As Jacob disappeared up the steps and into her childhood home, Annabelle switched her gaze back to Henry. He looked just as tired as Jacob had.
Because of her. With everything that had happened, she could not feel sorry that her absence had prompted Jacob into declaring feelings she had only ever guessed at, but she did regret making Henry worry. Whatever his methods, she knew it had come from a place of care.
“I’m sorry—” she started, but he held up a hand.
“This apology is mine to make,” he said, and scrubbed that hand across his jaw. “I made a series of mistakes, and I made you feel as though you couldn’t talk to me about how you felt, and although I do not condone your actions—running away is not the answer, believe me—I’m sorry you did not feel as though I would listen to you.”
Any desire Annabelle had felt to rake her brother over hot coals vanished in a rush of sympathy. “I’m sorry you were worried. As soon as I was in my position, I intended to write to you and let you know of my safety. But there is something else I must inform you of.”
Henry cleared his throat, his shoulders sinking with resignation. “I have a suspicion, little sister. You are engaged?”
Annabelle did her best not to beam too widely. “I am.”
He heaved a breath and nodded to the gardens. “Would you do me the honour of walking with me?”
She accepted his arm and they walked slowly across the large lawn to the wild rose garden. Some had yet to bloom, but the soft perfume still hung in the air, and she took a deep breath. “Is Theo well?”
“Except for the fact the Dowager Duchess came to visit two days ago,” Henry said wryly. “She heard about the end of your engagement with Barrington.”
Oh no. That could only mean—
“Hardinge said you were convalescing with me,” he said before the panic could settle too firmly on her. “He said you have pneumonia. It does mean you can’t visit your sister until the Dowager leaves, but I’ll let her know you’re back and well.”
This meant she would have to wait to be married again, but that was hardly too much of a hardship. Annabelle chewed her lip and nodded. “Does she know we are still engaged?”
“No, but I’ll make sure she discovers it.” Henry ran a hand through his hair. “Do you truly love him?”
“I do,” she said simply. “I know you don’t like him, but he has been nothing but kind to me.”
“And that is why you did not want to marry anyone else?”
She spared him a sharp glance. “I neverwantedto marry. And in particular not a man anyone else had chosen for me. You might think that marrying someone you don’t love is part of your duty to this family, but it is not mine.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “I would not ever have asked you to do something I would not do.”
“And if you decide to marry a young lady for the sake of her money and your reputation, then that is your decision, but it was never mine.”
He gave a short nod. “I only ever wanted the best for you, Annabelle.”
“I know,” she said, laying a hand on his arm. “But your best is not my best.”
“Then,” he said, heaving a sigh, “I hope you will be happy.”
Annabelle could not stop the smile from spreading across her face. “Do you know, Henry, I believe I will.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Jacob’s ancestral seat, Belcourt Hall, was located in Cheshire, and after securing Annabelle’s hand in marriage, he travelled there for the first time since his father had died. While Annabelle kept her sister company in Kent, he set about the task of setting his estate in order.
He flung open the windows to let light and air into the musty rooms; he ordered everything to be cleaned in preparation for the new marchioness; he spoke with the groundskeepers and the steward to establish what he would need to do to revive the land.
If they were going to spend the majority of their time here in the future, as Annabelle preferred the quiet of the country to the bustle of the city, he had every intention of learning how best to run his estate.
This was the role his father had never thought him capable of. Even Cecil had never believed he could make anything of himself, for all he had wished it. But Jacob found himself enjoying being a landowner. Politics was not something he was cut out for, but he could do this, at least.
And he took great pleasure in ordering all his father’s portraits to be burnt.
Then, he turned his attention to the paperwork that had mounted during his inaction.
