“I wish I had a pendant.” Florence glared at Annabel. “I have no jewelry of my own.”
“You shall get a pendant when you are to be married,” Mrs. Leonard said.
“Will I get a green one like Annabel’s?”
“Blue, I think, to match your eyes,” Mr. Leonard said.
“Then mine will be brown,” Flora quipped. “I shan’t like a brown one, Papa.”
Mr. Leonard laughed. Annabel had never seen her father so jolly.
“You shall have a garnet.” Mrs. Leonard said. “That’s your birthstone.”
“What color is a garnet?” Flora’s forehead creased.
“Red, silly,” Florence said.
“Red! I shall have a red garnet pendant.” Flora twirled, and Annabel couldn’t help but smile at the little girl.
“And I shall marry a duke, who is even more important than a viscount,” Florence said, still eyeing the pendant. “Then you will have to address me as “‘Your Grace’.”
“That’s what I call sensible thinking,” Mrs. Leonard said, and Florence smirked as though she’d said something wonderful and clever.
Annabel sighed. It was awful to think that little Flora would likely grow up to be as mean-spirited as Florence.
“Now, Annabel, before your sister’s dreams of marriage can come true, we must ensure you look your best tomorrow evening. I think we shall pair that pendant with a dark green dress.” Mrs. Leonard observed Annabel and nodded to herself.
“What say you, Mr. Leonardi? Will she please our viscount?”
Annabel grimaced as her father nodded his approval. “I daresay Lord Craventhorp will not be disappointed in my beautiful daughter.”
Craventhorp. So that’s his name. I am to be Lady Craventhorp.Annabel shuddered. She hated the name already.
Chapter Two
‘Loved!’ I cried;
‘Who tells you that he wants a wife tolove?
He gets a horse to use, not love, Ithink:
—Elizabeth Barrett Browning,AuroraLeigh
Somewhere in therecesses of his mind, Lord Henry Hudsyn knew he should be dancing the waltz at Lady Dawley’s ball, yet he could not make himself get up from the table where he sat playing poker and drinking brandy at Madame Katrina’s infamous brothel house.
“Scoundrel! You win again!” Burdington exclaimed as Henry scooped his winnings toward him. “How do you do it?”
“Who knows? Just luck, I suppose.” Henry picked up his brandy glass and drained it.
“It’s because he doesn’t give a fig whether he wins or loses,” Hobsworth said. “He’s already come into his inheritance and doesn’t have a master lording over him and making him pinch pennies.”
“Who’s making you pinch pennies?” Henry asked.
“Your stepfather—as you bloody well know. The Earl of bloody Stokeford. He’s going to live forever, and he intends to drain the life out of me before he’s dead.” Hobsworth collected the cards.
“Well, at least you’ll have it all one day,” Burdington said. “As a second son, I will have to grovel for pennies the rest of my life.”
“Shall we play again?” Hobsworth glanced at Hudsyn. “Give Burdington a chance to win back his losses, hey?”
