Page 57 of A Spinster for the Cold Duke

“Good evening, Papa. My Lord.” She paused at the door and looked back with that mischievous twinkle in her eye. “You will tell me all that happens at the ball, won’t you, Lord Southall?”

To which his friend immediately grinned like the annoying imp he was. “Of course, my dear Celia. You can count on me.”

And, despite himself, Henry found his mind already racing ahead to next week, to the prospect of seeing Annabelle in an evening gown, of perhaps…claiming a dance.

“When did you say this ball was to be held?” he asked, attempting to sound casual while his heart hammered against his ribs.

Everett’s smile was triumphant, the expression of someone who had just won a particularly satisfying victory. “Next Thursday. I will personally come to drag you out by the hair and make sure you attend.”

Henry nodded slowly. His pulse quickened at the thought of seeing her again and of perhaps having the chance to finish what they’d started in that library.

“I will make an appearance.”

Everett arched a brow. “Oh?” His grin was positively impish. “Are you finally going to admit your attraction to Miss Lytton?”

Henry’s lips curved slightly as he said, “I think we both know I have gone past the point of admission.”

His friend’s eyes widened before he raised his own glass in a toast. “Delightful. I have the distinct feeling it will be an evening to remember.”

CHAPTER 20

“Annabelle, my dear, surely you don’t intend to wear that to Lord Southall’s ball?” Lady Oakley’s voice carried across the bedchamber with unmistakable disapproval as she observed her granddaughter smoothing the skirts of a modest grey silk gown.

Annabelle paused in her preparations and met her grandmother’s gaze in the looking glass. “What’s wrong with this dress? It’s perfectly suitable for the occasion.”

“Suitable, perhaps, but hardly inspiring,” Lady Oakley replied, moving closer with the measured steps. “Tell me, child, what became of that emerald gown that arrived earlier this week?”

Heat bloomed across Annabelle’s cheeks, and she turned away from the mirror entirely. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean, Grandmother.”

“Oh, but I think you do. The package that bears the mark of Madame Bouchard’s establishment, wrapped in paper so fine it could only have come from someone of considerable means and impeccable taste.”

Annabelle’s hands stilled on her gloves. “You know about that?”

“My dear girl, very little escapes my notice in this household.” Lady Oakley settled herself in the chair beside the dressing table. Her silver hair gleamed in the lamplight. “The question is not whether I know of its existence, but why you refuse to acknowledge such a thoughtful gift.”

“Because it’s inappropriate,” Annabelle said firmly, though her voice wavered slightly. “I cannot accept such an expensive present from His Grace. It suggests… implications that I’m not prepared to address.”

Lady Oakley was quiet for a long moment. “And what implications might those be?”

“That there is something between us that extends beyond Celia’s education.” The words tumbled out before Annabelle could stop them, carrying all the confusion and longing she’d been trying so desperately to suppress.

“Ah.” Lady Oakley’s expression softened. “And is there?”

Annabelle sank into the chair beside her dressing table, suddenly feeling the weight of the past few days settling heavilyon her shoulders. “I don’t know. That is, I think… perhaps there might be. But it’s impossible, isn’t it? He’s a duke, and I’m…”

“You’re the granddaughter of the Dowager Viscountess of Oakley. You’re educated, accomplished, and possessed of more wit and beauty than most women your age,” Lady Oakley interrupted sharply. “Do not diminish yourself in such a manner. It ill becomes you.”

“But the scandal with Philip and Florentia?—”

“Is in the past, where it belongs.” Lady Oakley rose and moved to the wardrobe with purpose. “Now, shall we discuss the real matter at hand? A gentleman of His Grace’s standing does not purchase gowns for ladies without considerable thought and intention. To dismiss such a gesture would be both foolish and discourteous.”

Annabelle watched as her grandmother withdrew the emerald silk from its careful storage. The fabric shimmered even in the subdued lighting.

“I cannot wear that tonight. People will whisper about me. They will say I’m a spinster clawing at an attempt for attention.”

She immediately cringed at her own words. Since when did she care about what the people of thetonthought of her? She cared for the thoughts of only one man…

I gave it to you because you look breathtaking in it.

---