From across the room, where she stood conversing with Lady Scarsdale, fresh from her honeymoon, and her sister, Isla Gately, Valerie caught Annalee’s gaze, a silent offering there. One that said the former boxer had not only sensed Annalee’s disquiet but also that she would cross the room and apply those former pugilist skills.
Alas, just as Annalee had looked after herself that day in Manchester, so, too, would she handle her own proverbial battles. “What is it, exactly, that you are seeking, then, Lady Diana?”
Lady Diana stopped so quickly that the change in motion brought Annalee stumbling. “Why, I would like to join you.”
“Join me?”
“No, as in a permanent membership with your club.”
Her stomach sank. Bloody hell. “As I told you, we are a society,” she said coolly.
Alas, caught up in her plan and chattering as she was, either the determined young miss failed to hear that correction or she didn’t care. And small as Annalee was feeling that day, she would wager on the latter.
“I want to join you,” she said, throwing her arms open.
Nay, Lady Diana wished to keep an eye upon Annalee. Having dealings with some of the most ruthless and shocking sorts, Annalee had become an excellent judge of character, and as such, she knew that was what the other woman truly meant.
Lady Diana gestured to the parlor, indicating the other women engrossed in discourse, before settling her focus on Kitty. “Why, Wayland clearly admires those of you attending this . . .”—she curled her lip in an impressive sneer—“venture, and as such, I would be part of it and learn how the other half lives.”
“There is no other half,” Annalee said coolly. “There are just women who come together, discussing the inequities of the world and looking to improve our place within it.”
Lady Diana beamed. “Splendid. I look very much forward to being part . . . of that, and learning whatever it is Wayland likes about . . .”—she gave a wave of her hand—“this.”
“I wasn’t saying—” Annalee needn’t have bothered. The buxom beauty had already clapped her hands, signaling to the dutiful servant poised close by. Together, with her lady’s maid trailing at the noxious but respected distance expected by Polite Society’s standards, Lady Diana took her leave.
Annalee stared after the lady . . . the woman Wayland was intended to wed.
Valerie joined her. “Who was that?”
“It would seem our latest member,” she muttered under her breath.
God help them all.
Chapter 18
The carriage ride would eventually end.
“It is grievous that you were involved with such a scandal . . .”
It had to.
“It could have been a good deal worse . . .”
Alas, until it did, Wayland was forced to endure the never-ending jabbering of his mother and her thoughts on Wayland’s attack of Lord Welles the evening prior.
And Annalee.
“You knowwww we must be above reproach . . .”
And Wayland and Annalee together.
“And to dare risk our reputations for her, of all people . . .”
Wayland balled his hands into fists.
“Why, the lady’s own parents will not tolerate her,” his mother said. Snapping open her fan, she fluttered it before her face.
Wayland’s patience broke. “Will you have a care and some respect for the lady and the family,” he said tightly, “who, if I might point out, have been welcoming of us from before we were titled, and who were gracious enough to extend us an invitation this evening?”
“Gracious enough.” She sniffed. “Roles are reversed, and we are hardly the scandalous ones any longer. Why, I would say in going to their musical that we are doing them a favor.”
“Oh, yes, honoring them with our presence,” he said dryly.
Sarcasm, however, had long proven lost upon his mother.
Kitty shot up a hand. “With the exception of me, if I may point out, who is now part of the Mismatch Societ— Owww.”
Their mother snapped open her pearl-handled fan once again and waved it slightly. “You may point out no such thing.” Angling her head, she attended the passing streets out the carriage window. “The only reason I’m even tolerating your participation is because Lady Diana has joined.”
He frowned. Lady Diana had joined Annalee’s group? The radical nature of what Annalee and those other members did didn’t fit with what he knew of the duke’s daughter.
“She’s not a real member, though. She is only there because she’s heard Wayland has been dancing attendance upon Annalee and fears that he won’t come up to scratch where she is concerned,” Kitty mumbled.
Their mother gasped. “Kitty! You should not speak so disparagingly of the duke’s daughter.”
This time Wayland’s sister was wise enough to draw her fingers close, sparing her knuckles a second thrashing. “Oh, hush. It’s the truth.”
“Yes, well, even if that is, then it would be commendable for the lady to be watching after her future husband’s activities and guarding herself against the interference of another . . .”
Wayland’s body went stiff.
“I for one would rather pluck out my lashes than see Wayland marry Lady Diana,” Kitty continued over her mother’s horrified gasp.
“Kitty!”
“What? I would. The lady is cold. The last thing Wayland needs is more coldness.”
Fire in her eyes, their mother surged forward on her bench, jabbing her fan under Kitty’s nose. “A connection through marriage to that cold lady, as you refer to her, will be what saves you in Polite Society, Kitty Smith. They may be hesitant to join you now, but when your brother weds His Grace’s daughter, then your path will be smoothed, as will all of ours.” With every word she spoke, their mother’s voice climbed in a rare lapse in self-control from a woman who went through every day desperately fashioning herself as a proper lady. “So just hold those insolent words inside your head and be grateful that, for whatever reason, they’ve graced us with their approval, and that your brother will do the right thing and marry Lady Diana!” His mother fell back on her bench, her chest heaving, her words ringing in the confines of the carriage, managing to silence even Kitty.
His entire body tense, Wayland scrabbled with his cravat, the fabric choking him, and then he caught his actions reflected in the windowpanes, the thorough rumpling he was giving the folds his valet had meticulously made of the silk. He forced his hands to his sides.
The words his mother uttered really weren’t all that different from ones she’d spoken so many times over the years. There had been . . . an unspoken understanding between their families that someday Wayland and the lady would marry. Given her tender years at the time of the attack in Manchester, and until recently, he’d not put much thought into a match. The reality of it, however, had been something he’d not entirely shied away from, either. Why, then, should Wayland, of a sudden, be fueled with this . . . restlessness?
Nay, he knew.
The reason for it was because of the sudden resurrection of a lover from the past. Nay, not just a lover, but a woman whom he’d desperately loved, and who’d loved him in return.