Karen Harbaugh

by The Reluctant Cavalier

  A small, less appalled part of Parsifal’s mind reflected that a few jewels taken from the bounteous mass of chains and pendants upon Lady Bowerland’s bosom would have made little difference in decorative effect. But her renewed weeping and clutching at his knees wiped the thought from his mind and moved him to struggle valiantly from her grasp.

  “Deuce take it, Edna! You’re embarrassing the man!” Lord Bowerland said. Parsifal’s face flamed hot at the mention of it, and he pulled harder away from her.

  With a last tug he was finally free, and he quickly mounted his horse before Lady Bowerland could clutch his knees again. She knelt and put her clasped hands over her heart.

  “Thank you! Thank you, oh noble sir!” she cried.

  Parsifal thrust his heels against Dancer’s side and galloped off as if fleeing the hounds of hell. The full force of what he’d done hit him, and he groaned. Had the highwayman’s aim or gun been better, he could have died. What was worse, he would have deserved it, for he’d not thought at all that his actions might have put Lord and Lady Bowerland at risk—the highwayman could have shot them in his fear.

  His face grew hot under his mask. God, how damnably stupid he was! He remembered how Lady Bowerland had clutched his legs in theatrical gratitude, and he groaned again in embarrassment. He wished to heaven he’d never stepped out of his house this night.

  And then he remembered he’d agreed to come to the Bowerlands’ card party the next day. Parsifal let out a despairing moan. Lady Bowerland was a terrible gossip. She’d speak of this incident, surely, and he’d have to listen to her speculations and those of her guests the whole evening. He would be fighting blushes and sweating hands just hearing it, and he was certain he would make one mistake after another at cards because of it.

  Parsifal thought half wistfully of how the highwayman had shot at him. If only the man had not missed!

  Chapter 3

  Annabella opened her eyes, and the events of the night before flooded her mind. She sat up in her bed and hugged her knees, absently staring at the streams of sunlight peeking through her bedroom curtains. A delicious thrill of guilty pleasure ran through her at the memories of dancing and flirting, and at the very last, the Cavalier’s kiss.

  She should not have done it.

  Definitely should not have. Annabella sighed. The actions of Sir Quentin had showed her that. Her parents had been right—masquerades were best attended if one had a chaperone—or not at all, as the Duke of Stratton had told her.

  A frown turned down her lips. In a way, it was His Grace’s words that had made her feel rebellious and want to go to the masquerade. She did not know what it was about the duke that made her want to do exactly the opposite of what he thought was right and proper. He was a widower, his lineage was impeccable and old, his reputation stainless. No whisper of scandal had ever touched his name, and his demeanor was always pleasant. He was handsome, too, with light brown hair and light blue eyes set in a strong, manly face. She had even fancied him when she first spied him at a ball, and when he had come to her side for a dance some months ago, she was glad to find him such a graceful dancer and good conversationalist.

  But though he was pleasant and proper, though her parents were ecstatic at his interest, she could feel no more than a mild liking for him, if that.

  Annabella shook her head, rose from her bed, and rang for her maid. There was no real reason why she should not fall in love with him—he’d make an ideal husband, surely.

  A touch of resentment crept past her very practical and proper thoughts. She tried to suppress it and failed. She did not want to marry yet, but she well knew one could not go through two seasons refusing all proposals of marriage without seeming a terrible flirt. Her parents were conscious of this, too, though they did not say it in so many words. Their increased admonitions as to proper demeanor and their obvious hope and delight at the duke’s attentions told her clearly enough how they felt.

  A knock sounded on her door, and Annabella’s maid, Mary, came in. “Oh, miss!” the girl said, an uneasy expression on her face. “Sir Robert and her ladyship wishes to speak to you.”

  Annabella bit her lip and looked at her maid. “Do they know, do you think?”

  “I don’t know, miss. They did seem a little put out. But I can’t think they saw you leave last night. I was watching real good, I was, and didn’t see a soul when we left or when we came back.”

