The King of Threadneedle Street (36 page)

He stood, reached behind her and undid the hooks with one hand. He made a suggestive purring sound as he saw she hadn’t bothered with a corset, or any underclothing for that matter. She knew she wouldn’t have needed it for long at any rate. Andrew pulled the skirt out from under her and looked at her wearing the necklace and nothing else.

He dipped his finger in the cream and licked it off, shoved a basket of fruit off the table, followed by an empty candelabra and a few more dishes. With their end of the table cleared, he laid her back.

“Strawberries and cream. My favorite dessert.”

About the Author

Moriah Densley
sees nothing odd at all about keeping both a violin case and a range bag stuffed with pistols in the back seat of her car. They hold up the stack of books in the middle, of course. She enjoys writing about Victorians, assassins, and geeks. Her muses are summoned by the smell of chocolate, usually at odd hours of the night. By day her alter ego is your friendly neighborhood music teacher. Moriah lives in Las Vegas with her husband and four children.

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Prologue

Sprowston Hall near Norwich

Norfolk, England

September, 1799

“Come along, Annabella, time for your afternoon lessons.” Miss Lucy spoke in her strictest governess voice, but the smile on her wrinkled face matched the twinkle in her eyes.

A small black slate rested on the round table near the fireplace. Miss Lucy liked to work there, said she needed the heat to warm her bones. Annabella didn’t know if it warmed
her
bones or not, but it did make her sleepy and that made the lessons hard to finish.

Annabella stood and began to shuffle across the room but stopped. “I need a moment,” she said, racing back to the window. She simply had to check one more time. Holding her breath, she pressed her face hard against the glass. There it was. A cloud of dust in the distance. Excitement made her heart race. “Papa…” she whispered.

It had to be. This time it just had to be her father coming home. Mama had said to expect him soon. How long had he been gone this time? Annabella had lost count of the days.

The dust obscured the coach as it traveled the long drive to the house. But then the sunlight flashed on shiny mahogany. “It
is
Papa’s coach!” Annabella leapt from the window seat and raced across the nursery floor.

“Annabella!” called Miss Lucy as she exited the room.

Heart thumping, she ran along the hallway to the main staircase then down the marble steps to the foyer.
Papa, Papa, Papa. It’s Papa. He’s come home.
Her feet slipped along the polished black and white marble tiles but she didn’t fall.

She couldn’t wait to throw her arms around Papa’s neck as he lifted her in the air. He would smell of his favorite pipe tobacco and mint. And he would have sugar-stick candy in his vest pocket, even though he would pretend he hadn’t remembered to bring any.

“Annabella!” said her mother in that soft but stern tone.

She knew she should stop.

But it was
Papa’s
coach. “Papa’s home!” No time for further explanation — and none would be needed. Surely this time her mother would be just as excited as she. Papa had been gone much longer than usual. With scarcely a pause, she continued her mad dash. A startled footman opened the door, his movements jerky and uncertain.

“Annabella!” Her mother’s voice sharpened. “Please conduct yourself like a proper young lady.”

The admonition followed Annabella through the door, but her mother did not. She always waited inside, bemoaning Annabella’s unladylike behavior when she dashed outside instead of waiting for her father to enter the house.

The coach had stopped at the bottom of the long staircase. Annabella’s slippers slapped against the slate steps as she galloped down to meet it. A footman held open the carriage door.

Miss Lucy had explained about nobility and taught Annabella that her father was Bernard Lambert Price, Third Baronet of Kedelston. But to Annabella, he was just Papa.

A familiar face peered from the carriage, and then Papa unfolded himself through the door. Thick nut-brown hair fell across his forehead. The light breeze ruffled his curls, but he didn’t reach for his hat. Instead, he looked around, and his eyes lit up when his gaze swept over Annabella.

“Hello, my girl!” He opened his arms just as she reached him and used her momentum to lift her high in the air.

Squealing with delight, Annabella wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. “Papa! I’ve missed you so!”

Her father chuckled as he hugged her and then set her on her feet again. “And I’ve missed
you
, Lady Annabella. But what’s this?” He held her away from him and looked her over. “Have you grown since I left?” His rich baritone warmed her heart. Maybe he would tell her stories of his travels before bed. He’d been simply everywhere in the world. And one day, she planned to go with him.

“Did you bring it, Papa? Did you bring my sugar-stick candy?”

“Oh…” A frown creased his forehead. “I knew I was forgetting something when I came through London.”

Patience wavering, Annabella stomped her foot. “Papa!”

He chuckled softly then cleared his throat as he pushed aside his brown tailcoat and patted his pockets. A tender smile widened his lips and he withdrew a slender object.

It wasn’t candy but something even better. “A present!”

With a little flourish, Papa shook his hand and the object magically unfolded into a fan. Crafted of silk, in a pleasant shade of Egyptian blue, narrow ivory lace lined the edge. A spray of pink and orange flowers had been painted in the middle.

“Papa… it’s beautiful.” Her fingers ached to touch it. “Did you bring it home for Mama?”

His eyes widened in surprise. “This is yours, my little lady. I was in a far off land called Japan when I saw this in one of the marketplaces there. I thought of you and knew I must bring it home with me.”

He folded the fan and held it out. The silk was cool and light in her palm. Papa’s hand closed over hers and he showed her how to hold it and then guided her in the motion to open it.

A delighted giggle slipped through Annabella’s lips and her father smiled as she fanned herself. “Am I doing it correctly?” she asked. “Do I look like a proper lady?”

