by Kim Bowman
Haven’t you done enough hiding in the past weeks? In the last few years? Time to hold your head up and start living. A chill rolled through her veins, bringing with it a sense of absolute calm.
Annabella smiled and took Jon’s arm. “Very well, but you have no one to blame but yourself if I embarrass you today.”
Gran let out an unladylike snort. “If Lady Wilmington performs as she did at our final contest last year, then you have no reason to worry about embarrassing yourself or us. Everyone will be more interested in whether Lady Wilmington’s bosom will spill out the top of her dress when she takes aim. More’s the pity, the men will be disappointed if it doesn’t.”
“Grandmother!” Jon shot a glower at the dowager.
Annabella rolled her lips inward to keep from laughing, but her eyes burned with the effort.
Gran stopped with her foot on the carriage step and peered over her shoulder. “Oh, pish. I’m quite certain that isn’t the most vulgar thing you’ve heard… or said yourself, Jonathan. Quit behaving as if I’ve laid down a wager on the matter in the book at White’s.” The dowager climbed into to the coach. “Well, come along then. We have a long ride ahead of us.”
Jon shook his head. “Do you see why you have no reason to fear embarrassing yourself or us today? Gran is maintaining her usual sense of decorum.”
“I daresay she does make it seem fun to shock people.” Annabella angled a look in his direction and smiled. Apparently, her husband still feared for her innocent sense of decency. Yet he was well aware she and Gran had kept close company in past weeks. Surely he didn’t believe the dowager had held her tongue in all that time.
“Heaven help me, don’t tell me I shall have to keep my eye on both of you today.” He grinned then winked at her. “Although I find I can’t take my eyes off you, so it wouldn’t be much of a chore.”
Heat flooded her face. The fear from a moment before was replaced by a discomfort of a different nature. She resisted the urge to squirm while he studied her as if she had on nothing but her undergarments. And how many times have you envisioned him with his chest bare and soaking wet? How the sensation of the cold water combined with his warm skin made your whole body tingle?
He brushed a wayward strand of hair away from her face. The gentle touch of his fingers on her skin sent her senses reeling. She found the experience both exciting and scary… and a bit confusing. No, not so much confusing as… foreign. Unfamiliar. And becoming more and more intriguing.
“It will not do well for the Captain of the Target to arrive late,” Gran snapped.
Startled, Annabella jumped away from Jon, unable to meet his gaze any longer, and hurried toward the carriage. She was almost certain he let out a curse as he followed behind her.
Annabella settled in the seat across from the dowager, offering her a weak smile. Was that amusement dancing in Gran’s eyes?
Jon sat beside her. “Let’s be off then. Mustn’t keep Lord Anthony waiting.”
The carriage rolled down the lane, its gentle sway already helping to ease her anxiety.
“Beg pardon, but what is a Captain of the Target?”
“That’s the official title of the contest judge. Gran will be sharing the duty with Lord Fergus Rupert, the eighth Earl of Anthony. A high honor, indeed. She’s the only female to ever serve in that capacity.”
“And I’d do better without that lackwit,” the dowager grumbled, tugging on one of her coat sleeves.
Jon sliced the air with his hand. “Must you speak every thought that comes to mind, Grandmother? It’s quite acceptable to keep such things to yourself.”
Annabella peered out the window to hide the smile playing on her lips. How often had her mother — and Juliet, for that matter — said almost that exact thing to her?
“You’d be surprised at how much I do refrain from saying aloud.”
Unable to contain it any longer, Annabella chuckled.
Jon let out a sigh. “Annabella, I beg you, don’t encourage her.”
“Nonsense. Don’t you listen to him, Frenchie. Men have been suppressing women for centuries. And do you ask me, instead of ordering the citizens of Coventry to stay indoors and shut their windows, Lady Godiva should have encouraged them to witness her ride! She could have doubled her husband’s income while lowering taxes on his tenants.”
Annabella’s eyes went wide, and she covered her mouth with both hands, unable to control the laughter bubbling out.
