Susan Johnson (8 page)

And in truth, perhaps she might even be looking forward to a festive afternoon at the races in the company of the charming marquis.

Duff was very different from the men she’d known.

Less covetous and predatory, touched with a kind of grace.

And he was willing to be a friend, he’d said.

Although time would tell about that.

In her experience, friendships between men and women didn’t exist.

T
he next morning, Eddie walked into Duff’s bedroom, bringing him his morning coffee and a small leather box from his father.

“The duke’s steward brung it over,” Eddie said, depositing the box on the bedside table and handing Duff his coffee. “I figured it wer serious business to get old Norton out this far.”

“Was there a note with it?” Duff recognized Grey’s signature red box.

Eddie dug in his waistcoat pocket and pulled out a folded card.

Taking the card from his batman, Duff flipped it open with one finger as he drank down his coffee in a single draught. “Christ,” he muttered a moment later, tossing the card aside, shoving his empty cup at Eddie and leaning over to grab the red box. “Apparently I’ve been an invalid too bloody long.” He opened the lid to find a small jeweled pin in the shape of a rose resting on crushed white satin. “Pink diamonds for Miss Foster,” he drawled. “My father doesn’t think I have brains enough to court her properly.”

“There be a few more items downstairs, too, sar,” Eddie noted sheepishly. “I didn’t know if’n—”

“I’d toss you back downstairs if you brought them all up?”

“Yes, sar,” his batman murmured, keeping his distance.

“Good thinking,” Duff growled.

“They all mean well, sar.”

Duff grimaced. “I know they do.” He sighed softly. “So what the hell else is Miss Foster getting today?”

“I don’t rightly know, sar. But every single one in your family sent somethin’ over.”

“
Everyone?
”

“Including the dowager duchess, sar.”

The marquis’s eyes widened. “Even Grandmama is making plans for me, it seems,” he said with a faint smile. “Well, bring the bloody things up, I suppose, and we’ll see what we have.” Throwing back the bedclothes, he rose from the bed. “Better yet, I’ll come down. There’s hot water on the stove, right?”

“Yes, sar.”

“You can douse me with it outside. It’s a fine, warm day and if I’m reading my family’s concern right, I’d better see that I’m spotlessly bathed, dressed to the nines, and on my best behavior with Miss Foster. Good Lord, I must have been a worry to them all,” he noted, striding over to the window and leaning on the sill. “Although the sun does seem to be shining with an added glow these days, Eddie. Damned if it doesn’t.”

“I’m pleased to hear it, sar. Would you be wearing somethin’ new today?”

Duff swung around. “Has my mother replenished my entire wardrobe?”

“A right good part of it, sar. What with your weight loss and all, she been keeping Weston busy.”

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 marquis 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.”