When someone loves you Page 7

  Duff chuckled. “Pick out something. I don’t care. Although, keep in mind my family’s censure will fall on your shoulders should I not be outfitted to perfection,” he added drolly.

  “I’ll do me best, sar.”

  ———

  While the marquis was dressed by his batman, Annabelle was attended to with the same degree of attention. Molly had ironed every little wrinkle from the pink muslin and the bonnet ribbons, Mrs. Foster had insisted on helping Annabelle with her hair, and even Cricket and little Betty had been propped up to oversee Annabelle’s toilette. As Annabelle twirled around at the last to show off her ensemble, the babies cooed their approval and smiled, as if even they understood the importance of the occasion.

  “This is just a race meet, Mama,” Annabelle said, feeling the need to point out the obvious in the midst of such giddy expectation.

  “Of course it is, sweetheart. We know that, don’t we, Molly?”

  At which point the women both giggled and grinned, and Annabelle’s apprehensions grew in direct proportion to her companions’ all-atwitter moods. But it was pointless to belabor the issue, Annabelle decided, when neither woman was willing to accede to reality. And to see her mother in such high spirits was truly a miracle. So she kept her counsel and let her mother and Molly buzz around her, both of them fussing till the last with a tweak to her hair or a smoothing of her skirt or some exhortation of one kind or another warning her to be polite and smile.

  As if she didn’t know how to deal with a gentleman.

  As if she wasn’t the consummate companion if she wished to be.

  The real question was whether she did or not.

  Or to what degree she wished to please the marquis.

  Although she couldn’t help but smile as Duff brought his smart black phaeton to a halt at her garden gate shortly before one, secured the reins, leaped down, and strode up her garden path, whistling.

  There was something about Darley that made one want to smile, she thought, watching him approach—as though he were capable of transferring his good cheer to you with ease. She didn’t quite know what to make of it. She wasn’t giddy by nature. Or frivolous.

  She’d never had the opportunity.

  Her father had been ill for several years before he’d died, and she’d helped him with his silversmithing as a child. As his illness progressed, she’d taken on more and more of the burdens of his business. She half smiled. She still could turn a pretty bowl or candlestick if she’d been so inclined. And if her father’s creditors hadn’t taken advantage of her mother after he died, she might have been a silversmith today. They’d been left with nothing but the small shop, empty of merchandise and mortgaged to the hilt.

  At Duff’s knock on the door, she shook away the melancholy memories, put a smile on her face—she was an actress, after all—and went to open the door.

  Her mother rushed forward and opened the door instead, greeting the marquis like a long-lost friend. “Do come in, Lord Darley. What a lovely day we have, don’t you think? Perfect for the track.”

  As her mother and Duff exchanged pleasantries, Annabelle stood in the passage from the parlor listening and watching, like she might have in the wings at one of her plays.

  Darley was more handsome than any principal actor of the day, his manner completely unstudied and natural, as though he wasn’t a peer of the realm visiting a modest cottage, but rather a neighbor of lesser rank—an old friend.

  “There you are, darling,” her mother called out, catching sight of Annabelle in the shadows. “Do you have your reticule with you? She always forgets it, the dear—since she was a child. Don’t scowl at me, sweetheart. I’m sure the marquis doesn’t mind that you’re a bit forgetful,” her mother added with a warm smile. “She always has more important things on her mind, you see. Her plays and politics and such. She reads the papers she has sent out from London every day and books—my goodness… so many books—”

  “I’m sure the martinis doesn’t care about my books, Mama,” Annabelle interposed, touching her mother’s arm. “I’m quite ready,” she noted, smiling up at Duff. “Reticule and all.”

  “You two have a marvelous time!” her mother exclaimed. “And bet a few shillings for me on any little gray mare,” she added, handing some coins to Duff. “They’re always lucky for me.”

  “Consider it done, Mrs. Foster.” He offered his arm to Annabelle.

  As they strolled down the path to the phaeton, Mrs. Foster and Molly stood in the open doorway radiating good cheer.

