Her mother gave her a smile. “Five minutes,” she said, and then she added, “Maybe you will be pleased to hear that the Countess of York has enquired about you. I do know that you like her very much, and it seems that the feeling is mutual.” Annabelle felt how her mouth formed into the first real smile of the evening. She liked the countess, who lived alone since the death of her husband and who wasn’t afraid to voice her opinion in clear words. Annabelle was eager to ask her, at some point, about her many travels. The countess had travelled alone, which in itself was considered an outrageous venture for a woman. She had visited the war-torn continent, and apparently, she had even been to Egypt! Annabelle could hardly wait to ask her all manner of questions: How had it been to travel without male protection? Did she manage to see the legendary pyramids? Had she really met the emperor of France, as rumour had it?
“Thank you, Mama,” she said and returned to reality. She watched her mother move gracefully back into her circle of admirers. With a soft sigh she admitted to herself that she would probably never have her mother’s effortless elegance, nor master the graceful way she moved. She should probably consider herself lucky to find a man who would marry her – and not just for her dowry. Certainly, no gentleman would want to marry her for her gracefulness, which even after countless hours with the dancing master, had yet to make an appearance.
Deep in her heart, Annabelle knew that there was no escaping the social trap, which is what she considered marriage to be. The worst part was that she seemed to be the only one who felt that way. All of her sisters, including her youngest, who had not yet been introduced into high society, saw in a marriage all that was desirable. Felicity was irrevocably convinced that by the end of the season, she would give her hand in marriage to a man who was at least an earl, handsome, wealthy, intelligent, and madly in love with her. At the moment, she favoured Viscount Greywood.
Right now, for the third time in row, she danced with the man who, on the death of his father, would inherit one of the country’s oldest noble titles. This alone was unseemly in itself, however, what troubled Annabelle even more was the way they talked while they were dancing. They seemed to be discussing something very serious, if she was interpreting Felicity’s facial expression correctly.
Her other sister, Rose’s, expectations were somewhat more modest, such as was deemed befitting a third daughter, but even she wanted a husband with a noble background – at the very least. When Annabelle thought of the books her little sister was reading, she wondered what was going on in her head. Titles such as “A Bride for the Viscount’s Cold Son”, “An Orphan for the Duke”, or “The Duke of the Moors”, did very little to strengthen Annabelle’s trust in her sister’s good sense.
Quietly, Annabelle pulled her handkerchief from her reticule and dabbed a drop from her temple. The numerous candles that lit up the room created an unbearable heat. Added to this was the effort of the musicians trying to prevail against the guests’ clamour of voices.
Annabelle took one last look at Felicity and Viscount Greywood and frowned for a second before she remembered where she was. Her sister’s posture revealed that she was tense, whereas Viscount Greywood’s mannerisms reminded her of her father’s body language after he had won a wager on a dogfight. As was her habit, Annabelle compared their bearing to other couples in a similar situation.
No, she had no doubt. Something was going on between Felicity and the viscount, and she did not like it.
Had her mother noticed the unusual behaviour between the two as well? It did not look like it. The duchess was sipping her champagne and laughing about something the Chevalier de Belleroque had said to her. It was a sheer miracle that the man had been invited to the ball. Since Wellington had expelled Napoleon’s oldest brother from the Spanish throne, Great Britain believed in victory over the so-called emperor, but nevertheless, everything French was viewed with great suspicion. Annabelle had heard her father try to explain the political situation to her mother when he returned from his club in a good mood, and she remembered the harsh words that had been spoken, too well.
“If we’re not careful, the revolution will spread to our beloved country like the plague,” he had said before her mother had steered the conversation towards a different, safer topic.
Annabelle’s gaze moved from the Chevalier de Belleroque to the left, all the way to an assembly of artificial palm trees, an exact replica of the ones she had sought refuge behind. And just like her, there was someone standing behind them watching the spectacle closely. Well, that was not entirely true. Just like her, he was watching Felicity and her dance partner.
Moving a little further back behind the fleshy leaves of the plants, Annabelle shuddered. She knew this man! Not personally, but she had overheard Felicity and her friends giggle and talk about him. No woman who valued her reputation would be seen in the company of Marcus St. John, the Earl of Grandover.
Annabelle’s parents had explicitly warned all three of their daughters to stay away from him. Annabelle recalled how her father had lamented what he saw as the decline of their society’s moral values. He had expressed his strong displeasure at the laws being changed to allow Catholics to serve in the army and the navy, and thereafter he commented that “the ton” had become very lax indeed when Catholic families such as the Grandovers, and a man like St. John, in particular, were allowed to attend the season’s gatherings.
What made Lord Grandover all the more attractive in the eyes of most young women, was the strange accumulation of suspicious deaths within his circle, which only added to the disdain her father felt towards the man with the dark past. Annabelle felt she had to agree with her father, and she understood why he thought he had to caution his daughters.
