Page 18 of A Wallflower's Wassail Punch
CHAPTER8
Annette wanted to curl up into a tiny ball and hide under the chair, like a puff of dust that could be swept away and disposed of.But she was not, and she could not.When the vicar had covered his face, she knew immediately he’d heard of The Incident.And believed it.His had not been a comical reaction, but one of fear.When she knew she couldn’t hold back the humiliating tears, she’d begun laughing instead.Hysterically.
The look of horror on Miss Langston’s face had been worth it.Annette had refused to let that woman see her cry.She instinctively knew it would have made the woman happy.Now sitting in an empty room, she let the tears flow, cleansing her soul of the pent-up frustration.Annette wanted to scream, yell at the world for the injustice done to her, get revenge on a petty duke’s son who had ruined her chances at love.
A warmth seeped into her side, and she realized with a jolt that she wasn’t alone.An arm went around her shoulders and pulled her close.His scent, spicy yet sweet, told her it wasn’t her father, but she let him hold her anyway.He rocked gently, back and forth, back and forth, until her tears subsided, and she hiccupped.
A handkerchief appeared in front of her face as she sniffed.“Th-thank you.I realized I must either laugh or cry in front of our guests.Laughter, maniacal as it sounded, seemed the better option.You must think I’m?—”
“A beautiful and underappreciated woman.”
His low timbre soothed her frazzled nerves.Peeking up at him, he gave her a sad smile and kept her close to his side.Without thought, she snuggled against his chest, soaking in his strength.Why couldn’t Lord Weston be her suitor?Leaning into him, his arm around her, it felt so natural, so right.
“Don’t let that spineless milksop prey upon your good cheer.He has no idea what an amazing woman he just lost.”With a finger under her chin, he lifted her head to meet his gaze.“You realize any man would be lucky to have you as a wife?”
Annette shook her head, acutely aware of his touch searing her skin.Her heart began to pound.Would he kiss her?Please, kiss me.She knew without a doubt that it would be the most incredible experience of her life.A moment to remember when she was an old, gray spinster.Or she might burst into flames from the heat of it.The heat of him.
But he did not kiss her.Instead, he gathered her into a tight hug and gave the top of her head a chaste peck.Then he disentangled them and stood, holding out his hand to her.“May I escort you to your room?”
“Yes, please,” she murmured.When he pulled her up, Annette found herself staring at his mouth, so close she could feel his warm breath against her forehead.A strange urge enveloped her, and she stood on tiptoe, kissed his cheek, then tucked her arm through his.
* * *
22 December1820
The next morning came much too quickly.It was as if Lord Weston’s embrace—no, it had really been only a comforting hug—had eased her heart and mind, and she’d slept soundly.Jenny was already laying out her steel-gray riding habit.
“… and then she ordered the carriage,” the maid finished, hands on her hips.“Your chocolate is getting cold, milady.”
“Who ordered a carriage?”she asked, blinking the sleep from her eyes and stretching her arms over her head.
“You didn’t hear a word I’ve said.”Jenny tsked.“The vicar’s sister had their trunk packed early this morning and asked the footman to order their coach.Told Lady Henney there was an appointment she’d forgotten about that the vicar cannot postpone.”
“They’re gone?”Annette fell back against the pillow, uncertain if this was good or bad news.
“They will be if you tarry over your chocolate.”Jenny grinned.“Good riddance, I say.Mr.Langston is nothing like your brother.”
True.Ambrose was a wonderful vicar with a lovely wife.His congregation adored him, and the feeling was mutual.Jenny and Lord Weston were right.She should not feel guilty or ashamed about last night.Neither the man nor his sister were worth another thought.
Annette was surprised to see another horse saddled along with her Welsh cob, Domino, whose dapple-gray color had reminded her of spots on a domino piece.A huge black gelding stood patiently next to her mare, waiting for?—
“It’s a fine morning for a ride.Thank you for inviting me.”Lord Weston emerged from the stable.He looked dizzyingly handsome in his snug riding coat and breeches.His Hessians shone from a recent polish.“The sun is out, there is little wind, and I have a lovely companion by my side.What more could a man ask for?”
Annette had completely forgotten she’d invited him to ride with her before breakfast.Her stomach did a tumble as he smiled down at her, her breath catching when his knuckle tapped her chin.
“You had a better night’s sleep?Your eyes are brighter this morning.”His gaze seemed to take in every detail of her face.
“Riches, and yes, thank you,” she said to both questions, then grinned at his confusion.
“Ah, what more could a man ask for?But there are all kinds of riches.I have wealth, so more blunt does not tempt me.A friendship—with a kind and beautiful woman—would be worth so much more.Do you think that’s possible?”
“It depends,” she countered with a grin, “on whether the woman was the daughter of a close friend.”
“I believe she is,” he teased back.
“Then yes, I do think it’s possible.In fact, I believe it’s already in progress.”
They stood facing each other, both with stupid grins on their faces, until the stable boy cleared his throat.“Do ye want me to come along?”he asked.The lad usually rode with Annette because her father refused to let her go alone.
