She was thoroughly, irrevocably, unequivocally in love with Wesley Grant. Sensible Anabel Snelling had fallen in love with an actor of all people. And an American at that. He couldn’t be more wrong for her. Regardless, he was completely, totally, without question right.
But did he feel the same, or was he still playing the role he’d been hired to play? If so, he was playing it awfully well. Indeed, she couldn’t have imagined a more perfect suitor. If one didn’t know better, one would think he was actually trying to win her heart. And for good or ill, he had.
He sent gifts nearly every day, accompanied her—and usually one of the elderly trio who had known Reginald Everheart—to every social outing that happened along. He was charming and kind to her sisters and really most amusing. Wesley had a sharp, clever wit and she wasn’t sure Father had laughed quite so much in years. Nor had Anabel really. Wesley’s own family was obviously important to him, as well. Why hadn’t he brought the chronometer developed by his family’s company to England in hopes of receiving an endorsement for it from the Explorers Club? Admittedly, he was vague about his connection to the Grant Watch and Clock Company, but then he was supposed to be Wesley Everheart and not Wesley Grant, so a certain lack of candor was to be expected.
She’d made every attempt not to be alone with him, which seemed a good idea at first. Unfortunately, it meant that she spent all of her time pretending to be in love in front of other people. In spite of her best efforts, she was no longer pretending.
With every minute in his presence, it was more and more difficult to remember this was all an act. It was past time to admit—at least to herself—that she didn’t want it to be. Anabel wanted it to be real. God help her, it was real for her. Had he noticed? Did he feel the same?
Anabel had never thought of herself as cowardly and she’d certainly always charged rather fearlessly ahead, but now she was, well, afraid to confront him. To find out if he shared her feelings. She’d never been in love before. Apparently it made even the most confident woman a quivering mass of indecision. No matter the consequences, it was time to muster her courage and bravely forge ahead.
“Don’t you agree, Anabel?” Lady Henley asked.
“Without question.” Anabel nodded, as the right response to “don’t you agree” was always in the affirmative.
“Beatrix Henley!” A beaming matronly woman descended on Lady Henley, dragging an obviously long-suffering husband behind her. “I didn’t know you would be here. I simply must tell you...”
Anabel seized the opportunity to discretely slip away. She scanned the ballroom for Wesley. She could have sworn he was directly across the room, but she’d been dancing at the time, so she certainly could have been mistaken. He’d been talking with Douglas and she was naturally curious about what was said. Besides, asking about his talk with Douglas would allow her to casually ease into what she really wanted to discuss. Stupid idea of course. There was no possible way declaring her feelings was going to be easy when she had no idea how he felt.
Her gaze caught on an impressively handsome gentleman standing near the entry. He studied a card, glanced around the ballroom and then slipped the card into his waistcoat pocket. He stopped a passing waiter, who nodded in her direction, and the gentleman started toward her. How very forward of him. A few weeks ago she might have thought his attention intriguing. Now it was simply odd.
“Miss Snelling?” he asked politely, his accent distinctly American, although strangely more precise than Wes’s.
“Yes?”
“Excellent.” He smiled and she could have sworn his teeth flashed in the gaslight. He really was exceptionally dashing. “I was hoping it was you. I had a description, of course, but so much of this has gone awry.”
“I beg your pardon.” Wesley cut in. “But I need to steal my fiancée for a moment.”
“Your fiancée?” The gentleman’s eyes widened. “Then apparently my services are no longer needed.” His gaze skimmed over her. “Rather a pity really.” A wicked gleam flashed in his eyes and he grinned. “I’ll leave you to it then. Good evening.” He nodded.
Anabel stared after him. “Who on earth was that?”
“I have no idea, but he did seem a bit confused.” Wesley took her hand. “We need to talk.”
She wasn’t sure if that was good or very bad. Still, regardless of how her heart thudded in her chest and her stomach twisted, it was best to get on with it. “I was thinking the same thing.” She paused. “Did you wish to talk here? With the nearly everyone in the room watching us?”
“Perhaps not.” He smiled. “We could dance.”
“I don’t really seem to have all my senses about me when we dance.”
His expression brightened. “You don’t?”
He really hadn’t noticed. Good Lord, the man was as obtuse as he was endearing.
“The refreshment table then. From there we can slip into the display gallery.” She took his arm and steered him toward the far wall.
“It sounds like you’ve done this before.”
“Come now, Wesley. Everyone I know knows where the best places are for a private moment at any given social event. In a residence it might be a library or a gentlemen’s study or a billiards room—never a lady’s parlor, for some reason. There’s the terrace and the gardens in warm weather. At the Explorers Club it’s always the library. Here it’s the display gallery.”
They reached the refreshment table and Wesley filled a cup with punch for each of them. They sipped the overly sweet drink and then casually slipped into a nearby alcove and through the servants’ door that blended into the paneling. Two quick turns down a service corridor and through another door, and they were in the display gallery.
