Annabel’s eyes widened in shock. Her lips parted as if she intended to reply, but no words came out, and she closed her mouth again. She looked away, and when she returned her gaze to his, a frown etched deep between her brows. Christian decided he’d better explain his reasoning before she told him to go to hell.
“The fact that I objected at the wedding implies something between us, and the only way to deal with that now is to acknowledge it as true. By becoming engaged, your reputation would be saved. We’ll claim a whirlwind romance aboard ship, that sort of thing. Many will call you mercenary, playing a duke against an earl to see who came out on top, but trust me, once you’re engaged to me, they won’t hold it against you. In fact, they’ll probably consider it quite a well-played coup on your part, and they’ll admire you for it.”
“Wait!” She held up one hand to halt his flow of words. “You want to marry me?”
“God, no.” The moment the words were out of his mouth, he grimaced, cursing his idiotic lack of tact. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
“Yes, you did. You don’t want to marry me, either.” She gave a little laugh, shaking her head as if at the irony. “That’s pretty much the story of my life.”
He sighed. “Hell, all I seem able to do today is either offend you or apologize for offending you. Annabel, the fact that I have no desire to remarry has nothing at all to do with you. What I am proposing is not that we marry, merely that we become engaged. It will put paid to the gossip, and after a long enough engagement—about a year, I should say—”
“A year? Be tied to you for a year in a phony engagement?”
“It has to be long enough to be convincing. After a year, you break it off.”
“And look like I’ve jilted my second fiancé after humiliating my first?”
“A woman is always justified in breaking an engagement, but nonetheless, I shall give you ample cause, something public enough and bad enough that nothing could possibly reflect upon you. God knows,” he added, raking a hand through his hair, “that’s the least I can do. And with my reputation, no one would be surprised. Of course, your conduct shall have to be impeccable—Caesar’s wife, and that sort of thing—so it would probably be best if you steered clear of society. Unless we go out together, of course.”
“I see.” She looked at him thoughtfully, as if she were thinking it over. He deemed that a hopeful sign. “And what about your conduct?” she asked after a moment.
“Mine?” The question took him back a bit, for he knew she wouldn’t like the answer. “Well, my conduct is irrelevant,” he said with reluctance, “since my reputation isn’t at issue. I suppose it ought to be,” he added hastily as her frown deepened. “But it isn’t. Not very fair, I grant you. But in circumstances such as these, the same level of propriety isn’t expected of a man.”
“Really? How convenient.” Before he could reply, she went on, “Thank you for your gallant effort to save the day,” and the sweet, drawling sarcasm in her voice told him his hope of an easy solution was rather out the window. “I appreciate it so very much, Your Grace. But I think I’ll pass.”
“You’re saying no?” He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. No doubt she felt a bit let down by the idea, for he knew he hadn’t made any effort to put a romantic gloss on it. Nonetheless, she couldn’t really refuse. “But we have to become engaged. It’s the only way to avert a scandal.”
“It’s not the only way. It’s the simplest way, and the easiest way for you because it doesn’t affect your life at all.”
She caught his slightly guilty shift from one foot to the other, and she pounced on it at once. “How lucky for you,” she said, “that you can behave like a cad and get away with it, facing no consequences for what you’ve done. Other than having to be seen with me once in a while during this supposed engagement, your situation enables you to do whatever you want, while I will have to pretty much stay home, and still be chaperoned when I do go out, with no ability to make friends, have any fun, or meet any other men who might actually want to marry me!”
“That fact that it’s convenient for me,” he said with dignity, “doesn’t make it any less sound an idea.”
“First of all, there’s no way I’ll let the world think I go around humiliating and jilting men. Second, I am not going to waste a year of my life sitting around twiddling my thumbs because of you! And third, I’d have to spend that whole year pretending I want to marry you, and I’m just not a good enough actress to pull that off, since I happen to hate your guts.”
