When She Was Wicked

Chapter Twenty-seven

Raw: (1) The edge of fabric that is not stitched or finished. (2) The state of one’s emotions when dreams—however fanciful—are dashed to bits.

You can’t leave.” Owen struggled to reconcile the memory of Anabelle from last night, warm and pliant in his arms, with the woman before him. She stood rigidly in front of the desk in Harsby’s library where Owen had come to escape the perpetual chatter of the drawing room and think. Her skin glowed pink, and damp tendrils curled around her face, as though she’d just taken a bath. She wore a blue dress that turned her gray eyes to silver.

She clutched her bags in her hands, for God’s sake.

Anabelle wasn’t the sort of woman to play games, and yet he couldn’t fathom the alternative—that she was about to climb into a coach and ride away, leaving him in a cloud of road dust.

“I know it seems sudden, but I’ve become desperately homesick. I’m worried about Mama and Daphne.”

“I see.” She was lying. Why else would she avoid his gaze? “If this is about last night, I want you to know—”

“It’s not about last night.”

Another lie. He rose, walked past her to shut the library door, and faced her. “I didn’t want to wake you before I left. But I meant what I said. I’ll find a way for us to be together.”

“It shouldn’t be so difficult or complicated. We’re not meant to be.”

“Of course we are.” He folded her in his arms, rested his chin on top of her head, and inhaled the fresh sweet scent of her hair. “I love you, Belle.” He hadn’t realized it before then, but the truth of it nearly bowled him over. He loved her.

She stiffened and pulled away, turning his blood to ice.

“I’m grateful for all you did for me and my family. You needn’t worry about us. Now that Mama is well, I’m confident I’ll be able to support her and Daphne.”

Although he hadn’t expected her to declare her love in return, she might have at least put down her portmanteau. “I don’t view you as some kind of obligation, Anabelle. I need you in my life.”

“We both know that’s not true. Your life would be infinitely easier without me. But that’s not the reason I’ve decided to leave.”

“Why don’t you tell me the real reason?” He watched as she swallowed and wished he could kiss the delicate skin at the hollow of her throat until the icy glaze coating her cracked and slid away.

“I don’t belong in your world—I never have, and I never will.” Her gray eyes, full of conviction, revealed she believed the words she spoke.

And that scared the hell out of him.

“You can’t leave. You haven’t finished the girls’ dresses. What happened to your code of honor?” A petty question, but he wasn’t above grasping at straws.

“I’ll make sure their ball gowns arrive at your country estate in plenty of time for Rose’s debut.” Raising her chin, she said, “This is the right course of action. You must believe me.”

“The hell I do. I won’t let you travel alone. If you’re going back to London, I’ll go, too.”

“I’ve already spoken to Lady Danshire. She’s leaving for Town immediately after lunch, and I’ve arranged to ride with her.”

The situation was quickly bucking out of his control. He pulled up on the reins. “It seems you’ve thought of everything. Have you told Olivia and Rose?”

She lowered her head. “No. They’re napping.”

“They adore you, you know. They’ll be devastated.” So would he.

“I hate the thought of hurting them. But, in a way, I already have. They’ll be far better off without me.” She squared her shoulders and turned to leave. If he were a gentleman he would have opened the library door, but he wasn’t about to make this easy for her. She set down a satchel and reached for the knob.

“Wait.” He went to her and cupped her face in his hands. “I need you, Belle. Please, don’t go.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, he kissed her. Hard.

He backed her up against the paneled door and pressed his body against hers, touching her in all the places that she liked. The bag she’d held thumped to the floor. At least she wasn’t totally unaffected.

Pouring everything he felt for her—tenderness, passion, and love—into the kiss, he willed her to stay. And as he tasted her, he became more convinced than ever he couldn’t live without her. Giving her little time to breathe or think, he kissed and caressed her until he was so hard all he wanted to do was lay her on the damned library floor, flip up her skirts, and pleasure her until she cried out in bliss. Until she forgot about leaving.

Somehow, he refrained from ravishing her. Checking his desire, he gently brushed his lips over hers. “I love you,” he whispered hoarsely.

Her eyes filled with tears, but she sniffled and blinked them away. Placing a palm on his chest, she said, “Good-bye, Owen.”

In utter disbelief and horror, he watched as she picked up her bags.

And left him.


Two days later, Anabelle arrived home so heartbroken she was numb. She felt as though she’d been hollowed out and left empty of emotion. Lady Danshire raised her brows when her coach rolled into Anabelle’s sooty, unkempt part of Town. Anabelle was beyond caring; she simply thanked the marchioness and said good-bye.

She trudged up the narrow steps—the creak of the second stair so achingly familiar, she might never have been away from home.

For Mama and Daph’s sakes, she summoned a smile before letting herself into the apartment. When they saw her, they jumped off the worn settee, crying out.

“Oh, you’re home!” Daph hugged her fiercely. “You are lovelier than ever, Anabelle! Isn’t she, Mama?”

Her mother, looking ten years younger than the last time she’d seen her, playfully pushed Daphne aside and hugged Anabelle herself. Feeling the strength and vigor in Mama’s embrace, Anabelle began to cry.

