When Good Earls Go Bad: A Victorian Valentine's Day Novella (13 page)

“Shall I meet you there, then?” she said, sitting up in bed. “What time is the meeting? And what do I have to do?”

He turned to meet her gaze, his hands wrapping his cravat around his throat.

“You just have to be yourself,” he said warmly, and Annabelle felt herself relax at his tone. Perhaps he was just anxious about the meeting, not regretting whatever they’d done so far. “The meeting is at two o’clock; I’ll leave in about an hour so I can speak with my uncle.”

It sounded as though speaking with his uncle was very important, since he’d mentioned it twice in the space of two minutes. It wasn’t like him to repeat himself; he must be anxious. That was it. It wasn’t her.

But even as she reassured herself, she was conscious that each minute meant one less minute with him, and that was enough to make her anxious, too.

S
he arrived at the building proclaiming it to be MacIntyre and Sons at fifteen minutes to two, having given herself plenty of time to get distracted by shop windows along the way.

Only she hadn’t been very distracted—she’d seen many more windows showing Valentine’s Day wares and had gotten sad and turned away, rather than linger as she usually did.

Which was foolish; it wasn’t as though she’d had any expectation of the day. But it hurt to see so many people walking arm in arm, flowers everywhere, smiles and happiness and couples who were going to be together in a week’s time, not separated by a country and their class and their futures.

She shook off her feelings of melancholy as she walked into the building; she couldn’t fall short of his expectations, no matter how much the day had fallen short of hers.

A
s it happened, Matthew was still with his uncle at two o’clock, and it was another half an hour before the meeting began, long enough for Annabelle to get nervous. But then Matthew escorted her into the meeting room and sat her so gently into a chair and made sure she got tea, and then he began the meeting by talking about all sorts of things Annabelle had no clue about—investments, outlay, risk, supply chains, and things that she supposed were business terms. She was a business owner, but she left all the details to Caroline, whose mind was much better suited for it.

At last, it was her turn.

“Miss Tyne is here to offer the feminine perspective.” Matthew looked at her, and she could have sworn he winked. She would not have thought Matthew was a winker. “Miss Tyne?”

She rose, holding the swatches of fabric she’d first seen.
Was it only a few days ago?
It felt as though it were a lifetime. The men—there were perhaps half a dozen of them, all older than Matthew, of course none as handsome—regarded her as they had Matthew, and waited for her to speak.

“Fabric might seem as though it is just fabric, gentlemen.” She held up one of the swatches. “And perhaps you just see some flowers on a blue background. And that is what is here, on the surface.” She stroked one of the flowers on the material. “But this material represents opportunity.”

She held the swatch up. “For some lucky woman, having this fabric made up into a gown could be an opportunity to change her life. Perhaps she wears the gown to a dinner party or a ball; perhaps she feels lovely in the gown and therefore she looks the best she ever has. Perhaps some nice gentleman”—
one who is tall and dark-haired and with a lovely, lovely chest—
“sees her and finds her enchanting. He begs for an introduction, they dance, and then they are married. And have at least five children.”
All of whom would be practical and yet able to be nonsensical at times as well.

“Or this one,” she said, swapping out the swatch for one in a pale cream. “Perhaps this would be worn by a debutante at her coming out ball, and it is her first time to be an adult and move in the adult world, and she conducts herself impeccably and ends up a duchess. Not married to one of the current dukes, mind you, because they are all old and married already, but perhaps . . . ”—and at this she shot a quick glance at Matthew, who was smiling at her—“a Scottish duke, since we know the Scottish nobility are quite different from ours.”

“So you see,” she said, putting the swatch down again, “pretty fabric will always be pretty, but it also represents an opportunity for beauty and a fulfilling life. Thank you.”

She nodded and sat back down, pleased with herself for not having gotten off the subject too much.

“Thank you, gentlemen.” Matthew’s uncle beamed. “I look forward to our vote about this opportunity,” and at that he winked at Annabelle. Perhaps it was a family trait. “But it seems fairly clear what we should do.”

