Page 6 of His Wife, the Spy
“Mama was meant to bring me out,” Elizabeth explained. “When she grew too ill for London, Father had to find someone quickly. Miss Pearce was the best of those who applied.”
Annabel remembered their meeting quite differently. She had been so panicked over being sent to the workhouse that she’d accepted Sir Reginald’s offer without questioning the salary. Only after a month did she realize how much she was underpaid.
Still, working for her wages was better than scheming for a wealthy protector.
“It was kind of your family to take her,” Belinda said. “But I’d be wary. It would be a shame to have her turn your beau’s head while you aren’t looking.”
In the long pause that followed, Annabel was tempted to break through the hedgerow and tell them all how little she thought oftonmen and their double lives. How she’d rather spend her days alone than be forced to gossip with empty-headed ladies who sent their children to nannies and their husbands to mistresses without a second thought.
Never mind that the young men queuing up for Elizabeth were barely able to shave.
But it would do no good. No amount of protest would convince these sheltered girls that a different life existed outside their family’s walled gardens.
“You shouldn’t worry Elizabeth so,” Charlotte said. “In that drab color, with her nose in a book and no dowry? No man will ever take notice of Annabel Pearce.”
A Season ago, the mean-spirited comments and the malicious giggles that followed would have stung. Now,Annabel’s skin was thicker. She had made the difficult choice to pay her own way. She was making—
“Too right, Charlotte,” Elizabeth said, laughing. “She’ll be lucky to have the blacksmith as a husband. Her children will be born with ashes under their nails.”
The girl’s jibe sent a pin into Annabel’s heart and heat to her ears. She didn’t crave a husband, but the thought of never having children woke her in the middle of the night and sent her curling around a pillow. When dawn broke, she consoled herself with the thought of making a difference for others’ children. Like Elizabeth.
But she was making no measurable difference at all. She was simply stepping in to ensure anothertonbrat found a better title and a larger house.
“I could tell you that eavesdroppers never hear well of themselves.”
Annabel spun to face the speaker, realizing too late that the wild hedges had caught her hair. At least the snare gave her a reason for the tears in her eyes.
“Instead I’ll tell you it could be worse.” Fiona Allen reached up and helped free her before smoothing the loose strands back into place. Her twisted smile and arched eyebrow gave her words a dark humor. “You could be me.”
Every Society matron in London told their daughters, nieces, cousins, and random guests at tea the story of Fiona Allen’s fall from grace. It was a twisted fairytale of a beautiful girl with a father so wealthy his lack of title didn’t matter, a splash of a first Season, and a quick engagement with the bachelor heir every girl had wanted.
And prematurely anticipating the wedding night, a broken engagement, and a hurried trip to the Continent to avoid the scandal.
She was a walking warning about the results of disobeying the rules.
What Annabel remembered, however, was Amelia Chitester’s disastrous house party and Fiona’s brazen flirtation with Amelia’s fiancé. How scandal shadowed her every step.
Annabel reached to her hair to check the pins. “I’m sorry, Miss Allen.”
“Don’t be. My life is much less complicated these days.” Fiona took Annabel’s hand and tucked it into her elbow. “Let’s leave these harpies-to-be in our wake. There used to be a lovely statue garden at the end of this path.” She stumbled over a flowering vine trailing across the path. “Perhaps the jungle hasn’t claimed it yet.”
Annabel tried to free herself. Guests could stroll the grounds. She was not a guest. “Miss Allen, I should be—”
“Miss Spencer doesn’t need you in the daylight. Besides, all the young men are in the stables, no doubt wagering over whatever race Jasper has planned.” Fiona tugged Annabel forward.
“I could return to the house.” She should. If Jasper Warren was out planning a race, it was the perfect time to search his office.
“Why waste the sunshine?” Fiona said. “We’ll be trapped by rain enough this month.” She winked. “Besides that, Linden is resting after our trip, and I need someone to talk to.”
They took a turn in the circle, paralleling their earlier path on the other side of the untrimmed hedge.
“How long have you been Miss Spencer’s companion?”
“Since January.” Annabel had spent one last holiday at Chilworth House before returning to London to look for a placement. “Mrs. Spencer took ill at Christmas and is convalescing in Bath. In her absence, they advertised forsomeone to help bring Elizabeth into Society.” She paused. “How long has Mrs. Linden been with you?”
“Since after the Chitesters’ house party.” Fiona steered her around another hedge. “I wish I would have had her the Season before.” She sighed as they came to another wall and a third turn. “I also wish Jasper would make a shortcut through these dratted hedges.”
“The funds must get there somehow.” The voice, leaking through the maze’s inside wall, was deep and measured. Aristocratic. The man sounded much like Jasper, but Annabel couldn’t be certain. She’d only heard him speak when he was bored or poking fun.
