When She Was Wicked

Chapter Ten

The next morning, Anabelle dragged herself out of bed. Her legs were leaden and her eyes puffy. All night long she’d been haunted alternately between visions of Mama coughing into a blood-splattered handkerchief and the duke being eaten alive by ferocious dogs. On top of that, she anxiously awaited her visit to Mama and Daph.

On one hand, it was generous of the duke to escort her. She’d see for herself how Mama fared. On the other, the thought of him seeing their humble living conditions made her stomach knot like a novice’s embroidery thread. It wasn’t precisely embarrassment that made her reluctant to show him their rooms. It was more than that.

Introducing the duke to her sister and mother was tantamount to inviting him into her other life—her real life. The one she’d return to after serving out her term working for him, and she didn’t like the idea of him briefly stepping into it to satisfy his curiosity—or worse, to cater to them as though her family were some sort of charity project. They might not have much, but they had pride. And, more importantly, they had each other.

After hastily washing her face and dressing, she went downstairs, ate breakfast, and returned to the workroom. She had much to do, and since she suspected the duke would sleep for a few more hours, she intended to make as much progress as she could.

Today she was starting a new walking dress for Olivia. Each dress she completed brought her closer to freedom, but she still had eighteen to go and would not compromise her high standards of quality no matter how much she longed to be home. She would make the walking gown itself from white India muslin, but the pelisse would be a lovely gold color, trimmed with a broad band of lace. The rich color matched the golden strands in Olivia’s hair, and Anabelle could hardly wait to show it to her.

As Anabelle measured amber silk for the pelisse, Olivia entered the nursery for her usual mid-morning visit.

“Good morning,” she said, looking slightly puzzled. “I passed my brother on my way back from breakfast, and he asked me to fetch you.”

Anabelle swallowed. “He did?”

“Yes, and he looked ready to pay a call on someone. Have you any idea what he is up to?”

“I think so. Excuse me a moment.” She set down her measuring tape and retrieved her reticule from her bedchamber next door.

When she returned to the workroom, Olivia was staring at her. “Why do you and Owen both look so tired this morning?”

Anabelle laughed—a bit too loudly—in response. “I’m afraid I stayed up late last evening. It won’t affect progress on your new dress, though. I shall return in a few hours and spend some more time on it.”

Olivia smiled as though amused. “Excellent. I’ll stop by and perhaps we can have a nice chat.”

“I’d like that.” Anabelle hurried past Olivia and down the staircase to find the duke waiting in the foyer. Dennison stood at his side, holding the duke’s hat at the ready.

“Shall we go?” the duke asked her.

She patted a hand to her head, relieved to find her cap securely in place. “Yes.”

He took his hat and jammed it on his head before ushering her out the front door. The gray sky hung low and heavy, and cool raindrops pelted Anabelle’s face. She wrapped her shawl more tightly about her and hoped she wouldn’t resemble a wet rat by the time they reached her home.

But instead of setting off down the street, the duke shepherded her toward the most elegant coach she’d ever seen. It waited just a few steps away, the shiny black finish of the cab so polished she could see their reflection in it. A painted gold “H” decorated the door of the cab, marking it as the duke’s. In case there’d been any doubt.

“We’re riding in this?” she asked.

As if to answer, one of the footmen stepped forward and opened the door, revealing plush black velvet seats and squabs. Anabelle couldn’t wait to run her fingers over them and test whether the nap of the fabric was as thick and soft as it looked.

The duke helped her in, and when she would have chosen the rear-facing bench, he guided her to the forward-facing one before joining her there. The moment the footman shut the cab door, the duke banged the roof with his fist and the carriage rolled into motion.

The cab was more cozy and intimate than Anabelle would have expected. With the shades lowered to half-mast, the dreariness of the day outside remained at bay. Although the interior was spacious, the duke’s long legs sprawled across the floor, and the top of his head nearly touched the ceiling. She could smell his shaving soap, and heat emanated from his body. His dark hair was damp from the rain, and his eye had turned a rather nasty shade of purple. Though the line of his mouth was grim, his lips were full. The feel of that beautiful mouth on hers—warm, wet, and insistent—came flooding back to her.

