Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

A nnette rubbed her toes, willing the blood to flow back into them. She shouldn't have stayed out so long, but she'd been having such a wonderful time. The billiard game had been a bit tense, but the skating had broken the ice. She giggled at the pun. Between her brother, his two friends, and Lord Weston, she had felt like a princess holding court. She bit her lip, wondering how her fairy tale would end.

"The indigo tonight, milady?" asked Jenny.

"Yes, with the wine-colored shawl." Annette opened a box at her toilette and fingered the earbobs with the dark wine-colored carnelian stones. The ancient Egyptians had used the polished rocks as talismans. Could they protect her from insincere suitors? It couldn't hurt.

"Did you enjoy skating?" asked Jenny, helping Annette out of her day dress. "Did you learn anything about the two gentlemen?"

"It was a splendid day. I believe Mr. Hawkesbury is more studious than athletic. He attempted the ice, fell, and then observed the rest of the time. Mr. Fitzjames, on the other hand, is very strong and agile. He would enjoy any of the physical activities that I do." She grinned, remembering. "We danced the waltz."

"On skates? Oh, my." Jenny guided her mistress to the chair and picked up a brush. "Any preference so far?"

"Hmm. Mr. Fitzjames is very handsome and confident. Too confident, maybe? I believe he does well with the opposite sex." She handed Jenny a dark-blue ribbon. "Mr. Hawkesbury, on the other hand, is fair to look at but more intellectual and prefers a lively conversation."

"If you combined the two, you'd have the perfect man."

"Yes," murmured Annette, thinking of Lord Weston who did seem to have all of those qualities.

"And the viscount? How was he?"

"He was the only man who did not fall."

"Steady and reliable." She threaded the ribbon into Annette's loose chignon. "He also was taken with your wit. And he's handsome."

"True." She and Jenny looked at each other in the mirror. Neither said what they were both thinking. Perfect.

* * *

"I need to stop in the kitchen and thank Cook. Dinner was stupendous," said Lucius, rubbing his trim stomach. "And she made my favorite custard."

"She's always spoiled you," said Annette, remembering all the secret rendezvous to the kitchen as children to raid the cupboards, only to find their favorites left out on the table for them.

"Funny thing," mused Hawkesbury, a conspiratorial grin on his face, "but according to Page, it's the other way around. You were always the doted-on sibling."

"Me?" Annette rolled her eyes. "I suppose I did get most of the attention. In my defense, I was the only girl."

"It's a miracle you turned out so feminine, considering your childhood," added her father. "Remember your pirate stage? Wore only William's breeches for almost a year with some old tri-corner hat she'd found along the road, climbed the tree in the garden looking for any suspicious ships—not that there's a large enough body of water nearby—and using that terrible shanty slang."

"What was the name of the governess at the time?" asked Lucius, chuckling. "The poor woman about had an apoplexy the first time she saw Nettie in the outfit, threatening to make her walk the plank."

Annette covered her eyes and shook her head. "William started it. Said he wanted to be Captain Kidd, and I could be his first mate." She uncovered her face and reached for her wine, giving Lord Weston a side look. "Mrs. Feathersom. That was her name."

"Yes!" Lucius let out a hearty laugh. "Ambrose snuck into a chicken coop in the village and gathered a basket of feathers. The stinkiest ones he could find. Then he'd leave one for her to find every day. I think the one he left in her teapot—after she'd had a cup—was the last straw."

"Lucius always mispronounced her name." Her father warmed up to the subject. "Mrs. Somefeathers, Mrs. Nofeathers, Mrs. Featherless, and the worst one was Mrs. Fartfeathers."

"How she could screech," reminisced Annette.

"It sounds like all of you needed a good thrashing," Lord Weston teased.

"They did indeed," agreed Papa.

"But look how well they turned out." Lady Henney raised her glass. "To rotten children maturing."

"I don't know if I'd call Page mature ," said Hawkesbury.

"Egads, no," agreed Fitzjames, holding up his glass. "But he definitely grew."

"Nettie, shall we retire to the drawing room and wait for the gentlemen to join us?" asked Lady Henney.

She nodded, and the men rose as they made their way out of the room. Once settled, Alice leaned forward and took Annette's hand. "Well, what are your thoughts so far? Favoring anyone in particular?"

"I was thinking earlier that if only I could combine the best qualities of each man, then I'd have the perfect husband. But I really don't know if either of them are interested." She chewed her bottom lip. "Mr. Hawkesbury tempts me with his intellect, and Mr. Fitzjames has so much energy. He would join me in any physical pursuit." Annette regretted saying the last bit as soon as the twinkle came into Alice's soft brown eyes.

"Oh, I'm sure he would, dear. And I have it from your brother that they are both interested. So put your mind to rest on that subject." Alice giggled, then arranged her face in a more serious expression. "I don't like the fact that Hawkesbury wants to live in Calcutta. Ambrose is just returning with his family. We can't have you halfway across the world."

Annette gave an inward sigh. Although she knew Alice loved her, it was nice to hear she wanted her stepdaughter to remain close. "Then we should strike him from the list. I would love to travel, but I don't want to make my home anywhere but England."

