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Chapter Six

“Nothing contributes so much to tranquillize the mind as a steady purpose—a point on which the soul may fix its intellectual eye.”

Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein

* * *

P hilip’s heart was still light with the thrill of Annabel’s agreement as the carriage rolled to a halt in front of Baydon Hall. The house, a charming Tudor structure, stood with its ivy-clad east wing and diamond-paned windows sparkling in the afternoon sun. Its cheerful appearance seemed to echo the spirit of its captivating young resident.

The parkland surrounding the Hall stretched under an endless blue sky, dotted with stately oaks and promising the quiet beauty of morning rides. He could easily picture Annabel atop her horse, her form poised and confident, her cheeks flushed with the exertion of a brisk canter. The thought brought a smile to his lips.

Their conversation and easy camaraderie during the journey had done much to assure him that Annabel was well-suited to the life awaiting her. She was intelligent, warm, and unexpectedly bold. He was relieved to find her not only willing to meet the challenges ahead but also eager to embrace them. What a remarkable twist of fate to find such a partner in a matter of days, just as he had resigned himself to the tedium of a London Season.

Philip breathed in deeply as the carriage door opened, the scent of fresh grass and the distant call of birds adding to the tranquil charm of the estate. With a nod to the footman, he alighted, a renewed sense of purpose driving his every step. Today, he would lay the foundation for his future, a future that now seemed full of promise and possibility.

* * *

Lord Filminster was a small, wiry man with a nervous energy that suggested he spent more time imagining his grandeur than securing it. His slight paunch strained against his ill-fitted waistcoat, and the thinning wisps of graying black hair, combed forward in an attempt at a style, did little to disguise his advancing age. He scurried across the room to meet Philip as if eager to ingratiate himself, bowing deeply on the Anatolian rug beneath his feet.

“Your Grace, what an honor to receive you! This is most unexpected. You must have traveled quite a distance to call on me this afternoon?”

Philip inclined his head. “Indeed, Lord Filminster, I have been eager to meet with you. I wished to introduce myself without delay.”

“Eager, you say?” Filminster’s narrow face lit with poorly concealed delight. “It is a rare pleasure to host a man of your standing. Why, only last week, I read about you in The Gentleman’s Magazine . A fortuitous meeting indeed!”

Philip allowed the man’s obsequious nature to wash over him as he followed him to a seating area beneath the wide mullioned windows. Annabel had warned him of her father’s fixation on status, a trait Philip found both useful and deeply aggravating. The baron, it seemed, was more concerned with the trappings of rank than the substance required to maintain it. Annabel’s life under such a man must have been one of suffocating neglect, the full extent of which Philip could only imagine.

Taking the proffered seat, Philip concealed his irritation as the baron fussed with his own position. He shifted and resettled, crossing and uncrossing his legs, as though rehearsing for an imagined portrait of importance.

Finally, Filminster cleared his throat and fixed Philip with a hopeful gaze. “Your visit is most unexpected, Your Grace. Do I gather that you have a specific purpose in calling upon me?”

“I do. I was recently at the Ashbury ball near Saunton, where I had the great pleasure of meeting your daughter, the Honorable Miss Ridley.”

“Annabel?” The baron blinked, clearly startled by this turn in the conversation. “Delightful, you say?”

“Indeed. I found her utterly captivating.” Philip’s tone was firm, leaving no room for doubt. “In fact, I have come to offer for her hand in marriage. I am prepared to be generous in all respects.”

Filminster’s mouth opened and closed in rapid succession, his astonishment evident. “Generous, you say?” He struggled to regain composure, his fingers twitching against the armrest.

Philip continued, his voice measured. “This would be my second marriage. I have no children or sisters to provide for, which means you would retain her dowry in its entirety. Moreover, I would secure her—and any children we might have—a considerable settlement from my own funds.”

Filminster’s eyes gleamed with naked avarice before he masked it with a poorly executed expression of concern. “Your Grace, this is an exceedingly generous offer, but … Annabel is already betrothed.”

“To my cousin, Lord Saunton, who will not oppose me. I am a duke, Lord Filminster, and my position outranks his in every regard. Aligning yourself with my house would only elevate your standing and that of your son, particularly when the time comes for him to find a suitable match.”

