talking about? Surely a mereconversation with Mr. Grey did not warrant such censure. And she’d left during the intermission, just as Louisa had insisted she must.
“You are a bold girl,” Lady Challis said, “playing the uncle off the nephew.”
“I–I don’t know what you mean,” Annabel stammered. But of course she did.
“Stop that this instant,” Lady Westfield snapped. “You are a Vickers, despite that awful man your mother married, and you are far too intelligent to get away with such cow-headed playacting.”
Annabel swallowed.
“Lord Newbury is furious,” Lady Westfield hissed. “Furious. And I cannot say that I blame him.”
“I made him no promises,” Annabel said, wishing that her voice sounded a bit more firm. “And I did not know—”
“Do you have any idea the honor he bestowed upon you, just by offering his regard?”
Annabel felt her mouth open and close. And open and close. She felt like an idiot. A fish-faced, muted mule. If she’d been at home she’d have been quick to defend herself, ably summoning retort after retort. But she’d never faced down two furious countesses at home, staring her down with ice-chip eyes over their hard, elegant noses.
It was enough to make a girl want to sit down, were she permitted to sit down in the company of two standing countesses.
“Naturally,” Lady Challis said, “he took measures to protect his reputation.”
“Lord Newbury?” Annabel asked.
“Of course I mean Lord Newbury. The other one hasn’t a care for his reputation and never has.”
But somehow Annabel didn’t think that was true. Mr. Grey was a known rogue, but there was more to him than that. He had a sense of honor, and she suspected he valued this very highly.
Or maybe she was being fanciful, romanticizing him in her mind. How well did she know him, anyway?
Not at all. Theirs was a two-day acquaintance. Two days! She had to regain hold on her common sense. Now.
“What did Lord Newbury do?” Annabel asked warily.
“He defended his honor, as well he should,” Lady Westfield said in what Annabel judged to be an unsatisfactorily vague explanation. “Where is your grandmother?” she repeated, looking sharply about the room as if she might discover her hidden behind a chair. “Someone should wake her. This is not a trifling matter.”
In the month she had been living in London, Annabel had seen her grandmother before noon on but two previous occasions. Neither had ended well.
“We try to wake her only for emergencies,” she said.
“What the devil do you think this is, you ungrateful chit?” Lady Westfield all but yelled.
Annabel flinched as if struck, and she felt words forming in her mouth:Yes, of course, my lady. Immediately, my lady . But then she looked back up, right into Lady Westfield’s eyes, and saw something so ugly, somean that it was as if a bolt of electricity shot right up her backbone.
“I will not wake my grandmother,” she said firmly. “And I do hope you haven’t already done so with your yelling.”
Lady Westfield drew back. “Think twice about the way you speak to me, Miss Winslow.”
“I offer you no disrespect, my lady. Quite the opposite, I assure you. My grandmother is not herself before noon, and I’m sure, as her friend, that you do not wish to cause her discomfort.”
The countess’s eyes narrowed, and she looked over at her friend, who seemed equally unsure what to make of Annabel’s statement.
“Tell her we called,” Lady Westfield finally said, her voice clipped into harsh little syllables.
“I shall,” Annabel promised her, dipping into a curtsy just low enough to be reverent without sinking into obsequiousness.
When had she learned such subtleties of curtsying? She must have absorbed more rarefied knowledge in London than she had realized.
The two ladies stalked out, but Annabel barely had time to collapse on the sofa before the butler announced another set of callers: Lady Twombley and Mr. Grimston.
Annabel’s belly went queasy with alarm. She had been introduced to the pair only in passing, but they were well known to her. Horrible gossips, Louisa had said, insidious and cruel.
Annabel leaped to her feet, trying to catch the butler before he admitted them, but it was too late. She’d already received one set of guests; it was not his fault if he assumed she was “at home” for everyone. It would have made little difference, anyway; the drawing room was well within sight of the front door, and she could already see Lady Twombley and Mr. Grimston making their way forward.
“Miss Winslow,” Lady Twombley said, entering in a graceful swish of pink muslin. She was an incredibly lovely young matron, with honey-blond hair and green eyes, but unlike Lady Olivia Valentine, whose pale good looks radiated kindness and humor, Lady Twombley just looked shrewd. And not in a good way.
Annabel curtsied. “Lady Twombley. How kind of you to call.”
Lady Twombley gestured toward her companion. “You have met my dear friend Mr. Grimston, have you not?”
Annabel nodded. “It was the—”
“Mottram ball,” Mr. Grimston finished.
“Of course,” Annabel murmured, surprised that he remembered. She certainly didn’t.
“Basil possesses the most remarkable memory when it comes to young ladies,” Lady Twombley said with a twitter. “It is probably why he is such an expert on fashion.”
“Ladies’ fashion?” Annabel asked.
“All fashion,” Mr. Grimston replied, glancing disdainfully about the room.
Annabel would have liked to have resented him for the expression, but she had to agree—it was all a bit oppressively mauve.
“We see you appear in fine health,” Lady Twombley said, lowering herself onto a sofa without being asked.
Annabel immediately followed suit. “Yes, of course, why wouldn’t I be?”
“Oh my heavens,” Lady Twombley’s eyes became the picture of genteel shock and she placed a hand over her heart. “You haven’t heard. Oh, Basil, she hasn’t heard.”
“Heardwhat ?” Annabel ground out, although truth be told, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. If it gave Lady Twombley this much joy, it could not be good.
“If it had happened to me,” Lady Twombley went on, “I should have taken to my bed.”
Annabel looked over at Mr. Grimston to see if he might be willing to actually tell her what Lady Twombley was talking about, but he was busy looking bored.
“Such an insult,” Lady Twombley murmured. “Such an insult.”
To me?Annabel wanted to ask. But she didn’t dare.
“Basil saw the whole thing,” Lady Twombley said with a wave toward her friend.
