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.
'Will you dance with me?'
Once more, Annabelle found herself incapable of movement.
He knows! she thought, panicked. Oh, God, he knows. How could he? How could he have ever found out?
With a trembling hand, she reached out to accept it, but he drew his own hand back. "Allow me." Annabelle almost jumped when she felt his hands gently tucking the flower into her hair. It was hardly proper in their current location. What on Earth was he thinking? Still, she was too stunned by the fact that he knew she was the one who had been sending him flowers, to protest.
"Shall we?" he inquired, offering her his arm as a waltz began to play.
"O - of course," she managed to say.
She could feel his eyes on her as they danced, and, against her will, her cheeks flamed with embarrassment. Oh, she had known this would happen if she continued with the correspondence. Why hadn't she just let it rest?
"Annabelle."
Unable to help herself, she raised her gaze to his and swallowed hard.
"You seem rather...melancholy," he commented in a low voice that was meant for her alone. "Is something the matter?"
Annabelle frowned, peering at him curiously. "I - you - I mean...I thought you - don't you...?"
It was a grin he wore, Annabelle was sure of it, though it seemed barely more than a curve of the lips. "Don't I know you're the one who sent the flowers?"
Annabelle glanced away, feeling herself go pink again. "Yes, that." He was still watching her, making her feel dizzy and disoriented. Still, she forced herself to take a breath and meet his gaze. "It was a ridiculous idea, really. I am sorry for bothering you so much."
He arched one brow. "Really?"
"Yes."
"Well, then, my lady, I'm sorry to say that I don't regret it at all."
Annabelle's stomach clenched. Surely he couldn't mean that. Surely -
"But you're engaged!"
His amused expression suddenly turned into a fierce glower. "I told you that was a lie! Where did you hear that, anyway?"
"Your father - he was talking about it to some of his friends."
Adrian snorted. "I should have known. Don't bother with it. I'm not engaged." He shifted, bringing them closer together than propriety might have liked. Annabelle knew she should protest, but couldn't find the will to do so.
They danced the rest of the song in silence, and when it ended, Annabelle expected him to return her to her mother. Instead, he led her towards the terrace, where he had earlier spoken to Melanie.
Annabelle gnawed the corner of her mouth nervously. The part of her that worshipped Adrian, protested that he would never try anything untoward, but the rational part of her argued that she hardly knew anything about him. In fact, what she felt for him was little more than calf love, Annabelle realized with a start - much too belatedly.
She should pull away, return to the ballroom, and put all of this behind her. She truly should, she told herself. But her feet seemed disconnected from her will, and followed Adrian to a shaded part of the terrace, out of sight from the ballroom. There, he released her arm, which gave her some small measure of comfort.
He was watching her again, with those unsettling blue-green eyes. Turning away, she wrung her hands tightly together. The silence prodded at her, urging her to say something.
"How did you find me?" she asked at last.
She could hear the smile in his voice as he answered. "The card you sent me today - I took it to Anderson in Chelsea. He told me your sister had ordered it. She told me she gave them to you."
Annabelle cursed herself for a fool. Why hadn't she realized he could have traced the card back to her that way?
A wind blew across the terrace, penetrating the thin silk gown. Scowling into the shadows, Annabelle wrapped her arms about herself. Behind her, she heard Adrian take a few steps toward the railing.
"My father has given me an ultimatum," he told her.
What on Earth does that have to do with me? she wondered, then realized she was being selfish. She peered curiously at him over her shoulder.
"An ultimatum?"
He stood very still, not stiff, but elegantly proud. His hands were linked behind his back, his eyes upon the garden stretched out before them. For a moment, she thought he would say nothing. "Yes," he replied at last. With a sigh, he turned his eyes to her. "Either I find a fiancé within the week or I become engaged to Adeline Thurston."
"So you are promised!" she accused, whirling to face him.
"No, I'm not!" he snapped, then drew back, jaw tight. "Forgive me. I did not mean to speak so harshly."
She nodded, arms still wrapped tightly around herself.
"Annabelle." He took a step towards her. "I realize that this isn't a...ideal situation, but..."
Annabelle waited, not sure what she wanted to hear, or what she would do when she heard it.
Her hands seemed ridiculously small in his, as he raised them up between them. "Will you marry me, Annabelle?"
"No." The word was short, final, instinctive. Annabelle tried to tell herself that she didn't regret it, but she wasn't quite sure. She had dreamed of him saying those words before. Childish dreams, she told herself. Ridiculous, frivolous, girlish fantasies.
Even in the shadows, she could sense his frown. "No?" he repeated, still holding her hands. "But...why not?"
She tugged her hands free, telling him, "Because I'm not the one for you."
His voice came out frustrated. "How could you possibly know that?"
Annabelle had always known she was a childish person, and she didn't intend to hide it from Adrian Morey simply because she fancied him. "The woman who's meant for you is the type who always says the right thing at the right time - and I am not one of those women. Now, if you will excuse me, my lord..." She turned to go, but Adrian caught her arm and turned her to face him.
"Why must she be such a woman?" he demanded, and Annabelle could have sworn she heard a thread of amusement in his voice. "Perhaps I prefer women who are not so eloquent."
Annabelle blustered at the comment. "Why? So you can mock them?"
"Never! Simply so I will not feel so much a fool, when I have nothing to say."
To that, she had no return. She tried, unsuccessfully, to pull herself free, and gave a huff of indignation. "In any case, she must look like an angel," she sniffed as indifferently as she could.
The man actually had the gall to chuckle! "Have you ever seen an angel, my lady?"
She wrinkled her nose. Was he teasing her? "No, of course not!"
"Then how would you know what one looks like?"
Annabelle opened her mouth. Closed it. Scowled.
Once again, she found herself standing too close to him, unable to move away. But, she admitted to herself, it wasn't so much his grasp that kept her there, as it was her lack of will to withdraw. He had loosened his grip as they talked, and it wouldn't take much to pull free from the hands that loosely held her elbows, with her hands pressed against his chest. Especially now that one of his hands was drifting up to her chin, tilting her face up to his and...
Dear God, he's going to kiss me! Annabelle thought half in alarm, half in elation. Their gazes locked and her stomached squeezed into itself, her eyes drifting closed. He leaned in close, so that his breath feathered against her cheek, sending a small shiver down her spine. His lips pressed against hers - and drew away.
Annabelle's eyes snapped open. A peck. Like the ones her father gave her, only on the lips, rather than the cheek or forehead. She raised a hand to her lips, then dropped it and glared at him.
"Is that all?"