Secrets of a Summer Night
Page 21
“And we’re not?” Lillian asked wryly.
Daisy crossed her eyes. “I’m only fortunate that we left before they could make up a rhyme about me.”
“I have,” Lillian said. “Marry Daisy, and you can be lazy.”
Daisy gave her a speaking glance, and her sister grinned. “Never fear,” Lillian continued, “eventually we will succeed in infiltrating London society, and then we’ll marry Lord Heavydebts and Lord Shallowpockets, and finally assume our places as ladies of the manor.”
Annabelle shook her head with a sympathetic smile, while Evie left with a murmur, presumably to attend to her private needs. Annabelle almost felt sorry for the Bowmans, for it was becoming apparent that their chances of marrying for love were no greater than hers.
“Is it both your parents’ ambition for you to marry a title?” Annabelle asked. “What is your father’s opinion on the matter?”
Lillian shrugged nonchalantly. “For as long as I can remember, Father has never had an opinion about anything regarding his children. All he wants is to be left alone so he can make more money. Whenever we write him, he disregards the contents of the letter, unless we happen to be asking to draw more funds from the bank. And then he’ll respond with a single line— ‘Permission to draw.’ “
Daisy seemed to share her sister’s cynical amusement. “I think Father is pleased by Mother’s match-making, as it keeps her too busy to bother him.”
“Dear me,” Annabelle murmured. “And he never complains about your requests for more money?”
“Oh, never,” Lillian said, and laughed at Annabelle’s patent envy. “We’re hideously rich, Annabelle—and I’ve got three older brothers, all unmarried. Would you possibly consider one of them? If you like, I’ll have one shipped across the Atlantic for your inspection.”
“Tempting, but no,” Annabelle replied. “I don’t want to live in New York. I would rather be a peer’s wife.”
“Is it really so wonderful, being a peer’s wife?” Daisy asked plaintively. “Living in one of these drafty old houses with bad plumbing, and having to learn all the endless rules about the proper way to do everything…”
“You’re no one if you’re not married to a peer,” Annabelle assured her. “In England, nobility is everything. It determines how others treat you, the schools your children attend, the places you’re invited…every facet of your life.”
“I don’t know…” Daisy began, and was interrupted by Evie’s precipitate return.
Although Evie displayed no obvious signs of being in a hurry, her blue eyes were lit with urgency, and excited color had gathered at the crests of her cheeks. Taking the chair she had previously occupied, she perched on the edge of the seat and leaned toward Annabelle, stammering and whispering. “I h-had to turn ‘round and hurry back to tell you…he’s alone!”
“Who?” Annabelle whispered back. “Who is alone?”
“Lord Kendall! I saw him at the b-b-back terrace. Just sitting there at one of the tables by himself.”
Lillian frowned. “Perhaps he’s waiting to meet someone. If so, it would hardly do Annabelle any good to go charging forth like a rhino in season.”
“Might you be able to come up with a more flattering metaphor, dear?” Annabelle asked mildly, and Lillian flashed her a grin.
“Sorry. Just proceed with care, Annabelle.”
“Point taken,” Annabelle said with an answering smile, standing and straightening her skirts deftly. “I’m going to investigate the situation. Good work, Evie.”
“Good luck,” Evie replied, and they all crossed their fingers as they watched her leave the room.
Annabelle’s heartbeat escalated as she walked through the house. She knew full well that she was treading through an intricate maze of social rules. A lady should never deliberately seek out a gentleman’s company; but if they crossed paths accidentally, or happened to find themselves on the same settee or conversation chair, they could exchange a few pleasantries. They should never spend time alone unless they were riding horses or being conveyed in an open carriage. And if a girl chanced to meet a gentleman while heading out to view the gardens, she must take pains to ensure that the situation did not appear compromising in any way.
Unless, of course, she wanted to be compromised.
Drawing close to the long row of French doors that opened onto the wide flagstone terrace, Annabelle saw her quarry. As Evie had described, Lord Kendall was sitting alone at a round table, leaning back in his chair with one leg stretched carelessly before him. He seemed to be enjoying a momentary respite from the overheated atmosphere of the house.
Quietly Annabelle strode to the nearest door and slipped through it. The air was lightly scented with heather and bog myrtle, while the sounds of the river beyond the gardens provided a soothing undercurrent. Keeping her head down, Annabelle rubbed her temples with her fingers as if she were afflicted with a nagging headache. When she was ten feet away from Kendall’s table, she looked up and made herself jump a little, as if she was startled to see him there.
“Oh,” she said. It was not at all difficult to sound breathless. She was nervous, knowing how important it was to make the right impression on him. “I didn’t realize that someone was out here…”
Kendall stood, his spectacles twinkling in the light of the terrace torch. His form was slim to the point of being insubstantial, his coat hanging from his padded shoulders. Despite the fact that he was approximately three inches taller than Annabelle, she would not have been surprised to learn that they were the same weight. His posture was at once diffident and oddly tense, like that of a deer poised for a sudden, bounding retreat. As she stared at him, Annabelle had to admit silently that Kendall was not the kind of man whom she would have had any natural attraction to. On the other hand, she didn’t like pickled herring, either. But if she was starving and someone handed her a jar of pickled herring, she was hardly going to turn her nose up at it.