“That was certainly interesting,” Wesley said after they had made certain they were alone amid the glass cases filled with ancient Egyptian artifacts.
“This is a back entry. The main door of the gallery is usually locked at night. Now—” she drew a calming breath that did no good whatsoever and clasped her hands in front of her “—what did you wish to talk about?”
“Well, I—”
“Perhaps I should go first?”
He nodded with apparent relief. “All right.”
She thought for a moment. She really had no idea how to begin. “You should know, I’ve never been especially interested in the theater.”
“Yes, I did realize that.”
“And theater people, well—” she winced “—I’m a bit of a snob, I suppose.”
He smiled. “I noticed that, as well.”
“And then you’re American.”
“I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do about that.”
“Nor should you. But it appears I’ve changed my mind about Americans.”
His brow rose. “Why?”
“Because you’re not at all what I expected.”
“You said that the first night we met.”
“It bears repeating.” She drew a steadying breath.
“Have you changed your mind about actors?”
“Only about one actor.” She straightened her shoulders and met his gaze directly. “I have also discovered I am not a very good actor.”
“You’re not?” he said slowly.
“No.” She shook her head. “Aside from the very beginning, I haven’t been acting at all. I believe I have fall—”
Before she could say another word, he pulled her into his arms and pressed his lips to hers. For a moment she was too stunned to do anything, but then all the pent-up desire she’d tried to ignore rushed over her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and returned his kiss with a passion she’d never suspected she had.
His lips plundered hers, claimed hers. Anabel lost herself in the feel of his mouth on hers, the taste of him, the scent of him. He pulled her closer against him and the feel of his body next to hers took h
er breath away. Her blood pounded in her ears and she wanted nothing more than to stay in his arms forever.
Wesley finally raised his head and she was grateful for his embrace. She wasn’t entirely sure her knees could still support her.
“I’m not a very good actor either.” He grinned. “I love you, Miss Anabel Snelling.”
“And you’re really not acting?” Her gaze searched his.
“I have never spoken truer words.”
It was best to just get the rest of this over with. There was more he needed to know. While most men of her acquaintance would be thrilled by this sort of thing, who knew what an American might think? “In spite of the deception we’re engaged in, you should know I do believe in honesty, for the most part.”
“As do I,” he said cautiously, “for the most part.”
“You should know, I don’t think I would take well to not having money.”
He chuckled. “Imagine my surprise.”
“This is not amusing. I am being quite serious. And practical.” It was truly difficult to keep her thoughts straight with his arms wrapped around her. “From what I’ve heard, unless they are enormously successful, the income of actors tends to be minimal.”
“You’ve heard that, have you?”
“Yes, I have but you needn’t worry about finances.” She searched for the right words. Better to just be blunt. “I have money. Or I will soon. A great deal of it actually.”
“Do you?”
She nodded. “An inheritance. When I am twenty-one.”
“That is nice to know.” He smiled into her eyes. “But I don’t care if you have money or not.”
“And as much as I never thought I’d feel this way, it doesn’t matter to me that you’re a penniless actor.”
“Not entirely penniless,” he said under his breath.
“Furthermore, I don’t know anything about life in America or in the theater, but I am willing to go wherever you go.”
He grinned. “That sounds suspiciously like a proposal to me.”
“As we are speaking of proposals...” Anabel gathered her courage. “You do realize you have already asked me to marry you?”
“Well, yes but—”
“My answer is yes. Yes, I will marry you, my dear darling Wesley. And I would do so even if we didn’t have a penny between us,” she added quickly and smiled up at him.
He had the most absurd, stunned look on his face, as if he’d just been hit by something completely unexpected. Then he smiled and the look in his eyes melted her heart. He kissed her again. And she tingled.
Oh, it was going to be a lovely Christmas.
* * *
“SO WE DO need to do something as soon as possible,” Effie said in her best no-nonsense voice. She would have preferred to have spoken with Gwen and Poppy last night, but neither had attended the gala, so the best she could manage was to send them notes first thing this morning, requesting their presence. They had arrived promptly a quarter of an hour ago and were now gathered in her parlor.
“I thought we were doing something,” Poppy said.
“Well, we’re going to far more gatherings than any of us prefer.” Gwen paused. “Although admittedly it is rather nice to be busy at Christmas when Charles is away.”
It was to their respective husbands’ credit that they did try to be home for Christmas, even if they rarely seemed to manage it. Of course, until William had left the army, he’d had no choice. The ladies had discussed in the past whether their husbands’ quests for adventure were more important to them than the women they purported to love, although none of them truly wanted to know the answer to that question. Still, they did agree they had the best of it when compared to their friends. They had loving husbands who were so rarely home, they had far more independence than most women of their acquaintance. It would indeed be hard to give up any of their unconventional freedom when the gentlemen decided it was time to remain home for good. Effie often wondered if William would expect that of her.
“And Effie is doing even more,” Gwen added.
Effie had of course told them about Archie’s favor. How to use it to her best advantage was still in question.