Many tears were shed by all three women before Mama dried her eyes and announced she was going out to get a few items for a celebratory dinner.

“That’s not necessary.” Anabelle wasn’t in a particularly festive mood.

“Nonsense! This is a special day, and I haven’t made a mincemeat pie in ages.”

Mmm. Mama’s mincemeat pie tasted like happiness, family, and love. “That sounds heavenly,” Anabelle said. “Thank you.”

Daph clasped her hands beneath her elfish chin. “Could we also have those pastries, Mama, the ones stuffed with gooseberries and sprinkled with sugar?”

“We shall see.” Eyes twinkling, Mama grabbed her shawl and reticule, pressed a kiss to each daughter’s forehead, and set out.

“I can’t believe how healthy and vibrant she is,” said Anabelle, sinking onto the sofa.

Daphne nodded and joined her. “I can hardly believe the transformation. She’s doing extraordinarily well, thanks to your duke.”

The mention of Owen made it difficult to breathe. “He’s not my duke. I can’t deny he behaved charitably toward us, but I dislike being in his debt. I intend to pay him back.”

Her sister considered her shrewdly. “I was not under the impression that he helped us out of a sense of duty or even charity. I think he cares for you.”

Anabelle sighed. No sense in hiding the truth from Daph. “I believe he had feelings for me. As I did for him.”

A wide smile lit her sister’s pretty face. “I knew it! That’s wonderful. Only, something must have happened, or you wouldn’t be here.”

Anabelle reached for the miniature portrait of her mother and father on the table beside her and lovingly traced the tarnished frame with a fingertip. “I realized there was no future for us. He needs to marry, and it goes without saying that I am entirely unsuitable.”

Daphne clenched her fists in her lap. “That’s not fair. You’re more refined, gracious, and kind than most ladies of the ton. I’m surprised the duke could not see that for himself.”

For some reason, Anabelle felt obliged to defend him. “He didn’t seem to mind my humble origins, but—”

“Humble? You are the granddaughter of a viscount!”

“Who wouldn’t know me if he tripped over me on the street.”

Daphne sprang from the settee and paced in front of it. “I don’t see why any of that matters. If you and the duke care for each other, you should be together.”

“He did want for us to be together. He told me he loved me.” Anabelle choked back a sob. “He just didn’t love me enough to… want to marry me.”

“Oh, Belle.” Daph hugged her until she grew sick of her own pathetic sobbing. Her sister handed her a soft handkerchief and said, “If he’s too blind to see what a treasure you are, then he doesn’t deserve you. But I know it stings just the same. I’m sorry.”

As Anabelle hiccupped and dabbed at her face, she wondered how her sister had become so wise. “I feel like such a fool. I hoped that if I loved him enough, the difference in our stations wouldn’t matter. But he never acknowledged our relationship to anyone—not even his sisters. He was ashamed of me.” She set the framed picture of her parents back in its place. She’d always admired her father for his convictions, but never more so than now.

Daphne’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Why, the cad! If our paths ever cross in Town, I shall—”

“No. It is over between us, and I would just as soon forget him.”

But in her heart, Anabelle knew she never, ever, would.


Two weeks later, Anabelle was once again installed in the cozy back room of Mrs. Smallwood’s dress shop, working among the fabrics, sights, and smells she loved. The shop owner had been happy to take Anabelle back in spite of the hefty raise she’d requested. It seemed her previous association with a duke had its benefits.

Mama and Daphne were looking for work, hoping additional income would permit them to keep their modest apartment. Anabelle, however, doubted they’d meet with success. Though Daph would make a wonderful governess, she had no references or experience. Mama insisted she could do laundry and mending, but Anabelle worried she’d overexert herself.

Mama and Daph would most likely move to the country and rely on the kindness of distant, slovenly cousins on her mother’s side while Anabelle moved into a boardinghouse and sent them what money she could.

Though her chest ached every time she thought of being separated from Mama and Daph, she couldn’t resume her extortion scheme. She wasn’t the same person she’d been a few months ago.

The bell on the front door of the shop had been ringing all morning, but Anabelle enjoyed the hustle and bustle. As long as she kept busy, she didn’t have time to think about Owen or the magical night she’d spent with him. Or how empty she felt without him.

Mrs. Smallwood popped her head around the curtain. “You’re needed out front, Miss Honeycote.”

“Of course.” Anabelle set down her needle and thread and instinctively reached up to pat her cap. It was smaller than the one Owen had hated, but she suspected he’d hate this one as well. No matter the shape or size, it was still a servant’s cap.

Brushing off thoughts of him, she glided beyond the curtain to the front room. Ladies of all ages milled about, giving specifications to other seamstresses, selecting trimmings and lace, and admiring pictures in fashion magazines. Mrs. Smallwood had returned to help a mother and daughter with a spencer, so Anabelle searched for a customer in need of help.

“There you are!” The familiar voice made her gasp.

“Lady Olivia,” she managed, barely. “How wonderful to see you.”

