“Seb—Mr. Grey?” Annabel asked, dropping her book.
“Yes, yes,” Lady Vickers said, sounding much aggrieved. She waited for about half a second while Annabel fumbled about, dropping the book once more before finally managing to set it down on a table. “I suppose I can’t blame her,” she continued. “It’ll be the invitation of the season.”
“He’s agreed to attend? Even knowing that his uncle will be there?”
“Who knows? She only sent out the invitations this afternoon.” Lady Vickers gave a shrug. “He is a handsome one.”
“What has that got to do with—” Annabel shut her mouth. She didn’t want to know the answer.
“We leave in two hours,” Lady Vickers said, finishing off her drink.
“Two hours? I can’t possibly be ready by then.”
“Of course you can. The maids have already packed up your things. Winifred doesn’t live very far out of town, and the sun sets late this time of year. With good horses we can be there just after nightfall. And I’d much rather go this evening. I detest morning travel.”
“You’ve been very busy,” Annabel said.
Lady Vickers straightened her shoulders, looking quite proud of herself. “I have. You’d do well to emulate me. We’ll get you that earl yet.”
“But I—” Annabel froze, instantly silenced by the look on her grandmother’s face.
“Surely,” Lady Vickers said, her eyes narrowing to two icy chips, “you weren’t about to say that you don’t want him.”
Annabel said nothing. She had never heard her grandmother speak in such a menacing tone. Slowly, she shook her head.
“Good. Because I know that you would not wish to do anything that might make life more difficult for your brothers and sisters.”
Annabel actually took a step back. Could her grandmother be threatening her?
“Oh for God’s sake,” Lady Vickers snapped. “Don’t look so petrified. Do you think I’m going to beat you?”
“No! Just that—”
“You’ll marry the earl and carry on with the nephew on the side.”
“Grandmother!”
“Don’t look at me like a bloody Puritan. You couldn’t hope for a better situation. If you have the wrong baby at least it all stays in the family.”
Annabel was speechless.
“Oh, and by the by, Louisa is coming, too. That pinched-up old aunt of hers took a chill and can’t chaperone her this week, so I said I’d take her along. We don’t want her moldering in her room, do we?”
Annabel shook her head.
“Good. Get ready. We leave in an hour.”
“You said two hours.”
“Did I?” Lady Vickers blinked, then shrugged. “I must have lied. Better that than forgot, in any case.”
Annabel watched openmouthed as her grandmother left the room. Surely this would go down as the strangest, most momentous day in her life.
Except that she had a feeling that tomorrow might be even stranger…
Chapter Nineteen
The following morning
Sebastian knew exactly why he had been invited to Lady Challis’s house party. She had never liked him, and he had certainly never been invited to any Challis function before. But Lady Challis, for all her sanctimonious ways, was an extremely competitive hostess, and if she could arrange the party of the year by having Annabel, Sebastian, and the Earl of Newbury all under one roof, then by God she was going to do it.
Seb did not particularly relish being anyone’s puppet, but he wasn’t about to allow Newbury unfettered access to Annabel by refusing the invitation.
Besides, he had told Annabel he would give her a day to consider his proposal, and meant to keep his promise. If she was going to be in Berkshire, in the home of Lord and Lady Challis, then so would he.
Seb was not a fool, though, and he knew that the Ladies Vickers, Challis, and whichever else of their cronies were in attendance would be cheering on Lord Newbury in the battle for Annabel. The most successful wars were never fought alone, so he dragged Edward out of bed and tossed him in the carriage to Berkshire. Edward hadn’t been invited, but he was young, unmarried, and as far as Sebastian knew, in possession of all of his teeth. Which meant that he would never be turned away from a country house party. Never.
“Do Harry and Olivia know you’ve stolen their carriage?” Edward asked, rubbing his eyes.
“The correct term is commandeered, and yes, they know.” Sort of. Sebastian had left a note.
“Who’s going to be there?” Edward yawned.
“Cover your mouth.”
Edward gave him a dirty look.
Sebastian lifted his chin as he peered impatiently out the window. The street was crowded, and the carriage was moving along at crawl. “Besides Miss Winslow and my uncle, I have no idea.”
“Miss Winslow,” Edward said with a sigh.
“Don’t,” Seb snapped.
“What?”
“Don’t make that face when you’re thinking about her.”
“What face?”
“The one where you—” Seb went all stupid-eyed and let his tongue wag out the side of mouth. “That one.”
“Well, you must admit, she’s very—”
“Don’t say it,” Seb warned.
“I was going to say charming,” Edward informed him.
“You were not.”
“She has very nice—”
“Edward!”
“—eyes.” Edward gave a smirky smile.
Sebastian glared at him, crossed his arms, and looked out the window. Then he uncrossed his arms, glared at Edward once more for good measure, and kicked him.
“What was that for?”
“For whatever inappropriate comment you were about to make.”
Edward burst out laughing. And for once, Seb did not feel that he was being laughed with. This was definitely a laughing at.
“I have to say,” Edward opined, “it’s really rather amusing that you should fall in love with the woman your uncle wants to marry.”