  Annabella hesitated, and her sense of guilt became heavier. She would have to reveal everything to her parents in time, she knew. It was better she tell them now than later; she disliked falsehoods. Sometimes she wished she hadn’t such loving and sensible parents. There was little cause to rebel against anything they said or did, and she always felt guilty when she did something they forbade her to do. What was worse, they were usually right.

  She nodded decisively. “Very well, Mary. Do tell them I shall be down presently. I fear I shall have to tell them of my adventure.” Not all of it, though, or not all at once, she thought. One never knew how parents would react to a great deal of information when given all in one piece.

  When Annabella entered the drawing room, her father smiled and nodded to her, and her mother held out her hands to her. Annabella took her mother’s hands and kissed her cheek.

  “I trust you are well this morning, Mama, Papa?”

  Lady Smith, a trim and comfortable woman, with hair still as dark as Annabella’s touched her daughter’s cheek affectionately and smiled. “Yes, very well, thank you, Bella.” She cast a glance at Sir Robert. “We have some delightful news for you, love.”

  Sir Robert smiled kindly. “The Duke of Stratton called upon us last evening while you rested in your rooms—I take it your headache is better?”

  Guilt threatened to overcome Annabella, but she swallowed it down. “Oh, yes, yes, quite! It is gone now, I assure you.”

  “You looked a little flushed in the face last night, and your mother and I were worried you might have contracted an illness.”

  Annabella remembered how she had blushed at the falsehood, and another wash of guilt came over her. Oh, how she wished she’d never pretended to a headache!

  “I—the rest did me a great deal of good, I assure you, Papa.”

  Her father patted her hand and smiled broadly. “I am glad to hear it. Well, then! I must tell you—and you will be happy to hear this, I am sure—the Duke of Stratton has asked permission pay his addresses to you! What do you think of that, Bella?”

  “Oh!” The guilt intensified and mixed with a distinct, trapped feeling. Annabella swallowed.

  “ ‘Oh’? Is that all you have to say, child?” her mother asked with a smile.

  “I do not know what to say. I... I am sure I do not deserve it.”

  Sir Robert laughed. “Oh, come, Bella! You are a mischievous puss at times, but never beyond what most children have been. You have always been a good girl, and I am proud a man such as the Duke of Stratton has taken an interest in you.”

  “Interested only? He has hot asked for permission to marry me?”

  Her mother leaned forward. “No, and that is what is so admirable about him. He fully understands the sensibilities of a young lady, and would not impose his wishes upon you until he knows your affections are wholly engaged. There are few men who are so considerate, my dear.”

  Relief flowed into Annabella, and this made her feel more guilty than ever. She should be glad the duke had asked to court her in such a proper manner, but she was not. How silly she was being, to be sure! There was nothing to object in him. Surely, her parents would have seen it if there was. If there was anything to object in anyone, it was in her, for did she not go against her parents’ wishes and go to the masquerade last night?

  “Is there something the matter, Bella?” her mother asked.

  Oh, heavens. “I—I did not have the headache last night, Mama.”

  Lady Smith raised her brows in question, and Sir Robert looked at her in surprise.

  “I k
now you said I should not, for the duke was to come last night, but I wanted so to go to the masquerade with Corisande Bentley, and I went out the servants’ door—

  “Annabella!” cried her mother.

  “By God, girl, if he had known! Not deserve his attentions, you said! I almost think you are in the right of it!” Sir Robert exclaimed.

  Annabella hung her head. “I am sorry. I... perhaps I am not ready to marry.”

  She felt a hand push up her chin, and she met her father’s stern eyes. “None of that, my girl! You are nearly one and twenty years of age, and have been out on the town for more than two years now. You are quite old enough to be betrothed. To be stealing out behind our backs!” He shook his head. “We have been indulgent, your mother and I, with your choosiness. When you turned down Lord Ebberly, we knew you could do better, and agreed perhaps he was a little flighty. We even acknowledged perhaps the Viscount Windover was a little young to be setting up his nursery. You were young, also, and we saw no harm in your enjoying parties and such.”

