“In time she will realize how this decision benefits her family.”
The man she’d loved would have never treated his daughters like commodities to be bartered for his own benefit. If he had, she never would have left them alone with him. She wasn’t going to abandon them again. “I have risked more than you will ever know,” she said. “And I will lose more than you will ever understand.” She drew a deep breath. “But my sisters will marry men who love them.”
“You have no say on this matter.” He reached for the copy of Debrett’s.
She pushed it away. “I have no say, but I have a voice. If you barter Rebecca and Rachel for foolish schemes, everyone in the ton will know.” She knew better than anyone how one whisper would become a chorus. “All of London will learn that you would see your wife in the poorhouse and your daughters sold as broodmares and mistresses so long as your pockets are lined.”
“You wouldn’t court a scandal like that.”
She had married a man to spy on him and ended up in his bed. She had shot at highwaymen and held that same husband’s bleeding body in her arms. She’d confessed her mission but withheld her heart, and he’d installed his mistress under her nose. “I am already scandalous. It won’t make a difference.”
Especially if she was never seen in London again.
“Annie—”
She ignored his wheedling tone and lifted a page from the sheaf of paper he always kept nearby. “Go upstairs and do something about your appearance.” She took his pen. “I’ll summon Mr. Drew here immediately. When he arrives, you will apologize for being out of sorts and give your permission for this marriage.”
If he didn’t, she’d loan Rachel the Ramsbury carriage for a run toward Scotland.
He remained in his chair, daring Annabel to move him like a child. Unlike the last time they’d argued, when she’d let him continue driving them toward poverty, she stared him down. Relief only came when realization dawned, and he pushed himself upright and walked toward the door with a straight spine but wobbly legs.
Once alone, Annabel finished the letter before ringing the bell. She was blotting the ink on the envelope when Symes, their beloved butler, appeared. His face was lined with concern.
“You rang, Lady Ann—Lady Ramsbury?”
She wasn’t sure what kept him with a family who couldn’t pay him, but she was forever grateful for his steadying presence. “Please have this letter delivered to the Drew household immediately, and ask Cook to prepare for visitors.” She stopped. “Father will require a strong pot of coffee.”
“A maid just took up a tray.” The old butler smiled. “We thought it would be wise to have on hand.”
“Thank you.” She stood on tiptoe to kiss his rough cheek as she left the room. “And Lady Annabel is fine, Symes.”
There were times, like today, where she missed being Lady Annabel. She would forever be tied to the Ramsbury name now, whether or not she and Jasper lived together. Unless, of course, he divorced her, which he might do.
She’d always known divorce was possible, even likely, given her reasons for entering the marriage and her ties to the man who wanted to see him hang. It was even more possible now that Claudette was in the house. There was no reason to hide behind a charade, was there?
Pain lanced through her at the thought of all she’d never get to do again, and none of it had anything to do with ball gowns, teas, or grand houses—unless you counted the gardens.
Misery filled the gap that regret had created, but Annabel forced it to flow through her before she wept rivers that would shock even her romantic youngest sister.
Admit it. You fell in love with a man for the best and worst of reasons, and he sat in his room laughing about his poor decisions. You knew this was a possibility.
She had been through worse, and those experiences had taught her how to survive.
Putting one foot in front of the other, she walked down the hall, past the staircase, and to the drawing room. By the time she arrived at the door, her back was straight and her smile was wide.
“Rachel, dearest, Peter is returning to speak with Father. Let’s get some cold cloths for your eyes so he doesn’t second-guess his decision.”
*
“Where the bloody hell is she?”
Jasper looked at the book in his lap as though it could answer his question. It couldn’t even hold his attention past the first line.
He wasn’t worried. Lawrence and Frederick would look out for her—unless she convinced them to help her make a run for it. Given her state when she’d left, he wouldn’t be surprised. Though more likely she’d send them home without her to avoid witnesses and to get a running start.
He wasn’t worried. Family matters, he knew, could get complicated. Dressmaker appointments took hours; packing for travel took weeks. Jane and Johanna always ended up sniping over who had more lace on their sleeves, or the larger trunk.
“She’ll be back, and you can talk. She knows the consequences of Claudette staying in Kit’s home alone better than anyone.”
It’s how she got into this marriage in the first place.
Jasper swung his feet over the edge of the mattress and let his feet take his weight, ensuring he wouldn’t fall if he stood. He was lightheaded, true, but the room didn’t spin and his knees stayed firm. All he had to do was not twist.
If he’d been more careful this afternoon, he could have explained things to Annabel while looking her in the eye. He also could have avoided passing out—though at least that had spared him the torture of new stitches.
I don’t wish to marry you.
She’d told him that the day he’d proposed. And, in the name of his mission and his family name, he had convinced her to do it anyway. He’d promised her everything but love. She’d told him she didn’t even expect loyalty. Was it any wonder that she had assumed the worst of him?
How did he begin to convince her—
A muffled scream had him moving toward the door as quickly as he could manage. Once through, another noise from across the hall, a sharp wail that would have proven to Annabel how well their room muffled sound.
Jasper entered Claudette’s room without knocking—it wouldn’t have mattered anyway—and went to her bedside. She was bolt upright, eyes open but unseeing.
“Claudette.” He took her hand. “Très chère, réveille-toi.” French always worked best to rouse her. “Réveille-toi. Tu es en sécurité.” She had quieted, but her stare was still vacant. Her short, panting breaths sounded as though she’d run a foot race in her sleep. “Tout est bien.”
Her shoulders sagged, taking her chin with them. Jasper perched on the edge of the bed and braced himself as she fell against him. He kept a steady stream of comforting French platitudes until her breaths grew longer and more even.
