“Would you care for some tea or coffee?”
“I already have a coffee,” he said holding his tall mug aloft. “But some of what you were just frosting wouldn’t go amiss.”
Annabelle looked down at the cake as though she hadn’t seen it before. “Well, I don’t see why not.” She got a knife and cut him a slice, then she set about making herself a pot of tea, checked the stew, then she remembered that he would need something to eat his cake with. She was acting more like Ethel, becoming so easily muddled. And his standing there and watching her, enjoying her discomfort, as if she were some sort of carnival freak who was here for his entertainment, wasn’t helping matters. Finally she had everything on a tray and headed through to her office but once in there, she realised that she was still wearing her apron. She set the tray on the desk and quickly removed it before taking her seat behind the desk and preparing her tea.
Richard sat opposite her and slowly began to eat his slice of cake. He was half finished before either of them spoke.
“So, you wanted to see me?” he prompted.
“Yes, yes I did.” She took a deep, calming breath. “I wanted to apologise for striking you yesterday, that was unforgivable and I apologise.”
“Thank you but I can assure you, there was no harm done, except perhaps to my pride.”
“Nevertheless, my behaviour was inexcusable.”
“Are we talking about the kiss or the slap?”
“Both.”
Richard regarded her for a moment and Annabelle felt rather like his prey. She felt uncomfortable under his scrutiny but not unpleasantly so. Slowly he put his plate down.
“Thank you, Miss Wyatt.”
He got to his feet, leaving Annabelle rather confused. Was that it? Was he leaving?
‘Of course he is, you have apologised and he accepted,’ she silently chided herself. Nevertheless, she felt slightly bereft at his leaving, even although she had no idea what else she hoped might happen. He was near the door now, so she got up and came around the desk to follow him out.
Without warning he turned and pulled her against him, kissing her passionately. Shock kept her from responding for a moment but then her instincts kicked in and she kissed him back, revelling in the feel of his hard body pressed against her. She raised her hands and ran them through his hair, twisting his long and tousled locks between her fingers.
She knew this was dangerous but she couldn’t seem to care. Her whole life was about responsibility; didn’t she deserve a few moments of recklessness? A few moments of indulgence?
To her surprise, just as she was ready to do or say something foolish, he ended the kiss and looked down at her. This time it was her turn to look confused.
“Now try and tell me that you didn’t want that?”
She felt slightly bereft but she couldn’t deny his words.
“What I want and what I must do aren’t the same thing.”
“I’m not talking marriage here, Annabelle. If you want your freedom, you can have it.”
She finally found the strength to step out of his embrace.
“Oh yes you’d like that, wouldn’t you? All the fun without any of the responsibility.”
“It is you who doesn’t want marriage.”
“So you think that I will happily climb into bed with you?” she laughed.
“What's so funny?”
“You are?” She shook her head at him, as if he were a naughty schoolboy and she his teacher. “You seem to think that sex carries no responsibilities and I suppose for you, it doesn’t. I however cannot afford another mouth to feed right now, nor would my business likely survive such a disgrace.”
“There are ways to prevent children and besides, do you think that I would leave you to bear the burden alone?”
“I don’t know but what I do know is that there are some burdens that you couldn’t prevent.”
“What on earth do you mean by that?”
Annabelle let out a weary sigh. “Please, Your Grace, just go. I simply have too much to do to even contemplate a relationship, of any kind, at the moment.”
Although thoroughly confused, he knew it would do him no good to remain here, so he turned on his heel and left, vowing to never think of Miss Wyatt again. By that evening though, he found himself once again pondering the mystery that was Annabelle Wyatt.
For the next week, Annabelle saw neither hide nor hair of Richard. She was slightly upset about it but his absence did allow her to regain her equilibrium and by the end of the week, only her dreams were plagued with memories of him. She learned through his friend, Jonathan, that he had gone to the family’s country estate in Hampshire, now his estate, to make sure that things were being taken care of in his father’s absence.
She was actually beginning to enjoy having the memory of his kisses to see her off to sleep each night, until the man himself reappeared in her shop. She was again in the kitchen, just putting the baking trays into the oven. The shop hadn’t been open five minutes, so she was surprised to turn around and see him standing behind her.
She jumped and her hand fluttered to her heart.
“My apologies, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“No harm done.” She smiled, as a harmless shock is likely to make people do. “What can I do for you, Your Grace?”
“Call me Richard, please, and I’m here on my mother’s behalf actually. She wonders if you might call on her this afternoon.”
“Why?” It wasn’t the most tactful reply but she simply couldn’t figure out why his mother would want to see her. The Dowager Duchess had visited the shop to order cakes and the like, but she had never invited Annabelle to her home before. She was the King’s sister, after all, and Annabelle was just a coffee house owner.
“Her mourning period is almost over and I believe that she wishes to have a gathering of some sort, before the summer completely vanishes.”
“Oh.” She quickly ran through the list of orders that she had to deliver that afternoon. Today wasn’t especially busy. “Tell her that I shall be with her at four o’clock.”
