stretching her arms. ‘I am monstrous tired, Merva. Please leave me.’
‘Very well,’ said Minerva doubtfully. ‘Do you wish me to come back in an hour to see if you need anything?’
‘Don’t fuss so!’ snapped Annabelle, and then added in a milder tone, ‘Only see how my poor aching head makes me tetchy. I will be all right if I am left alone.’
‘Well, at least let me send one of the maids up with a hot posset.’
‘ No. Nothing will serve but peace and quiet.’
Minerva nodded doubtfully and went out and quietly closed the door.
‘Thank goodness she has gone,’ Annabelle told her reflection in the looking glass. ‘Now, to paint, or not to paint.’ Whether to renew the maquillage which had been washed
away by her tears. Would he hold her in his arms today, after so short an acquaintance? If he did so, he might get paint on his coat.
She compromised by rubbing her cheeks to bring a high colour into them and then rang the bell for Betty.
When the maid arrived she said, ‘Go and discreetly find out the whereabouts of the Marquess of Brabington, Betty. I have some intelligence from my father to impart.’
‘Vicar’d tell Miss Minerva if he wished anything to be passed on,’ said Betty suspiciously.
Annabelle swung around on her seat at the toilet table, her eyes blazing. ‘How would you like to be whipped, Betty?’ she screamed.
‘I’d tell vicar if you did,’ said Betty stoutly.
‘Do as I tell you,’ shouted Annabelle, ‘or I shall pinch you and pinch you until you are black and blue.’
Betty could see Miss Bella working herself up into a tremendous passion and so she said a hurried ‘Yes, miss,’ and ducked out of the room quickly before Annabelle could throw
anything at her.
She seemed to be away a very long time and Annabelle marched impatiently up and down the room, wondering if the maid had dared to defy her.
Just when she was about to ring the bell again, Betty returned, bearing a cup of herb tea. ‘I’m sorry I was so long, miss,’ she said, ‘but Miss Minerva told me to bring
you this and I had to go to the kitchens and wait until cook brewed it.’
‘And?’ queried Annabelle, a dangerous glint in her eye.
‘And his lordship is in the library.’
‘Thank you, Betty,’ cooed Annabelle. ‘You may put that disgusting concoction on the table and go. Wait a minute! You didn’t tell Minerva I was looking for Lord
Brabington?’
‘No, miss,’ said Betty, eyeing her suspiciously.
‘Then don’t, or it will be the worse for you. Don’t stand there fidgeting and staring. Go!’
Annabelle took the cup of herb tea, tugged open the window and threw it out into the snow. Then she studied her reflection carefully in the looking glass, squared her shoulders and set off to
capture the heart of the Marquess of Brabington.
It was a pity he was in the library, thought Annabelle, with a sudden stab of pain. That room seemed unlucky, somehow.
The Marquess was sitting in a winged chair by the fireplace, reading a book. The white glare from the snow outside made his pale face seem even whiter. He did not look up as Annabelle quietly
entered, and she studied him for a few seconds before going forwards.
He had none of his friend Lord Sylvester’s studied elegance. He exuded a powerful aura of virility and his hands holding the book were strong and square, unlike Lord Sylvester’s very
white, long-fingered ones.
Neither had he any of his lordship’s cool, mocking mannerisms which made Annabelle’s heart beat so fast. Although Annabelle had seen her sister clasped in Lord Sylvester’s
passionate embrace, she had shut that scene from her mind as much as possible. It was the perfection of Lord Sylvester’s dress and his seeming absence of sexuality which attracted her so
forcibly. But Annabelle did not know this. She considered herself the hot-blooded passionate one and Minerva the cool, aloof spinster, not knowing that deep in her maidenly soul she, Annabelle,
‘Very well,’ said Minerva doubtfully. ‘Do you wish me to come back in an hour to see if you need anything?’
‘Don’t fuss so!’ snapped Annabelle, and then added in a milder tone, ‘Only see how my poor aching head makes me tetchy. I will be all right if I am left alone.’
‘Well, at least let me send one of the maids up with a hot posset.’
‘ No. Nothing will serve but peace and quiet.’
Minerva nodded doubtfully and went out and quietly closed the door.
‘Thank goodness she has gone,’ Annabelle told her reflection in the looking glass. ‘Now, to paint, or not to paint.’ Whether to renew the maquillage which had been washed
away by her tears. Would he hold her in his arms today, after so short an acquaintance? If he did so, he might get paint on his coat.
She compromised by rubbing her cheeks to bring a high colour into them and then rang the bell for Betty.
When the maid arrived she said, ‘Go and discreetly find out the whereabouts of the Marquess of Brabington, Betty. I have some intelligence from my father to impart.’
‘Vicar’d tell Miss Minerva if he wished anything to be passed on,’ said Betty suspiciously.
Annabelle swung around on her seat at the toilet table, her eyes blazing. ‘How would you like to be whipped, Betty?’ she screamed.
‘I’d tell vicar if you did,’ said Betty stoutly.
‘Do as I tell you,’ shouted Annabelle, ‘or I shall pinch you and pinch you until you are black and blue.’
Betty could see Miss Bella working herself up into a tremendous passion and so she said a hurried ‘Yes, miss,’ and ducked out of the room quickly before Annabelle could throw
anything at her.
She seemed to be away a very long time and Annabelle marched impatiently up and down the room, wondering if the maid had dared to defy her.
Just when she was about to ring the bell again, Betty returned, bearing a cup of herb tea. ‘I’m sorry I was so long, miss,’ she said, ‘but Miss Minerva told me to bring
you this and I had to go to the kitchens and wait until cook brewed it.’
‘And?’ queried Annabelle, a dangerous glint in her eye.
‘And his lordship is in the library.’
‘Thank you, Betty,’ cooed Annabelle. ‘You may put that disgusting concoction on the table and go. Wait a minute! You didn’t tell Minerva I was looking for Lord
Brabington?’
‘No, miss,’ said Betty, eyeing her suspiciously.
‘Then don’t, or it will be the worse for you. Don’t stand there fidgeting and staring. Go!’
Annabelle took the cup of herb tea, tugged open the window and threw it out into the snow. Then she studied her reflection carefully in the looking glass, squared her shoulders and set off to
capture the heart of the Marquess of Brabington.
It was a pity he was in the library, thought Annabelle, with a sudden stab of pain. That room seemed unlucky, somehow.
The Marquess was sitting in a winged chair by the fireplace, reading a book. The white glare from the snow outside made his pale face seem even whiter. He did not look up as Annabelle quietly
entered, and she studied him for a few seconds before going forwards.
He had none of his friend Lord Sylvester’s studied elegance. He exuded a powerful aura of virility and his hands holding the book were strong and square, unlike Lord Sylvester’s very
white, long-fingered ones.
Neither had he any of his lordship’s cool, mocking mannerisms which made Annabelle’s heart beat so fast. Although Annabelle had seen her sister clasped in Lord Sylvester’s
passionate embrace, she had shut that scene from her mind as much as possible. It was the perfection of Lord Sylvester’s dress and his seeming absence of sexuality which attracted her so
forcibly. But Annabelle did not know this. She considered herself the hot-blooded passionate one and Minerva the cool, aloof spinster, not knowing that deep in her maidenly soul she, Annabelle,
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