Just then, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a basket tucked under the opposite seat of the coach.

The duke’s gaze flicked from her to the basket and back. “Cook sent along some fruit, bread, cheese, and God knows what else for you to take your mother and sister. Cook is certain everyone is one scone away from starvation.”

Perhaps. But Cook couldn’t have prepared anything unless the duke had made it a point to inform her… or even ask her. The gesture touched Anabelle even more than the spectacles had. He seemed reluctant to take credit for the idea, but he didn’t fool her. He was more generous than he liked to let on.

He peered at her from beneath his dark lashes. “Why, in God’s name, do you insist on wearing that hat?”

She blinked, startled by the blunt question. The answer was complicated. The cap marked her as a servant and was a physical reminder that in spite of her silly dreams in the workroom of the dress shop, she’d probably never be anything more. Oh, she might sleep on silk sheets and dine on roast beef for a few months. She might even be the current object of the duke’s desire. There was no harm in enjoying the fantasy while it lasted, but none of it was enduring or real. Her reality was the daily struggle to put food on her family’s table and keep her mother alive. Removing the cap couldn’t change that no matter how badly she wished it would. And if her dowdy cap helped remind the duke of her servant status, so much the better.

But it seemed pointless to share these thoughts with him. “How is your arm today?” Not a soul would know by looking at him that a wild dog had had his arm in a death grip several hours before. His jacket was impeccable, and he’d moved without a hint of pain, but she’d seen the gash in his flesh and his blood-soaked shirt last night. It had to hurt.

“It’s fine,” he said tightly.

“May I?” Without waiting for his response, she reached for his arm and, as gently as she could, pushed first his jacket, and then his sleeve up to his elbow. The duke rolled his eyes but did not pull away.

His wound had been bandaged with strips of clean linen, but a crimson stain had already begun to soak through the layers. His skin near the edges of the bandages looked swollen, pink, and hot to the touch. Guilt niggled at her conscience. If she hadn’t snuck out… “I thought you were going to have a doctor look at this.”

“Maybe I did.”

She shot him a skeptical glance and leaned closer to have a better look at his eye. The lid had swollen, but instead of detracting from his good looks, it merely lent him a dangerous and brooding air. She opened her mouth to tease him about the lavender color when the coach lurched, throwing her off balance.

Anabelle clung to his broad shoulders; he grasped her by the waist and sat her firmly on one of his thighs. The sensation was odd, not unpleasant. However, sitting on a gentleman’s lap was beyond the pale, even for her. The situation probably demanded a new rule: “Never sit beside the duke in a jostling coach.” Pity she didn’t have her List and a pen handy.

She squirmed in an attempt to return to her seat, but he held her tightly. His leg felt hard and solid beneath her bottom, and his large hands almost spanned her waist.

The tenderness in his eyes melted her like so much wax. Her heartbeat sped up, and when his gaze drifted to her mouth, she didn’t wait for him to kiss her. Instead, she slid a hand around the back of his neck and kissed him softly.

They seemed to be making a habit of this—cap, or no cap.

He didn’t take over as she’d expected him to, but let her explore at will. She trailed her hand over the slight stubble on his jaw as she brushed her lips over his. When she teased his lips apart with her tongue, however, he groaned and pulled her closer, deepening the kiss.

Her body instantly responded to the now familiar taste of him. Moist heat gathered between her legs and, instinctively, she rocked against him. A pulsing started, and though it felt very good, it was not quite enough. She moaned and pressed herself closer to him, annoyed at the layers of her skirt and petticoats.

“Anabelle,” he gasped. “Christ.” He appeared breathless, dazed.

She leaned back, feeling slightly awkward and ashamed. She didn’t think she’d done anything wrong, but this business of kissing was all quite new to her.

“I’m sorry,” he said with exasperation. “I find it hard to control myself around you.”

Unsure whether she should be flattered or insulted, she scrambled off his lap and scooted to the far end of the bench seat. Meanwhile, he yanked down the sleeve of his jacket and dragged a hand through his hair.

