When She Was Wicked (36 page)

Mama and Daphne were looking for work, hoping additional income would permit them to keep their modest apartment. Anabelle, however, doubted they’d meet with success. Though Daph would make a wonderful governess, she had no references or experience. Mama insisted she could do laundry and mending, but Anabelle worried she’d overexert herself.

Mama and Daph would most likely move to the country and rely on the kindness of distant, slovenly cousins on her mother’s side while Anabelle moved into a boardinghouse and sent them what money she could.

Though her chest ached every time she thought of being separated from Mama and Daph, she couldn’t
resume her extortion scheme. She wasn’t the same person she’d been a few months ago.

The bell on the front door of the shop had been ringing all morning, but Anabelle enjoyed the hustle and bustle. As long as she kept busy, she didn’t have time to think about Owen or the magical night she’d spent with him. Or how empty she felt without him.

Mrs. Smallwood popped her head around the curtain. “You’re needed out front, Miss Honeycote.”

“Of course.” Anabelle set down her needle and thread and instinctively reached up to pat her cap. It was smaller than the one Owen had hated, but she suspected he’d hate this one as well. No matter the shape or size, it was still a servant’s cap.

Brushing off thoughts of him, she glided beyond the curtain to the front room. Ladies of all ages milled about, giving specifications to other seamstresses, selecting trimmings and lace, and admiring pictures in fashion magazines. Mrs. Smallwood had returned to help a mother and daughter with a spencer, so Anabelle searched for a customer in need of help.

“There you are!” The familiar voice made her gasp.

“Lady Olivia,” she managed, barely. “How wonderful to see you.”

“Just Olivia, remember?” She linked an arm through Anabelle’s and strolled to the counter in the back of the shop.

“I sent the gowns to Huntford Manor. Did you receive them? I hope they were satisfactory.”

“They’re perfect. How are you? I’ve missed you so.”

“I’ve missed you too,” Anabelle admitted. “And Rose. How is she?”

“Not well. That’s why I’m here.”

Anabelle’s stomach clenched. “Not well? What’s wrong?”

“Well, after the house party, we traveled directly to Huntford Manor. Rose has been sneaking away from the manor house to spend time… in the stables.”

“She’s still seeing the stable master, Charles?”

“Precisely. Owen knows she’s hiding something and is threatening to cancel the ball unless we confide in him.”

“I’m sorry. I know how much you and Rose looked forward to it.”

“I was keen to see James—or more precisely, to have him see
me
in my ball gown—but canceling the ball would not be a tragedy. Rose doesn’t seem to care about the ball one whit.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand what the problem is, then.”

“Rose refuses to eat unless Owen calls off his duel with Lord Winthrope.”

Anabelle’s fingers went numb. “Your brother really means to meet the earl on the dueling field?”

“He won’t let the injury to Rose go unpunished. If he’d had his druthers, he’d have settled the matter at the house party, but Lady Harsby forbade any bloodshed.”

Anabelle’s stomach roiled. “When is the duel scheduled to take place?”

“After Rose’s ball. One week hence, when we’ve all returned to Town. It’s a horrible mess, Anabelle. I don’t want Owen to duel Lord Winthrope—the earl is quite a good shot, if Lady Harsby is to be believed. But Rose must eat.”

“Yes. She must.” Anabelle drummed her fingers on the wooden counter. “Have you asked Charles to speak with her, to convince her to take care of herself?”

Olivia shook her head. “He told Rose that they must stop seeing each other. Although he cares for her deeply, he believes that she’s too good for him. Rose, however, is more determined than ever to be with him.” Olivia’s voice grew shriller with each sentence. “And Owen has been a complete boor ever since… well, ever since you left.”

Anabelle squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry I left so suddenly. It was cowardly of me to go without saying good-bye to you and Rose.”

“We were upset at first. But we figured you must have had your reasons.”

“Yes.” She stared at the toes of her boots before looking into Olivia’s kind brown eyes. “I’m sorry to hear of your family’s troubles. But I’m not sure what I can do.”

“Come to Huntford Manor with me and speak to Rose. Speak to Owen. Make them understand that they can’t go on being so stubborn.” Tears trickled down her face. “I can’t bear to watch the two people I love most so upset with each other.”

