And what if the child Elizabeth Mainwaring carried wasn’t Hugo’s? What if she had left him to the woman when she might have fought to keep him? What if?
Her decision was made. If Elizabeth Mainwaring truly didn’t know who the father of her child was, then it was Lady Mainwaring’s place to tell Hugo. If she chose not to, it was not Annabell’s right to tell him what had been told to her in confidence. This situation was between them. Hugo had slept with the woman of his own free will. Unfortunately for her, she was suffering more from the consequences of that passion than Hugo.
And Elizabeth Mainwaring was hurting as well. Annabell had to concede that. The woman was in love with one man and marrying another. It had to be hard. But that was the way of their world, and, deep down, Annabell admired Elizabeth Mainwaring for doing what was necessary to keep this child and to raise it as legitimate. That took a lot of courage.
But the consequences still hurt. She could rationalise all she wanted. She could tell herself she did not want to marry Hugo, would not have even had he asked. But the fact remained that she loved him and had lost him.
The fact remained that her heart still felt as though it had been ripped from her chest.
Hugo turned from the window, letting the heavy gold-velvet curtains fall back into place. The travelling carriage was long gone, and with it, Annabell.
Annabell of the silver hair and inquisitive mind. Annabell with a passion to match his own. He had lost her before he had even truly had her. And all because of his own actions. He had lived the life he wanted, and had revelled in the pleasures of the flesh. He still did. Only now, he wanted to share those delights with Annabell. And she was gone.
Fury and frustration coursed through him.
He moved to the mantel and swept his hand across the top, sending candelabra and fresh flowers crashing to the floor. The resulting sound of destruction brought no satisfaction.
‘Jamison,’ he bellowed. ‘I’m going riding.’
The valet appeared so quickly it was likely he had been standing on the other side of the dressing-room door. He eyed Sir Hugo with a jaundiced air.
‘No use taking your anger out on them gee-gees, Captain. Only cost money to replace them and a maid to clean up the mess.’
Hugo turned on his retainer. ‘And what do you suggest I do, Jamison? Drink myself into a stupor?’
The man shrugged. ‘Could do worse.’
Hugo’s hands fisted, the urge to hit something nearly impossible to resist. Somehow he managed to unclench his hands before he did something he would regret. ‘Go away, Jamison.’
‘You wanted me to get out your riding clothes.’
Hugo scowled. ‘Go away. I will do something else.’
‘Ain’t like you intended to marry Lady Fenwick-Clyde,’ Jamison said as though he hadn’t heard the order to leave. ‘You was merely amusing yourself. Seen you do it more times ’n I can remember. Do it meself.’
‘You are being impertinent.’ Hugo’s voice was cold enough to frost a frying pan.
Jamison ignored the reprimand. ‘You even carried on with Lady Mainwaring off and on for nearly a year. Some would say you gotta pay the piper.’
Hugo’s teeth clenched. ‘Get out before I forget what we have gone through and throw you out.’
‘Some would also say you swallowed Lady Mainwaring’s story without so much as a peep. Wonder why?’
‘Now.’ Hugo’s voice was dangerously low.
When in London he practised with Gentleman Jackson weekly and was accounted a good pugilist. The urge to land his valet a facer returned with a vengeance.
‘I’m goin’, Captain. But I think yer should consider what y’er doin’. Don’t seem like you’ve given it much thought.’
On those words, he quickly moved to the door leading to the hallway instead of the dressing room. He tossed one parting shot. ‘Know I went too far, but you needed to hear it and for sure Lady Mainwaring wasn’t going to say it. Nor Lady Fenwick-Clyde. I owe you too much to stand quietly by while you ruin yer life.’
Hugo stared at the closed door for a long time before sprawling into a large chair. He ran his fingers through his hair to get it off his forehead and—unbidden—remembered Annabell doing the same thing. She had done so after their first bout of lovemaking. He turned his head to look at the bed. There.
His loins tightened painfully as the memories flooded back. She had been eager and insatiable. She had made him feel like a young buck with his first woman. She had made him feel special. It had been a long time since someone had made him feel special.
Perhaps Jamison was not far off the mark.