“You’re angry, I daresay, but—”
“Angry? Angry doesn’t even start to describe how I feel about you. The only reason I haven’t shot you dead already is because I’d be hanged for it. And now,” she added, her rising voice making the sincerity of her words quite clear, “after you’ve ruined my life, the best thing you can think of to repair the damage is a pretend engagement? Any true gentleman would have offered me marriage for real!”
That was probably true, but any guilt he might have felt was eclipsed by a jolt of pure panic.
“Don’t worry, sugar,” she said, correctly interpreting his feelings. “Even if you offered me a genuine proposal of marriage, I’d turn you down. Duke or not, I wouldn’t have you on a silver platter!”
Her words should have brought a sense of relief, but they didn’t. Instead, they stung, and he felt a bit nettled by his own reaction. “Well, I’m glad we’ve got that straight,” he muttered, jerking at his tie and doing his best to conceal his illogical sense of hurt pride. “Since we’re agreed that a true engagement culminating in marriage is out of the question, a pretend engagement is the only option.”
“No, it’s not. While you’ve been lyin’ around sleeping off your drunkenness, I’ve been coming up with a plan to save my own reputation, thank you very much.”
A woman couldn’t save her own reputation, so he ignored that bit of nonsense. “It’s hardly fair to criticize me for drinking too much last night, since you were quite pickled yourself,” he said instead, “a state you were well on your way to being in before I even arrived. And when you passed out—”
“I did not pass out.”
“You weren’t unconscious for more than a few seconds, but the fact remains that your knees kept caving every time I tried to stand you on your feet. I carried you back to your suite, snuck you back into your room, and put you in bed, managing not to be seen by anyone in the process, thereby safeguarding you and your reputation.”
“And you think that makes you some kind of hero?”
“I don’t know. Does it? Where would your reputation be if some Knickerbocker dragon ladies had found you lying in the Turkish baths this morning, passed out with a bottle in your hand?”
“You ruined my wedding!”
“To a man who’s an ass!”
She folded her arms, eyes narrowing. “Some might say the man who showed up at a wedding, drunk as a skunk, and stopped the bride from marrying another man without caring two pins for her is the one who’s an ass!”
“Well, it isn’t as if you were in love with him, Annabel! You wanted to be a countess. And he wasn’t in love with you, either, a fact proven by his conduct. Your money was what he was after. Hell, even the fact that you are jaw-dropping gorgeous, with a body like a goddess, doesn’t seem to have been important to him, since he went to a prostitute the night before the ship sailed!”
“What?” Annabel’s arms fell to her sides, and her eyes widened with astonishment. As he looked into their dark brown depths, he saw the shimmer of hurt, and he wanted to cut his tongue out. He hadn’t meant to tell her. He’d hurt her enough already, and even though she hadn’t been in love with Rummy, the last thing she’d needed to be told about today was her former fiancé’s preference for the company of prostitutes. Still, nothing for it. The cat was out of the bag.
“I don’t believe you,” she whispered.
“It’s true. I saw him at a gaming club that night. Your uncle was there, too, although he doesn’t know Rummy’s reason for being there was to see a courtesan.”
“Maybe he wasn’t there for that. Maybe he was there to play cards.”
“No, Annabel, he wasn’t. He bragged to me about his reason for being there.” Christian drew a deep breath, knowing there was no way to backtrack now. “I saw him go upstairs, and there are no gaming tables upstairs at that particular club. Only prostitutes.”
She didn’t say anything for several seconds. And then her chin came up, her shoulders squared, and she looked him in the eye. “Even if what you say is true, it doesn’t justify what you did.”
“No, it doesn’t. But because of what I did, your reputation is compromised, and I can’t allow that to stand. If we become engaged, honor is satisfied.”
“And I’ve already said no.”
“But what else can we do?”
She moved to face him across the table and gestured to the documents she’d been perusing when he came in. “I’ve come up with a plan, one that doesn’t involve us getting engaged.” She picked up a sheet of paper. “This is a letter of resignation from Mr. Bentley, one of my trustees. And this,” she added, laying that sheet aside to pick up another, “is a contract drawn up by Uncle Arthur, naming you as Mr. Bentley’s replacement.”
