Lady of Fortune Page 11

  Annabelle could not help laughing. She had trouble remembering that Christa was a servant. Aunt Agatha had said that one must be firm or they would take advantage. Christa had shown no signs of “taking advantage” and her infectious spirits and tolerant understanding were rapidly making her into a friend. Annabelle had few friends; she had spent little time in Suffolk since she was a child, and had been too shy to make many new friends at the select seminary for young ladies that her mother had packed her off to when she was nine. She did maintain a correspondence with two girls she had met there, but both had married soon after their come-outs, and they had the interests of young matrons with children.

  “Now for the complexion,” Christa said. She wrapped a towel around Annabelle’s dripping head, then produced a jar filled with a sticky mush that her mistress eyed dubiously.

  “You are sure that will be good for me?”

  “This is a mixture of honey and oatmeal—and a secret ingredient of my own. I will leave it on for fifteen minutes, then pat it before I rinse it off. Your skin will glow with color and be very happy. Although, to be honest, your complexion is almost perfect the way it is,” Christa admitted. “But you must remember, part of being beautiful is how you think of yourself. If hours are spent on the task of making you lovely, will you not feel lovelier? By the end of this afternoon, you will feel that you have earned the accolades you will receive.”

  “What if my brothers don’t notice any difference?” Annabelle asked nervously.

  “They will,” Christa replied serenely. “And then you will know that you are beautiful. If a girl can impress her brother, she can impress anyone!”

  “You sound very sure.” Annabelle giggled. “Do you have a brother?”

  “I did.” Christa’s answer was terse and invited no comments. Annabelle was suddenly struck by how little she knew about her abigail apart from the fact that she was French, delightful company, and very skilled at her trade. Why had Christa come to England? Where had she learned to speak the language so well? Did she have any family?

  For all the intimacy of their day-to-day association, the gulf between servant and mistress was vast and uncrossable, and Annabelle could not bring herself to ask Christa about her background. A conversation of that sort would not be at all proper—she could almost hear the words Aunt Agatha would use to reprimand her. Servants aren’t like us. They don’t feel things the way we do. Don’t encourage them to ape their betters.

  It was a statement that Annabelle had never questioned until now, when honesty compelled her to admit that if Christa were dressed up and taken to a ball, her wit and charm would make her a sensation. She was probably more intelligent than her mistress, and certainly more experienced and better-informed. Since that was the case, which of them was the “better”?

  Annabelle put aside her radical and uncomfortable thoughts as Christa started gently patting and pulling the honey face mask. Sure enough, it made her skin very happy. With a blissful sigh, Annabelle forgot social analysis in favor of enjoying the sensation.

  Alex chatted with his brother while they waited for their sister to join them. While one part of his mind was listening to Jonathan’s detailed analysis of the relative virtues of light and heavy cavalry, another part was aware that he seemed to have been waiting for someone for a long time. Abruptly the viscount realized that he had been watching for Christa. True to her word, she was a model of discretion, and he hadn’t seen her for days. The girl had disappeared into the household exactly as she ought. Unfortunately. Perhaps he should call on Annabelle in her boudoir more often?

  Annabelle appeared before Alex had examined why he was so concerned with the welfare of a mere maid. His sister stood in the doorway for a moment before entering, and he suspected she was late deliberately so she could make a grand entrance.

  The effect was everything Annabelle could have wished for; even Jonathan stopped talking about the cavalry to stare at his sister. Alex had never seen her look so lovely. Her hair glowed bright gold as it fell around her face in soft curls, while the long tresses behind her head were caught in a bow that matched the ribbons tying her dress. The low-cut gown was superbly simple and showed his sister’s graceful figure in a manner that managed to be both alluring and modest. Its color was a pale lilac that could be considered half-mourning, but the shade was also a perfect foil for Annabelle’s delicate coloring. She wore a simple amethyst pendant about her neck, and her expression was a blend of confidence and shy hope.

