David was about to open his mouth to retort when Mama walked into the room. “How’s it going in here?” she asked in a sweet, happy voice.
“Excellent,” they both nearly shouted simultaneously, seeming quite guilty.
Mama narrowed her eyes on them suspiciously, before turning to David. “I’m sorry I haven’t had more time to devote to your lessons, Lord Elmwood. It’s been a quite a job keeping up with all of Annabelle’s gift deliveries.” She laughed. “Though yesterday, I was delayed at the milliner’s.”
David refrained from pointing out that she’d also apparently paid a call on his sister, but he wasn’t about to pass up the chance to say something sardonic about Annabelle’s gifts. “Yes,” he replied, also nodding. “But not to worry, my lady. I expect London will run out of flowers sooner or later.”
Without missing a beat, Mama sighed and said, “Oh, it’s a mess. They’ve begun sending bon bons, which isn’t good for our waistlines. And a handful of them have begun writing poems.” She turned toward Annabelle next, as she tapped her finger against her cheek. “That reminds me, darling. Lord Murdock left his card earlier when you were dressing. He brought two dozen roses and a box of sweets himself, and wanted to ensure you’re still planning to go riding in the park with him this afternoon.”
Annabelle’s face froze and she stared at her mother without blinking. “I, er, yes, Mama. I intend to do exactly that.”
“Excellent, dear,” Mama said, patting Annabelle on the arm. “I’ll tell the maids to prepare your clothing.”
“Thank you, Mama,” Annabelle replied, still refusing to meet David’s eyes. She could feel his accusatory glare. She’d weighed the merits of telling David what Lord Murdock had said to her, but she’d decided against it. David seemed like the sort who might go beat Murdock to a pulp, and while there was a certain pleasure to be had in that thought, she didn’t want to cause David any scandal. She’d promised Marianne he would be the catch of the Season, and keeping Murdock preoccupied for a bit actually served to help in that quarter as well. If Annabelle was seemingly being courted by Murdock, perhaps all the young ladies who’d had their sights set on the marquess would turn their attentions to David instead. At the end of the day, pretending to encourage Murdock seemed like a small price to pay to keep the peace until after Beau’s wedding, at least.
The moment Mama left the room, David stood and turned toward Annabelle with a false smile on his face. His arms were crossed over his chest. “Going for a ride in the park with Lord Murdock later?” He batted his eyelashes at her.
Annabelle lifted her chin. “What if I am?” She hated that David thought she might actually enjoy Murdock’s company, but at the same time a part of her—the defiant part—knew that it was none of David’s business whom she spent time with. He had no right to be so high-handed about it. She was partially doing this to help him, after all, even though he didn’t know it.
David glowered at her. “I seem to remember that a ride in the park was on the list of things you told me a gentleman asks a lady to do when they are courting.”
Annabelle’s nostrils flared. She wanted to stamp her foot. The man was being impossible. “It’s merely a ride in the park, David. Besides, I fail to see why you would care what I do. You accused me of being jealous once. But it sounds as if you’re the jealous one. I’ve found that men always want what they can’t have. Is that the problem, Captain Ellsworth?” She crossed her arms over her chest this time and glared back at him. There. That should silence him on the subject.
“Certainly not,” he nearly growled as he ran a hand through his dark hair and paced away from her. “And I completely understand that a ride in the park is nothing more than a ride in the park. In fact,”—he turned back to face her—“I’ve asked Lady Elspeth to accompany me on just such a ride this afternoon as well.”
Chapter Twenty-One
David did his best to concentrate on the story Lady Elspeth was telling him as they rode together atop his curricle through the park that afternoon. Her mother was ensconced in the back acting as chaperone, and Lady Elspeth had just finished a story involving her younger sister and a hair ribbon they both admired. He’d never been much for pleasantries and for some reason he found himself wholly unable to concentrate on her tale. Hopefully, she wouldn’t ask him any questions. What bothered him the most, however, wasn’t the story or even the chill in the air and the gray sky that hung over the city like a dirty handkerchief. No. What was bothering him this afternoon was his lesson with Annabelle this morning and his ridiculous behavior during it.
He’d acted like a complete arse and had no excuse for it. What in the bloody hell was wrong with him? Why did he care if she went riding in the park with Lord Murdock? Why did he care if she’d danced with Murdock twice the night before? What did he care that Murdock had apparently hand-delivered two dozen roses and some sweets to her house that morning? Why did he care about any of it?
David had tried to tell himself that those things bothered him only because Annabelle had been so adamant about not wanting to be courted by anyone. She was being hypocritical. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that reasoning made no sense. It wasn’t up to him to monitor her actions and compare them to her words. Perhaps she’d changed her mind. That was none of his business, exactly as she’d told him. Even if she couldn’t or wouldn’t admit that she was allowing Lord Murdock to court her, what business was it of David’s? She was his sister’s future sister-in-law. She was his tutor in the ways of Society. Perhaps she was his friend, but she didn’t owe him anything, including explanations for her actions or their lack of continuity. She was a grown woman who had handled her own affairs all these years. She certainly didn’t need David to stroll into town and begin taking her to task for her decisions.
So, why had he behaved like such an unmitigated arse? Why was he acting as if she owed him an explanation? Why did he care what she did when she wasn’t with him? And why in the bloody hell had he gone and kissed her of all things? All it had done was make their interactions tense and uncomfortable. These questions had rolled around and around in his brain, making him half-mad all day.
Fine. He was smitten with Annabelle. He wasn’t proud of it, and he wasn’t particularly pleased to know it. It made him predictable, didn’t it? Now he was just one of the many gentlemen in London who fancied Annabelle Bellham. What, was he going to begin sending her flowers, too? Asking her to go for rides in the park? There was no way she would agree to such liberties. The lady had made it quite clear she wasn’t interested in marriage. And now here he was, smitten with her. Another one in a long line of sad sops who could claim the same fate: wanting a woman they couldn’t have.
She’d accused him of being jealous and he’d denied it. But now he realized she was right. He was jealous. Blindly, unreasonably jealous of Murdock, of all blasted people. What could she possibly see in that man? He was a pompous prick.
She’d also accused David of only being interested in her because men wanted what they couldn’t have. Could that possibly be true? Hadn’t Annabelle herself explained to him that all the men who were trying to court her only wanted her because she was the equivalent of prize hog to be won? Was David that predictable and ignoble? Was he truly that obvious and insipid? No. He wasn’t, and he hated that she’d lumped him in with the rest of the foolish men of the ton. The type of men who placed bets on women’s marriage prospects. He wasn’t one of them, and he never would be.