Page 9

Chapter Eight

“Nothing is so painful to the human mind as a great and sudden change.”

Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein

* * *

A nnabel shored up her courage as she stood outside the drawing-room door. Since Stedman had informed her that both her former betrothed and her new one were waiting together, her nerves had been in turmoil. She drew a deep, fortifying breath, steeling herself for the encounter she had hoped to avoid.

Philip believes you are bold, she reminded herself. That thought, both a challenge and an encouragement, gave her the final push to open the door. You must take what you want, Annabel. No one will hand it to you.

As she entered, her gaze immediately sought Philip’s tall, comforting presence. Over the last few days, she had come to appreciate his steady composure and thoughtful encouragement. Richard, with his charm and affability, had once captivated her, but it was Philip’s strength and sincerity that now felt like a safe harbor. And her traitorous inner voice added, It does not hurt that he is as handsome as a Greek god.

The two men stood at opposite ends of the stone fireplace. Richard, with his dark, rakish charm, appeared every inch the social favorite he had always been, but beside Philip, he seemed less substantial. Philip, taller and broader, exuded quiet power. His golden hair and calm gray eyes gave him an aura of dependability that made her feel anchored just looking at him.

Richard stepped forward, his expression dark. “How do you even know my cousin?” he demanded sharply. “You barely leave the Hall, with that weak fool of a father of yours too afraid to even board a carriage.”

Annabel glanced at Philip. He gave her the barest of nods, his silent encouragement bolstering her confidence. “I knew of His Grace’s reputation,” she answered evenly. “He is known for helping people in need, so I sought his assistance.”

Richard’s jaw dropped. “You approached him? Called on him? ”

Annabel nodded, meeting his gaze.

“But Avonmead is nearly a full day’s ride on horseback!”

She inclined her head again.

Richard’s face paled as the realization dawned. “You rode there—alone?”

“Yes.”

“You rode across two counties in those infernal breeches of yours?”

“Precisely,” she said, her voice steady. “I told you I would do whatever it took to end our betrothal.”

Richard’s complexion darkened with anger, his voice rising. “You reckless fool! You could have been killed—or worse.”

Annabel’s brow furrowed. “Yes, that is what His Grace also said. Although I fail to understand what could be worse.”

Richard threw his hands in the air, pacing a few steps before turning back to her. His voice shook with frustration. “Worse is why you should never have gone! A girl caught alone in the countryside could pray for the sweet release of death rather than endure what might befall her.”

Annabel instinctively stepped back, giving him a wary look. “Then perhaps you should not have driven me to such extremes,” she retorted, her voice soft but firm. “I had to turn to a stranger because you, the man who claimed to care for me, showed no regard for my thoughts or feelings.”

Richard’s temper flared again. “You would have been a countess! A wealthy woman with five estates to command. What more could you want?”

Annabel’s composure wavered, her voice trembling with raw emotion. “All I wanted was your regard, Richard. Your respect. Your love.”

“I do care for you!” he exclaimed. “I have never been willing to marry anyone else. I went to great lengths to make this match happen.”

Her lips curled in incredulity. “What lengths, pray?”

“I escorted you to those tedious country dances. I called on your father—repeatedly—and endured his dull conversation at countless dinners. I even arranged for a celebrated modiste to come all the way from London to outfit you for your new role!”

Annabel’s temper flared, her control snapping under the weight of his self-centered words. “You are insufferable!” she cried, her voice sharp with indignation. “Everything you’ve done has been for your own vanity. You live for your own pleasures, Richard, and you do not care about my happiness in the least. I would rather remain unmarried forever than become your wife.”

* * *

Philip watched his betrothed and her former betrothed flinging words back and forth. A tense atmosphere thickened the air, the passionate exchange prickling something that could have been jealousy in his chest. A surge of impatience pushed him forward; Annabel was his bride, and there would be no further entanglement with Richard Balfour. Not today. Not ever.

“Enough!” His voice cut through the tension like a blade. Startled, both Annabel and Richard turned to him, where he leaned against the elaborately carved stone fireplace, his stance commanding the room.

“Richard, why are you so adamant about marrying Annabel?” Philip asked. He was about to seize an opportunity for honesty that bordered on cruelty, but he told himself it was necessary. The sooner Annabel realized love was an illusion, the easier it would be to build a foundation of partnership and understanding with her—one based on practicality, not romantic idealism.