“Last night, Wesley finally revealed his true feelings to Anabel. Fortunately she shares them. They were really quite sweet in the carriage on the way home.”
Poppy heaved an appreciative sigh. “There is nothing like newfound love.”
“Unfortunately—” Effie rolled her gaze toward the ceiling “—after we saw Anabel home, Wesley confided that while he had told her of his feelings, he had failed to reveal the truth about who he really is.”
Gwen grimaced. “Good Lord, what was the boy thinking?”
Effie scoffed. “He said he didn’t want to spoil the moment.”
“The moment and everything else is going to be more than spoiled as soon as she learns he’s been lying to her.” Poppy shuddered.
“Sir Archibald is not going to be especially pleased either,” Gwen added. “The truth will come out one way or another. It usually does.”
“I have a vague sort of plan. We do need to discuss it.” Effie’s gaze shifted from one friend to the next. “I’m going to call on Archie tomorrow.”
“And?” Curiosity shone in Gwen’s eyes.
“And it’s time for Wesley Everheart to join his father,” Effie said firmly.
Poppy gasped. “We’re not going to kill him too, are we? But he looks so much like his dear father.”
Gwen and Effie traded glances.
“No, Poppy,” Gwen said firmly. “I’m sure that’s not what Effie has in mind.”
“Of course not. But it seems to me,” Effie said slowly, “if Wesley can’t bring himself to reveal the truth, someone else has to.”
CHAPTER NINE
EFFIE SETTLED ON the sofa and accepted a glass of whiskey from Archie. “I have some interesting news for you.”
“It’s about bloody time.” Archie plopped down in his usual chair.
Her brow arched upward. “I beg your pardon? Just who was asked to do a favor for whom? And an exceptionally difficult favor at that.”
“Sorry,” he muttered. “Forgive my impatience. The blasted man has worked his way into the heart of my family. The girls like him, Anabel adores him and I’m hard-pressed not to think of him as the son I’ve never had.”
“Well, my information is something of a mix of good and bad.” She thought for a moment. “More good than bad really, when you take into account all the particular details.”
“You’re driving me mad, Effie,” he snapped. “Out with it.”
“Your tone leaves something to be desired.” She sipped her whiskey.
“Again, my apologies.” He forced a tight-lipped smile. Surely Archie should know by now how much she enjoyed driving him mad.
“Very well.” She paused for dramatic effect. She too could act when the need arose. “He’s not the son of Reginald Everheart.”
“Bloody hell.” He stared. “He’s not?”
She shook her head. “I’m afraid not.”
“Are you sure?”
“Quite sure.”
Archie’s brow furrowed. “Then who is he?”
“His name is actually Wesley Grant. He’s a rather wealthy American, president of a clock company as I understand it.” She paused. “He’s also the nephew of Lord Maywood. His mother’s brother, I believe.”
“Why would he pretend to be someone he isn’t?”
“You know about his chronometer?”
Archie nodded. “Fine instrument. The trouble with most chronometers is that they are too delicate for anything of a rugged nature. But his has a unique casing and a system of springs and cushions that really is quite remarkable. And it’s compact enough to be practical.”
“William has often said
what is really needed on expeditions of exploration is an accurate timepiece.” Good Lord, Archie was easily distracted. Still, it didn’t hurt to emphasize Wesley’s accomplishments. “Did you know Mr. Grant developed it himself?”
“No, I didn’t.” He nodded slowly. “That’s most impressive. The man has a fine mind but it still doesn’t explain why he felt it necessary to hide his true identity.”
“It’s obvious, Archie. If you had just fallen head over heels for a beautiful woman, would you want the first thing she knew about you to be the fact that you had come to England to curry favor with her father?” She shook her head. “She’d never believe you weren’t simply using her for her connections. That does not sound like an auspicious beginning to me.”
“That makes a certain amount of sense, I suppose.” He thought for a moment. “Why Everheart?”
Effie had given this a great deal of consideration. There was really no need to reveal Anabel’s plot to avoid marriage to Douglas. “I imagine it was the first name that came to mind when he met Anabel. I believe they met in front of the memorial wall at the Explorers Club”
“You’re wrong there, Effie.” He snorted. “Anabel had mentioned him days before the ball. She thinks I pay no attention to anything she says, but I do.”
“Nonetheless, you’re mistaken. It happens to the best of us when we get older. They do say memory is the first thing to go.” She sipped her whiskey. “According to my information, the man didn’t even arrive in London until two days before the club ball.”
“It’s possible, I suppose.” He took a long swallow of his drink, obviously considering the situation. “I shall have to confront him of course.”
“Why?”
Archie stared. “Because he’s been pretending to be someone he isn’t. He lied to me, my family and to Anabel. He deserves to be exposed for the imposter he is.”
“You could certainly do that.” She swirled the spirits in her glass thoughtfully. “Although it does seem to me Mr. Grant is something of a Christmas miracle. I’d say he’s the answer to your prayers.”
The Dance Before Christmas Page 8