Sebastian shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I’m not in love with her.”
“No,” Edward said mockingly, “you just want to marry her.”
“Olivia told you?” Damn it, he’d told Olivia not to say anything.
“She did not,” Edward said with a grin. “But you did.”
“Whelp,” Seb muttered.
“Do you think she’ll say yes?”
“Why wouldn’t she say yes?” Sebastian said defensively.
“Don’t misunderstand, were I a woman, I can think of no one else I’d prefer to marry—”
“I believe I speak for men across the world when I say that I am relieved that that is not a consideration.”
Edward pulled a face at the insult but took no offense. “Newbury can make her a countess,” he reminded.
“I might be able to,” Seb muttered.
“I thought you didn’t care about the earldom.”
“I don’t.” And he didn’t. Except maybe now he did. “Not for myself, anyway.”
Edward shrugged, his head tilting ever so slightly to the side. There was something familiar about the motion, something Sebastian could not quite place.
Until he realized it was a bit like looking into the mirror.
“She hates him,” he blurted out.
Edward yawned. “She wouldn’t be the first woman to marry a man she hated.”
“He’s three times her age.”
“Again, not the first.”
Seb finally threw out his hands in frustration. “Why are you saying all of this?”
Edward’s face grew serious. “I merely believe in being prepared.”
“So you think she will say no.”
“Honestly, I have no idea. I’ve never even seen the two of you in the same room. But I would rather see you pleasantly surprised than heartbroken.”
“My heart won’t be broken,” Seb grumbled. Because she wasn’t going to say no. She’d
told him she couldn’t think clearly in his presence. If ever a woman wanted to say yes to a proposal of marriage it was Annabel.
But was wanting to say yes enough? Her grandparents would not be happy if she chose him over Newbury. And he knew that she was extremely concerned about her family’s lack of money. But surely she would not forsake her own happiness to gain them a few coins. It wasn’t as if they were teetering on the verge of the poorhouse. They couldn’t be, not with her brothers still in school. And Sebastian had money. Not as much as Newbury—oh very well, not even close—but he had some. Certainly enough to pay for her brothers’ education.
Annabel likely did not know that, though. Most of society thought him an entertaining mooch. Even Harry thought he ate breakfast every day with the Valentines because he couldn’t afford food of his own.
Sebastian owed his place in society to his good looks and charm. And because there was always the possibility his uncle would die before begetting a new heir. But no one thought Sebastian had any form of income. Certainly no one suspected that he had earned a tidy sum penning gothic novels under a woman’s name.
Once the carriage escaped the snarled traffic of London, Edward fell right asleep. And stayed that way until they pulled up in front of Stonecross, the large Tudor manor that served as one of the Challis country seats. As Seb alighted, he found himself studying his surroundings with a careful eye.
It almost felt as if he were back in the war, scouting locations, watching the players. That was what he did. He observed. He had never been one of the soldiers at the front. He had never engaged in hand-to-hand combat, never looked the enemy in the eye. He had been removed from the action, always watching, taking his shots from afar.
And he never missed.
He had the two qualities found in all great snipers—excellent aim and endless patience. He took no shot unless it was perfect, and he never lost his head. Even the time Harry had been nearly killed, approached from behind by a French captain, Sebastian had held himself perfectly still. He’d watched, and waited, and he did not take the shot until the time was right. Harry had never known how close he had come to death.
Sebastian had vomited in the bushes.
Strange that he should feel so much like a soldier again. Or maybe not so strange. He’d been at war with his uncle his entire life.
At breakfast that morning, Lady Challis informed Annabel and Louisa that most of the guests, including Lord Newbury, were not due to arrive until late afternoon. She did not mention Sebastian, and Annabel did not ask. Such questions would be immediately reported to her grandmother, and Annabel dearly did not wish to repeat the sort of conversation they’d had the night before.
It was a lovely summer morning, so Annabel and Louisa decided to walk down to the pond, in no small part because no one else seemed to want to go. When they arrived, Louisa immediately picked up a stone and sent it skipping across the lake.
“How did you do that?” Annabel demanded.
“Skip a stone? Can’t you?”
“No. My brothers always claimed no girl could.”
“And you believed them?”
“Of course not. But I tried for years, and I was never able to prove them wrong.” Annabel picked up a stone and tried to skip it. It sank instantly.
Rather like a stone.
Louisa gave her a lofty grin, picked up another stone, and let it fly. “One…two…three…four…five!” she crowed, counting the skips. “My record is six.”
“Six?” Annabel asked, feeling very outdone. “Really?”
Louisa shrugged, looking for another stone. “My father ignores me in Scotland just as much as he does in London. The only difference is that instead of the season to occupy me, I have lakes and stones.” She found a nice flat rock and picked it up. “I’ve had a great deal of time to practice.”
“Show me how you—”
But Louisa had already sent it flying across the water. “One…two…three…four.” She let out an irritated snort. “I knew that rock was too heavy.”
Annabel watched in disbelief as her cousin skipped three more stones across the lake, each of them bouncing five times. “I do believe I am jealous,” she finally announced.