Jon shook his head. “Honestly, Gran. That is far from polite conversation. And please tell me you did not regale Annabella with that story.”
The carriage fell quiet. Jon glanced between her and his grandmother, his eyes bulging and jaw dropping as realization dawned. Annabella locked eyes with the dowager. Etiquette dictated that she should be horrified by the conversation… by what was being inferred. Instead, she and the dowager burst into gales of laughter.
Still chuckling, Gran brushed at her skirt. “You’ve socialized with Wyndham for too long, Jonathan. You’ve completely lost your sense of humor.” She leveled a raised-eyebrow stare on Annabella. “My dear, how did you keep from letting the duke wear you down?”
Annabella sat up straight, shocked, her amusement from moments earlier replaced by alarm. The dowager knew her stepbrother. Of course she does… I should have realized. Did the dowager know Markwythe had given her and her mother the cut? Apparently not, or she wouldn’t have welcomed Annabella with such open arms. Would the dowager treat her differently when she found out?
At Jon’s light squeeze to her hand, Annabella glanced at him, and he gave her a reassuring smile.
“Annabella is far too spirited to be anything but strong-willed. Unbreakable.”
~~~~
Lively chatter and laughter seeped into Annabella’s awareness. She yawned and stretched… or rather tried to. With a jolt, she sat up and opened her eyes. Flames danced across her face. Devil’s bells! She’d done it again! Used Seabrook as a pillow.
“I’m sorry,” she grumbled as she smoothed her dress.
“It was my pleasure. I’ve grown accustomed to listening to the sound of your snoring while traveling.” Grinning, Jon handed over her hat.
Annabella narrowed her eyes. “And I’ve grown accustomed to traipsing around the country wondering when you’ll lead me to the devil’s lair.” She took a cautious sniff of the air but found it fresh, not like the light sulfur smell that sometimes closed around Blackmoor.
“My lady, were you my companion, I’d gladly make the trip on a daily basis.” He lowered his head, keeping his eyes locked on her.
A mixture of anticipation and anxiety set Annabella’s heart fluttering. Her mind warned her to move away, not to let him kiss her. But her body was drawn to him and refused to budge… welcomed him as a parched man would water.
Rustling and a low moan drew Annabella’s attention to the other seat, the spell broken, and she jerked away from him.
Gran sat up and rubbed her neck. “Why must carriages be so cramped and uncomfortable? I’ll be unable to bend my neck to the right with ease for days.” She peered out the window. “Thank heavens we’ve arrived. I need to stretch my legs.”
Panic set in. It had been so long since Annabella had attended a large social gathering. She’d grown accustomed to spending most of her time alone or in the company of Juliet. The prospect of socializing, while exciting, unnerved her.
Worry coiled in her throat, squeezing until her eyes stung. Her heart pounded faster, and she pressed one hand to her chest, trying to calm the erratic beating. What if she made a fool of herself? Embarrassed Jon and the dowager? What if—
Jon covered her hand with his and squeezed. “Annabella, are yo—”
“You aren’t being led to the gallows, my dear. Even if you do like the French.” Her grace cast a reassuring smile. “Now, sit up straight and hold your head high. Be mindful of the amount of port you drink, and you’ll be fine. And stay away from the lemonade, no matter how much Lady Winslow tr
ies to convince you to try it.” She gave an exaggerated shudder.
Gran needn’t have worried on that score. Annabella preferred never to see that foul fruit again.
“P-Perhaps I-I…” The words caught, and she cleared her throat. “Perhaps I might just watch—”
“Annab—”
“I find it hard to believe you have it in you to quit,” the dowager murmured without turning from the window.
“To be perfectly honest, I don’t have it in me to lose,” Annabella shot back.
Her grace shifted her gaze from the carriage window to Annabella, eyes piercing. “Which is why you’ll not quit. Losing is nothing more than someone who quit trying, after all.”
“Well said, Gran.” Jon winked at Annabella. “At any rate, the hard part is behind you.”
She crossed her arms. “And that would be?”