The baron hesitated, his brow furrowed. “Your Grace, you must understand—it is most irregular to break off an engagement, especially so close to the wedding day.”

“Have the banns been posted?” Philip inquired smoothly.

“No! This is a household of standing and we will not be posting banns,” Filminster retorted, flustered. “Saunton intends to secure a common license as soon as he returns from London.”

“Then no harm is done,” Philip replied. “No one need know the full circumstances. Let us move swiftly to secure the appropriate agreements, and all parties will benefit.”

“But Saunton?—”

“I will handle my cousin,” Philip interrupted, his tone sharpened with finality. “You have my word that neither you nor your family will suffer any fallout. Quite the contrary—you will gain a direct connection to one of the most respected titles in the realm.”

The baron hesitated, his greed and cowardice warring visibly. “And … when would you propose this wedding take place?”

“This Saturday. I shall return with a special license in hand.”

Filminster gawked. “So soon?”

“Time is of the essence,” Philip said firmly. “My solicitor will arrive this very afternoon to finalize the settlements. You will have ample reason to celebrate your good fortune.”

The baron’s expression shifted as he reached a decision, the lure of status tipping the scales. “Very well, Your Grace. I shall summon my solicitor at once.”

Philip could not help the wolfish grin he felt spreading his lips. He smelled victory, and it was triumphantly sweet. How quickly one’s life could change. His past had taught him it would change for the worse, with little or no warning. Fate had now intervened to show that it could change for the better in an instant if one were open to seizing the opportunity.

* * *

Annabel stood outside the study door with her ear pressed against it. She should feel guilt over her blatant eavesdropping, but it was the only method of discovering what her father was up to. The baron was not a sparkling conversationalist, despite any inflated ideas of self he might indulge in.

Philip had warned her on the carriage ride that he would have to negotiate to win her, and had apologized for any tactics he might need to employ. He had been concerned that she should not feel disrespected by what he may say. Annabel was warmed by the thought that the Duke of Halmesbury was willing to go to such lengths on her behalf. She had not been the subject of so much single-minded interest since her mother had passed on. An actual duke battling for her hand—she was not sure what to think of it other than … she liked it. She had no qualms about any strategic maneuvering the duke might use to gain the upper hand.

Annabel heard heavy footfalls echoing on the wooden floors behind her and turned to find Mrs. Harris heading her way. The housekeeper’s round face lit in delight at finding her home. Annabel quickly pressed a finger to her lips to shush her. She gestured to the woman to step closer.

“I will find you shortly and update you on all that has happened,” she leaned in to whisper.

The housekeeper gave a quick nod and turned away. She motioned toward the kitchens, then made her way back the way she had come, doing her best to dampen the sounds of her footsteps. She looked like an untalented performer playing a thief in a bad pantomime, taking exaggerated steps and holding her arms awkwardly. Annabel shook her head in fond amusement at the older woman’s antics before pressing her ear back against the study door.

* * *

“And what of the upcoming wedding, Halmesbury?” Lord Filminster asked, leaning forward with an almost eager curiosity. Philip resisted the urge to grimace. It was clear the baron was warming quickly to the idea of becoming father-in-law to a duke.

“When is Saunton due back in Filminster?” Philip asked, his tone calm and businesslike.

“I believe we will see him in a week or so. He is planning on returning from London to obtain the common license and finish the wedding preparations at the end of the month,” Filminster replied with a nonchalant wave of his hand.

“Perfect.” Philip leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping as though sharing a confidential suggestion. “What Saunton does not know will not hurt him. What say I visit my good friend, the Most Reverend and Right Honorable Charles Manners-Sutton, to arrange for a special license and return within four days? My solicitor will arrive later today to work out the marriage settlements, and I shall return—say … Saturday morning for the wedding?”

Filminster’s eyebrows lifted, clearly impressed by the duke’s personal connection to the Archbishop of Canterbury. Exactly as Philip had expected. The baron pursed his lips in thought before voicing his primary concern. “But who will inform Saunton?”