Annabell arrived in London after dark. The mist had rolled in from the Thames and made the going slow. The carriage lanterns cast an orange glow that reflected back. As they progressed further into the city, heading for exclusive Mayfair, the houses began to have gas lighting in front of the doors. Soon the night took on an eerie golden hue. Yes, she was in London during the Season.
The coach pulled to a stop in front of Guy’s imposing Georgian town house. Instead of waiting for the servant to open the door and lower the steps, Annabell took a bunch of skirt in one hand, held on to the door strap with the other and jumped into the street. Luckily for her it hadn’t rained or she would have soaked her half boots.
The front door opened and Oswald stood haloed by the light from the hall lamps. ‘Miss Annabell,’ he said in his most proper English butler voice. ‘We were not expecting you.’
Annabell mounted the steps. ‘I decided at the last minute. Surely Guy is still here. I see the knocker is on the door.’
Oswald stepped back to allow her in. ‘His lordship and Lady Chillings have gone to Brighton for the week. His Highness, the Prince of Wales, specifically invited them.’
Annabell stepped further into the hall and instantly felt at home. She had spent more time here during her marriage to Fenwick-Clyde than at her husband’s London residence. ‘And the Prince of Wales is not to be gainsaid. Is Dominic here?’
‘Yes.’ His tone was censorious in the extreme.
‘Up to no good, I take it.’ Annabell undid the ribbons on her travel bonnet and tossed the confection on to a nearby table. ‘I would expect nothing else.’
At that moment, a loud whine came from the door leading to the servants’ work area and the steps to the kitchen. Annabell raised one brow in query.
‘Mr Dominic’s latest waif. A mongrel of less than impeccable blood lines.’
‘That is certainly like my brother.’
Annabell laughed for the first time in what felt like ages, although she knew it had not been long since Lady Mainwaring had arrived at Rosemont. It felt good to find pleasure in something as minor as her younger brother’s propensity to rescue the underdog—literally.
‘Are you referring to Fitz?’ Dominic’s pleasing tenor demanded.
Annabell turned to see her brother descending the stairs, dressed in formal black satin breeches and coat. He had her height and slimness and high-bridged nose and dark blue eyes, but that is where the similarities ended. His hair was black as pitch and his complexion was swarthy as a tinker’s thanks to the inordinate amount of time he spent out of doors pursuing his sporting interests.
‘Where are you going rigged out like that?’
He snorted. ‘Nowhere interesting, trust me, Bell. Almack’s.’
‘Almack’s? Don’t you detest that place?’
He gave a long, exaggerated sigh. ‘Immensely. But that is where Miss Lucy wishes to go, so that is where I will escort her.’
‘Miss Lucy? As in Lucy Duckworth?’
‘The same.’
She frowned. ‘I thought Guy warned you away from the chit. She is barely out of the schoolroom and much too innocent for the likes of you.’
He returned her look with a scowl of his own. ‘I keep my own counsel, sister, just as you do.’
‘Really?’ She stood taller and squared her shoulders. ‘And what do you mean by that rema
rk?’
Instead of answering directly, he asked sweetly, ‘Have you had the pleasure of meeting Fitz? My newest acquisition.’
Dawning realisation made her eye him with ill-disguised ire. ‘Fitz, as in…’
‘Exactly,’ he drawled. ‘Fitzsimmon.’
‘How dare you name a dog after Sir Hugo!’
‘I dare very well, thank you. After all—’ he settled his chapeau at a rakish angle on his ebony curls. ‘—they are much alike. Roustabouts with a taste for the ladies and less than impeccable antecedents—as Oswald so quickly informed you.’
‘The pot calling the kettle black, don’t you think, Dominic?’ She could barely contain her irritation. ‘Yet how like you.’
He made her an elegant, mocking leg, showing a calf any woman would be pleased to admire and any man would long to have. ‘If you insist on digging at me about Lucy Duckworth, then I will continue to remind you that Sir Hugo Fitzsimmon is a rake of the first order and someone you should stay well away from.’
She snorted very much in the same way he had. ‘I will do as I please. At least I am a grown woman and a widow. Lucy Duckworth is still a child.’
