by Kim Bowman
Sour juice washed over her palate. She hadn’t added enough sugar. Of its own accord, her face pinched inward, and a shudder wracked her body. The liquid hit the back of her throat, and her stomach gave a mighty heave. Try as she might, she simply couldn’t bring herself to swallow. The bitterness intensified the longer she let it set on her tongue and she finally had to spit it out.
To say she’d made a muck of it was putting it mildly.
Annabella let loose with an unladylike curse then marched to the parlor. Pushing aside the lace curtain, she stole a peek through the window. Spring rains had produced verdant growth, but the sad state of the garden would have distressed her stepfather. She frowned at the thought of Alexander Markwythe. The old duke had been kind to her mother — and to her when she’d let him.
But he hadn’t been Papa.
Blinking away the tears stinging her eyes, she tamped back the troublesome thoughts. A splash of pink along the stone wall that fenced off the cottage from the lane drew her eye. The easy winter and quick spring must have brought the wild roses out early. Closing her eyes, she tried to recall their sweet scent. But when she drew in a long breath, the dust brought on another sneeze.
Surely she risked the insides of her head spilling forth with all the sneezing she was doing. She simply had to get out of the cottage — just for a while.
About to drop the curtain, she froze. What was that slight movement at the gate? Heart racing, Annabella pushed even closer to the window, uncaring of the sticky white webs that clung to her forehead. Had someone noticed her?
A lone figure wandered into the yard. He kept his head lowered and his shoulders hunched, but the battered tweed hat belonged to none other than that weasel, Sheridan Dawes! What was the estate manager doing at Rose Cottage?
She had been discovered! Hide!
But she stood frozen, unable to look away. Dawes cast a furtive glance over his shoulder. Then he straightened and settled his gaze on the cottage — on the window where she stood. Annabella ducked back into the shadows. Had he seen her? A chill clawed at her spine, sending icy fingers crawling along her skin.
Should she run out the servants’ entrance? Fighting just to breathe, she chanced another peek outside. The yard was empty! Had he moved round to the back? Was he about to—
No! There he was, just leaving through the little gate.
Annabella sagged against the windowsill. Apparently her hiding place hadn’t been revealed after all.
I should have stood up to Mother and simply refused to go to London. Mother could have gone on to Bath, and I would have been up at the main house as usual…
The thought of servants and the main house sent a twinge of loneliness to prickle at her heart. How she missed having her dear friend, Juliet, to talk to… to confide in.
“And some friend you are! You sent Juliet to London in your place because you’re a coward. And friend that Juliet is, she went, knowing the trouble she’d be in if she was found out.”
Guilt stabbed at Annabella like a sharp knife. What was Juliet doing now? Probably worrying herself mad and wondering why Annabella hadn’t contacted her as promised.
Annabella dropped the curtain and paced the room. The bodice of the dull gray maid’s uniform pulled tightly across her chest, pinching her bosom, and she tugged on it. But the sturdy cotton material had no give, and the strangling sensation remained. Why hadn’t she thought to place some of her own day dresses into Juliet’s tattered bag?
Because I was only supposed to hide at Rose Cottage for a few days.
She let out a sigh and threw herself down on the red velvet couch. The bolster was lumpy against her back. Annabella dug it out. The gray silk was as ancient and threadbare as all the rest of the furniture. It was ugly and she hated it. She hated the cottage, the hunger, her mother’s directive that her stepbrother would find her a suitable husband. But mostly she hated that her plans never seemed to go the way she wanted.
Before the first tear could fall, she covered her face, screaming as loud as she could into the bolster, kicking her feet against the sofa’s other end, taking her frustration out on the faded upholstery. She deserved to die alone in Rose Cottage for letting her pride get in the way and chasing her into hiding.
A thud and a gasp from behind her brought Annabella’s head bouncing up, and she leapt to her feet. A young housemaid stood in the doorway leading to the kitchen. At her feet, a wooden bucket lay tipped on its side, water running like a river over the dusty oak floor.