  “He’s sweet on her,” Molly whispered. “It’s plain as the nose on my face.”

  “He is sure enough, but Belle’s right not to expect anything more than friendship,” her mother murmured. “She’ll enjoy herself today, though, and for that we should all be grateful.”

  “Amen to that, ma’am,” Molly agreed. “We all be right pleased that somethin’ fun be a-happenin’ for Miss Belle.”

  ———

  And indeed the afternoon was highly entertaining.

  Duff was on his best behavior, taking care to be charming and amusing in equal measure, never stepping over the bounds of the most casual of friendships.

  Annabelle, in turn, responded with wit and disarmingly candid replies, perhaps even mildly flirtatious comments at times.

  They agreed the weather was perfection, the crowd a lively crush, the lemonade more tasty than usual.

  They found they were inclined to bet on the same horses and they favored the same jockeys as well.

  It was an afternoon of congenial accord.

  They even won a sizeable sum on two of the Westerlands’ racers.

  “I told you,” Duff said with a grin as the duke’s thoroughbred finished by an easy five lengths.

  “I would have bet on him anyway,” Annabelle replied, smiling. “That horse is absolutely glorious from nose to tail. He looked as though he could have raced another ten miles without effort.”

  “He can,” Duff affirmed. “The desert breeds are known for their stamina. If you like, you could ride him sometime.”

  “Thank you. I may take you up on your offer,” she remarked courteously, when she had no intention of going anywhere near his family. She’d already politely declined his offer to take a glass of champagne with them at their box in the stands. While she was enjoying Duff’s company, she knew better than to allow herself to go beyond simple enjoyment. In fact, what most appealed about their friendship was its platonic nature. He’d promised not to ask her for more and he’d kept his word.

  It was very liberating to find him charming and leave it at that.

  Or so the rational part of her brain attested.

  The less rational part of her brain was finding him increasingly attractive.

  But she sensibly repressed those feelings and as a result, the afternoon at the races was excessively agreeable.

  They counted their winnings and recapped the better races on their drive home, the few miles between the racetrack and Shoreham flying by as they discussed the events of the afternoon with the ease and affability of old acquaintances.

  Just before the village of Shoreham would have come into view, however, Duff drew the phaeton to a stop in a small copse bordering the road.

  Annabelle felt a predictable apprehension, importuning men a constant in her life. And now she would have to give him his congé as politely as possible.

  Twining the reins around the whip stand, Duff turned to her with a grimace and a sigh. “I’ve been trying to find a discreet way to approach you on this subject,” he said, “but to no avail. So I shall simply soldier on and hand these over to you,” he added, swiveling around and pulling a small linen sack from a luggage compartment behind the seat and placing it in her lap. “This is all from my family. Apparently, I’ve become so pathetic, they felt the need to woo you for me. Not that I intend to go back on my word,” he quickly amended at her frown. “Not in the least. If you please, though, do me a favor and take these small gifts in the
spirit in which they were given. In friendship.”

  He was so obviously disconcerted, Annabelle couldn’t but feel sympathy for him. “Your family sent these?”

  “Yes. I’ve been in the grip of the blue megrims for too long, it seems. I didn’t notice, but everyone else did and when you entered my life—they noticed that as well.” He grinned. “I’ve been smiling more—or actually… again. So, please, consider these as offerings of gratitude from my very worried family.”

  She hadn’t realized the extent of his prostration. “You’ve been hors de combat the entire time since Waterloo?”

  “More or less. I’ve forgotten what normal is.”

  “You must be plagued by morbid memories.”

  “Always. Nights are worse.”

  “Are you able to sleep?”

  “Not much—correction… better now, thanks to you,” he said with a smile.

  “To me?”

  “My dreams of blood and gore have been tempered by occasional images of your lovely face. For that, I’d willingly buy out Grey’s myself, but I haven’t been to town for almost a year. So these are gifts from Grey’s by association,” he lightly added, not comfortable discussing his collapse. “And since my family expects me to bestir myself in this regard, please look at them and tell me you like them.”

