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Leaning in through the open carriage door, he met her eyes. “We will have our drive tomorrow.”
She nodded.
He left.
“Could you believe those draperies in the drawing room? And fires in every grate.
Unbelievable,” remarked Lady Beauford once the carriage was on its way, “You wouldn’t have seen anything like than when I was in residence.”
“Of course not.” Annabelle absently agreed with her aunt.
Across from her, Diana tried to smother a yawn.
“You need your sleep now, Diana. I do hope you plan to go directly to bed when you reach home,” said Lady Beauford, laying stress on the word now. Annabelle wondered at the significance, but her mind was too full of blackmail schemes and an intriguing laird to pay close attention.
She realized her aunt had asked her a question when the other occupants of the carriage stopped talking to stare at her. Even Diana looked curious. “What? Did you ask me something, Aunt Griselda?”
“No, my dear. I made the observation that although your engagement is imminent, it is not seemly to be seen carrying on a private discussion in a dark garden with your suitor.”
Annabelle’s head snapped up and all of her vagueness dissipated like fog in the noonday sun. “For the last time, my engagement is not imminent.” Lady Beauford turned to Robert. “I cannot imagine what is the matter with the gel.
She is acting all over strange about Lord Graenfrae. It is not as if this were her first season and she had suitors filling the drawing room of an at home day.” Annabelle might as well not even be there, for all the attention her aunt paid to what she said.
“Frankly, Aunt Griselda, I believe that Annabelle has finally met her match and she’s fighting it tooth and nail.” Robert’s words grated her conscience. If only he knew. She had met the one man who could inspire love. It was fate’s cruel joke that Ian thought love mere romantic drivel.
“Really, Robert. The expressions you use. You have spent far too much time in the wilds of the north. However, if I understand your meaning, I believe I concur. Perhaps Annabelle’s heart has finally been engaged.”
Aunt Griselda stopped talking to give Annabelle a quizzical look.
Annabelle remained mute. Let them continue their conversation without her input.
She definitely had no plans to admit to her feelings for Ian. It would only strengthen her brother’s arguments in favor of the marriage. He would not understand that far from reconciling her to the idea of marrying Ian, her love for him made it impossible until she was certain he returned the emotion.
“At any rate, I hope she is wise enough to realize that men like Ian do not come along every day in a woman’s life.”
She would have to be a fool not to realize that Ian was unique among men.
Annabelle was not a fool.
* * *
Throwing the glass of inexpensive port against the wall, William growled curses he had learned playing cards in the seedy hells his fortunes had forced him to. The sound of glass shattering did not abate his fury. The nerve of the chit! Once he was married to her, she would learn the folly of ignoring him for another man. How dare she wear some other man’s flowers when he had spent his precious blunt on a posy for her?
She had also allowed the laird to monopolize her time. William had struggled in vain to get near Lady Annabelle in the drawing room and join her party. When he had finally come within speaking distance, the upstart Scotsman had spirited her out to the garden.
The ignorant gel didn’t have the sense to stay out of dark gardens with gentlemen. If William was not careful, his prey would end up in a compromising position with Lord Graenfrae and all would be lost.
The almost empty port bottle joined his glass in a splintering explosion across the room. The smell of cheap wine mixed with his own sweat as he threw himself into his favorite chair. The only piece of furniture not covered with soiled garments. His disloyal valet had left. Could William help it if he was a little behind in the man’s wages? Surely a loyal servant would have stayed, but William had returned to his rooms to find his valet gone the day before.
Toying with the money he had left over from the Lady Hamilton’s first payment, William considered his options. He had over ninety pounds still left after buying the posy, a few bottles of port and dinner at his club. Ninety pounds wasn’t a bad stake in the games of chance to be found in the lower east side of London.
Mulling the idea over, he pulled off his sweat-stained shirt and dressed in garments more suitable to the stews. He headed out the door and hailed a passing hackney. If his luck continued, he would be a good deal richer in the morning.
Then he would rehire his valet. He discarded the idea. He would hire a new man.