Richard crossed his arms and gave his cousin a long, calculating look. “I like Annabel. And if I am to be leg-shackled to a woman for the rest of my life, it would be nice if we got along.”

Philip’s heart clenched at Annabel’s audible gasp. Her soft features contorted with disbelief and hurt, and it took every ounce of his willpower not to cross the room and tug her into his arms. She deserved better. He would give her better. “That is an inadequate answer,” Philip said coolly. “Annabel has chosen me—” He thumped his chest with a clenched fist, the gesture forceful. “—in your stead.”

Richard’s expression darkened, his green eyes flaring with anger. “You’re doing this to seek vengeance against me for Jane. How many times must I tell you? Nothing happened between us!”

Philip’s gray gaze narrowed. “This is about Annabel, not Jane. That my involvement irks you is merely a delightful bonus.”

Annabel’s brows furrowed, and she looked back and forth between the men, confusion flickering across her face. Philip cursed himself for letting their sordid history surface. Quickly, he veered the conversation back on track.

“Miss Ridley deserves better than coercion and betrayal,” Philip said firmly. “As an act of honor, I offered her my name and protection. Annabel will be mistress of Avonmead. You would do well to respect that.”

Richard let out a short, derisive laugh. “What right do you have to interfere?”

“The right Annabel granted me when you proved yourself unworthy. Shall I recount the details of your disgrace in the stables, or will you concede this outcome is your doing?”

Annabel stiffened at the mention of the stables, her gaze dropping momentarily to her gloved hands. Richard stepped closer to her, his voice low but desperate. “Is this what you want, Annabel? To marry Philip?”

She hesitated, but when her brandy eyes lifted to meet Philip’s steady gaze, her resolve solidified. “Yes,” she said softly but firmly. “This is what I want.”

Richard’s face twisted with frustration. “Annabel, you’re making a mistake. My dear cousin has secrets. He’s not telling you the full truth about why he is marrying you.”

Philip stepped forward, his presence imposing. “Enough, Richard,” he warned, his tone as sharp as the crack of a whip. “This matter is settled. If you value what little dignity you have left, I suggest you leave before you make an even greater fool of yourself.”

Richard ran a hand through his dark curls, visibly shaken. For a long moment, he looked at Annabel with a mix of longing and regret. Then, finally, he exhaled a shaky breath. “I wish you all the best, Annabel. I did plan to treat you well, and I hope you find happiness.”

He took her hand, his lips brushing her fingers in a lingering kiss. Philip’s jaw tightened, a low growl of displeasure rumbling in his throat. Richard straightened, snorting disgust as he turned to his cousin. “Enjoy your victory, Halmesbury. But mark my words—you will regret this.”

“You had your chance, Saunton,” Philip said coldly. “And you ruined it.”

With that, Richard turned and stormed out, the heavy door slamming shut behind him.

Philip exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing as the tension dissipated. When he looked back at Annabel, he noted the dazed expression on her face. He crossed the room, taking her hands in his. “Do not let this unpleasantness ruin our day,” he said gently. “What say you to getting married and beginning our new life at Avonmead?”

Her lips curved into a small, tentative smile. The first since the confrontation began. “I think I would like that very much,” she replied.

Philip bent to press a soft kiss to her forehead, a wave of protectiveness surging within him. “I have been looking forward to this moment since we parted,” he said, his voice low and earnest. “I cannot wait to call you my wife.”

As they left the drawing room together, Philip vowed to himself that he would give Annabel a life of security and care. Whatever ghosts lingered from his past would not touch her. She deserved happiness, and he intended to see that she found it. They made their way to the library where her father, Stedman, and Mrs. Harris were waiting for them with the vicar, but Philip remained worried, hoping Annabel would not pay heed to the hints regarding Jane’s betrayal.

The betrayal you drove her to , whispered his treacherous conscience.

* * *

The ceremony passed by Annabel in a haze. Her mind raced with the strange comments Richard had made about Jane Markham. Why had Richard and Philip not spoken in three years? Had the late duchess’s passing, which she recalled was about three years ago, played a role? Were the two events connected? A sense of unease gnawed at her. Was there some hidden reason behind the duke’s resolve to marry her?

The vicar’s steady voice broke through her thoughts.

“Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”

Annabel’s eyes lifted to meet Philip’s gaze. His gray eyes, full of sincerity, held hers with unwavering intensity.

“I will,” he said in his deep baritone, the sound sending a shiver down her spine and settling a warmth deep in her chest.

She drew in a steadying breath and offered him a small smile, reassured by his presence. She trusted him more than she had ever trusted Richard. Unlike his charming yet duplicitous cousin, this man had a reputation for generosity and honor. He had acted decisively to help her. She could not let Richard’s bitter accusations cloud her judgment.

Yet, the quarrel had planted seeds of doubt. What if Philip had secrets of his own? She reminded herself that theirs was a marriage of convenience, not romance. She had no right to expect more than what they had agreed upon. Whatever deeper feelings stirred within her, she must guard them carefully. The duke had already known and lost great love—his late duchess had been that for him.

A murmur rippled through the room. Startled, Annabel realized the vicar had paused. All eyes were on her. Mrs. Harris raised a questioning brow. Stedman regarded her with stern expectancy. Even the vicar gave a faint cough to prompt her, and Philip’s concerned expression made her heart squeeze.

She had missed her cue.

Frustrated with herself for allowing her thoughts to wander, Annabel quickly recovered and spoke. “I will.”

The relief on Philip’s face was fleeting but evident, his warm smile returning as he gazed down at her. His presence steadied her once more.

As the vows resumed, Philip slipped the ring onto her finger, his touch firm yet gentle. When he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, a wave of calm settled over her.

Curse Richard and his venomous words. She would not let his bitterness ruin this moment. He was simply spiteful over losing their battle of wills. His accusations were merely an attempt to plant mistrust where none should exist.

This was her wedding day, and she stood by her choice.

There were no dark secrets to be revealed.

* * *

Philip ate his cake in a mild state of euphoria, the flavor barely registering as he savored the realization that he was now married to the daring Miss Ridley—now the Duchess of Halmesbury. Days of hasty planning had culminated in this momentous occasion, securing Annabel as his wife. The future stretched ahead, promising companionship and shared purpose. He allowed himself a moment to marvel at her seated beside him, her feminine presence a balm to the turbulence of the past few days.

Richard’s arrival had been an unwelcome surprise, but the matter was settled. Annabel, mercifully, remained unaware of the painful past shared by himself, Richard, and the late duchess. This day belonged to them alone, and he was determined to ensure her happiness moving forward.

He felt Annabel’s hand rest lightly on his, her touch warm and grounding. He turned to meet her gaze, and those enchanting brandy-colored eyes met his own. A blend of gold and brown, her eyes held an inner light that seemed to glow even brighter now. She was radiant in her muslin day dress adorned with delicate embroidered flowers. She had captivated him from the start, and he found himself grateful once more for her courage in seeking him out.

“Philip,” she whispered, leaning closer as the baron and the vicar carried on their conversation. “I know this may not be the best moment, but I wish to speak with you about Mrs. Harris before we leave.”

“Mrs. Harris?” He blinked, pulling himself back to the present. His thoughts had wandered toward the journey ahead, the new life they would begin together, and the countless moments he hoped to share with her.

“The baron’s housekeeper,” Annabel clarified.

Her words made him pause. He had noticed how she rarely referred to Filminster as her father, calling him instead “the baron.” It was a telling detail of her life here—one marked by loneliness and emotional distance. The notion made him even more determined to ensure she found warmth and belonging as the mistress of Avonmead.

Annabel’s voice brought him back from his musings. “We are quite close. I know this is very forward, but I would like to offer her a position at Avonmead, if you agree. She has been a great comfort to me. I thought this might be a good time to address it, so she can make arrangements.”

Philip’s face softened at the suggestion. He recalled Mrs. Harris from the ceremony earlier, the cheerful, round woman dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. That someone in this lonely household had cared for Annabel deeply touched him. He had no objection to welcoming the woman to Avonmead if it meant bringing a piece of Annabel’s comfort along with her.

A grin spread across his face as he saw the nervousness in hers. On this day, she could have asked him for anything, and he would have gladly given it. If bringing Mrs. Harris brought his new wife joy, then so be it.

Leaning closer to ensure their conversation remained private, he whispered, “For you, my lovely wife, anything. Anything at all.”

He sealed the promise with a soft kiss to her forehead, content to see her smile widen in return.