‘A delightful one,’ he said with a sly grin that quickly turned to disgust. ‘Unfortunately, she comes well chaperoned.’
‘Ah, Miss Duckworth.’
‘Yes,’ he said, his tone implying dislike. ‘Miss Sourpuss. I swear she criticises everything. Nothing I do pleases the woman.’
‘You would please her if you quit pursuing her young sister. Had you thought of that?’
‘Ah, but that would not please me.’
‘How typical.’ She shook her head in resignation. ‘But mark my words, Dominic, what you are doing will come to no good.’
He moved past her, turning to look over his shoulder. ‘You think so? Then one can only hope it will be interesting.’ He sailed out the door to his waiting phaeton.
She watched him with a worried frown. He was such a rakehell and ne’er-do-well, but she loved him. For all his ramshackle ways, he had a heart of gold. Even if he did name his latest charity case after Hugo.
Oswald coughed. ‘Excuse me, Miss Annabell, but your luggage is ready to go up to your room. The same as usual?’
‘Yes, thank you, Oswald.’ In her altercation with Dominic she had completely forgotten that the loyal family servant witnessed it all. She threw caution to the wind and asked, ‘Is Dominic getting himself in too deeply?’
Oswald’s eyes clouded. ‘I believe he might be, miss. It is as though he is driven to chase Miss Lucy, even though Miss Duckworth has been here several times to demand that he stop.’ He shook his head in resignation.
‘I can see him doing something like that.’
And she could. Something was amiss here, but goodness knew Dominic would never tell her what it was. In the meantime, she had her own concerns to deal with. But she would keep a watch on Dominic.
‘So,’ Annabell said, sweeping her gaze around the theatre of the Surrey Institution, aware nearly everyone in her audience was male, ‘in conclusion, the discovery of a Roman villa in Kent so soon after the discovery of one in Sussex provides further proof that our shores were as fertile and welcoming to the Romans as they are for us today.’
There was a light smattering of applause to which she nodded acceptance before stepping down. Tomorrow she would speak to the Society of Antiquaries. For them, she would be more specific in what she found.
‘Excuse me, Lady Fenwick-Clyde.’ A gentleman stepped from the group just leaving the bottom row of seats. ‘If I may be so bold, would you mind answering some questions?’
A little taken aback, but flattered nonetheless, Annabell stopped. He was a very presentable person. He wore a nicely fitted navy coat over a starched white shirt with points that just barely touched his jaw. His cravat was simple but well done, a point she recognised because of Guy’s finesse with the things. And his pantaloons were grey and well-made. Very presentable.
She smiled at him. ‘I hope I can answer your questions, sir. I did not stay to complete the excavations, Mr…’
He smiled back at her, showing strong teeth. He had a pleasant face with open blue eyes and a wide, if thin, mouth. His hair was sandy blond.
‘I am Mr Daniel Hawks, and I am sure you can answer anything I ask. I know you have been involved in more excavations than this one.’
Her curiosity piqued, she asked before considering, ‘How do you know that? I do not think we have met before.’
His face warmed, but he maintained a relaxed yet interested attitude. ‘I have heard you speak before at the Society for Antiquities. You seem every bit as informed as your male colleagues.’
She blushed with pleasure. ‘Why, thank you.’
He made her an abbreviated bow. ‘Fully deserved. But I am wondering if this particular villa had mosaics of the seasons. I understand that another one not too distant does, or did. I believe originally there were depictions of all four seasons but that now only one remains.’
She nodded as she listened. ‘Ah, yes. You are speaking of Bignor. I don’t believe it has been fully uncovered yet.’
‘Correct. I have listened to Mr Samuel Lysons read his second account of the excavation to the Society. I was wondering if you are finding similarities.’
‘Some. As must be expected, the coloured mosaics are made from the same materials. And there are a number of rooms that have, or had, heated floors. Of course, we have found what appears to be bathing rooms. Nothing unusual.’
He nodded as he scribbled down her words.
‘May I ask, sir, are you an antiquarian?’
He gave her his friendly smile. ‘I am an amateur.’