“Oh, most definitely you do, Lady Annabella,” he murmured, offering a courtly bow. When he straightened, he patted his vest pocket again. “Wait a minute, what have we here?” Smiling broadly, he removed a handful of hardened white sugar canes, each about the length of a goose quill but much thicker. “May I offer you peppermint and lemon, my lady?”

Annabella jumped up and down. “Those are my favorite!”

“Not quite yet.” Her father held them just out of reach and subjected her to a stern gaze. “First you must tell me… Were you a good girl for your mother?”

“I…” Annabella shuffled her feet in the dirt, trying not to recall her fit of pique at supper the night before. “I don’t like asparagus tips, Papa!” she burst out. “And Mama was going to make me eat them.”

Her father laid a hand over his heart and gave an exaggerated stagger backward. “Don’t like them? Why, my darling girl, have you ever tried them?”

She started to nod, but he raised one bushy eyebrow and she sighed. “They look odd, Papa, like green sticks with knobs on the ends.”

“Ahh… Am I to take it, then, that you argued with your mother?” he asked, gravely serious.

Annabella squirmed. “Yes, Papa,” she mumbled at the ground. “Mama was very angry. She said Cook had gone to the trouble of preparing the dish and I must eat what is set in front of me.” Heat flooded her face as she dutifully repeated her mother’s reprimand.

Her father hunkered down in front of her. “I see. And then what did you do, since you’ve just told me you still haven’t tasted asparagus?”

“I threw the dish at Jerome.” She nearly choked on the words. As soon as the green spears smothered in cream had landed on the butler’s black coat and then rolled slowly to the floor, she’d regretted her impulse. “I’m sorry, Papa. It wouldn’t have happened if you were here.”

“You think not, eh?” A smile played at the corners of his mouth.

“Oh, no, Papa.” Annabella touched his cheek, enjoying the scratch of fresh whiskers beneath her fingers. “You never make me eat things I don’t like, and you don’t mind if I run down the staircase, and you tell me stories and take me for walks…”

Her father straightened and sent a long gaze in the direction of the house. Just as she thought he might have turned to stone, he clapped a hand on her shoulder. “Let us take a walk now, darling girl.” He handed her one of the candy sticks and tucked the rest back in his vest. As he buttoned his coat, he nodded toward the pasture.

Annabella licked the end of the candy stick as they walked. “Lemon!” She slipped her hand into her father’s. His touch was firm and warm, and he gave her a little squeeze. All was right in her world once more.

“Papa, do you have to go away again very soon?” She angled her head to see his face.

“Not for a little while.” He stopped at the cobblestone wall. “Maybe not for quite a long while this time.” Smiling, he gave the wall a pat. “Sit up here for a bit.” Then he set his hands about her waist and swung her onto the wall.

A lark trilled in the distance. “Hear that?” He sighed. “Ah, it’s good to be home.”

“It sounds happy, Papa.” Annabella kicked her feet against the stones.

Her father tilted his head to the side. “Why, yes it does.” He stepped closer and settled his loving gaze on her face. “And you, Annabella… are you as happy as that meadow lark?”

“Oh, yes—”

He raised one bushy eyebrow and held her in steady regard. “The truth now, Annabella. You know telling the truth is most important.”

“I am now, Papa.” She rolled her bottom lip against her teeth and stared at the bit of candy in her hand. “Now that you’ve come home.” A strand of hair blew across her face, and she wrinkled her nose against the tickle.

Her father lifted the strand on the end of one finger and tenderly tucked it behind her ear. “Has it been that hard on you, my dear? Me being away so often?”

Tears pricked at her eyelids. Distressed by her dilemma, Annabella plucked at the ivory muslin of her dress. She mustn’t lie. But the truth might hurt Papa’s feelings.

“It’s well to speak your heart, child,” he murmured.

“I like Miss Lucy,” whispered Annabella. “I like making my letters and learning how to stitch like Grandmother used to.”

“And your mother? Do you have lovely times with your mother?

Some of Annabella’s happiness faded. “Sometimes… when Aunt Charity and Aunt Harmony visit, Mama smiles a bit. And Aunt Charity plays the pianoforte and Mama and Aunt Harmony take turns dancing with me.”

A frown settled over her father’s face and he squeezed his eyes closed for a breath and then opened them. “You know your mother loves you, don’t you?”

Annabella blinked in confusion. “Yes, Papa. She tells me so when she sees me to bed at night.”

“She sees you to bed?” His voice seemed to swell with pleased surprise.

Taking another lick of candy stick, Annabella nodded, delighted that her answer appeared to have made Papa happy. “Every night. And sometimes she tells me stories about a lonely princess who’s kept locked in a castle.”

Her father’s head snapped up. His face turned the color of ashes and his jaw hung slack. But he drew in a sharp breath and then released it in a long, heavy sigh. He stared into the meadow without speaking. The lark ceased her singing and flew off. Annabella traced the lace on the end of her fan as she tried to sit still and wait patiently. Papa had never looked so sad before. Was it because Mama told her stories?

After another sigh, he straightened and turned to her. “Annabella, you know nothing will change how your mother and I both love you.”

Unable to help herself, she giggled. “Yes, Papa. And I love you and Mama.” Confusion crowded into her mind. “Only sometimes… sometimes you go away and Mama doesn’t miss you like I do. Sometimes she’s happier.” She lowered her voice to a whisper, although no one else was around to hear. “And I don’t know if she loves you as much as I do.”