by Cheryl Bolen
"I did not. He was older than your father, was he not?"
"Slightly."
"Much too old for you to marry. I remember when your father took that silly notion into his head that you and Mr. Marsden would suit."
Annabelle shook her head sadly. "Papa only favored him because of his immense fortune."
Emma nodded. "You must own, being mistress of Fleur House would have been lovely--if you didn't have to wed its owner!" She turned to her husband. "There's a great deal of money to be made in brewing."
Adam's brows raised. "That Mr. Marsden? He is, er, was the wealthiest brewer in England."
As they drove up the long drive to Camden Hall, the last vestiges of daylight illuminated the sprawling Palladian mansion. Its Portland stone looked almost golden in the waning sun. Much larger than the home she'd grown up in, Camden was one of the largest homes in the shire. Annabelle counted thirteen chimneys. "What a lovely house!"
"I wish I could say it's been in our family for generations like your home, Miss Lippincott, or Lady Sophia's," Adam said, "but my brother bought the house from Lord Hartley several years ago. So any praise belongs to the marquess who oversaw the construction. Lord Hartley employed Robert Adam and Capability Brown, so it is rather an impressive place."
"I love the symmetry of Palladian buildings," Annabelle said.Adam nodded. "Nick likes everything orderly."
Lady Sophia laughed. "Not my William."
"They are vastly different--not just in appearance," Adam said.When the coach came to stop in front of the portico, Adam turned to his wife. "I forgot to tell you Woodruff should be here by dinnertime. I didn't like to think of him being alone in London for Christmas."
Just hearing the name Woodruff sent Annabelle's heartbeat skittering. Of course, this gentleman couldn't be her Mr. Woodruff.
Emma eyed Annabelle. "Mr. Woodruff is Adam's most dependable employee. They've known each other since they were at university together. He's now the vice president of the bank."
Adam Birmingham would be about the same age as Spencer Woodruff. Annabelle's heartbeat roared. She began to tremble. Her voice was thin when she asked, "Wh-a-a-at university w-w-would that be?" Goodness! What had come over her? She'd never stuttered in her life.
"Cambridge."
The same university Spencer Woodruff had attended.
* * *
Annabelle was astonished when she met Nicholas Birmingham who, along with his delicately fair wife, cordially greeted them. He could be Adam's twin. Both men were taller than average and possessed of very dark hair and eyes. And both were strikingly handsome.As friendly as Nicholas and his wife were, Annabelle was stupefied by the speculation that Spencer Woodruff might be here. Try as she did to direct her attention upon her hosts, her traitorous gaze kept leaping about the chamber, searching for a glimpse of the man she had once loved. She had to remove herself from prying eyes that were sure to detect her trembling.
Her wish was soon granted when she was permitted to follow the housekeeper to her bedchamber on the second floor. Were she not in such turmoil, she would have exclaimed over the room's loveliness. The walls were covered with Damask that was more green than blue but a combination of the two hues, a colour she'd never before seen. It paired brilliantly with the stark white woodwork and touches of gilt. The tester bed was covered in the same colour, in silk.Her French maid, who'd come ahead in the servants' coach, had already unpacked her valise and was there to help her mistress dress for dinner. Tears squirting from her eyes, Annabelle collapsed into her chair in front of the dressing table. "I charge you, Marie, with an impossible task. I wish you to make me look half as pleasing as I looked the night of my come-out."
"Then you must wear the blue to show your eyes. Your eyes, they are excrement."
"I do hope you mean exquisite."
"Oui!"
As she often did, Annabelle shook her head. Dear Marie was kind enough, first, not to suggest maidenly white. Annabelle was too long in the tooth for debutante white. And, secondly, her maid had kindly meant to comment on Annabelle's eyes, which had always been her best feature. "The blue, I think, an excellent choice."
"It's been a long time, no, since mademoiselle has cared to have her hair styled? I have seen pictures in the newspapers of the Duchess of Wiggins and have been desirous of fashioning that style for you."
Annabelle pictured the beautiful duchess. "How I wish I could look as lovely as she. Her hair is vastly admired. I should adore such a becoming style."
