much—no, don’t look guilty. I did not mean it as a chide. I know you will all help me when you are able. All I meant to say is that I’ve never taken Elizabeth to be a woman who would steal another woman’s man. I know I’ve heard rumors of her experience, but I’ve never seen any action on her part that would lead me to believe that they are true. Is there something I do not know?”

  Choosing the chair beside her, Linnette sat. “I must admit that when she cast her eye on James, she did believe he was unattached. Nobody knew of my long-standing relationship with him. I can understand why she would be upset when she found out about our affair, why she might feel it was I who had betrayed her. And while she is rumored to have lovers, I have never known of one. But these cartoons are unforgivable.” Linnette glanced at the other women, seeing if anyone had anything to add.

  Kathryn shook her head and Annie just shrugged.

  “And this latest cartoon,” Linnette continued, “is simply spiteful.”

  “If she did it. There seems to be no reason behind it.” Annabelle could not believe that she was being forced to be the voice of reason given the circumstances.

  “Who else could have, would have? I hate to be suspicious of a friend, but she has never denied it that I know of—and I know that she has not been quite herself recently. The earl’s absence is beginning to weigh on her.”

  “How long has he been gone? I never hear reference to him except in terms of his being gone,” Annabelle asked, glad to talk of anything but the cartoon.

  “About four years,” Linnette answered. “He left less than a month after his wedding—heading off to some South American islands. I believe that he does write to Elizabeth, but I’ve never heard anything about his returning.”

  “Less than a month after the wedding? That seems quite odd. Has Elizabeth ever said why?”

  “No.” It was Kathryn who answered. “She has never talked of it, not once. She pretends that it is all normal, that there is nothing exceptional in having one’s husband simply disappear.”

  Annabelle considered for a moment. “Well, it is not quite disappearing if one knows where he has gone. Still, I would not care for it. I cannot believe that you have never asked her about it.”

  Annie turned from where she stood looking out at the gardens. “How could we ask when it was so clear that she did not wish to talk of it? She was only nineteen when he left and looked a good two years younger. When I look at her now, it is hard to remember that thin, little thing she was then.”

  Linnette snorted. “She was never little.”

  “You are correct,” Annie replied. “Elizabeth has always been a tall woman, but back then she seemed small. She would try to shrink into corners like a mouse. I know it is hard to believe now, but she was the shyest thing.”

  Leaning back to gaze at the ceiling, Linnette considered. “Do you remember how gangly she was? It always seemed like a good wind would blow her away.”

  Kathryn walked across the room and stood next to Annie. “It is amazing how much she has changed these last few years. I suppose what we are trying to say is that when the earl left, it would have seemed cruel to question her too closely—and then it was too late, too much time had passed, and it would have seemed odd to ask.”

  Before Annabelle could answer, Lucille entered the room. She looked about, saw everyone, and lost her color. Her eyes went to Annabelle and the question was clear in her eyes. “You wished me to join you?” she said.

  “Yes,” Annabelle answered. “The ladies have been kind enough to come and console me about the cartoon from yesterday—and they have been even kinder in that not one of them has actually talked of it in specific detail or asked if it is true. But that is not what concerns me now. You may notice that Elizabeth is absent. There seems to be some discussion of whether she might be behind these cartoons.”

  “Why should I—” Lucille began, but seeing the look in Annabelle’s eyes her voice trailed off. S
he swallowed, visibly, and then turned to face everyone. “I believe what Annabelle wishes me to say is that I drew several of the cartoons. Exactly how they came to be published is a long story, but I drew the first two cartoons and then the one of Kathryn and Harrington looking so in love. I have a similar one of you and Doveshire, Linnette, but I was not sure that it was time yet to send it in. I didn’t want to cause any more trouble. I never meant to cause any of this. It was simply a lark—a look at how I wished the world to be.”

  “But—”

  “I can’t believe—”

  “How could you eve—”

  It was impossible to tell who said what as all three ladies erupted with questions. After a moment Kathryn held up her hand and the other two were quiet. Kathryn came and stood directly in front of Lucille. “I think you had better be more precise. Are you saying that you are behind all this foulness?”

  “No!” Lucille looked down at her feet, her light blue slippers twitching back and forth. “Or at least not directly. The only ones I drew that were printed are the three I mentioned: the one of all of you, the drawing of the first time you had tea together, and the one of Kathryn and Harrington. I have no knowledge of any of the others.”

  Kathryn took a step forward. “That seems a little unlikely.”

  “Nonetheless, it is the truth.” Lucille’s chin came up.

  “Did Elizabeth and you plan this between you?”

  “Certainly not.” Lucille’s tone was growing sharp—and defensive. “I didn’t even know Elizabeth when I drew the first cartoon.”

  “Then why is she in it?” Kathryn would not let it go.

  “I liked the way she looked, so strong. It seems silly now, but I chose you all because I thought you’d be good friends for Annabelle, and Annabelle needed friends.”

  Annabelle could not believe that even her younger sister had seen how lonely she was. She’d tried so hard to hide it.

  Kathryn turned and walked back to where Annie stood by the window. “What do you think?” she asked.