by Dayna Quince
Chapter 2
Draven scowled at the retreating form of Lady Anabelle. His skin was burning, his clothes suddenly a burdensome weight on his body. He clenched and flexed his hands over and over until he felt some semblance of control return. He would certainly do his best to leave her alone now. Having that kind of reaction to a woman was unusual for him, terrifying even. He was always calm, he was always in control, but with her in his arms… he felt volatile—like a pillaging conqueror. That wasn’t him and that scared him.
He made his way out of the parlor and found himself retreating to the billiard room once again. He considered leaving altogether, but wouldn’t dare risk insulting his new friend, the groom. It was always good to have a duke on one’s side, but it was more than that. Ablehill was a good chap, a trustworthy fellow you could count on to have your back and tell you when you’ve been a fool. Genuine friends were hard to come by for Draven.
On that thought, he excused himself to find the happy couple and offer his personal congratulations. He found them in the drawing room, hoarded by fellow well-wishers. Draven halted at the entry way. He recognized one blonde head immediately. This wouldn’t do. He still felt raw from the kiss. He backtracked to the dining room where refreshments were being served and found a decanter of brandy. He poured himself a finger and drank it in one swallow.
“Careful,” Rigsby mocked. “You look like a desperate man. Marriage-minded mamas can sense desperation.”
“Weddings make me nervous.” Draven tossed another finger of Brandy down his throat.
“It feels like a trap, doesn’t it?”
“More like a vice around my jewels. Is it warm in here?” Draven looked around in agitation.
Rigsby frowned at him. “Are you going to faint?”
Draven gave him a murderous scowl.
Rigsby laughed. “Perhaps it is time to depart. Quarters are getting rather cramped.”
“It’s too early. Ablehill might take insult.”
“Then come with me to the library. It’s the last bastion for gentlemen like us. We’re having cigars.”
Draven nodded and followed Rigsby. The Library was filled with gentlemen like himself, seeking refuge from the pressure of attending a wedding. It was an unpleasant reminder of their duties, one they fully accepted, but wished to delay just a little while longer. That was at least how Draven felt. Marriage was a foggy distant responsibility of the future, no matter how his mother claimed otherwise. He had no desire to shackle himself to a woman at the present time. He clearly wasn’t alone.
The low rumble of baritones and smoky air of the library was an instant balm to his nerves. He sighed gratefully and headed for the decanter, this time with the intent to sit and sip his drink leisurely while the men around him did the same. He did exactly that, as Rigsby did the same and took the chair across from him. They were joined by the Earl of Bainbridge and Sir Stanley.
“Love a good wedding,” Sir Stanley said jovially.
Draven discreetly rolled his eyes.
“As long as it’s not mine.” Rigsby chuckled.
“As a future earl, surely you feel the noose around your neck?” Bainbridge quipped.
“Speak for yourself,” Rigsby countered. “I’ve yet to inherit. You, on the other hand, have a target painted on your back.”
Bainbridge shrugged. “I’m in no rush and my grandmother hardly presses the issue. I don’t even feel hassled by the marriageable masses.”
“That’s because you slip in and out of rooms like a ghost,” Draven mused as he sipped his brandy.
“It’s a talent.” Bainbridge smiled. “They can’t pester me if they can’t find me.”
“Where do you go?” Rigsby raised a curious brow.
“Here and there. I like to explore rather than listen to idle talk and dance.”
“You’d rather tour a house than pay court to pretty ladies?” Sir Stanley snickered.
“God, yes,” Bainbridge said incredulously. “Houses offer history and knowledge. I dare you to present a young lady that can do the same.”
Sir Stanley just shook his head. “I’m going back to the party. You all can molder alone in your bachelorhood.” He turned away and no one stopped him.
“Dunce,” Rigsby murmured.
“I believe he would have offered for Miss Everly had I not spurred the dukes possessive side,” Draven admitted quietly.
“Is that what you were doing? I thought you were just being an ass.” Rigsby got up and poured himself another drink.
Draven shrugged. “Some things just can’t be ignored.” Draven frowned as he said the words. They sounded rather ominous.
“Are you saying you knew then that he was the duke?” Rigsby questioned as he returned to his seat.
“No, I didn’t realize until after, but it was the way he spoke about her, as if she was already his. What man dare come between that?”
Bainbridge looked back and forth between the two of them. “I’m missing something. You had known him before he was the duke?” This was directed at Draven.
Draven and Rigsby looked at each other.
“Err, I’d heard of him, but hadn’t actually met him before the Endervale house party.”
“You’ve probably heard already, but when he arrived with us, he had announced himself as Mr. Calder, a steward of the duke. Days later, he then announced his true title as the Duke of Ablehill when his actual steward arrived. It was actually quite the lark, but he had his reasons for keeping his identity a secret.”
“I hadn’t heard. Gossip rarely reaches me,” Bainbridge said with interest but didn’t press for more.
Draven’s good opinion of the man grew stronger. He would do anything to protect Ablehill’s and Heather’s budding happiness. They deserved it. He finished his brandy and noticed that the room had somewhat emptied. He could hear music echoing down the hall.
