His shadow fell over the table. “I see Caroline has had breakfast. Annabelle, you are not yet hungry?”
She blinked up at him. “I only just arrived and haven’t had a chance to fix my plate.”
“Allow me.”
“Very well.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Caroline hiding a grin.
Surely she did not think the simple act of his offering to fill a plate for Annabelle indicated anything other than a controlling nature and an odd obsession with seeing that his guests ate.
After he’d taken his seat, his breakfast before him, and Annabelle’s before her, he resumed speaking, his tone matter-of-fact.
“Everything is arranged. We shall convene at St Mary’s, promptly at nine am.” He seemed not to notice the stunned silence that followed his pronouncement as he forked up a bite of eggs. “We’ll plan to leave here no later than eight thirty.”
Across the table from her, Caroline gave an exasperated sigh. “No, sir,weshall not leave here at eight thirty.”
He paused in the act of lifting his fork. “It wouldn’t do for us to arrive late.”
Caroline gave him a peeved look. “Lady Annabelle and I shall take one conveyance, and you shall take another.”
“Ah.”
“Following breakfast, you will not lay eyes on her again until tomorrow, when she joins you at the altar.”
“I see.”
“And has any consideration been given to what she shall wear? I thought you mentioned something about her things going missing with the…er…dead maid.”
He slid Annabelle a brief glance. “Babette has been availing herself of items from your wardrobe for Lady Annabelle’s use.I’d assumed Babette would perform another such alteration in this instance.”
Annabelle sent Caroline an apologetic grimace.
Loosing a soft chuckle, Caroline eyed her. “I thought that gown looked familiar. Although it looks far better on you than it ever looked on me.”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” Annabelle muttered, embarrassed.
Caroline went on, apparently unfazed. “An excellent notion, Sterling. If anyone can transform an ordinary country gown into one fit for a future viscountess’s wedding ceremony, Babette can.”
“You know of her skill?” Annabelle asked, delighted. “Oh, of course. Your brother must have told you of her when he…when circumstances dictated he bring her here. She is a wonder with needle and thread, and styling hair, and any number of things.”
Caroline nodded and sipped her tea.
She supposed it probably struck the woman as rather odd, her gushing so over a mere servant. In for a penny, in for a pound. She turned to Sterling. “As long as we’re on the subject, Babette would like…that is, as I have need of a new maid, I would like to hire her.”
Both Sterling and Caroline stared at her.
“Lord Randall, youdidsay she does not function in any real capacity in this household, did you not? And it is not as if she can safely return to the home where she worked previously.”
Sterling shifted his focus to his sister. “I informed Lady Annabelle that Babette came to harm while employed as a maid in one of Father’s estates.”
“Yes. I recall.”
“Babette has developed a crush of sorts on Annabelle,” he went on to say.
A small grin curved Caroline’s mouth. “Of course. She does like pretty things—and people.”
Warmth suffused Annabelle at the unexpected praise—from her soon-to-besister.
“You may hire her—so long as that is what she wishes,” Sterling allowed. He sliced a bite of ham and eyed Annabelle’s plate meaningfully.