He frowned, not seeing the point. “What does that accomplish?”
“Both of these documents are dated yesterday. You stood up this morning and objected to my wedding, not because there’s any hanky-panky between us, but because you have objections to the marriage settlement, and as the new trustee, you couldn’t allow the marriage to go through without some renegotiation.”
“Clever,” he had to admit. “Rumsford broke the engagement, I take it, not you?” She didn’t confirm that guess, but the tight press of her lips gave him his answer. “Still, I don’t know your family. Why would Mr. Ransom and Mr. Chumley appoint me?”
“You’re a duke,” she answered promptly. “Arthur met you in New York, and when Mr. Bentley resigned, he and George appointed you to the job because we want to live in England, and they want social connections there for business purposes. You objected because after reading the document aboard ship, you found the marriage settlement unacceptable and not in my best interests, but you didn’t know if you ought to object at such a late date. You finally decided you had to speak up, after having a long battle with your conscience, or something like that.” She met his eyes. “Most people probably don’t think you have a conscience, but from what I’ve seen, you’re a good enough liar to make them change their minds.”
Another painful jab, and one he no doubt deserved. “Believe it or not, I was acting in good conscience when I stopped the wedding.”
“I don’t give a damn what your reasons were.” She pulled the pen from the inkstand and handed it to him. “Sign it, please.”
He studied her hard face for a moment, and he figured now was not a good time to assure her she’d dodged a bullet this morning. Instead, he took the pen from her hand. “All right, I’ll be a trustee. Since you won’t agree to an engagement, this is the only thing to do, I suppose. Where do I sign?”
He signed in every place she indicated, glad that the situation was resolved by putting his name to a few documents. “There,” he said, handing the sheets back. “All done.”
“Not quite.” She pulled the papers out of his fingers. “You know, you really should read things before you sign ’em. Uncle Arthur taught me that a long time ago.”
He watched with growing apprehension as she held up the contract he’d just signed. “This makes you a trustee, but there are conditions attached.”
“What conditions?”
“You didn’t really think you’d get off the hook just by signing a piece of paper, did you? After what you did?” She slapped the contract down and leaned forward, flattening her palms on the table between them. “By taking on the job as trustee, you have also become one of my legal guardians, and part of your job shall be to facilitate my launch into London society.”
Christian stared at her, appalled. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, I’m serious, sugar. I am as serious as a daddy with a pregnant daughter and a shotgun. I didn’t come this far only to tuck my tail and go back to New York in disgrace.”
“It still baffles my mind why you’d want to hobnob with our lot, but there’s no accounting for taste, I suppose. Still, how am I supposed to make this cherished dream of social success come true?”
“You are going to help your sister to bring me out. Yes,” she added, “I’ve already talked to Lady Sylvia, and she’s agreed to introduce me to her friends, make sure I receive invitations, that sort of thing. But to convince everyone that what you did was not a romantic gesture, we need your cooperation.”
“I’m to play the role of dutiful guardian? Now that’s something no one will believe.”
“They have to. If there’s the slightest reason to think you have a romantic claim on me, my reputation is still tarnished, and everyone will expect you to marry me. Since you and I both agree that’s a horrible idea, you have to help make this story sound convincing.”
“Surely you’re not still thinking to catch an English husband?”
“My concern right now is my reputation, which you are responsible for blackening! You have to make sure people accept our version of why you did what you did. While I enjoy my season, make friends, and meet respectable young men, you are going to play the role of protective guardian and trustee, whose primary job is to keep the fortune hunters, rakes, and scoundrels away.”
He glanced over her delicious figure. “To quote your own words, that’s a bit like the fox guarding the henhouse.”
“No, it isn’t, because you’ve changed.” She gave him a bright, artificial smile. “You’ve turned over a new leaf now that you’re a duke. You’ve given up your scandalous ways, and you take your responsibility as one of my trustees very seriously.”
