Belle of the Ball Page 18

  “Where’s mother?”

  “She wanted to go change. Father just returned home.” Hazel pulled the book from her pocket. “Is that Camellia?”

  “I think so.” Anabelle hesitated.

  “I shall ask the gardener so we can be sure we are decoding these correctly.”

  “Who would have thought flowers needed to be decoded?” Anabelle mused.

  “Leave it to Draven to scintillate something usually innocent,” Hazel replied with a smirk. She paged through the book until she found the right page. Her eyebrows shot up. “Red Camellia means you are a flame in my heart.” She smiled widely at Anabelle.

  Anabelle blushed scarlet and turned away. “I cannot believe he is doing this.”

  “I can. It’s outrageous and scandalous. Sounds just like him.”

  “But is it sincere?” Anabelle laughed in disbelief. She put her hands to her warm cheeks to sooth them as she looked out her window.

  “He wouldn’t bother to do it if it wasn’t. Lucy was accurate when she summed him up yesterday.”

  Anabelle closed her eyes. Elation thrummed inside her. She couldn’t fight the excitement. This was beyond mere wooing. He was telling her something, showing her more of himself, and she was both afraid and jubilant to see where it was leading.

  The next day arrived, Anabelle and Hazel waited anxiously as the afternoon approached. Same time as yesterday and the day before, another bouquet arrived. This time it was lavender. Anabelle breathed in the soothing fragrance. She turned to Hazel, who was scrolling through pages.

  “Well?”

  Hazel gave her a wobbly smile. “Love, devotion. Oh, Anabelle. This is like something from a fairy tale.”

  Anabelle hid her smile behind the flowers. This was so much more than what she had been looking for. When she had watched Heather and the duke marry, she could only guess at the sort of emotions they must be feeling, but this was surreal.

  The next day, it was red Chrysanthemums for love, then Hibiscus, meaning consumed by love. On the sixth day, a dozen red roses, meaning I love you. This occurred directly in front of her mother and father who had returned home seconds before the flowers arrived. Anabelle could only shrug helplessly when her parents asked about them. They shared an unconvinced glance but carried on nonetheless.

  On the seventh day, at the appointed time, Anabelle made sure her parents were thoroughly occupied by Hazel and waited in the shadows of the hall for Rogers. She was startled when the door knocker thumped on the door. She went to the railing and looked into the front hall where Wilton was arriving at the door. He pulled it open and there stood Draven. Anabelle froze. They were speaking softly, but soon, Wilton waved Draven in and led the way to the stairs. Anabelle bolted to the drawing room, then pivoted and ran down the hall before they would see her. She slipped into a closet just as they arrived at the top of the stairs. Wilton was most likely escorting Draven to the drawing room. To her horror, they passed the drawing room and Anabelle held her breath and watched through the crack she left open. They passed by her without notice, and judging by the tread of their steps, entered her father’s study.

  Why was Draven meeting with her father?

  Wilton passed by, no doubt to fetch her father from the dining room where Hazel was making an outlandish argument for getting a puppy. She tiptoed out of the closet after she could no longer see Wilton’s head above the stairs. She hurried back to the drawing room, her heart beating fiercely in her chest and her lungs suddenly unable to take a full breath. She scurried to the sofa and tried to look calm should anyone come in. She was not disappointed. Her mother and Hazel soon arrived.

  “Did you see Lord Draven arrive?” her mother asked.

  “Why, no? Why ever would he be here?” Anabelle feigned ignorance.

  Hazel trailed behind their mother and widened her eyes in alarm.

  “I would hope to see you,” their mother answered and took a seat. “Hazel, do you know anything?” Lady Wellsford narrowed her eyes.

  “Why would I know anything?” Hazel said. “I’m not the one he is courting. Perhaps he is here to see father about a horse. Surely, he would have sent proper notice if he were here to spend chaperoned time with Anabelle?”

  Lady Wellsford didn’t look convinced. “We shall see.”