Fortunately, Marie was a talented hairdresser.
As Annabelle sat morosely staring into her looking glass, she contemplated Adam Birmingham's employee. There was no doubt that Adam Birmingham's Mr. Woodruff was her Mr. Woodruff. No matter how shabbily he had treated her, she wanted him to still find her attractive.She was nearly overcome at the prospect of seeing him again. Her heartbeat raced, her breathing was erratic. She cautioned herself not to get too excited because he was still unwed. Whatever had prevented him from asking her father for her hand was more than likely still an impediment.Her insides sank. He might also be repulsed over the changes in her appearance. She was, most regrettably, plump. Fortunately, the high waistlines that were in fashion helped conceal her spreading girth. Unfortunately, the low necklines that were fashionable revealed her enlarged bosom spilling from her bodice.
When Marie finished styling her hair, Annabelle was extraordinarily pleased. Her mousy brown hair, which tended to be too curly, had been swept back with diamond pins and shaped into ringlets. She had not looked so handsome in years.As she descended the stairs, every particle of her body trembled. Even her hand gliding along the banister shook so much her ring clattered against the brass rail. When she reached the drawing room, her trembling subsided--once she assured herself Mr. Woodruff had not arrived. The three Birmingham brothers were present: Nick and Lady Fiona, Adam and Emma, and Lady Sophia with her husband William, who looked nothing like the other two Birmingham brothers. He was much shorter, much more muscular, and much more fair with hair of dark blond. After Lady Sophia presented her husband to Annabelle, Lady Fiona, her delicate hand on a young man's sleeve, came up to Annabelle. "Stephen," she said to the fellow, "I should like to present Miss Annabelle Lippincott to you. She is Emma's cousin."
Nearly a decade Annabelle's junior, the young man was all that was courteous in his greetings to her. He bowed. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Lippincott."
"Stephen's my youngest brother," Lady Fiona added.Though Lady Fiona was delicately built, Annabelle could see a resemblance. Lord Stephen was neither as fair as Fiona, nor as slightly built, but his eyes were the exact same blue as his sister's, and his hair several shades darker than hers but still blond. Though he wasn't as tall as Nick--few men were--he was several inches taller than Annabelle, who was of average height.
The group moved to the dinner room and were seated according to precedence, which ranked Annabelle, the daughter of a baronet, just under Lady Sophia and their hostess, Lady Fiona. They all took their seats, and Annabelle found herself seated at one side of their host. That was when she noticed the empty place setting beside her. Spencer Woodruff's.Had he heard that she was to be here and decided not to come? What had she ever done to destroy his affections?The wine was poured, and Nick offered a toast. "May this be the happiest Christmas ever."Then the door creaked open, and the butler announced, "Mr. Spencer Woodruff."
All eyes--including hers--turned to the newcomer. Her heartbeat thundered. He was just as handsome as he'd been a decade earlier. Perhaps even more handsome. The tall youthful frame from which his clothing had once hung had now filled out most admirably. He still dressed in simple good taste, but it wouldn't have mattered what he wore. Such a manly physique! Such a flawless face! She was powerless to remove her gaze from him. His close-cropped ginger hair framed a square, masculine face. She recalled that when he smiled, dimples pierced those angular cheeks. She could swoon.Then his eyes met hers. He froze.Adam stood. "You know al
l the ladies here except my wife's cousin. Permit me to introduce you to Miss Lippincott."
Spencer raised a brow and started to say something, then clamped shut his mouth.Annabelle had not risen. She felt as if she should curtsy, but one could hardly do so from a seated position, and it was not a lady's duty to rise when a man entered the chamber. So she sat there, wondering if she should say, "We've already met."Her former suitor took the decision away from her. He bowed. "It's lovely to meet you, Miss Lippincott."
For a moment, she cringed with the most sickening feeling that he had forgotten her. Then she remembered how he'd frozen when he saw her. He does remember me.Pretending they had never met, she realized, was easier. No explanations needed. She could be spared the humiliation of everyone knowing about his rejection of her.
Her trembles returned. She was afraid to respond to him for fear her voice would give her away. She attempted to regard him with a steely expression, nodding. "Mr. Woodruff." Those were as many words as she could produce.Then her wine glass slipped from her shaky hands.
