He was a handsome man, her husband. There was no denying his looks or his charm. His kindness and humor had surprised her, however. His family doted on him, and he on them. He’d welcomed her sisters with genuine warmth and generosity.
This afternoon, in this very hall, it had been easy to imagine them becoming a real family.
But they weren’t, and likely would never be. She would expose him to Spencer, or he would catch her in her deception. Their marriage would wither under layers of hatred and distrust.
“Are you certain it’s wise to go?” she asked.
“The longer we wait, the worse the whispers will be.” Jasper tucked her hand into his elbow and led her to the doors and the waiting footmen. “We’ll face this together. Gossip be damned.”
At the bottom of the steps, the groom opened the carriage door. Annabel could not dismiss the feeling that she was going to the gallows rather than a party.
“I believe the Carmichaels will be in attendance this evening,” Jasper said as he sat. “As will Amelia and Richard. Friends will help.”
Is he trying to convince me or himself?
Annabel sat across from him, careful to keep the upholstery from ruining her hair. “It is a shame that Mr. Yarwood had to leave so soon after his arrival.”
She suspected Yarwood’s quick departure, and dour expression, had everything to do with his opinion of her and her marriage. He had watched her like an eagle did a mouse during the house party.
“Kit always has somewhere else to be.” Jasper watched the shadows of London as they passed through the city. “He says it comes from his time in the military, when they were always on the move.”
“He believes our marriage to be unwise,” she said.
He cast her a sideways glance. “I believe your honesty will always set me on my heels. But you are partly right. Kit’s experience in war makes him a fine protector but can sometimes close his mind.”
Sometimes. Not always. “Only partly right?”
Though he chuckled, his smile was sad. “My mother has never been welcoming, likely because Kit is lowborn. He attended Eton and gained his commission with the help of a sponsor.”
That didn’t sound like the countess who had welcomed Annabel as her son’s wife despite their scandalous beginning. However, beginning an argument before a party was not wise. “It is a shame they cannot overcome their reservations.”
“I keep hoping for that.” The carriage slowed to a stop, and he looked out the window. “We are in line. It will be a few minutes.”
They’d been in the carriage long enough for Annabel’s nerves to settle. Now they flared back to life. “We could have walked here.”
“Your skirts would have gotten dirty.” Jasper combed his fingers through his hair and squared his waistcoat, then his coat, and finally his cuffs. “And we wouldn’t have had a chance to talk.”
“Your cravat is crooked.” Her smile widened as he worked to fix it, but only made it worse. “Come here. Let me fix it.”
He joined her on her seat and stretched one arm across the back so she would have access to his clothes. “Cravats are akin to wearing nooses. I can’t imagine anything less comfortable.”
His cravat had been the first thing he removed in his room that evening.
“You should try a corset, my lord.” Annabel unpinned his tie to straighten and refold the fabric. However, to re-pin it, she would have to slide her fingers beneath his shirt.
“Perhaps I will,” he quipped. “I’ll ask Madame Genest for a fitting.” Jasper slid her fingers between his buttons but kept his gaze level with hers. “Would you recommend lace trim?”
“Lace can be itchy, and it would ruin the line of your shirt.” His body warmed the back of her hand, even through her gloves. “If you wanted frippery, you might consider stitching. Flowers, perhaps.” Madame Genest had stitched flowers into the corset she was wearing tonight.
The pin passed over her gloves without snagging the fabric, which was a miracle considering the tremble in her fingers. “Though madame would likely swallow her tongue, and half of Society would blame you for the death of their favorite modiste.”
“I’m willing to risk it if you’ll go to my tailor for a cravat.” He flashed a bone-melting smile. “A red one to match the roses on my corset.”
“What if I prefer pink?”
He tilted his head back and laughed, full and long. “I look better in red.”
The carriage door opened. “Lord and Lady Ramsbury, if you please.”
Jasper climbed down first and brushed the footman aside to hand Annabel down himself. She looked up at him as she took the arm he offered. “You did that on purpose to distract me from where we are.”
“I like it when you forget to be proper.” He lifted her knuckles to his lips and winked before he escorted her into the Haverstocks’ ball.
“The Marquess and Marchioness of Ramsbury,” the doorman announced.
Every head in the room turned to stare. Ladies snapped open their fans to hide their whispers, as though Annabel couldn’t imagine them anyway. Annabel Pearce, with no looks and no dowry, had at least been smart enough to trap a wealthy husband.
A warm hand covered hers.
I don’t need a rich wife. I need a suitable one.
She was more than suitable. And she was smarter than most. She glared into every glittering stare. She was smarter than all of them.
“Shall we go find our hosts, Lady Ramsbury?”
The crowd began to swirl again, and Annabel snorted an unladylike laugh.
“What’s funny?” Jasper’s breath heated her temple and stirred the dainty curls Barnes had expertly twirled around the curling rod.
