“You’re going to tell me to breathe until I’m no longer pink, but we don’t have the time.” Elizabeth paced from the chair to the door and back at a dizzying pace. “Father will make the wrong decision if we do not act quickly.”
Annabel would have—likely should have—counseled her charge that fathers made decisions based on more knowledge than daughters understood. However, as Annabel was now working for a living because of her own father’s poor choices, it would be a losing argument.
Instead, she poured the girl a cup of tea and placed a petit four as bait before the empty chair. “Tell me what has you so agitated.”
Elizabeth finally took the chair. She sank her teeth into the cake and chewed much too obviously for a young lady before dumping an alarming amount of sugar into her tea.
Annabel would have to plan more lessons about eating habits. At the present, she was glad the girl’s color was fading to normal, and that she hadn’t dropped into the chair like a rag doll, which she was inclined to do when behind closed doors.
“Father received a letter from the Marquess of Ramsbury. It must be an invitation to his house party, Annabel. Charlotte Bainbridge received hers two days ago, and I’ve been watching the post since.”
“The letter could be anything,” Annabel counseled. “Lord Ramsbury is a member of Parliament, and your father is a courtier. It may be about a vote, or an invitation to White’s to discuss business.”
“Why would he invite Charlotte and not me?” Elizabeth pointed her teacup toward her chest, sloshing the liquid dangerously close to the rim.
Because Charlotte Bainbridge is the diamond of the Season and the daughter of a viscount. Why she considers you part of her social circle is a mystery.
Annabel took a bite of cake and used chewing as an excuse for her silence. Elizabeth took the lack of discussion for agreement.
“Between the two of us, we’ll convince him. We’ll lay out my wardrobe this afternoon.” She looked past Annabel, her smile a match for her calculating gaze. “Imagine the furor if I am to catch him.”
Furor, indeed. As far as Annabel knew, there was only one way to catch a man like Jasper Warren, the new Marquess of Ramsbury, and it wasn’t with ruffled dresses and croquet.
“Elizabeth—”
A knock on the door announced the arrival of the housekeeper. “Miss Pearce, Mr. Spencer asks that you meet him in the library.”
Thanking fate for her rescue from a difficult conversation, Annabel stood and smoothed her skirt. “Thank you, Mrs. Riordan. I’ll follow you down.”
As she passed, Elizabeth clasped her hand. Her color had returned to normal. “Please, Annabel. I can’t stay in London if everyone else is in Wiltshire. It would be too humiliating.”
There were far worse things than missing a party, but as Annabel looked into the girl’s large blue eyes and felt the squeeze of her thin fingers, she couldn’t say the words. Elizabeth was barely out of the schoolroom, and every slight signaled the end of the world.
“Don’t put too much stock in a conversation, dear. This likely has nothing to do with a party.” Not to mention the marquess likely doesn’t know your name. I’d be shocked if he remembered mine.
Mr. Spencer could decide not to send his daughter without input from anyone else. The better guess was that he wanted help designing a suitable distraction. Annabel turned at the door and indicated the easel and canvas at the window. “Please begin drawing. We’ll discuss paint choices when I return.”
She walked down the empty, quiet hall toward the staircase. Mrs. Riordan ran an efficient household, but she didn’t linger to gossip or laugh over tea. All Annabel knew of her was that she reveled in being one of Spencer’s trusted staff members, and that she considered it far beneath her station to fetch someone other than a family member.
The wide staircase curved in a long, graceful arc toward the black-and-white-tiled entry hall. It was as grand as any house in Mayfair could be, but Annabel couldn’t help comparing it to her family’s country home.
She hoped the tenants were enjoying the rivers in Chilworth. They were always best in the spring.
The final step left her aligned with the library door. Her knock echoed through the hall, making it sound less like a polite rap and more like a demanding hammer.
“Enter.”
It was unkind to compare this library with the one in Chilworth. The latter was a family library, overstuffed with favorites read until their spines were creased and their covers were tattered at the corners. Not even Father’s library here in London could compare with that.
However, even Father’s London library smelled of read books. Sir Reginald Spencer’s smelled of new leather and tobacco, and the spines glinted in the sunshine like soldiers lined up for review.
“Miss Pearce.” Spencer motioned to the chairs in front of his desk. “Sit.”
Annabel bristled at the command that made her feel like a prized terrier. At least her employer didn’t call her by her Christian name.
She took the chair that claimed the most shadow and waited for Spencer to sit. As he emerged from the sun’s glare, his features formed.
As a young man, he’d likely garnered a great deal of attention due to his height. As an older man, everything about him—from his fair skin to his white-blond hair—stretched too thinly over his large bones. He would have been terrifying looming down from a pulpit. Best that he’d given up his parish for a position in the royal household.
“How is Bitty this morning?”
“Elizabeth is well.” Annabel emphasized the girl’s first name. The unfortunate family nickname sounded too much like “Biddy” to be complimentary. Besides that, the girl had inherited her father’s height. “She was beginning her art lesson when I left her.”
The man nodded, his smile as thin as his eyebrows. His lined face seemed to fight the effort. “She shows some aptitude for it, I believe.”
“She does.” In truth, Elizabeth sat still for little else. “I would like to challenge her by taking her to the National Museum, where she can study and copy the masters. There are several young ladies who do the same, and it would be good for Elizabeth to try her hand at something unfamiliar.”
“Perhaps she should carry her supplies to Wiltshire for new scenery,” Spencer said.
Annabel’s hopes fell. “She thought she saw an invitation.”
“She did, and I have already answered. Elizabeth will leave in four days’ time with you as her companion.”
“Four days will barely give us time to gather wardrobes, sir.”
“She should need no new dresses. Many of the ones purchased for the Season have yet to be worn.”
It was true. Elizabeth had all she needed, but Annabel needed…
