Authors: Something Like a Lady
Kay Springsteen (29 page)
Annabella rolled over and stretched. When had her bed grown as soft as a cloud?
Where am I?
Yawning, she forced her eyes open.
R
ed silk walls brightened into focus. Golden toned draperies
framing
the floor-to-ceiling windows hadn
’
t been pulled
,
and midmorning sun
erupted
through polished windowpanes.
Scattered bit
s
of fine white porcelain
gl
inted on
the cream and burgundy carpet
. A sad
pile of wilted lilies
brought
m
emories flood
ing
back
.
Annabella let out another unladylike yawn, quite proud of the way she
’
d stood up for herself.
I showed Seabrook I wasn
’
t to be trifled with. The man needed a good set-down. Lying to me…
True, had it not been for his revelation that they hadn
’
t… that they needn
’
t have married, she wouldn
’
t have been awakening to face the day alone. She had that to be thankful for
,
at least, didn’t she?
Now that she knew, though, she would… She frowned. She would what?
Go to London and rescue Juliet?
Truth be told, she hadn
’
t a notion how to get to London. The sooner she put Blackmoor Hall and Seabrook behind her,
though,
the better.
Seabrook had
wanted to talk. Well, after she
’
d bested him the night before, he could expect to be doing a lot more listening than talking.
Giddy delight
raised a bubble of laughter
.
Oh yes, she had plenty to say, and he
would
listen.
Annabella sat up and rang for the maid, anxious to get dressed and
down to breakfast.
Moments later
,
Marie entered from the withdrawing room.
“
Good mornin
’
, my lady,
”
she greeted in a voice barely above a whisper. Her hand trembled as she drew back the heavy quilt. Her eyes flickered over the dinner gown Annabella still wore from the evening before but she turned away quickly, saying nothing.
The breath of chilled morning air splashing across Annabella
’
s legs worked like magic to wake her. She stood and crossed to the seat in front of the dressing table
,
but she didn
’
t sit right away.
“
I think the pink gown this morning.
”
Yes, the pink one that reminded her of the roses at Wyndham Green.
“
O-o-of course, m
’
l-lady.
”
The maid tugged the door on the mahogany wardrobe. With practiced movements
,
she shook out the jonquil yellow gown.
Annabella giggled.
“
Marie? Perhaps you didn
’
t hear me ask for the
pink
gown?
”
The maid dropped her gaze to the dress she held, and her eyes went wide.
“
Oh! Beg pardon, m
’
lady.
”
The yellow fabric
slid
through her fingers
and pooled
on the floor. She gasped as she stooped and snatched it up. Her hands fluttered as she laid the dress over the back of the gold brocade chair. After casting a sidelong glance at Annabella, she jerked the pink gown from the wardrobe and fluffed it.
“
Yes, that
’
s the one,
”
murmured Annabella, smiling. Poor Marie really was in a state.
“
Thank you.
”
“
Y-yes, m
’
lady,
”
she whispered.
“
Shall I choose undergarments or do you have a preference?
”
Straining to hear, Annabella furrowed her brow.
“
Oh, whatever comes to hand,
”
she said breezily as she sank onto the
green
velvet bench.
Sheer relief settled over Marie
’
s face as she gave a nod and returned to the wardrobe. But she cast a startled glance at Annabella as she pulled a garment from the needlepoint valise.
The nearly transparent chemise was made of fine Indian silk and Italian lace instead of serviceable muslin. The snowy white undergarment seemed to add luster to the already bright room.
Annabella tried to swallow but her mouth had gone dry.
“
Oh, my,
”
she whispered. Her aunts had given her several such decadent undergarments on her last birthday. Annabella hadn
’
t known when she would wear any of them
,
but after one
glimpse
of the
stark
horror
on her mother
’
s face, she
’
d embraced the gift. Then she had locked the unmentionables away, certain only whores wore such things.
Abbey must have packed them.
S
hock
coiled like a den of adders in her middle. After Seabrook
’
s unsavory talk the day before… and what had almost
— Well, she couldn
’
t wear such — such
wicked
garments…
…could she?
The snakes struck, sending tingling frissons through her like lightning bolts. Annabella squirmed in her seat, suddenly unable to breathe. Chills raised goose flesh along her arms, but her face felt like she
’
d gone up in flames.
“
Is this — acceptable, m-m
’
lady?
”
C
alm settled like a down quilt on a winter
’
s eve. Annabella smiled. She
would
wear it. She
’
d wear it and enjoy the knowledge that it would like
ly
send Lord Seabrook over the edge
in
to mad
ness
if he saw it. Her smile widened. And yet he
’
d never see it.
“
That is absolutely perfect,
”
she said as she watched Marie scurry across the carpet with her clothing. Never in her life had Annabella felt more in control. Elation filled her as the maid helped her to dress.
The distressed servant appeared near to tears and kept her head down, eyes averted. It took her three tries to fasten Annabella
’
s dress. When the girl jerked Annabella
’
s head back sharply while brushing her hair, Annabella
’
s patience snapped.