  “Are they expecting a written report?” she teased.

  “I wouldn’t doubt it. They’re treating me like a child.”

  “You, too? My mother and Molly practically told me what to say in order to engage your interest.”

  “Tell them not to worry.” He grinned. “I’m thoroughly engaged. In fact, if I wasn’t afraid of offending you, I might press you to amend our wager to something less than two months.” His brows lifted marginally. “Don’t say no right off. Say you’ll think about it.”

  “Very well, I’ll think about it and then say no,” she playfully retorted.

  Clasping his hands over his chest, he fell back with a groan. “You’re breaking my heart,” he murmured, coming upright again with a smile.

  “I didn’t know you had a heart, Duff. Or at least so gossip contended all those years when you left a series of repining ladies in your wake.”

  “Maybe I’ve discovered my previously errant heart,” he said, grinning broadly.

  “And maybe I wasn’t born yesterday, my lord.”

  “You wound me grievously,” he said with a dramatic sigh.

  Annabelle laughed. “If I look at these gifts, will I alleviate your torment?”

  “Vastly,” he immediately replied. “And my family’s concerns as well.” He wanted her to have the jewelry. Even more than his family, perhaps. He was grateful for her friendship, and their wager aside, he wanted her to feel comfortable accepting the gifts.

  There were six boxes in all—from his grandmother, mother, father, two sisters, and brother. Giles’s offering, in fact, was decidedly splendid, and Duff wondered which of his brother’s light o’ loves would go without until the ruby bracelet could be replaced.

  “It’s too much, of course,” Annabelle said several moments later, the jewelry twinkling in her lap.

  “Rather, it’s not enough by half,” Duff remonstrated. “You’ve brought me back into the world. And if you don’t take them, I’ll sink back into my gloom.”

  “No, you won’t.”

  “I might.”

  She gave him an assessing look, understanding how difficult it was to both accept and reject these offerings from his family. She didn’t wish to offend the Westerlands. On the other hand, it would be difficult to bring so much expensive jewelry home. “If I were to accept these, it could cause problems with my mother. She’s unaware of my life in the city—other than my stage work.”

  “I understand. But they’ll fit in your reticule.”

  “I don’t know,” she murmured. “While it was very kind of your family to do this, taking these is a bit awkward.”

  “My family meant only to please you for all you’ve done for me. And they hope our friendship will prosper, of course.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “Why would they want that?”

  “You misunderstand,” he quickly said. “They mean for it to prosper in the most benign way. You’re invited to dinner anytime you wish to come. My mother is intent on sending you an invitation in gratitude for my recovery.”

  “I’m indecisive, as you can see.” Annabelle hesitated a moment more before saying, “In fact, I’m not sure I wish to extend our friendship to”—her nostrils flared—”very well, I’ll say it—to your family.”

  “Dinner could be extremely informal. It’s not as though you don’t dine with any number of the Ton“ Duff maintained. “At least think about it. Why don’t I tell Maman it depends on your mother’s health.”

  “So you are recovered?” she queried, in lieu of responding to his dinner invitation.

  “Let’s say, I’m well on my way”—his brows rose—”after nearly a year. So think what you will, but you are very much an angel of mercy to my family and me.”

  “I don’t know what to say to such a fulsome compliment, other than thank you.”

  “You’re very welcome.” He grinned. “You’ve made the entire D’Abernon family ecstatic.”

  She smiled. “And how easy it was.” Indeed, she should be thanking him for bringing joy into her family, her mother’s spirits thoroughly revived. But more cautious in her position, she remained silent.

  “So, then, I’ll bundle these into your reticule”—he began placing the bits of jewelry into the purse hanging from her wrist—”and I’ll bring you home.”

  She felt an odd remorse at the thought of him leaving. But ever pragmatic, she shook it away. “Thank you so much for a lovely afternoon. I mean it sincerely. I can’t remember laughing so much.” She made a small moue. “It’s been some bit of time…”

  “Would you like to come and see my stable and racers tomorrow? We could bring your mother and the baby if you don’t wish to leave them again so soon. I could drive over in a larger carriage.”