  Alex crossed and took his sister’s hand, then bowed over it. “My dear, you are exquisite. Christa was right: I shall have men standing in line outside my study, waiting for the chance to beg for your hand.” He smiled into her wide blue eyes, noticing that they looked different. Darker lashes and brows, perhaps? He offered his arm. “Shall we go in for dinner before Monsieur Sabine becomes upset?”

  Annabelle lifted her head with a gesture worthy of a queen and took his arm graciously, beauty receiving her due. The royal expression dissolved when Jonathan exclaimed, “You look smashing, Belle. The prettiest sight I’ve seen since my mare Cinders had her foal.”

  Alex laughed aloud at how quickly her expression reverted to an older sister tempted to box her brother’s ears.

  “Christa warned me that brothers were difficult to impress,” she said with a mock glare.

  “On the contrary,” Jonathan said earnestly. “That is the most sincere compliment I have ever made a girl. And you are only my sister!”

  As they settled at the polished mahogany table, Alex asked, “I assume from the evidence that Christa is working out well?”

  “Oh, Alex, Christa is wonderful,” his sister said enthusiastically. “The best present you ever brought me. It is marvelous fun going to the shops with her. She apparently thinks it is not her place to disagree with me publicly, but if I look at something she thinks unsuitable, she has the most wonderful expressions. She lifts her brows or rolls her eyes. When I admired a truly vulgar beaded headdress, Christa just closed her eyes and firmly shook her head back and forth. I find myself looking at things she will not approve of, just to see what she will do. It is the greatest fun!”

  Alex had seen that gift for expression when he brought Christa and Miranda across London. It would almost be worth going to the shops with his sister to see that vividly alive face again. He thought quickly, then said, “Would you care to go walking with me in Hyde Park tomorrow, Belle? You’ll have to take Christa, since I will be going on to the Admiralty afterward, but I want to show you off to the polite world.”

  Annabelle looked so pleased at the invitation that Alex felt a bit guilty for issuing it as a subterfuge. His conscience was soothed with the thought that since he had brought Christa to the house, it was his responsibility to see that she was happy. Duty could be such a convenient crutch.

  The next day’s walk in the park was a success in terms of showing off Annabelle; Alex swore that she caused a traffic jam in Rotten Row that would not be cleared for a fortnight. A remarkable number of casual acquaintances came to greet him and beg the honor of an introduction to his sister. Annabelle glowed at the attention, but maintained a modest demeanor.

  However, as a chance for Alex to further his acquaintance with Christa, the walk was a total failure. She trailed a demure four steps behind, her downcast eyes and mobcap proclaiming her servant’s status. When he glanced back at her once or twice he caught a flash of mischievous eyes; except for that, he rather fancied that her servant’s behavior was too good—she reminded him of a Drury Lane actress.

  After a turn around the park, Alex left the two young women so he could take care of his business at the Admiralty. An experienced head of household might have been more cautious about leaving a beautiful young woman in the park, even accompanied by her maid. But Alex still had a good deal to learn.

  Annabelle watched her brother’s tall figure disappear, then said, “I want to walk around the park again before we go home.”

  “Are you sure
, Miss Annabelle? It looks like rain.”

  “A little water won’t hurt me,” Annabelle said recklessly. She reveled in the attention she attracted and was loath to return home. Last night, her brothers; today, the social world!

  They were in the middle of the park when the fast-gathering clouds decided to give up their water. As raindrops started pelting down, it occurred to Annabelle that her splendor would be considerably dimmed with her golden ringlets hanging like horse tails. Then, shockingly, she realized what her muslin dress would look like soaking wet. Why, she would appear naked!

  Christa called, “The trees to the left should shelter us until this passes by.”

  The two girls abandoned dignity to run across the grass, and they managed to get under a broad chestnut before becoming totally saturated. The fifteen-minute wait under the tree was filled with Annabelle’s chatter about the people they had seen and the men that had admired her. Christa listened tolerantly. Annabelle would soon come to accept the fact that she was attractive, but for the moment it was a new and delicious experience.

