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Chapter Seven

”Beware; for I am fearless, and therefore powerful.”

Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein

* * *

FRIDAY, THE EVE BEFORE THE HALMESBURY AND RIDLEY WEDDING.

T he past days had been a whirlwind of activity at Baydon Hall as the unexpected Saturday morning nuptials approached. It was late in the evening when Annabel sighed her relief to sink into the sofa in her bedchamber.

“Child, are you in there?” called Mrs. Harris from the open door.

“Yes, Mrs. Harris, come in.”

Annabel looked up as the rotund housekeeper closed the door behind her and made her way over. “I thought we might talk. Your mother, bless her heart, would have wanted to have this talk with you on the eve of your wedding. I know it’s not my place, but I also know if your dear mama is looking down on us right now, it would please her that someone was here to talk to you.”

“Please sit, Mrs. Harris. Do not stand on ceremony with me. We are friends. You are more my family than my own father.”

Mrs. Harris’s eyes glowed with love as she lowered herself onto the sofa. “Tomorrow morning you wed, young lady.”

Annabel beamed in response.

“My girl, there are things you need to know about your wedding night. I am afraid I must be the one to tell you, as your beloved mama cannot. Since she passed when you were so little, I know she never had this talk with you.”

“I think I know some basics as I have read some of the animal husbandry texts in the library,” Annabel admitted, her cheeks pinking. “But I cannot say I know exactly what to expect. Lord Saunton and Caroline were … well … indiscreet, but I fear there must be more to it than that. I would appreciate your counsel. Though…” She looked away, her voice faltering with embarrassment. “… this is a most awkward discussion.”

Mrs. Harris coughed delicately, a faint blush tinging her own cheeks. “Indeed, young lady. I have only had this talk once before with my daughter, many years ago. And I buried my husband before I came to Baydon Hall, so I may be rusty on the subject.”

Annabel nodded her encouragement.

“What do you think you know, child?” Mrs. Harris continued.

The housekeeper stayed with Annabel for close to an hour. Annabel asked many questions, and the older woman answered with gentle candor, doing her best to prepare the young bride. When Mrs. Harris finally took her leave, Annabel reflected fondly on their shared history. Mrs. Harris had become a motherly figure to her since her mother’s passing, and she would dearly love for the duke to offer her the position of housekeeper at Avonmead. Mrs. Harris was one of the few aspects of her life at Baydon Hall that she would miss. Her presence would bring much-needed comfort and familiarity as Annabel embarked on her new life.

Alone with her thoughts, Annabel drifted into a reverie. Her dreams of making a love match with Richard now seemed a lifetime ago. She could scarcely believe how much had changed in just a month.

She curled her legs beneath her night rail, her slippers discarded on the floor. Unbidden, memories of Richard came to her, a bittersweet echo of her younger self’s foolish dreams.

“Why are you crying, Annabel?”

“The other girls said I laugh too much. They said if I had a mother to teach me how to behave, I would know better. They do not wish to play with me anymore. And Father says I am an unfashionable piece who will never attract a decent husband.”

“Annabel, they are silly, jealous girls who don’t know how to make their own happiness like you do. Forget them, and I will be your friend. As for your father, he is a vainglorious fool who knows nothing of fashion. Why, he wears one of those atrocious eye lockets, and I don’t believe it’s even an image of your mother’s eye?”

Annabel had fallen in love with Richard on the spot. He had always been kind to her, including her in his adventures when he visited her brother.

Her tears dried as she gave him a cheeky smile. “You are correct. The eye locket is of his grandmother.”

Richard burst out laughing. “That is perfect! Now, young lady, are you going to go riding with me?”

Annabel shook her head to dispel the memory. She had once thought Richard perfect, but she now saw his flaws clearly. His betrayal had crushed her infatuation. Love, she realized, involved trust and understanding. It decidedly did not involve indiscretions with a maid in the stables.

It was time to focus on making a success of her new circumstances. Philip was different—genuine, steady, kind. She believed him when he had promised fidelity and partnership. Their relationship might not have the passionate intensity she had once dreamed of, but it could grow into something deep and meaningful. She could not deny that the duke stirred her senses and her mind.

The absence of her brother Brendan at her wedding saddened her. Yet, as her father refused to discuss him or his whereabouts, she would have to embrace her new life without him. She silently resolved to find Brendan someday, to reunite with the sibling who had once been her closest confidant.

Her thoughts turned to Philip again. He did not crave admiration or social acclaim like Richard. Instead, he focused on improving his lands, serving his tenants, and championing the needs of his community. In their brief time together, they had shared meaningful discussions, discovering a harmony in their beliefs.

As she gazed into the soft glow of the hearth, Annabel allowed herself a small, daring hope.

Might she and her duke grow to love one another?

* * *

It was midmorning when Philip rode up to the front of Baydon Hall, just four days after meeting with Filminster to ask for Annabel’s hand. He had a special license burning a hole in his breast pocket and anticipation beating in his chest. His travels over the past few days had culminated in spending the night at the local inn. As he had not taken the time to return to Avonmead, he hoped Annabel would not mind his informal riding attire. He wore a wool coat over his buckskins with his favorite Hessian boots—the same clothing he had worn the day they met. His private carriage would not arrive until this morning, directly at Baydon Hall. Theirs was to be a small ceremony with the local vicar, the baron, and upper servants serving as witnesses, so he trusted his attire would not be viewed as disrespectful.

