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It was rather unfortunate that Emma was not yet here. Annabelle was very certain Emma would have had a great many things to say about it.

Joanna adjusted her spectacles while her lips quirked with amusement.

“And yet you’ve mentioned this fearsome duke no less than seven times in the past quarter-hour,” Joanna observed, accepting her cup with a knowing glance. “One might almost suspect he’s made quite an impression.”

“An impression of insufferable arrogance, perhaps,” Annabelle retorted, though a betraying heat crept unbidden to her cheeks.

She decided it was due to a sudden drop in the temperature of the room. Nothing more.

“The way he looks at me is so infuriating! As though I were some dangerous revolutionary intent on corrupting the minds of innocent young ladies with radical notions like independent thought.”

“Heaven forbid,” Joanna murmured dryly as she took a sip of her tea. “I’m rather curious to meet this paragon of propriety who’s managed to ruffle your composure so thoroughly.”

Annabelle’s grandmother, who had been quietly observing their exchange, set down her teacup with quiet flair.

“You may satisfy your curiosity sooner than expected, my dear,” she remarked, her gaze shifting to the garden path. “Unless I’m mistaken, that is the Duke of Marchwood and Lady Celia approaching now.”

Annabelle’s head snapped up immediately. Her pulse quickened traitorously as she followed her grandmother’s gaze.

Indeed, the imposing figure of the duke strode along the garden path with his daughter at his side.

Even at this distance, the stark contrast between them was evident: the girl almost vibrating with energy while her father maintained the rigid control that seemed as much a part of him as his imposing height.

Annabelle couldn’t help that needling curiosity as to what kind of storm brewed within that fortress of skin and bone. Surely, there was no being who could be so… so… proper .

“What extraordinary timing,” Annabelle muttered, hastily smoothing her skirts. “Did you arrange this, Grandmama?”

“I merely suggested we might take tea in the garden today,” Lady Oakley replied with the serenity of a chess master who had anticipated her opponent’s move several plays in advance. “The weather is so fine, after all.”

Before Annabelle could formulate a suitably cutting response, the Duke and his daughter reached their little gathering.

Up close, the Duke’s broad shoulders filled her view. His coat fit him like a second skin. His face was hard and unyielding, except for those striking steel-colored eyes that seemed to see right through her.

And Annabelle didn’t like how much she hoped those eyes would stay locked on her.

“Lady Oakley,” he acknowledged with a precise bow. “I trust we’re not interrupting.”

“Oh, not at all, Your Grace,” the Dowager replied smoothly. “Allow me to present Lady Joanna Godric, Marchioness of Knightley. Lady Knightley, the Duke of Marchwood and his daughter, Lady Celia.”

Joanna dipped into a graceful curtsy. “A pleasure, Your Grace. I’ve heard so much about you.”

The Duke’s gaze flicked briefly to Annabelle before returning to Joanna, and Annabelle sucked in a sharp breath at electricity that zapped up and down her spine because of that brief contact.

“All unfavorable, I presume,” he responded.

“On the contrary,” Joanna replied with a serene smile. “Any man who can provoke such passionate discourse from Miss Lytton must possess qualities of note.”

“Passionate discourse?” Lady Celia inquired, her lips turning into a wide grin. “Has Miss Lytton been speaking of us, then?”

“Your father has made quite an impression on the Athena Society,” Annabelle replied. “His views on female education are quite traditional.”

The Duke’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “I merely believe that education should be appropriate to one’s station and future responsibilities.”

“And you believe women’s minds incapable of handling anything more substantial than flower arrangements and dance steps?” Annabelle challenged, feeling the air buzz around them with fiery energy.

“I believe,” he replied with dangerous softness, “that certain influences can lead impressionable young women to make decisions they later regret.”

Annabelle felt heat rise to her face, not merely from indignation, but from the disturbing awareness of his proximity. The way his gaze held hers with an intensity that seemed to bypass all social convention was unfathomable.

“Miss Lytton has been nothing but kind,” Celia chimed in. “She speaks to me as though my thoughts matter, rather than treating me like a child.”

“You speak as though I treat you as one would a mere puppet,” the Duke drawled, and his daughter bristled.

“Oh, no, Papa! I did not mean it like that!” Lady Celia was quick to say, her cheeks lightly pinkening as she grabbed onto his cuff.

“Oh, you did not? A man can be thoroughly fooled by you, then.”

Annabelle found herself floundering at his response. It was clear that the relationship between father and daughter was one built on the foundations of mutual respect and genuine interest. Still, she could not understand how he would turn around and hold her to such stifling standards.

“I believe,” Lady Oakley interjected smoothly, rising with practiced grace, “that it is time for Lady Celia’s lesson. The light in the yellow parlor is particularly favorable at this hour.”

And, although she did not want to admit it, Annabelle could feel the Duke’s gaze lingering on her for a moment longer than the propriety he loved to spout about dictated.

