They sat in silence for several moments before Annabelle worked up the courage to ask the question she’d always wanted to ask on nights like this. “Why does Father get so angry?”
Mama smoothed her hand over Annabelle’s hair and hugged her closer. “Oh, darling. It’s because he drinks. If only your father wouldn’tdrink.”
“Did you ask him to stop, Mama?” Annabelle ventured next.
Mama’s voice was resigned. “Many, many times, darling.”
Annabelle frowned. “Why won’t he stop, Mama?”
Mama rested her chin atop Annabelle’s head and sighed. “I don’t think he can, darling. I don’t think he can.”
“But why is he allowed to hit you, Mama?”
Annabelle felt the tiny pats atop her head as her mother’s tears dripped onto her hair. “Because he owns me. I am his wife.”
Chapter One
London, April 1815
David Ellsworth had been the Earl of Elmwood for a handful of months, and he was already doing a splendid job of making a fool of himself. In the span of the last hour at the Harrisons’ dinner party, he’d already tried to serve himself from the soup tureen one of the footmen had been carrying around the gigantic table; he’d incorrectly addressed Lord Mayfeather’s daughter, who apparently was aMissand not aLady; and he’d obviously taken up an inappropriate subject with Lady Cranberry, who looked at him aghast when he began recounting a story about his time fighting in the Army on the Continent. Apparently, the content was too graphic for her ears.
As a result, David had excused himself from the table and quickly made his way down the corridor in search of a place to hide…and to have a cigar. He hurried past a variety of doors and out onto the verandah behind the house. It was freezing outside, but he enjoyed the sharp air after being in the overly crowded dining room for the past two hours. He pulled a cigar from his inner coat pocket and lit it using the candle that flickered atop a table near the door. This was one of the last cigars he had left. They had been a gift from a Spanish officer on the Continent. He had every intention of savoring it.
David’s younger sister, Marianne, had asked him to give up smoking cigars, and he would. But not tonight. Tonight, he sucked in the familiar smoke and closed his eyes, trying to forget all the foolish things he’d done in the dining room.
Marianne was right. He needed someone to teach him how to be an earl. After all, he, his sister and their brother, Frederick, who had died a hero in the war, had grown up in a small cottage in Brighton, none of them having any idea their father was the only son of the Earl of Elmwood. They thought Father was a woodworker, for Christ’s sake. Not a bloody earl.
Marianne had served as a lady’s maid until she’d met the Marquess of Bellingham, who’d asked her to marry him after two cases of mistaken identity and a trip to France. And now, here they were, two siblings who knew little about the infamouston, both thrust into the roles of earl and soon-to-be marchioness. David would think it all ridiculous if it didn’t happen to be true. Such was his life at the age of nine and twenty. Far, far different from the way he’d imagined it.
At first, David had assumed taking a seat in the House of Lords would be nothing but welcome. He’d use his newfound power to get bills passed that would help military men and their families. David still looked forward to that part of his new role. It was the other part he dreaded—the endless round of social calls and ridiculous amounts of etiquette that he continued to breach—that was driving him mad.
He sucked in and expelled a large puff of smoke as he leaned back against the cold brick wall behind him, closing his eyes. No. He wasn’t about to give up his cigars quite yet. A good smoke was sometimes a soldier’s only friend on a freezing, lonely battlefield that smelled like gunpowder and death.
Delicate feminine coughing met his ears and his eyes shot open to see a stunning blond woman step onto the verandah waving smoke away from her face.
“Pardon me,” she said in a tight, unhappy voice as she continued to cough.
David pushed himself away from the wall and waved his arm in the air, trying to dispel the smoke. “I’m terribly sorry.”Excellent. Knowing his luck, he probably just blew smoke into the face of one of the royal princesses.
The blond woman gave him a narrow-eyed stare. “You should be,” she shot back, pulling an obviously expensive fur-lined pelisse more tightly around her shoulders.
“I didn’t realize anyone else was out here.” His gaze took in her lovely and equally expensive-looking pink evening gown that was partially covered by the pelisse. Diamonds wound around her throat and were entwined in her light hair. She had the most heavenly ice-blue eyes, illuminated by the candles on either side of the nearby doorway. He glanced around. She was young and lovely and appeared to be…alone. That was unusual.
“My apologies, my lady…er, you are a lady, aren’t you?” Damn. He was a fool. He didn’t know much about Society rules, but he was fairly certain asking a lady if she was a lady was a breach.
She arched a blond brow at him and laughed. “What do you think? Do I look like a lady?”
“Yes, well,er,uh, you look beautiful,” he managed to choke out, wanting to kick himself for his inanity. What exactly was one supposed to say when one encountered a heavenly creature alone in a dark, cold garden? Nothing in his army career had prepared him for such an event. If she were a French solider, he would have shot her. Tried to, at least. If she were an English soldier, he would have offered her a cigar. Instead, he stood blinking at her like an idiot waiting for her to say something else.
“Allow me to save you trouble, Mr. …” She paused, waiting for him to supply his last name.
“Ellsworth,” he spat out. Damn again. He wasn’t supposed to tell anyone his name was Mr. Ellsworth. Not any longer. Not since he’d become the bloody Earl of Elmwood. But how could he correct himself to this vision of loveliness? He’d already proven himself to be an idiot, he didn’t dare add more proof.
But wait. What had she said? Save him trouble? He frowned. What could she possibly mean? He was about to drop the cigar to the ground and crush it beneath his boot when she reached out and took the thing from him in her gloved fingers. He watched in awe as she brought it to her lips and took a drag, blowing the smoke up into the cold air above his head. Who was this young woman? Had he met her earlier when the company had been gathered in the sitting room? He doubted it very much. He would have rememberedher. She wasn’t someone you’d easily forget.
He narrowed his eyes on her. “Have you been here all evening?” he asked, uncommonly curious how he might have overlooked her presence.
She laughed and it was a harsh sound. “Not all evening, no. I’m afraid I’m often late to such gatherings. I slipped in halfway through dinner. On purpose. Makes the evening less of a chore.”