“Just Olivia, remember?” She linked an arm through Anabelle’s and strolled to the counter in the back of the shop.

“I sent the gowns to Huntford Manor. Did you receive them? I hope they were satisfactory.”

“They’re perfect. How are you? I’ve missed you so.”

“I’ve missed you too,” Anabelle admitted. “And Rose. How is she?”

“Not well. That’s why I’m here.”

Anabelle’s stomach clenched. “Not well? What’s wrong?”

“Well, after the house party, we traveled directly to Huntford Manor. Rose has been sneaking away from the manor house to spend time… in the stables.”

“She’s still seeing the stable master, Charles?”

“Precisely. Owen knows she’s hiding something and is threatening to cancel the ball unless we confide in him.”

“I’m sorry. I know how much you and Rose looked forward to it.”

“I was keen to see James—or more precisely, to have him see me in my ball gown—but canceling the ball would not be a tragedy. Rose doesn’t seem to care about the ball one whit.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand what the problem is, then.”

“Rose refuses to eat unless Owen calls off his duel with Lord Winthrope.”

Anabelle’s fingers went numb. “Your brother really means to meet the earl on the dueling field?”

“He won’t let the injury to Rose go unpunished. If he’d had his druthers, he’d have settled the matter at the house party, but Lady Harsby forbade any bloodshed.”

Anabelle’s stomach roiled. “When is the duel scheduled to take place?”

“After Rose’s ball. One week hence, when we’ve all returned to Town. It’s a horrible mess, Anabelle. I don’t want Owen to duel Lord Winthrope—the earl is quite a good shot, if Lady Harsby is to be believed. But Rose must eat.”

“Yes. She must.” Anabelle drummed her fingers on the wooden counter. “Have you asked Charles to speak with her, to convince her to take care of herself?”

Olivia shook her head. “He told Rose that they must stop seeing each other. Although he cares for her deeply, he believes that she’s too good for him. Rose, however, is more determined than ever to be with him.” Olivia’s voice grew shriller with each sentence. “And Owen has been a complete boor ever since… well, ever since you left.”

Anabelle squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry I left so suddenly. It was cowardly of me to go without saying good-bye to you and Rose.”

“We were upset at first. But we figured you must have had your reasons.”

“Yes.” She stared at the toes of her boots before looking into Olivia’s kind brown eyes. “I’m sorry to hear of your family’s troubles. But I’m not sure what I can do.”

“Come to Huntford Manor with me and speak to Rose. Speak to Owen. Make them understand that they can’t go on being so stubborn.” Tears trickled down her face. “I can’t bear to watch the two people I love most so upset with each other.”

“Please, don’t cry.” Anabelle searched behind the counter and found a handkerchief, which she handed to Olivia. “They’ll sort out their differences, I’m sure of it.”

Olivia blotted her cheeks. “Do you think I’d be here, asking your help, if I thought they could? I know it’s a terrible imposition and that you have your own family to worry about, but—”

“It’s not an imposition. It’s just that I have my job back here, and Mrs. Smallwood needs me.” It was true and so much easier to explain to Olivia than the real reason she couldn’t face Owen.

“Are you saying you can’t travel to Huntford Manor for a couple of days because of your position?”

“Yes. You see, I’m supporting my mother and sis—”

“Oh, Mrs. Smallwood!” Olivia turned and marched across the dress shop toward the proprietor. “May I have a word?”

Anabelle hurried to catch up, but Olivia already had the woman’s attention. “How may we help you, Lady Olivia?” Mrs. Smallwood asked.

“I require Miss Honeycote’s assistance at Huntford Manor. It’s a dressmaking emergency of sorts, and she is the only one my sister and I trust to help us.”

Mrs. Smallwood gaped alternately at Olivia and Anabelle. “Well, I—”

“I’m aware she’s a highly valuable member of your staff; however, if you could spare her for a few days, my family would be eternally grateful.”

“We have a long list of backor—”

“My brother will insist on compensating you handsomely, of course.”

The shop owner’s eyes lit up like fireworks at Vauxhall Gardens. “I have no objection.”

“But, Mrs. Smallwood,” Anabelle choked out, “I’m in the middle of several projects.”

The elderly woman raised her palm. “I insist that you go to assist Lady Olivia with their dressmaking… emergency. We shall manage for a few days.” She brushed her hands down the front of her apron, her decision final.

“Thank goodness,” Olivia cried. “Come. The coach is waiting outside. We can stop at your apartment on the way out of Town so you may inform your mother and sister and pack a few things.”

Anabelle walked out of the dress shop, stunned at the day’s turn of events. As she climbed into the coach behind Olivia, she asked, “Does either Rose or your brother know you’re here?”

“No,” Olivia said breezily. “When Owen discovers I bullied the coachman into taking me into Town and came unchaperoned, he’ll be even angrier with me than he is with Rose.”

With a mixture of amusement and alarm, Anabelle realized Olivia would probably have resorted to kidnapping her if necessary. She’d never really had any choice in the matter.

It seemed she was going to Huntford Manor.