Petals

twelve

Adrian stood perfectly still in the middle of the terrace, no doubt looking like a complete fool.

Annabelle...is the Lady.

The words ratcheted around in his head, repeating themselves over and over again. Annabelle was the Lady!

Adrian abruptly broke from his immobile stance and headed for the French doors, intent on finding Annabelle. He stopped two yards away, and turned back. It would be much too unsatisfying to simply walk up to her and tell her that he knew; that was hardly a fitting end for what had been going on the last few weeks.

He pondered this as he paced back and forth across the terrace. An acquaintance called out a greeting in passing and he waved distractedly.

Should I wait? he wondered. Should I send a message to her house tomorrow, telling her that I know?

The idea had merit, but Adrian immediately knew that he wouldn't be able to wait that long. The ball had just begun, and if he waited, he would be hard pressed to keep quiet all night. And what's more, he wanted to be able to see Annabelle's reaction when she discovered that he had found her out.

How then? How should he let her know?

Ceasing his anxious pacing, Adrian rested his elbows on the railing, resting the top of his head in his hands, so that his eyes were angled at the floor of the terrace. Beside him stood a pot of viscaria. Almost unconsciously, Adrian called to mind the meaning of the flowers.

'Will you dance with me?'

Adrian almost laughed aloud. Bending, he plucked a single one of the blooms and headed back into the glitter of the ballroom.

▫▪▫

Why on Earth would he wish to talk to Melanie? Annabelle wondered fretfully. Especially when he's already engaged. And why is it that there's been no formal announcement about that yet?

She sighed, hoping Lorraine would arrive soon. She needed something to take her mind off Adrian. However, the Earl of Kendrick and his family had yet to make an appearance that night.

It wasn't as if they were outside together for very long, she tried to reassure herself. Surely it can mean nothing. In any case, Melanie is set on James.

She watched as the couple in her thoughts drifted by on the strains of a pavane.

What does it matter now, anyway? He's engaged, for Heaven's sake! Melanie will soon be married, no doubt, and then it will be your turn.

Annabelle resisted the urge to harrumph.

Really, some part of her scolded herself. It wasn't as if you planned on meeting him when you started the frivolous correspondence. It was simply so he would know who you were when the time came.

Now that she looked back on it, her reason for starting the correspondence was the silliest part of the whole affair. Did she really plan on her last request being that Adrian Morey attend her funeral? She was nineteen, for goodness sake. It was morbid to be even thinking about her last request. Lord only knew what her mother would say, if she knew.

A shadow fell over her, interrupting her self-deprecation. A voice that belonged the same person as the shadow did, asked gently, "Lady Annabelle?"

She froze. She knew that deep, rich timbre. Slowly, Annabelle looked up into the blue-green eyes of Adrian Morey. Somehow, she managed a weak smile. "Yes, my lord?"

The smile he gave her was humiliatingly more collected than her own, and the glint his eyes made her stomach twist.

"I wished to present this to you, my lady." Taking one hand out from behind his back, he held out a single, dark pink viscaria.