“The dancing has begun,” Rigsby announced unnecessarily.
Draven nodded. He could imagine a certain blonde would now be skipping down the length of the ballroom on the arm of her partner. “I think I will pay my respects to the bride and groom and depart,” Draven stated.
“I will as well,” Bainbridge decided.
The three gentlemen departed and made for the ballroom. Thankfully, the bride and groom were not presently dancing, and Draven navigated his way to them followed by Bainbridge and Rigsby.
Draven kissed Heather’s hand and winked at her. “Till we meet again, your grace.”
She pulled her hand away but smiled genuinely at him. “All too soon, I’m sure.”
Draven turned to Ablehill and shook his hand. “My sincerest sympathies.”
Ablehill chuckled. “Soon, I will have the good fortune to attend your wedding.”
Draven mockingly scowled at him. “I’d call you out, but I’ll let you become a man first.”
Heather gasped and swatted at his arm.
“Are you leaving as well?” She turned to Rigsby.
“Not yet. I have to keep Lucy out of trouble.”
Heather laughed and turned to the next gentleman. He gave her a courtly bow.
“My dear, I present to you the Earl of Bainbridge,” Ablehill said as he introduced him. “I met him at the house of lords.
“Your grace, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“The pleasure is mine.” Heather smiled. “How fortunate that you arrived right before the next dance is to begin.” Heather reached behind her and tugged on a feminine arm.
“Dear God, what is it?” Hazel turned and joined the group followed by Anabelle. “I almost spilled my champagne.”
Heather gave her a speaking glance. “I would like to introduce you to the Earl of Bainbridge.”
“Oh.” Hazel colored and turned towards the unknown gentleman.
“Lady Hazel and her twin, Lady Anabelle.” Heather said.
Hazel smiled bashfully. “How do you do, my lord?”
“Very well, thank you. It would be my
honor if you would partner me for the next set,” Bainbridge said rather awkwardly.
“I would be very pleased,” Hazel answered in equal awkwardness.
Anabelle watched the proceedings in amusement before taking notice of Rigsby. She smiled at him in acknowledgment and searched for the dark shadow that normally loomed at his side. Her heart sped up, but alas, all she saw was his retreating back as he disappeared into the crowd. She exhaled in relief.
“Lady Anabelle, may I have this dance?” Rigsby smiled charmingly.
“You may.” Anabelle took his offered arm and they turned towards the dance floor with Bainbridge and Hazel. She watched as they took their place still looking very uncomfortable with each other. Anabelle had never seen her sister so unsettled by a gentleman before. She would have to tease her about it at the next opportunity.
She knew her own heart, but Hazel often had different motives. Was she in pursuit of a husband as well? Of course, she was as all the young women here were, but was she as desperate as Anabelle felt? She would have to ask her at the next opportunity.
She let Lord Rigsby charm her for the duration of the dance, only briefly considering him as a potential contender for her heart. He was handsome and certainly charming and fun, but he wasn’t for her. She already knew that from her acquaintance with him as Lucy’s brother. There was also his friendship with Lord Draven. The two were rarely seen apart. She could never marry Lord Rigsby if it meant seeing Lord Draven frequently and being reminded of their kiss. Lord Rigsby was forever crossed off her mental list. On that thought, as she moved through the steps of the dance, she decided to make a literal list of potential husbands. That way she could cross them off as she narrowed down her most promising prospects.
Already, she had a sense of purpose. She couldn’t wait to get started, her imagination churning as she moved through the dance, taking note of the other gentlemen. There were quite a few eligible bachelors this season thankfully, including Lord Bainbridge. He was a unique looking fellow, different from a typical London gentleman. His skin was swarthy, and his nose and lips spoke of bloodlines from somewhere other than England. He was quite handsome. Anabelle was tempted to add him to her list, except Hazel was blushing quite beautifully every time their eyes met.
Anabelle smiled to herself. If Hazel was that affected by him, it was a very good thing. She moved on as the dance came to a close and Lord Rigsby and Lord Bainbridge escorted them to the edge of the dance floor. Bidding their farewell, the gentlemen departed. She elbowed Hazel as they went in search of their mother and father.
“What?” Hazel said testily.
“Well?” Anabelle smiled at her sister’s profile. “What was he like?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea what you are searching for. We didn’t even speak.”
“Not a word?” Anabelle laughed
“No. Did you speak with Lord Rigsby?”
“Not particularly, but it was only Lord Rigsby. I know everything I need to know about him.”
Hazel gave her a sideways glance. “Such as?”
“Such as, he is Lucy’s elder brother and not the man for me.”
“You couldn’t possibly know that.” Hazel countered.
“Stop sidestepping my question. Do you like him? He is very attractive.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” Hazel murmured as she looked around the room with feigned interest.
“You are a horrible liar.” Anabelle laughed as they reached their mother.
“I saw that you both danced. Who was that gentleman, Hazel?” their mother queried.
Hazel clamped her mouth shut.
Anabelle sighed. “The Earl of Bainbridge,” Anabelle said gleefully, “and Hazel is very put out by him.”
Their mother’s eyes flared with interest. “How… illuminating.”
