Trouble at the Wedding (17 page)

“No, it isn't, because you've changed.” She gave him a bright, artificial smile. “You've turned over a new leaf now that you're a duke. You've given up your scandalous ways, and you take your responsibility as one of my trustees very seriously.”

This was sounding worse and worse by the minute. “But to do what you ask, I should have to go into society myself.” One might as well descend into the pit of hell. “I should have to mingle, mix, go to the opera, attend balls. Go to the club and talk dog breeding and politics with men like Rumsford.” He shuddered. “It doesn't bear thinking about.”

“That fact that you won't enjoy yourself doesn't bother me much.”

“Even worse, by doing this I'd be offering a signal to all the unmarried girls in town that I am available for marriage myself. I should have every social-climbing debutante and matchmaking mama in London dogging my heels.”

“I reckon you will.” She tucked the papers into a leather portfolio, giving him a look of mock pity across the table. “Aw, poor you.”

Christian ignored the sarcasm. “Woman, this is the most ghastly idea I've ever heard.”

“Too bad.” She turned to tuck the portfolio beside the nearby writing desk, then she walked to the door and opened it. “You interfered in my life, and now you deserve what you get. Don't worry,” she added. “You'll be paid the same salary Mr. Bentley got as a trustee. Ten thousand dollars a year.”

“Are you sure you wouldn't rather we just become engaged?” he asked as he walked out the door. Turning, he faced her across the threshold. “So much easier. Simpler. Less fuss.”

“Not a chance. You've been hired for a job, and you're damned well going to earn your salary. It'll probably be the first real work you've ever done in your life.”

With that, she slammed the door in his face with a resounding bang.

Christian stared at the closed door, and he wondered in bafflement how this whole interview had changed his perfectly sensible, simple plan into a complicated scheme that would have him gadding about London during the height of the season, safeguarding the reputation of an heiress, protecting her from fortune hunters, and keeping his own hands off her luscious body in the process.

If this had happened to one of his friends, he'd think it a great joke, of course. But since it was happening to him, he found nothing amusing about it. It was going to be torture.

S
lamming the door in Christian's face had to be one of the most gratifying things Annabel had ever done. And turning down his offer of engagement had been pretty sweet, too. And, of course, getting him to sign that agreement without reading it first—that had also given her a great deal of satisfaction.

Still, though they made her feel a bit better, a few gratifying moments didn't make up for the awful events of the morning, or take the sting out of the fact that she now had three men to her credit who didn't want to marry her. And she couldn't even really contemplate what Christian had told her about Bernard. She'd known he'd had mistresses in the past, but a prostitute only a few days ago? It made her sick thinking about it.

Christian could be lying, of course, for that man wasn't to be trusted an inch. But as she studied the closed door after his departure, she had the gut-wrenching feeling that Christian hadn't been lying about that.

Suddenly, an unbelievable weariness settled over her, and she wondered if her new plan was even worth pursuing. Maybe she ought to just go home. But where was home? Gooseneck Bend? New York? She had no home. Not now.

Annabel shook her head, pushing aside despair before it could take hold. She'd already cried enough tears for one day, and she was worn out. Refusing to give in to any self-pity, she went to bed, and the moment her head hit the pillow, she was sound asleep.

Annabel didn't have the chance to feel sorry for herself the following day, either. For one thing, she didn't wake until almost noon. And since the
Atlantic
was scheduled to dock at Liverpool by sunset, the afternoon was spent preparing to disembark. Mama offered to see that all the gifts brought aboard by wedding guests were returned, an offer Annabel was happy to accept. She spent her time supervising the maids in packing their personal belongings. She was in the midst of that task when a knock sounded on the door of their stateroom.

Annabel herself happened to be the one closest to the door, but she hesitated, not really wanting to face anyone who might have come out of an eagerness for gossip. Still, the maids were in the various bedrooms, occupied with their duties, and when the knock came again, she was left no choice but to answer it herself.

