Ten Things I Love About You

Every conversation held an undercurrent, a deeper, more subtle meaning. And Annabel, who in addition to being the Winslow most likely to fall asleep in church was the Winslow most likely to speak her mind, felt she could not say a thing, for fear of making offense.

Or embarrassing herself.

Or embarrassing someone else.

She could not bear the thought. She simply could not bear the thought that she might somehow prove to her grandfather that her mother had indeed been a fool and her father had been a damned fool and that she was the damnedest fool of them all.

There were a thousand ways to make an idiot of oneself, with new opportunities arising every day. It was exhausting trying to avoid them all.

Annabel stood and curtsied when the Earl of Newbury took his leave, trying not to notice when his eyes lingered on her bosom. Her grandfather exited the room along with him, leaving her alone with Louisa, their grandmother, and a decanter of sherry.

―Won‘t your mother be pleased," Lady Vickers announced.

―About what, ma‘am?" Annabel asked.

Her grandmother gave her a rather jaded look, with a tinge of incredulity and a twist of ennui.

―The earl. When I agreed to take you in I never dreamed we might land anything above a baron.

What good luck for you he‘s desperate."

Annabel smiled wryly. How lovely to be the object of desperation.

―Sherry?" her grandmother offered.

Annabel shook her head.

―Louisa?" Lady Vickers cocked her head toward her other granddaughter, who gave her head an immediate and negative shake.

―He‘s not much to look at, that‘s true," Lady Vickers said, ―but he was handsome enough when he was young, so your children won‘t be ugly."

―That‘s nice," Annabel said weakly.

―Several of my friends set their caps for him, but he had his eye on Margaret Kitson."

―Your friends," Annabel murmured. Her grandmother‘s contemporaries had wanted to marry Lord Newbury. Her grandmother‘s contemporaries had wanted to marry the man who most likely wanted to marry her .

Dear God.

―And he‘ll die soon," her grandmother continued. ―You couldn‘t hope for more."

―I think I will have that sherry," Annabel announced.

―Annabel," Louisa said with a gasp, giving her a what-are-you-doing glance.

Lady Vickers nodded approvingly and poured her a glass. ―Don‘t tell your grandfather," she said, handing it over. ―He doesn‘t approve of spirits for ladies under the age of thirty."

Annabel took a large swallow. It went down her throat in a hot rush, but somehow she didn‘t choke. She‘d never been given sherry at home, at least not before supper. But here, now , she needed fortification.

―Lady Vickers," came the voice of the butler, ―you had asked me to remind you when it was time to leave for Mrs. Marston‘s gathering."

―Oh, right," Lady Vickers said, groaning as she rose to her feet. ―She‘s a tedious old windbag, but she does lay a nice table."

Annabel and Louisa stood as their grandmother left the room, and then, as soon as she was gone, they sank back down and Louisa said, ―What happened while I was gone?"

Annabel sighed weakly. ―I assume you refer to Lord Newbury?"

―I was in Brighton for only four days." Louisa cast a quick glance at the door, making sure that no one was about, and then resumed in an urgent whisper, ―And now he wants tomarry you?"

―He hasn‘t said as much," Annabel replied, more out of wishful thinking than anything else.

Based upon Lord Newbury‘s attentions toward her these last four days, he‘d be off to Canterbury to obtain a special license by the week‘s end.

―Do you know his history?" Louisa asked.

―I think so," Annabel replied. ―Some of it." Certainly not as much as Louisa would. Louisa was already on her second London season, and more to the point, she had been born to this world.

Annabel‘s pedigree might have included a grandfather who was a viscount, but she was a country gentleman‘s daughter, through and through. Louisa, on the other hand, had spent every spring and summer of her life in London. Her mother—Annabel‘s aunt Joan—had passed away several years earlier, but the Duke of Fenniwick had several sisters, all of whom held prominent positions in society. Louisa may have been shy, she may have been the last person anyone would expect to spread gossip and rumors, but she knew everything.

―He‘s desperate for a wife," Louisa said.

Annabel gave what she hoped was a self-deprecating shrug. ―I‘m rather desperate for a husband myself."

―Not that desperate."

Annabel did not contradict, but the truth was, if she didn‘t marry well and soon, heaven only knew what would become of her family. They had never had a lot, but when her father had been alive, they‘d always managed to make do. She wasn‘t sure how they had afforded the tuition to send all four of her brothers to school, but they were all where they should be—at Eton, receiving a gentleman‘s education. Annabel would not be responsible for their having to leave.

―His wife died, oh, I‘m not sure how many years ago," Louisa continued. ―But that did not signify, as he had a perfectly healthy son. And his son had two daughters, so obviously his wife was not barren."

Annabel nodded, wondering why it was always the woman who was barren. Couldn‘t a man be incapable, too?

―But then his son died. It was a fever, I think."

Annabel had been made aware of this part already, but she was sure Louisa would know more, so she asked, ―Has he no one else to inherit? Surely there must be a brother or cousin."