Annalee made herself shake her head, riveted by that regal command of the room. She found herself equal parts admiring that girl for such authority and unnerved by that strength. And more than a bit wanting to cry. Was there any wondering now the reason Wayland had denied Annalee’s request?
Lady Diana lifted her head in acknowledgment of those women she passed. Periodically she’d pause and speak, exchanging brief pleasantries, before sweeping off.
“Years ago she got it into her head that there’s a romantic connection . . .”
Annalee had the sudden urge to vomit. Or drink.
Nay, drinking was the better course. It was always the more steadying one.
She searched about for her flask, finding it—
“Do not look now,” Kitty muttered in hushed tones just as Annalee grabbed the silver jug of whiskey.
“Kitty, dearest,” Lady Diana greeted in elevated, crisp English to rival the queen’s, lifting her head. “It is always a pleasure to see you.” Diamonds dripped from her dress and ears and headdress. She exuded a wealth and extravagance most young ladies reserved for their Come Outs, never again rising to the level at which this woman wore and flaunted her prestige.
“The same,” Kitty said with a flatness that filled her tonality with an absolute insincerity. Wayland’s sister lifted her notebook and made a show of flipping through those pages.
The Duke of Kipling’s daughter slid her focus back to Annalee. “If I may, Kitty . . . and Kitty’s friend?” None would have ever mistaken the young woman’s words for anything other than the order they were. “Lady Annalee, we meet again.”
It did not escape Annalee’s notice that the other young woman hadn’t mentioned it as being any sort of pleasure to be in her company.
Kitty hesitated, vacillating between standing shoulder to shoulder with Annalee and escaping.
Annalee knew it was certainly the latter, because she had that same desire to flee.
In the end, Kitty and Cora dropped a quick curtsy and bustled off.
Not that Annalee would ever blame them.
Lucky girls.
The moment they’d gone, Diana adjusted her full-length satin gloves. Gloves that were entirely too formal for the time of day, and for the meeting. But then, so was the silly—if extravagant—train now being hoisted up by two servants. Suddenly, Lady Diana gave a smart clap. Her lady’s maid brought forward her train and draped it over the young lady’s forearm before curtsying and retreating several paces.
“I have . . . recently heard much about you, Lady Annalee,” the girl said the moment they were alone.
“Most people have,” she said dryly, and winked.
Lady Diana’s nostrils flared the tiniest fraction in hint of her disdain. “Yes, well, that is one of the reasons I am here . . . I have heard much about your . . . club.” She flicked her gaze about the room to the conversing women before recalling her focus over to Annalee.
“We are a society,” Annalee said.
“Is there a difference?”
It was the first true hint of curiosity, and because of it Annalee found herself releasing some of the tension that had dogged her since the girl had arrived. “Yes,” she explained. “To the women here there is. A club is a smaller group dedicated to entertainment and the amusement of its members. A society—our society—is an organization dedicated to the purpose of larger goals than simple pleasures as found in those clubs of White’s or Brooke’s.”
“Hmm. Yes, anyway, I’m quite friendly with the Smith family.”
“Your relationship with Miss Smith positively exuded warmth,” Annalee said, keeping her features deadpan. The duke’s daughter had all but ordered Kitty gone, treating her like the inferior she clearly saw her as.
“Indeed.” Lady Diana adjusted her already perfectly straight diamond tiara. “I have a way of making all young ladies feel welcome.”
Annalee strangled on a laugh, converting it to a cough that she caught in her fist. “Forgive me. I . . . had something in my throat.” It wasn’t untrue. Disbelief and humor had both set out to choke her.
The young woman gave her a strange look.
Annalee cleared her throat. “Forgive me. You were saying . . .”
From across the room, Valerie caught her eye and jabbed a finger to the clock at the mantel. “Late. We. Are. Late,” her friend mouthed perfectly.
And even as there was nothing she’d like more than to end this exchange with this woman, part of her remained compelled by whatever it was she’d come here to say.
“Do you know how Wayland and I met?” Lady Diana asked suddenly and so unexpectedly that Annalee froze.
Wayland. The girl called him by his given name. Given the ceremony the lady stood on from appearance to presentation, Lady Diana’s use of that given name proved all the more . . . telling of their connection. Somehow the intimacy of that proved far . . . closer, and far more agonizing for it.
Agonizing? You silly twit. Wayland, Lord Darling, is free to carry on with whom he would whenever he would. Including this five-feet-nothing, white-skirt-wearing proper miss, whom he’d saved and earned a title for.
A coveted title he’d always yearned for . . . that hadn’t mattered a jot to Annalee. But it had to him, and this lily-white, innocent miss with her flawless ringlets and flawless skin . . . It would matter to her, too.
“My lady?”
Annalee started from that rumble of thoughts, all mixed together. “Annalee,” she supplied. “You should call me Annalee.”
Lady Diana smiled, a measured one that highlighted her dimples but did not crease her eyes or mouth with laugh lines. Everything about her was practiced. “I declare we shall be friends, then.” Friends. Annalee had made it a point of counting as friends only those who’d met here with kindness and had spared her from the judgment she was so used to having heaped upon her for behaving . . . well, exactly as she chose to behave. “Might we . . . take a turn about the room?”
Annalee hesitated a moment, before accepting that proffered arm.
“It is my understanding you are . . . close with Wayland. Or that you have been.” The young woman cast a glance her way. “Yes?”
Yes, indeed.
What in hell was Annalee to say to this?
Gone was any hint of warmth that had been there when they’d first met at the modiste’s.
And it was as they made a pass halfway about the room that she realized one key detail where Lady Diana was concerned: Annalee had underestimated her. The kitten had claws, and she was prepared to use them. And had it been any other woman, and any other man whom they were discussing, well, then Annalee would have admired her that show of spirit and character.
That it was this woman, however, and Wayland whom she’d sought her out to discuss, only brought Annalee’s back—and guard—up. “Forgive me, I didn’t realize a response was expected of me here.”
The lady smiled that same beatific smile of delicate amusement that grated on Annalee’s last nerve. “I do suppose you are correct. All the papers can and do talk about is your relationship with Wayland. Therefore, it isn’t really a confirmation I’m seeking.”
Had she really considered her . . . a kitten? That was the last time Annalee would make that underestimation. A tiger. A ruthless tiger, not unlike the one Annalee had observed in rapt horror and fascination at the Royal Menagerie who’d made quick work of devouring his lunch.