  The rain blew over quickly and pale sunshine was restored. They were nearly out of the park when Annabelle was stopped by a puddle that filled the shrub-lined path in front of her. She was deciding whether to ruin her slippers, retreat, or risk an unladylike jump when a smooth tenor voice said, “Allow me.”

  Annabelle looked up and gasped. The gentleman gazing at her so admiringly was the most elegant man she had ever seen. His dark Brutus-cropped hair was a masterpiece of artful disarray, his dark blue coat tailored to show his shapely torso and numerous gold fobs. He was a veritable pink of the ton, and the fine dark eyes regarded her with worshipful wonder. As Annabelle returned his gaze, the gentleman peeled off his expensive coat and laid it over the puddle in front of her.

  “Such a lovely lady should not soil her dainty slippers,” he murmured, his voice seductive.

  Christa watched in amusement. It was clear why Queen Elizabeth had favored Sir Walter Raleigh; the dramatic gesture could not fail to please. Of course, it had been Sir Walter’s original idea; this fop could not claim as much credit.

  Annabelle tripped delicately over the coat, which he lifted behind her; clearly his chivalry did not extend to the undainty feet of maids. Looking up at him, she breathed, “Sir, you are too kind. You should not have ruined your coat for me.”

  The gentleman bowed. “No price is too high if it contributes to your comfort.” As he straightened he said with a pretty show of hesitation, “I know it is too bold of me, but permit me to introduce myself. I am Sir Edward Loaming, very much at your service.” He lifted an eyebrow in hopeful question.

  “I am Annabelle Kingsley,” was the reply. Annabelle was stunned at how fully this man fulfilled her romantic fantasies; if this was a dream, she hoped never to wake.

  Really, Christa thought irritably, if Annabelle didn’t close her mouth soon, something might fly in. Sir Edward’s behavior was very amusing, but surely even a child could see how overdrawn his gestures were, how cold the eyes that overlooked them.

  She glanced back at Annabelle; perhaps a child could see through the man, but Annabelle, flushed with the first triumph of maidenly beauty, was dazzled by Sir Edward. Since the two were gazing into each other’s eyes with a singular lack of concern for who might be observing, Christa jumped that part of the puddle that was not now absorbed in Sir Edward’s coat and said briskly, “It is time we returned home, Miss Annabelle. You will wish to rest and change before dinner.”

  Annabelle turned her starry eyes to her maid. “Very well,” she said obediently. She looked back at her admirer with a coquettish flutter of lashes. Loaming seized the opening provided.

  “May I escort you home?” he asked with the soulful look most often seen in pets awaiting their dinner.

  Annabelle nodded happily and they turned to leave the park. Sir Edward wisely abandoned his ruined coat. While he looked a bit odd in his shirt sleeves and waistcoat, he would have looked a good deal odder carrying the coat at arm’s length to prevent it dripping on the rest of his finery.

  Christa followed the handsome couple with a slight frown knitting her brows. Annabelle might be overcome by Sir Edward’s romantic good looks, but Christa was not impressed at the way he had circumvented polite manners to ingratiate himself. Sir Edward reminded her of some of the exquisites who had fluttered around her in those long-ago days before the revolution. Some were amusing company, but the whole raft of them together was worth less than a real man like her brother or Alex Kingsley.

  The trip back to St. James’s Square was a dawdling one, delightful for Annabelle, tedious for her maid. Christa was glad that they would soon be repairing to the country—clearly Sir Edward wanted to learn where Annabelle lived so he might call on her. Next autumn he might be one of many, but at the moment he had the value of novelty. If Annabelle became too enamored of his charms, she might ignore more worthy suitors.

  At the door of Kingsley House Christa whisked her mistress inside before Sir Edward could make too many fatuous remarks. Nonetheless, the interval before dinner was filled with Annabelle’s dreamy remarks about her escort’s handsome face, elegant figure, cultivated voice, and general all-around wonderfulness. Christa confined herself to noncommittal noises at first, but after two hours started losing patience. She was curling Annabelle’s hair when her mistress said for the dozenth time, “Isn’t he the handsomest man you have ever seen, Christa?”

