Julian glanced at his aunt and then pointed his chin at the woman, who was currently taking her time studying the buckets before choosing a different bloom. “Not in this young lady’s case, Aunt. I get the impression she doesn’t really know what she’s doing.”
“Maybe she’s simply a perfectionist,” the duchess said, as the previously chosen bloom went back into the bucket again. “Though I agree, she does make the task look rather laborious.”
“I don’t recall seeing her here before.” Lady Hutton appeared to ponder. “I believe Janet is doing most of the arrangements today. She must have taken on an assistant.”
“Who appears to be in mourning,” the duchess said, “given her sad attire.”
“She’s young to be in mourning.” His aunt flicked her fan open and wafted it at her throat. “I imagine you’re looking forward to seeing Miss Aitken tomorrow, my dear.”
Julian hid a twinge of irritation behind a smile. “Yes, I am, Aunt.”
Perhaps he hadn’t hidden his irritation well enough, given how his aunt’s brows first lifted and then fell into a brief frown. Julian took another sip of his drink and steeled himself against what was sure to be a coercive attack. It appeared the duchess was correct about him being easy to read.
“Your parents’ expectations of you do not include entering into a loveless marriage, dear.” His aunt snapped the fan shut and used it to tap his shoulder. “Obligations have their limits.”
Julian gaped at her for a moment and then laughed. “I confess, Aunt Eleanor, that was not at all the response I expected, but I thank you for it.”
“And I’m in total agreement with your aunt,” the duchess added. “You’re young, handsome, and eligible, Mr. Northcott. You can have your choice, I should think.”
His aunt nodded. “Of course, that’s not to say you shouldn’t marry well, Julian. You’re the heir to that marvelous estate, after all, which is where most of those obligations come in.”
“I’m fully aware of that, Aunt.” Julian’s gaze shifted, carelessly, back to the flower girl. “As it happens, Miss Aitken and I get along extremely well, and I’m seriously considering a propo—”
Julian’s ability to speak further, to even take his next breath, deserted him. All he could do was stare at the young woman in the gallery who, not even a minute earlier, was bent over a bucket offlowers, her back toward him. She was still there, standing beside the buckets, a white flower clutched in her hand. Except she was now standing upright and looking straight at him.
Recognition washed over him in a heated wave, stealing his breath. His glass slid from his grasp and shattered at his feet, yet he remained stock-still, looking upon a face he never thought to see again.
Annabelle?
His aunt’s voice, edged with urgency, pushed through the strange rushing sound in his head. “Julian, dear, what on earth is the matter?”
Intending to respond, he opened his mouth, but immediately forgot what his aunt had said. Then he felt a touch on his arm, and the duchess spoke. “What is it, Julian? What’s wrong?”
Then his aunt’s voice again, anxious. Fearful. “Are you ill, dear? Answer me. Should we fetch someone?”
Julian blinked once, twice, and tore his gaze away from the one who held it.
“Er, no, I’m…” He swallowed and then drew breath. “I’m all right, Aunt Eleanor, quite all right. Forgive me. I was taken by surprise, that’s all.”
“Taken by surprise?” She shook her head. “How come?”
“I wasn’t prepared to see, I mean, I never imagined…” Fearful he’d been mistaken, he looked again, and his stomach clenched. A single, white flower lay on the floor and the buckets now stood alone. “What? Where…?”
Did I imagine her? No, I didn’t. It was definitely her. Miss Fairfax. Annabelle. She was definitely there.
As if to affirm her presence, or rather her sudden departure, the north door at the other end of the gallery banged shut, the sound echoing through the vast space. It further reassured him he had not been mistaken. Besides, the look of shock on Annabelle’s face surely indicated she’d recognized him too. But why had she run? Perhaps she simply feared facing him. Feared answering the questions raised by herpresence at Myddleton House. She couldn’t know he was already cognizant of what had occurred on her wedding day, and how her father had died.
“Wasn’t prepared to seewhat, Julian?” His aunt’s demand intruded into his thoughts once more, followed by the audible click of her fan opening. “Gracious, I thought you were having an epilepsy.”
Julian turned to see her fanning herself so hard that the delicate pink feather in her hair looked about to take flight. He parted with a remorseful groan. “Forgive me, Aunt Eleanor. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He looked down at the mess on the floor. “And I’m sorry about the glass.”
His aunt huffed and continued to fan herself. “I couldn’t care less about the glass, my dear. I’m just worried about you.”
“Has it something to do with that girl?” the duchess asked. “The one arranging the flowers? Do you know her?”
“I’m fine, Aunt, really. And yes, Duchess, I do know the young lady. Well, sort of.” Again, Julian looked at the buckets of flowers, uncertainty and certainty swapping places in his head. “At least, I think…no, I’m sure it was her.”
“Who is she?” his aunt demanded. “And where has she gone? She hasn’t finished the arrangement yet. How come you know her, Julian?”
