Ten Things I Love About You

Chapter Sixteen

Uncle,” Sebastian said jovially, since he’d long since learned that was the most effective tone to employ, “how delightful to see you again. Although I must say, everything looks different through only one eye.” He smiled blandly. “Even you.”

Newbury gave him a hard stare, then turned to Annabel. “Miss Winslow.”

“My lord.” She curtsied.

“We shall have the next dance.”

It was an order, not a request. Sebastian stiffened, waiting for Annabel to make a cutting reply, but she just swallowed and nodded. He supposed that was understandable. She had little power against an earl, and Newbury had always been an imposing, imperious presence. She probably had her grandparents to answer to, as well. They were friendly with Newbury; she could not shame them by refusing a mere dance.

“Make sure you return her to my side,” Sebastian said, giving his uncle a completely insincere, close-lipped smile.

Newbury returned the expression with an icy glare, and in that instant Sebastian knew he’d made a terrible mistake. He should never have attempted to restore Annabel’s position. She would have been far better off an outcast. She could have returned to her country life, found herself a squire who spoke as plainly as she did, and lived contentedly ever after.

The irony was almost too much to bear. Everyone assumed that Sebastian had gone after her because his uncle wanted her, but the truth had turned out to be the exact opposite.

Newbury had washed his hands of her. Until he thought that Sebastian might actually be serious. And now he wanted her more than ever.

Sebastian had thought there might be a limit to how much his uncle hated him, but apparently not.

“Miss Winslow and I have an understanding,” Newbury said to him.

“Don’t you think that is for Miss Winslow to decide?” Sebastian said lightly.

His uncle’s eyes flared, and for a moment Sebastian thought he might try to strike him again, but Newbury had not been caught by surprise this time, and he must have had a better hold on his temper because he merely spat, “You are impertinent.”

“I merely attempt to restore her to the bosom of society,” Sebastian said softly. Reproachfully. If indeed Newbury had had an understanding with her, he should never have left her to the wolves.

At that, Newbury’s gaze dropped to Annabel’s bosom.

Sebastian felt sick.

Newbury looked back up, his eyes glowing with what could only have been described as pride of ownership.

“You don’t have to dance with him,” Sebastian said quietly. Hang her grandparents, hang all of society’s expectations. No lady should have to dance with a man who looked at her that way in public.

But Annabel just looked at him with the saddest eyes and said, “I think I do.”

Newbury gave him a triumphant smile, took her by the arm, and led her away.

Sebastian watched, burning inside, hating this feeling, hating that everyone was staring at him, waiting to see what he’d do.

He’d lost. Somehow, he’d lost.

He felt lost, too.

The following afternoon

Visitors. Annabel was plagued by them.

Now that both Lord Newbury and Mr. Grey seemed to be interested in her, all of society felt the need to see her for themselves. It did not seem to matter that those very same people had seen her earlier that week when she was an object of pity.

By early afternoon, Annabel was desperate to escape, so she’d made up some ridiculous story about needing a bonnet the exact color of her new lavender dress, and her grandmother had finally waved her hand and said, “Off with you! I can’t listen to another moment of your nonsense.”

That Annabel had never before shown such ardor for fashion did not seem to concern her. Nor did she notice that for someone who was so obsessed with matching a hue exactly, Annabel did not see the need to actually bring the dress with her to the milliner.

Then again, Lady Vickers was deep into her game of solitaire, and even deeper into her decanter of brandy. Annabel could have likely strapped an Indian headdress to her brow and she’d not have said a word.

Annabel and her maid, Nettie, had set out for Bond Street, taking the less-traveled roads to their destination. Annabel would have stayed on the less-traveled roads altogether if she could have done. But she couldn’t very well return without something new that could be put on her head, so she trudged on, hoping the air might help her clear her thoughts.

It didn’t, of course, and the crowds on Bond Street only made it worse. Everyone seemed to be out that day, and Annabel was bumped and jostled, distracted by the buzz of conversation and the whinnies of horses in the street. It was hot, too, and it felt as if there wasn’t quite enough air to go around.

She was trapped. Lord Newbury had made it clear the night before that he still planned to marry her. It was only a matter of time before he made his intentions official.

She’d been so relieved when it seemed that he’d decided he did not want her. She knew her family needed the money, but if he did not ask for her hand, she would not have to say yes. Or no.

She would not have to commit herself to a man she found repulsive. Or turn him down, and live forever with the guilt of her own selfishness.

To make matters worse, she’d received a letter that morning from her sister. Mary was the next oldest to Annabel, and they had always been close. In fact, if Mary had not taken ill with a lung ailment that spring, she would have come to London as well. “Two for the price of one,” Lady Vickers had said, when she’d originally offered to see to the girls’ debut. “Everything’s cheaper that way.”