Alice patted her knee. "This is progress. Mr. H is crossed off. On to Mr. F."

"He's good-looking and active. I don't think he'd enjoy being gone from Town for long. He also doesn't seem to have any ambitions except to live off his father's income."

"It's a substantial sum." Alice tapped her chin. "He does have a small estate he will inherit from his maternal grandmother. He may be waiting for that."

"True. He's very charming. Almost…"

"Too charming?" asked Alice. "I was thinking the same thing. I fear he would consider a mistress as nothing unusual. What are your thoughts on that?"

She shrugged. "If it were a love match, I'd be devastated. But since that probably won't be the case, I'm not sure."

"Something to keep in the back of your mind."

"We can't forget the gentleman coming with William, another barrister." Annette leaned against the back of the brocade sofa, smiling.

"You're not thinking of either of those gentlemen now. Who's on your mind?" prodded Alice. "We haven't mentioned Lord Weston."

"He's not a suitor."

"He looks like one to me. Comforting you last night, an early morning ride, the last man standing on the ice." Alice cocked a brow. "Handsome, fit, intelligent, wealthy, and unattached."

"And Papa's friend."

"What bothers you? The fact he's known your father for years, or the fact he's close to Henry's age?"

"Close? I thought he was Papa's age." Annette sat up. Was he not as old as she'd thought? Those wings began a flutter in her stomach again.

"Weston's older brother went to Oxford with Henry. Your father enrolled at a late age, for financial reasons, and was older than the late viscount, but they were very close. The family lived in the town, so Henry was a frequent guest at the Westons. He considered the present Lord Weston like a younger brother." Alice pursed her lips in thought. "I believe Weston is seven or eight years younger than your father."

Annette's mind whirled. Still quite a difference in years, though not nearly as many as she'd thought.

"That makes Weston about forty-one or forty-two," supplied Alice. "You'll soon be twenty-four, so there's a difference of seventeen or eighteen years. Not so bad."

No, it wasn't horrible. "What would Papa say?"

"He'd say whatever makes you happy. Are you considering it?"

"I will take your advice," Annette said with a smile, "and keep an open mind."

"That's my girl."

The men came in, and Lady Henney ordered chocolate for her and Annette. "Shall we play a game of charades?"

"I'm happy to join in, but I warn you I'm terribly slow," admitted Fitzjames good-naturedly. "Hawk is the one to beat at any game needing a clever player."

"Thank you," said Mr. Hawkesbury with a nod at his friend. "I may be able to redeem myself after splaying myself across the ice earlier."

"Wonderful. Let's get seated." A chaise longue had been added to the arrangement in front of the hearth to provide seating for the larger group. "Nettie, sit here with Lord Weston." Lady Henney pointed to the chaise longue. "Beecham and I will take the sofa. Lucius and his guests will have the chairs."

"I'll begin," said Annette, needing a distraction from the viscount—the not-as-old-as-she-thought viscount—who had set the butterflies flapping in her stomach as he settled next to her. His spicy scent tickled her nose as she searched her brain for a good riddle. Ah!

"My first is in harvest rarely known,

Nor would it welcome be.

My next in country or in town,

Each debutante delights to see.

And when drear winter's dress is shown,

In joyous play my whole is thrown."

"Harvest is a season," said Fitzjames with glee, "and debutantes have a Season."

"So, the word is season Season?" Lucius chortled. "Better let Hawk have a try."

"Hmm, not welcome in harvest… blight, a frost… snow." Mr. Hawkesbury tapped his heel. "What's thrown?"

"A ball?" said her father.

"Snowball! That was brilliant," cried Mr. Hawkesbury.

"Yes!" Annette clapped. "You come up with the next one."

The red-haired man pursed his lips and tapped his heel some more. Then he smiled.

"My first a blessing sent to earth,

Of plants and flowers to aid the birth.

My second surely was designed

To hurl destruction on mankind.

My whole a pledge from pardoned Heaven,

Of wrath appeased and crimes forgiven."

"The blessing to plants and flowers could be rain," said Lady Henney.

"Destruction," mused Lord Weston. "Fire? But does it hurl? No."

"Water, floods," murmured her father.

"Noah saw a rainbow after the floods." Lord Weston snapped his fingers. "A bow is let loose to hurl toward its target. So, rain and bow. Very clever, Hawk."

"Thank you, my lord. Your turn."

Weston crossed his ankle on his knee and drummed his fingers on his leg. Annette watched the digits brushing his muscular thigh; her mouth went dry.

"My first is an animal's coat;

Many trees in my next you may place.

My whole, to your grief, will denote

That time has made work with your face."

"Fur!" shouted Fitzjames.

"Yes, Fitz, we're all very proud of you," said Lucius.

"Thank you," he said, ignoring her brother's placating tone.

"Row, the trees would be in a row," added her father. "Furrow would be what's happened to my face."

They continued the game. Annette found herself challenged more than once and enjoying the company, at ease with younger suitable men. Looking at her brother, she realized he'd handpicked these men. Affection swelled in her chest for Lucius. He'd done a fine job of it, for if anyone had told her she'd be in this situation six months ago, she'd have laughed. Or ran.