ROMANCE: His Reluctant Heart (Historical Western Victorian Romance) (Historical Mail Order Bride Romance Fantasy Short Stories) by Jane Prescott Page B
Authors: Jane Prescott
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different now. Jack caught his eye and, deducting that he had already spotted the younger Givens sister, grinned impishly. “Anabelle is the toast of the town these days, even though she had her coming out ages ago. A bit of a bluestocking, but very popular with the literature crowd at the south end of the room.” Watching his friend’s eyes swing in that particular direction, Jack again turned his attentions to the eager Lady St. Hubert.
It was hard to make her out at first amongst the crowd of older gentleman, but soon enough, Henry spotted a crown of glossy red hair separating out. One of the gentlemen, sandy-haired and formidable-looking, proffered a hand, and the fingers that reached out of the coven to grab his were endlessly long and slender. Henry’s eyes traveled up that hand to an equally toned arm, to a rose-colored gown—he had no doubt Jack or Rafe could say whether or not it was in season, but did not care—to a deep décolletage, and then a face that was utterly familiar and alien all at the same time.
When he saw her face, Henry did not care what kind of stocking she was at all, blue or any other color. It was not that Anabelle Givens had a sensationally beautiful face; it was that it was so alive with expression and sensitivity, so like and unlike the face he remembered so well from his childhood romps and, most memorably, that day in the hay, that in that moment, Henry Princely felt squarely and securely that he had most certainly arrived home.
Tumbles of red locks fell about her face, curled artfully. Her brown eyes slanted at the corners, giving her the unusual look of laughing all the time. As her gentleman partner twirled her in a lively fashion, Henry got flashes of curved hips and shoulders, a full bosom, and a mouth that was open with merriment and conversation. He was not prepared at all for the rush of emotions that hit him when he saw Anabelle, but in that moment, he tumbled straight into her image, into the solid woman she had become, into the adult body that he, for many reasons, wanted to crush into his own and lay there forever. Just seeing Anabelle, seeing how she was able to laugh even after what had happened to her father made him want to take her by the hand and lead her right back to that stable, lay down and tell her every darned, damnable thing that had happened to him over the past year, if only so that she could order him to snap out of it as she used to when they were small.
“Why, he’s a man possessed,” he heard Rafe say next to him and realized with a start that his friend was indeed, referring to him. He had apparently lost himself in contemplation of Anabelle Givens for the past few minutes, long enough for both of his friends, and Lady St. Hubert to take notice. He heard them tittering behind him like schoolchildren, but the fact of the matter was that it was true. He wanted to get to know the woman with the red hair because somewhere underneath the years that had passed between them, she was the girl with the red hair who he felt he could share everything with. And so he inched his way closer, shy, suddenly, but bold somewhere deep on the inside because his feet did not stop moving until he was smoothly taking Anabelle's hand from her sandy-haired partner and clasping it in his own.
She saw him coming and recognized him immediately. Lion-maned Henry Princely was the farthest from the prig his name suggested he should be. She had noticed him from the corner of her eye, had known that this was the first event he was coming to since Lord Princely's passing. She did not attend many balls like this anymore because there was simply no more money for a new gown, although she had developed quite the skill as a seamstress to make over old gowns into new ones, as was accepted and right. She bowed low, accepted Henry's hand, and managed to do
It was hard to make her out at first amongst the crowd of older gentleman, but soon enough, Henry spotted a crown of glossy red hair separating out. One of the gentlemen, sandy-haired and formidable-looking, proffered a hand, and the fingers that reached out of the coven to grab his were endlessly long and slender. Henry’s eyes traveled up that hand to an equally toned arm, to a rose-colored gown—he had no doubt Jack or Rafe could say whether or not it was in season, but did not care—to a deep décolletage, and then a face that was utterly familiar and alien all at the same time.
When he saw her face, Henry did not care what kind of stocking she was at all, blue or any other color. It was not that Anabelle Givens had a sensationally beautiful face; it was that it was so alive with expression and sensitivity, so like and unlike the face he remembered so well from his childhood romps and, most memorably, that day in the hay, that in that moment, Henry Princely felt squarely and securely that he had most certainly arrived home.
Tumbles of red locks fell about her face, curled artfully. Her brown eyes slanted at the corners, giving her the unusual look of laughing all the time. As her gentleman partner twirled her in a lively fashion, Henry got flashes of curved hips and shoulders, a full bosom, and a mouth that was open with merriment and conversation. He was not prepared at all for the rush of emotions that hit him when he saw Anabelle, but in that moment, he tumbled straight into her image, into the solid woman she had become, into the adult body that he, for many reasons, wanted to crush into his own and lay there forever. Just seeing Anabelle, seeing how she was able to laugh even after what had happened to her father made him want to take her by the hand and lead her right back to that stable, lay down and tell her every darned, damnable thing that had happened to him over the past year, if only so that she could order him to snap out of it as she used to when they were small.
“Why, he’s a man possessed,” he heard Rafe say next to him and realized with a start that his friend was indeed, referring to him. He had apparently lost himself in contemplation of Anabelle Givens for the past few minutes, long enough for both of his friends, and Lady St. Hubert to take notice. He heard them tittering behind him like schoolchildren, but the fact of the matter was that it was true. He wanted to get to know the woman with the red hair because somewhere underneath the years that had passed between them, she was the girl with the red hair who he felt he could share everything with. And so he inched his way closer, shy, suddenly, but bold somewhere deep on the inside because his feet did not stop moving until he was smoothly taking Anabelle's hand from her sandy-haired partner and clasping it in his own.
She saw him coming and recognized him immediately. Lion-maned Henry Princely was the farthest from the prig his name suggested he should be. She had noticed him from the corner of her eye, had known that this was the first event he was coming to since Lord Princely's passing. She did not attend many balls like this anymore because there was simply no more money for a new gown, although she had developed quite the skill as a seamstress to make over old gowns into new ones, as was accepted and right. She bowed low, accepted Henry's hand, and managed to do
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