Richard nodded. “As you wish. And your hair looks lovely, by the way.”
Her hand went to her tresses as she realised that she hadn’t yet had a chance to pin it up today. She was about to apologise but he was already leaving. She turned back to her baking trays, distracted by her musing on why the Dowager Duchess really wanted to see her.
She was a lovely woman and had always been very kind to Annabelle but still, never once had she been invited to her London home. Perhaps she had realised the attraction between Annabelle and her son and wanted to warn Annabelle off. For some reason that thought was painful, although hardly unexpected.
“Ma’am?” Ethel said and she looked to the girl. “I think the macaroons are done.”
That snapped her out of her reverie and she quickly pulled the tray from the oven, before the treats could burn.
Annabelle approached the house in St James square from the courtyard at the rear, using the servants’ entrance, as she usually did when she was making a delivery. She was quickly ushered into the parlour where a servant was laying out tea.
After curtseying to the Duchess, she handed her the cake box that she had brought.
“Thank you, my dear, this is very kind.” She looked inside the box. “Fruit cake, how lovely. It’s my favourite.”
“I know,” Annabelle blushed.
Lavinia asked the servant to bring two plates and a knife so they could enjoy a slice now.
Annabelle hadn’t had a chance to return home and change into a nicer gown and although she felt that this dress was acceptable, she felt very uncomfortable. Calling on other ladies was not something that she was very familiar with. When she was at an age when her mother might have taken her, Eveline was already descending into insanity and since she had opened the coffee house, no one had extended her any invitations.
“Relax, my dear, I shan’t bite,” Lavinia said with a smile as she poured the
tea.
“No, of course not. Please excuse me, Your Grace; I am just unused to situations such as this.”
“Please, call me Lavinia. And if it helps, I understand exactly how you feel. My sisters and I were incredibly sheltered when we were young and I was painfully shy when I was younger.” She handed Annabelle her tea cup. “Were you ever presented at court?”
“No, Ma’am. My father died when I was 16 and my mother was in no condition to present me by then. Her sister did write when I was almost 18 and offer to present me but by then, I had the coffee house and Society was quite a way down my list of priorities.”
“You’ve had quite a hard life, really,” Lavinia observed. “I admire your resilience.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Annabelle brushed the compliment aside. “I have never gone hungry, my health is good and all my needs are met. I may be unorthodox but I am hardly hard done by.”
“Of course.”
The maid interrupted them with the plates and knife for the cake and Lavinia served them both a slice.
“What about your mother, how is she these days?
Annabelle’s expression grew sad.
“She continues to worsen. Most of the time she doesn’t know who I am any longer and when she does remember me, it’s as the child I was, not as I am.”
“That must be difficult to watch.”
Annabelle knew that Lavinia meant what she said, for her own father had battled insanity.
“The hardest thing is her moods,” Annabelle found herself admitting. “She remembers very little of our current life and doesn’t understand what is going on, which makes her frustrated and liable to lash out when we try and stop her doing what she wants.”
“Is she a danger to herself?”
“Not generally. The bloodletting and laudanum at night help to keep her docile.”
“I’m pleased to hear it.”
Annabelle was becoming more uncomfortable as the meeting wore on, wondering exactly when the hammer was going to fall. She ate a fork full of the fruitcake but it clung to her mouth, as if it had been made from treacle. With some difficulty she swallowed and decided to put an end to this charade before she choked.
“Forgive me, but was there a reason that you wanted to see me?”
“Indeed. As you probably know, I have missed this year’s Season due to my husband’s death, however before the winter sets in I would like to enjoy myself a little. Richard has agreed to hold a weekend of events at the end of August. I know that is less than two weeks away but I don’t believe that many people will have received a better offer.”
“That sounds lovely,” Annabelle said, wondering where exactly she fit into this plan.
“I hope so. On the Saturday I will throw a garden party followed by dinner, then on the Sunday the gentlemen can celebrate the hunting season with pheasant shoot, whilst the ladies relax and wait for them.”
“And where would I fit in?”
“Oh, how remiss of me. I was hoping that you might provide the desserts for our gatherings. In previous years I have hired a confectioner but his talents are nothing compared to yours. I was hoping that you would venture to the estate on Thursday so you can settle in, and prepare the desserts the day before. And if you would like to join us on Sunday, you are more than welcome.”
Annabelle was in two minds about this. She had never been made such an offer before and part of her relished the challenge of catering for such an event. On the other hand, did she really want to spend the weekend in the servants’ hall? Annabelle wasn’t pretentious but she was well aware that she fit into either world, neither servant nor aristocrat.
“There will be a few tradesmen and their wives,” Lavinia continued, recognising that Annabelle was hesitating. “We also have a cottage which is not far from the house, where you could prepare the food and retain your independence. Our carriage would take you down there, of course, and bring you back.”
Annabelle was tempted to accept, her only problem was, who would look after the coffee house in her absence? Frank, Ethel and Minnie could handle the day to day running, but who would prepare the cakes and meals?