Mary’s letter had been cheerful and bright, filled with news of their home, and their village, and the local assembly, and the blackbird that had somehow got trapped in the church, flapping about and eventually perching on the vicar’s head.

It was lovely, and it made Annabel so intensely homesick she could hardly bear it. Except that hadn’t been all that was in Mary’s letter. There were little bits about economizing, and the governess their mother had had to let go, and the embarrassing supper two weeks earlier when the local baronet and his wife had dropped by unannounced, and there was only one type of meat on the table.

Money was running out. Mary hadn’t said it in so many words, but it was right there, clear as day. Annabel let out a deep, sorrowful breath as she thought of her sister. Mary was probably sitting at home, imagining that Annabel was attracting the attention of some dashingly handsome, impossibly wealthy nobleman. She’d bring him home, glowing with happiness, and he’d shower everyone with money until their problems were solved.

Instead, Annabel had an extremely wealthy, impossibly dreadful nobleman, and a probably poor, unbelievably handsome rogue. Who made her feel…

No. She couldn’t think about that. It did not matter what Mr. Grey made her feel, because Mr. Grey did not plan to offer her marriage, and even if he did, he hardly had the means to help her support her family. Annabel did not ordinarily place stock in that sort of gossip, but at least twelve of the eighteen callers she’d endured that morning had seen fit to point out that his was a hand-to-mouth existence. Not to mention the scores who had come by after the altercation at White’s.

Everyone had their own opinion of Mr. Grey, it seemed, but the one thing they all agreed upon was that he was not in possession of great wealth. Or really, any wealth at all.

And anyway, he had not proposed. Nor did he intend to.

With a heavy heart, Annabel turned the corner onto Brook Street, allowing Nettie to chatter on about the extravagantly plumed bonnets they’d seen in a Bond Street window. She was about six houses away from home when she saw a grand carriage approaching from the other direction.

“Wait,” she said, holding her hand out to stop Nettie.

Her maid looked at her in askance, but she stopped. And she quieted.

Annabel watched with dread as Lord Newbury plopped down to the pavement and marched up the steps. There could be no doubt as to why he was there.

“Ow! Miss…”

Annabel turned to Nettie, realizing that she’d been gripping the poor girl’s arm like a vise. “I’m sorry,” she said in a rush, quickly letting her go, “but I can’t go home. Not yet.”

“Do you want a different bonnet?” Nettie looked down at the bundle she was carrying. “There was that one with the grapes, but I think it was too dark.”

“No. I just-I just-I can’t go home. Not yet.” Utterly panic-stricken, Annabel grabbed Nettie’s hand and tugged her back the way they’d come, not even pausing to breathe until they were out of sight of Vickers House.

“What is it?” Nettie asked, out of breath.

“Please,” Annabel pleaded. “Please, don’t ask.” She looked around. She was on a residential street. She could not remain there all afternoon. “Ehrm, we’ll go…” She swallowed. Where could they go? She didn’t want to go back to Bond Street. She’d just left, and surely someone who had seen her would still be there to notice her reappearance. “We’ll get a sweet!” she said, too loudly. “That’s just the thing. Aren’t you hungry? I’m famished. Aren’t you?”

Nettie looked at her as if she’d gone mad. And maybe she had. Annabel knew what she had to do. She’d known it for over a week. But she just didn’t want to do it that afternoon. Was it so much to ask?

“Come,” Annabel said urgently. “There is a sweet shop just over…” Where?

“On Clifford Street?” Nettie suggested.

“Yes! Yes, I think there is.” Annabel hurried forth, barely watching where she was going, trying to hold back the tears that were burning behind her eyes. She had to get hold of herself. She could not enter an establishment, even a humble sweet shop, looking like this. She needed to take a breath, and calm herself down, and-

“Oh, Miss Winslow!”

Annabel froze. Dear God, she did not want to talk to anyone. Please, not now.

“Miss Winslow!”

Annabel took a deep breath and turned. It was Lady Olivia Valentine, smiling at her as she handed something to her own maid and walked forward.

“How lovely to see you,” Olivia said brightly, “I’d heard-Oh, Miss Winslow, whatever can be wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” Annabel lied. “I just-”

“No, it’s clearly something,” Olivia said firmly. “Here, come with me.” She took Annabel’s arm and led her back a few steps. “This is my home,” she informed her. “You may rest here.”

Annabel did not argue, grateful to have somewhere to go, grateful to have someone to tell her what to do.

