“I’m excited for you,” Annabelle’s mother said.
“I am too,” Annabelle said with a grin.
Mrs. Clack returned and it was time to go.
Chapter 3
The ball was held in Lady Patterson’s manor. Lady Patterson had been married twice. Both her husbands were dead, and both had left her an allowance to be paid to her each month by their respective bankers so that she needn’t worry about marriage again.
She lived in her second late husband’s manor, and it was a massive house on a slight rise just outside the city. A bricked drive snaked up the green hill to the front door, and Anna’s carriage worked its way through the turns as she nervously kept smoothing the skirt of her gown out with sweaty palms.
The carriage stopped in front of the great oak doors of the manor. They were open wide, with two men in smart tuxedos on either side. The driver climbed down and opened the door, offering Annabelle a hand to alight.
“Thank you, Samson,” she said to the man who drove her.
“I’ll be near for when you depart,” Samson said, and then he helped Mrs. Clack out as well, who had agreed to chaperone Anna one last time.
“Remember,” the old woman whispered as they climbed up the steps. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. I’m too old to chase you around this home.”
Annabelle smiled and laughed, and one of the servants by the door turned to show them the way to the ball room.
The ballroom was as big as you would expect by looking at the house. The dance had already begun. A band played along one side, and a large number of guests surrounded the dance floor. Lady Patterson was dancing with an older gentleman. His hair glistened the color of snow and he had a bushy moustache, which reminded Anna of her father’s.
He was Duke Rathers, a well-known bachelor who had never married. There had been some hushed whispers in the last couple of years about Lady Patterson and the Duke’s relationship. It was a scandal waiting to explode.
When the song was over, Lady Patterson held a chubby hand up to the band so they wouldn’t start anew and then addressed the crowd.
“Thank you for coming,” she said loudly, Duke Rathers by her side. “I am not one for long speeches, so let me just say I hope you enjoy yourself, and I hope some of you may find a happiness here you have not yet felt.”
It was common for young people to court one another at dances like this, and there were always more than a few proposals. As the band began to play again, it did not take long for a man to appear by Anna’s side. His name was Bertram Sutherland, a Duke. But his reputation was less than stellar in terms of an addiction to drink, women, and horse racing. Still, he was as handsome a man as Anna had ever seen, and she found him wickedly funny. He had proposed to her more than once and had tried to get inside her small clothes even more than that.
“Beautiful Annabelle,” he said, reaching out for her hand. She allowed him to take it, and he pressed his lips to it after drawing it to his mouth.
“My Lord,” she said softly. His lips were plump and wet, and though he had kissed her hand before, it always made her wish he was kissing her somewhere else. Her lips, her neck, between her thighs.
Annabelle was not a virgin. There had been a rather forgetful night where she and a young man who worked in the stables had drank her father’s wine and made love outside under the stars. But that had been it, and Anna had wanted to experience it all again with a clear head and a bit more of romance.
“How many times must I ask you to forgo the titles? Call me Bertram, my dear,” the Duke said.
Annabelle nodded. “Betram it is, then.”
“Will you dance with me?”
“I will.”
Bertram led her to the dance floor, and Annabelle stole a glance over her shoulder at Mrs. Clack, who beamed at the young woman as she went.
Bertram proved to be rather adept at dancing, and they twirled about the room together at a fast pace, matching the band’s quick tempo. Anna looked up at the man, taking in his features. His jaw was perfect as if it had been chiseled out of a stone by a talented artist working in marble. His eyes were a soft gray color, almost like the fur of a rabbit. His hair was dark and fell to his collar, shaggy without looking unkempt. He was a tall man, her head only came to his chest, and he felt strong, one hand on her waist, his fingers gripping tightly.