“Please, don’t cry.” Anabelle searched behind the counter and found a handkerchief, which she handed to Olivia. “They’ll sort out their differences, I’m sure of it.”

Olivia blotted her cheeks. “Do you think I’d be here, asking your help, if I thought they could? I know it’s a terrible imposition and that you have your own family to worry about, but—”

“It’s not an imposition. It’s just that I have my job back here, and Mrs. Smallwood needs me.” It was true and so much easier to explain to Olivia than the real reason she couldn’t face Owen.

“Are you saying you can’t travel to Huntford Manor for a couple of days because of your position?”

“Yes. You see, I’m supporting my mother and sis—”

“Oh, Mrs. Smallwood!” Olivia turned and marched across the dress shop toward the proprietor. “May I have a word?”

Anabelle hurried to catch up, but Olivia already had the woman’s attention. “How may we help you, Lady Olivia?” Mrs. Smallwood asked.

“I require Miss Honeycote’s assistance at Huntford Manor. It’s a dressmaking emergency of sorts, and she is the only one my sister and I trust to help us.”

Mrs. Smallwood gaped alternately at Olivia and Anabelle. “Well, I—”

“I’m aware she’s a highly valuable member of your staff; however, if you could spare her for a few days, my family would be eternally grateful.”

“We have a long list of backor—”

“My brother will insist on compensating you handsomely, of course.”

The shop owner’s eyes lit up like fireworks at Vauxhall Gardens. “I have no objection.”

“But, Mrs. Smallwood,” Anabelle choked out, “I’m in the middle of several projects.”

The elderly woman raised her palm. “I insist that you go to assist Lady Olivia with their dressmaking… emergency. We shall manage for a few days.” She brushed her hands down the front of her apron, her decision final.

“Thank goodness,” Olivia cried. “Come. The coach is waiting outside. We can stop at your apartment on the way out of Town so you may inform your mother and sister and pack a few things.”

Anabelle walked out of the dress shop, stunned at the day’s turn of events. As she climbed into the coach behind
Olivia, she asked, “Does either Rose or your brother know you’re here?”

“No,” Olivia said breezily. “When Owen discovers I bullied the coachman into taking me into Town and came unchaperoned, he’ll be even angrier with me than he is with Rose.”

With a mixture of amusement and alarm, Anabelle realized Olivia would probably have resorted to kidnapping her if necessary. She’d never really had any choice in the matter.

It seemed she was going to Huntford Manor.

O
wen glared at Rose, who sat stiffly in front of his desk, glaring back.

He’d called her into his study two hours ago when he realized that Olivia had taken his coach—without a word to anyone—that morning. His initial shock had quickly combusted into anger, but now, as he looked out the window at the darkening sky, fear crept into his bones. Where in God’s name had Olivia gone?

All Owen knew was that his trusted stable master, Charles, had seen her leave with the coachman shortly before lunch. Olivia had claimed Owen knew about her excursion—a bald-faced lie—and she’d be back in the evening.

Rose looked frailer than ever tucked into the bulky armchair across from him, her cheekbones too prominent. “If you know anything,” he said to her, “you must tell me. Olivia could be stranded on the side of the road or in some other sort of dire circumstances. It’s not safe for
a young woman to travel alone—especially at night.” Of course, she might not be alone, but with a man. That possibility was even more disturbing.

Rose swallowed as though she, too, had considered these scenarios but shook her head.

He shoved his chair away from the desk and paced. “I’ve been far too lenient with the two of you.” He pointed at her. “You constantly disappear, refusing to tell me who you’re seeing or what you’re doing. And Olivia rides off in my godforsaken coach without telling a soul where she’s going.” He was sputtering and didn’t care. “I will not abide this secrecy. If you and your sister don’t tell me what’s going on, I’ll have to take extreme measures.”

Rose sat forward in the chair, her eyes wide with alarm. Good.

“Maybe I’ll lock you in your rooms for a few weeks.” Except she’d probably like that, so he added, “And I’ll forbid you to read, paint, play music, or even see Olivia—unless you eat.”

He had not thought Rose was capable of scowling. At least he’d found a way of getting through to her.

“Dennison!” he yelled.

The butler appeared in the doorway of his study. “My name is Hodges, Your Grace. Dennison is still in Town.”

