Kiss Me, Annabel

Page 74

“Is something the matter? Look at me!”
Annabel turned her head and met Imogen’s eyes.
“Oh, my God,” Imogen said, flopping back on the pillows.
“What?” Josie asked. “What?”
“She’s compromised,” Imogen said hollowly.
“Compromised? We already knew that,” Josie said.
“I’m not compromised!” Annabel said miserably. “That is, perhaps I am, but it doesn’t matter.”
“How can you say it doesn’t matter?” Imogen half shrieked. “It—”
“It doesn’t matter because I love him,” Annabel said, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I love him, and he doesn’t love me. And I want to marry him, and not for just six months either.”
There was a moment of dead silence.
Then: “Oh, sweetheart,” Imogen said, wrapping an arm around Annabel.
“You?” Josie asked incredulously. “Our logical, levelheaded sister who was determined to marry for money?”
“I don’t care…Even if Ewan were poor, I’d marry him.”
“Goodness,” Josie said, clearly shocked. “If you could contemplate poverty, then you are in love. Of course, Griselda is going to have strong convulsions when you tell her.”
“But I can’t marry him.” Annabel stopped. “That is, I am going to marry him, but I don’t want to.” Tears were blocking her throat again.
“You’re not making sense,” Josie observed. “Imogen never made sense either, when she was in throes.”
“He doesn’t love me,” Annabel said. “He—he likes me a great deal. He desires me. He thinks that’s love, but it’s not. I know that. Desire is very different.”
“The important thing is…” Imogen hesitated, obviously picking her words carefully. “The important thing is not to marry a man who doesn’t love you. You’re right: it doesn’t matter unless you love him. But it’s terrible to be the only one in a marriage with that feeling.” She stopped. Then she took a deep breath. “I thought my love for Draven would be enough for the two of us.”
“But Draven did love you,” Annabel protested. “He told you so as he died. Don’t diminish his love, now that he’s not here to repeat it to you.”
“I do not diminish his love for me,” Imogen said. “I would never do that. I know precisely how much he loved me: as much as he was capable of loving any woman, probably. He loved me somewhat…after his stables, perhaps more than his mother.”
“Oh, Imogen,” Annabel said. “Why dwell on such a—”
“Grief is like that!” Imogen snapped. “You can only fool yourself so far. And now I’ve seen one of my sisters be truly loved. I saw it in Lucius Felton’s face when we first met at the races, a few days after Tess married him.”
“I do not agree that Draven did not love you,” Annabel said firmly.
“He did love me! He just didn’t love me very much. Tiny things each day tell you precisely how much you are valued by your husband. I have had nothing to do but think over the two weeks during which Draven and I were married. I know precisely how he valued me.”
“Well, if you’re right, you might as well stop weeping over him,” Josie said with her customary brutal frankness. “Why grieve at all if he didn’t treat you properly? And what did he do, anyway? How do you know he didn’t love you? Did he say so?”
“That’s none of your business!” Imogen snapped. “I’m not crying, am I?”
“Is that why you’ve taken up with Mayne?” Josie insisted.
“Mayne doesn’t love me either.”
“I feel as if violins should be wailing in the background,” Josie said. “If you’re looking for love, I think you’re going about it the wrong way. Kidnapping Mayne is not going to make him love you.”
“I don’t give a damn if Mayne ever loves me!”
“You make it sound as if love is a quantifiable object,” Josie pointed out. “As if you could positively identify men who love their wives, versus those who don’t. If you ask me, it’s a great deal more confusing than that.”
“There’s something to what you say,” Imogen said slowly.
“There always is,” Josie said with satisfaction.
“All I’m saying is that if you are truly in love with Ardmore,” Imogen said, turning to Annabel, “you shouldn’t marry him, not until he’s in love with you too. It’s too heartbreaking.”
“But I expect Ardmore does love Annabel,” Josie put in. “All men seem to. Remember when Papa had to have the curate sent to another parish because he was writing love letters to Annabel?”
“You’re confusing desire and love,” Annabel said, her voice breaking a little. “I asked Ewan, last night, if he loved me, and he said that he desired me.” Her voice caught on a sob. “He doesn’t even realize there’s a difference! I’m tired of being a desirable woman.”
“From what I’ve read of ancient poets,” Josie said, “to most men, desire and love are the same thing. Perhaps you’re being too meticulous in your reasoning.”
“Truly, Annabel, I can’t see any reason to despair,” Imogen said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “If Ewan desires you, then he’s well on the way to loving you. Josie, you should probably leave the room.”
Josie’s glare would have burnt a green tree, so Imogen shrugged. “All right. Tess and Felton weren’t in love when they married. And yet he clearly fell in love with her directly after the wedding. I’ve thought and thought about why Draven didn’t fall in love with me in the same way—” She swallowed.
“You don’t have to tell us,” Annabel said softly.
“I don’t want your marriage to be like mine,” Imogen said fiercely. “So I do have to tell you. And the truth is that I don’t think that Draven and I—well, that Draven was particularly happy in our bedchamber.”
There was a moment’s silence, and then Josie said, “I hope you haven’t talked yourself into believing that he jumped on a horse and killed himself out of marital disappointment.”
It was so blunt, and so Josie-like, that both Imogen and Annabel gave a little choke of laughter. And after that, things were easier.
“Tess let Felton kiss her right on the racetrack,” Imogen said earnestly, “in the midst of a hundred people. And he kissed her in the open box where anyone might have seen them. And then they went off to his carriage, and when she came back, her hair was all mussed. I would never have allowed Draven such liberties. I just—just wouldn’t have. But now, in retrospect, I wish I had.”
“Well, Ewan has kissed me in public places,” Annabel said, hoping her face wasn’t turning pink at the very thought of some of those places.
“If all men needed to fall in love was desire,” Josie objected, “there would be no unmarried night-walkers.”
Imogen gasped. “Josie! You shouldn’t know such a word, nor ever speak of those women either!”