“Shooting well enough to impress Gran.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles one at a time. “You’ll be splendid.”
A tiny jolt of delight chipped away some of her fear. Jon and Gran didn’t seem at all concerned about her ability. Mayhap she should just take their advice and enjoy herself. Besides, after the position she’d put Juliet in by sending her to London so the poor girl, according to Jon, was being subjected to the torture of social events, being placed on display for the amusement of the ton, it seemed fitting that Annabella should suffer some of the same fate.
The carriage stopped, and a footman opened the door. Jon — every inch the Earl of Seabrook — descended and offered first the dowager then Annabella a hand down. So many people! Why, the whole town had to be in attendance. A number of them had on the same uniform she wore.
Several tents in varying sizes sat on the outer edge of the clearing. The biggest tent sat atop the hill at the far end of the field. Two footmen stood at the entrance.
“What’s the big tent for?”
Jon turned to follow the direction of her gaze. “That’s the banquet hall. After the contest, the club members will hold a feast with music and dancing. The winners will be presented with their arrows.”
“Oh.” Annabella hadn’t realized just how grand an affair the archery contest would be.
“Don’t be uneasy. I meant what I said. Everyone will adore you. You’ll fit right in,” Jon whispered.
“Excuse me, dears. I see Lord Anthony, and I must speak with him about the preparations.” Gran settled a sharp stare on Jon. “Remember what I told you.” She hurried off without awaiting a reply.
Annabella stepped to the side and tilted her head to better see her husband. “What she told you? Did she warn you to behave yourself, then?”
“Now, that would prove no fun at all, would it?” quipped Jon with a chuckle. He shook his head. “No, just a matter of Gran’s ‘gift’ again. It seems she had a vision about a dark, dangerous man. She seems to be worried for your welfare.”
Annabella’s heart stammered at the thought that someone might care so deeply about her.
Jon raised an eyebrow and laughed again. “Really, I’m quite certain ’tis nothing to worry overmuch about. We’ve all grown used to Gran’s ‘sight,’ and I assure you, what she sees is seldom what comes about.”
The wind ruffled the shock of dark brown hair falling across his forehead. Smiling, Annabella reached up and pushed it from his eyes. Then she drew her fingers down along his strong jaw.
“My darling Seabrook,” she murmured, stifling her titters. “Your grandmother might well have been describing you.”
Jon’s eyes flared with warmth as he captured her hand in his. He said nothing, just held her gaze as though speaking a silent language. Annabella’s blood heated, and her lungs squeezed against her chest.
A child jostled past, startling her and restoring her wits. How had she forgotten the sheer number of people surrounding them?
“May I show you about?” asked Jon softly, releasing her hand.
“Please.” Annabella's gaze darted around the field.
So much to see! Wooden benches had been scattered about the lawn — some close to the tents, others clustered in front of makeshift tables with groups of people eating and drinking.
A number of archers shot at targets, with the bystanders cheering when they hit their mark and jeering when they missed. Barefoot children chased each other, laughing and playing as they scooped spent arrows from the ground.
“Goodness!” She frowned at the bedlam. “Does no one worry about accidentally shooting a child?”
Jon coughed and hid his expression behind a stroke of his chin. “In the case of some of them, I should think they’d be considered good for moving target practice.”
Annabella stared at her husband, shock rendering her speechless. But his obsidian eyes were dancing with laughter. She slapped her hand against his chest. “You…” she murmured, leaning close, “…are at least as bad as Gran.”
He winked and motioned toward the refreshments. “Would you care for a drink?”
Annabella’s throat was dry. “Yes, please.”
Jon offered her his arm, and they headed toward the festivities. Several people greeted them as they strolled through the crowd. Some of them smiled at her, others simply nodded. One man seemed to bore a hole through her, he stared so hard. She averted her gaze, but when she stole a glance back in his direction, he was still staring.
“Smile, my lady. Everyone here will adore you.” Jon stroked his thumb over her knuckles and ended with a reassuring squeeze.