Fearing her dress would be soiled, she leapt from her chair as a footman rushed to blot the spreading liquid. Fortunately, her dress was spared, but not her pride. She had never in her life been so clumsy. She had wanted to make a good impression. Now she'd merely made an impression. Everyone at the table--and most especially Spencer--was bound to think her a bungling oaf.
Once her mess was cleaned and order restored, she took her seat. "I do apologize for my massive clumsiness. I cannot think how that happened."
Emma sighed. "I can. I do the same thing with great frequency. I don't know how Adam puts up with me."
Adam smiled across the table at his wife. "Ah, because you're so loveable, my sweet."
Spencer addressed their host. "I, too, must apologize. I beg that you forgive me for my tardiness."
"Nothing to forgive," Nick said. "We've only just entered the chamber. Do have a seat." He indicated the chair next to Annabelle.
* * *
For the last eleven years he'd wondered how he would address the woman who had destroyed his happiness, and when it came down to it, he couldn't even acknowledge her. That is not to say he was unaffected by her. Quite the contrary. All these years he had told himself that he despised her. Yet when he saw her sitting there, it was rather like a wallop to his chest.Most shocking of all, she still bore her maiden name.Though she looked much older, he found her more desirable than she'd been as a debutante. There was a womanly curvature about her he found most alluring. Her hair was the same shade of rich brown, but it seemed more radiant than ever. And it wasn’t just because there were diamonds in it. Her complexion was as milky as he remembered, and the pink in her cheeks made her looks angelic.
A pity she was not.She was in want of a heart. Miss Annabelle Lippincott had promised to wed him, but when he met with her father to ask for her hand, he'd been informed she'd had decided to marry another. She hadn't even bothered to tell him face to face.
Her eyes, still such a brilliant blue, had regarded him icily. That one glare told him all he needed to know. There had been times in the past decade when he had made excuses for her abrupt betrayal, but any flickering hopes he’d ever had of winning back her affections were instantly snuffed tonight.
As soon as he'd sat beside her, he'd drawn in her sweet lavender scent and was swamped with the powerful memories it evoked. With a hitch to his breath, he recalled the first time her fragrant lavender had destroyed his reserve. It was when they waltzed at the Richardsons' ball and he knew when his hand rested at her waist that he wanted to spend his life with the sweet-smelling girl.
More somberly, he recalled the last time he’d been aware of her scent that night at Vauxhall, the night she told him she loved him and wanted to marry him. The lying she-devil.She passed him the French sauce, and their hands briefly touched. He should have recoiled, but he was too affected by her to do so. Instead his gaze met hers. Those blasted eyes of hers had always sent his pulses thumping.The pity of it was, in all these years nothing had changed. Year after year he had loathed her, and after one moment in her presence he felt like a wet youth just down from Cambridge.
But he wasn’t a wet youth. He was a man of two-and-thirty years. He had learned the painful lesson that women were not to be trusted. And he wasn’t about to fall back under this woman’s spell.Even if she wanted him. Which she most certainly did not. She didn’t eleven years ago, and she didn’t now. In fact, she had disliked him so much she would rather be a spinster than plight her life to his. He was madder than ever. More hurt than ever.
He needed to get his mind off the woman who sat beside him. He helped himself to turbot, silently passed the plate to her, then looked around the table. "I thought Lady Agar was coming for Christmas."
"Verity will be here," Nick said. There was something in his voice that lacked his usual confidence.
His wife's brows lowered. "I thought they were supposed to have come a week or two ago."
Nick nodded. "They were. I suspect the snow may have delayed them."
Lady Fiona sighed. "I hated to mention it when we briefly saw her during the electioneering, but I did not think she looked robust. I do hope her lying-in did not diminish her good health."
"I, too, thought she looked poorly," Adam said, "but I didn't want to alarm anyone."
"If she were doing poorly," Lady Fiona said, "my brother would not have allowed her to travel to meet us. You know how totally devoted he is to her."
"I hope you're right." Nick's voice was again uncharacteristically weak.