  Sir Robert turned and paced the room. “But now you are a woman grown, and must look to the future. We have already heard talk about your flightiness. This is not what I like to hear about my daughter. There is nothing to which anyone can object in the Duke of Stratton, and we thought perhaps you had a little tendre toward him. I recommend you consider his addresses quite seriously.” He looked at her sternly.

  Annabella wet her dry lips. “But I do not love him. Papa!”

  Sir Robert turned impatiently from her. “Fiddle! What has that to say to anything? You have been reading too many novels, that’s what it is, my girl!”

  Lady Smith gave her husband a reproving look. “Now, Robert, I do not know how you can say that. You have just finished reading Evelina, after all, and thought it tolerable entertainment.” .

  Sir Robert looked a little nonplussed, but recovered. “It is one thing, Amanda, to read them for entertainment, and something else entirely to think them anything more than mere fantasy.”

  His wife smiled at him and gently squeezed his arm. “Well, then! Surely, you do not think your daughter so insensible to reality that she cannot tell the difference between it and fairy stories. Did you not commend her just yesterday on how well she understood your reasoning about the latest bills to come before Parliament?”

  Annabella could not help smiling. Her mother had always been very persuasive.

  Sir Robert stared at his wife for a moment, lips pressed together in thought, then he smiled wryly. “You have caught me out again, my love.” He gave her an ironic look. “Indeed, I think I will leave the talking to you, clever as you are.”

  Lady Smith only smiled at him. “I thank you, my dear.” She waved at him to leave the room, and he smiled, shaking his head as he closed the door behind him.

  She turned to Annabella and took her daughter’s hands in hers, leading her to the sofa, where they sat. She hesitated a moment, then seemed to come to a decision.

  “Bella, my dear, I hope you know your father and I want only what is best for you. We would never force you to wed anyone you could not like. You are our only child, and we love you dearly.”

  Annabella felt tears prickling at her eyes. “Oh, Mama! I know you do! And I am so very sorry I went to the masquerade!”

  Lady Smith shook her head. “I wish you had told me you wanted to go. I would have gone with you, you know.”

  A pang of guilt went through Annabella, and she said in a low voice: “I promise to let you know the next time ... it is only ... the duke...” She wished desperately she had not run off to the masquerade.

  Her mother patted her hand. “I know, he is very strict in his notions, and your papa thinks Stratton is the best of your suitors. However”—Lady Smith smiled widely and bent her head toward her daughter’s—”I daresay we need not tell the duke about it, hmm?” she said in a conspiratorial voice. “Besides, it has been an age since I have gone to a masquerade, and your father could hardly object to my having a little enjoyment.”

  Annabella smiled gratefully at her mother, but her smile faded quickly. “I ... there is more, I am afraid. I knew I should have left after a while. Oh, Lord and Lady Laughton are very respectable, to be sure, and it seemed their guests were so, but then ...” She glanced up at her mother, who looked at her encouragingly.

  “I—I went out to the terrace—it was very warm in the ballroom—and Sir Quentin—I did not know it was he, Mama, for he was masked, of course! He—he kissed me!”

  Lady Smith frowned. “You allowed—

  “No, no, of course I did not want him to, Mama! I fought him, but he was very strong. I was so afraid—and now I see why you said I should not go without you—I tried to make him release me. But then . . ,” Annabella twisted her hands in her lap. “Then I was rescued.”

  Her mother let loose a sigh, then smiled a little, before her face resumed its solemnity. “I am grateful for that! What an adventure you had, to be sure. But I hope no further liberties were taken?”

  Annabella blushed. “No, there was not. Sir Quentin did not come near me afterward.”

  She gazed at her daughter for a long moment. “I suppose we need not tell your father of this, as you have learned your lesson, have you not?”

  “Yes, I have learned, I promise you!”

  “Good. Then I think perhaps we should go this afternoon to thank your rescuer.”

  “I...I do not know who he is.”

  Lady Smith raised her brows.

  “He left before the unmasking—I think he did not want to be thanked. He was dressed as a Cavalier—it is all the rage, you know—and not over middle height, I think. He had long black hair, although it could have been a wig. I did dance with him, however, and he was most gentlemanly, very proper and pleasant.”