Anabelle looked out of the window, surprised to find they were only a few streets away from her home. “We’re almost there.” The worry she felt for Mama, forgotten as long as she’d been kissing the duke, now weighed on her chest like a heap of bricks.

“I’ll wait in the coach,” he said, “and let you visit with your family in private.”

She considered this for a moment. “If you didn’t intend to come inside, why did you come with me? A footman could have brought me.” She’d been certain that his motivation for bringing her here was to find out if she was telling the truth about her family’s dire situation.

“To make sure you got here safely.”

“And to make sure I came back?”

He threw her a level stare. “Yes.” Honest, to a fault.

“I made a promise to you and your sisters,” Anabelle said. “I intend to keep it. But I also need to make sure my family is all right.”

“I know.” As he handed her the basket from under the seat, she realized that, of all people, he would understand. He loved his sisters the same way she loved Mama and Daph. It was a thread between them, and in that instant, he looked so sure of himself—and at the same time, so vulnerable—that she wanted to launch herself at him and kiss him again.

The coach drew to a halt alongside Anabelle’s building and passersby who were running for cover from the rain stopped and stared. She would be the subject of much gossip in the local taverns that evening—although not as much as if she’d still been seated on the duke’s lap when the coach rolled up. The rain came down in sheets, so she pulled her shawl over her cap and prepared to make a run for the door.

“Wait.” He withdrew an umbrella from beneath the seat and disembarked first, opening the umbrella and holding it over her solicitously. Countless times, she’d trudged up this sidewalk, and never—ever—imagined a scenario such as this.

“Take your time,” he said, holding open the door of her building. She stepped inside and turned to thank him, but he’d already shut the door behind her.

Anabelle inhaled the smells of home—yeasty baked bread, the acrid odor of the ointment that Mrs. Bowman used for her aching joints, and the mildew that seemed to linger in the worn carpet runner on the stairs. It was all so familiar, as though she’d just walked home after a long day in the dress shop. She traipsed up the stairs, eager to see Mama and Daph, and yet worried—that Mama would be thinner than before, that Daph would be pale with exhaustion. Anabelle straightened her shoulders. Whatever the problem, she’d fix it. Same as she’d always done.

When she reached the landing, she placed her hand on the doorknob and hesitated. She had her key but didn’t want to startle Daph, so she gave a quick rap before letting herself in.

The parlor was immaculate. A vase on their tiny table held freshly cut flowers, and the room smelled lemony, as though every surface had been recently dusted and cleaned. The large tray they used to transport bowls and cups for washing was empty—hadn’t they been eating? She set the basket down beside it. “Daphne?” she called.

“Belle!” Daph rushed into the room and the two of them collided in a fierce, tearful hug. Until that very moment, Anabelle hadn’t realized how much she missed her sister. Without her, she’d been off-kilter—but now everything seemed right. Embracing Daph was like holding a ray of golden sunshine in her arms, warming and healing her soul.

They were both soggy by the time Daph finally let go and held her at arm’s length.

“Your spectacles!” she cried. “You’re even more beautiful than before.”

Anabelle had forgotten how different she looked. “I can see so much better with them.” And she was relieved to see that in spite of the shadows beneath her eyes, Daph appeared healthy—and as lovely as ever. Her blue eyes sparkled with emotion and her cheeks glowed with happiness. “You look wonderful. I fear you’ve been working too hard, though, without me here to relieve you.”

“Mrs. Bowman comes up to sit with Mama every other day so that I may go out and get the things we need. The money you sent has kept us well-fed and comfortable. I hope you’re not overtaxing yourself, Belle.”

She thought of the busy but happy hours she’d spent in the workroom at the duke’s townhouse. “I’m not—truly. How is Mama?”

Daph bit her bottom lip. “Come see for yourself.” She took Anabelle’s hand and led her into the darkened bedroom where Mama lay sleeping, her skin almost as white as her nightrail. Her hair looked grayer than Anabelle remembered, which was ridiculous—people didn’t age in the course of a week, and yet, it seemed Mama had. Anabelle walked to the edge of the bed, let her hand trail across the back of her mother’s papery cheek, and kissed her cool forehead. Her lips were cracked and dry.