Spencer felt a change of conversation was needed. He eyed Lady Fiona. “Is little Emmie looking forward to Christmas?”
She smiled. “She is indeed. We’re busy putting together baskets to give to the cottagers. She loves to help me deliver them and see the children’s happy faces.”
“Christmas is a somber affair without children,” he said. “I shall enjoy being here with all of you, and being with Emmie will help make up for not seeing my niece and nephew at Christmas.”
A querying look crossed Emma's face. “Does your sister not live in London?”Spencer nodded. “But they are spending Christmas in Shropshire with her in-laws.”
“Well, we are very happy to have you,” Emma Birmingham said. Then she eyed Annabelle. “And you too, my dear cousin. I hope you never go back to Lower Barrington.”Annabelle shrugged. “It’s the only place I’ve ever lived. Do you not miss Upper Barrington?”
Adam’s wife shook her head firmly. “I was never happy there.” She looked across the table at her husband. “And I am blissfully happy now.”
A crooked grin on his face, Adam winked at his wife.
Seeing all these besotted couples made Spencer more aware than ever of what was missing in his life. He’d been deprived of a loving spouse because of this woman seated beside him. It was bad enough that she had lied to him and shredded his heart, but because of her, he could never love another.It wasn’t just that he could never again trust a woman. More than anything, he couldn’t love again because no other woman possessed those indefinable qualities Annabelle Lippincott possessed; no other woman could ever measure up to her. Even after all these years, he was drawn to her like an opium eater craves his opium.
After dinner and after the gentlemen enjoyed their port, they rejoined the women for games of whist. “Mr. Woodruff, you must be partners with Miss Lippincott,” Lady Fiona said.
Chapter 3
"You're very fortunate, Mr. Woodruff, to have my cousin for a partner," Emma said. "Annabelle's most skillful at whist."
"Pray, do not boast on me. Mr. Woodruff is sure to be disappointed if I prove a poor player." All that kept Annabelle from completely falling apart was the comfort of having her cousin and Adam seated on either side. It was difficult enough to pretend she didn't know Spencer. How doubly awkward conversation would have been with a pair she'd only met that day.Spencer eyed her. "I am sure you could never be incompetent, Miss Lippincott."
/>
The intensity of his gaze unruffled her. Her lashes lowered. Before she had peered into his mossy eyes, she had gathered enough composure to plan to say, "Thank you for your confidence, Mr. Woodruff." But as soon as she was drawn into the simmering heat of him, she once again became mute.
She knew that her silence made her appear rude. She knew Emma would be disappointed in her. Adam, too. But she felt as if any word issuing from her mouth would sound like quivering, garbled rubbish, and that would draw even more consternation. So she said not a word.
It cut her like a rapier to see the embarrassed look on Spencer's face when she failed to reply.They all took their places at the table. She was happy theirs was placed near the fire, for the drawing room, with its cold stone floors and soaring ceiling, made her shiver. She suspected there was a blue tinge to her exposed shoulders.Why, oh why, did I ever come? Her home in Lower Barrington may have been a lonely, quiet place, but it did offer a comforting familiarity. Nothing here at Camden Hall was familiar, and seeing Spencer after all these years was like reopening a gaping, painful wound.
Why have I done this to myself? She was so ashamed. She could tell by the stiffness in Adam Birmingham's countenance that he was displeased with her. Now she knew what it felt like to bite the hand that fed one.Dear Emma attempted to smooth over an awkward situation. "Well now, shall we see if I am right about my cousin? I'll deal."
Spencer was bound to think her hopelessly inept at whist. She could only barely concentrate upon her pasteboards. Would she ever again be able to speak to this man she had thought herself in love with for so very long? Would an easy peace between them ever develop? How was she going to manage being so close to him for the next three days?I must concentrate on the pasteboards. Not on Spencer."How lovely that blue dress is on you," Emma said to her. "It enhances your extraordinary eyes."
Annabelle giggled."What is so funny?" Emma asked.
"Just today Marie was attempting call my eyes exquisite, but the word she mistook for exquisite I am not permitted to repeat in front of gentlemen. I can only assure you it was most comical."
