She blinked at him as if his words had confused her. “Yes, but you’re in London now.”
“Don’t want to get soft.” He cracked a grin at her.
She shook her head “That’s just silly, if you ask me. If you prefer cream, have some.”
“I don’t. But I’m much more interested in why my answer surprised you than whether I should take up requesting cream in my coffee.”
Lady Annabelle handed him the cup and saucer prettily. He took the pair and set it in front of him. Did he do that properly? No doubt these people had rules for precisely where to set coffee cups and saucers.
Lady Annabelle switched to pouring herself a cup of tea. With cream. “I’ve never heard a man say that he wants to marry for love.”
David considered her words for a moment. His parents had been in love. It was obvious in the way they treated each other. They talked, they laughed, they even held hands. They enjoyed dancing together in the great room of the cottage, too. “I suppose there are other reasons to marry. But love is the most important, as far as I’m concerned. It’s certainly what I’m after…eventually.”
Lady Annabelle finished stirring her tea and took a dainty sip. “You keep saying that word, ‘eventually.’ Does that mean you won’t be looking for a countess this Season?”
“I’m not arrogant enough to believe that love comes when you call, my lady. I may not be looking for it, but if the right match appears, I don’t want to miss it, either.”
“Oh, good. Then you won’t mind if I introduce you to some of the more accomplished ladies of the ton?” She eyed him over the rim of her teacup.
“‘Accomplished?’” David frowned, pronouncing the word in an overly dramatic voice. “I’d prefer the kind ladies, or the witty ladies, or the clever ladies. Accomplished is not my first criterion.”
Lady Annabelle froze again for a moment, then nodded, before bringing the teacup back to her lips and taking another sip. “I only meant some of the ladies are more…desirable than others.”
David lifted his cup and took a sip of coffee. Smooth, refined. Not at all the harsh stuff he’d been served at camp. Would probably taste even better with cream. “Like you?” he asked.
Their eyes met over the rim of their respective cups and their gazes held for a moment. Finally, Lady Annabelle glanced away. “Yes, like me. Only younger,” she replied with a laugh. “I’m nearly considered on-the-shelf at my age.”
“Oh, how old are you?”
She glared at him. “Lord Elmwood, that is a wholly inappropriate question.”
David chuckled. “I knew it the moment it left my mouth. But let me just say that if you’re on the shelf, apparently no one told those chaps who sent all the flowers.” He nodded toward the foyer.
She glanced at him sideways, rolling her eyes. “Those chaps who sent the flowers don’t care how old I am. They only want to win the unattainable.”
“I see.” David nodded. “It’s true that most men enjoy winning.”
“Horse races and marriage proposals should not be considered equal.”
“I agree with you.”
“You do?” She blinked at him as if she hadn’t understood what he’d said.
“Yes, and in addition to that…” David cleared his throat. “You apologized to me yesterday, but it seems I owe you an apology as well.”
Lady Annabelle cocked her head to the side, her brow was furrowed. “Apology for what?”
“I judged you too harshly the other night. I assumed you were incredibly vain, but it’s true that every man in London is after you, if those flowers out there are any indication.” David wasn’t about to mention the betting pool at White’s. He didn’t need her to tell him that that would be in bad taste, indeed.
She sighed and set down her cup. “You didn’t judge me too harshly at all, my lord. I can only imagine how truly vain I seemed.” Sincere regret sounded in her voice.
“If you’ve been dealing with scores of suitors chasing you about for years, I can well understand why you believed I was just another one in a long line of men trying to get your attention.”
Lady Annabelle gave him a patient smile. “It was still exceedingly ill-mannered of me, my lord. I’m sorry to have given you the wrong impression. Unfortunately, I’ve been considered the most elusive catch of the last several Seasons.”
He narrowed his eyes on her again, studying her. “At the risk of asking another impertinent question, why exactly do you consider that unfortunate? I would have thought it would be a young woman’s dream.”
“For most young women, perhaps.” She took another sip. “It’s simply that…” Lady Annabelle shrugged again. She glanced away. “I suppose I’ve always had this funny notion that people should marry because they like each other, because they intend to treat each other with respect and kindness, not because one is trying to win the other like a prize hog at a fair.”
“And you’re the prize hog?” he said with a grin.
“Precisely,” she replied, meeting his eyes once again and returning his smile. She lifted her cup to her lips once more.
“Well, that I can certainly understand. I’m glad we started again, Lady Annabelle.”
“So am I,” she said, giving him a smile that made his insides light up. “And I’m three and twenty. I trust you will not repeat that to another living soul.”
Chapter Nine
That afternoon, Annabelle arrived at Lady Courtney’s town house at precisely one o’clock. Her maid, who was acting as chaperone, waited in the carriage as she marched up the steps and used the brass knocker against the tall black door. Annabelle had something specific she wanted to ask Marianne.
Annabelle had spent the entire ride here being completely preoccupied with two things, both of which Lord Elmwood had said to her this morning. First, he’d said he wanted to marry someone for love. Love! She honestly thought she hadn’t heard him correctly at first. She’d had more discussions with men about marriage than she cared to think about. And in all those discussions—every single one—the word ‘love’ had never been uttered. Oh, no. Beauty had been mentioned. Dowries, family lineage, titles, children, and duty had been mentioned. Even the word ‘affection’ had been bandied about from time to time. But love? Never.
Lord Elmwood was unlike any of the other men of the ton. They’d all grown up with the rules drilled into their proper little heads. Love wasn’t part of the rules. Love might as well be a giraffe, as rare as it was in London. No doubt about it. Lord Elmwood had thoroughly surprised her when he’d admitted he was looking for love.
The second thing Annabelle couldn’t stop thinking about was the casual way in which Lord Elmwood had mentioned the things Annabelle had always wished a man would care about when it came to looking for a match. When she’d said she would introduce him to some of the more accomplished ladies, he’d told her he preferred kind or witty or clever ladies instead. Imagine that! He’d surprised her so much with that statement she’d nearly dumped her tea in her lap. What sort of strange fellow was he? A gentleman who cared about more than beauty and dowries? In fact, he’d never even mentioned a dowry. He had to know they existed, didn’t he? Marianne would be bringing one to her marriage with Beau. How could an earl want a wife for her wit? A love match? The concept was so foreign she could barely believe it.