His carriage should have arrived by now, but as he approached the front entrance, he noticed that the carriage currently stopped in front of the Hall did not bear his coat of arms. Instead, it displayed the Saunton coat of arms gilded on the door—a fact confirmed as his cousin stepped down from the shadowed interior.

Philip brought his chestnut gelding to a stop and dismounted. A stable hand rushed forward as if expecting him, doffing his cap as he took the reins to lead Gentleman’s Boon down the drive toward the rear.

Richard Balfour, his cousin and former best friend, turned at the noise. His face registered surprise. “Halmesbury? What are you doing here?”

“I could ask the same. I thought you were in London.”

Richard’s emerald green eyes swept over Philip’s riding apparel as he responded. “I had personal business to take care of. My betrothed”—Richard gestured at the manor’s front door—“Miss Ridley, deserves some extra attention as I… I may have upset her a little recently.”

Philip lifted a brow at this euphemistic understatement. “Hmm… I don’t know how to tell you this, old chap, but Annabel is no longer your betrothed.”

Richard frowned before his face cleared, and he recovered his aplomb. His characteristic devil-may-care grin spread across his too-handsome countenance. Richard had always reminded him of Lord Byron with his sable hair, poetic looks, and soulful eyes. He had to concede the appeal; Jane had certainly preferred the earl’s appearance over Philip’s own hard edges and more earnest charms. “That old codger would never agree to relinquish a connection to an earl. What would you know about it, anyway?”

“The old codger decided a duke was a far more enticing prospect.”

Richard’s eyes narrowed as he faced his cousin down. “What are you saying, Halmesbury?”

“I am saying that Filminster knows I would make a better son-in-law than you.”

The earl’s face reflected confusion before settling into an angry mask. “You scheming—What have you done?” Richard exclaimed, turning to stride up the stairs, where he pounded on the heavy door.

When the elderly butler opened it, his faded blue eyes rounded, flabbergasted at finding both the earl and the duke framed in the aperture. He swiftly adopted a stiff expression as Lord Saunton demanded to see Annabel.

“Allow me to show you to the drawing room, my lord. Your Grace.” He bowed politely to each of them and turned to lead them down the corridor in a brisker manner than Philip had noticed on his prior visit. It would appear the servant was eager to show them in so he might speed up his departure from their menacing presence.

Philip fumed as he walked alongside Saunton, following the butler past the wood-paneled walls carved with arcane symbolism and the tall balustrades of the climbing staircase. Neither man paid any attention to the ornate designs as they marched down the hall, bristling with hostility. Philip was gripped by a surge of territorial energy, suppressing his instinct to fight. Saunton’s presence was causing his blood to boil. This was his day with Annabel, and he would not allow his cousin’s unexpected presence to ruin the wedding or Annabel’s humor. He needed to address this debacle swiftly before it interrupted his plans. He was taking his bride home with him this day, no matter what Richard Balfour had to say about it.

When they reached the drawing room, the butler held the door open for them. As soon as they entered, the servant made a hasty departure. The door thumped closed in his enthusiasm to leave them behind.

Philip prowled over to the large, intricate stone fireplace. Leaning an elbow on the mantelpiece, he turned to contain his fuming by glaring out the mullioned windows to the westerly gardens beyond. It would not do to engage with Richard at this moment because their unanticipated encounter could turn into a brawl with very little provocation. He had not been in the mountebank’s presence since the night his late wife had passed on and he did not trust himself to speak yet. Not delaying the wedding needed to remain foremost in his mind, irrespective of his grievances from the past.

* * *

Annabel paced back and forth in the library, her heart lifting as Stedman knocked and entered—then sinking as she took in the butler's uncharacteristically flustered demeanor. Stedman, always so composed, hesitated, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed before speaking.

“The Duke of Halmesbury is in the drawing room.” He paused, looking momentarily unsure of himself. “... with Lord Saunton.”

Annabel froze, the air suddenly heavy with tension. Behind her, the baron let out a startled grunt, his face twisting in alarm. “This will not do. This will not do at all. Halmesbury promised I would not have to speak with the earl!”

Annabel pressed her lips together, holding back the sharp retort that danced on the edge of her tongue. This was hardly the moment to remind her father of his tendency to hide from difficult situations. She turned to face him, taking in his agitated state—his rounded belly jiggling as he shifted from one scrawny leg to the other, his thin shoulders hunched in nervous energy.

“Why don’t I go speak with the gentlemen to sort this out, Father?” she offered, keeping her tone calm and conciliatory.

The baron stopped his bouncing, planting his hands on his hips as he considered her suggestion.

Out of the corner of her eye, Annabel caught a glimpse of the vicar, who had taken refuge on the overstuffed sofa. He seemed to have suddenly developed a keen interest in the gardens beyond the diamond-paned windows, his gaze fixed firmly outside. She did not recall him being so devoted to horticulture in their previous meetings.

After a long pause, the baron nodded with an air of affected grandeur. “Yes, that seems wise. They will both wish to speak to you, and I see no need to involve myself prematurely. I shall remain here and entertain the vicar while you address the situation.”

The words were delivered as if he were doing her a great favor. Annabel suppressed a sigh, schooling her features into a composed smile. “Of course, Father. I shall take care of it.”

She turned toward the door, smoothing her skirts as she gathered her thoughts. The baron’s lack of fortitude was nothing new, and she could hardly fault him for relying on her. Halmesbury had gone to great lengths on her behalf, and it seemed only fair that she do her part now.

Squaring her shoulders, Annabel resolved to face whatever awaited her in the drawing room with grace and determination.