Mustering all the pride she could, Annalee tipped her chin up a notch and made her way through the crowded music room, stares following her as she went.
Since Peterloo, Annalee had made many marches of shame—most of them deserved after some scandal she’d caused or improper situation she’d found herself in. But never before had she been set to walking by her own mother. This really was the unkindest cut of them all.
And then, Wayland and his Lady Diana’s gazes landed on Annalee.
She smiled at that happy couple and lifted her hand in a wave.
God, she’d faced horrible walks before—sloppy, drunken ones. Ones with cruel insults hurled in the form of jeers as she’d passed, but none of those had ever felt . . . like this.
Perhaps it was because her own mother was behind her ejection.
Or perhaps it was because Wayland was witness to it.
Either way, she’d never found herself more grateful to be free of a room than she was the moment she reached the foyer. The butler, Tanning, her family’s oldest servant, stood there in wait with a sad glimmer in his kindly eyes and her cloak in hand.
Ah, so there’d been no chance of her staying. Her mother had always planned to turn her out. “My lady,” he murmured as he helped her into the garment.
She climbed her gaze to the balustrade above.
“Her Ladyship has instructed Lady Harlow’s governess that the little lady is to remain in her rooms.”
Annalee’s entire chest hurt.
So she’d not even be permitted to see Harlow this night.
All this had been for naught.
“I, for one, think every event is more festive for your presence, my lady,” he whispered. Some inches shorter than herself, his shoulders, stooped with age, made the old servant even smaller. Leaning down, she kissed his cheek.
He immediately blushed.
“I fear I’ll scandalize the household and cost you your post if you are discovered with a kiss from the infamous Lady Annalee,” she whispered.
He leaned in. “It will have been worth it,” he returned in nearly noiseless tones. He winked.
Resisting the urge to break down crying, she patted the old servant affectionately on his lapels.
“Thank you, Tanning,” she said, her throat clogged with tears, and stepped outside.
Just down the street, a carriage rolled closer toward Annalee’s family’s household . . . and Annalee’s stomach sank as her gaze landed on the familiar crest—the Duke and Duchess of Wingate.
Annalee bit her lower lip. Now her friend would arrive. But then, what right did Annalee have to expect anything from the other woman? Lila had been the one with her that day at Peterloo—because of Annalee. Oh, Lila had been the one to ultimately suggest that visit, but Annalee had planted the seeds, talking about the grand event, enticing her to go, so that Annalee could, in turn, meet Wayland there. And not so very long ago Lila had retreated from the world . . . and just as Wayland had, she’d left Annalee alone, trying to figure out how to navigate the hell of this new existence.
Hurrying down the steps, Annalee headed quickly for her waiting carriage. Not wanting to face the other woman, a person who not so very long ago had praised Annalee for having gotten on so well after Peterloo.
A panicky whimper gurgled up her throat.
How damned laughable that was . . . How bloody wrong Lila had been.
For it had been Lila who’d gotten her life in order. Just as Wayland had.
Annalee was the only one still floundering to find her way back.
“Annaleeeee!”
Keep walking.
Keep walking.
It would be all too easy, after all, to pretend she hadn’t heard Lila calling. Because goddamn it, Annalee didn’t want to see her other friend who’d lived through the hell she had and managed to pull herself up and be an actual person.
Alas, she ground her feet to a stop on the pavement and made herself face Lila.
Lila reached Annalee’s side, the lady’s husband hanging back.
“Forgive me,” Lila said, out of breath, her chest heaving. “Hugh and I were late.” A blush filled the other woman’s cheeks.
Hugh and I were late . . .
Once, Lila had been the friend whom Annalee had confided nearly everything in. All that had ceased, and those confidences had become even fewer since Lila had put her life in order and fallen in love. “It is fine,” Annalee murmured softly. She’d not begrudge the other woman the happiness . . . or connection . . . she’d found. It didn’t mean, however, that she could stop herself from envying that lifeline, either. “I was just leaving.” Which seemed exceedingly more vital now, when presented with all the reminders of her great failings.
Lila frowned. “Please, do not. I did not mean to leave you in there, all alone. I’m so glad I caught you before you left.”
Before she left . . .
Lila reached for Annalee’s hand. To lead her back inside?
A little giggle built in her chest, and she held her fingers out of reach. “I didn’t leave.”
Confusion wreathed her friend’s brow as her arm dropped uselessly to her side. “I don’t . . . understand?”
She didn’t understand. But then, wasn’t that the crux of Annalee’s whole miserable, pitiable existence? Her patience snapped. “I was thrown out,” she cried, her heart racing. “My mother had me shown the door in the middle of it all.”
Lila sank back. “Annalee,” she whispered. “I am so sorry.”
Sorry.
So was Annalee. About so much.
“She wasn’t wrong,” Annalee stammered. “I am a mess.”
“The women in the society adore you,” Lila said, taking her hands. “You bring joy to so many.”
“I’m an oddity. They admire me because I do things that they don’t and shouldn’t do.” Her voice grew pitched. “But the truth is, Lila,” she cried, “I’m not okay. I’m not dealing with Peterloo well, like you once said . . . like you think. And so if you and the ladies would just stop admiring me for flouting the rules of society, because I’m a bloody mess.” She wrenched her hands from Lila’s and took off racing for her carriage.
“Annalee!” her friend cried. “Please . . . come back.”
Calling up orders to her driver, Annalee allowed a servant to help her inside.
Following Peterloo, there’d been only one place Annalee had been able to go, one person she’d been able to turn to . . . at any time.
And never more had she been in need of that safe space than she was at this moment.
A short while later, her carriage hadn’t even rocked to a full stop before Annalee was tossing open the door and jumping down.
Just in time.
Cloak donned, hat upon his head, Lord Willoughby stood on the steps, the door still hanging half-open behind him. “I am headed—”
Marching up the steps, Annalee gripped her longtime friend by the arm and steered him back inside.
“Out,” he said under his breath.
“Pipe down, Willoughby,” she muttered, storming his household. The moment she was inside, Annalee shrugged out of her cloak.
A strapping footman was immediately there, relieving her of the article.
“I gather I am not going out, then,” Willoughby said with a sigh. He gave his head butler a look and then a slight nod.