  “Ah. It is a pity he did not reveal his name to you so we could thank him.” Her mother smiled mischievously. “But what a romantic thing to have happened to you. I vow I have never had such a rescue! Now—I see I must definitely accompany you to a masquerade. Who knows but I might be rescued from a dastardly villain, as well?”

  Annabella laughed, relieved. She had the best of parents, she knew, and she should never have run off so impulsively with Corisande. And yet, some guilt remained, for she did not mention that the Cavalier had kissed her. Surely, it was not necessary. Mama had once confessed she herself had kissed Papa more than a few times before they were wed. The Cavalier’s kiss had been a little thing, after all, had it not? And it had been wholly innocent compared to what Sir Quentin had attempted.

  She squeezed her mother’s hand. “The next time, I promise we shall go together!”

  Lady Smith smiled again. ‘There’s my good girl!” she said. “And as for the duke—he has asked only to court you, after all. He is a very personable man. Perhaps he can persuade you the better you come to know him.”

  “Perhaps,” Annabella said. A part of her hoped he could. It would be most convenient if she could come to love someone of whom her parents approved.

  A light knock made both ladies turn to the door. Simpkins, the butler, entered.

  “My lady, miss, ‘tis His Grace, the Duke of Stratton come to call.”

  Lady Smith rose hastily. “By all means, Simpkins, bring him in.” She looked at her daughter up and down and nodded. “You look very pretty today; I think you shall do.”

  Speak of the devil, thought Annabella, then chastised herself for the thought as she rose from the sofa. She almost sighed again. Heavens, she was feeling recalcitrant lately! And against what? Nothing, to be sure. She would be on her best behavior while the duke was here. He was truly the best suitor a lady could want; she should have no objection to him.

  Indeed, anyone looking at him should have little objection to him at all, thought Annabella. The Duke of Stratton was a tall man, and his features were aristocratic and well-defined; his frame was neither broad nor thin. If his hair was an unremarkable brown, it was thick and impeccably styled, and if hi
s pale blue eyes seemed cool in their expression, it only added to his air of aristocratic refinement. His bow over her mother’s and her hands was elegant, and his movements were graceful. Although, Annabella noted, he was not as graceful as he had been when she last saw him. He carried a cane, and his right foot seemed to linger over the floor more than the other as he walked.

  She gazed up at him, and she blushed. He must have noticed her look, for a slight, twisted smile formed on his lips. “A small injury, Miss Smith. I hope it does not offend ... ?”

  “Oh, heavens, Your G-grace, of course not!” Annabella stammered, then felt annoyed. She did not know how it was, but she always felt defensive around the duke, as if she was being measured and always found wanting. He never said anything of a criticizing nature to her, and his attentions were certainly flattering. And yet... Annabella shook herself mentally. What nonsense! Enough of thinking. His Grace was always a pleasant caller and conversationalist. She would enjoy his company while he was here.

  “I am glad,” replied Stratton and raised her hand to his lips once again. He held her hand a moment longer than usual, and feeling awkward, she pulled away. He smiled at her once again, and it seemed, oddly, that he was pleased by her reaction, for his smile widened, and there was an approving look in his eye. “However, I am not glad it will cause me to renege on our agreed-upon dance at Lord and Lady Kimball’s ball on Thursday.”

  “I am sorry, too,” Annabella said, glad she could say something complimentary. It was true, too, for he was a good dancer.

  He smiled, then transferred his gaze to Lady Smith. A troubled look flashed across Lady Smith’s face in response, and then she sighed. “If you will excuse me for only a moment, I believe I need to see why the refreshments are so long in coming.” She gave her daughter a frustrated, apologetic look and shook her head slightly.

  Panic overcame Annabella as she watched her mother leave the door slightly ajar behind her. Surely, the duke wasn’t—her mother had said— She looked up at the duke, who was gazing at her assessingly, and her stomach began to ache as it always did when she felt nervous or afraid.