Page 37 of Miss Ridley and the Duke
His gray eyes softened, and he nodded. “We will. I promise.”
He pulled her into a close embrace, holding her against his chest. The rhythmic beat of his heart was steady and reassuring. Annabel felt hope blooming within her. They could build a life together, one step at a time, leaving the shadows of the past behind.
There was a future for them—a future of trust, understanding, and perhaps, love. Annabel’s spirits soared. They could build a future of their own creation. She thought, just maybe, they could one day share a marriage of love rather than revenge. They could make this work … as long as Richard stayed away.
Chapter Fourteen
"The magnificent appearances of things are delightful to me."
Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein
* * *
Annabel moved around the guest chamber at Baydon Hall, nervously straightening items in the room as Philip tied his cravat in front of the mirror. He was surprisingly adept, even without his valet to tie the intricate knot of his white silk. He looked dashing in his evening black coat and trousers, although Annabel thought he looked out of character without his customary buckskins and navy or forest green riding coats.
“I can’t believe what the baron has done,” she repeated, agitated as she paced around the bedchamber and straightened again that which she had already straightened.
“It is fine, Annabel. We promised that we would have dinner with him as reparation for releasing Mrs. Harris to our household. We should have expected he would invite what appears to be the entire local Baydon and Filminster gentry to meet his new duke.”
“We?” She startled even herself with her high-pitched squeak.
“I, then, I promised him.”
“It looks like he has a minimum of fifty guests for a family dinner ? This is ridiculous. I cannot believe we had to come here and stay overnight.”
“We’re lucky it is only overnight and that he did not hold an entire ball,” Philip said in a placating tone. “Come here so I can button your dress.”
She waved a hand impatiently. “Mary can do it.” Mary, the servant she had met on her midnight escapade the month before, was now formally her lady’s maid. It turned out that the redhead was a sorceress at all preparations, including the ability to tame Annabel’s wayward hair, which was excellent because Annabel was decidedly not an expert at it.
“Annabel,” he commanded.
“Very well.” She stalked over to him, glaring at his elegant reflection in the mirror while he helped her to button up the back of her dress. He had already tightened and tied her stays earlier, sparking an irrational flare of jealousy as she wondered how he had come to be so proficient at dressing a woman. More like proficient at undressing a woman, she thought to herself sourly.
“We will both be fine. There is no one of consequence coming tonight, so you can practice being my duchess in public with no pressure or dire consequences. You are superior in rank to all the guests, so you just behave like you are better than them, and there is little chance of addressing them incorrectly as they all must be introduced to you. It is pure practice at acting superior. A privilege of your new rank.”
Annabel couldn’t stop her lips from quirking into a twisted smile. “When you put it that way, it all sounds rather simple.”
“It is, and in the morning, we get to leave and return to Avonmead.”
Annabel sighed in relief. She moved her gaze in the mirror to view her attire. It was the ivory and saffron dress she had worn for her wedding night supper. She loved the dress, and she wanted to change its fortune by wearing it without associating it with arguing with her handsome husband. She was giving it another chance. It looked wonderful, bringing out golden highlights in her hair and eyes while warming her skin tone. It was not fashionable to have such a skin tone, but she still felt like a duchess with the intricate pearl beads sewn into the bodice, along the line on her sleeve, and down the front seams of the saffron overskirt. “Let us go to dinner, My Grace.”
Philip’s eyes creased as he smiled at her in the mirror. “That is the spirit, sweet.”
* * *
The confrontation with the baron occurred after dinner, when the men had gone to the billiard room to enjoy brandy and cigars. Philip was not fond of strong spirits under normal circumstances, so he sipped his brandy sparingly while declining a cigar with the wave of a hand. One privilege of rank was that he did not have to comply with social mores such as filling his lungs with foul cigar smoke, and no one could question his choices.
Filminster called across the room to get his attention. Philip still had difficulty reconciling the idea that the vile little man had sired a lively, beautiful woman such as Annabel. He could only think that the late baroness must have been an incredible lady. The baron blustered with fellow decrepit toadies of the local gentry near a grand fireplace, his attitude growing increasingly bombastic throughout dinner, while the brandy the older man consumed with excessive vigor was not making him any easier to bear. Philip pretended he did not notice the man beckoning him over while he continued his discussion with the local doctor, who was an erudite, bespectacled man of his own age, and quite pleasant company.
“Son!” the baron bellowed a second time. Philip bit back his annoyance.
“If you will excuse me, doctor?”
His studious companion gave a polite bow. “Of course, Your Grace.”
Philip wound around the billiard table, avoiding a cue that suddenly thrust out in his path when he passed too close to the players. He reached the fireplace where Filminster and his cronies clustered around him, looking like a coven of spindly male witches with their stooped shoulders and pot bellies draped in elegant attire. Philip’s keen eye could make out chest and thigh padding, and he had to catch himself from shaking his head in disgust at the poser dandies out in the country trying to pretend they were the height of London sophistication. Filminster certainly knew how to pick birds of a feather.
“Filminster,” he greeted.
