She’d woken with every creak in the floor, wondering if Jasper had returned. At dawn, she’d vowed to never spend another night like that again. She was not going to mope about the house and add kindling to the gossipy fire. She had a job to do.
More than one.
“I need to get started with my day. Mrs. Ferrand expects me for her charity luncheon.” Her social correspondence lay next to a plate of toast, eggs, and bacon. Annabel set the invitations aside in favor of the newspaper. “His lordship has left for Parliament, then?”
“He has, my lady.”
She ignored Barnes’s pity-filled glance as she opened the newspaper. It was only available to her once Stapleton determined it was no longer useful to Jasper. Still, reading about Parliament made Annabel believe she was learning something about the man she’d worried over all night. Even if it was only that he would be out of the house for the day.
“Thank you, Barnes.”
“Of course, my lady.” Barnes backed toward the door and left the room.
“I’m not the bloody queen,” Annabel mumbled as she scanned the headlines. She wasn’t even a real marchioness. It was only a title—a job—and a temporary one at that.
She ate while reading, gathering information about London and beyond, seeing familiar names and events, and reading complaints about the collection and allocation of the taxes. There was one story about how one poorer area of the city wasn’t seeing the improvements they’d been promised.
Another headline hinted at new unrest in Wales, tying it to mining wages and safety. Many miners, widows of miners, and mine owners felt overlooked in recent policy decisions.
Could it be that Jasper was behind the mining scheme meant to snare London’s greediest and most desperate investors? Had her father approached him, or had it been the other way around? And had she shown her hand when she explained her reasoning for it being a bad investment?
Perhaps he’d kissed her as a distraction, and his pleasure in it had been an act.
Annabel turned the page. She’d spent most of the night tossing and turning, pondering the meaning of that kiss. She had wasted a good sleep, and she wasn’t about to ruin a lovely day.
It was just a kiss. It had meant little to Jasper, so it should mean nothing to her.
She’d find the truth for Spencer, and he could either accept it or choke on it. It was time to accept that truth herself. She wouldn’t spend any more time here than necessary. It would be painful to leave, she already knew that, but it would be less painful if she hurried.
Society’s most scandalous marchioness made a cracking debut…
Annabel folded the paper, careful to put the gossip on the inside. No matter what had happened after the ball, or in the future, she’d meant what she’d told Jasper. He and his family had been kind to her when they didn’t have to be. Chippenham had insulted them, and she’d made him pay for it. She’d never be upset about how their dance had ended.
For sale, library of well-established collector. Varied titles include geography, science, and world history as well as popular novels. Several first editions available. Well curated and in impeccable condition. Buyers for the entire collection preferred, but a piecemeal sale will be considered. Inquire: Patton Booksellers, 14 Charlton Street, London.
She flipped the paper over to hide the announcement. She’d known her father would be forced to sell their library. Other than the entailed property, and the home the family now lived in, it was their largest asset. Still, seeing the advertisement was like reading the obituary of a dear friend. The only consolation was that she’d known Cleo Patton at school, and she knew the library was in safe hands.
For the second time that morning, Annabel dried her tears before they could make her eyes red. The best way to recover from grief was to face her responsibilities.
The stack of correspondence had grown every day since her wedding. It was taller today than yesterday, which was surprising, given last night. Even more stunning were the letters from women who applauded her reaction, women whose names she recognized, who had watched her leave the dance floor.
After accepting their invitations and a few others that interested her, she chose a visiting dress from the wardrobe and rang the bell for Barnes’s help in dressing and pinning her braids in the style she preferred.
As she slipped into her coat, the piano lessons had changed from a fight to a duet. Johanna was at the keyboard now.
Annabel stopped in the music room, where Jane was sitting with Rachel and Rebecca, who were yet to begin their lessons. The girls’ furtive whispers stopped when they saw her, and Annabel’s suspicions flared. She recognized a plot when she saw one, but she had no time to discover it this morning.
“Good morning, Lady Ramsbury.” Rebecca’s lips twisted around the words.
Rachel stood and enveloped her in a hug that made it seem they’d been separated for years instead of hours. “Pay her no mind, Annabel. She’s always sour lately.”
Annabel closed her hand over Jane’s shoulder. “How were your lessons, Jane?” Perhaps if she acted as though she had enjoyed the morning’s off-kilter serenade, the girl would gain some confidence.
“Awful.” Jane stared across the room as her sister played an intricate melody next to their smiling instructor. “He never smiles when I play.”
Oh dear. Annabel looked again. As focused as Johanna was on the keys, Jane was focused on the man turning the pages. He was young, and handsome enough to turn a lady’s eye, but Countess Lambourn wouldn’t take to a piano teacher as a son-in-law.
It was something else to solve. “I’ll return after luncheon. Enjoy your lessons.” She knew the routine for the day. Music, then dancing while the piano master was here to provide the accompaniment. After that, luncheon would include comportment and ballroom etiquette, followed by French.
It had been tiring to plan. It would be exhausting to do. But Rebecca and Rachel had much to learn, especially since a second Season wasn’t guaranteed.
Chapter Eleven
It was a short walk from Lambourn House to the address Amelia had provided the previous evening.
The footman opened the door, revealing a dashing older man with a brilliant smile and in butler’s black. Laughter floated into the hall behind him. Annabel’s spirits brightened without her forcing them to. “Good morning. Annabel P—the Marchioness of Ramsbury. Mrs. Ferrand invited me.”
“Of course, your ladyship.” He helped her from her coat, waited for her hat, and surrendered both to the footman with a kindness that was rare to see between senior and junior staff. “I am Martin. Mrs. Ferrand is with the duchess and her aunt, in the boardroom. To your left.”
Boardroom? Annabel looked to her left, where many ballrooms were located in houses this large. Perhaps she’d misheard, given the chatter echoing from the high ceilings. She definitely hadn’t misheard duchess.
It seemed she hadn’t misheard boardroom, either. The only item remaining from the large room’s previous use was the ornate chandelier that resembled a tiered cake tilted on its head. It sat above the hollow center of a round table, which was circled by a double row of dark red chairs.
Amelia swept along the arc of the furnishings, a smile on her face and her hands outstretched. “I am so glad you came, Annabel. Let me introduce you to our hostess.”
The two women at the top of the circle looked enough alike to be mother and daughter. One she recognized—Thea Fowler, the Duchess of Rushford. The duke and duchess had an estate in Norfolk bordering Amelia’s family home.