“
Marie! Is something amiss?
”
“
A-a-amiss, my lady?
”
Annabella put her hands on her hips and swung around. Weak sunlight spilled in from the adjoining room. “Yes, amiss. You’re skittering about like a mouse. You nearly broke my neck just now. I have a mind—”
She stared at the perfectly made-up bed, just visible through the arched doorway. Two cast iron hinges slashed across her view like black half-swords, suspended from the doorjamb.
But the door she’d so carefully bolted the night before was gone.
Fury coiled from deep within and blossomed into a rage greater than any Annabella had ever known. “Why that— Where’s the ruddy door?”
Driven by her wrath, she opened her mouth and spewed a string of curses as she leapt to her feet. Her half-boots sat next to the dressing table, waiting for her to don them. Uttering a final murderous curse, she kicked them out of the way and stormed to the door.
“My lady, your hair,” protested Marie, one hand clutching the brush and the other pressed to her chest. “I’ve not finished.”
Annabella waved her off. “Never mind my hair.” With the toss of a hand, she pushed her tresses behind her shoulder and lifted the door latch. “That spawn of Satan to whom I am rather unfortunately wed is about to meet his devil father!”
****
“
Make sure to remove the knives from the sideboard, Samuel.
”
Jon had no intention of keeping anything sharp within reach of his wife.
“
Probably should take the candlesticks from the table and the decanters as well.
”
“
As you wish, my lord.
”
The butler motioned to the footmen, who began gathering the objects and hurrying from the room.
Jon surveyed the array of mince pies, fruit, and br
eakfast pastries, a
banquet of breakfast foods covering one end of the formal dining table, the result
of
Gran
’
s standing orders
regarding
taking breakfast in the main dining hall because that was wh
ere the cats preferred to eat. His gaze strayed to the felines
’
table, already set up with steak and kidney pie and dishes of warm cream, and shook his head. It
was
good to be home.
“
Seabrook!
”
Jon winced.
“
I fear my wife doesn
’
t sound too pleased with me, Samuel.
”
“
Indeed, my lord.
”
“
Perhaps I should return to my study until her temper has improved.
”
“
Might I suggest locking the door, my lord.
”
“
Excellent idea. Now if yo—
”
“
Where are you, you son of the devil!
”
The door to the dining room swung open and banged against the buffet.
The butler blanched.
“
Oh, heavens.
”
Jon stood still and waited for her to see him through her blind rage.
Hair unbound the way he loved it, she stood in the doorway without benefit of shoes. At least she
’
d managed to change into a day dress, though he was well aware she
’
d slept in the gown she
’
d worn to dinner the evening before. She
’
d barely stirred when he had pulled the blanket over her shoulders and brushed her silky hair from her face. It had taken everything in him to walk away, so drawn to her had he been.
“
You
’
re looking lovely this morning, Lady Seabrook.
”
She whirled to face him, her gaze wildly darting until she focused on him.
“
You! You ill-mannered, unbearable, arrogant a—
”
“
Has something upset you, my dear?
”
Jon smiled as his world righted itself. His wife had returned in glorious demonic splendor.
Annabella
’
s chest heaved.
“
Eternal fire and brimstone are too good for you.
”
Annabella picked up the milky white vase of purple larkspur that had been left on the buffet and hurled it at him.
Thankfully, her aim was as foul as her mood. The unfortunate vase veered several feet to his right and shattered
across
the mahogany table
top
.
Feigning innocence, Jon directed his attention to Annabella and raised an eyebrow.
“
I wonder wha
t can be troubling you this morning, Lady
Seabrook
.
”
Annabella grimaced at his subtle emphasis on the name and began casting her gaze wildly about the room, obviously looki
ng for more things to throw.
The footmen had been quick and efficient in their removal of potential missiles. He
’
d see to a rise in their salary later.
Annabella froze, and a peculiar gleam entered her emerald eyes. Jon followed the direction of her stare toward the sideboard beneath the oil painting of the First Duke of Blackmoor. Harsh
morning light slanted through the window to the left and flashed off
a bit of gleaming silver just peeking from beneath a folded napkin.
A knife? No!
T
he polished
butt
of Gran
’
s Scottish flintlock pistol
!
Alarm shot through
him
. Annabella was far closer to the weapon than he was. He didn
’
t have a prayer of reaching it before she did. His only hope would lie in distraction.
“
Won
’
t you sit down and take some breakfast, darling?
”
“
I am
not
your darling,
”
she said through gritted teeth.
Jon ignored her and continued speaking in
the
even tone
that always worked to calm Gran
.
“
I
’
ve sent for a pot of chocolate
to go with the pastries here
.
”
He slid a quick glance to the doorway where Samuel hovered.
The butler made a quick motion to a footman, who in turn scampered in the direction of the kitchen.
Annabella paused, frowning.
