“Of all the places on earth,” he continued, as much to himself as anyone. “I can hardly believe it.”
“But whoisshe?” The duchess linked her hands, prayer-like, beneath her chin. “Tell us, please. I just know there’s a story here.”
“A rather long story, actually,” Julian replied, and set off through the gallery, throwing an apology over his shoulder as he went. “Forgive me, Aunt Eleanor, Duchess. I’ll explain later!”
Chapter Twelve
Earlier that samemorning, traveling by pony and trap, Annie and Janet had arrived at Myddleton House shortly after dawn beneath cloudy skies. Annie could only gape as they passed through the palatial wrought-iron gates. The gravel driveway cut a wide swathe through neat lawns of emerald grass and passed beneath the canopies of oak and elm. And then came the house itself, a majestic three-story edifice of gleaming windows, elegant gables, and handsome chimneys. The bottom portion of the house, which Annie hadn’t been able to see from Freya’s Farewell, was just as lovely as the top. She couldn’t wait to view the inside.
Janet had steered the trap around to the rear of the house, where a stable lad had taken charge of Tulip the pony. They had then entered through a nondescript rear door, and into the underbelly of the great house. Annie, awed by the sheer grandeur of it all, had stayed in Janet’s shadow as they’d been given the necessary instructions.
It was now close to midday and, with a half-dozen completed arrangements behind them, Annie found herself alone in Myddleton’s long gallery with two buckets of flowers at her feet, and a large empty vase on a plinth. “Carry on,” Janet had said, before disappearing in search of some “specific” greenery, whatever that meant. “See what you can do till I get back. I’ll not be long. And donotwander off.”
Annie loved flowers, but she’d come to realize the arranging of them in a fancy vessel of some sort was not really her forte. Still, asinstructed, she’d continued with her efforts while listening to the rhythmic patter of rain on the many windows. She quietly admitted she’d be glad when Janet returned to finish the display, their fifth that day. After this, only one remained.Thank goodness.
On the bright side, her palatial surroundings were nothing short of spectacular. She could have spent the entire day in the gallery, wandering around, admiring the paintings and the sculptures, marveling at the sheer opulence of the place. Perhaps, when the flower display had been completed, and if the gallery remained empty, she might be allowed to indulge herself for a while.
That particular hope, however, had been short-lived. Not long after Janet left, the sound of footfalls and muted conversation had drifted in from the main gallery doorway. Annie wondered who it was but resisted an urge to look. Family or guests, undoubtedly. Perhaps both. Maybe even the earl and his countess. A touch of nervousness set Annie’s heart racing, since she now had a potential audience who might bear witness to her ineptitude. She hoped Janet was right when she’d said that servants tended to be invisible to their wealthy employers. If so, they likely wouldn’t pay her any attention. Nevertheless, a snippet of advice from Janet echoed in her head.Speak only if spoken to.
May Heaven forbid.
The hum of conversation continued on behind her, though Annie couldn’t quite make out what was being said. Only when a man’s laughter carried through the air did she dare to glance over her shoulder.
Three people. An older woman and a younger couple. The women in particular captured Annie’s attention and her fascination. The older lady was startlingly elegant, her dress, of what appeared to be cream silk, nothing short of magnificent. As was the pearl collar at her throat and the immaculate coiffure of her silver hair, the latter adorned by a single, pale pink feather. Annie wondered if the lady mightactually be the countess.
The younger woman, even from this distance, appeared to be worthy of portraiture. She reminded Annie of a porcelain doll, complete with a flawless complexion and perfect figure. Her hair, a rich, glossy brown, was also perfectly styled and curled, while the intense blue of her gown was reminiscent of bright, summer mornings. A jewel with a bluish hue glinted at her throat and surely matched the sparkling earrings that dangled from her ears. Annie gave the young man but a quick, cursory glance, wondered briefly if he was the younger lady’s husband, and then returned to her sorry attempt at flower arranging.
It took a second or two for Annie’s brain to catch up with what, or ratherwho, her eyes had beheld in that previous little fragment of time. With a gasp, she spun fully around, stomach clenching as her gaze fixed solely on the man. As if someone had drawn a curtain around her, all other sights and sounds faded into shadow. She saw him. Only him.