To her relief, she found Lady Sylvia on the other side of the door. A waiter stood beside her with a wheeled tea tray.

“Good afternoon. I hope I'm not disturbing you?” When Annabel shook her head, the other woman gestured to the cart with a flourish. “Since our conversation yesterday, I've been making plans, and I thought we might discuss them over a spot of tea?”

“That would be lovely, thank you.” She opened the door wide. “Please come in.”

The other woman nodded to the waiter and they entered the suite, following Annabel to the table in the center of the sitting room. “Place the cart there, Sanderson,” she said, gesturing to a spot between the two women, “then you may go.”

“Yes, my lady.”

The waiter departed, and after verifying that the tea had already been prepared and was steeping in the pot, Annabel reached for the strainer. “Lemon or milk?” she asked as she strained tea carefully into two cups. “And would you like sugar?”

“Milk, please, and two lumps of sugar. You know how to pour out, I see,” Lady Sylvia added. “Many Americans don't. Tea isn't something you run much to on your side of the pond. My husband was an American, so I know. He insisted upon coffee every morning.”

“Your husband was Roger Shaw, wasn't he?” Annabel asked, passing the other woman her cup. “The architect?”

“He was. How did you know?”

Annabel made a face as she stirred sugar into her own tea. “I know everything about every Knickerbocker family in New York. Not that it's done me much good.”

Sylvia paused, her cup raised halfway to her mouth, studying her over the rim. “I'm sorry,” she said unexpectedly.

“Sorry?” Annabel stared back, surprised and puzzled. “What are you sorry for?”

“I don't quite know,” she confessed, and took a sip of tea. “That my brother can be a complete idiot from time to time. That everyone whose opinion matters to you saw what happened. I think  . . .” She paused a moment. “I think what I meant was that I'm sorry I didn't make any effort to become acquainted with you before now.”

Annabel smiled a little. “What would you have done? Gone around introducing yourself to all us New Money outsiders and taken on the job of forcing us on New York society? Besides, you're only saying that because you know me now,” she couldn't help pointing out. “Circumstances have forced us together, and now I'm a person.” She met the other woman's eyes over the teapot. “I'm no longer just one of the insignificant faces you see in the crowd at the opera from a seat in the Golden Horseshoe.”

Sylvia grimaced. “That's truer than I like to think.”

“I don't mean to offend you, Lady Sylvia. It's just that I know what I'm dealing with here. I don't have any illusions about it, and I don't want pity. I want help.”

The other woman nodded. “Of course. And it is easier for a girl in your position to move in British society than it is in New York, once you have the appropriate connections and entrée, of course.”

“And if you have plenty of money,” Annabel added with a hint of cynicism. “Because British peers need to marry girls with money.”

“Oh dear, you must think we're all so dreadful. But a girl's dowry is one of the most important parts of British matrimony, especially in these days when estates simply cannot recoup their own costs. I would be doing you a great disservice if I pretended otherwise.”

“I know. And because I know what it's like to not have money, Lady Sylvia, I don't fault anyone for wanting to avoid being in that situation. Especially now,” she added, laughing a little. “Now that I have money, I don't ever want to go back to not having it, that's for sure.”

Sylvia was studying her with thoughtful blue eyes. “It must be so difficult,” she murmured, “to be caught between two worlds, a part of neither.”

“Yes.” Annabel felt a rush of relief to find someone who understood when even some members of her own family didn't. “I want to marry well, have children, and carve out a place in the world. I want my sister to have all the social opportunities I didn't have. I don't ever want anyone to laugh at my family again. But until I met Bernard, I'd just about given up hope.” She sighed, setting aside her teacup. “I don't want to go back to Gooseneck Bend. And I can't go back to New York. Not now.”

Sylvia patted her arm in a friendly gesture. “You don't have to, Annabel, because now you have connections. I've already begun laying the groundwork, by the way.”

“You've started explaining to people our version of why your brother did what he did?”

