“No, sir, you may not,” Hattie replied, looking mildly affronted. “I am not injured and can manage quite well.”
Annie noticed the same amused expression flicker across the man’s face as he returned his attention to her. “Then let us be on our way,” he said, “but you, Miss Fairfax, must be the one to set our pace. There is no hurry on my part. I ask only that you’ll tell me if you feel in the least unwell or in need of a pause.”
Annie nodded her assent. “I will, sir, thank you.”
“Good. Now, where do you live?”
“Chester Street. Do you know of it?”
“I do. It’s not far at all.”
No, it wasn’t, yet Annie felt genuinely glad of his support as they moved off. True, she still felt a little shaken, but deep down inside another sensation had sparked to life. One she had never felt before. It was, however, instinctually recognizable and, in truth, not entirely welcome. She took a steadying breath.
“Do you live in London permanently, Miss Fairfax?” he asked.
He had a pleasant voice, Annie thought. A decidedly masculine resonance, refined and confident, but not in the least haughty. It fell so easily into her ears, stimulating yet calming at the same time. Knowing this man’s name, she realized, wasn’t enough. A quick calculation in her head told her she had perhaps fifteen, maybe twenty, minutes till she arrived at her front door, where she would bid Julian Northcott farewell forever. And, for reasons she could not begin to fathom, she endeavored to learn as much as she could about him before the moment arrived. Not that doing so made any sense. This impromptumeeting with a chivalrous stranger would serve no life-changing purpose, after all. The direction of her future had been mapped out long since.
“Yes, I do. My father is a physician.” The image of her father’s face appeared in her mind, and she clutched her package tighter to her chest. “Now retired.”
“A fine profession, indeed.”
Annie smiled her response, aware that Julian Northcott, as decorum dictated, was making polite conversation. Propriety demanded she do likewise, which meant ignoring the growing list of less decorous questions arising in her brain. The crook of his arm clenched around her hand as he steered her through a cluster of pedestrians. Nothing more than a small gesture of protection, yet it sent a tingle of pleasure spiraling down Annie’s spine.
“Actually, I have lived here all my life,” she said. “What of you, sir? Do you live in the city?”
“Only temporarily,” he replied. “In fact, I’m returning home tomorrow.”
“Oh, I see.” Annie masked a brief sense of disappointment with another smile, wishing she were bold enough to ask what had brought him to London in the first place. Business, perhaps, though she suspected it might have been for the Season. Although he hadn’t introduced himself with a title, everything about him, from his comportment to his fine clothing, indicated he was a man of note. If not actual nobility, then connected somehow. Decorum must prevail, she decided, and settled on a less intrusive question. “And where might your permanent home be?”
“Yorkshire,” he replied. “Specifically, not too far from Harrogate, if you happen to be familiar with the area.”
“Not terribly, I’m afraid,” she replied, the mention of northern lands provoking a vague and long-abandoned memory. “I’ve only been to the northern parts of England once, though I couldn’t tell youwhereabouts, exactly. I was but four years old, you see, and sent away from London when my mother became ill.” A hazy image slid into Annie’s mind, that of a thin, pale woman, recumbent upon the chaise-longue in the front parlor, perpetually accompanied by the smell of roses and something else undefined, medicinal, and not particularly pleasant. “I stayed at my aunt’s house for several weeks, but have few recollections of it.” More memories, long discarded and blurred with time, manifested themselves. “It was definitely somewhere in the countryside, though. I remember all the fields with stone walls. There were sheep in those fields and my aunt had a black-and-white dog that stood almost as tall as myself. Mind you, being but four years of age, I was probably not very tall. My aunt used to sing to me at bedtime, as well. She had a lovely voice. Oh, and I was awoken each morning by a rather loud cockerel and always had a speckled boiled egg for breakfast, served in a pretty blue-and-white eggcup with some kind of picture on it. And buttered toast!”
From somewhere behind came an exaggerated cough from Hattie. It served as a resonate nudge that made Annie groan inwardly even as an unwanted flush of heat washed over her face.Oh, Annabelle! Blathering away like an idiot. Bedtime? Sheep, cockerels, and boiled eggs? What must he think of me?
“What did she sing?” he asked.
Annie, her thoughts now flooded with self-castigation, regarded him blankly. “Pardon?”
“Your aunt,” he replied. “You said she sang to you, and I just wondered what she sang.”
“Oh.” Annie, silently endeavoring to steer the conversation elsewhere, gave the question but a brief ponderance and responded honestly. “I’m afraid I do not recall, sir.”
*
Julian bit backa smile at Miss Fairfax’s obvious embarrassment. As far as he was concerned, her chagrin was unnecessary. The young lady was refreshingly charming. Mannerly, yet lacking the stiff airs and graces so often found within the aristocracy. And, while she might not be deemed beautiful in the classical sense, she was far from plain. Undoubtedly younger than him by a few years, petite in stature, yet not without womanly curves. A pretty face, gentle of expression, previously pale, but currently lit by a flush of color. Otherwise, she possessed a flawless complexion except for a small mole that sat above the arch of her right eyebrow. The dark ringlets framing her face were closer to brown than black, and glinted with thin threads of dark coppery red when caught by the sun.
The duchess’s portrait aside, Julian had never paid particular attention to a woman’s eyes before. At least, not that he could recall. Yet his attention had been drawn to Miss Fairfax’s, mostly because they had, at first, been closed, and fringed with an abundance of thick, dark lashes sparkling with captive tears. They bothered him, those sparkles, for they indicated distress and pain, which contradicted the young lady’s denial of injury. And, although Julian could have done nothing to avoid the collision, he couldn’t help but feel responsible. As he’d held her, feeling the soft tremble of her body so close to his, he had silently willed her eyes to open, that those wretched tears might dissipate and ease his conscience. At that point, he hadn’t given any thought to the actual color of those eyes. They turned out to be quite exquisite, however. A dark bluish grey, dramatically edged in black, they had regarded him with unabashed curiosity. And perhaps trust, if he was not mistaken.
She interrupted his contemplation. “Please forgive my silly rambling, Mr. Northcott,” she said, her cheeks still sweetly pink. “I’m afraid, at times, my mind has a propensity to wander.”
Julian smiled. “Your childhood memories of this place are not in the least silly, Miss Fairfax. To the contrary, I find them charming. Itrust your mother recovered from her illness?”
“I’m afraid she did not, sir,” she replied, glancing away. “I only returned to London after her death.”
“Ah.” Julian winced inwardly. “Then please forgive my intrusiveness. We need not speak of it further.”
“Oh no, it’s quite all right. It all happened long ago.” She gave a slight shrug. “In truth, I have few memories of Mama and even less of my aunt.”
