Her Gentleman Thief
Robyn DeHart
Annalise Petty sat primly on the carriage seat, hands folded neatly in her lap. Outwardly, she probably appeared to be the perfect genteel lady, full of grace and peace. But inside, a battle raged. Her heart beat wildly and her stomach felt like a gnarled mess of knots. In two days she would become wife to the most boring, proper man in all of London. A man she had foolishly fancied herself in love with when he’d first begun to court her. Then he’d revealed his true self. Now she knew he was rather indifferent to her and only interested in the business deal the union brokered.
She chewed at her bottom lip. The carriage rumbled along through the dark night. Her parents had already made the journey to Kent, but Annalise and her younger sister, Penny, had stayed behind for one last fitting of the wedding gown. The dress, in layers of cream-coloured gossamer silk, was the finest garment Annalise had ever owned. Her betrothed had purchased her an entire wardrobe of appropriate clothing, which would be delivered to his estate sometime next week. The wedding gown, though, sat neatly in a trunk on the back of the rig.
Hildy, their maid, rested quietly across from them, pretending not to nap, though her level breathing and spontaneous snores betrayed her. Penny sat quietly, her expression blank. Sweet and beautiful Penny. Annalise sighed. This should have been her trip, her wedding gown in the back.
As if her sister had read her mind, Penny placed a gloved hand over Annalise’s. “You should be excited,” Penny said. “Your grin belies your worry.” She smiled warmly. “Relax.”
Annalise thought to argue, then nodded. “You know me far too well, sister. I cannot help but think that all of this should be for you. This is your season, your introduction to society.”
“And you never had either.” She put a hand against her chest. “I am so very happy for you. Your union with Lord Benning has no bearing on my finding a good match. Besides, you are older, you should marry first.”
Yes, but Cousin Millicent hadn’t offered to sponsor a season for Annalise, and, though her father was an earl, they had no money to provide either a dowry or a proper coming-out. So Annalise had neither, which was fine with her. She had resigned herself to never marrying. But when the opportunity had come along for Penny, well, the entire family had moved in with their distant cousin in the hope of a quick marriage. This had not been what any of them had planned.
At three and twenty, Annalise knew she should consider herself lucky to have found a man willing to marry her. She certainly wasn’t unattractive, but she was fleshier than most society beauties. Still, she hadn’t been properly introduced at Almack’s. She’d only gone to London at Penny’s request to act as a chaperone of sorts. And as she’d sat in the corner at that first ball, she’d seen the tall, handsome Griffin Hartwell, Viscount Benning moving in their direction. She’d even reached over and squeezed Penny’s hand in excitement for her younger sister. Then when the rich baritone voice had asked her to dance and the masculine hand had extended not to Penny, but instead to Annalise, it had been scandalous. She’d wanted to decline, had known it would have been the more appropriate thing to do, but as she’d looked up into his handsome face, all her girlish fantasies had come to life and she’d found herself nodding and extending her own hand.
That one dance had led to three more that evening and had tongues wagging all over London. He’d played proper court to her after that scandalous evening, never once seeking time alone with her and only speaking about her, rarely to her. Her parents had eagerly accepted his offer of marriage and in one afternoon Annalise had gone from the unassuming sister to betrothed to a viscount. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to marry – she did – but she was foolish enough to long for a
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