They reached the main landing of the Royal Museum.
Collecting the other woman by her shoulders, Annalee drew her in for a hug. “You worry too much.”
“And you don’t worry enough.”
“Yes, well, nothing good comes from worrying.”
“That’s a ridiculous saying.”
Annalee fixed a pout on her lips. “La, I’m offended, given it was a saying I crafted myself.”
“I feel his intentions are nefarious, Annalee.”
“You feel the intentions of all men are,” she reminded her friend. “And that is why we are perfect friends. We balance one another out.”
An all-too-familiar worry seeped from Valerie’s eyes as she passed her gaze over Annalee, her mouth moving as though she wished to say more, and then she released a sigh.
Annalee patted her arm. “There, that is better.”
“Because I’m letting the matter rest,” she groused.
“Precisely.” And yet . . . Annalee let her smile fade, bringing her features into a mask of solemnity. Her friend had every reason to be cynical and wary of intentions where men were concerned. Given the lies fed her by the man who’d sworn to protect and love her, when all the while he’d been married to Sylvia. “There isn’t a better friend than you,” Annalee said quietly.
“Because I’ve let the matter rest about all the reasons I don’t trust Lord Darlington and his sudden change of heart in helping you?”
Yes, well, Valerie was nothing if not tenacious. “Because your first worry is always protecting those you love from being hurt.” She pressed a kiss to Valerie’s cheek. “I know you are worried about me. You needn’t.”
Valerie winged a brow. “Are you so very sure about that . . . ?”
Was she so very certain? Was she sure Wayland wouldn’t hurt her? That his intentions were honorable? A little sliver of unease twisted around her belly.
Valerie moved closer. “You’re thinking about what I’ve said. Why has he suddenly, after all these years, appeared and started whisking you about London to places where no one—”
“Enough,” Annalee said curtly, her patience at an end with Valerie’s endless warnings that morn. She recalled the hoarse whisperings he’d shared about the changes he’d adopted after Peterloo. “Wayland conducts himself first and foremost with honor.”
“No such thing, with men,” her friend said in a singsong voice.
There would be no swaying her. Valerie would have to learn and see for herself that Wayland was . . . unlike the men Valerie had dealings with at the fight club she’d been forced into. And he was different from the lovers whom Annalee had taken. “Now, go enjoy yourself. You are at the Royal Museum.” And with that dismissal, she collected her hems and rushed on ahead.
“His intentions are probably nefarious, you know.”
“Hush, there’s my reputation to worry about.”
Valerie snorted. “I think that is my point.” Annalee increased her stride. “All manner of wicked things happen in museums, you know,” her friend called more loudly after her. “Hidden spots for trysting. It’s how all rakes and rogues are. Nay, all men! They—”
Not looking back, Annalee lifted a hand, waving off that unending litany of worries about Wayland and his intentions, and let herself inside the museum.
And yet . . . what if it wasn’t just a coincidence that, with both outings, he’d chosen the out-of-the-way, private locations he had?
What if—
She stopped abruptly, as she discovered in that very moment there had been something very specific about Wayland’s decision for them to meet at the Royal Museum, after all. Annalee shook, the force of emotion rolling through her as she caught sight of the pair twenty paces away.
Wayland . . . and her sister. He and Harlow conversed so effortlessly, Wayland attending whatever it was Annalee’s sister spoke about so animatedly. Periodically, he nodded, and said something in return.
Tears clogged her throat and filled her eyes, and through that blurry sheen, she caught the moment Harlow spied her standing there.
“Annalee!”
Sinking to a knee, Annalee threw her arms wide.
Grinning from ear to ear, Harlow came hurtling forward.
Annalee staggered back under the force of her sister’s embrace.
“Darlington had the idea that we could go to the museum, Annalee! The museum. Utterly brilliant,” she prattled as Annalee kissed her cheeks. “Because he knows I love you and Captain Cook and piracy, but there is no museum of pirates, you know, and there really should be.”
Laughing through her tears, Annalee brushed the curls that had fallen loose in her young sister’s flight back behind her ears. “There should be. Someday you shall be the one to create such a venture.”
Harlow’s eyes lit. “Do you know, that is a splendid idea. You do have them often, though. I am ever so excited to see Cook’s. I’ve been asking my governess.” She stuck out her tongue. “But you know that woman. She’s useless. And Jeremy is always occupied with his betrothed, and then . . . well, Wayland.” She lifted her right shoulder in an uneven shrug, so casual, when there was nothing minor or trivial about this moment and what Wayland had done.
Annalee looked over the top of her sister’s head to Wayland, elegantly clad in his cutaway morning coat and tan trousers. At some point he’d joined them, standing with his fingers clasped behind him, keeping a handful of paces apart from her and her sister, allowing Annalee and Harlow their privacy.
Stroking little circles over Harlow’s back, Annalee held his eyes. “Thank you,” she mouthed, her lips trembling.
He lifted his head in acknowledgment. “It wasn’t just me,” he demurred, and she followed his gaze over to Jeremy, hovering off to the side, unseen until now, toying with the brim of his hat.
Annalee stilled, and then hugging her sister once more, she came to her feet. “Jeremy,” she greeted cautiously.
It had been the first she’d spoken to her brother since the debacle she’d inadvertently caused at his betrothal ball.
“Annalee.” He ceased toying with his hat, returning it to his head. “You look . . . well.”
And she’d . . . felt well. She’d not given a thought to spirits or sinning or wagering. How could she ever amend for what she’d done? “I’m so—”
“No. No. That’s not why we’re here,” he said gruffly. “That is done. Darlington thought to unite you and Harlow here and required my assistance to do so. I’d have the day be about that.”
“Come on! Come on!” Harlow cried, gesticulating wildly.
When it became apparent Jeremy didn’t intend to join them, Annalee frowned. “You’ll not stay?”
“I . . . have private matters to attend this morn.”
Hearing the heavy thread in his pronouncement, she stepped closer. “What is it?”
“Nothing to worry about, I’m sure. I was summoned by Sophrona’s father to discuss the terms of our betrothal. Some . . . final revisions. I knew, however, Harlow would be in good hands with you and Darlington. I’ll return when I’ve concluded my affairs and escort her home.”