  They sat without speaking. The only sounds the ticking of the clock on the mantle and the ambient noise of the street outside. They were so quiet that they heard every step of approaching persons from the study. Anabelle clasped her hands together in her lap and her gaze shot to Hazel. Hazel was already staring at her with eyes the size of saucers.

  “Erh, um,” Lord Wellsford cleared his throat.

  All three ladies looked up at once.

  “Lord Draven has sought my permission to speak with Anabelle,” he paused. “Alone. Lady Wellsford, Hazel, will you join me in the study?”

  “Certainly, Hazel, come dear.”

  Lady Wellsford and Hazel smiled politely at Draven as they filed past him. The door was pulled closed, but not completely shut. Anabelle met his gaze timidly as he strolled forward. She felt like her heart was beating in her throat. He knelt down on one knee before her and pulled a small bouquet from his side.

  “A posy of Bluebells for my Belle.” He smiled crookedly.

  Anabelle felt giddy laughter bubble up inside her, but she held it in. “I suppose there is meaning for these flowers, too?” She was breathless.

  He nodded. “A simple meaning really, but one so very important. Bluebells represent humility. I come to you, bared to my metaphorical skin. There is nothing left of me you cannot have. I come to you humbled, naked, and begging for you to have mercy on this exposed heart of mine. Be my wife, Anabelle. Give me your hand, promise your life to me, and I will do everything I am capable of to be sure you never have a moment of regret. I can’t promise I will always be the man you want me to be. But I swear I will be the man you will always need.” He stopped.

  Anabelle wasn’t sure when she had last taken a breath. She tried to inhale, but it was shaky at best.

  “Please, Anabelle,” he whispered.

  She was nodding before she even realized she was moving. “Yes,” she whispered.

  His arms crushed her against him, and he kissed her savagely. His ardor would have scared her accept she was overwhelmed with a rush of emotion. It crashed inside her like waves. Happiness, astonishment, jubilation—she was stunned beyond words, beyond movement even. His enthusiasm washed over her until finally he pulled away.

  “I’m sorry, I was just so… relieved.”

  A huff of laughter escaped her. She cleared her throat and tried to find her voice.

  “Say something. Anything,” he urged.

  “I—I don’t know what to say.”

  He stroked her arms up and down and smiled. “It’s okay. You’ve already said the one word I was desperate to hear.

  Anabelle felt like she was dreaming. Who was this man before her? He looked like Draven, he sounded like Draven, but his eyes were filled with a light she had never seen before, and his smile so tender, it made her heart ache. She must be dreaming, because he was the man of her dreams.

  “I shouldn’t like to test your father’s patience.” Draven stepped away from her.

  Anabelle felt the loss of his nearness like a sudden cold draft. “I’m sure they are close by. I’ll see who is in the hall.” She hurried to the door and poked her head out. Hazel was sitting on the top step.

  “Hazel?” Anabelle whispered. “What are you doing?”

  Hazel twisted towards her. “I’m guarding the door so you can have an adequate moment of privacy. Did he propose?” she whispered excitedly.

  Anabelle nodded.

  “Well? What did you say?” Hazel grinned.

  All Anabelle did was grin back. Her smile was so wide it hurt her cheeks. Hazel jumped to her feet and ran to embrace Anabelle.

  Anabelle laughed and disengaged from her sister.

  “Father is waiting wi
th champagne.”

  “You can tell them they can join us now.” Anabelle held her sister’s hands.

  Hazel turned her head in the direction of the stairs leading to the upper floor. “You can let her go, Father!” she hollered.

  Her mother’s voice could be heard shushing and bickering with their father as they descended the stairs. Anabelle and Hazel retreated to the drawing room and Hazel gave Draven a swift hug.

  “I never would have thought that one day we would be family. Do you wish to reconsider?” Hazel teased.

  Lord and Lady Wellsford entered then, and congratulations were given, a special bottle of brandy opened and shared between Lord Wellsford and Draven, while Wilton uncorked a bottle of champagne for the ladies. Anabelle could barely form two words, but she couldn’t stop smiling.