Owen pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d known that, of course, but there was something inherently satisfying about yelling Dennison’s name when he was perturbed. “Thank you for enlightening me,
Hodges
,” he said dryly. “Tell Charles I wish to see him.”

The butler bobbed his head and left.

Rose sat up straight and clutched the arms of her chair. Interesting.

Owen planned to interrogate the stable master once more, to inquire about any items Olivia may have carried with her when she left. Maybe he knew more than he let on.

To Rose, Owen said, “Charles is somehow involved in this, isn’t he?”

She shook her head, but her cheeks flushed. He remembered the extortion note. “Is Olivia seeing him?”

She shook her head vehemently.

He leaned over, bringing his eyes level with hers. “I will find out the truth, Rose.”

Crossing her arms, she stared past him. Good grief. What had happened to his meek and obedient sister?

Owen paced until Charles joined them. Holding his hat in his hands, the stable master bowed in Rose’s direction. “You wanted to see me, Your Grace?”

“Sit down.” He waved Charles into the leather chair next to Rose’s. She avoided looking at him and vice versa. As though they were guilty. Keeping his tone pleasant, Owen asked, “Did Lady Olivia have any luggage when she left this morning? Did she carry a reticule or basket?”

Charles frowned. “No large bags, Sir. Just a small… thing on her wrist.”

“Which suggests she wasn’t planning an overnight trip. What was she wearing?”

“Sir?”

“What kind of dress?”

“I couldn’t say, Sir. I think it may have been blue or green. Or maybe yellow.”

“It’s a good thing you know horses better than ladies’ fashions, Charles.”

“Yes, Sir.”

A sudden commotion in the hallway halted the conversation, and Hodges ran into the room in a highly undignified manner. “Lady Olivia has returned,” he shouted.

The words were no sooner out of the butler’s mouth than Olivia herself breezed in.

She smiled broadly, as though she hadn’t a care in the world—until she saw Charles sitting next to Rose. She clasped a hand to her chest, and her eyes flew to Owen’s. “So, you know. I hope you did not completely lose your temper, Owen. Charles is quite the gentleman—”

“
What
are you talking about?”

Olivia placed a hand over her mouth.

“Olivia?”

“Never mind. I’m sure you’re all wondering where I’ve been.”

Owen gritted his teeth. “Wondering? No. Sick with worry? Yes.”

“I wanted to surprise you.”

“I’m in no mood for games,” he warned.

“Look who I have with me!” She turned and presented her guest with a flourish.

For the space of a second, he couldn’t breathe. “Anabelle?”

“Good evening, Your Grace.” The sight of her was a punch to the gut. The two weeks since she’d left had felt like months. And now, she was really there, her honey-streaked hair and gray eyes gleaming, chin held high.

“What are you doing here?”

“I asked her to come,” Olivia said.

“Why?”

She shrugged. “Because I didn’t know what else to do. You want to risk your life in a duel with Lord Winthrope.
Rose refuses to eat. I’m scared to death I’m going to lose both of you.”

“I think I should be going,” Charles said, rising from his chair. He seemed to look to Rose for permission.

And suddenly, Owen put all the pieces together. Good God, he’d been dense.

“Wait,” he said. The stable master sat back down. “I think you should tell me what’s going on between you and Rose.”

Charles gave Rose a weak but reassuring smile before slowly standing and looking Owen directly in the eyes. “I have a friendship with your sister, Sir. I know it’s not fitting for someone as refined as her to spend time with a servant, and I’m sorry I deceived you. However, I promise you that I have never—
would
never—treat her as anything but the lady that she is.”

Rage boiled inside Owen. He crossed his arms in the hopes that it might prevent him from delivering a blow to the man’s jaw. His gaze flicked to Olivia and Anabelle. “You both knew about this, didn’t you?”

Anabelle nodded, and Olivia said, “What could we do, Owen? You never would have allowed Rose to see him.”

“You’re correct on that score.”

“I
knew
it,” Olivia said. “You only care about the fact that he’s a servant and Rose is the sister of a duke. You’d never notice how happy Rose is when she’s with him, or how good he is for her.”

“What a load of—”

“Stop, Your Grace!” Charles held up a hand. “This is upsetting Lady Rose. She loves you”—he nodded at Owen—“more than anything. The last thing I want to do is to cause strife between the two of you. I’ll gather my things and leave the estate early tomorrow morning.”