―Oh, of course. I hadn‘t considered. Very well, which is your favorite? I shall start with that."
He thought about that for a moment, then said, with a shake of his head, ―I couldn‘t possibly choose. I like different things about each of them."
Annabel grinned. ―You sound like my parents, whenever we demanded to know which of us they loved best."
―It‘s rather similar, I suppose," he murmured.
―If you‘ve given birth to a book," she retorted, pressing her lips together to keep from laughing.
But he wasn‘t. Laughing, that was.
She blinked with surprise.
And then he did laugh. More of a chuckle, she supposed, but it was odd, because it was as if he‘d been five seconds behind the joke, which was unlike him. Wasn‘t it?
―More plain speaking, Miss Winslow?" he asked, a dry smile turning his question into something of an endearment.
―Always," she said cheerily.
―I think you might—" But then he stopped.
―What?" She was smiling as she said it, but then she saw that he was looking out over her head, toward the door. And he looked grim.
She wet her lips nervously and swallowed. And turned. Lord Newbury had entered the room.
―He looks angry," she whispered.
―He has no claim on you," Mr. Grey bit off.
―Neither do you," she said softly. She looked over toward the side door, the one that led to the ladies‘ retiring room. But Mr. Grey put his hand on her wrist and held firm.
―You can‘t run," he said. ―If you do, everyone will assume you‘ve done something wrong."
―Or," she returned, hating this rush of panic that was washing over her, ―they might take one look at him and think that any sane young lady would give him a wide berth."
But of course they wouldn‘t. And she knew that. Lord Newbury was walking toward them with steely purpose, and the crowds were parting swiftly to allow him passage. Parting and then reforming, of course, facing in Annabel‘s direction. If there was going to be a scene, no one wanted to miss it.
―I will be right here next to you," Mr. Grey said under his breath.
Annabel nodded. It was amazing—and terrifying—how much comfort that gave her.
Chapter Sixteen
Uncle," Sebastian said jovially, since he‘d long since learned that was the most effective tone to employ, ―how delightful to see you again. Although I must say, everything looks different through only one eye." He smiled blandly. ―Even you."
Newbury gave him a hard stare, then turned to Annabel. ―Miss Winslow."
―My lord." She curtsied.
―We shall have the next dance."
It was an order, not a request. Sebastian stiffened, waiting for Annabel to make a cutting reply, but she just swallowed and nodded. He supposed that was understandable. She had little power against an earl, and Newbury had always been an imposing, imperious presence. She probably had her grandparents to answer to, as well. They were friendly with Newbury; she could not shame them by refusing a mere dance.
―Make sure you return her to my side," Sebastian said, giving his uncle a completely insincere, close-lipped smile.
Newbury returned the expression with an icy glare, and in that instant Sebastian knew he‘d made a terrible mistake. He should never have attempted to restore Annabel‘s position. She would have been far better off an outcast. She could have returned to her country life, found herself a squire who spoke as plainly as she did, and lived contentedly ever after.
The irony was almost too much to bear. Everyone assumed that Sebastian had gone after her because his uncle wanted her, but the truth had turned out to be the exact opposite.
Newbury had washed his hands of her. Until he thought that Sebastian might actually be serious.
And now he wanted her more than ever.
Sebastian had thought there might be a limit to how much his uncle hated him, but apparently not.
―Miss Winslow and I have an understanding," Newbury said to him.
―Don‘t you think that is for Miss Winslow to decide?" Sebastian said lightly.
His uncle‘s eyes flared, and for a moment Sebastian thought he might try to strike him again, but Newbury had not been caught by surprise this time, and he must have had a better hold on his temper because he merely spat, ―You are impertinent."
―I merely attempt to restore her to the bosom of society," Sebastian said softly. Reproachfully. If indeed Newbury had had an understanding with her, he should never have left her to the wolves.
At that, Newbury‘s gaze dropped to Annabel‘s bosom.
Sebastian felt sick.
Newbury looked back up, his eyes glowing with what could only have been described as pride of ownership.
―You don‘t have to dance with him," Sebastian said quietly. Hang her grandparents, hang all of society‘s expectations. No lady should have to dance with a man who looked at her that way in public.
But Annabel just looked at him with the saddest eyes and said, ―I think I do."
Newbury gave him a triumphant smile, took her by the arm, and led her away.
Sebastian watched, burning inside, hating this feeling, hating that everyone was staring at him, waiting to see what he‘d do.
He‘d lost. Somehow, he‘d lost.
He felt lost, too.
The following afternoon
Visitors. Annabel was plagued by them.
Now that both Lord Newbury and Mr. Grey seemed to be interested in her, all of society felt the need to see her for themselves. It did not seem to matter that those very same people hadseen her earlier that week when she was an object of pity.
By early afternoon, Annabel was desperate to escape, so she‘d made up some ridiculous story about needing a bonnet the exact color of her new lavender dress, and her grandmother had finally waved her hand and said, ―Off with you! I can‘t listen to another moment of your nonsense."