  Chapter 23

  It was the end of the season and the engagement ball in honor of Lady Anabelle and Lord Draven. It was the first ball to be held at the Draven residence since the passing of the late Lord Draven. Society arrived in droves, eager to see the besotted couple and satiate their curiosity over Lady Draven, who had all, but disappeared after her husband’s death.

  Lady Draven was beaming with pride as her son’s betrothal was announced and the couple took to the floor. It was a love match, it was whispered, though others proclaimed that Lord Draven was far too sensible or cold to fall in love. Lady Anabelle was the catch of the season, but then again, so was Draven if he had shown any interest in getting married. Society was delightedly surprised by the betrothal and wished the couple well. The only disappointment heard was that the wedding would not be large and in town, but instead, held at the Wellford estate with only family and select friends in attendance.

  This had been Anabelle’s wish. The ball was an overheated monstrosity, and it only affirmed more that she wanted a wedding that was small and meaningful, not a social extravaganza. Her mother had been slightly disappointed, but she was buoyed when Hazel reminded her she still had one unmarried daughter left.

  Draven was quiet. He resembled the man he was before, but Anabelle attributed it to the discomfort from the overwhelming attention they were both receiving. He disappeared shortly after their dance and Anabelle assumed he needed some fresh air, or perhaps a moment of peace to smoke a cigar.

  As time passed, she kept looking for him, but it was impossible to discern anyone’s identity beyond immediate faces when the room was a sea of people. She was in good company with Hazel, Lucy, and Thea to converse with, but she wanted to be near him. They had little chance to see each other in the time between his proposal and now. They had dinner with his family again, and then Anabelle was monopolized by her mother over the preparations for the engagement ball and preparing for the wedding.

  Though it was a much smaller affair now, her mother still insisted on nothing less than perfection in every detail. Anabelle had been to fitting after fitting. She and Hazel’s dress would be delivered tomorrow, and they would leave town the following day. Anabelle knew from Draven’s mother that his sisters would leave tomorrow with their nanny and governess, and Lady Draven would leave the following day. Anabelle’s ancestral home was a solid day’s carriage ride from London, often arriving well after dark. Lady Draven had insinuated that their home was closer, but the roads could be slower if heavy rains had fallen.

  Anabelle wondered what Draven’s home looked like. Her curiosity would not be eased until her wedding night. They would have a week together. During that week, Lady Draven and his sisters had been invited to stay at Anabelle’s home. She would have a week with Draven all to herself. The thought was exciting, and a tad terrifying. Her life was going to change dramatically in such a short time.

  She looked around for him again, hoping that by now he had found the courage to return again. She was growing irritated, though why, she didn’t fully understand. It wasn’t as though he were doing something that would displease her. He was probably trapped in conversation with someone of which he couldn’t offend. Many of Lady Draven’s relations had come to town specifically for this event.

  “Is something amiss?” Hazel asked. “You should be smiling, and you are not smiling.”

  “I can’t find Draven,” Anabelle confessed.

  “Well, of course not. In this crush, I’m not sure I could find my feet.” Hazel shifted her stance to avoid being assaulted by a passing gentleman’s very rounded stomach.

  “It’s more than that. He has been gone a while now. I thought at one’s engagement ball, one spent most of the time with ones betrothed.”

  Hazel twisted her lips in a sympathetic grimace. “I wouldn’t rightly know. I’m sure he is just lost among the crowd. Let us find a better vantage point.” She linked elbows with Anabelle and they attempted to wade through the crowd. They were about half way through when they found a familiar face.

  “Lord Rigsby!” Hazel cheered. “Be a dear and help us to the doorway.”

  “You can’t run away yet,” he quipped.

  “I’m looking for Draven. Have you seen him?” Anabelle tried to not sound worried.

  “I’m afraid Lady Osbold’s dress ate him. I’ve seen it consume three people since she arrived.” He deadpanned.

  Hazel laughed. Anabelle was less than amused but attempted a smile. “Is that so?”

  Her smile must not have been convincing.

  Rigsby shouldered his way closer and bent to her ear. “He is in his study. I left him there an hour ago. I’d leave him be, his mood was less than civil.”