Why reward the disloyalty of his old servant? William’s mood improved by the prospect of a night spent in his favorite pursuit. He smiled to himself.
Lady Annabelle would be his, and soon.
Chapter Eleven
Ian walked toward Rundell, Bridge and Rundell, surprised that such an unimposing building housed one of London’s most prestigious jewelers. Finchley had been insistent.
This jeweler serviced the needs of most of the polite world.
Ian’s grandfather’s resistance to England had not only cost his estates and his people, all of the family baubles had long since been sold off as well. His mother’s wedding ring had been a simple band of gold. He wanted to give Belle a ring to seal their betrothal.
Something that would declare to the world that she belonged to him.
He just had to convince her of that fact.
It would also do his nerves a world of good to convince her to leave off pursuing her causes. He grew cold at the thought of Annabelle in the clutches of a man like the one she had met with at Gunther’s.
Thinking back over his conversation with her in the garden, Ian was convinced that she was hiding something from him. He couldn’t begin to guess what. All he knew for certain was that the lass was in over her head with a man like that.
The door to the jeweler swung open and a lady came out. Her head was bent, so Ian did not at first recognize her. As she passed him, however, he noticed something familiar about the set of her shoulders and shape of her head.
It was Lady Hamilton.
“Good morning, Lady Hamilton.”
She walked past him as if he had not spoken and it was then that he noticed tears sliding down her cheeks. She rushed to her waiting carriage and stepped inside before Ian could form a question in his surprised brain.
Deciding he might find some answers for the lady’s strange behavior within, he stepped into the jewelers shop. It was empty save a wizened-looking man who stood behind the farthest display case appraising a strand of pearls. They looked remarkably like the ones Ian had seen on several occasions gracing Lady Hamilton’s neck.
Stepping forward, he decided to test the theory that had formed in his mind. He could not credit that Belle would countenance her friend selling her wedding pearls, even for Belle’s cause. “A lovely strand of pearls, that.” The jeweler looked up. “They are. They are. Just as lovely as the day I strung them.” Ian put his hand out to examine the necklace. “I might be in the market for something like this.?
??
The jeweler shook his head sadly. “Can’t sell them to you yet. Promised the lady to keep them for at least two weeks. To tell the truth, once her lord finds out she’s sold ’em, I’m betting he’ll be here post haste to buy them back.”
“Did the lass who was just in here sell those to you?”
“Right you are. Gambling debts or some such thing, I’m bound. Thinks she’ll keep it from her husband, but things like this have a way of becoming known.” Ian nodded. They did indeed. “You promised to keep them at least two weeks?”
“Yes, but if you’re that interested in some pearls, I’ve got a nice set here in my display case.”
The jeweler leaned down and pulled out a beautiful strand of beads. They made a soft clicking noise as they rubbed together. When the jeweler named a price, Ian winced.
Several cottage roofs could be thatched for the money. When he pictured how the glistening pearls would look nestled around Belle’s slender throat, Ian was tempted to buy them anyway.
He shook his head, not without regret. “I’m looking for a betrothal ring.” The jeweler laid his finger alongside his nose and tugged on his ear. “Ah. It’s that way, is it?” He nodded again. “I think I have just the thing.” He pulled a display case from the cabinet and laid it before Ian. Pulling back the protective velvet, he exposed several rings of various stones and settings. Ian’s eye was drawn to a ring that resembled a rose. It held no gems like the others, but the artistry of the delicate rose could not be denied. Lifting the ring from the tray, Ian announced, “I’ll take this one.”
The jeweler offered him a keepsake box carved in the same rose motif to carry it in.
Ian agreed to buy that also. Belle, with her fondness for roses, would love it.
Now he just had to convince her to accept the gift.
Annabelle paced the drawing room. Ian had not said what time he would call today, but she knew in her heart he was coming. What would she say? He had told her she had until the end of the season to accustom herself to the notion of their marriage, but she felt as if time had run out. She knew that she could not go on rejecting a proud man like her Scottish suitor and expect him to continue calling.
