well to heel.
As for his attack on Lady Smith, did not Parsifal himself almost mistake her for Annabella? If Sir Quentin wished to harm Annabella, it was very likely he had followed them and had mistaken Lady Smith for her daughter.
Parsifal was not certain whether his mother, sister, or even Geoffrey had invited Sir Quentin, or if the man had insinuated himself amongst the guests somehow. It would have been easily done, for the ballroom had been filled with a crush of people. Regardless, Lady and Miss Smith would bear watching in case Sir Quentin should return, and until such time Sir Robert could be notified of the threat.
He opened his hand and stared at the pocket watch again. And who would do the watching? It were best if he could have his whole family keep an eye on them, but it would be useless. Caroline was a flighty thing, not to be depended on at all. Geoffrey—well, Parsifal never knew when his brother would be about, or if he was even here this night. As for his mother, she would only take to her vinaigrette again.
Parsifal swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. He supposed it meant that he would have to make himself presentable, and be as sociable as he could. With any luck, if he kept a still tongue, he would also keep himself from tripping over it.
Would it make it any better if he told Miss Smith that he was the Cavalier? He reviewed the evening and shuddered. God, no. After playing the clown and turning the country dance into a farce—no. She thought it had been exceedingly humorous, but comedy was not something to inspire confidence in one. And she would not like to know that she had been kissed by someone such as himself, he was certain.
He wished that he could have caught Sir Quentin, or had done something heroic ... but it was useless thinking of it. Better that he concentrate on the task at hand, and that was making sure Sir Quentin did not come near enough to the house to harm either Miss Smith or her mother.
Placing the watch in a drawer of a table, Parsifal stretched and yawned. If he did not go to sleep now, he'd have a difficult time staying awake later. He prepared himself for bed, not bothering to call his valet. Howell would probably have a discreet tantrum at the way his master draped his clothes at the foot of the bed, but he did not care.
Just before he fell asleep, a fleeting thought drifted through Parsifal's mind: He had been acting strangely of late—impulsive and snappish—and he had spoken Spanish. He recognized it from the bright haze of his very early childhood, when he had sat at his grandfather's knee. But sleep claimed him before he could catch any more thoughts.
The Cavalier had gone quickly, silently from the room; Annabella did not even know when he had left. It was just as well that he was gone. She could not be distracted from doing all she could for her mother, for it was all her, Annabella's, fault that her mother had been hurt.
Did she not go against her parents' wishes regarding that first masquerade? It made her parents think it necessary that she be chaperoned to the next one. And did she not beg and plead her mother to go to this one? If she had not been do disobedient and willful, this would not have happened. Her parents loved her and wished the best for her. She knew it; they had always told her of their love and showed it in their displays of affection.
And when they allowed her time to think over the duke's most flattering marriage proposal, had she been grateful? No, she had not. She had put him off—had come close to refusing him, in fact. They had been patient with her when she had refused one suitor after another, and said nothing against her when she had asked the duke to wait for her answer. Annabella drew in a sobbing breath and pressed her hands against her eyes. She was a selfish wretch, to be sure! If she were a dutiful daughter as her parents deserved, she would have accepted the duke's suit as soon as he had spoken.
And now she had
As for his attack on Lady Smith, did not Parsifal himself almost mistake her for Annabella? If Sir Quentin wished to harm Annabella, it was very likely he had followed them and had mistaken Lady Smith for her daughter.
Parsifal was not certain whether his mother, sister, or even Geoffrey had invited Sir Quentin, or if the man had insinuated himself amongst the guests somehow. It would have been easily done, for the ballroom had been filled with a crush of people. Regardless, Lady and Miss Smith would bear watching in case Sir Quentin should return, and until such time Sir Robert could be notified of the threat.
He opened his hand and stared at the pocket watch again. And who would do the watching? It were best if he could have his whole family keep an eye on them, but it would be useless. Caroline was a flighty thing, not to be depended on at all. Geoffrey—well, Parsifal never knew when his brother would be about, or if he was even here this night. As for his mother, she would only take to her vinaigrette again.
Parsifal swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. He supposed it meant that he would have to make himself presentable, and be as sociable as he could. With any luck, if he kept a still tongue, he would also keep himself from tripping over it.
Would it make it any better if he told Miss Smith that he was the Cavalier? He reviewed the evening and shuddered. God, no. After playing the clown and turning the country dance into a farce—no. She thought it had been exceedingly humorous, but comedy was not something to inspire confidence in one. And she would not like to know that she had been kissed by someone such as himself, he was certain.
He wished that he could have caught Sir Quentin, or had done something heroic ... but it was useless thinking of it. Better that he concentrate on the task at hand, and that was making sure Sir Quentin did not come near enough to the house to harm either Miss Smith or her mother.
Placing the watch in a drawer of a table, Parsifal stretched and yawned. If he did not go to sleep now, he'd have a difficult time staying awake later. He prepared himself for bed, not bothering to call his valet. Howell would probably have a discreet tantrum at the way his master draped his clothes at the foot of the bed, but he did not care.
Just before he fell asleep, a fleeting thought drifted through Parsifal's mind: He had been acting strangely of late—impulsive and snappish—and he had spoken Spanish. He recognized it from the bright haze of his very early childhood, when he had sat at his grandfather's knee. But sleep claimed him before he could catch any more thoughts.
The Cavalier had gone quickly, silently from the room; Annabella did not even know when he had left. It was just as well that he was gone. She could not be distracted from doing all she could for her mother, for it was all her, Annabella's, fault that her mother had been hurt.
Did she not go against her parents' wishes regarding that first masquerade? It made her parents think it necessary that she be chaperoned to the next one. And did she not beg and plead her mother to go to this one? If she had not been do disobedient and willful, this would not have happened. Her parents loved her and wished the best for her. She knew it; they had always told her of their love and showed it in their displays of affection.
And when they allowed her time to think over the duke's most flattering marriage proposal, had she been grateful? No, she had not. She had put him off—had come close to refusing him, in fact. They had been patient with her when she had refused one suitor after another, and said nothing against her when she had asked the duke to wait for her answer. Annabella drew in a sobbing breath and pressed her hands against her eyes. She was a selfish wretch, to be sure! If she were a dutiful daughter as her parents deserved, she would have accepted the duke's suit as soon as he had spoken.
And now she had
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