Anabelle recalled the empty tray in the parlor. “Has she been eating?”

“Not much. I’ve tried to tempt her with all her favorites, but she’s not interested in food.”

“What does Dr. Conwell say?”

Daphne shrugged sadly. “He seemed pleased that we could afford more medicine and prescribed her a larger dose. I think it makes her more comfortable, but she’s so listless. And sleeping almost around the clock.”

Anabelle pressed a fist to her mouth. Even when Mama’s cough had been at its worst, she’d longed for her daughters’ company. She’d delighted in the songs Daph would sing and Anabelle’s tales of insipid customers at the dress shop. She’d loved sharing memories of Papa and reading letters he’d sent to her years ago. She should not be lying in a bed, sleeping her life away.

And if Anabelle could help it, she would not.

“I think we should try to rouse her.” She took her mother’s hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. “Mama, it’s Anabelle,” she said firmly.

Her head lolled from side to side, but her eyes remained closed.

“Mama.” Anabelle gently nudged her shoulder. “I’m home.”

She mumbled groggily without waking.

Anabelle looked helplessly to Daph, who reached for the glass of water on the bedside table. “Sometimes a cool drink will bring her to.”

As Anabelle helped her sister lift Mama’s shoulders and hold the glass to her lips, her admiration for Daphne grew. The task was difficult even with the two of them, but Daph must have done this many times on her own.

Mama choked down a little water, murmured something, and drifted to sleep once more.

Anabelle’s throat constricted. Selfishly, she’d wanted Mama to hug her and tell her how much she’d missed her. At the very least, she’d hoped her visit might lift Mama’s spirits. Instead, she was in an awful stupor.

Daphne tugged on her elbow. “Come. Let’s go sit in the parlor and have a chat. I want to know everything about the duke and his sisters.”

Anabelle had almost forgotten he was waiting for her downstairs. “I suppose we could talk for a few minutes, but then I need to return to work.” They sat on the worn settee in the parlor, and Anabelle felt an unusual awkwardness with her sister. She’d kept very few secrets from Daphne over the years. As much as she longed to confide in her, however, her relationship with the duke was complicated. She’d started out as his nemesis, turned into his employee, and then, finally, become something like… his romantic interest.

If she mentioned the kisses it might seem like the money he advanced her was payment not for her dressmaking skills, but for something else altogether—not the case at all. Now that she thought of it, however, the line was not drawn as clearly as she might have liked.

“So,” said Daphne, “tell me how you persuaded the Duke of Huntford to hire you as a seamstress. It was a brilliant idea.”

“I can’t take credit. It was his… suggestion.” Suggestion sounded better than ultimatum, and Anabelle thought it best not to mention that he’d threatened to turn her over to the authorities. “I’d met his sisters at the shop. They’re sweet as can be, and I’ve grown fond of them.”

“I’m sure they adore you as well. But I want to know about the duke.” Daph quirked a golden brow. “Is he as handsome as they say?”

Anabelle’s body thrummed at the mere mention of him. “Yes. And very arrogant.” Feeling a little guilty, she added, “But generous.”

“Indeed. He paid for Dr. Conwell’s next two visits and three months’ worth of Mama’s medicine from the apothecary.”

“He did?”

Daph bobbed her head. “In addition to the thirty pounds that came with your letter. Don’t worry, I’ve been frugal—I know it needs to last. But it’s such a comfort to know that for the next few months we don’t need to choose between buying food or medicine.”

Money helped, but Mama was barely clinging to life. Anabelle stood, walked to the window, and looked out at the grimy alley behind their building. She hadn’t realized the duke had sent such a large sum. It was too generous, and it would take her decades of working at the dress shop to repay him. “I wish I could stay and visit with you all day. But I really must go. The duke gave me a ride in his coach and is waiting on our street.”

Daphne’s eyes grew wide. “He escorted you here? May I walk down with you and meet him? I’d like to express my thanks for all he’s done for us.”

