“The fact that you are so often right only makes your supercilious attitude that much more annoying to us lesserhumans. Youdomake wise decisions—most of the time. Youdolook ahead and see danger where others miss its lurking presence. Case in point, Gaston. Still. Annabelle…” She shook her head, as if searching for words. “Sterling, I think she’s been hurt in her life. I think using such strong-arm tactics with her might do more harm than good.”
Damn it.As his sister spoke, the rightness of what she was saying hit him square in the gut. Annabelle did respond to kindness. To gentleness. To sound logic.
But, in his experience, she dug in when faced with brute force.
He sent his sister a crooked smile. “How did you get so wise?”
She chuckled. “I had a good teacher.”
“All joking aside, Annabelle did seem…er…displeased. What do you recommend I do now, oh sage one?”
“Admission is half the battle. You’ll figure it out.”
She started to leave. Then stopped when she seemed to recall something. “Sterling, Annabelle said something to me today about her parents.”
He arched a brow.
“It seems she has not heard from them since you sent word of your marriage.”
“No?”
She gave him a chiding look. “Sterling, did I, or did Inotsee a sealed letter on the salver yesterday, addressed to you, from Lord Montrose?”
He flicked a glance toward his desk, where said letter was safely tucked. “Did you tell her of the correspondence?”
She shook her head. “I assumed you would, but that you had some reason for delaying.”
He nodded once. “Quite right, and I would appreciate it if you leave the matter of Annabelle’s parents to me.”
“But, Sterling—”
He held up his hand to stop her tirade. “Please. You must trust me.”
“Very well.” With a concerned frown, she turned to leave.
“Wait.”
She glanced at him over her shoulder.
“Are you going to tell me where you went?”
Her eyes widened. The picture of innocence. “For a walk.” She all but ran from the room.
He made to follow, intending to…hell. He didn’t know. Seek out Annabelle, he supposed. But then what? He’d already tried telling her what had bothered him—albeit in a less than conciliatory manner—and she’d gone all stiff on him. He feared reiteratingwhyher absence had vexed him would only make things worse.
Babette entered the chamber, feather duster in hand. She glared at him.
He bit back a groan. “Yes?” he asked in weary resignation.
“Milady bid me tell you she has the head ache and will not be joining you for dinner.” She lifted her chin. It was clear she had more to say.
“And?”
“Milady requests her meal be delivered to her chamber.” She gazed at him steadily.
Ah.
“As it happens, I, too, wish to dine in my chamber.” He propped a hip on the corner of his desk and folded his arms over his chest. “Kindly inform Cook to prepare a tray for two persons. I shall collect it and deliver my wife’s myself.”
