Secrets of a Summer Night (Wallflowers #1)(71)

The earl shook his head, exhibiting a degree of frosty offense that could only be achieved by an aristocrat whose wishes had just been gainsaid. “I’ve never heard of a man being so eager to confess to the parent of a girl he’s just ruined,” he said sourly.

CHAPTER 20

Philippa’s reaction to the news was one of astonishing calmness. As the three of them sat in the Marsdens’ private parlor, and Simon relayed the news of their betrothal, and the reason for it, Philippa’s face turned white, but she made no sound. In the brief silence that followed Simon’s spare recitation, Philippa regarded Simon with an unblinking stare, and spoke carefully. “As Annabelle has no father to protect her, Mr. Hunt, it falls to me to ask for certain reassurances from you. Every mother wishes for her daughter to be treated with respect and kindness…and you must agree that the circumstances…”

“I understand,” Simon said. Struck by his soberness, Annabelle watched him intently, while he focused his attention completely on Philippa. “I give you my word that your daughter will have no cause for complaint.”

A flicker of wariness crossed Philippa’s face, and Annabelle chewed her inner lip, knowing what was coming next. “I suspect you are already aware, Mr. Hunt,” her mother murmured, “that Annabelle has no dowry.”

“Yes,” Simon replied matter-of-factly.

“And it makes no difference to you,” Philippa said with a questioning lilt in her voice.

“None whatsoever. I am fortunate in being able to set aside financial considerations in the matter of choosing a wife. I don’t give a damn if Annabelle comes to me without a shilling to her name. Moreover, I intend to make things easier for your family—assuming debts, taking care of bills and creditors, school tuition and the like—whatever is required to see that you’re comfortably settled.”

Annabelle saw Philippa’s hands tighten in her lap until her fingers were white, and an unfathomable tremor of what could have been excitement, relief, embarrassment, or some combination of the three, shook her voice. “Thank you, Mr. Hunt. You understand, if Mr. Peyton was still with us, things would be much different—”

“Yes, of course.”

There was a contemplative silence before Philippa murmured, “Of course, without a dowry, Annabelle will have no source of pin money…”

“I’ll open an account for her at Barings,” Hunt said equably. “We’ll start it at, say, five thousand pounds?…and I’ll refresh the balance from time to time as necessary. Of course, I’ll be responsible for the maintenance of a carriage and horses…clothes…jewelry…and Annabelle may have credit at every shop in London.”

Philippa’s reaction to the news was lost on Annabelle, whose mind spun like a top. The thought of having five thousand pounds at her disposal…a fortune…it scarcely seemed real. Her amazement was tinged with a tingle of anticipation. After years of deprivation, she would be able to go to the best modistes, and buy a horse for Jeremy, and refurbish her family’s home with the most luxurious furniture and fittings. However, this blunt discussion of money coming on the heels of a marriage proposal gave Annabelle the disquieting feeling of having sold herself for profit. Glancing cautiously at Simon, she saw that a familiar taunting gleam had entered his eyes. He understood her far too well, she thought, while unwanted heat climbed up her cheeks.

Annabelle kept silent as the conversation touched upon lawyers, contracts, and stipulations, discovering that her mother had the persistence of a bull terrier when it came to marriage negotiations. The businesslike discussion was hardly the stuff of high romance. Furthermore, it did not escape Annabelle that Philippa had not asked Hunt if he loved Annabelle, nor had he claimed to.

After Simon Hunt had left, Annabelle followed her mother to their room, where they would undoubtedly talk some more. Worried by Philippa’s unnatural quietness, Annabelle closed the door and considered what to say to her, wondering if she had reservations about the prospect of Simon Hunt as a son-in-law.

As soon as they were alone, Philippa went to the window and looked outside at the evening sky, then covered her eyes with one hand. Alarmed, Annabelle heard the sound of a muffled sob. “Mama…” she said hesitantly as she stared at her mother’s rigid back, “I’m sorry, I—”

“Thank God,” Philippa murmured unsteadily, not seeming to hear her. “Thank God.”

Despite Lord Westcliff’s vow that he would not stand up with Simon at the wedding, he came to London in a fortnight to attend the ceremony. Grim-faced but polite, he even offered to give Annabelle away, assuming the place of her deceased father. She was strongly tempted to turn him down, but the offer had made Philippa so happy that Annabelle was forced to accept. And she even took a certain spiteful pleasure in obliging the earl to take a significant part in a ceremony that he so obviously opposed. Only Westcliff’s loyalty to Hunt had brought him to London, revealing a bond of friendship between the two men that was far stronger than Annabelle would have guessed.

Lillian, Daisy, and their mother were also present at the private church ceremony, their presence made possible only by Lord Westcliff’s presence. Mrs. Bowman would never have allowed her daughters to attend the wedding of a girl who was marrying outside the peerage and was a bad influence to boot. However, any opportunity to be in the proximity of the most eligible bachelor in England was to be seized on. The fact that Westcliff was completely indifferent to her younger daughter, and actively disdainful of the elder, was a minor hindrance that Mrs. Bowman was certain could be overcome.