Louisa beamed. “Of me?”
“You don’t even look strong enough to lift one of those stones, much less skip it across the lake.”
“Now, now, Annabel,” Louisa scolded, smiling all the while. “Let’s not be mean.”
Annabel feigned a scowl.
“I can’t run fast,” Louisa said. “I’ve been banned from all archery tournaments out of concern for the safety of the rest of the contestants, and I can’t play cards worth a damn.”
“Louisa!”
Louisa had cursed. Annabel could not believe she had cursed.
“But I can”—Louisa sent another stone across the pond—“skip stones like a master.”
“So you can,” Annabel said, duly impressed. “Will you show me how to do it?”
“No.” Louisa gave her an arch look. “I like having something I’m so much better at than you.”
Annabel stuck out her tongue. “You say you can do six.”
“I can,” Louisa insisted.
“I haven’t seen it.” Annabel walked over to a large rock and patted the top, making sure it was dry before she sat down. “I have all morning. And afternoon, too, now that I think on it.”
Louisa scowled, then growled, then stomped off to find more stones. She did a five, then a four, then two more fives.
“I’m waiting!” Annabel called.
“I’m running out of good stones!”
“A likely excuse.” Annabel looked down at her fingernails to see if she’d got any dirt under them when she’d picked up her one pathetic stone. When she looked back up, a stone was sailing across the surface. One…two…three…four…five…six!
“You did it!” Annabel exclaimed, jumping to her feet. “Six!”
“That wasn’t me,” Louisa said.
They both turned.
“Ladies,” Sebastian said, bowing elegantly. He looked impossibly handsome in the mid-morning sunshine. Annabel had never realized just how much red he had in his hair. She had never seen him in the morning, she realized. They had met in the moonlight, and in the afternoon. At the opera she had seen him in the flickering light of a hundred candles.
The morning light was different.
“Mr. Grey,” she murmured, feeling suddenly, unaccountably, shy.
“That was marvelous!” Louisa exclaimed. “What’s your record?”
“Seven.”
“Really?”
Annabel was not sure she’d ever seen her cousin so animated. Except possibly when she had been talking about those Gorely books. Which Annabel still needed to read. She’d started Miss Sainsbury and the Mysterious Colonel the night before but had only got through two chapters. Still, one could not help but be impressed by the adversity poor Miss Sainsbury had managed to overcome in just twenty-four pages. She’d survived cholera, an infestation of mice, and turned her ankle twice.
Annabel’s problems didn’t seem half so dreadful by comparison.
“Do you skip stones, Miss Winslow?” Sebastian asked politely.
“Much to my everlasting shame, no.”
“I can do six,” Louisa said.
“But not today,” Annabel said, unable to resist the poke.
Louisa held up an irritated finger and stomped off to the edge of the bank, looking for another suitable stone. Sebastian walked over and stood near Annabel, his hands clasped lightly behind his back.
“Does she know?” he asked quietly, motioning with his head toward Louisa.
Annabel shook her head.
“Does anyone?”
“No.”
“I see.”
She wasn’t sure what he thought he saw, because she certainly didn’t.
“Rather sudden invitation to the country, wouldn’t you say?” he murmured.
Annabel rolled he
r eyes. “I suspect my grandmother was behind it.”
“And she invited me?”
“No, actually I believe she said she could not prevent your being invited.”
He laughed at that. “I am so loved.”
Annabel’s heart skipped a beat.
“What is it?” he asked, taking in her suddenly startled expression.
“I don’t know. I—”
“This!” Louisa announced, marching back over. She was holding aloft a round, flat stone. “This is the perfect skipping stone.”
“May I see?” Sebastian asked.
“Only if you promise not to throw it.”
“I give you my word.”
She handed him the rock and he turned it over in his hand, testing the feel and weight of it. He gave it back with a little shrug.
“You don’t think it’s good?” Louisa asked, looking a bit put out.
“It’s not bad.”
“He’s trying to prick your confidence,” Annabel called.
Louisa gasped. “Is that true?”
Sebastian gave Annabel a lazy smile. “You know me so well, Miss Winslow.”
Louisa stalked to the water’s edge. “That was positively ungentlemanly of you, Mr. Grey.”
Sebastian chuckled and leaned against the rock where Annabel was sitting. “I like your cousin,” he said.
“I like her, too.”
Louisa took a deep breath, assumed full concentration, and sent the stone forth, with what Annabel thought was an amazingly sharp flick of her wrist.
They all counted. “One…two…three…four…five…six!”
“Six!” Louisa shrieked. “I did it! Six! Ha!” This was directed at Annabel. “I told you I could do six.”
“Now you have to do seven,” Sebastian said.
Annabel sputtered with laughter.
“Not today I don’t,” Louisa declared. “Today I glory in my sixdom.”
“Sixdom?”
“Sixitude.”
Annabel started to grin.
“Sixulation,” Louisa proclaimed. “Besides,” she added, cocking her head toward Sebastian, “I haven’t seen you do seven.”
He held up his hands in defeat. “It’s been many, many years.”