Hetty simply shrugged. âThey all seem to. If I have to be married for my money I may as well pick someone beautiful.â
âBeauty is only skin deep,â Annelise said, sounding like her old nurse, sounding like she was a crotchety seventy-year-old.
âAnd everything he does is pretty,â Hetty said dreamily.
She was thinking of his kisses, Annelise thought with a sudden flare of feeling that she refused to define. Christian Montcalm said Hetty was a far better kisserâ¦the rat bastard! Sheâd only just remembered that part, having been too distracted by the actual event.
She couldnât bring herself to say anything else. She suddenly remembered she was standing there in her stocking feet with her hair still loose down her back, not a very ladylike way to appear.
âIâll see you at breakfast, my dear,â she said, hoping the affectionate term might make her feel more dignified.
Hetty waved her away, barely noticing, and Annelise gritted her teeth as she started back down the hallway.
One of the maids waited outside her door. It was the same one sheâd dragged to the park with herâLizzie. Shebobbed a polite little curtsy when Annelise approached her, and she felt an unpleasant sense of foreboding.
âI wondered if I could be of any assistance, miss. I have some experience as a ladyâs maid, and Mrs. Buxton said it was all right if I offered my services to such an honored guest.â
It had been so long since sheâd had a personal maid attend her that the notion was disconcerting. âThatâs very kind of you, Lizzie, but Iâm used to looking after myself.â
Lizzie looked disappointed. âAs you wish, miss. But youâve only to let me know if you change your mind.â
âThank you.â She expected Lizzie to head back down the stairs, but still she lingered. âDid you want something else?â
âMiss Hetty isnât the only one who got flowers this morning, miss. I just put them in your room.â
Oh, God, Annelise thought. What kind of insult had he come up with now? Weeds? Cattails?
No, it couldnât be Montcalmâhe didnât even know her name. Oh, horrors, it couldnât be Chipple himself, could it? If she was going to have to fight off his advances sheâd leave Hetty to the not so tender mercies of the rakehell, Montcalm.
But she didnât betray her agitation. âThank you, Lizzie,â she said. âThatâs all for now.â
The poor girl wasnât happy with her dismissal, but Annelise was not about to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing her reaction. She waited until the maid had vanished down the hallway toward the servantsâ stairsand then went into her room. She managed to close the door behind her before she stopped still.
Beautiful spring flowers. Irises, daffodils, delicate tea roses, all in the softest pastel shades. Small, perfect, exquisite.
The card lay on the table beside them, and her name was written quite clearly in dark ink, an impatient, masculine hand. The Hon. Annelise Kempton. And she felt a sudden, wrenching disappointment. They couldnât be from him . Christian Montcalm didnât know her name.
And for heavenâs sake, why would he be sending her flowers? She was a thorn in his side, far worse than the ones still adorning Hettyâs pink roses, and he was hardly likely to be rewarding her. It had to be Chipple, except that she lived in his house, had seen his garish taste, and he couldnât have ordered such a perfect, delicate bouquet.
And then she saw the snapdragons amidst the flowers. She opened up the sealed envelope, gingerly, as if she expected spiders to pop out. The actual note was even worseââDragonâlet me know when youâre ready for lesson three.â
She could feel color suffuse her body, and she was a woman who had trained herself not to blush. It was the same handwritingâhe knew her name
âBeauty is only skin deep,â Annelise said, sounding like her old nurse, sounding like she was a crotchety seventy-year-old.
âAnd everything he does is pretty,â Hetty said dreamily.
She was thinking of his kisses, Annelise thought with a sudden flare of feeling that she refused to define. Christian Montcalm said Hetty was a far better kisserâ¦the rat bastard! Sheâd only just remembered that part, having been too distracted by the actual event.
She couldnât bring herself to say anything else. She suddenly remembered she was standing there in her stocking feet with her hair still loose down her back, not a very ladylike way to appear.
âIâll see you at breakfast, my dear,â she said, hoping the affectionate term might make her feel more dignified.
Hetty waved her away, barely noticing, and Annelise gritted her teeth as she started back down the hallway.
One of the maids waited outside her door. It was the same one sheâd dragged to the park with herâLizzie. Shebobbed a polite little curtsy when Annelise approached her, and she felt an unpleasant sense of foreboding.
âI wondered if I could be of any assistance, miss. I have some experience as a ladyâs maid, and Mrs. Buxton said it was all right if I offered my services to such an honored guest.â
It had been so long since sheâd had a personal maid attend her that the notion was disconcerting. âThatâs very kind of you, Lizzie, but Iâm used to looking after myself.â
Lizzie looked disappointed. âAs you wish, miss. But youâve only to let me know if you change your mind.â
âThank you.â She expected Lizzie to head back down the stairs, but still she lingered. âDid you want something else?â
âMiss Hetty isnât the only one who got flowers this morning, miss. I just put them in your room.â
Oh, God, Annelise thought. What kind of insult had he come up with now? Weeds? Cattails?
No, it couldnât be Montcalmâhe didnât even know her name. Oh, horrors, it couldnât be Chipple himself, could it? If she was going to have to fight off his advances sheâd leave Hetty to the not so tender mercies of the rakehell, Montcalm.
But she didnât betray her agitation. âThank you, Lizzie,â she said. âThatâs all for now.â
The poor girl wasnât happy with her dismissal, but Annelise was not about to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing her reaction. She waited until the maid had vanished down the hallway toward the servantsâ stairsand then went into her room. She managed to close the door behind her before she stopped still.
Beautiful spring flowers. Irises, daffodils, delicate tea roses, all in the softest pastel shades. Small, perfect, exquisite.
The card lay on the table beside them, and her name was written quite clearly in dark ink, an impatient, masculine hand. The Hon. Annelise Kempton. And she felt a sudden, wrenching disappointment. They couldnât be from him . Christian Montcalm didnât know her name.
And for heavenâs sake, why would he be sending her flowers? She was a thorn in his side, far worse than the ones still adorning Hettyâs pink roses, and he was hardly likely to be rewarding her. It had to be Chipple, except that she lived in his house, had seen his garish taste, and he couldnât have ordered such a perfect, delicate bouquet.
And then she saw the snapdragons amidst the flowers. She opened up the sealed envelope, gingerly, as if she expected spiders to pop out. The actual note was even worseââDragonâlet me know when youâre ready for lesson three.â
She could feel color suffuse her body, and she was a woman who had trained herself not to blush. It was the same handwritingâhe knew her name
Similar Books