“Lady Annabella,” the girl screeched, eyes wide. “I thought you was in London.”
“Get out!” Heat rushed to her face. Had the maid seen her outburst? Annabella narrowed her eyes and stalked toward the startled girl. “I said, get out! I am not here.”
The maid’s jaw dropped. “B-but, m-m’lady. Ye’re standing right in front o’ me.”
Was the girl dense? Exasperated, Annabella blew out a breath. “Well then, you don’t see me!”
The girl opened her mouth and looked like she would argue but then clamped her lips shut and cast her eyes downward. “Yes, m’lady.”
Marvelous. She could add terrorizing a maid to her list of sins. Annabella sighed. She was never lost for words. Why couldn’t she figure out what to say? “I, er, decided not to go to Town after all,” she said, affecting a breezy tone. “But I, er… my mother. Yes, I did not wish to distress the duchess with my change of plans as she’s been… fatigued of late.”
A sly gleam entered the maid’s eyes. “Yes, m’lady.” Her gaze roamed over Annabella, no doubt taking in the filthy state of the dull gray dress.
Annabella drew herself up straight. “My luggage was mistakenly sent on to London with Juliet, whilst hers remained with me.”
One side of the maid’s mouth tilted upward briefly before she schooled all expression from her features. “Yes, m’lady.”
Should I return to the main house now that I’ve been discovered?
No. If she went back to the main house, she’d look the spoiled chit who’d run off and hidden away in the dirty guesthouse. Far better to let the servants think she’d chosen to stay at the cottage.
“It’s good that you’ve come by,” she said, keeping her voice even. “I had no idea the place was in such disrepair. Does no one see to its cleaning and upkeep?”
“Mr. Dawes gave orders over a year ago to leave off cleaning here. But I’m here to see to opening the cottage now, m’lady,” explained the maid. “Sorry to be so long. I had no idea t’was for you.”
“Very well. It needs a good scrubbing.” Annabella wiped at the soiled sleeve of her dress. “I shall need fresh clothing from my rooms. Two of the dresses from my wardrobe.” She frowned. “No, three dresses. My yellow day dress and the blue one. And my gray silk walking dress. And a Spencer. Oh, I’ve a new champagne and black gown from…”
The maid was staring at her wide-eyed. “Would you like me to pack as though you were going away, m’lady?”
Relieved, Annabella sighed with the imaginings of her entire closet at her disposal. “Yes, please.” The maid wasn’t going to make trouble. “I — what is your name?”
“My name’s Abby, m’lady.” Her head dipped in a slight curtsy as her gaze slid around the stark room then moved to the empty bucket. “Shall I see to tidying up first?”
“I shall wait here whilst you see to my fresh clothing, and you may clean up after that.”
Abby’s head bobbed. “Yes, Lady Annabella.” She snatched up the empty bucket and scampered off. The spilled water had long since been consumed by the dust coating the floor.
A smile spread across Annabella’s lips as she stepped to the cottage door and gazed after the maid running up the path. She’d been saved from a horrible demise after all. The scent of flowers beckoned, and she couldn’t resist stepping into the warm sunshine for the first time in days.
Humming softly, Annabella plucked a rose from the bush next to the steps and sniffed. The sweet perfume filled her nostrils until she found hers
elf giddy. No more horrid lemons! Warm food — entire meals. Oh devil’s bells! She should have requested a meal! And perhaps a way to get a message to Juliet. When would Abby return?
Nearby, a bird sang. Annabella tried to imitate its call, but she’d never learned to whistle — no matter how many times Juliet had tried to teach her. So she started humming again. The bird trilled a reply, and Annabella opened her mouth and sang an upward scale of “ah-ah-ah’s.”
She closed her eyes and twirled, imagining the handsomest prince as her dancing partner. Juliet might think it a child’s tale to dream of true love, but Annabella didn’t think that at—
Strong arms caught her in mid-spin and a hand settled at her waist. Annabella’s eyes flew open, and she screamed. But the dashing stranger grinned and whirled her around then released her.
