by Sophia James
‘She is,’ her grandmother returned. ‘She is here in you.’
* * *
Lytton had come to the Tennant-Smythe ball with Aurelian, Violet, Shay and Celeste. He had come early and found a spot at the end of the room by some pillars. He had refused every drink offered for he needed to be at his best tonight with all his wits about him.
Violet next to him noticed his latest refusal and smiled. The hope he could see on Violet’s face made him even more nervous and he wished like hell he had not taken Aurelian’s advice and asked for help on the words Annabelle might most want to hear.
Violet had been kind, he would give her that, but her instruction to him to allow Annabelle to see all his fears and worry held a sort of hopeless impossibility here at a very public ball. Celeste had been just as confusing. Her counsel had consisted of using the sort of prose he’d never felt comfortable with and at the end of the conversation he even wondered if she might be jesting. He could not ask Aurelian or Shay to clarify things, either, for he was so far out of his depth with the raw emotions it was almost like drowning.
But he had taken his own steps to convince Annabelle to favour him, the deed in his pocket holding the sort of weightiness he knew she might well understand, though even that thought held its complications.
Pray to God she had not changed. The mantle of being a lady would be a heavy one and there would be so many possibilities now open to her. Had Miss Annabelle Smith from Whitechapel been supplanted entirely by this new version? He had not felt this nervy since he was a youth and he swallowed away the frantic beat of his heart.
The music began suddenly heralding the arrival of the guest of honour and all eyes looked upwards to a grand staircase at the end of the room upon which three figures were now descending.
Annabelle stood on the right, a shimmering beauty in a gown of a colour he had rarely seen before. Her hair was up, but the length of it hung around her face in curls before reaching down her back. She looked nothing like the woman he had known in London, dressed in her ill-fitting hand-me-downs and her unusual scarves. Yet though the outward trimmings might be different, there was still that calm centred sureness that had always attracted him and a good sense that was so very beguiling. Others felt it, too, and a hush covered the room.
When people moved in for introductions he saw that she was enjoying it, her hand raised in just the right way, words tripping from her lips to make them laugh and lean forward and listen. It was easy to see the conquests and the triumphs as those she spoke with kept returning to her side.
The victory of beauty and grace and something else far less definable.
Inclusion was the nearest he could come to the meaning of what he sought. She did not have airs and arrogance, but kindness and acumen.
Suddenly Lytton could no longer bear it and, excusing himself from his friends, he walked towards the French doors to one side of the room and out on to a wide balcony. His fingers grasped on to the stone balustrade. He felt nauseous and hot. If this went badly...?
Others had come out now for some respite from the packed and noisy salons and he could not help but hear what they were saying.
‘Lady Anna is the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on and she is also so very substantial. Her conversation is nothing like the inane exchanges we have forever been subjected to.’
‘Thank God, I say. Did you see Frederick Alley? He was smitten by her and so was Aleric Carswell.’
‘As was every other unmarried male of the ton and a good few of the married ones besides. Where the hell has she been hiding, do you think?’
‘In France, according to the Dowager Countess’s brother. Near Paris, by all accounts.’
‘She will be married before the month is out, that much I will say. I can see every eligible male formulating their troths as we speak.’
Lytton walked further away so that he would not hear them. She had been in the cold for so many years he needed her to enjoy the heat, to know what a success she was and to revel in it. Annalena Tennant-Smythe had done a sterling job with her granddaughter; her hair, her gown and her demeanour could not be faulted. She was the embodiment of a woman whom both males and females could warm to, the whole package with nothing at all missing.
He should leave now and allow her the choice of love. He had, after all, placed down his hand and failed and he wanted her to be happy. He should simply walk out and return home. She knew where he lived, after all, but had never come. There had been no contact between them whatsoever.
* * *
Annabelle saw the Earl of Thornton’s friends approach her and looked around for him, disappointment rising. She had not seen him anywhere and she had been looking. With a sigh she took Celeste Shayborne’s offered hand and thanked her for coming.
‘I should have guessed you were a lost heiress, Lady Anna, the moment I met you. There were so many clues, after all.’
‘Call me Anna and I am so pleased to see you all here.’
‘Thorn didn’t come up with us.’
‘Oh, he is away from London, then?’ Belle tried to keep the regret out of her words, but knew she had failed as Celeste shook her head.
‘No. I mean he is here somewhere in this enormous room, but we seem to have lost him.’
‘He has gone for a drink. A fortifying one, I imagine.’ Aurelian now took up the conversation and there was laughter in his words. ‘Though I am sure he will seek you out when the masses have fallen back a little.’
‘It is rather a crush, isn’t it?’ Annabelle replied, wishing she might simply roam about the room in search of the elusive Earl.
‘The sign of a successful debut, I would say. Shay imagines you will have myriad marriage proposals on the table by the morrow and whoever you choose would be undeniably lucky.’