  “How many horses do you have?” She should have said no; if she were truly pragmatic, she would have.

  “Just ten at the moment. But four of them followed me through the campaigns in Europe. You saw Romulus yesterday; his mates are equally fine. Eddie could make tea for your mother if you like.”

  She laughed. “I’m sure he’d be pleased about that.”

  “Believe me, he’s pleased about anything that takes me out into the world again. Say you’ll come. We’ll have a picnic.”

  “I shouldn’t.”

  “Why ever not?”

  She couldn’t think of a good reason. It wasn’t as though he was asking for anything out of the ordinary. “Very well, I’ll ask Mother.”

  “Perfect. And why don’t I ask her if she’d like to join us?”

  But when he did, Mrs. Foster graciously refused, citing her invalid status as an excuse. “There’s no reason why Annabelle can’t see your racers, though,” she quickly added. “It’s lovely to see that rosy glow on her cheeks again. She’s been inside too much and working so hard lately. You have, darling—don’t look at me like that. It’s the truth.” Mrs. Foster turned to Duff. “What time will you be coming to fetch Annabelle?”

  “Would ten be too early?” He only stopped himself from saying eight by sheer will.

  “Not in the least. We all rise with the sun.”

  “You’re sure you and Molly wouldn’t like to come along and bring the babies too?” he offered politely, extending the invitation in all sincerity.

  “Heavens no, but thank you. And thank you as well for my winnings.” Mrs. Foster patted her skirt pocket where she’d placed the bills Duff had given her. “Gray mares always win for me. And I’ll see that Annabelle is ready at ten, Lord Darley. There, see what she’s learned on Drury stage?” Annabelle’s mother said with a smile. “She can make the oddest faces. Now, darling,” she added, patting Annabelle’s arm, “a little sunshine an
d fresh air will do you wonders. Just you wait and see. And thank Lord Darley for the invitation, sweetheart. Hmpf, as if that mumbled thank-you is sufficient. Well, we thank you, my lord, even if my daughter has forgotten her manners.”

  “You’re very welcome, Mrs. Foster. It’s my pleasure, believe me.” He caught Annabelle’s eye and smiled. “Until tomorrow,” he murmured and with an exquisite bow, he turned and left.

  “Mama, for heaven’s sake,” Annabelle hissed as Duff walked back to his phaeton. “Would you please desist from practically shoving me into the marquis’s pocket? It’s humiliating!”

  “Nonsense, darling. The man is as pleased as punch that you’ll keep him company tomorrow. Isn’t that so, Molly?” Mrs. Foster turned to her co-conspirator with a smile. “Wasn’t he just as sweet as can be, asking us to come along?”

  “That were the nicest thing I ever heard. An invitation from a man of his station. Can you imagine!” Molly exclaimed, wide-eyed.

  “Now we must consider your ensemble for tomorrow,” Mrs. Foster said, as though she were dresser for the queen.

  “If you don’t mind, Mama, I can very well dress myself,” Annabelle retorted heatedly.

  “My, my—my darling is in a right fine pet. One might almost think Lord Darley has struck some nerve when thou dost protest so much,” she intoned archly.

  Unable to refute her mother’s pointed appraisal when her feelings were more involved than she would have liked, Annabelle announced in what even she recognized was a thoroughly childish tone, “I’m tired. I’m going to my room.” And she flounced off with the dramatic consequence of the premier actress of Drury Theater.

  In contrast, Duff sang softly under his breath all the way home.

  Chapter 12

  Lord Innes entered White’s gaming room, surveyed the crowd, and found the man he’d come to see. Walking up behind Walingame, he watched the play for only a few seconds before tapping him on the shoulder.

  Glancing back, Walingame grunted, “Later, Dougal. Can’t you see I’m winning?”

  “I saw her.”

  Walingame spun around in his chair and held his friend’s gaze. “Are you sure?”