Taming of Annabelle (18 page)

The firelight flickered in his strange eyes, making them look topaz, somehow predatory, like the eyes of a hawk.

As he looked up and saw her he surveyed her in silence, his face quite set and grim.

And then he smiled at her. A blinding, bewitching smile, so unexpected, so devastating in its effect, that Annabelle found she was babbling out excuses. ‘I-I’m so sorry, Brabington.
I forgot to tell Sir Guy
not
to call, but he
did
, and y-you s-see . . .’

He came forwards and took her hands. ‘You look divinely,’ he said. ‘And I am relieved to hear that you did not really mean to go driving with Sir Guy. I had thought that you
might go just to spite me.’

His voice held a faint question and Annabelle dropped her eyes quickly. ‘Furthermore,’ he went on when she did not reply. ‘Sir Guy does not often look after his carriage or his
cattle very well.’

‘No,’ said Annabelle. ‘There was an accident. And . . . and the wheel fell off. And . . . and I just walked away. I was so embarrassed. Everyone was shouting and staring, and
two of the patronesses of Almack’s chose that very moment to drive past, and it
would
be when I was hanging from that tree . . .’

‘Let me see, I
did
hear you aright? You were
hanging
from a tree?’

‘Yes, it was quite terrible. You see, I was catapulted over Sir Guy’s head. He fell in the mud and I found myself flying through the air and caught a branch of a tree, and I was
hanging there and Mrs Burrell and Lady Castlereigh they did not seem to notice the accident. They looked at me in disgust, you know, and then they just turned their heads away.’

‘I doubt very much whether you will be receiving vouchers for Almack’s this Season, my love,’ said the Marquess, trying not to laugh.

‘Oh, but I
must
!’ wailed Annabelle, involuntarily clutching his hands. ‘I would
die
if I did not go.’

He dropped her hands, a shade of disappointment crossing his face. ‘These things are very important to you, my lady,’ he said flatly. ‘I will see what I can do.’

‘Thank you,’ said Annabelle, peeping up at him from under her lashes. She wished he did not look so stern.

He seemed to recover his spirits on the road to the Duke of Allsbury’s. ‘What kind of entertainment is it to be?’ asked Annabelle.

‘We are invited for dinner. Then there will be some cards and dancing.’

‘I wish, somehow, we did not have to go.’

‘You forget,’ he said quietly. ‘They are now your sister’s relatives by marriage.’

‘Yes, I do forget,’ said Annabelle candidly. ‘They are not at all like Lord Sylvester.’

‘Ah, Sylvester,’ he said.

There was a little silence.

‘Peter,’ said Annabelle desperately. ‘I should explain . . .’

‘Yes, I meant to ask you,’ he replied. ‘The day I gave you that necklace, before we were married, you suddenly said you wanted to tell me something, and then we were
interrupted by the arrival of Sylvester and your sister. What was it?’

Annabelle remembered vividly that that was the very moment she had been planning to cancel the wedding. ‘I forget,’ she said in a small voice.

‘Then what were you about to tell me now?’

‘I wanted to tell you,’ said Annabelle, clasping her hands tightly in her lap, ‘that . . .’

At that moment the carriage door was opened and the steps let down.

‘You may tell me later,’ he said. ‘We are here.’

The Duchess of Allsbury gave the Marquess a very warm welcome and all but ignored Annabelle. She did, however, fix her with one brief, chilly glance and asked her if she had heard news from
Minerva.

‘No,’ said Annabelle, miserably aware that the Marquess was watching her intently. ‘She has not written to me yet. I believe my mother has heard from her.’

Annabelle was then further mortified to find that Sir Guy was not only numbered among the guests but that he had been placed next to her at dinner, the Duchess firmly believing that all married
couples should be immediately separated.

To her relief, he seemed in good spirits and made such a joke of the whole thing that she found herself laughing gratefully.

‘But the strangest thing happened,’ he went on, ‘when a man came to repair the damage.

‘You see, someone had
sawed
nearly through the axle. Is it not strange? Now who would wish me ill? I am such an inoffensive fellow.’

‘I do not know,’ replied Annabelle, casting an involuntary look in her husband’s direction.

‘Where was Brabington this afternoon?’ asked her companion.

‘I do not know that either.’