‘Aren’t most of us?’ she said. ‘I hope I have helped you, Mr Hawks. I must be going now.’
‘I am sorry if I have kept you from an appointment.’
‘No, nothing of the kind. But my carriage should have arrived and the tiger hates to have the horses standing for long. They are my brother’s and he is very particular.’ She smiled to soften her words.
‘Yes, yes, perfectly reasonable. Thank you so much.’
He made her a perfect leg, as though he were asking her to dance instead of bidding her goodbye. And if he was more graceful than Hugo, it was of no matter. She nodded and left.
She stepped outside and beckoned Tom, Guy’s tiger, who was her tiger for the afternoon. He led the horses up and held them in place while she clambered into the phaeton. Luckily for her, this was not Guy’s high-perch phaeton so she did not feel perilously high from the ground.
She glanced back at the elegant portico of the Surrey Institution to see Mr Hawks standing between the Ionic columns. She managed a small wave before Tom released the horses and clambered on to his spot in the back of the carriage. They were in Blackfriars Road and had some way to go to get back to Guy’s house. Fortunately it was summer and the sun would be up for some time.
She flicked the reins and off they went.
She was a fair hand with the ribbons and could let her mind wander as she drove. Mr Hawks’s attention had been very gratifying, and she wondered for what must be the hundredth time if she should write a paper about this excavation. Up to now, she had decided against it because women did not do that sort of thing. But then, women did not travel to Egypt alone such as she had done. Nor did they choose to live there as Lady Hester Stanhope was doing.
Perhaps she would write that paper after all. It would give her something to concentrate on besides Hugo. She smiled spontaneously for no other reason than she felt a glimmer of happiness. It was the first time in weeks.
With hard work, she might even forget Hugo. Hah!
Chapter Seventeen
‘La,’ Lucy Duckworth simpered. ‘You are so naughty, Mr Chillings.’ Suiting action to words, she swatted Dominic on the sleeve with her fan.
He grinned and appeared completely infatuated. If there was a gleam of ennui in his dark eyes, only those who knew him best would see it.
‘Only with you, Miss Lucy.’
Annabell thought their inane flirting would make her nauseous, but she still managed to smile and nod and wonder what she was doing at Almack’s with them. She had only been in London a week and Dominic had managed to drag her with him in lieu of Miss Duckworth as chaperon for Miss Lucy Duckworth.
Miss Lucy laughed a light trill that sounded straight out of the schoolroom. Annabell turned her attention elsewhere. She had not been to Almack’s since her own coming out many years ago. It hadn’t changed. The rooms were unadorned, the food was mediocre at best and the company convinced it was the finest in the land.
Annabell sighed. So much for an enjoyable evening. But she could keep an eye on her brother.
‘Bell,’ Dominic said, ‘Miss Lucy and I are going to have the next dance.’
‘Don’t monopolise her.’ She flashed a smile at the young woman. ‘It isn’t done.’
‘Yes, Lady Fenwick-Clyde.’
Miss Lucy Duckworth flushed with excitement. One would think she had never been here before, which Annabell knew was not so. Dominic had brought her last week. Of course, this was probably the first time the chit had been here without her older sister.
The music began and Annabell watched the couple join the group forming for a quadrille. She noted that a number of ladies followed their progress with envious looks. Her brother, rakehell that he was, was still considered a very desirable catch. He had an air about him of danger and passion that was nearly irresistible.
She turned from watching them to see Mr Hawks before her. ‘Oh!’
‘Pardon me,’ he said, bowing. ‘I did not mean to startle you.’
She smiled at him, noting he was once again impeccably dressed. ‘No, do not apologise. I was thinking of something else and did not hear you approach.’
‘Do you mind?’ He indicated the chair beside her.
There was no polite way to tell him no, and she was not sure she wanted to. It would be nice to have company other than Dominic and his silly Miss Lucy. She wondered how the very serious and proper Miss Emily Duckworth managed. But that was none of her concern—she hoped. So long as Dominic behaved and did not go beyond the bounds of propriety, Miss Lucy would continue to be Miss Duckworth’s problem.
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