“Of course.” Anabelle instantly regretted mentioning that he was here. It was awful of her—petty and childish. But once the duke saw Daphne, any attraction that he felt for Anabelle was sure to evaporate. It had always been that way. Her sister couldn’t help it. Her beauty and charm made men lose their minds. They wanted to be near her, protect her, provide for her. The duke would fall under Daphne’s spell the moment he met her, and Anabelle would be invisible once more. Perhaps that would be for the best.

Daphne grabbed her white chip hat from a hook by the door and tied the ribbons on the side of her chin. The bonnet was old and certainly not in the first stare of fashion, but it didn’t matter. She was fresh and lovely—a peach ripe for picking. Anabelle checked the pins holding her cap in place. She was a grape shriveling on the vine.

Normally, she didn’t begrudge Daphne her legions of admirers. But, just this once, Anabelle had wanted an admirer of her own. She’d wanted this little sliver of happiness for herself.

They walked down the staircase to the small foyer at the bottom, and cracked open the front door. The coach stood at the curb, its gleaming black surface slick with rain. It was completely out of place on their quiet street—too polished and grand by far. The rain had turned torrential and was not conducive to even a short conversation. Daphne heaved a disappointed sigh. “Another day, perhaps.”

Then the duke emerged from his coach, a closed umbrella in his hand, and marched to their door as though he didn’t feel the rain. The breadth of his shoulders and the narrowness of his hips made Anabelle’s toes curl in her slippers.

“Ready?” he asked, opening the umbrella.

Anabelle knew the exact moment that he saw Daphne behind her. He froze briefly, closed the umbrella, and wedged himself inside. The hallway was so small that they stood nearly shoulder-to-shoulder. Droplets of rainwater pooled at the duke’s feet. His gaze flickered from Anabelle to Daphne, somewhat expectantly.

Anabelle tried to keep any trace of bitterness from her voice—maybe too hard. “Your Grace, may I present my sister, Miss Daphne Honeycote. Daph, this is the Duke of Huntford.”

Daphne attempted a curtsey and her elbow jabbed Anabelle in the side. “Sorry, Belle!” she said, blushing, and all three of them laughed good-naturedly. Daphne had that effect on people. Who else could have made the most arrogant duke in England laugh during their first meeting?

He greeted her politely, but the truth was, Anabelle only half-listened. She was busy trying to convince herself that she didn’t care if the duke was smitten with her sister. Anabelle had no claim to him. And yet, her chest ached.

They quickly exhausted the usual topics. Anabelle couldn’t help grabbing one last hug with Daph before saying good-bye. The duke bowed formally—as though her sister were a princess and not a peasant—and held the umbrella aloft as he guided Anabelle into the dry, cozy coach.

Rain pattered on the roof. It would have been excellent weather for sleeping; during the day it was just rather gloomy. But that may have had more to do with Anabelle’s mood than anything else.

He rapped on the roof and the coach started rolling.

“How was your mother?” The concern in his green eyes squeezed at her heart.

“Not well. I wasn’t able to wake her, and she hasn’t been eating much.”

His brow furrowed. “How well do you know Dr. Conwell?”

“He was highly recommended by the apothecary we’ve always used.”

“My physician isn’t acquainted with him.”

So, the duke had been checking up on her. She bristled. “London is a large city.”

“Not as large as you might think.” He stroked his chin and stared out of his window, which was blurred with streaks of water. “I could send my doctor over to check on your mother.”

Out of sheer pride, she started to say it wasn’t necessary. But it occurred to her that the duke probably had the very best physician money could buy, and Mama needed the best—pride be damned. “Thank you,” she choked out. “My sister and I would be very grateful.”

“I’m glad I got to meet your sister,” he said. He was still distracted and staring out the window at the buildings rushing by. If she had to guess, dreaming of waltzing with Daphne.

“She is as kind as she is beautiful,” Anabelle said softly. Which made it dreadfully difficult to resent her.

“Do you want to know what I liked best about her?”

No. No, she did not, but she swallowed, nodded, and braced herself for his response. She suspected “her cornflower blue eyes” or “her shining gold hair.” Men were predictable creatures.

“I liked the way she made you laugh. I’ve never heard you laugh that way before.” He turned to her then and cupped her cheeks in his warm hands. “And the way she called you Belle. It suits you… Belle.”