‘What an odd pair of newly-weds you are,’ he laughed. ‘Or are you merely being terribly fashionable?’

‘I do not discuss my husband,’ said Annabelle, looking at her plate and therefore failing to notice the rather reptilian look which had just flicked across Sir Guy’s pale
eyes.

‘Then we shall talk of other things,’ he said lightly. He proceeded to tell Annabelle all the latest gossip. It was slightly malicious, but always amusing, and she found herself
beginning to relax, to enjoy the fact that such a sophisticated man was paying her so much attention.

Nonetheless she was resolved to be an attentive and loving wife. But this transpired to be a very hard thing to do. When they retired to the drawing room and were joined by the gentlemen, the
Marquess promptly attached himself to Lady Godolphin who was also one of the guests. Annabelle found herself surrounded by a small court of admirers, and, although she laughed and flirted, her eyes
kept straying to where the Marquess sat in the corner. She prayed that Lady Godolphin would not tell him how she came to find out that Colonel Brian wasn’t married, but, at one point, Lady
Godolphin’s turbaned head bent very close to the Marquess’s black one and she began to whisper intensely. For a brief moment when she had finished, the Marquess looked straight across
the room and his eyes locked with those of his wife, his gaze cold and assessing.

Then he turned back to Lady Godolphin and made some light rejoinder as he rose to his feet. The guests were beginning to drift through to the music room where dancing was to be held.

Annabelle became aware several gentlemen were asking her to dance. ‘I don’t know,’ she said, still watching her husband. ‘Perhaps my husband . . .’ And then she
broke off. The Marquess was bowing in front of Lady Coombes. She smiled at him, her rather hard face softening, and she looked almost coquettish as she took his arm and allowed him to lead her
through into the music room.

Rebellion surged up in Annabelle again.
Why
would he not be open with her? If he had heard aught from Lady Godolphin to make him take her in dislike, then he should
tell
her,
instead of pointedly abandoning her in this public way.

The Duchess had noticed this piece of by-play and her mouth was curled in a little satisfied smile.

Annabelle accepted the first of her courtiers and then proceeded to flirt for the rest of the evening with all the men in general and Sir Guy in particular. The reason she singled out Sir Guy
was because she already knew him. She felt
safe
with him: in her eyes he was a middle-aged bachelor.

When Annabelle was led off into a lively country dance by Mr Charles Comfrey, Sir Guy found his friend, James Worth, at his elbow.

‘Well, what do you think, James?’ he asked, watching Annabelle’s pretty figure moving across the polished floor. ‘Does the disappointed wife take the bait?’

‘Oh, yes, definitely. Absolutely,’ said Mr Worth.

‘And yet, I am not sure,’ mused Sir Guy. ‘There is a certain tension between them. They are not indifferent to each other, no matter how hard they try. I took her driving this
afternoon, dear James.’

‘And how did that go?’

‘Not at all. For the simple reason that someone had sawed a neat line in my axle so that the wheel would fall off in the most public way possible – which it did. If Brabington was
behind it – and I’m sure he was – then I have one more reason to thirst for revenge. War has been declared in earnest.’

‘Talking about war,’ giggled Mr Worth, ‘why isn’t our fire-eating hero back to the wars?’

‘Just married. He will return soon.’

‘Then that will leave the field clear.’

‘You do not understand me. I do not want an easy field. I want the so-dear Marquess right here in London so that all may witness his humiliation.’

‘I’ faith, you are a hard man, Guy!’

Sir Guy turned quickly away from him to bow before Annabelle, who looked as glittering as the jewels about her neck. Her large eyes sparkled like sapphires and were every bit as hard.

‘Do you wish to dance?’ asked Sir Guy. ‘It is the waltz.’

Annabelle looked across the room. The Marquess was asking Lady Coombes to dance – again.

‘No,’ she said brightly. ‘I think I would like some refreshment.’

‘Very well.’ He tucked her hand in his and led her into an adjoining room where refreshments were being served.

‘Goodness, it is hot,’ said Annabelle restlessly.

He handed her a glass of iced champagne which she drank thirstily.

‘There is quite a pretty garden outside,’ he said, leading her to one of the long windows at the end of the refreshment room which overlooked a terrace with steps leading down into
the night blackness of the garden. ‘Would you care to step outside with me for a little fresh air?’

