“I see. But one has nothing to do with the other?” she asked, dryly.
He made no reply.
After a taut silence, Caroline spoke again. “It was a terrible affair, and perhaps the lady in question did not deserve your friend’s sacrifice—”
“She did not. She married the cur who killed him.”
“As you say. But I still say you are judging Lady Annabelle too harshly through no fault of her own. There is more to her—and Gaston, as well.”
“They are a pair of superficial, grasping climbers, Caroline.“
“Enough,” Lady Caroline said with finality. “You’ve made your opinion abundantly clear. You think I’m silly and naive and blinded by love.”
“Blinded by something,” he muttered.
“Once I’m married and happy, you’ll see.”
“If you insist on going through with this marriage, I pray you are correct.”
The moment the front door had opened, Annabelle had fled to the grand staircase and run up, as fast as her feet would carry her. She’d hidden in her chambers, mortified and hostile and vowing that one day she would make Lord Sterling Randall rue the day he’d looked down his aristocratic nose at her and her family.
And coming here to confront him had seemed the perfect opportunity to do so.
She’d long since concluded Lord Randall was jealous. Because her family, her father, mother, brother, and yes, she, herself,wererenowned for their looks, for their polish, their parties. Everyone wanted to know them. Everyone wanted tobethem.
The hole in her theory was that he was also exceedingly attractive, not to mention rich, titled, and in line for a subsequent title on par with her father’s.
But what else could account for his vehement opposition to Gaston and Caroline’s marriage?
And being that he was so opposed, so openly uncharitable toward her brother, his presence at Gaston’s apartments the night he’d died—toaidhim, he now contended—raised serious flags.
That thought settled her nerves as nothing else could have.
So she nursed a tiny,infinitesimalgrudge against the viscount. That did not alter the fact that she had a purpose much larger than herself for forging into this rustic wasteland.
Despite Annabelle’s best efforts, the detectives who’d investigated Gaston’s demise made it clear they were content to leave their findings asdeath by misadventure, claiming that after a night of carousing, Gaston had tripped getting out of bed, bashing his head, and then bleeding out. Her parents, too, wished the matter dropped, going so far as to accuse Annabelle of prolonging her mother’s suffering with her suspicions, which was the very opposite of what she was trying to do.
She could not dismiss the coincidence of Lord Randall’s uncharacteristic altruism where Gaston was concerned. While her parents were away, she would get to the bottom of his involvement, and in so doing, ease her mother’s grief.
And maybe, just maybe, change her own life’s trajectory for the better.
***
A soft sound, the whisper of fabric, of footfalls on carpet, pulled Annabelle from a restless sleep.
She’d barely opened her eyes to take in the unfamiliar surroundings when the creak of a hinge had her sitting bolt upright to see the maid, Babette, standing before the wardrobe—Annabelle’s dress cradled in her arms.
“You, there. What are you doing?” Annabelle shrieked.
Babette chirped in alarm, spinning to face the bed, eyes wide with fright. She hugged Annabelle’s gown to her chest like a shield.
“How dare you paw at my gown.Let go of it at once.”
Babette’s face crumpled. As ordered, she released the garment, and it toppled to the floor in a mound of blue silk.
Outraged, Annabelle leapt from the bed and onto her feet. “What were you planning to do with it? Steal it? Answer me. Answer me this second, or I swear I’ll have you tossed out on your ear.”
Babette’s hand flew to her ear as if imagining Annabelle dropping her onto the appendage, literally. On a sob, she darted toward the door, which Annabelle now saw stood open, and flew out into the still-dark corridor.