“Will you both please stop? He had no interest in me what so ever and only asked me to dance because Heather put him on the spot. It was obligatory, nothing more.”
“I’m familiar with the title, but have yet to meet this young man.” Their mother tapped her chin in thought, ignoring Hazels words altogether.
“If you will excuse me, I’m going to find some refreshment.” Hazel turned on her heel and stalked off.
Anabelle shook her head as she watched her go. “Poor thing.”
“And what about you, dear?”
Anabelle turned back to her mother. “I’ve no interest in Lord Rigsby, but I have been taking greater notice of the gentlemen here.”
Her mother nodded. “It will be some time before he inherits, but he does have his charms.”
“That he does, but I don’t feel we would be well matched.”
“The season is still underway. There is time,” her mother said sagely.
“Yes,” Anabelle agreed. But in her heart, she felt an urgency she couldn’t explain. She knew what she wanted and she couldn’t wait to jump feet first into love. She could only hope an equally infatuated gentleman would be there to catch her.
Chapter 3
The next day, her family attended a garden fete given by the Marchioness of Dunwick. It was a beautiful afternoon, the buds of spring blooming and fragrant. Anabelle twirled her parasol as she strolled through the gardens with Hazel and admired the flowers and busy insects. Tucked in her sleeve were ten names of gentlemen of suitable title and birth to investigate. First on her list was the Marquess of Scorn. A likable fellow with a widowed mother and six sisters. He was tall and slender, his hair and eyes an almost exact match to hers. He was currently helping his mother to a plate of food and three of his sisters were in attendance as well. Anabelle left the gravel path and wandered over to the buffet table. She scooted in beside him and picked up a plate to fill. She waited for him to notice her… and waited… and waited. She couldn’t possibly select bits of fruit and pastry any slower.
His lordship was dutifully holding his mother’s plate while she took her time selecting morsels of food. Anabelle bit her lip in frustration. Perhaps if she drew her ladyship’s notice, her son would follow suite. She’s been introduced to the dowager before, so it shouldn’t be too odd if she addressed her now.
“The cream puffs are a wonderful delight, your ladyship,” Anabelle suggested and pasted on a sweet smile.
There was still no response from either target. Anabelle’s confidence faltered. She thought about retreating altogether. She bolstered her courage, determined not to give up so easily. She cleared her throat. “My lady, may I offer a suggestion?” It would have been impossible for them not to hear her now and very rude to ignore her.
Lord Scorn half-turned towards her direction and gave her a pathetic smile but didn’t even meet her eyes to acknowledge her. Anabelle bristled. Her ladyship leaned forward just enough to see Anabelle behind her son.
“Lady Anabelle is it? How delightful to meet again. I must speak with your mother this afternoon. It has been an age.”
“She would love to converse with you at your leisure. I wanted to suggest the cream puffs. They are an exceptional delicacy of her ladyship’s chef.”
“Oh!” Lady Scorn smiled in genuine delight. “Why, thank you. I shall taste one without haste.”
As they conversed, Lord Scorn had politely stepped back from in between them and now stood as silent as a tree. At his mother’s words, he placed two cream puffs on her plate and stepped back again.
Internally, Anabelle was peeved. He behaved as though he were a footman. Outwardly, she kept her serene smile firmly planted on her face. Perhaps if she gave him some attention it would draw him out? “Do you enjoy cream puffs, my lord?”
“My son is not partial to sweets, are you dearest?”
“No, Mother.”
Anabelle wanted to scowl. She tried again. “The strawberries look ripe and delicious.”
“Much too tart for my son, but I happen to adore strawberries.”
As if on cue, Lord Scorn added three plump strawberries to his mother’s plate.
“There is
no delicacy here to match your radiant sweetness, Lady Scorn.”
Anabelle stiffened.
Lady Scorn turned with a gasp of joy as Lord Draven magically appeared behind her. He took her hand and made a grand show of bowing over it.
“You are a scoundrel, Lord Draven.” Lady Scorn gushed as she positively twinkled at his attention.
Anabelle caught herself narrowing her eyes. She shook free of her annoyance and focused on Lord Scorn, who looked on with all the amusement of a lazy hound.
“What sort of delicacies do you enjoy, my lord?”
He looked at her now, his mother’s attention fully on Lord Draven. “I enjoy heartier fare, Lady Anabelle. Smoked venison, for example, is a particular favorite of mine.”
Finally! Anabelle wanted to cheer.
“I enjoy venison as well,” she fibbed. She ate it when she had to, but preferred other game meats. “Do you hunt?”
“Of course!” he said with a tad more enthusiasm and personality.
Anabelle was finally getting somewhere. “I will be sure my father includes you in his next hunting party. Our grounds are teaming with game.”
“I’d be delighted.”
Anabelle thought she saw a gleam of genuine interest in his eyes. She prepared to add a bit of flirtation to her next question.
“Dearest, I must speak with Lady Draven. Put the plate down and Genevieve can fetch me something later.”
“Yes, Mother. Good day, Lady Anabelle.”
And just like that, he was gone. Anabelle stared blankly at his retreating form.
“If I were you, I’d give up now. His mother poses a fierce competition.”