  Anabelle looked up at him with a frown. “Why?”

  Rigsby shrugged. “Honestly, I haven’t the faintest idea why.”

  Anabelle nodded her thanks and made a determined stride for the doorway leading to the main hall. Hazel followed her issuing apologies to those they passed. Gaining freedom from the ballroom, Anabelle headed straight for the stairs. She didn’t know where precisely his study was, but she was sure she could find it or find a servant who knew. Hazel pulled her to a halt at the bottom of the stairs.

  “What is it?” Anabelle said testily.

  “That’s precisely what I would like to know. Where are we going, what are we doing?” Hazel replied tartly.

  “I’m going to find Draven. You can help or you can return. It is entirely up to you.”

  “You can’t go wandering off alone in search of your fiancé.”

  “Then come with, but I will speak to him alone.” Anabelle turned and bolted up the stairs.

  Hazel caught her again at the top. “What is going on between you two?”

  Anabelle shrugged. “I don’t know. He was so wonderful after the proposal, and then tonight he was so silent and reserved. I’m not going to wait and find out which Draven I will encounter on our wedding day.”

  Hazel let go of her arm and Anabelle strode down the hall she paused at each door to look inside the room. Library, sitting room, and then finally a locked door, which didn’t block the distinct smell of cigar smoke.

  “What do you want me to do, Anabelle?” Hazel whispered.

  “Go back to the party. Keep Mother and Father and anyone else oblivious of my absence.”

  Hazel pressed her lips together firmly but nodded and returned to the stairs. Anabelle knocked on the door softly. There was no answer. She knocked again more firmly. “It’s me.”

  She didn’t hear a sound, but the lock on the door clicked. She tried the handle and it turned. Slowly opening the door, she found only darkness with pools of moonlight spilling through the windows. She blinked rapidly as she slipped inside the door and closed it behind her. She turned the key. She looked around as her eyes adjusted and found him leaning back against the front of the desk, jacket, waistcoat, and cravat gone. His white shirt practically glowed in the room. His head was bent forward, his features shadowed and unreadable. She didn’t even know if he was looking at her.

  “What are you doing here alone?” he said quietly.

  “That’s exactly what I came to find out. Why am I
alone at our engagement ball?” She moved further into the study, the shapes and shadows becoming recognizable as tables, lamps, and chairs.

  “I beg your pardon?” he said darkly.

  She didn’t like his tone. It was all too familiar as the arrogant, insulting Draven she had first met at the Endervale summer party. That seemed so long ago now.

  “You disappeared after our dance. Did you have any intention of returning or did you find the party not to your liking?”

  “I need to be alone right now. I’m sorry, Anabelle. This is difficult for me.”

  She stepped forward angrily. “Difficult for you?” Her voice rose. “What exactly is difficult about being by my side tonight? Is it so strenuous to play the gentleman? To be kind and thoughtful to me and your guests?”

  He brought his hands up to his face. “Anabelle, please,” he muffled.

  “Is it an act then? The wooing, the meaningful flowers, and the things you said? Are they all part of an elaborate scheme to simply get what you want?” She stepped before him now, no longer willing to let him block her out. She pulled his hands down. “Tell me the truth.”

  “You want the truth?” he growled.

  “I damn well deserve it.” She could smell the liquor on his breath.

  He stood up straight. “The truth is, it’s all difficult. Every day, every missive I sign in his title, every duty that is now mine. It’s all difficult. It’s not the tasks, it’s not the tedious meetings with my manager that are difficult. It’s his absence. We used to do it all together, side by side, and now I’m making the biggest decision of my life, one of the happiest I will ever make, and he isn’t here. He won’t see me stand at the alter with you. He won’t hold my mother as she cries with joy. He won’t walk my sisters down the aisle to their future husbands. He is gone. He won’t be there for any of those moments.”

  Anabelle shook her head. “Who—”

  He grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her to face the mantle. He pointed over her shoulder to the portrait above it. A portrait barely visible in the moonlight, but Anabelle could clearly see it was of a man.