Annabella looked at Jon, forgetting the strange man, and forced her lips into a tentative smile. These people had no knowledge of her true identity. They wouldn’t associate her with the Duke of Wyndham. To them she would simply be Lady Seabrook.
They stopped at a small tent with several barrels clustered about the entrance. A strong aroma that seemed to be both sweet and sour clung to the air. Annabella couldn’t recall ever smelling anything like it, but the scent did tantalize.
A curvy serving girl wearing a brown dress made of sturdy cloth stepped up to them and curtsied. “Good day, my lord. What can I be getting’ ye?”
“Two glasses of orgeat with a splash of Madeira, Fran,” Jon said.
“Right away, my lord.” The woman hurried inside the tent and returned in moments with the drinks.
Annabella accepted one of the pewter cups. “Thank you.” She brought the tumbler to her nose and inhaled. Yes, that was the delicious scent. Eager to see if it tasted as good as it smelled, she took a drink. The flavor exploded on her palate, the syrupy sweet taste smooth as it slid down her throat, making her whole body tingle.
“Be sure to sip that, my lady. Don’t be drinkin’ it too fast,” Fran cautioned.
Jon took the other cup and dropped several coins in the woman’s hand.
Fran’s eyes widened. “Thank you, my lord.” She curtsied again and hurried back inside the tent.
“Shall we stroll the grounds while we drink, my lady?” Jon asked, offering her his free arm.
She smiled. “Yes, I’d like that.” Taking the serving girl’s advice, she sipped on her drink. Each taste was better than the last.
“The Madeira cuts the sweetness… and hopefully it helps you relax. Perhaps in a bit we can try some of Fran’s chocolate pudding.” He leaned closer and whispered, “Also flavored with Madeira.”
It sounded a wonderful idea to Annabella. “Do you think the dowager would forgive me if I missed the competition and just ate chocolate pudding and drank orgeat splashed with Madeira instead?”
Jon chuckled. “I highly doubt it. And she’d never forgive me either. It shall have to be your reward when you’ve finished.”
Annabella gazed at him. “I shall hold you to that, Lord Seabrook.”
“I pray that you do.” His eyes locked with hers, intense yet relaxed. Mesmerizing… seductive.
Unable to endure the powerful draw of his stare any longer, she looked away. A slash of dark cut across her vision and drew her eyes to the refreshme
nt tent. The same man she’d seen earlier stood near the entrance.
Annabella’s steps faltered. Was he following them? Abruptly he turned away, and she lost track of him in the crowd. Perhaps she’d been mistaken; it was her mind playing tricks on her. Still, she scanned the crowd as they walked, wanting to point the stranger out to Jon. Maybe he knew the man.
Her gaze landed on a crate arranged just outside the area where rows of targets had been set up. A large white goose’s head stuck out of the top. “Why is that goose over there?”
“In order to involve all the residents, the club holds a couple of competitions throughout the day for non-members. With this one, the person who shoots the goose in the head wins the bird. Would you care to watch?”
“How barbaric! No, thank you!” Annabella wrinkled her nose and turned away. How horrible to suffer the indignity of being caged and then — She shuddered.
“They call it food for their family,” Jon countered.
Embarrassment had her flushing. “My apologies. I didn’t mean… That is to say…” What could she say after jumping to such a conclusion? She gave him a sideways glance, hoping she hadn’t angered him.
But he was smiling as he gestured toward a man dressed in bright red with a brown, pointed hat. “The children seem to be enjoying the show. Shall we?”
The man was tossing apples into the air, barely catching one before launching it again. Suddenly, he tossed one of the fruits into the crowd. The children scrambled for the prize, and the juggler’s assistant threw another apple into his crazy circle.
She allowed Jon to lead her closer into the small crowd assembled around the performer. “Apparently, I need to heed the advice you gave your grandmother and refrain from saying everything that comes to my mind. I might stumble on my tongue less if I did.”
He traced her forearm with one finger. Even through her dress sleeve, the warmth created an awareness that left her wanting more. “You’re splendid just as you are.”