This was sounding worse and worse by the minute. “But to do what you ask, I should have to go into society myself.” One might as well descend into the pit of hell. “I should have to mingle, mix, go to the opera, attend balls. Go to the club and talk dog breeding and politics with men like Rumsford.” He shuddered. “It doesn’t bear thinking about.”
“That fact that you won’t enjoy yourself doesn’t bother me much.”
“Even worse, by doing this I’d be offering a signal to all the unmarried girls in town that I am available for marriage myself. I should have every social-climbing debutante and matchmaking mama in London dogging my heels.”
“I reckon you will.” She tucked the papers into a leather portfolio, giving him a look of mock pity across the table. “Aw, poor you.”
Christian ignored the sarcasm. “Woman, this is the most ghastly idea I’ve ever heard.”
“Too bad.” She turned to tuck the portfolio beside the nearby writing desk, then she walked to the door and opened it. “You interfered in my life, and now you deserve what you get. Don’t worry,” she added. “You’ll be paid the same salary Mr. Bentley got as a trustee. Ten thousand dollars a year.”
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather we just become engaged?” he asked as he walked out the door. Turning, he faced her across the threshold. “So much easier. Simpler. Less fuss.”
“Not a chance. You’ve been hired for a job, and you’re damned well going to earn your salary. It’ll probably be the first real work you’ve ever done in your life.”
With that, she slammed the door in his face with a resounding bang.
Christian stared at the closed door, and he wondered in bafflement how this whole interview had changed his perfectly sensible, simple plan into a complicated scheme that would have him gadding about London during the height of the season, safeguarding the reputation of an heiress, protecting her from fortune hunters, and keeping his own hands off her luscious body in the process.
If this had happened to one of his friends, he’d think it a great joke, of course. But since it was happening to him, he found nothing amusing about it. It was going to be torture.
Slamming the door in Christian’s face had to be one of the most gratifying things Annabel had ever done. And turning down his offer of engagement had been pretty sweet, too. And, of course, getting him to sign that agreement without reading it first—that had also given her a great deal of satisfaction.
Still, though they made her feel a bit better, a few gratifying moments didn’t make up for the awful events of the morning, or take the sting out of the fact that she now had three men to her credit who didn’t want to marry her. And she couldn’t even really contemplate what Christian had told her about Bernard. She’d known he’d had mistresses in the past, but a prostitute only a few days ago? It made her sick thinking about it.
Christian could be lying, of course, for that man wasn’t to be trusted an inch. But as she studied the closed door after his departure, she had the gut-wrenching feeling that Christian hadn’t been lying about that.
Suddenly, an unbelievable weariness settled over her, and she wondered if her new plan was even worth pursuing. Maybe she ought to just go home. But where was home? Gooseneck Bend? New York? She had no home. Not now.
Annabel shook her head, pushing aside despair before it could take hold. She’d already cried enough tears for one day, and she was worn out. Refusing to give in to any self-pity, she went to bed, and the moment her head hit the pillow, she was sound asleep.
Annabel didn’t have the chance to feel sorry for herself the following day, either. For one thing, she didn’t wake until almost noon. And since the Atlantic was scheduled to dock at Liverpool by sunset, the afternoon was spent preparing to disembark. Mama offered to see that all the gifts brought aboard by wedding guests were returned, an offer Annabel was happy to accept. She spent her time supervising the maids in packing their personal belongings. She was in the midst of that task when a knock sounded on the door of their stateroom.
Annabel herself happened to be the one closest to the door, but she hesitated, not really wanting to face anyone who might have come out of an eagerness for gossip. Still, the maids were in the various bedrooms, occupied with their duties, and when the knock came again, she was left no choice but to answer it herself.
To her relief, she found Lady Sylvia on the other side of the door. A waiter stood beside her with a wheeled tea tray.