Philip kept his tone reassuring. “My solicitor will arrive shortly. Once we finalize the contracts, I will leave for Canterbury. After the wedding, I will send Higgins to deliver a message informing Saunton that Annabel is married, and any questions may be directed to me. You will not need to address the matter yourself, as the entire arrangement will be complete before he is even aware of it. When next you see him, he will have no choice but to treat you with the respect due to your new circumstances.”

The baron visibly relaxed, his shoulders loosening as he absorbed this tidy resolution. Annabel had warned Philip of her father’s preference for minimal effort. His primary concerns revolved around his own comfort and advantage. As long as everything appeared neatly resolved, with no lingering responsibilities, he would yield.

Filminster finally nodded. “As long as Saunton is not a liability, we have an agreement. I will send for my solicitor at once so we can finalize the legalities this afternoon.”

Philip quelled the triumph rising within him, ensuring his features betrayed nothing but polite satisfaction. Annabel was his.

* * *

As Philip exited the study alongside the butler, a curious sensation of being watched struck him. Turning his head, he spotted Annabel peeking around a nearby doorway. Amusement flickered through him as he gestured for the elderly butler to proceed without him. “I will join you shortly,” he said, his voice composed. Once the servant disappeared down the hall, Philip motioned Annabel forward.

She moved quickly to meet him, her muslin day dress swaying as she came to a halt before him. Her hand lightly rested on his forearm—a gesture that was both tentative and surprisingly possessive. She looked up at him, her golden-brown eyes wide with worry, her voice lowered so as not to be overheard. “I could not hear the last few moments of your discussion. Has he agreed?”

Philip allowed himself a faint smile, meant to reassure her. “He has agreed. I am heading upstairs with your man, Stedman, to freshen up before we complete the marriage settlements. I had to promise to take responsibility should Saunton protest.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “Is that truly a concern?”

“It is highly unlikely. The last thing Saunton would want is the public scandal that would follow. No, by Saturday morning, you will be my wife, and Saunton will simply have to accept that he has lost.”

Annabel exhaled slowly, her shoulders softening as visible relief washed over her. “I can scarcely believe it. You have made everything right. I am free of him.” She glanced down at her hands for a moment before meeting his gaze again. “You are my hero,” she said, her voice hushed but fervent.

A warmth Philip had not expected swelled within him at her words. Her earnest gratitude and trust were disarming. She had a charm about her—an unpolished but undeniable radiance that made him want to ensure she never regretted placing her faith in him. Silently, he resolved to tread carefully, giving her the space she needed to grow comfortable in their new relationship.

With a gentle touch, he lifted her chin, meeting her soft gaze as he bent to press a light, lingering kiss to her forehead. “I will return Saturday morning,” he said, his voice steady. “Until then, promise me—no more midnight escapades. I want you safe when I return.”

Annabel’s lips quirked into a mischievous smile. “I will consider it,” she teased, her tone light but fond. “As long as you promise to be on time for the ceremony.”

Philip chuckled softly. “I would not dare be late.”

With a last glance, he turned and strode down the hall, leaving her with a grin that lingered at the corners of her lips. Saturday could not come soon enough.

* * *

Mrs. Harris was preparing tea when Annabel walked into the kitchen. Her plump cheeks wreathed in a wide smile. “I am so happy you are bac—feeling better, miss.” The older woman corrected herself just in time, mindful of maintaining the pretense that Annabel had been unwell and confined to her room. Her sharp hazel eyes darted to the cook and two maids bustling in the background before returning to Annabel. “I expect you want your tea, miss. Shall I bring it to the library?” She gave an exaggerated wink, her lack of subtlety bringing a fond smile to Annabel’s face.

“That would be perfect, Mrs. Harris. And bring some pastries, if you would.”

Annabel was not particularly fond of sweets, but Mrs. Harris adored them, and Annabel had long since made a habit of ordering pastries just to indulge her.

As Annabel made her way to the cozy library on the first floor of Baydon Hall, she marveled that soon she would have access to ten times as many books at Avonmead. Settling into a comfortable velvet sofa near the fireplace, she allowed herself a moment to revel in the thought before Mrs. Harris entered, bearing a tea tray.