From a distance, Annabelle had to admit that the Earl of Grandover definitely seemed attractive. He had a characterful and strong face with a proud nose, a striking jawline and a noble forehead. She did not find his dark, even cold countenance very appealing herself, but she could imagine why the majority of women considered him a good-looking man. He had an unapproachable aura and, given his mysterious past and his reputation as a bon viveur, it was clear why women of all ages were drawn to him. However, the maxim “the more dangerous, the more attractive” did not apply to Annabelle. Of course, his exterior was certainly captivating, there was no doubt about that. Well, maybe his clothes could have used a touch more colour, even though they undoubtedly must have come from the finest tailor in town. But Annabelle did not just want a man whom she could admire for his wealth and his handsome appearance. She yearned for a husband who would listen to her, who would treat her less like his possession and more like a thinking, intelligent person. Her experiences so far had shown her that this was just a dream that would never come true.
She saw that he was still absorbed, as Felicity and her beau were dancing in the distance. Their intense conversation seemed to be over. Now her sister looked up at Viscount Greywood with an expression that reminded Annabelle of a dog begging for a chunk of food. The viscount, at the same time, seemed as satisfied and content as a fat cat licking cream from its whiskers.
This was not good.
The two of them had plotted something. But what was it? A movement of the palm leaves across the room steered her attention back to Marcus St. John. He had taken a step forward. Now that Felicity and her Viscount had moved away from him, he had been forced to give up his hiding spot, if he did not want to lose sight of them. Just for a split second, her gaze met his. His piercing blue gaze sent a chill down Annabelle’s spine.
This man was cold, ruthless, and he was up to no good.
But why did he have such an interest in her sister? And why had nobody else noticed the Earl of Grandover’s strange behaviour?
Had Felicity secretly entranced St. John, who was now consumed by jealousy when he saw her dancing with the viscount? Annabelle knew that her sister could be somewhat reckless, but she did not believe that Felicity would dally with two suitors at the same time. The
n again, what did she know about the art of finding a husband?
Before she could ponder about it further, the musicians stopped their piece. The dance couples paused and bowed towards each other. Normally, the viscount should have accompanied Felicity back to her mother’s care, but he did not. Annabelle’s heart started to beat heavily as she saw Viscount Greywood manoeuvre her sister skilfully past the other guests. He managed to escape every attempt to strike up a conversation. She stretched her neck, but it would not be long before they were out of her sight.
Annabelle looked over towards her mother, who was still chatting with the vicomte. Where was her father? She definitely did not wish her father’s anger to be directed at her sister, but… Dash it all! Annabelle thought in frustration, he was nowhere to be seen. She tried everything she could to not lose sight of the two conspirators – which is what they undoubtedly were. If she were to go over to her mother and wait patiently until the duchess deemed it appropriate to interrupt her conversation with the vicomte, Felicity and the viscount would be long gone.
Her eyes darted towards her left. The darkly dressed figure of St. John seemed to melt into the shadows. If it had not been for his light-coloured and slightly too long hair, she would not have seen him. The earl, too, had set about to follow the two.
Annabelle ducked her head as she scuttled past a servant, who was offering refreshments. Her throat felt as dry as the desert, but she had no time to down a glass of expensive champagne. Apart from the fact that it was not becoming of a lady at a social gathering such as this to drink like a drunkard in a tavern, she didn’t dare to drink even one drop of alcohol. Especially not now that she had to keep a clear head to protect her sister from making a grandiose stupidity.
This she was absolutely certain of: Felicity did not have anything good in mind and the viscount even less so.
Annabelle pushed through the throng with a recklessness that would have caused her mother to reprimand her, but at this point, she did not care. Her stomach was in knots as she saw the viscount’s dark hair and her sister’s reddish-blonde curls disappearing towards the garden. In hindsight, Annabelle thought and was even angrier at herself than at her sister, the signs had been obvious. Tonight, Felicity had chosen her most boring, practical and darkest coloured dress she could find. That way it would be easier to disappear into the night with the viscount. Annabelle’s heart raced. She simply had to prevent her sister from making a grave mistake!
Outside on the terrace, the cold of the British spring evening embraced her. In one spot, where there was a small piece of bare skin between the dress and the glove, unsightly goose bumps covered her arms. How could she have been so blind! While she hurried down the steps of the terrace, stumbling after the eloping love birds, she remembered her sister’s mood swings over the last few weeks. Turn and turn about, Felicity had been either overly happy or extremely sad, which were the typical signs of seriously falling in love, even though she had never experienced it herself. It was thus – if the poets were to be believed. Annabelle turned around to the gradually dimming sound of voices in the house, but nobody seemed to have noticed her hasty exit into the garden. At least one thing that had not gone wrong. Then again, who would even care if her reputation was ruined? Annabelle most certainly would not.
The two figures before her melted with each step more and more into the darkness in the heart of the garden. Annabelle didn’t even try to mute her steps. When she saw her sister hesitate and turn around, Annabelle was almost certain that she saw a silent plea in Felicity’s eyes or at least doubt, but that was, of course, nonsense and nothing other than wishful thinking on her behalf. At this distance, and in the dark, it was impossible for her to make out more than only general movements. The viscount slowed his steps and spoke insistently to Felicity. Her sister’s posture expressed hesitation. Then Rupert Greywood stepped so close to her that both of them blurred into a seemingly single shapeless figure right before Annabelle’s eyes. She thought that she saw the viscount looking in her direction, almost as if he needed to assure himself that she was still there, before they continued on their way.
