Secrets of a Summer Night by Lisa Kleypas Page A

said quietly. “If we don’t go back to town, it will turn into a nightmare here.”
    Philippa turned toward her then, still smiling in that discomforting way. “My dear, if you don’t find someone to marry, then when we return to London, the real nightmare will begin.”
     
     
     

Chapter 8
     
     
    B edeviled by worry, Annabelle slept for a total of two, perhaps three hours. When she awoke in the morning, her eyes were shadowed, and her face was pale and weary. “Hell’s bells,” she muttered, soaking a cloth in cold water and pressing it to her face. “This will not do. I look a hundred years old this morning.”
    “What did you say, dear?” came her mother’s sleepy query. Philippa was standing behind her, dressed in a worn robe and threadbare slippers.
    “Nothing, Mama. I was talking to myself.” Annabelle scrubbed her face roughly to bring some color to her cheeks. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”
    Coming beside Annabelle, Philippa regarded her closely. “You do look a bit tired. I’ll send for some tea.”
    “Send for a large pot,” Annabelle said. Peering closely at her red-veined eyes in the looking glass, she added, “
Two
pots.”
    Philippa smiled sympathetically. “What shall we wear for our walk with Lord Kendall?”
    Annabelle wrung out the cloth before draping it on the washstand. “Our older gowns, I think, as it may be rather muddy on some of the forest paths. But we can cover them with the new silk shawls from Lillian and Daisy.”
    After downing a cup of steaming tea and taking a few hasty bites of cold toast that a maid had brought from downstairs, Annabelle finished dressing. She studied herself critically in the looking glass. The blue silk shawl knotted over her bodice did much to conceal the worn bodice of the biscuit-colored gown beneath. And her new bonnet, also from the Bowmans, was wonderfully flattering, its periwinkle-shaded lining bringing out the blue of her eyes.
    Yawning widely, Annabelle went with Philippa to the back terrace of the manor. The hour was early enough that most of the guests at Stony Cross Park were still abed. Only a few gentlemen who were bent on trout fishing had troubled themselves to arise. A small group of men ate breakfast at the outside tables, while servants awaited nearby with rods and creel baskets. The peaceful scene was undercut with an annoying clamor that was most unexpected for this hour.
    “Dear heaven,” she heard her mother exclaim. Following her appalled gaze, Annabelle looked toward the other end of the terrace, which had been overrun by a cacophony of frantically chattering, squealing, laughing, aggressively posturing girls. They were surrounding something that remained unseen in the middle of the tightly packed congregation. “What are they all here for?” Philippa asked in bewilderment.
    Annabelle sighed and said resignedly, “An early-morning hunt, I suspect.”
    Philippa’s jaw sagged as she stared at the clamorous group. “You don’t mean to say… do you think that poor Lord Kendall is caught up in the midst of that?”
    Annabelle nodded. “And from the looks of things, there won’t be much left of him when they’re finished.”
    “But… but he arranged to go walking with
you
,” Philippa protested. “
Only
you, with me as the chaperone.”
    As a few of the girls noticed Annabelle standing on the other side of the terrace, they crowded more tightly around their prey, as if to shield him from their view. Annabelle shook her head slightly. Either Kendall had foolishly told someone of their plans, or else the marriage frenzy had reached such a pitch that he could not venture out of his room without attracting a mob of women, no matter what the hour.
    “Well, don’t just stand there,” Philippa urged. “Go and join the group, and try to attract his attention.”
    Annabelle gave her a doubtful glance. “Some of those girls look feral. I should hate to get bitten.”
    Distracted by a muffled laugh from