‘I do not know if I should. We have no chaperone.’

‘You forget. You are a married lady now and may dispense with such conventions.’

He opened one of the long windows as he spoke. A damp, warm breeze blew in on Annabelle’s face. She turned and looked back to the ballroom, but there was no longer any sign of her husband
among the shifting throng of dancers.

She felt a dull ache in the pit of her stomach. ‘Very well,’ she said, ‘but only for a moment.’

They walked together along the terrace and down a shallow flight of mossy steps. A faint mist lay over everything, pearling the grass and condensing in heavy drops like tears to plop from the
bushes.

There was a small round pond in the centre.

‘I believe it is stocked with goldfish,’ said Annabelle.

‘Very romantic.’

‘No, I do not like goldfish. These ones are fat and vacant-eyed.’

‘We should have brought some bread and fed them.’

‘Stoopid!’ laughed Annabelle, momentarily forgetting her woes. ‘To feed fish on a damp night! We are quite mad to be promenading thus. I am sure the hem of my dress will be
quite ruined. Let us return.’

‘Alas, I would rather stay here. The moonlight is enchanting.’

‘There is no moonlight.’

He came very close to her. ‘There is moonlight in the twin pools of your eyes. Deep in the mysterious blue depths. I gaze into your eyes, Annabelle, and I feel myself drown.’

‘Sir! You forget yourself. We must return.’

She was suddenly nervous. He was so close to her, she could feel the heat from his body, see the strange glitter of his eyes.

She took a half step back and he caught her hand in his.

Then Annabelle looked a little to the side of him, her fears all at once forgotten as a small movement caught her eye.

It seemed as if a long, black, thin shadow was slowly stretching out of the bush. It was like a strange branch growing towards Sir Guy.

She opened her mouth to exclaim something when the branch or pole made a sudden thrusting jab.

It caught Sir Guy full in the middle of his waistcoat, and, with a startled exclamation, he lost his footing on the wet ground and toppled backwards into the pool.

Annabelle ran up and down the edge of the pool, making little helpless cries of distress.

To her relief, Sir Guy’s head appeared and he sat up, reminding her that the pool was only three feet deep.

‘What the ******?’ shouted Sir Guy.

‘A branch pushed you,’ babbled Annabelle, ‘and I must go. I really
must
go. It will look very odd if we are found here like this. Do, pray, let me go into the house and
send the servants.’

And paying no heed to Sir Guy’s strangled shout she ran quickly up the steps, along the terrace, and, taking a deep breath, slid quietly into the refreshment room.

The sounds of voices and laughter and music poured in from the ballroom. The refreshment room was empty save for the presence of the Duke of Allsbury who was pouring himself a glass of wine.

‘Your grace,’ said Annabelle, ‘Please send a servant into the garden. I – I was standing by the window and heard a terrible splash and a cry for help. I fear someone has
fallen into the pool.’

‘What!’ barked the Duke. ‘Some fellow has become bosky again and has decided to swim with my goldfish? I’m really tired of this. In my day, men knew how to hold their
wine. Here, you!’ to a footman. ‘There’s someone in the pool. Go and get him out.’

Annabelle waited in a fever of apprehension. It had seemed so innocent to stroll with Sir Guy in the garden. But now she could imagine the startled questions and explanations. And Sir Guy had
proved to be overwarm in his attentions.

But the servant returned and said that the garden was deserted and there was no sign of anyone in the pool.

Annabelle heaved a little sigh of relief. What had happened? Had her eyes been playing her tricks? Perhaps there had been no mysterious branch at all and Sir Guy had merely lost his footing.

She glanced down at the hem of her dress and saw that it was a little damp. She slipped quietly around the edge of the music room and out and down the stairs to the ante-chamber which had been
set up as a special room for the ladies to repair their faces and hair and to leave their cloaks.

An elderly maid was in attendance. Annabelle sat down in front of a looking glass and opened her reticule. If she fiddled with her hair and pretended to rearrange it for a few minutes, it would
give the hem of her gown a chance to dry.

The room was divided by several screens. Behind each screen stood a toilet table and looking glass, the idea being that the ladies could paint or powder in privacy.

Annabelle took some pins and a brush from her reticule, and began to twist a few stray curls back into place.