Jasper glanced at the woman he loved like a sister. She didn’t know everything about his life, and she didn’t need to. If she wanted to think he was besotted with Annabel Pearce, so be it. It would make things easier.
“Tell me everything she said.”
Chapter Five
“No.” Elizabeth spun from the mirror for Ruth, the maid, to unlace yet another gown. “I need something that will catch the marquess’s attention, since I was shunted to the garden this morning.”
Annabel took the moment to survey her own reflection, frowning at the gray dinner dress. She’d chosen a fabric with a shadowy pattern to make it seem less institutional and governess-like, but everything seemed drab after spending the morning on horseback in her riding habit—racing, no less.
She’d won that race and Fiona Allen’s friendship—and the attention of the man every woman wanted. Annabel could still feel his arm around her waist and see his wild smile as they’d raced side by side.
She paid for her fun all afternoon, whispered about by the young ladies and ostracized by their chaperones. Even the guests who hadn’t been there were punishing her, especially Elizabeth. No amount of praise for her painting, and it had been sincere, had stirred her from her sulk.
“You should have known there would be a picnic.” Elizabeth twisted one of her curls into place, sparking Annabel’s memories of when her hair had been in something other than braids and pins that scraped her scalp.
“As I have told you, the picnic and the race were both surprises.” Annabel sighed. “And though you would have enjoyed the picnic and the scenery, you would not have enjoyed the ride, nor the race.”
“You keep telling me what I would not enjoy, and it is usually what puts me in Lord Ramsbury’s path.” Elizabeth swept to the mirror in a swirl of white satin and navy stitching. “I would remind you that I have more to recommend me than a love for horses.”
Given Ramsbury’s stables and account books, his chosen wife would need to share that passion, or at least understand it. “You have no desire to be nearer to a horse than a carriage ride. And if you’d ridden with the chaperones—”
“Where you should have been.” Elizabeth nodded to the maid. “This one.”
“It is a lovely choice, Elizabeth.” Annabel looked through the jewel chest for the pearls they’d packed specifically for this dress, using the distraction to cool her temper and soften her tongue. “And, as I have told you, Lord Ramsbury chose my mount and insisted I ride.” She put up her hand to stop the interruption. “I don’t know why, and I don’t care to argue about it any longer. He insisted, and I had no polite option but to accept.”
And thank goodness. That ride, that horse, would be the highlight of her year. She stepped behind Elizabeth and draped the necklace across her collarbone.
“These earbobs are far too small.” Elizabeth made a face in the mirror. “The diamonds catch the eye better.”
“The diamonds will look much better under the candles on the dance floor.” Annabel met Elizabeth’s frown in the mirror. “Ruth can add more curls near your temples and ears to give the illusion of more ornate jewelry.”
As the maid worked deftly with the curling rod, Annabel rehung all the discarded dresses in the wardrobe. There had been a time when she’d been careless with her clothing and left messes for others to clean. The behavior had embarrassed her long before this, but being the servant now hammered home a vow that, should she ever escape this fate, she would never take anything for granted again.
Chatter and laughter filled the hallway. “The other young ladies are going down, Elizabeth.” It was important to never be first, but one should never be last.
Elizabeth rose to leave, but Annabel kept the door closed and arched an eyebrow as a reminder to thank the young maid, who had earned her wages this evening. Elizabeth was not, as a rule, unkind. However, being surrounded by wealth and gossip this Season, and especially at this party—seeing other young ladies as competitors rather than people, if not friends—had sharpened her edges in an unattractive way.
That was one reason they never should have come.
Another was the quickening pace of Annabel’s heart as they descended the stairs. It was foolish. She had been below Jasper’s notice even before her father had used her dowry to fund his speculation schemes. Now, as a governess, he was even further from her reach.
There was no need for her heart to pound at the thought of seeing him, and there was certainly no need to take extra care with her appearance. It was a good thing she hadn’t packed the gray hair ribbon that matched her dress. It would only serve to make her more foolish and a subject of more hateful gossip.
But it was impossible to deny that her opinion of the marquess changed every time they spoke. He was irreverent, but his offhand manner hid a kindness she hadn’t expected.
Like his care over Fiona Allen, born of a lifelong friendship, and unflinching despite the gossip that shadowed her. It echoed, though faintly, in his treatment of Annabel herself.
It was also a lesson about ignoring gossip, because it was widely spread and only possibly true.
Or told to her by a man with a respectable position in the royal household.
Spencer’s suspicions didn’t make Lord Ramsbury a spy, but there was something going on in this house, beginning with the sharp-eyed Mr. Yarwood, who appeared to have no real position in the house. Still, everyone deferred to him. At times, even Lord Ramsbury bent to his friend’s will.
And she could not forget the conversation she’d overheard in the maze. Something was afoot in Wales, and she didn’t believe it had anything to do with buying another horse.
The marquess was intelligent enough to hide his intentions behind his charm and good looks. Not to mention that smile.
“I’m surprised to see you this evening, Miss Pearce. I thought the race might have tired you for the day.”
Charlotte Bainbridge wore a lovely maroon dress, no doubt meant to evoke an association with the Ramsbury crest. The lace was delicate, and the opals she wore sparkled like the galaxies Annabel had once seen through a telescope. It was too bad that her snide smile and hard glare ruined the effect.
“You’ll find I’m made of sterner stuff, Miss Bainbridge,” Annabel replied. Her chin went to the angle she always used with bullies.
“We chaperones must be,” said Mrs. Linden as she approached. “Miss Allen tells me you were good company today, Miss Pearce. Thank you for looking after her in my absence.”
“It was my pleasure. Thank you for staying in the garden with Miss Spencer.” Annabel was certain the older woman had gotten the worst end of the bargain.
“She is a talented artist, and I enjoyed watching her painting take shape—once she focused on where she was rather than where she wasn’t.” Mrs. Linden sighed as they entered the parlor. “Miss Allen has no patience for sketching and painting. Or needlework, for that matter. She refuses to sit still.”
All morning, Annabel had been impressed with Fiona’s lively nature and her unfailing resolve to be nothing but herself. She made no excuses for her past behavior, but she also held nothing back from her life. Many young ladies in her situation would have faded into the country and accepted the ton’s judgment for the balance of their lives. Fiona had struck back. It was an admirable decision.
“I don’t believe sitting is the virtue Society paints it to be.” Annabel heard the words in her own voice and felt her cheeks heat with shock. It was one thing to think something so contrary, but another to speak it aloud.
The chaperones turned to face her, eyes wide in their stark faces. Only Mrs. Linden was smiling. Annabel drew a deep breath. In for a penny…
“If a gentleman were to sit in the house and wait for the world to come to him, he would be considered a layabout or feeble-minded. But ladies of quality are judged by how little we—they—are heard or seen. We may move the world, or make a mark, but only where no one can see us do it.” She stood straighter. “We are led by a queen who is seen and heard every day in law and in custom—even in war. Why must we limit ourselves to silent decoration?”