Lavinia then named a price, which made Annabelle’s jaw drop. That would be almost enough to see them through the winter month, without her having to sell any jewellery. She continued to look thoughtful for a few more moments, unwilling to seem desperate.
“I think I should be able to find someone to cover for me at the coffee house. Thank you, Your Grace, I accept your offer.”
Chapter Three
When Annabelle arrived at the ‘cottage’ on Richard Armstrong’s estate, she discovered that she was in fact staying in the dowager house, where his mother would live once Richard took a wife and had a family. Today was the Thursday before the gathering, so Annabelle would have all of Friday to give herself a head start on the cooking.
She was met by a line of four maids who curtseyed to her as she got out of the carriage.
“Good morning Ma’am,” said the closest maid. “Can I show you around?”
“I thought I was staying in a cottage?” Annabelle answered, confused by this turn of events.
“This is Atwood Cottage,” the maid answered. “It’s the only property, aside from the manor, with a large enough stove.”
“It doesn’t look like a cottage.”
“No, but it’s named after the first building that was here, a thatched cottage from the middle ages. It was torn down to build a larger home for the last Dowager Duchess, but they kept the name.”
Annabelle was speechless for a moment, feeling that she had been tricked in some way.
“We’ve been sent over from the big house for the duration of your stay,” the girl continued. “I’m Carol; I’ll be your lady's maid. This is Jinny, she’s the parlour maid, and this is Sarah and Mary, the kitchen maids. They’ll prepare your meals, help you in the kitchen and fetch and carry whatever you need.”
Whilst Annabelle was still debating if she should make a fuss or not, the carriage driver was unloading her belongings and carrying them around to the servants’ entrance.
“Can I show you around, Lady Wyatt?” Carol asked.
She winced at the name. “I’d like to see the kitchen,” she replied. That was the most important part of her stay here after all, so if the kitchen and stove were acceptable, then she would stay.
Although no one had lived here for quite a while, the rooms were immaculate and as much as she might have liked to, she could find no fault with the kitchen stove. The worst she could say was that it was old but then, so was her’s at the coffee house.
Carol insisted on unpacking her belongings, which left Annabelle at something of a loss for what to do with herself. She wasn’t used to having free time.
Carol suggested that she take some tea in the parlour, which is how she found herself sitting by the window, sipping tea and looking out over the grounds.
She felt like a pretender. These people called her ‘Lady’ and jumped to do her bidding.
Whilst she did have servants at home, she never asked much of them because they had enough to do looking after her mother and the house. They were more like friends now, bound together by their mutual loyalty. They never called her ‘Lady’, nor did they try to suggest how she should behave.
Annabelle sighed and turned away from the window, looking around the room. In the corner sat a Walter & Son pianoforte, which drew her attention and she found herself sitting at the stool. She played a few keys and found that it was still perfectly tuned.
She didn’t have a piano because she had deemed it an unnecessary extravagance, but she had loved playing when she was younger. She sat for a moment trying to recall some of her favourite pieces then, after a few halting starts, she began to play.
Richard Armstrong was in something of a mood as he entered his mother’s sitting room. He had been planning to spend Thursday and a good part of Friday with his mistress, Ada Braddock, a beautiful young lady who was marr
ied to a man far too old to meet her needs in the bedroom.
He didn’t see why he was needed so soon, for his mother was more than capable of organising this weekend without his help. If he hadn’t had so much respect for her, he would not have come. Still, he couldn’t help being sharp as he greeted her.
“Well, you summoned me and I’m here, Mother. Now what is so important?”
Lavinia smiled at him and he could tell that she was scheming. He wondered if perhaps she had lined up one of the guests as a potential wife for him, although she didn’t usually employ such underhand tactics.
“Can I not ask for my only son’s help?”
Richard took a deep breath and tried to relax. “Of course you can. So now that I am here, how can I help?”
Lavinia smiled warmly. “First, I have brought a confectioner up to prepare all the desserts for the weekend. I would like you to take the trunk in the hall to them and then I would like you to invite them to dinner.”
“You want to invite a confectioner to dinner?” he asked. “And why can’t the servants take the trunk to the kitchen?”
“Because they are staying in the cottage and using the facilities there. As for why I want them at dinner, I merely want the best, and being kind makes people inclined to go the additional mile.”
“Very well.” He checked his watch and saw that it was 4 p.m. giving them another four hours until dinner. “I’ll go now.”
As he approached the dowager house, he heard music and singing coming from inside and wondered who was playing. Very few tradesmen knew how to play an instrument and besides, the singing voice was female. Instead of knocking, he left the trunk on the carriage for now and let himself in, rather than disturb the singer. He knew his behaviour was rude but he owned this house, so he was entitled to enter it whenever he wished.
He followed the singing to the parlour and silently pushed the door open. Thankfully, his gasp of shock was covered by the music. Of all the people he had expected to find, Annabelle Wyatt was not one of them.
The Reluctant Duchess Page 3