“
Oh, you
’
d ruddy well like that, wouldn
’
t you? Think you can ply me with food and drink and I
’
ll bow before the Great Lord Seabrook, do you?
”
“
Not at all, lady fair.
”
Jon edged forward, a tactic with which he was becoming all too familiar of late.
“
I am merely—
”
Annabella jumped sideways and snatched up the pistol, holding it in two hands and pointing it at his chest.
“
Don
’
t move another inch!
”
Jon rooted himself to the floor. The gaping hole of the flintlock
’
s barrel stared at him, a giant black eye as big around as his thumb. The ball that emerged from the barrel would kill at such close range.
A grin of pure evil spread across Annabella
’
s face as she
changed her intended target to a location somewhat lower and, oddly, far more uncomfortable than the thought of outright death.
He fought the instinct to cover himself with his hands. “Now, Annabella, be reasonable.” His mind raced. Had Gran managed to load the blasted thing the night before? Why had the blasted thing not been returned to its cabinet? Was it possible to dive out of the shot’s path? Would it kill him instantly or would he die a slow death?
“Reasonable? You think I should be
reasonable
? Reason with this, you black-hearted scoundrel!” S
he closed her eyes and squeezed the trigger.
Jon flinched. The sharp click echoed through the dining hall. He eased out a cautious breath of relief.
M
isfire
.
He stepped forward with his hand extended. “That will be quite enough, Lady Seabrook. Hand that ov
er before you hurt yourself.
”
Or someone else. Me.
From the corner of his eye, Jon caught movement in the doorway. Gran, red-faced, eyes narrowed, and dressed for a day spent out of doors, stepped into the room, apparently summoned by one of the servants.
“What is all this shrieking?” She directed a glower at Jon. “What the
devil
is going on?”
Annabella half growled and half cried in frustration. With a stomp of her foot, she hurled the gun at Jon. The flintlock tumbled end over end as it flew through the air. Jon lunged forward, arms outstretched. If the gun hit the—
The flintlock landed with the heart-shaped butt nestled in the plush carpet, against the leg of one of the dining chairs. In a hissing puff of smoke and an explosion of flame, the shot burst from the barrel and stuck an iron wall sconce on the far side of the dining table with a loud clang. It then pelted across the room and embedded itself in the right upper corner of the First Duke of Blackmoor’s portrait.
“Gracious!” exclaimed Gran, racing ac
ross the room.
“Have we been attacked, then?” She halted abruptly, staring at the footman who was busy stomping on the smoldering rug. “That is
my
pistol — my
favorite
pistol — that you are treating with such disregard. That is no way to use a gun, tossing
it across the floor. Has no one taught you better?
” Shaking her head, she made a tsking sound. “No, of course not.
You
like the
French
.”
Jon stole a glance at his wife. She stood pressed against the sideboard, her hands covering her ears, and a ghastly expression on her white face.
“
I-I-I
’
m s-sorry.
”
Her voice shook with the tremors wracking her body. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
“
I-I
’
d no idea it would d-
do
that.
”
Jon let out a long sigh.
“
Hrmph
.
”
Gran
held
out her hand to the frightened footman who possessed her pistol. His hands shook as he handed it to her.
“
One must never handle firearms unless one knows what one is doing.
”
She pushed past Annabella and grabbed another ball from the case on the sideboard.
“
Gran.
”
Jon
leapt
forward, pushing Annabella safely out of the way behind him.
“
Grandmother, it was an accident.
”
“
An accident of breeding
,
if you ask me,
”
she
muttered
, wrapping the ball in some patch and pushing it down the barrel. She added fresh powder to the flash pan and swung around, pistol i
n hand.
“
Now, my dear, allow me to demonstrate the
proper
use of a firearm.
”
Annabella shrank against Jon
’
s back.
“
Gran, you
’
ve managed to quite frighten my bride,
”
he said calmly, keeping his eyes on the pistol.
His grandmother shook her head and released a sigh of frustration. Then she raised the pistol, took aim, and fired. The shot exploded from the barrel and lodged directly between the eyes of the First Duke of Blackmoor.
Gran gave a satisfied nod and laid the pistol on the sideboard again.
“
Insufferable man by all accounts. I shan
’
t miss having him grace our dining hall.
”
Then she angled a look over Jon
’
s shoulder at Annabella.
“
I suggest you put on some boots and make yourself otherwise presentable. You may meet me down here in half an hour.
”
Annabella scrambled across the carpet and disappeared through the door without uttering a word, leaving Jon to wonder if she
’
d return as Gran had instructed or pack her bags and demand to leave Blackmoor.
Gran took a seat at the table and placed a scone on her plate then doused it with Devonshire cream and blackberry preserves.
“
Where are my cats? They need to be fed.
”
Samuel nodded at two footmen near the door and they hurried from the room.
“
Might I suggest removing all the firearms and sharp objects from the residence, my lord,
”
murmured the butler in Jon
’
s ear.
Jon sighed.
“
Samuel, I couldn
’
t agree more.
”