“Close the door, Mrs. Harris,” Annabel said in a raised voice, making sure anyone nearby would hear. “I wish to discuss something.” Once the door clicked shut, she gestured for the housekeeper to sit beside her. Pouring tea with practiced ease, she pressed a plate of pastries into Mrs. Harris’s reluctant hands.

“I really should not, my girl,” Mrs. Harris protested half-heartedly.

“We can argue for several minutes, or you can accept them now so that I can tell you my news.”

With a resigned sigh, the older woman settled onto the sofa and took a sugar biscuit from the plate. Her expression softened as she savored the treat, a testament to the cook’s renowned skill.

“I found His Grace. He was not what I expected.” Annabel hesitated, her thoughts lingering on the duke’s surprising kindness and the warm confidence in his manner.

Mrs. Harris bobbed her head, her eyes encouraging Annabel to continue as she chewed thoughtfully.

“He offered to marry me in Lord Saunton’s stead.”

Mrs. Harris choked on her crumbs, her eyes wide with disbelief. After a few sputtering moments, she found her voice. “The Duke of Halmesbury asked you to be his wife?”

“That is correct.”

“And what did you say?”

Annabel took a deep breath. “It is all arranged. Phili—that is, His Grace has already spoken with the baron, and we will wed on Saturday morning.”

Mrs. Harris stared at her, her expression a mixture of astonishment and pride. “What would your dear mama say to her Annabel marrying a duke? Is he a good man?”

“A wonderful man,” Annabel replied earnestly. “Intelligent, generous, and,”—her voice softened—“handsome. I believe we will have a pleasant future together.” She caught herself, realizing how fanciful she sounded, and quickly added, “He is marrying to fulfill his duty, and I am fortunate to be the one he chose. I must remember that this is a practical arrangement.”

Mrs. Harris shook her head in wonderment. “What else did he say?”

Annabel’s face brightened. “I think I can convince him to bring you on as his housekeeper.”

“Me? For a duke?” Mrs. Harris’s hand flew to her chest, her astonishment plain.

“He recently gave up his housekeeper to run a charity. The position is vacant, and he said I may help choose a replacement. I want to recommend you. We could stay together, Mrs. Harris. Mama would have been so pleased.”

Mrs. Harris looked aghast, though her hazel eyes shone with affection. “But, my girl, a duke’s household must be enormous.”

“It will be more work than Baydon Hall, but you are more than capable. Please say you will come.”

“My dear girl,” Mrs. Harris said fondly, shaking her head, “I would follow you to the ends of the earth.”

Annabel chuckled. “Father more than makes up for your indulgence. He says no often enough for two parents.”

“My girl is going to be a duchess.” Mrs. Harris sighed in amazement.

“His Grace will return Saturday morning for the wedding, so we must begin packing.”

Mrs. Harris’s brow furrowed. “Has the baron spoken to you yet?”

“Not yet. How long do you think it will take for him to inform me of my impending marriage, considering the duke has been here for over an hour?”

Mrs. Harris laughed. “He will inform you just before dinner, I’ll wager. In the meantime, I’ll sort out your trunks.”

Annabel smiled her thanks but paused as Mrs. Harris added, “Caroline wrote. She is well situated in her new position.”

Annabel’s smile faded. “Good.”

“I still do not understand why you helped her after what she did.”

Annabel’s voice softened. “I cannot hate her, Mrs. Harris. She made a terrible mistake, but she was with us for ten years. If I had cast her out, she would have had no one. Mama would have approved of my decision.”

Mrs. Harris nodded, though her expression remained troubled. “You are too forgiving, my girl.”

“Perhaps. But I would rather regret my kindness than my cruelty.”

Mrs. Harris reached over to pat her hand. “Your mother would be proud of you, Annabel.”

Annabel smiled, her thoughts turning to the duke. She had been granted a second chance, and she would not squander it. The duke had granted her a reprieve. Now some other unfortunate debutante would be left with the faithless Lord Saunton. “Please Lord, help the poor miss who takes Richard Balfour as a husband,” Annabel prayed under her breath.