When she glanced in his direction, it was to find something unreadable flickering in those stormy eyes--something that sent an unwelcome thrill racing down her spine.

“Indeed,” he agreed finally, turning his attention to the Dowager. “We mustn’t waste valuable instruction time.”

Annabelle’s heart was beating an entire drum rendition within the cage of her ribs.

As the party moved toward the house, she remained momentarily frozen, disturbed by her own reaction to the man.

Joanna leaned close. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Good heavens, Annabelle. You might have mentioned that the Duke was so…”

“Insufferable?” Annabelle supplied automatically, her brain, heart and mouth all working on separate frequencies.

“I was going to say compelling,” Joanna replied with a knowing smile, and Annabelle instantly scoffed, rolling her eyes. “The air practically ignites when you two are within ten feet of each other.”

“Nonsense,” Annabelle muttered, though she could not quite meet her friend’s gaze. “That is merely because he provokes me, the blasted man.”

“Indeed,” Joanna agreed, her tone suggesting she understood far more than Annabelle cared to admit, even to herself. “Most thoroughly.”

Usually, Annabelle enjoyed seeing Joanna get that look in her eye, but now she could not appreciate it nearly as much, seeing as how her behavior, and that of the Duke’s, was her friend’s sole focus.

“Whatever you’re thinking,” she protested, “it is certainly not so.”

“But I did not say anything.” Joanna took her by the arm.

Soon, they were walking back to retake their seats at the table.

“Oh, you did not have to. Your tone gives you away,” she retorted, and Joanna chuckled.

“I cannot help but wonder,” Annabelle mused, gently swirling her teacup as she gazed out across the garden, “if that girl might have flourished under different circumstances. There’s something rather remarkable about her spirit, don’t you think? ”

Joanna adjusted her spectacles, studying her friend with that penetrating gaze that always made Annabelle feel as though her innermost thoughts were being carefully catalogued.

“You’ve always had a protective streak where young women are concerned,” Joanna finally remarked, her voice carrying gentle precision. “Ever since Florentia went to the colonies, you’ve taken a particular interest in guiding others.”

The mention of her sister’s name sent a familiar pang through Annabelle’s chest. It was sharp and unexpected, like stepping on broken glass when one believed the floor to be swept clean.

She schooled her features carefully, though not quickly enough to escape Joanna’s notice.

“Forgive me,” Joanna said softly, reaching across to place her hand atop Annabelle’s. “I didn’t mean to cause distress. You must miss her terribly.”

Annabelle tried to brush it off. She managed a smile that did not quite reach her eyes.

“It has been many years now,” she replied. The lie sat uncomfortably on her tongue like a sour piece of confectionery. “And we were speaking of Lady Celia, were we not? A most promising young woman, despite her father’s determination to cage her considerable spirit.”

“Ah, yes, the formidable Duke of Marchwood,” Joanna said, accepting the diversion with the grace of true friendship. “A man who seems to have occupied a remarkable portion of your thoughts these past days.”

“Only because he is so thoroughly vexing, Joanna,” Annabelle protested, setting down her cup with perhaps more force than the delicate porcelain deserved.

“And this vexation explains why you’ve mentioned him no less than a dozen times since our tea began?” Joanna’s eyebrow arched delicately above the rim of her spectacles. “I find myself increasingly convinced that you are far too interested in a man you claim to so vehemently dislike.”

“Interested?” Annabelle scoffed even as she felt a traitorous warmth creep up her neck.

“Please. I am no more interested in the Duke of Marchwood than I am in… in last season’s bonnets!

He represents everything I find most tiresome in men of his station.

He carries an insufferable certainty that his opinions constitute the natural order of things. ”

“If you insist,” Joanna replied, her tone suggesting she believed nothing of the sort.

Annabelle pointedly ignored her tone. “I am merely stating fact . Surely, you must understand why I possess righteous indignation in the face of such arrogance!” Annabelle rose to pace the small terrace. She suddenly brimmed with restless energy.

“Of course,” Joanna agreed, her smile suggesting otherwise. “What else could it possibly be?”

Annabelle harrumphed and plopped back down into her seat with an unladylike air.

“On to more pleasant matters,” she said tartly. “I take it you shall be attending the musicale at Thornfield House?”

Joanna visibly perked up. “Oh, of course!” She gushed. “A night of wine and music with my beautiful husband by my side? How could I refuse?”

Annabelle smiled. “Lovely. It’ll be nice to enjoy that evening with you and Nathaniel.”

“And perhaps, a certain infuriatingly proper Duke?” Joanna teased.

Annabelle did not know what to think when she found that she was not repulsed by the idea at all.

But then, she rolled her eyes. “Oh yes, I simply live for stilted conversation and being judged from a great height. What a thrill.”

Joanna smiled, a little too knowingly. “Mm. We’ll see.”

She turned back to her teacup, but the amusement lingering on her lips said plenty.