Read Online The reluctant cavalier by Karen Harbaugh - Free Book Online
Authors: Karen Harbaugh
Tags: Nov. Rom
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drawing room door and looking meaningfully at her torn dress.
"Now you mustn't dawdle about mending your dress, Miss Smith. There is nothing more unpleasant than a torn dress, I am sure! Why, I remember telling Mrs. Drummond-Burrell not long ago ..."
Annabella smiled, nodded, and hastily left the room as soon as politeness allowed. Once in the Grey Room, she removed her dress, took needle and thread provided her, and dismissed the maid. She could sew faster than any maid, she knew, for she prided herself on her needlework. Thank heavens she had selected a dress she could put on by herself! For she did not want to go back down to the drawing room immediately, back to the scrutiny of so many eyes.
She sighed as she worked. In truth, she did not want to face the duke immediately. Did he guess that she had stumbled so as not to go out with him? She hoped not. She had not noticed any large degree of perception in him; perhaps he had taken her stumble for the clumsiness she intended it. Not that she had truly intended to stumble, for she had not planned it at all. No, it was a mere thought, unintentional, and her body had somehow complied.
Annabella rolled her eyes. Oh, heavens! What excuses was she to make up next? The truth was that she was afraid and did not want to marry the duke.
Her needle pierced the cloth in her hand and whipped the thread back and forth across the seam. She stared absently at it as she worked, wishing she could sew up her life as easily and neatly. Her life had been just as neat, just as easily put together, for as long as she could remember. And now, now that the duke had proposed, it could be just as neat, and just as easily ... proscribed.
Her hands dropped to her lap, and she stared into the fire in the hearth in front of her. There was no reason why she should not continue as she had, once she was married. She could go to as many parties—more in fact—for she'd be a married woman, and not be chaperoned as much as she was now. She'd be free to do as she pleased. Why, one of her friends from school had done just that: after Chloe had her first child, a boy and an heir for her husband, she had burst upon London society like fireworks, and had gone to practically every function the ton presented. It was even rumored she had taken a lover.
Annabella grimaced. She did not think she would like that; indeed, she had noted a constant expression of discontent on Chloe's face, and she'd grown waspish, too. Annabella did not think marriage or taking a lover had made things much better for Chloe at all. And the notion of being intimate with one man—much less two—for Annabella's mother had told her vaguely of what could happen in the marriage bed—was certainly an embarrassing thing.
More than that, she wanted to feel the same degree of affection toward her husband that she'd seen between her parents. They—her mother, anyway—understood her wishes in this, But they had discovered their love after they had wed, and Annabella was not sure she would be as lucky. She only had to look at Chloe to see that.
Why could her parents not understand? She sighed and picked up her sewing again. Perhaps they had such joy in their own marriage that they thought their way of going about it would bring her just as much happiness. After all, what did she know of life? They had much more experience than she. And was she not comfortable in her life? Had they not made it so for her?
Until now.
Until now, Annabella thought, then shook her head and pushed the thought away. Briskly, she picked up her dress,shook it out, and eyed it critically. She gave a nod of approval, knotted the thread, and cut it. Her mother had picked out this dress for her, and she liked it very well. It would have been a pity had she ruined it.
Quickly, she put on the dress and adjusted it around her. The mirror's reflection told her she looked well, and that she had sewn it quite neatly. She turned, then frowned. The thread had not matched
"Now you mustn't dawdle about mending your dress, Miss Smith. There is nothing more unpleasant than a torn dress, I am sure! Why, I remember telling Mrs. Drummond-Burrell not long ago ..."
Annabella smiled, nodded, and hastily left the room as soon as politeness allowed. Once in the Grey Room, she removed her dress, took needle and thread provided her, and dismissed the maid. She could sew faster than any maid, she knew, for she prided herself on her needlework. Thank heavens she had selected a dress she could put on by herself! For she did not want to go back down to the drawing room immediately, back to the scrutiny of so many eyes.
She sighed as she worked. In truth, she did not want to face the duke immediately. Did he guess that she had stumbled so as not to go out with him? She hoped not. She had not noticed any large degree of perception in him; perhaps he had taken her stumble for the clumsiness she intended it. Not that she had truly intended to stumble, for she had not planned it at all. No, it was a mere thought, unintentional, and her body had somehow complied.
Annabella rolled her eyes. Oh, heavens! What excuses was she to make up next? The truth was that she was afraid and did not want to marry the duke.
Her needle pierced the cloth in her hand and whipped the thread back and forth across the seam. She stared absently at it as she worked, wishing she could sew up her life as easily and neatly. Her life had been just as neat, just as easily put together, for as long as she could remember. And now, now that the duke had proposed, it could be just as neat, and just as easily ... proscribed.
Her hands dropped to her lap, and she stared into the fire in the hearth in front of her. There was no reason why she should not continue as she had, once she was married. She could go to as many parties—more in fact—for she'd be a married woman, and not be chaperoned as much as she was now. She'd be free to do as she pleased. Why, one of her friends from school had done just that: after Chloe had her first child, a boy and an heir for her husband, she had burst upon London society like fireworks, and had gone to practically every function the ton presented. It was even rumored she had taken a lover.
Annabella grimaced. She did not think she would like that; indeed, she had noted a constant expression of discontent on Chloe's face, and she'd grown waspish, too. Annabella did not think marriage or taking a lover had made things much better for Chloe at all. And the notion of being intimate with one man—much less two—for Annabella's mother had told her vaguely of what could happen in the marriage bed—was certainly an embarrassing thing.
More than that, she wanted to feel the same degree of affection toward her husband that she'd seen between her parents. They—her mother, anyway—understood her wishes in this, But they had discovered their love after they had wed, and Annabella was not sure she would be as lucky. She only had to look at Chloe to see that.
Why could her parents not understand? She sighed and picked up her sewing again. Perhaps they had such joy in their own marriage that they thought their way of going about it would bring her just as much happiness. After all, what did she know of life? They had much more experience than she. And was she not comfortable in her life? Had they not made it so for her?
Until now.
Until now, Annabella thought, then shook her head and pushed the thought away. Briskly, she picked up her dress,shook it out, and eyed it critically. She gave a nod of approval, knotted the thread, and cut it. Her mother had picked out this dress for her, and she liked it very well. It would have been a pity had she ruined it.
Quickly, she put on the dress and adjusted it around her. The mirror's reflection told her she looked well, and that she had sewn it quite neatly. She turned, then frowned. The thread had not matched
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