Julian Northcott.
Chatting with the older lady, he paid Annie no attention at first. But then, for whatever reason, he turned and looked straight at her. The subsequent expression of shock on his face indicated, beyond any doubt, that he recognized her also. The glass he’d been holding slid from his grasp and shattered at his feet, yet his gaze remained locked with hers. Annie’s presence of mind spiraled into chaos as a horde of emotions besieged her, though only one of them took complete control.
Panic.
Run,her brain screamed, over the thunderous rattle of her heart.Go, now. He cannot see you like this. He must not see you like this.And yet she couldn’t move, couldn’t tear her gaze from his. Only when he looked away did whatever had tethered her to him snap. Willing her legs to work, Annie dropped the flower she was holding, hoisted herskirts, and fled. Moments later, she stumbled out of the gallery and raced along the hall to the servants’ door. Flinging that open, she flew down the wooden stairs and all but fell into the hallway at the bottom. There, she halted a moment to spare her poor heart, which was about to erupt from her chest, or so it seemed. As for her wits, they had scattered like loose beads on a tiled floor.
Julian Northcott. I cannot believe it. I cannot! He recognized me, too, I’m sure of it. What is he doing here? He said he lived in Yorkshire.
Not once had she imagined seeing him at Myddleton House. It seemed apparent he was a guest of the earl and the countess.I knew he was a gentleman of note. I knew it! Oh, but why did I run from him? Why?
The answer came swiftly. She ran because he would, likewise, demand the reason for her presence at Myddleton House, and she had no desire to explain it. To do so would be akin to poking at a wound not yet healed. And, if she was to be totally honest with herself, the telling of it would be embarrassing. Shameful, even. For now, caught unawares and unprepared, Annie could not bear the thought of facing him. She needed to find Janet, but had no idea where to begin looking.
Then, from somewhere above came the sound of the door opening and closing, followed by a cascade of footfalls on the stairs. They sounded masculine in nature. Urgent, as well. Annie’s stomach clenched. Was it him? She wasn’t about to wait and see. Seeking a potential hiding place, she looked left and right. Choosing to go left, she hoisted her skirts once more and sped off down the hallway.
Below-stairs at Myddleton House was no peaceful haven. Down here, beneath the grandeur and elegance of the upper floors, existed the inner workings of the great house. Men and women, young and old, skilled and novice, were the wheels and cogs of a machine that kept everything above stairs running efficiently. It did not run silently, however, nor did it move sedately, which for Annie was a blessing. The constant comings-and-goings meant her hurried presence went largely unnoticed. Or so she hoped.
When almost at the end of the corridor, she found a small roomthat appeared to offer sanctuary. It was unlit, unoccupied, and had a vague herbal smell, not too unpleasant. With a quick glance over her shoulder, Annie ducked inside, closed the door, and slipped into the shadows, giving silent thanks for the obscurity of her black mourning garb.
Disoriented and breathless, she pressed her back against the far wall, placed a hand over her heart, and tried to tame her wild emotions. The initial wave of shock receded a little, allowing rational thought to creep in, bringing a measure of regret with it. She had acted impulsively, she realized, without aforethought or reason.
She had, indeed, panicked.
“Oh, Lord, Annie,” she muttered, cheeks burning as she buried her face in her hands. “What were you thinking? Stupid girl. You’ve just made things worse for yourself. Should’ve stayed where you were, waited till he approached, and explained your presence. The shame is not yours to bear, after all. You should have spoken to him, like… like a normal person. What must he think of you now? Deranged, most likely. A madwoman.” She groaned. “God help me.”
With her face still buried in her hands, Annie slid down the wall and sank to the floor, skirts ballooning out around her. The action seemed to mirror her composure, which, though carefully maintained and guarded over the past few weeks, now crumbled like dry clay.
Overwhelmed and entirely bewildered, Annie surrendered to the merciless unpredictability of her life and gave freedom to her pent-up tears. Hard sobs, one after another, erupted in near silence. Meanwhile, beyond the door of the sad little room, the clamor of Myddleton House continued as usual. Life went on, apparently unaware of Annie’s presence or predicament.
