in her features that she struggled to keep her voice calm. “Thank you, my lady. I was very sorry to hear of Lord Dorset’s passing.”
Lady Dorset lost her smile then, her eyes growing misty. “Yes, well … it was very sudden. But at least my son has returned safe from the war. Alec will be so glad to know you are better. I’ll go and fetch him so he can offer his felicitations.”
“No!” Annabelle cried, surprising even herself. “Please don’t.” She could not see him now. Not when she was still so unsettled and angry. There was every chance she’d rush at him, fists flying. She’d worshipped him as a child. Had foolishly thought she loved him. How embarrassing to remember it.
“Oh, my dear, of course, you’ll need a few minutes. Let me leave you to the care of your aunt, whom I’ve not seen in such an age. I will secure a private room so we can all reacquaint ourselves.” With that, Lady Dorset walked out, closing the door securely behind her.
Annabelle lowered her head into her hands. “I cannot see him,” she said, her voice tense. “I simply cannot.”
“I know you are still angry with Lord Dorset,” Aunt Sophia said. “But you must learn to put the past behind you. Why, I’d have very few people to speak with if I avoided everyone who gave offense.”
“He abandoned me four years ago. I wrote to him, and he ignored me still. I can hardly make small talk and pretend he didn’t hurt me terribly.”
“I can’t claim to know what his motives were, Annabelle. There may be things about that time you do not know. But he carried you in here as if you were precious to him.”
“Oh, he can play the role of a gentleman to perfection. He’s a great one for honor and nobility when it suits him.” Would her letters have been so terribly difficult to answer? Surely, he could have sent word to explain what had happened? Why he and Gareth had raced? Why she’d been in the carriage? Why, after kissing her, he’d gone away and never returned?
“He caught you when you fell, which is worth something. You must thank him for that, at the very least. And you never told me he was so handsome.”
There was no denying it. Her heart had lurched at the sight of him. Ridiculous girl! But then all of those painful months of rehabilitation, and all those years of being alone and unwanted had rushed back, choking the breath from her body. How she hated that she’d shown any weakness in front of him. She’d been impossibly naive where he was concerned, but no longer.
“Perhaps you are right,” Annabelle said with sudden determination. “Perhaps I can speak to him after all.” She would never let him know how much his blatant disregard had pained her. He’d made himself a stranger in these past four years, and strangers they would remain.
• • •
“Alec, you are pacing the floor like an awkward schoolboy,” his mother admonished. He felt like one, too, but that didn’t mean he could stop himself. He’d known he would call on Annabelle when he returned to Nuneaton, but he hadn’t yet planned the things he would say. There had been the very real possibility, after all, that she would be feeble and infirm—a devastating reminder of all he had cost her. How could he have begged forgiveness for that?
Shockingly, though, Annabelle had recovered. She walked without hesitation. Her beauty—if possible—was even more staggering. God had decided that she should not suffer for his sins, and Alec was profoundly grateful. Humbled, even.
As if summoned by his thoughts, she walked into the small room, trailing her aunt.
“Miss Layton.” His mother smiled, rising from a small settee in the room. “You are the picture of good health.”
“Thank you again for your assistance, Lady Dorset,” Annabelle replied with a pretty curtsey. There was only the slightest hesitation in her movements, and her cheeks were flushed with color. Was it possible that she, too, was nervous?
“Lady Marchmain,” his
Lady Dorset lost her smile then, her eyes growing misty. “Yes, well … it was very sudden. But at least my son has returned safe from the war. Alec will be so glad to know you are better. I’ll go and fetch him so he can offer his felicitations.”
“No!” Annabelle cried, surprising even herself. “Please don’t.” She could not see him now. Not when she was still so unsettled and angry. There was every chance she’d rush at him, fists flying. She’d worshipped him as a child. Had foolishly thought she loved him. How embarrassing to remember it.
“Oh, my dear, of course, you’ll need a few minutes. Let me leave you to the care of your aunt, whom I’ve not seen in such an age. I will secure a private room so we can all reacquaint ourselves.” With that, Lady Dorset walked out, closing the door securely behind her.
Annabelle lowered her head into her hands. “I cannot see him,” she said, her voice tense. “I simply cannot.”
“I know you are still angry with Lord Dorset,” Aunt Sophia said. “But you must learn to put the past behind you. Why, I’d have very few people to speak with if I avoided everyone who gave offense.”
“He abandoned me four years ago. I wrote to him, and he ignored me still. I can hardly make small talk and pretend he didn’t hurt me terribly.”
“I can’t claim to know what his motives were, Annabelle. There may be things about that time you do not know. But he carried you in here as if you were precious to him.”
“Oh, he can play the role of a gentleman to perfection. He’s a great one for honor and nobility when it suits him.” Would her letters have been so terribly difficult to answer? Surely, he could have sent word to explain what had happened? Why he and Gareth had raced? Why she’d been in the carriage? Why, after kissing her, he’d gone away and never returned?
“He caught you when you fell, which is worth something. You must thank him for that, at the very least. And you never told me he was so handsome.”
There was no denying it. Her heart had lurched at the sight of him. Ridiculous girl! But then all of those painful months of rehabilitation, and all those years of being alone and unwanted had rushed back, choking the breath from her body. How she hated that she’d shown any weakness in front of him. She’d been impossibly naive where he was concerned, but no longer.
“Perhaps you are right,” Annabelle said with sudden determination. “Perhaps I can speak to him after all.” She would never let him know how much his blatant disregard had pained her. He’d made himself a stranger in these past four years, and strangers they would remain.
• • •
“Alec, you are pacing the floor like an awkward schoolboy,” his mother admonished. He felt like one, too, but that didn’t mean he could stop himself. He’d known he would call on Annabelle when he returned to Nuneaton, but he hadn’t yet planned the things he would say. There had been the very real possibility, after all, that she would be feeble and infirm—a devastating reminder of all he had cost her. How could he have begged forgiveness for that?
Shockingly, though, Annabelle had recovered. She walked without hesitation. Her beauty—if possible—was even more staggering. God had decided that she should not suffer for his sins, and Alec was profoundly grateful. Humbled, even.
As if summoned by his thoughts, she walked into the small room, trailing her aunt.
“Miss Layton.” His mother smiled, rising from a small settee in the room. “You are the picture of good health.”
“Thank you again for your assistance, Lady Dorset,” Annabelle replied with a pretty curtsey. There was only the slightest hesitation in her movements, and her cheeks were flushed with color. Was it possible that she, too, was nervous?
“Lady Marchmain,” his
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