Chapter Two
Annabella scrambled backward, intent on putting distance between her and the stranger.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, placing her hands on her hips. And why must her heart race so?
The stranger dared to laugh. Then he aimed a courtly bow in her direction. “I beg your pardon. I saw a lady dancing and in need of a partner and thought to oblige her with my services.”
Annabella narrowed her eyes. Who was this man with the glittering black eyes and the black hair that fell in soft waves across his forehead? Her mouth went dry, and all traces of hunger left her, replaced with a keen interest. His services indeed. She had an idea what services he’d like to offer.
“I fear you are quite mistaken.” She squared her shoulders.
The stranger’s eyes slid to her chest, and her over-exposed skin sizzled as though it craved the stroke of more than his heated gaze. A sly smile crept over his face. “Mistaken? You mean you weren’t dancing?”
Annabella sent him one of her best quelling stares, though she could hardly deny she’d been dancing. “I fail to see why anything I was or was not doing should be any concern of yours. And regardless, you are quite mistaken in the belief that I require a partner.”
Her tongue tingled as the lie crossed her lips. Her body vibrated with remembered energy of his touch as he’d swung her around.
The stranger clutched his chest with both hands. “The lady doth wound me with her sharp words that pierce my heart.” The dark tweed coat hung open in a rather unorthodox fashion, revealing his shirt and loosely knotted cravat. What would that linen feel like beneath her fingers? Would his hand be strong and firm as she cov—
He flashed an unruly grin, almost as though he knew where her mind had wandered.
How crass!
“Ha!” Face flaming, Annabella tossed her hair over her shoulder. “One must have a heart before it can be pierced.”
“Most assuredly I do possess a heart, m’lady.” Black eyes glinted like twin bits of obsidian as his grin widened, and he presented her with another deep bow. “Allow me to introduce myself. Jonathan Rupert Rhys Durham, Fourth Earl of Seabrook, and guest of the Duke of Wyndham.”
Seabrook. Annabella cocked her head to the side and considered him with one eye narrowed. Markwythe’s guest? Had her stepbrother finally decided to take a hand in his property? Devil’s fire! Did that mean Markwythe himself had come along?
Lord Seabrook inclined his head to the side with an air of expectation. “Is it not customary in the country to return the favor of an introduction?”
“My name is Ann—” She caught her breath. She couldn’t give the man her name! Just when she’d found a way to carry out her plan, he would spoil everything by running to her stepbrother. And if Markwythe had come with him… “Annie, er — m’lord.” She nearly choked on the respectful form of address, but if she wanted him to believe the lie, she had to play her role.
Both his dark eyebrows shot heavenward. “Ah,” he said softly, his lips curving into a far too-engaging smile. “Then you must be the maid sent to open the cottage.”
Annabella stared, slack-jawed. Open the cottage? Of course. Her heart sank. The task Abby had been sent to do. It hadn’t been a routine cleaning and airing after all. Well, invited or no, as long as she was living there, he’d not cross the threshold.
“I… that is, yes.” And now to be rid of the most unwelcome guest. “But I fear Rose Cottage is not at all suitable for living in. ’Tis dusty and overrun with rodents.”
“Indeed?”
“Most definitely, m’lord. My apologies, but you will be much more comfortable at the main house in one of the guest rooms.”
“Would I, now?” He widened his stance and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “And this discovery brought on an urge to sing and dance in the garden?”
Heat rushed upward from her neck and flooded her face. “Of course not! I was on my way to tell Geoffrey and the beauty of the day brought a song to my lips, is all.”
“And lovely lips they are, m’lady.” Fine lines crinkled the skin beside his eyes when he smiled. “I find myself wondering if you might grace me with another song, and perhaps allow me the honor of a dance.”
As if she would deign to dance with a rake such as he. Annabella sought her most disapproving voice. “Are you seeking a dalliance with one of his grace’s servants, sir?”
The insufferable lout leaned close. Close enough that his earthy scent tantalized, and her traitorous heart quickened. “I do beg your pardon, m’lady. I was merely seeking the pleasure… of the next dance.”
