Page 80 of A Spinster for the Cold Duke

“Steadfastness is a virtue I prize above all others,” Henry interjected smoothly. His tone carried just enough warning to make Lady Harrington reconsider her trajectory.

“Naturally, Your Grace.” The woman backpedaled quickly. “I merely meant to observe the fascinating contrasts within families.”

As the afternoon progressed, Annabelle watched her sister hold court with increasing unease. Florentia moved through the gathering like a master strategist, charming each group with practiced ease and accepting compliments on her return to society.

“How wonderful,” she heard Lady Morrison say. “To have such a beauty back with us here in London, don’t you think?”

“And still so young,” added Miss Thornfield. “Barely one-and-twenty, with all of life still before her.”

“Miss Lytton,” came a voice behind her.

She turned to find Lady Howard approaching with several other ladies trailing in her wake like vultures scenting a feast.Their faces wore that familiar mask of sympathy laced with unmistakable malice.

“Lady Howard,” Annabelle said coolly, unwilling to shrink.

“We were just admiring your sister’s remarkable return to society,” Lady Howard began, her voice pitched high enough for half the garden to hear. “No doubt she will have suitors crowding Lord Oakley’s doorstep. Though it is curious, is it not, how scandal leaves some untouched while others are… permanently marked?”

Annabelle arched a brow. “Curious indeed, how often those untouched by scandal are simply better at hiding their misdeeds.”

That earned a ripple of sharp inhalations.

Lady Burtley’s lips thinned. “How fortunate that your sister has been given another chance. But it must be… difficult for you. Watching her succeed where you did not.”

Annabelle’s laugh was soft but still sardonic. “You assume too much if you believe I measure my worth by gentlemen’s attentions, Lady Burtley. I’d rather be known for my mind than for fluttering eyelashes.”

That struck a nerve.

One of the other women, Lady Portham, leaned in, her voice dripping sweetness. “How noble. Though one wonders whether such lofty airs are simply a poor disguise for jealousy.”

Annabelle’s gaze cooled instantly. She let her silence stretch, watching their smug smiles flicker with unease. Then, with quiet precision, she delivered the final cut.

“I see no purpose in arguing with women who confuse gossip with wisdom,” she said, her tone measured, even bored. “Do enjoy the rest of your afternoon.”

And before they could summon another barb, Annabelle turned on her heel and walked away, spine straight, leaving their stunned silence in her wake.

As she reached the garden’s far edge, she pressed her fingertips to her temples, willing away the tension that threatened to manifest as hot, angry tears.

Jealousy?

How tiresome it was, how small-minded. As if every woman’s worth could be boiled down to a tally of suitors and whispered scandals.

The air was cooler on this side of the garden, and the noise of the crowd dimmed behind the roses, and only then did she let her breath escape in a sharp exhale.

They saw her as a cautionary tale, a woman who had stumbled and dared to rise again. But she would not apologize for surviving.

“Annabelle.” Henry’s voice, soft but urgent, made her turn.

He approached through the dappled shadows. His expression was intense with concern.

Her eyes flew wide.

What is he doing?

“Your Grace, you shouldn’t?—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted gently, though his tone remained firm while he moved closer. “Not here, not with me. You’re distressed.”

“I’m perfectly fine,” she insisted, though her voice betrayed her.

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