No Lancelot. No faded yellow curtains.
She just needed to be sure.
*
Miss Annabelle Fairfaxwas still in mourning, a fact that demanded the appropriate solemnity. That being so, Julian kept reminding himself to stop grinning like an idiot. But a moment later, he’d forget everything except the fact the young lady was actually walking beside him, her hand tucked into the crook of his arm. And the grin would return. He simply couldn’t help it. It was as if he’d found a lost treasure.
Annabelle.
He gazed down at the top of her head as he had once before. No bonnet this time, hiding her curls. No time restrictions, either. At least, none he knew of.
“I must confess, Mr. Northcott,” Annabelle began, as they started up the stairs, “I find it strange you have not yet asked me the anticipated question.”
“You mean, what is Miss Fairfax doing in Derbyshire?” His grin became a smile. “Flower arranging at Myddleton House, apparently.”
Annabelle regarded him, her expression serious. “There’s actually a bit more to it than that, sir.”
Chagrin dissolved the smile in an instant. “Forgive my levity, Miss Fairfax. I meant no disrespect.”
“Oh, no, Mr. Northcott, there’s nothing to forgive.” Eyes wide and bright with what looked like more tears, she shook her head. “You cannot possibly know all that has occurred since last we met.”
“Actually, I think I might be aware of most of it.” Julian heaved a sigh, halted on the landing at the top of the stairs, and gently turned her to face him. “I’m aware of the circumstances surrounding your father’s death, Miss Fairfax. Again, allow me to offer my deepest sympathy. It must have been terrible for you.”
Expressions of confusion and dismay skittered across her face. “How did you learn of it?”
“From the newspaper report.”
“Oh my!” Color came to her cheeks as her gaze dropped to the floor. “I didn’t realize it had traveled beyond London.”
“I’m not sure it did in the way you think,” Julian replied, tipping her chin up again. “It’s clear we each have things to say, and I thought we might do so while completing your flower arrangement. A pleasing distraction, so to speak.”
“Then perhaps I should begin immediately and with a confession,” she said, soberly. “The truth is, like you, I have little knowledge of flower-arranging. I came here today with Miss Caldridge, the lady with whom I am lodging. She lives nearby and is regularly summoned to Myddleton House when flower arrangements are required. I accompanied her because I wanted to see the house, that is all. She went off in search of some greenery and left me alone in the gallery. I was awaiting her return when you and the two ladies entered.”
Julian heard every word she’d said. He even opened his mouth to respond, but his disarrayed mind was still reveling in the fact that Annabelle Fairfax was no longer lost to him. She was not hiding inLondonortraveling around Europe. She was here at Myddleton House, standing before him in an obscure hallway. The reality of her presence was more intoxicating than wine, and he consumed it without restraint. Breathing in her fresh, floral scent, he studied the face that had occupied his mind for several weeks. Those soft, dark curls, the little beauty spot above a perfectly arched brow, the unforgettable allure of her eyes and, of course, the exquisite lines of her mouth. His gaze lingered a little longer on her lips.
“Mr. Northcott?”
He blinked. “I beg your pardon, Miss Fairfax. I was just thinking about our previous encounter. Much has happened since, obviously.” He resisted an urge to reach for her hand and instead gestured down the hallway. “Let’s return to the gallery. Maybe Miss Caldridge has already finished the arrangement.”
“I hope so,” she replied, as she moved into step beside him. “And, if so, she’ll be wondering where I am, since I was under strict instructions not to move from that spot. Will the two ladies still be there, do you think?”
“Possibly,” he replied, glancing at her. “I expect they’re curious to know why you ran off and why I ran after you.”
“No doubt.” She peered up at him. “May I—forgive me my forwardness—know who they are?”
“Of course. The younger lady is Her Grace, the Duchess of Rothbury, and the older lady is the Countess of Hutton.”
“The countess herself?” Annabelle groaned. “Oh, my goodness, I had a feeling that’s who she was. I can’t believe I ran off like I did. How embarrassing.”
“No need to be embarrassed,” Julian said. “Like I said, I think we’ve stirred their curiosity more than anything else.”
She heaved a sigh. “I panicked because I feared the inevitability of your questions, sir. I didn’t know you’d read the newspaper report. Nor does it tell the whole story, unfortunately. There is yet more to it,most of it unpleasant.”
Julian heard the tremor in her voice and silently cursed his disordered thoughts. Attempting to gather his wits yet again, he halted and turned to face her again. “There is more to my side of things as well, Miss Fairfax. Things you should know before we go any further, in fact. To begin, I’m fully aware you left London some weeks ago. What Ididn’tknow, till today, was where you’d gone.”
Her brows lifted. “But how did you know I’d left London? My departure was not mentioned in the newspaper report.”
“Because after I read the report, I went to London intent on paying you a visit,” he replied. “That’s what I meant earlier, when I said I’d been looking for you.”