The men rose and filed out of the room, eventually leaving just Matthew and Annabelle.

“You were compelling,” he said, running his hands down her arms. “Even I wanted to wear a pretty gown after you spoke, just to see what opportunities might present themselves.”

If only this was an opportunity and not something that was coming to an inexorable end.

A Belle’s Guide to Household Management

That said, if the master of the house does not currently have a mistress, and he wishes you to apply for the position, just ask him what position he would like you in. And then apply yourself
.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

M
atthew held the door of MacIntyre and Sons open for her as she stepped onto the sidewalk. He put her bonnet, which had apparently gotten tilted, to rights, then gazed at her, his eyes dropping to her mouth.

“Let us go home, and you can help me pack. I can’t imagine Uncle Jonas needing my assistance for much longer, and I’ve neglected my business being here.”
Being with her.

“Of course, only—” She bit her lip and wished she could say just what was on her mind:
Don’t go, take me with you, I love you.

“What?” he asked, sounding impatient.

“Just that I would like to take you to . . . ”—she scrambled in her brain for something to say, just something to prolong this time with him, to keep him with her, out here on this perfect day for just a few more minutes—“to St. James’s Palace, where the Queen was married.” She winced at that, hoping he wouldn’t think that she was angling to get married.
I just want to spend more time with you.
“And I don’t think you’ve seen many sights since you’ve been here; you’ve been too busy working.”
And being with me.

“You’re certain you don’t want to go home?” Now he sounded quite impatient, and her heart hurt; was he so desperate to have this end? Because as soon as it was their last night—and she wasn’t sure if that was tonight or the next, but it was soon—it would all be over, and she knew she would never, ever be the same.

“No, I really think you should see the palace.” She spoke as firmly as she could, and he regarded her for a few heart-stopping moments before nodding his head.

“Fine, the palace.” He quickened his pace, and she had to scamper to keep up with him.

In a few moments, though, it seemed he realized what he was doing. “Sorry, Annabelle,” he said, a shy smile on his lips, “I’m not accustomed to being with anybody.”

“I know,” she replied with an arch of her brow.

And now he looked discomfited. She leaned into him and whispered in his ear. “I am so lucky to have been your first.”

She saw a slow flush climb onto his cheeks, and she wished she could just kiss him out here, in front of everybody.

“Speaking of that business,” he said. “You were not—that is, what—?”

“How was I an unmarried woman and yet not in your situation?” She had been tempted to let him try to fumble through what he was trying to say, but couldn’t bear to see him so uncomfortable.

“Yes, that. That is, you are, well you are you, and clearly more than a . . . a not-housekeeper, and it seems as though you should be married already or something. Although that would mean, of course, that we wouldn’t be here.”

His face was positively red now. She stifled a laugh, which at least was doing something to assuage the grief she was already feeling at having to leave him.

She tightened her hold on his arm. “You might have noticed that I am a bit . . . literal when it comes to things. I believe people are good and speak honestly.” She shrugged and tried to make herself sound as nonchalant as possible. “A man told me he loved me, that he would marry me, and I trusted him.” She paused and took a breath. “It turns out that only one of the things he said was true. He did love me, in his way, I believe. But he never intended to marry me.”

She felt the muscles in his arm tighten, and it made her wish that Charles were here so Matthew could take a swing at him, even though that likely made her a very bad person. But she would like to see Matthew flatten him.

“I am sorry for that, Annabelle,” he said in a soft, low voice.

She gave a quick shake of her head, trying to blink away the sudden sting of tears. “It’s fine. Going through it meant I met my friends, and then we started the agency, and then . . . ”
And then I met you, and it was all worth it. Even though you are leaving.

“I don’t wish to see the palace after all,” he said abruptly. “I want us to go home.”

She felt her heart squeezing, her chest constricting. She probably had less than two days left with him. Forty-eight hours. How many minutes would that be?

Dear God, she was in a bad way if she was resorting to doing mathematical calculations.