“Good afternoon. I hope I’m not disturbing you?” When Annabel shook her head, the other woman gestured to the cart with a flourish. “Since our conversation yesterday, I’ve been making plans, and I thought we might discuss them over a spot of tea?”
“That would be lovely, thank you.” She opened the door wide. “Please come in.”
The other woman nodded to the waiter and they entered the suite, following Annabel to the table in the center of the sitting room. “Place the cart there, Sanderson,” she said, gesturing to a spot between the two women, “then you may go.”
“Yes, my lady.”
The waiter departed, and after verifying that the tea had already been prepared and was steeping in the pot, Annabel reached for the strainer. “Lemon or milk?” she asked as she strained tea carefully into two cups. “And would you like sugar?”
“Milk, please, and two lumps of sugar. You know how to pour out, I see,” Lady Sylvia added. “Many Americans don’t. Tea isn’t something you run much to on your side of the pond. My husband was an American, so I know. He insisted upon coffee every morning.”
“Your husband was Roger Shaw, wasn’t he?” Annabel asked, passing the other woman her cup. “The architect?”
“He was. How did you know?”
Annabel made a face as she stirred sugar into her own tea. “I know everything about every Knickerbocker family in New York. Not that it’s done me much good.”
Sylvia paused, her cup raised halfway to her mouth, studying her over the rim. “I’m sorry,” she said unexpectedly.
“Sorry?” Annabel stared back, surprised and puzzled. “What are you sorry for?”
“I don’t quite know,” she confessed, and took a sip of tea. “That my brother can be a complete idiot from time to time. That everyone whose opinion matters to you saw what happened. I think . . .” She paused a moment. “I think what I meant was that I’m sorry I didn’t make any effort to become acquainted with you before now.”
Annabel smiled a little. “What would you have done? Gone around introducing yourself to all us New Money outsiders and taken on the job of forcing us on New York society? Besides, you’re only saying that because you know me now,” she couldn’t help pointing out. “Circumstances have forced us together, and now I’m a person.” She met the other woman’s eyes over the teapot. “I’m no longer just one of the insignificant faces you see in the crowd at the opera from a seat in the Golden Horseshoe.”
Sylvia grimaced. “That’s truer than I like to think.”
“I don’t mean to offend you, Lady Sylvia. It’s just that I know what I’m dealing with here. I don’t have any illusions about it, and I don’t want pity. I want help.”
The other woman nodded. “Of course. And it is easier for a girl in your position to move in British society than it is in New York, once you have the appropriate connections and entrée, of course.”
“And if you have plenty of money,” Annabel added with a hint of cynicism. “Because British peers need to marry girls with money.”
“Oh dear, you must think we’re all so dreadful. But a girl’s dowry is one of the most important parts of British matrimony, especially in these days when estates simply cannot recoup their own costs. I would be doing you a great disservice if I pretended otherwise.”
“I know. And because I know what it’s like to not have money, Lady Sylvia, I don’t fault anyone for wanting to avoid being in that situation. Especially now,” she added, laughing a little. “Now that I have money, I don’t ever want to go back to not having it, that’s for sure.”
Sylvia was studying her with thoughtful blue eyes. “It must be so difficult,” she murmured, “to be caught between two worlds, a part of neither.”
“Yes.” Annabel felt a rush of relief to find someone who understood when even some members of her own family didn’t. “I want to marry well, have children, and carve out a place in the world. I want my sister to have all the social opportunities I didn’t have. I don’t ever want anyone to laugh at my family again. But until I met Bernard, I’d just about given up hope.” She sighed, setting aside her teacup. “I don’t want to go back to Gooseneck Bend. And I can’t go back to New York. Not now.”
Sylvia patted her arm in a friendly gesture. “You don’t have to, Annabel, because now you have connections. I’ve already begun laying the groundwork, by the way.”
“You’ve started explaining to people our version of why your brother did what he did?”
