Secrets of a Summer Night (Wallflowers #1)(72)

Evie, unfortunately, had been forbidden to attend by her aunt Florence and the rest of her mother’s family. Instead, she had sent Annabelle a long, affectionate letter, and a Sèvres china tea service painted with pink-and-gold flowers as a wedding gift. The rest of the small congregation consisted of Hunt’s parents and siblings, who were more or less what Annabelle had expected. His mother was coarse-faced and stout of build, a genial woman who seemed inclined to think well of Annabelle until something happened to persuade her otherwise. His father was a big, angular man who did not smile once through the ceremony, though the deep laugh lines at the corners of his eyes indicated that he was a man of pleasant disposition. Neither of the parents was particularly handsome, but they had produced five striking children, all tall and black-haired.

If only Jeremy could have attended the wedding…but he was still at school, and she and Philippa had decided that it would be best for him to finish the term and come to London when Hunt and Annabelle had returned from their honeymoon. Annabelle wasn’t quite certain what Jeremy’s reaction would be to the prospect of having Simon Hunt as a brother-in-law. Although Jeremy had seemed to like him, Jeremy had long been accustomed to being the only male in the family. There was every chance that he would chafe at any restrictions that Hunt might impose on him. For that matter, Annabelle herself wasn’t terribly fond of the prospect of kowtowing to the wishes of a man whom, in all honesty, she didn’t know that well.

That fact was forcibly brought home to Annabelle on her wedding night, as she waited for her new husband in a room at the Rutledge Hotel. Having assumed that Hunt resided at a private terrace house like many bachelors, Annabelle had been more than a little surprised to discover that he lived in a suite of hotel rooms.

“Why not?” Hunt had asked a few days earlier, amused by her open perplexity.

“Well…living in a hotel affords one so little privacy…”

“I beg to differ. I’m able to come and go as I please, without a horde of servants to gossip over my every habit and gesture. From what I’ve seen, life in a well-run hotel is far preferable to taking up residence in a drafty town mansion.”

“Yes, but a man of your position must have enough servants to demonstrate his success to others—”

“Forgive me,” Hunt had said, “but I always thought one hired servants if they were actually needed to work. The benefit of displaying employees as stylish accessories has always escaped me until now.”

“They’re hardly slave labor, Simon!”

“At the rate most servants are paid, that’s an arguable point.”

“We will need to hire a great deal of help if we’re ever to live in a proper house,” Annabelle had said pertly. “Unless you plan to have me on my hands and knees, scrubbing the floors and cleaning the grates?”

The suggestion had caused Hunt’s coffee black eyes to glint with a wicked humor that escaped her. “I plan to have you on your hands and knees, my sweet, but I can guarantee that you won’t be scrubbing.” He had laughed softly as he saw her bewilderment. Gathering her close, he had crushed a brief kiss to her lips.

She had strained a little in his embrace. “Simon…do let go…my mother won’t approve if she sees us like this—”

“Oh? I could do whatever I want with you now, and she wouldn’t offer a single objection.”

Frowning, Annabelle had wedged her arms between them. “Oh, you arrogant—no, I mean it, Simon! I want this settled…must we live in a hotel forever, or will you buy a house for us?”

Stealing another quick kiss, he had laughed at her expression. “I’ll buy any house you like, sweet. Better yet, I’ll build you a new one, as I’ve gotten rather accustomed to the comforts of good lighting and modern plumbing.”

Annabelle had stopped squirming. “Really? Where?”

“I suspect we could get a fair amount of acreage near Bloomsbury, or Knightsbridge—”

“What about Mayfair?”

Simon had smiled as if he had been expecting such a suggestion. “Don’t tell me you want to live in some overbuilt square like Grosvenor or St. James, staring out the window at pompous aristocrats waddling through their little iron-fenced yards—”

“Oh, yes, that would be perfect,” she had enthused, making him laugh.

“All right, we’ll get something in Mayfair, God help me. And you can hire as many servants as you want. Notice that I didn’t say ‘need,’ as that seems to be completely beside the point. In the meantime, do you think you could tolerate a few months at the Rutledge?”

Recalling the conversation, Annabelle investigated their large suite of rooms, all luxuriously appointed in velvet and leather and gleaming mahogany. She had to admit, the Rutledge certainly changed one’s perceptions about what a hotel could be. It was said that the mysterious owner, Mr. Harry Rutledge, aspired to create the most elegant and modern hotel in Europe, combining Continental style with American innovations. The Rutledge was a massive building located in the theater district, occupying five blocks between the Capitol Theater and the Embankment. Features such as fire-proof construction, food service lifts, and a private bathroom for every suite, not to mention a renowned restaurant, had made the Rutledge a favorite haunt of wealthy Americans and Europeans. To Annabelle’s delight, the Bowmans occupied five of the hotel’s one hundred luxury suites, which meant that she, Lillian, and Daisy would have frequent opportunities to see each other after she returned from the honeymoon.