She considered the open doorway anew. The workers might yet be inside, clearing debris. She must not loiter about, in that case. She did not want word of her visit to reach Sterling.
But she wanted to read the correspondence from her father to Sterling in the worst way. She eyed the work shed, which was her original destination. The rough structure, though not fully enclosed, would nevertheless provide cover if no one looked closely—and why would they?
Hunching into her cloak, she hurried across the dusty ground, then pressed herself into a corner of the furthest stall and slid her gloved hand into her pocket to withdraw the folded foolscap. She would read it—quickly—then head back, hopefully without crossing paths with any of Sterling’s hired laborers.
Palms damp inside her kid skin gloves, she unfolded the missive.
Her gaze sought and found the date. A week ago today. So itwasa recent letter. Scanning the signature, verified the sender was, indeed, her father.
She closed her eyes. Sick over the notion of reading Sterling’s private correspondence which he had chosen not to share with her. Knowing him, he would have a valid reason. She should wait. Allow him to explain.
Even doing so, he would undoubtedly be angry when he learned she’d taken it from his desk. And he might choose, after all, not to disclose the contents—which had come fromherfather.
She opened her eyes, grasped the letter with both hands and read.
My dear Lord Randall,
I write to you with felicitations regarding your recent, rather hasty marriage to my daughter. While her mother and I are delighted at this turn of events, I am also in a predicament as to how to proceed.
A matter of honor presents itself which must be answered, as I am inclined to believe this marriage, which took place neither with the benefit of an agreed-upon courtship, nor contract, nor customary posting of banns, came about solely thanks to certain and most heinous acts of impropriety on the part of both my daughter and yourself.
How she came to be a guest at your home without the benefit of a chaperone I can only speculate. Likely it owed initially to Annabelle’s indiscretion, and then, upon seeing the tasty treat offered you, yours. You could not resist her. Likely you believed yourself safe from discovery and later found that even in the remote reaches of the north, tongues do wag.
Marriage might be enough to quiet the gossip in Holy Island, but should word of such immodesty reach London society, one can only imagine the disastrous effects to your reputation—and that of your wife.
To avoid such an end, I propose a mutually advantageous agreement. You shall write a letter recommending me for membership to White’s, and use any and all means at your disposal to see said membership approved. See this done, sir, and consider your debt of honor, satisfied. Refuse, and suffer the consequences. Either way, you will pay your debt to me.
Please do extend my regards to Annabelle.
I look forward to your swift reply.
I remain, faithfully yours,
Lord M. Montrose.
Annabelle lowered the letter, tightening her grip as a gust of wind tore at it and threatened to send the indisputable proof of her father’s utter disregard for her flying.
Her mother’s disregard as well—as evidenced by the brief mention of her and nothing more.
She’d always known how little they esteemed her, though, hadn’t she? Hadn’t they always treated her as somehow less-than Gaston. Try as she might, she’d never understood why. Because she had the misfortune of being born female? Or was it simply that they’d never gotten past their disappointment over her audacity in appearing in this world lacking a certainje ne sais quoi?
She drew a deep breath and allowed herself a small smile—because it did not hurt, overly, facing this inexplicable truth. After all, it was nothing new.
As for why Sterling had chosen not to share it with her, she could easily guess. He’d wanted to protect her—from her own parents. From a father who cared so little for her that he threatened to bury her in scandal if Sterling did not meet his demands.
She was worth less to him than a measly club membership at White’s.
A club membership at White’s.
So it had not been Gaston alone who coveted the elusive entree into the exclusive world, but her father, as well.
Why could neither of them obtain one?
Horse hoofs and a clatter of wheels over gravel sounded in the distance, growing louder as riders approached from the direction of the shoreline. Annabelle, absorbed in her thoughts and half-deafened by the ever-present wind, had all but forgotten the likelihood of Sterling’s men showing up to finish their work. With any luck they would head straight for the kilns and bypass the shed entirely.
On the other hand, they might choose to tie their horses inside the structure.
Hinging forward at the waist, she inched toward the front of the stall to peer outside. She felt almost silly for her efforts to conceal herself. Perhaps she ought not bother hiding. She was, after all, Lady Randall, and had every right to be here.