She was relieved that she was not wearing voluminous skirts or a tightly laced corset, which would have made the pursuit even more difficult. Of course, fate decided at that moment to throw a stone into her path, quite literally, because Annabelle stumbled and nearly fell. She rose to her feet and looked in the direction where she had last seen the pair.
Felicity and the viscount had disappeared as if the earth had swallowed them up.
St. John cursed silently as he watched Greywood disappear into the garden with a young woman, who seemed to have just stumbled out of her nursery. Even in his thoughts, he refused him his title of nobility, which, in his eyes, was wasted on a good-for-nothing like Greywood. This damned bastard was his only lead, and he had hoped to be able to follow him to one of the meetings this evening. But as it turned out, Greywood seemed more interested in seducing the girl than fostering his other, much darker plans. One day his lawlessness would lead to Greywood’s demise.
An idea shot through Marcus’s head, but he didn’t have enough time, and all he could do was memorise it for later. The bastard was attempting to disappear. The chance of Marcus achieving his goal tonight was out of the question, thanks to the girl, but he wanted to make sure, nonetheless. He decided to follow them unobtrusively anyway. Maybe he would see or hear something that was of use to him later.
From a distance, he caught sight of a young woman, who had also been hiding and watching the two lovebirds from a distance. The shock he had felt when he first saw her was still vibrating through his body. In the first moment of shock, he had thought that he was seeing a ghost, sent to him by a vengeful god. Her hair, her mannerisms, and the way she observed her surroundings so attentively and with barely noticeable amazement – even her controlled gestures reminded him of the woman who… He shook his head, angry at himself, and pushed the painful memories away.
If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought that she, too, had come here to watch Greywood. For a potentially jealous former lover, however, she was much too calm. Although the muted colour of her dress, in combination with her young pale face, was extremely distinct, this rather striking contrast wasn’t something a secret observer would have chosen. Only when he noticed concern written all over her face, did he realise that it was rather the young girl that was the focus of her attention. For a moment, Marcus was distracted by his pity for the woman. The girl on Greywood’s arm was lost, even though she and her female guardian did not know it yet.
He watched her, as her chestnut-brown hairdo (which was way too opulent for the zeitgeist), disappeared into the heaving crowd of heads, then he continued his pursuit of the viscount. To his left, he saw Lady Wetherby approaching him, with her two daughters in tow. Without hesitation, Marcus took a sharp turn, nodded towards the Duke of Titchfield, and followed Greywood out onto the terrace. The flickering light of the outside torches made it hard to see more, but he managed to make out the fluttering seam of a dress before its wearer vanished into the shadows.
Just as he had suspected, Greywood was leading the girl towards the stables. That suggested two conclusions, Marcus mused, as he followed as silently as he could. Greywood either wanted to seduce the girl right there, or he planned to take her to one of his doss houses and take his time with her. He was not a man who cared about discretion. If he felt like it, he would simply find a corner somewhere inside the stables, and if someone were watching, he wouldn’t care less. Whatever the case, it was not his – St. John’s – task to prevent any of it, nor could he do it without blowing his cover.
Leaves rustled behind him, but when he turned around, he couldn’t see anything that might have caused the noise. Calm down, he admonished himself. It was impossible that one of his enemies had tracked him down. He had taken every possible precaution to remain unnoticed.
A subtle movement showed him the way. But instead of moving towards the st
ables away from the main house, as he had suspected, the two turned right, deeper into the garden. One of his friends had once called him “overly cautious to an almost ludicrous magnitude,” but tonight his carefulness would serve him well. He had memorised the floor plan of the house and its surrounding parks, just to be prepared for any situation. That was why he suspected where Greywood was going. In the centre of the garden stood a pavilion, which was perfect for his purposes.
Marcus stood still. Now that he was almost certain that Greywood had only amorous intentions, he knew that he could just as well turn around and wait for the bastard to come back. So, what was it that made him sneak after the pair? Up until now, it had always served him well to trust his instincts, and he decided to do just that. After a brief moment of internal debate, he stepped from the gravel path onto the grass to dampen the sound of his steps. The moonlight broke through the clouds only sporadically, which worked as much in his favour as it worked against him, but since he did not change old habits easily, he had dressed in dark clothing, which made him virtually invisible.
He started to move forward. In moments like these, his years of experience of working in the shadows was of enormous advantage, allowing him to separate his body and mind. Tiptoeing, searching the surroundings for anything unusual, and making cold-blooded decisions had helped him to survive. Once more he thought he heard a noise that didn’t seem to fit the night and the surroundings. Still, his eyes did not see anything that would have made him feel uneasy.
The Three Evesham Daughters: Books 1-3: A Regency Romance Trilogy Page 2
