The older women stared at her as though she’d sprouted horns and a tail. Beyond them, toward the other end of the table, Fiona raised her glass in a silent salute. Annabel wished she’d put that dratted ribbon through her hair after all.
The silence was broken by the marquess’s arrival and then the shocked inhale of every lady in the room. On his arm was a thin young lady in a violet gown. The color complemented her pale complexion and auburn hair, which was done simply. She was flanked by Yarwood, his expression hawklike.
“Ladies and gentlemen, may I present Mrs. Hughes, the widow of an old school friend.” Jasper smirked as he talked, as though he understood the commotion he was causing. “Claudette could not be here for the beginning of our party because she was in Paris. I hope you will make her welcome.”
Everyone bowed, but no one approached. Fiona was the first to breach the divide. “Welcome, Mrs. Hughes. How was your journey? I crossed the channel in the summer and again in the fall, and while I enjoyed the scenery, the ship did pitch violently at times.”
The young widow’s reply was lost in the sea of whispers from chaperones and English diamonds alike. Charlotte Bainbridge might have had tears in her eyes.
“How dare he bring her here,” someone whispered. “To invite eligible, respectable young ladies to his home and raise their hopes about a match, only to flaunt his mistress as a late arrival.”
The hiss had a French lilt. There was only one other French lady in attendance—Madame Theodore, a dragon of a companion who had emigrated simply to terrorize young Society ladies with haughty sniffs, arched eyebrows, and lectures on what the Paris ladies do. Belinda Wallace was her current pupil.
“That seems an uncharitable assumption about your countrywoman,” Mrs. Linden whispered.
“Not all French ladies are reputable.” Madame Theodore arched an eyebrow. “Just as all English women cannot claim proper behavior.”
Mrs. Linden’s mouth hardened into a thin line and color dotted her cheeks, but she remained silent.
Annabel would have admired her restraint if she wasn’t focused on Claudette Hughes herself, though for a different reason. The marquess, his Welsh connection, and his Paris mistress were all under the same roof. Was this the opportunity to gather the information Spencer demanded and free herself from their ugly bargain?
You were wrong about Fiona’s position in his life. What if you are wrong again?
“I should have worn the blue. I’ll never stand out against that Frenchwoman if I look like a meringue.”
Annabel pulled Elizabeth away from the crowd. “The blue is for the dance at the end of the week,” she said. “And several of the young men in attendance have already cast you admiring glances.” She held up a hand to stop the petty argument she could see brewing in Elizabeth’s bright eyes and too-rosy cheeks. “There is more to life than a marquess who seems to be declaring what life with him will entail.”
It was advice she should heed herself. If Mrs. Hughes was Lord Ramsbury’s lover, her inclusion in the party was in poor taste. If she was part of a larger plot, it was treason.
“The best way for you to behave is to do exactly that—behave. Focus on the those to your left and right and keep the conversation away from gossip.” She tightened her hold on Elizabeth. “You are better than a man who has no qualms about ridiculing you in public. Remember that.”
“Shall we go into dinner?” Lord Ramsbury asked as he turned and led Mrs. Hughes from the room.
Left with no alternative, the party took their seats around the dinner table. Over the first course, the ladies stared daggers at Mrs. Hughes while the men watched her with open curiosity. By the second course, social etiquette prevailed. The dining room was full of conversation.
Since the other chaperones were ignoring Annabel, she stayed focused on the marquess, comparing his behavior with Mrs. Hughes to how he treated Fiona. They spoke quietly, but he didn’t ignore the guest to his left. Mrs. Hughes spent a great deal of time in conversation with Yarwood. Her smiles were soft, almost wistful—not the flirtatious masks used in ballrooms and beyond.
After the dessert course had been cleared, the ladies adjourned to the music room. All except Mrs. Hughes, who disappeared into the shadows.
The young ladies gathered teams for whist, and their chaperones retrieved knitting or needlework to occupy their time until the gentlemen arrived. Annabel watched the clock.
After five minutes, she excused herself to no one in particular and entered the great hall. In the daylight, the space loomed overhead as though she were in a cathedral or a courtroom. In the darkness, with creaks and groans permeating the thick, quiet blanket, the space yawned like a mouth that could swallow her whole.
“Will you not come with me?” Mrs. Hughes’s English lilted as though she sang the question.
“I have responsibilities here, dearest,” Jasper replied. “You will be safe with Kit, and I will join you when I can.”
Annabel followed the whispers until she reached a turn in the hallway. The marquess’s unique cologne, a mix of fruit and flowers she couldn’t identify, scented the still air.
“As you wish.” Mrs. Hughes sighed. “But you work too much, Jasper. You should enjoy your new life more.”
“I will enjoy it later, once matters are settled.” He was smiling. Annabel could hear it in his words. “Rest tomorrow and gather your strength for the journey. You and Kit will sail the day after.”
“Will you show me to my room? This house is…effrayante.”
“Stapleton will show you up, though you could likely find it on your own by now. If you are worried in the night, simply knock on the door between us. I’ll be there.”
“Merci, très cher ami. Gareth always said…”
“Shh. He would not wish to see you cry. I do not wish to see it either.”
Quiet settled between them. Annabel risked a glance around the corner and found herself watching Lord Ramsbury hold his lover in his arms, his cheek against her hair. The moonlight skimmed Mrs. Hughes’s dress and dusted Jasper’s half with a silvery glow. The rest of him was hidden in shadows.
She retraced her steps to the music room, though the house seemed darker than it had before. It was a tender scene that eased her mind. The young French widow was no more a spy than Annabel was herself.
Though Annabel wished, for the briefest of moments, that she was.
*
“I say, Ramsbury, having your French treat arrive was a boon to the rest of us.” Wareham’s declaration sent game birds scattering out of the grass in every direction. “Set the other girls back on their heels, it did.”
“Wareham…” Jasper stopped to gather his temper. As much as he wanted to send the man home, losing the worst gambler in the party would put all the other gentlemen in a bad mood. “I’ll thank you to be kinder about Mrs. Hughes.” After all, he couldn’t have the entire party angry at him at the same time.
“I’m simply saying that I had Miss Wallace’s attention for most of the evening because she wasn’t mooning over you.” Somehow, Wareham’s whisper was louder than his speaking voice.
“And having the ladies cross with you means a quiet hunting trip.” Garret Spaulding shot a gaze at Wareham. “Mostly.”
“Yes, yes. Poke fun.” Wareham lifted a flask to his lips. “But I’ll crow if I like. Miss Wallace has an excellent pedigree and a sizable dowry.”