  “Indeed, he is most attractive, Miss Annabelle. Perhaps he has a wife who thinks so, too.”

  Annabelle’s face fell with ludicrous suddenness. “Do you think he is married?”

  Christa felt a bit ashamed of her comment, “Well, it is possible,” she temporized. “Many of the most galant men are married—they can be as outrageous as they wish, for they have nothing to lose and much to gain from their flirtatiousness.”

  Annabelle looked so woebegone that Christa said encouragingly, “You can ask your brother if he knows of Sir Edward. Then if he calls on you this autumn you will know if you wish to distinguish him above your other suitors.”

  Annabelle giggled, once more diverted by the delightful thought of her becoming much sought after. Sir Edward was wonderfully handsome, but there was an abundance of time and opportunity ahead of her.

  True to his resolution, Alex called on his sister the next morning as she was completing her toilette. Christa admitted him with a very proper bobbed curtsy, but under her demure facade he sensed the bubbling amusement he remembered from their journey across London. It was as if she saw all life as a game, and it was one of her most appealing qualities.

  The viscount smiled at Christa and said cheerily, “Good morning, Belle. If you have no objections, I’d like to visit with you. It should be interesting to observe a few feminine mysteries.”

  Annabelle laughed from her seat at the vanity. “Surely my big strong brother knows his share of feminine secrets.”

  Alex chuckled as he seated himself and Christa silently poured him a cup of tea from his sister’s breakfast tray. He noted approvingly that she placed a basket of crescent-shaped rolls near to hand—he liked a woman with a good grasp of basics. Alex also liked a woman with a delightful impertinent derrière, and Christa qualified splendidly on both counts.

  He broke and buttered one of the featherlight rolls, then sighed blissfully. “Belle, how have you earned such a delicious breakfast? Nothing like this is served downstairs.”

  Annabelle turned to face her brother as Christa resumed styling her hair. “Christa said I would like them, and asked Monsieur Sabine to make them for me. Are they not delightful? They are called croissants.”

  “Remind me to double Monsieur’s salary. Whatever I pay him, it isn’t enough,” Alex said as he reached for another croissant, this time spreading it with orange marmalade.

  Returning to his sister’s earlier remark, he said, “Actually, Belle, my experience has been limited. Since I went into the Navy at fourteen, I’ve com
pletely missed the normal social education. Fashionable ladies with their fans terrify me. Why, I don’t even know how to dance.”

  Annabelle pursed her lips in concern. “How strange—I never thought of that. I’ve always dreamed of your exotic adventures, and never thought of what you were missing. Since you must lead me out for the first dance at my ball next autumn, you will just have to take lessons. Jonathan could use some too—he has always resisted learning! Surely there must be a dancing master in Ipswich who will come out to the Orchard.”

  Alex’s first reaction was to retreat from this threatened female fol-de-rol, but then he paused and a gleam came into his eye: this might work to his advantage. “We’ll need a second female to make up two couples. Christa, do you dance?”

  His quarry raised her eyes from Annabelle’s hair and said demurely, “But of course, Lord Kingsley. A lady’s maid must be able to do everything her mistress does.”

  “And she must do it better, so that she can teach it?” Alex asked teasingly.

  “A lady’s maid is never more proficient than her mistress,” Christa said firmly. “Except for things like starching and cleaning, which no proper lady would have knowledge of.”

  “Do you ever tire of being discreet, Christa?” he asked.

  Her gray eyes opened wide. “Why, not at all. It is a skill that I have only lately learned, so it has the charm of novelty.”

  Alex laughed aloud, then addressed both of the girls. “While we are on the subject of the beau monde, is there anything we should be doing now about the ball? I haven’t the vaguest idea how one goes about organizing such things.”

  Annabelle looked uncertain. “I’m afraid I don’t either. Lady Serena never included me in any of her entertaining plans, and Aunt Agatha wouldn’t have had people in even if we hadn’t been in mourning.” Her eyes brightened and she said hopefully, “Christa, have you ever been involved in planning a ball?”