“Heavens! I’m so terribly sorry!” Annabel bent to retrieve the paper and then froze. The headline glared at her from the mud-splattered page.Bankrupt Viscount Scorned by Merchant’s Daughter
She jerked her hand back as if the paper had suddenly grown teeth.
“Don’t touch it.” The gentleman, a smartly dressed, well-spoken young man, picked up the newspaper using two fingers and eyed Annabel. “It’s ruined, I’m afraid.”
“No, it is still decipherable.” She snatched the newspaper from the man’s fingers and shook it. Splatters of mud flew in the air, and the gentleman leapt back to escape them.
“Don’t worry about trying to clean it, truly. I’ve finished reading it.”
“I don’t mind a little dirt.” Annabel clutched the page and attempted to read between the mud splatters.A source close to Mr. Leonard…will spare no cost…searching for his daughter…
“May I at least help you with that?” The gentleman eyed her with a puzzled expression.
“No, thank you. It’s perfectly fine now.” She attempted to keep the panic from her voice. It had been weeks since she’d run away from home. Why was her story suddenly a headline? Papa had kept silent for so long. She’d been confident he would suppress the story. He wasn’t the type of man who could tolerate gossip in the papers about his private matters. He’d want to take control of the situation himself. She was certain he had private inspectors searching for her at this very moment. Perhaps, then, one of the servants told someone, or went to the newspapers—
“If you would be so kind as to point me in the direction of the main road,” the gentleman’s voice interrupted her thoughts, “I’ll leave you to your reading.”
She eyed him. He was too proper and too upper-class to be wandering about in the muddy fields of Kent. He looked as if he should have a fancy carriage or at least a fine horse to take him wherever he wanted to go. He was handsome too. She was especially drawn to his clear blue eyes and the dimple that marked his square jaw. She would have asked him where he’d come from and where he was going, but she was too anxious to get back to the newspaper article.
“I’m not from Canterbury, you see,” he explained. “I’m visiting my cousin and decided to take a walk after a quick visit to the cathedral. But I veered off the main road, and now I can’t seem to get my bearings.”
“It’s that way.” She stuck out her left arm to indicate the direction without looking up from the newspaper.Mr. Leonard…will spare no expense in searching…daughter, nor…limit his search—
“Thank you,” he said.
“Good day, sir,” Annabel replied, giving the newspaper another shake before attempting to reread the sentence.
…will spare no expense in searching…daughter, nor…limit the search to Scotland.
Annabel’s heart quickened.Papa does not like to lose or be outwitted. He’d no doubt already scoured all of Scotland for her, and now he would search every corner of England.
She squinted to make sense of another smudged sentence when a great rumble sounded overhead, and a raindrop splattered onto the page. She lowered her newspaper and looked up to see a black cloud frowning over the horizon.
The weather was so beautiful earlier—ideal for a walk—where had this ominous cloud come from?
As if in response to her thought, a great deluge suddenly began to pour from the sky. Raindrops assaulted her body, falling so hard and fast that she had no time to run or seek shelter. The newspaper began to disintegrate into a soggy mess in her hand as she looked about, wondering if she should risk running through the mud to take shelter under a tree or find some other place. She looked wildly about for something—anything—nearby. But the downpour was so heavy, she could barely see. She dropped the newspaper and crouched, buried her head in her arms, and prayed for the lashing to end.
Seconds later, it did.
Annabel straightened and as she rose she found herself standing beside the flaxen-haired gentleman and under the shelter of his wide umbrella. He stood so close to her that their arms almost touched, but he had little choice. The rain came down in a torrent around them and stepping out from under the brolly even an inch in any direction would soak him—or her—through.
“I gather you forgot your umbrella,” he said, pleasantly, as if talking over a cup of tea.
Annabel laughed. “Whatever gave you that idea?”
Chapter Eight
From rainbow clouds there flownot
Drops so bright tosee
As from thy presence showers a rain ofmelody.
—Percy Bysshe Shelley,To aSkylark
Even half-soaked withher hair falling out of its pins, she was beautiful, Henry thought, admiring the young lady’s piercing green eyes and olive complexion.
She must have caught him looking at her because she touched a dripping strand of her hair and said, “I’m certain I look like a drowned cat at present.”
