Halfway down the corridor on the main floor, he noted the sound of…whatwasthat? A bird? A cat that’d snuck in from the stable yard?
Whatever it was, it was coming from his office. He moved forward with care, listening intently, and was forced to conclude he was hearing singing, of a sort. Pausing near the open doorway, he concluded the singer was Annabelle—and she was bloody awful at the business.
Slowly, he ducked his head into the doorway to peer into the office, then stared in amazement at the unlikely vision of Annabelle and Babette, seated side by side on the striped velvet sofa near the hearth while the noblewoman sang.
“In the dark blue skies you keep, and often through my curtains peep, for you never shut your eye, till the sun is in the sky…”
“’Tis your bright and tiny spark, lights the traveler in the dark: Though I know not what you are, Twinkle, twinkle little star…”
Annabelle held Babette in a one-arm embrace and rocked her while the young maid drew the occasional choppy breath, evidently recovering from one of her crying jags.
As Annabelle began the song anew, Sterling straightened in the hall and leaned back against the stone wall, stunned by what he had just witnessed. Annabelle, serenading Babette. Astounding.
Risking one more glimpse, he peered in the doorway again because in spite of the downright caterwauling, Annabelle’s face…glowed. There was no other word for it. Watching her caused his chest to ache, though he couldn’t say precisely why. He only knew that in place of her usual air of haughty disdain, kindness and gentleness radiated from her as she comforted the servant. The same servant who, hours ago, she’d lambasted for touching her things.
He would not have believed the scene possible but for witnessing it with his own eyes—and hearing it with his own poor ears.
Earlier, when she proclaimed her intention to apologize to Babette, he’d assumed she had an ulterior motive—such as availing herself of Babette’s assistance, making of her a pseudo lady’s maid. But seeing this, he was forced to concede, Annabelle, cosseted, contemptuous, conceited Annabelle had another side to her.
And why did the realization disturb him so? Rather in the manner of staring over a cliff’s edge while contemplating jumping.
As the song neared its completion, he crept back to hover in the hallway, unseen.
“Ah, yes, Cogsworth,” he all but yelled, “she’s in the library, you say?”
“I beg your pardon, sir?” Cogsworth called in return. His thick head of gray hair appeared at the base of the servant’s stairs as if he’d come at a jog from the butler’s office.
Sterling slashed his hand through the air in silent, urgent dismissal.
“Very good, milord,” Cogsworth muttered, eyeing Sterling askance.
The singing, Sterling noted, had ceased.
Chapter 9
Lord Randall’s robust baritone announced his presence in the corridor, and Annabelle cut off her song with the suddenness of a whip crack. The ticking of the small mantel clock seemed inordinately loud, while the once chilly air now felt stifling.
Wearing a serene smile, Babette patted Annabelle’s hand, then rose. She hurried to retrieve her feather duster from where she’d dropped it and once more employed it with a single-minded purpose.
Seconds later, Lord Randall appeared in the den’s open doorway. He searched the room—purportedly for her, then sent her a genial smile. “Youarehere. Good.”
Annabelle regarded him with suspicion. Was it her imagination, or had she glimpsed a flicker of amusement in his eyes before he lowered his thick, spiky lashes? And why was he acting glad to see her? One would have thought—as she’d deliberately disregarded his demand she remain in his studyduring Lord Vane’s visit—that he’d be his usual, cranky self. But here he was,smiling.
“Babette, thank you—that will do,” he said.
The maid’s feather duster froze mid-air. Glancing over her shoulder, she shot Lord Randall a wide-eyed look, shifted her gaze pointedly toward Annabelle, then regarded Lord Randall once more.
He arched a dark brow at her.
When Babette made no move to leave, he said in a gentle voice that he seemed to reserve for Babette alone—not that Annabelle cared, “She’s quite safe with me, lass. Now run along and find Nell. I’m sure she has some…er…dusting, or some such thing to occupy you.”
Babette’s mouth firmed, but she made for the open doorway where Lord Randall remained, bobbed a curtsy to him, then exited. Only then did he cross to join Annabelle in the small seating area.
He took the adjacent armchair and stretched out his long legs. “Now then, you were saying before we were so rudely interrupted?”
She affixed a deliberately cold smile. “I’m not sure I can recall, not having had my nap.”
The blackguard had the gall to aim a lopsided grin at her. It reached all the way to his eyes. They sparkled with a warmth she had never seen, leastways not while looking in her direction, and heralded the appearance of two heretofore unknown dimples.