“You need tea,” Olivia said, settling her into a drawing room. “I need tea just looking at you.” She rang for a maid and ordered a tea ser vice, then sat beside her, taking one of Annabel’s hands between hers. “Annabel,” she said. “May I call you Annabel?”

Annabel nodded.

“Is there something I can help you with?”

Annabel shook her head. “I wish you could.”

Olivia chewed nervously on her lower lip and then asked, her voice careful, “Was it my cousin? Did Sebastian do something?”

“No!” Annabel exclaimed. “No. No. No, please, he has not. He has been everything that is kind and generous. If it weren’t for him…” She shook her head again, but she did it too quickly this time, and it jarred her so much that she had to put a hand on her forehead. “If it weren’t for Mr. Grey,” she said, once she felt settled enough to speak evenly, “I should be an outcast.”

Olivia nodded slowly. “Then I can only assume it is Lord Newbury.”

Annabel gave a tiny nod. She looked down at her lap, at her hands, one still clasped in Olivia’s, the other clenched in a fist. “I’m being very silly, and very selfish.” She took a breath and tried to clear her throat, but it came out as an awful choking sound. The sound one made right before one cried. “I just don’t…want…”

She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t have to. She saw the pity in Olivia’s eyes. “He has asked, then,” Olivia said softly.

“No. Not yet. But he is at my grandparents’ house right now. I saw his carriage. I saw him go in.” She looked up. She didn’t want to think about what Olivia might see in her face, in her eyes, but she knew she could not speak to her lap forever. “I am a coward. I saw him, and I ran. I just thought-if I don’t go home, then he can’t ask me to marry him, and then I can’t say yes.”

“Can’t you say no?”

Annabel shook her head, utterly defeated. “No,” she said, wondering why she sounded so exhausted. “My family…We need…” She swallowed, closing her eyes against the pain of it. “After my father died, it was very difficult, and-”

“It’s all right,” Olivia said, stopping her with a gentle squeeze of her hands. “I understand.”

Annabel smiled through her tears, so grateful for this woman’s kindness, and yet unable to stop thinking that she couldn’t understand. Not Olivia Valentine, with her loving husband and wealthy, titled parents. She could not possibly know the pressure that was bearing down on Annabel’s shoulders, the knowledge that she could save her family, and all she had to do was forsake herself.

Olivia let out a long breath. “Well,” she said efficiently, “we can delay it all by a day, at least. You can remain here for the afternoon. I should like the company.”

“Thank you,” Annabel said.

Olivia patted her hand and then stood. She walked over to the window and looked out.

“You can’t see my grandparents’ house from here,” Annabel said.

Olivia turned, smiling. “I know. I was just thinking. I do some of my best thinking at windows. Perhaps I shall take a walk in an hour or so. To see if the earl’s carriage still sits in front of Vickers House.”

“You shouldn’t,” Annabel said. “Your condition…”

“Does not prevent me from walking,” Olivia finished with a cheeky expression. “In fact, I should enjoy the air. I was miserable for the first three months, and according to my mother, I’ll likely be miserable for the last three, so I had better enjoy this middle time.”

“It’s the best part of a pregnancy,” Annabel confirmed.

Olivia cocked her head to the side, giving Annabel a quizzical look.

“I am the oldest of eight. My mother was with child almost the whole of my youth.”

“Eight? My heavens. I am one of but three myself.”

“It is why Lord Newbury wishes to marry me,” Annabel said flatly. “My mother was one of seven. My father, one of ten. Not to mention that according to gossip, I am so fertile that birds sing when I draw near.”

Olivia winced. “You heard that.”

Annabel rolled her eyes. “Even I thought it was funny.”

“It’s good you can have a sense of humor about it.”

“One has to,” Annabel said with a fatalistic shrug. “If one doesn’t, then…” She sighed, unable to finish the statement. It was too depressing.

She slumped, letting her gaze settle on the ornate curve of the foot of a nearby end table. She stared at it until it grew fuzzy, then split into two. Her eyes must be crossing. Or she could be going blind. Maybe if she went blind then Lord Newbury wouldn’t want her anymore. Could one go blind by keeping one’s eyes crossed for days?

Maybe. It might be worth trying.

She tilted her head to the side.

“Annabel? Miss Winslow? Are you all right?”

“Fine,” Annabel said automatically, still staring at the table.

“Oh, the tea is here!” Olivia exclaimed, clearly relieved to break the awkward silence. “Here we are.” She sat down and placed a cup in a saucer. “How do you take yours?”

Annabel reluctantly pulled her gaze from the table and blinked, allowing her eyes to uncross. “Milk please. No sugar.”