“Explain? Heavens, no. If one starts explaining, one ends up justifying, and at that point, one loses the battle. No, no. I'm a decade older than you, my dear, and you must trust my knowledge of what to do when a scandal like this happens. One mentions it in passing, laughing a little, sounding quite exasperated with one's impulsive, reckless brother. Since Christian was, of course, acting in his ward's best interest, the fact that Rumsford broke things off rather than talk it out puts the onus of explanations on Rumsford, whom I suspect would rather die than explain anything about the humiliating episode.”

“I see.”

“By the time we dock at Liverpool, our version of events will have spread to every corner of the ship, and I think most people will believe it. All the earl can claim is that he hadn't been informed ahead of time of Mr. Bentley's resignation and the duke's instatement. He can't sue for breach of promise, and even if he could, he wouldn't.”

“You sound very sure of that.”

“I am sure.” She hesitated, then added, “It's the season, and the earl can't afford to be seen as petty by other young ladies.”

“Heiresses, you mean,” Annabel said, hearing the cynical tinge to her own voice. “Suing me for breach of promise wouldn't do much to impress them.”

“No, it wouldn't. It may not be of much comfort to say you're well rid of him, but I shall say it anyway. You can do far better than Rumsford, if you wish to.”

Annabel thought of Rumsford and the prostitute, and she wasn't certain she wished to. “You think my plan will work?”

“Of course it will. It's a sound plan, and I commend you for it, Annabel. I doubt I could have thought of a better one given the situation. Life is like a picture, you know. It's all in the way you frame it. When we arrive in town, Christian and I shall start paving the way, writing letters, paying calls, that sort of thing, and after a respectable waiting period—a fortnight should be long enough, I think—I shall bring you out. To add strength to the story, it would be best if you stay with me at Cinders.”

“Cinders?”

“My villa just outside London, in Chiswick. Now, don't refuse, please. I wouldn't dream of allowing you to stay at a hotel when I can offer you the hospitality of my home. It's leased most of the year, of course, because I travel so much, but I always take it for the Season. I've already spoken to your mother about this, and she agrees that having your family staying with me can only lend more strength to the connection between our families.”

She drained her cup, set it back in its saucer, and rose to her feet. “I must be off. We've put in a good day's work, but now I simply must pack. We're disembarking in only a few hours.”

“Thank you, Lady Sylvia.” Annabel also stood up, and she walked the other woman to the door. “I appreciate your help so much.”

“Nonsense, my dear. After Christian's abominable display yesterday, it's the least I can do. Besides, I shall enjoy it. I love launching a girl.”

“You must also love a challenge,” Annabel said with a sigh as she opened the door.

“I told you, my dear, you mustn't worry. You'll do very well in London, despite what's happened. With your pretty face, and American charm, it wouldn't surprise me a bit if you had a dozen suitors before the end of the season.”

“Well, I have already had a marriage proposal,” Annabel said, bringing the other woman to an abrupt halt on the threshold.

“A marriage proposal already?” Lady Sylvia turned in the doorway. “From whom?”

Annabel was a bit taken aback by the other woman's surprise. “Your brother. You didn't know?”

“I most certainly did not.” She shook her head and began to laugh. “Christian proposed marriage to you?” she said as if she couldn't believe it. “Christian?”

“Well, it wasn't a real proposal,” she hastened to explain. “Oh no, his idea was that we be engaged for a year, and then he would do something awful to give me an excuse to break the engagement.”

“What? And keep you dangling for an entire year with no ability to meet any other men?” When Annabel nodded, she said, “I hope you told him what he could do with that sort of arrangement!”

“I did. I believe my exact words were that I wouldn't have him on a silver platter even if it was only pretend.”

Sylvia laughed merrily. “Oh, Annabel, I do like you! We are going to be great friends. I know it.”

“I hope so,” she murmured, watching the other woman start down the hallway. “To pull this off, I think I'm going to need all the friends I can get.”