“Foxed again, she is,” a voice in the crowd murmured.
And then someone was immediately there with a hand to steady her.
Through the curtain of wet, sorry curls hanging over her eyes, she stared unblinkingly at the large, white-gloved fingers twined with hers.
Annalee lifted her eyes.
Wayland’s gaze met hers. And there was no condemnation or horror, just a gentle concern, and she, who didn’t cry as a rule, found herself blinking back the sting of tears as he helped her climb over the edge.
The guests found their collective voices in the form of a gasp as they all locked in on the sight of Annalee with her satin skirts clinging indecently to her body, putting everything on display and adding a layer of transparency to her burnt-orange ball gown, her nipples puckered and revealed by the damp dress. She shivered, folding her arms at her chest. It proved the wrong thing to do; her breasts bobbed up, the flesh climbing even higher over the already daringly low bodice.
A lady fainted with just a handful rushing to her rescue. All the rest stared goggle-eyed at Annalee.
There came a swift rustle of fabric, and a moment later, Wayland brought his jacket down around her shoulders, and she was enfolded in the thickest, most wonderful warmth.
“Not a single word, Annalee Elise,” her mother hissed. “In your father’s offices. Now.”
Oh, dear. She’d called forth the full, ridiculously paired names. This was certain to be bad. Not that Annalee would have expected anything else.
And with as much grace as she could muster, Annalee marched forward, the crowd parting to allow her to pass.
Chapter 4
The night had been ruined for Wayland’s best friend in the world. Lord Jeremy’s betrothal ball was certain to be consigned to gossip sheets for the whole of the Season, and maybe for Seasons to come.
Before it had been ruined, and scandal-borne, it had been . . . an unexpectedly good night for Wayland.
There’d been the first exchange with Annalee in too many years. Oh, they’d had cordial exchanges and greetings, with her inserting her usual banter and teasing. But they’d not spoken at any length. Until tonight.
Beside that fountain, for a brief moment it had almost been as it had always been between them.
Only to have the evening end so spectacularly awfully, with Annalee an object—once more—of Polite Society’s gossip. And he despised it with every fiber of his being. Because the sight of her there, with all the lords and ladies in attendance gawking at her like she was some kind of circus oddity while Annalee herself put on a brave show, knotted his muscles and filled him with a mix of hurt for her and rage for those who delighted in her scandals.
But he knew her, the way she’d trapped her lower lip between her teeth and the brittleness of her smile; she’d been mortified, and he hated that she’d been so discovered.
Now, with most of the guests having filed out, Wayland, collecting his cloak alongside his mother and sister, planned to join their ranks.
“Heartbreaking,” his mother was saying as she adjusted the clasp of her cloak. “Just heartbreaking.”
“For Annalee,” Kitty rejoined.
“Do hush.” Their mother stole a look around the foyer, empty of all except the servants. “As it is, I cannot believe you dared to offer your coat to her.”
“Oh, yes,” Kitty said, her face and voice a flawless deadpan. “Imagine Wayland doing something so ungentlemanly as to rush to the aid of a lady in need.”
“Psst, Darling.”
Wayland was so close. With his cloak on, and with the Earl and Countess of Kempthorne’s doorway already hanging open, all he need do was pretend he’d not heard and continue marching right on through.
Between the loaded carriages rumbling on, there was certainly enough noise for him to pretend he’d heard nothing beyond the rattling of those wheels as the guests left for the evening.
The butler, Tanning, gave him a questioning look.
And yet . . .
He and his family followed that frantic whispering to the girl seated above, at the balustrade overlooking the foyer, her legs dangling over the edge. Stretching her fingers through the posts, Harlow waved him up. “You’re needed,” she said, this time in a near yell that there could absolutely be no mistaking.
“Do go see what Jeremy requires.” His mother took him by the arm and steered him toward Annalee and Jeremy’s sister. “He will need a friend in this moment.”
He’d wager his very soul to Satan himself that it was less the friendship his mother worried after than the prestige that came from the connections provided through Lord and Lady Kempthorne’s oldest and most respected of titles.
It spoke volumes of how little his mother knew of this particular family’s dynamics that it wouldn’t be Jeremy Harlow had fetched him for.
“Did you hear me?” Harlow pointed her rapier downward. “Don’t make me come fetch you.”
“Get moving, brother,” Kitty said, shoving him slightly. A devilish glimmer lit her brown eyes. “Though it would be quite entertaining to see what she did when she came for you.”
“What a devoted sister,” he muttered.
Alas, it appeared there was to be no escaping.
Damn this night.
He didn’t want to do any more damned favors this evening for this family . . . even as he owed them for debts that could not be paid.
Nay, Wayland wished to seek out his own household and sleep in his own damned bed, and forget this night had ever happened.
Alas, the person putting this latest request to him was the last person he could deny.
Unclasping his cloak, he handed the article over to the Spencer family’s most loyal of servants. “Please instruct my driver to escort my sister and mother home.”
“Very good, and . . . thank you, my lord,” the butler quietly murmured as he accepted the garment. And Wayland heard within those four words that it was not the cloak he expressed any gratitude over.
Harlow scrambled to her feet.
Leaning over, she waved her hand, motioning him up. “This way, Darling. Quickly!”
Hastening his steps, Wayland made the climb.
When he reached the top, he met Harlow with a smart salute. “My captain.”
Except the young girl stared back with a gravity better suited to a person two decades her senior. Her earlier affront and child’s innocence had all faded from their last meeting. An hour ago? A lifetime ago? Time with this family really defied all sense of realness and meaning.
“This isn’t the time for games, Darling,” she whispered. “There’s trouble.”
Yes, there’d been any manner of it, this night.
“It’s . . . Annalee.” A tug on his sleeve brought his attention downward. “Did you hear what happened?”
He hesitated.
“You saw?” Harlow correctly surmised.
“I may have,” he allowed. Nearly every illustrious guest had.
Annalee’s little sister gave a wrinkle of her nose. “Do you know, that doesn’t really make sense.” At his questioning look, she clarified. “The whole ‘I may have,’ when what you really mean to say is that you did see. That is what you meant, isn’t it?”
“Indeed.”
Harlow sank down, and as if she were the queen herself, urging a subject into a proper seat, she patted the floor.