Daisy crossed her eyes. “I’m only fortunate that we left before they could make up a rhyme about me.”
“I have,” Lillian said. “Marry Daisy, and you can be lazy.”
Daisy gave her a speaking glance, and her sister grinned. “Never fear,” Lillian continued, “eventually we will succeed in infiltrating London society, and then we’ll marry Lord Heavydebts and Lord Shallowpockets, and finally assume our places as ladies of the manor.”
Annabelle shook her head with a sympathetic smile, while Evie left with a murmur, presumably to attend to her private needs. Annabelle almost felt sorry for the Bowmans, for it was becoming apparent that their chances of marrying for love were no greater than hers.
“Is it both your parents’ ambition for you to marry a title?” Annabelle asked. “What is your father’s opinion on the matter?”
Lillian shrugged nonchalantly. “For as long as I can remember, Father has never had an opinion about anything regarding his children. All he wants is to be left alone so he can make more money. Whenever we write him, he disregards the contents of the letter, unless we happen to be asking to draw more funds from the bank. And then he’ll respond with a single line— ‘Permission to draw.’ “
Daisy seemed to share her sister’s cynical amusement. “I think Father is pleased by Mother’s match-making, as it keeps her too busy to bother him.”
“Dear me,” Annabelle murmured. “And he never complains about your requests for more money?”
“Oh, never,” Lillian said, and laughed at Annabelle’s patent envy. “We’re hideously rich, Annabelle—and I’ve got three older brothers, all unmarried. Would you possibly consider one of them? If you like, I’ll have one shipped across the Atlantic for your inspection.”
“Tempting, but no,” Annabelle replied. “I don’t want to live in New York. I would rather be a peer’s wife.”
“Is it really so wonderful, being a peer’s wife?” Daisy asked plaintively. “Living in one of these drafty old houses with bad plumbing, and having to learn all the endless rules about the proper way to do everything…”
“You’re no one if you’re not married to a peer,” Annabelle assured her. “In England, nobility is everything. It determines how others treat you, the schools your children attend, the places you’re invited…every facet of your life.”
“I don’t know…” Daisy began, and was interrupted by Evie’s precipitate return.
Although Evie displayed no obvious signs of being in a hurry, her blue eyes were lit with urgency, and excited color had gathered at the crests of her cheeks. Taking the chair she had previously occupied, she perched on the edge of the seat and leaned toward Annabelle, stammering and whispering. “I h-had to turn ‘round and hurry back to tell you…he’s alone!”
“Who?” Annabelle whispered back. “Who is alone?”
“Lord Kendall! I saw him at the b-b-back terrace. Just sitting there at one of the tables by himself.”
Lillian frowned. “Perhaps he’s waiting to meet someone. If so, it would hardly do Annabelle any good to go charging forth like a rhino in season.”
“Might you be able to come up with a more flattering metaphor, dear?” Annabelle asked mildly, and Lillian flashed her a grin.
“Sorry. Just proceed with care, Annabelle.”
“Point taken,” Annabelle said with an answering smile, standing and straightening her skirts deftly. “I’m going to investigate the situation. Good work, Evie.”
“Good luck,” Evie replied, and they all crossed their fingers as they watched her leave the room.
Annabelle’s heartbeat escalated as she walked through the house. She knew full well that she was treading through an intricate maze of social rules. A lady should never deliberately seek out a gentleman’s company; but if they crossed paths accidentally, or happened to find themselves on the same settee or conversation chair, they could exchange a few pleasantries. They should never spend time alone unless they were riding horses or being conveyed in an open carriage. And if a girl chanced to meet a gentleman while heading out to view the gardens, she must take pains to ensure that the situation did not appear compromising in any way.
Unless, of course, she wanted to be compromised.
Drawing close to the long row of French doors that opened onto the wide flagstone terrace, Annabelle saw her quarry. As Evie had described, Lord Kendall was sitting alone at a round table, leaning back in his chair with one leg stretched carelessly before him. He seemed to be enjoying a momentary respite from the overheated atmosphere of the house.
Quietly Annabelle strode to the nearest door and slipped through it. The air was lightly scented with heather and bog myrtle, while the sounds of the river beyond the gardens provided a soothing undercurrent. Keeping her head down, Annabelle rubbed her temples with her fingers as if she were afflicted with a nagging headache. When she was ten feet away from Kendall’s table, she looked up and made herself jump a little, as if she was startled to see him there.
“Oh,” she said. It was not at all difficult to sound breathless. She was nervous, knowing how important it was to make the right impression on him. “I didn’t realize that someone was out here…”
Kendall stood, his spectacles twinkling in the light of the terrace torch. His form was slim to the point of being insubstantial, his coat hanging from his padded shoulders. Despite the fact that he was approximately three inches taller than Annabelle, she would not have been surprised to learn that they were the same weight. His posture was at once diffident and oddly tense, like that of a deer poised for a sudden, bounding retreat. As she stared at him, Annabelle had to admit silently that Kendall was not the kind of man whom she would have had any natural attraction to. On the other hand, she didn’t like pickled herring, either. But if she was starving and someone handed her a jar of pickled herring, she was hardly going to turn her nose up at it.