In far too short a time they were on Grove End Road, and Annabelle recalled how it had been not so long ago when she’d arrived, expecting a certain kind of man, an earl, with certain duties, and having none of that happen. And yet all of it happened, and she wanted to pinch herself.

She really never would be the same, would she? Damn it.

He fumbled with the key at the door, her capable earl suddenly seeming to get quite clumsy.

“Here, you unlock it,” he said.

She took the key and turned it in the lock, then pushed the door open.

And stepped into a room of flowers. More flowers than she’d seen in her entire life. More flowers than she knew existed in the world.

Daffodils—
where had he gotten those?
Roses, peonies, irises, and all the other ones she hadn’t named but were her favorite flowers nonetheless. Because she loved all flowers. And that is what he had gotten for her.

And a table covered with cards. Cards enough for the entire lineage of Tynes, trimmed with ridiculously exuberant decorations, such as lace and ribbons and hearts and cupids, and arrows and enormous, swirling calligraphy proclaiming love in at least three languages. Maybe more, she wasn’t sure.

And an enormous basket of fruit, including items she knew full well were out of season.

Plus a stack of books.

She turned to look at him, and he had the most lovely smile on his face.

“What? How did . . .?”

“Do you like it?” he asked, then shook his head. “Of course you like it, how do I have to even ask, your joy is written all over your face. That is one of the reasons I love you. I never have to guess what you’re thinking.”

He closed the door, then drew her into his arms and spun her so her back was against his chest.

He loved her? He loved her. He loved her!

Her heart was racing and her breath caught, and she wanted to laugh and cry and demand to know what he’d done and why and kiss him until she couldn’t kiss him anymore.

“I have a very important question to ask you, Annabelle.” His arms tightened. “Or two, actually.”

He released her, then walked to stand in front of her. He was even more gorgeous than all the flowers.

He took her hands and placed the palms against his chest. “Do you feel my heart? Wait, that’s not one of the questions,” he added, with a baffled look on his face. “See what being around you does to me? Not one of the questions, either.”

He took a deep breath. “Annabelle, will you be my Valentine? That is one of the questions.”

She smiled and nodded. “I will, thank you. I want to be your Valentine more than anything else in the world.”

“Good, good,” he said, as though distracted. As though he were her, although right now she could not think of anything but him. “Just a moment, let me get something.” He removed her hands from him, then turned abruptly and opened the door to the closet. He bent down and turned back around, now with a grumpy Cat in his arms.

“Oh, Cat!” He rolled his eyes as she spoke her cat’s name. Well, what did he think she was going to name her? Feline?

Her heart swelled, even as she wondered how he’d managed to discover where Cat was and had gotten her here without Annabelle noticing. But he was beyond clever; he could do anything, couldn’t he?

It was as though he’d read her mind.

“You want to be my Valentine more than anything else in the world?” he said as he dropped to one knee, letting Cat go, who immediately went and twined about Annabelle’s legs. He drew a box from his pocket and withdrew the gaudiest ring Annabelle had ever seen in her entire life. “Now that I have your answer to that, I want to ask you something else. Annabelle, will you marry me?”

And for once in her life, Annabelle was speechless.

Until she was finally able to stop kissing him and say, “Yes.”

EPILOGUE

O
f course they didn’t precisely have a plan, because it was Annabelle, and the most she seemed to plan was the next time she could get him naked and on top of him—or him on top of her, she didn’t seem to have a preference—but beyond that, she just was happy and joyous and he loved her.

He loved her so much; he loved how her face brightened when she saw him, even if he wasn’t naked at the time, and how she poked fun at how orderly he was and told him how handsome he was, so much he felt himself blushing.

But they had decided they would spend half of their time in Scotland, tending to his estate, while she dealt with the agency’s affairs via the post, and then they would head to London, where he could consult with his uncle on the new shipping ventures and she could continue to work at the agency, although he forbade her from actually taking any postings herself. He knew how adorable she was, and he didn’t want any other men seeing her and trying to take her from him.