Charles looked uneasy until she said, her eyes gleaming, “It’s awonderfulscheme!”
Annabelle’s wide blue eyes slid away from his and she added hesitantly, “You wouldn’t actually offer for her, would you?” Somehow, the answer to that mattered.
“No fears on that score.” Charles chuckled. “The Gilded Lily and I would never suit. I know I am acting in a very ungentlemanly fashion, but she won’t break her engagement unless she is as venal as I suspect. And if your brother is not up to all the rigs and rows because he has been off serving our country, I feel it is my positivedutyto save him from her.”
“If you can induce Miss Debenham to end the betrothal, how do you propose to get Alex and Christa to settle their differences? Always assuming there is something between them,” Annabelle added conscientiously.
“Lock them in a room together until they work things out.”
Annabelle regarded him with awe. “You’re very direct, aren’t you?”
“I try,” Charles said modestly.
“How do you propose to get them together?”
“I trust that Lord Kingsley will be coming up here from Plymouth at least once before he leaves England?”
Annabelle nodded. “Yes, he will be back briefly in about two weeks, and then the last week in March for the wedding. His ship will be ready to sail in late April.”
Charles said thoughtfully, “This will require some acting on your part. You will say that you want him to meet me and my mother because you and I are . . . contemplating a nearer relationship. Since he doesn’t know that Christa is my sister, it simply remains to invite the two of you to Radcliffe House for tea or some such.” He shrugged in a manner that made him look suddenly French. “I fear this will require you to put up with a good deal of my company for the next several weeks. Do you think you could manage that?”
“That’s pure fustian and you know it,” Annabelle said calmly. “The principal obstacle to the plan is that you will have so many handkerchiefs dropped in front of you that you may be unable to find your way back here.”
Charles laughed. “I promise you that shan’t happen.” He took her hand and raised it to his lips. “Then I shall call on you for a drive tomorrow at two in the afternoon.” He left the room without waiting for a reply.
Annabelle watched the earl thoughtfully as he took his leave, aware that she had a wide, daft smile on her face. And to think that she had been impressed by Sir Edward Loaming’s technique in hand kissing. . . .
Chapter 19
Never one to let the grass grow under his feet, Charles decided to call on Sybil Debenham after leaving Kingsley House since she lived near St. James’s Square and it was now the fashionable hour for paying calls. As expected, she was holding court to the usual mixture of fortune hunters, mesmerized youngsters, and doting older men. Sybil was in her element, preening and accepting compliments as her mother watched fondly.
There was a flutter of interest as Lord Radcliffe entered and made his bow. Sybil appeared delighted to see the hero of the hour paying a call, and with a wave of her hand she scattered the rest of her court so he could sit next to her. While the dismissed admirers watched him jealously, the beauty said in a thrilling voice, “Your lordship, it’s so splendid to see you! No one talks of anything but your miraculous return from the grave!”
The earl looked at her meaningfully. “It’s wonderful to see the beauties of England again.” His gaze caressed her golden self, lingering just a trifle at her bountiful cleavage. “The months in a French prison, the daily presence of death—it was endurable only by remembering what I had left behind.” He sighed melodramatically. “At night I dreamed of an English beauty, the sheen of golden hair, the rose-petal complexion found only in women of our fair isle.”
As he gazed deep into her aquamarine eyes, he wondered that he might be overdoing it, but Sybil’s rapt expression said otherwise. With a shake of his head, Charles nobly dismissed the horrors he had seen. “Yes, it’s good to be home, though of course some things have changed, and not for the better.”
After a long, weighted pause he said, his eyes still holding hers, “I understand that you are betrothed to Lord Kingsley. I wish you very happy.” After another long moment he added wistfully, “Would that I could find such happiness for myself. But come, I talk too much of my own concerns. Let us speak of you. You are lovelier than even my memories.”
Sybil was more than willing to return to her favorite topic. When Lord Radcliffe took his leave after a correct fifteen minutes, she announced to her remaining admirers that she had a touch of the headache and must withdraw. Amidst a chorus of wishes for her rapid return to good health, she went to her chamber and sat in front of her mirror. It was the position she preferred for serious thinking.
Radcliffe was alive and anearl.From the way he’d been talking today, he admired her more than ever. Sybil stroked a golden ringlet lovingly. After two years in a French prison, the poor man must be desperate for the sight of a beautiful woman. Desperate, and tractable.
Sybil frowned at the vision of loveliness in the mirror, then quickly stopped to avoid wrinkling her forehead. Here was Radcliffe, alive and available, and she was betrothed. She toyed with a pair of diamond and ruby earrings, remembering with a scowl how shamefully Lord Kingsley had been neglecting her. The only time she had seen him since Suffolk was when he made a brief farewell call before departing for Plymouth. Sometimes she thought the man didn’t appreciate his good fortune at all. It would serve him right if she looked elsewhere.
Of course, a viscount in the hand was worth an earl in the bush.... She caught herself frowning again and stopped. She must wait and see what Radcliffe did. Perhaps he had been effusive today merely because he had been away from proper society for so long. In the past she had sometimes had a lurking suspicion that he found her amusing, though she had dismissed the idea out of hand. How could a man be amused by the most beautiful woman in London? It must be that he had been delighted to be in her presence and that gave the impression of humor.
Sybil tapped her nails on the top of the vanity table, sparing them an admiring glance. She had gone beyond mere gilding by finding an artist who could paint the most delightful designs on her nails. This week it was lotus blossoms on the index fingers, with tiny gemstones set in the center of each flower. She rather thought the idea would set a new style.
Radcliffe might be too much the gentleman to declare himself when she was betrothed to someone else, but it would be interesting to see if he called again. She wasn’t to wed Kingsley for another six weeks. Anything could happen in that length of time. Her eyes became dreamy.The Countess of Radcliffe.It had a ring. Much better than “Lady Kingsley.”
* * *
The fair weather held the next day, and Annabelle awaited the Earl of Radcliffe with undisguised anticipation. She thought she was looking her best in a sky-blue pelisse with ermine trim, and when he arrived, the admiration in his eyes confirmed it.
As the earl helped her into his curricle, she surreptitiously studied his face, deciding that he was every bit as handsome as she remembered. But he was more than just a golden Apollo; there was character, humor, and intelligence in his face.
Charles left his groom at Kingsley House so they could talk freely. After he had turned the carriage, Annabelle said, “I have thought of a number of questions that didn’t occur to me yesterday, my lord.”