“Oh!” Annabella stomped her foot. “I shall go and tell Geoffrey that the cottage is not suitable for housing guests.” She stalked across the unkempt lawn, uncertain where she was really going, for she could hardly present herself to the butler.
“That won’t be necessary,” Seabrook called after her.
Good. Maybe the lout would turn tail and head back to wherever he’d come from — under a rock in London most likely. She slowed her steps and allowed the dawning smile as she turned back to him.
He offered another of his heart-stopping grins. “I’ll be staying as planned. So, if you will… kindly carry on the task to which you were assigned.”
Anger boiled Annabella’s blood. He was actually ordering her to clean and air the cottage! She opened her mouth to voice the likelihood of that particular order being carried out, but just as quickly closed it. Of course, she was supposed to be a servant; she could hardly refuse an order without revealing her identity.
You and your complicated tangle of deceit, Annabella. She nodded, not having the vaguest idea how one went about cleaning and airing a cottage. But the alternative — admitting her true identity — was as unpalatable as the lemon in her pantry. Juliet is correct. You are a chicken brain.
~~~~
“Annie” stalked across the lawn. The pale hair tumbling about her shoulders reminded him of spun gold. One look at those high cheekbones, that aristocratic nose, the pouting lips, and Jon knew he’d stumbled onto Grey’s stepsister. And without a doubt, the lady was hiding. Had it been known she was residing in the quaint stone cottage, he’d never have been given leave to use it, no matter what directive Grey might have sent along. Sorting it all out was bound to prove entertaining.
Jon followed her into the cottage and found himself in a small sitting room. Most of the furniture stood shrouded, though a threadbare couch in dull red showed signs of use. Its cover had been dumped on the floor in a ball of disorganization. An ivory upholstered chair sat near the window next to a drum table, both similarly bare, but a companion chair remained cloaked in white.
Interesting… she must have spent her days fluttering like an undecided butterfly between the couch and the chair. But why?
She stood in the center of the sitting room, her eyes flitting about, landing first on the couch, then the fireplace — why did she not have a fire? — over to the window, to the chair, to the discarded shrouds. Her gaze drifted to the door through which they’d just entered, then to another that led toward the rear of the cottage. Finally, they wandered to the small stone staircase nestled a
t the back of the sitting room. Why the devil was she so nervous?
“I…” Her eyes darted to the cover in front of the sofa, and she curled her lip. “I should…” She took a tentative step toward the couch then glanced over at the chair by the window. “That is, will you need all the furniture uncovered?”
Jon’s lips twitched, but he reined in the smile and schooled his features into something between friendliness and censure. “It is customary, I believe, for the guest to have full access to the comforts of home.” Deliberately, he allowed his gaze to fall on the expanse of skin between her neck and the top of the gray dress that didn’t quite fit.
Her eyes widened, and she went as still as one of the statues Grey had scattered throughout his London home. Indeed, that intriguing expanse of creamy skin with its unblemished smoothness reminded him of polished marble, though he’d dare to say it would be warmer under his fingers.
The imposter in Grey’s London home was a petite thing, and she’d seemed to shrink into the walls until Grey had pushed her limits. This one, though… combustible right from the start. But in his experience, the more temper a woman displayed, the more passion she had to tap. This one was tall with some curve to her that he’d wager would just fit against him with—
Every inch of his skin tingled with the sudden need to find out. His heart pumped liquid fire through his veins, reminding him of just how hungry a man could become for things other than food.
Annabella backed up a step, and Jon realized he’d likely been leering like Grey’s lecherous uncle. He cleared his throat and surveyed the room. “Yes, I see what you mean about the dust and disrepair.”
Her eyes lit with interest. “So… you’ll be staying at the main house, then?”
Well, well… how the chit did want him out of her hideaway. What game are you playing at, Lady Annabella Price? “The main house? No, that won’t be necessary. I’m sure if you start now you should be able to finish airing and cleaning before suppertime.” He gestured toward the staircase. “I presume those lead to the sleeping quarters?”