Olivia waited for the tea to finish steeping, chattering away about this and that and nothing in particular. Annabel was happy-no, grateful-to just sit and listen. She learned about Olivia’s sister-in-law, who didn’t much enjoy coming to town, and her twin brother, who was (on odd days) the spawn of the devil. On even days, Olivia had said, her eyes flicking heavenward, “I suppose I love him.”

As Annabel sipped the hot liquid, Olivia told her about her husband’s work. “He used to translate awful documents. Just dreadfully boring. One would think that papers for the War Office would be filled with intrigue, but trust me, that is not the case.”

Annabel sipped and nodded, sipped and nodded.

“He complains about the Gorely books all the time,” Olivia continued. “The writing really is dreadful. But I think he secretly loves translating them.” She looked up, as if she’d just thought of something. “Actually, he has Sebastian to thank for the job.”

“Really? How is that?”

Olivia’s mouth opened, but it was several moments before she actually said, “Honestly, I don’t quite know how to describe it. But Sebastian gave a reading for Prince Alexei. Who I believe you met last night.”

Annabel nodded. Then frowned. “He gave a reading?”

Olivia looked as if she still couldn’t quite believe it. “It was remarkable.” She shook her head. “I still can’t quite believe it. He had the housemaids in tears.”

“Oh my.” She really did need to read one of these Gorely books.

“At any rate, Prince Alexei fell in love with the story. Miss Butterworth and the Mad Baron. He asked Harry to translate it so that his countrymen can read it, too.”

“It must be quite a story.”

“Oh, it is. Death by pigeons.”

Annabel choked on her tea. “You’re joking.”

“No. I swear to you, Miss Butterworth’s mother is pecked to death by pigeons. And this, the poor woman, after being the only member of her family-except for Miss Butterworth, of course-to survive the plague.”

“Bubonic?” Annabel asked, wide-eyed.

“Oh, no, sorry, it was pox. I wish it had been bubonic.”

“I need to read one of those books,” Annabel said.

“I can give you one.” Olivia set her tea down and stood, walking across the room. “We have many copies here. Harry sometimes marks the pages, so we’ve had to buy multiples.” She opened up a small cabinet and bent down to look inside. “Oh, dear, I forgot I’m getting a bit unwieldy.”

Annabel started to rise to her feet. “Do you need help?”

“No, no.” Olivia let out a little groan as she straightened. “Here we are. Miss Sainsbury and the Mysterious Colonel. I believe it is Mrs. Gorely’s debut effort.”

“Thank you.” Annabel took the book and looked down at it, running her fingers over gilt letters on the front. She opened to the first page and read the opening.

The slanted light of dawn was rippling through the windowpane, and Miss Anne Sainsbury huddled beneath her threadbare blanket, wondering as she often did, how she would find money for her next meal. She looked down at her faithful collie, lying quietly on the rug by her bed, and she knew that the time had come for her to make a momentous decision. The lives of her brothers and sisters depended upon it.

She slammed it shut.

“Is something wrong?” Olivia asked.

“No, just…nothing.” Annabel drank more tea. She wasn’t sure she wanted to read about a girl making momentous decisions just then. Especially not one who had brothers and sisters depending on her. “I think I will read it later,” she said.

“If you want to read now I’m more than happy to leave you to your peace,” Olivia said. “Or I could join you. I’m still only halfway through today’s newspaper.”

“No, no. I’ll start it tonight.” She smiled ruefully. “It will be a welcome distraction.”

Olivia started to say something, but just then they heard someone entering the front door.

“Harry?” Olivia called out.

“Only me, I’m afraid.”

Annabel froze. It was Mr. Grey.

“Sebastian!” Olivia called out, shooting a nervous glance at Annabel. Annabel shook her head frantically. She didn’t want to see him. Not now, when she was feeling so fragile.

“Sebastian, I wasn’t expecting you,” Olivia said, hurrying toward the drawing-room door.

He stepped in, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “Since when do you expect me or not expect me?”

Annabel slouched down in her seat. Maybe he wouldn’t see her. Her dress was almost the same blue as the sofa. Perhaps she’d blend in. Perhaps he’d gone blind from having crossed his eyes for days. Perhaps-

“Annabel? Miss Winslow?”

She smiled weakly.

“What are you doing here?” He walked swiftly across the room, his brow knitted with concern. “Is something wrong?”

Annabel shook her head, unable to speak. She’d thought she had herself under control. She’d been laughing with Olivia, for heaven’s sake. But one look at Mr. Grey and everything she’d been trying so hard to keep down rose right back up, pressing behind her eyes, clenching at her throat.

“Annabel?” he asked, kneeling down in front of her.

She burst into tears.