“Explain? Heavens, no. If one starts explaining, one ends up justifying, and at that point, one loses the battle. No, no. I’m a decade older than you, my dear, and you must trust my knowledge of what to do when a scandal like this happens. One mentions it in passing, laughing a little, sounding quite exasperated with one’s impulsive, reckless brother. Since Christian was, of course, acting in his ward’s best interest, the fact that Rumsford broke things off rather than talk it out puts the onus of explanations on Rumsford, whom I suspect would rather die than explain anything about the humiliating episode.”
“I see.”
“By the time we dock at Liverpool, our version of events will have spread to every corner of the ship, and I think most people will believe it. All the earl can claim is that he hadn’t been informed ahead of time of Mr. Bentley’s resignation and the duke’s instatement. He can’t sue for breach of promise, and even if he could, he wouldn’t.”
“You sound very sure of that.”
“I am sure.” She hesitated, then added, “It’s the season, and the earl can’t afford to be seen as petty by other young ladies.”
“Heiresses, you mean,” Annabel said, hearing the cynical tinge to her own voice. “Suing me for breach of promise wouldn’t do much to impress them.”
“No, it wouldn’t. It may not be of much comfort to say you’re well rid of him, but I shall say it anyway. You can do far better than Rumsford, if you wish to.”
Annabel thought of Rumsford and the prostitute, and she wasn’t certain she wished to. “You think my plan will work?”
“Of course it will. It’s a sound plan, and I commend you for it, Annabel. I doubt I could have thought of a better one given the situation. Life is like a picture, you know. It’s all in the way you frame it. When we arrive in town, Christian and I shall start paving the way, writing letters, paying calls, that sort of thing, and after a respectable waiting period—a fortnight should be long enough, I think—I shall bring you out. To add strength to the story, it would be best if you stay with me at Cinders.”
“Cinders?”
“My villa just outside London, in Chiswick. Now, don’t refuse, please. I wouldn’t dream of allowing you to stay at a hotel when I can offer you the hospitality of my home. It’s leased most of the year, of course, because I travel so much, but I always take it for the Season. I’ve already spoken to your mother about this, and she agrees that having your family staying with me can only lend more strength to the connection between our families.”
She drained her cup, set it back in its saucer, and rose to her feet. “I must be off. We’ve put in a good day’s work, but now I simply must pack. We’re disembarking in only a few hours.”
“Thank you, Lady Sylvia.” Annabel also stood up, and she walked the other woman to the door. “I appreciate your help so much.”
“Nonsense, my dear. After Christian’s abominable display yesterday, it’s the least I can do. Besides, I shall enjoy it. I love launching a girl.”
“You must also love a challenge,” Annabel said with a sigh as she opened the door.
“I told you, my dear, you mustn’t worry. You’ll do very well in London, despite what’s happened. With your pretty face, and American charm, it wouldn’t surprise me a bit if you had a dozen suitors before the end of the season.”
“Well, I have already had a marriage proposal,” Annabel said, bringing the other woman to an abrupt halt on the threshold.
“A marriage proposal already?” Lady Sylvia turned in the doorway. “From whom?”
Annabel was a bit taken aback by the other woman’s surprise. “Your brother. You didn’t know?”
“I most certainly did not.” She shook her head and began to laugh. “Christian proposed marriage to you?” she said as if she couldn’t believe it. “Christian?”
“Well, it wasn’t a real proposal,” she hastened to explain. “Oh no, his idea was that we be engaged for a year, and then he would do something awful to give me an excuse to break the engagement.”
“What? And keep you dangling for an entire year with no ability to meet any other men?” When Annabel nodded, she said, “I hope you told him what he could do with that sort of arrangement!”
“I did. I believe my exact words were that I wouldn’t have him on a silver platter even if it was only pretend.”
Sylvia laughed merrily. “Oh, Annabel, I do like you! We are going to be great friends. I know it.”
“I hope so,” she murmured, watching the other woman start down the hallway. “To pull this off, I think I’m going to need all the friends I can get.”