‘I sincerely hope that does not happen.’ The words fell out of her mouth even though she knew honesty was not a particularly valued commodity here in the heartland of the ton.
Celeste began to laugh. ‘I remember feeling exactly the same as did Violet. Have you met Aurelian’s wife yet, Annabelle?’
The name made her smile and she turned to the newcomer, a beautiful woman with the reddest hair she had ever seen.
‘No, I have not had the pleasure.’
‘Oh, it is all mine, Lady Anna. I am so glad that your family found you and brought you home.’
No one else had quite said it like that all night and Annabelle instantly felt a connection with Violet de la Tomber. In the eyes of both these women she saw a vein of humour and irreverence, and a sort of half-hearted acceptance of the ways and oddities of the ton.
She wished she might have friends like them, friends who were honest and forthright and not at all bound by convention. She wanted to hold their hands and keep them both with her, human shields against the arrogance and snobbery that was so prevalent here.
‘I hope Thorn will find me,’ she suddenly said. It was far to familiar, she knew it was, and much too honest, but the hours were running down to midnight and she imagined that he might leave without even seeing her.
‘He will.’ Celeste spoke firmly. ‘He is a good man who thinks you need the chance to shine in your own light without being shaded by his. But he will come when he understands the truth of what he feels, I know it.’
Her grandmother had joined the group now and asked if Annabelle would come to meet some old friends of hers. With nothing else to do but acquiesce, Annabelle followed her.
* * *
The clock had struck two before Thorn approached her. She was standing with Violet over to one side of the room and looked even more beautiful close up than she had at a distance.
When Violet saw him she quickly excused herself, giving him the chance of a moment of aloneness with Annabelle.
‘You look beautiful.’ Ridiculous words, but true.
‘Thank yo
u.’ There was a half-smile on her lips.
‘Would you like to dance?’
A waltz was just warming up and people all around them were taking to the floor. Dancing would give him some distraction and promised a few moments of uninterrupted closeness.
‘I am still not particularly proficient at the steps so I hope you will not mind if I tread upon your feet.’
‘I won’t.’
He took the hand that she held out and she walked beside him. There were sapphires and diamonds around her neck and on her ears, the largesse of the Huntington family on display.
All the words he had practised to say fell away and he was left with silence, the music all around them, the lights above and the warmth of her body so close against his own.
They could have been dancing alone in a glade set in a far-off enchanted forest, bare of people. For a second he closed his eyes and just felt the shape of her fingers under the long white gloves as he breathed in a pervading scent of lavender. Opening them again, he saw that her hair shone dark beneath the lamps, the colour of wood under water or winter leaves underfoot.
Annabelle was matchless and original and completely herself. Her dimples showed up as deep shadows on each cheek.
‘I thought you might not come, my lord. I imagined the night ending and still not seeing you...’
‘I’m sorry. You were busy.’
‘Not so busy that I could not thank the one man who has rescued me again and again, without recompense or reward.’
‘It’s been a lot quieter on that front lately.’ The start of a smile surprised him, but then Annabelle had always had the ability to make him laugh. ‘McFaddyen sends you his greetings.’
Her step was out of beat and they stumbled slightly, the movement bringing their bodies closer. He could feel the shape of her breasts under thin silk and drew in a breath. She had filled out and he had thinned down. There seemed to be no end to the comparison of differences.
‘I brought you a gift.’ He unlinked one hand and dug an envelope out from his pocket. ‘Perhaps you might open it later?’
‘Thank you.’ The frown across her forehead made him want to lift his fingers and rub it away. He was pleased when she deposited the deed in her reticule, the peach ribbons adorning it twinkling in the light.
He wished that this dance might continue all night, the feel of her in his arms, the warmth of the summer evening, the way she allowed him to lead her around the room. The sheer closeness.
‘You are a far better dancer than I am, my lord.’
‘I’ve had years of practice.’
‘I heard that Lady Catherine Dromorne has broken off your engagement. It seems she discovered you were not the man she thought you to be.’
‘A fortunate detection. I think she is in Italy now with my sister Prudence, who has decided to stay on with her husband. I hope Catherine finds what she is looking for there.’
‘Which is what?’
‘Love. A soulmate. Someone to make life bearable. Someone to love her back.’ He tried to keep the words light, but could not, and his fingers closed tighter around her own.
‘You did not come and see me at Highwick? Not once?’
‘Your grandmother asked it of me. She wanted a new start for you and all the possibilities that such a thing might entail.’
‘Possibilities?’
‘Choices, I should imagine, and options. A selection of husbands to settle down with, a man who might suit your station and your inclination. It seems there are many here tonight who would like to show their hand.’
‘I have already had one offer.’
His heart sank.
‘Which I’ve decided to accept.’
God, he had lost her then and there was no way he could save what had been between them.
‘Then I give you my congratulations, Lady Anna. I hope he deserves you.’
‘Oh, I think he does.’ Her voice held amusement.
‘And I hope he knows how to make you happy.’
‘That, too.’
She was smiling, which did not quite seem right. Annabelle had never been unkind before.
‘He understands me, you see, as no other ever has and he protects me to the very core of his being. I could not imagine my life with anyone else. He is my perfect match and I think he knows that I am his as well.’
The small clues clicked into place and pleasure made his blood run hot.
‘Annabelle?’
‘Yes, Thorn.’
‘Will you marry me as soon as I can procure a licence?’
She moved in closer. ‘Why do you ask me?’
‘Because I love you. Because there will never be anyone else for me. Because we belong together and without you I am only half a person.’
* * *
The music had stopped now but they stood there still, oblivious of what was happening around them, of the stares and the conjectures, of the growing puzzlement and the speculation.
‘I love you, too, Thorn, and I have done since first Stanley tore your pink waistcoat in the front room at White Street.’ She could see him swallow and take in breath and his hand shook beneath hers. ‘I want children and a home with you and a family and for ever.’
‘God.’ The word sounded torn from the depths of hope.
‘I think it’s yes you are supposed to say and then you kiss me.’
He grabbed at her hand and, taking no care of the stares of all those around her, he pulled her from the room and into a small salon that sat on the other side of the doors they had just exited.
‘Yes,’ he said before his lips came down in ownership and tenure and Annabelle saw then all he had kept harnessed, the need and the want and even the fear.
The thin peach gown held no hope against his fervour as his hands clutched her to him, a grasp that gave the promise of never again letting her go.
Love.
Desperate. Shaking. Disbelieving. Unguarded.
She felt the tears on her cheeks even as he wiped them up with his finger.
‘I will never leave you again, Annabelle. I thought...’ He stopped. ‘I thought after last time that you might not want to see me again.’
‘Love me, Thorn.’
‘I do. Desperately.’
This time she kissed him, bringing his head down and taking his mouth. The thrall that snaked through her was indescribable. He was hers and she was his and everything that came before now was as nothing. This day, this moment, this night was the beginning of the life she wanted, with a man whom she trusted and understood. An honourable man who would always protect her and always love her.
She took in breath as he pressed her against him, feeling the rustle of paper in her reticule.
‘What is in your envelope?’
‘Something I purchased for you. Something I think you will like.’
He let her go as she brought the paper from her bag. It was a deed for a property in Whitechapel, a place on the Whitechapel Road. Her name was the sole one written upon it.
‘I thought you would suffer if you were unable to keep practising your particular kind of medicine and I wanted you to be independent and self-reliant even if it was not me you chose.’
She burst into tears and he looked surprised.
‘You do not like it?’
‘I love it. I love that you would think to do this for me, Thorn. It is simply perfect, the best wedding present I could ever imagine. But I want the deed changed. I want your name to be there, too, together.’
‘Together,’ he echoed and a new desperation assailed them. She could feel a growing hardness between his thighs and his breathing had changed.
‘I want you.’ This was said as a hoarse and raw troth, no question in it, though when the door unexpectedly opened they broke away from each other, their fingers still entwined
.
‘Anna?’
Her grandmother stood there with her great-uncle at her shoulder. Both looked more than surprised even as Thorn took charge of the situation and began to speak.
‘I have asked your granddaughter for her hand in marriage and she has said yes. The ceremony will take place as soon as possible.’
Annalena came forward, an enormous smile on her face. ‘I never imagined that this could be so wonderful, my dear. The Earl of Thornton as your husband is a perfect choice because he is kind as well as powerful and you will need that.’
Annabelle hugged her grandmother and then she hugged Percy. There were tears in his eyes as he let her go.
‘When will the wedding take place?’
‘As soon as I can get a licence.’ Thorn spoke, his voice filled with pride.
‘I don’t want it huge, Thorn. I want a small and intimate ceremony with just the family and a few friends and I would very much like it to take place at Highwick.’
Her grandmother looked delighted. ‘Huntington has written to me from America and he said he will not return to England for a long while. I think it is for the best that he stays away. A recompense for the way he has behaved, perhaps?’
‘A new beginning,’ Thorn added as Rawlings shook his hand in congratulations.
‘Shall we announce your intentions tonight with everyone present?’ her grandmother asked.
‘Yes.’ Both she and Thorn said this at once.
Chapter Fifteen
Three weeks later
‘You are the most beautiful bride that any man could hope for.’
Annabelle stood before him in her white-silk under-gown with flowers woven through her hair, the curls of which moulded around her waistline.
‘When I am old and infirm and I cannot remember one other thing, I pray to God that I will remember this.’
They had been married three hours ago in the chapel at Highwick and had now retired to the suite in the east wing of the hall which had been reserved especially for them.
