the morning room.
‘Sit down, Miss Annabelle,’ said the Duchess with her chilly smile. ‘I find it necessary to remind you that the Allsbury name is a very old one.’
‘Yes,’ said Annabelle, feeling younger by the minute.
‘Our families are shortly to be allied,’ went on her grace, ‘and it is important to remember that conduct which would pass unnoticed in a country vicarage may not be becoming
to an Allsbury.’
‘You do my parents an injustice,’ said Annabelle hotly. ‘My father is very strict!’
‘Indeed! From your conduct and speech last night, I assumed he was as I had heard him to be, a disciplined man on the hunting field and quite undisciplined off it.’
‘If behaving like an Allsbury means criticizing your guests’ parents, then I would rather not behave like an Allsbury,’ said Annabelle, assuming a quaint dignity. ‘By all
means tell my father when you see him what you think of his character, your grace, but do not put me in the unfortunate position of defending a gentleman who needs no defence whatsoever.’
‘Very well,’ said the Duchess. ‘Instead of telling you what I think of your language and manners, I shall write and tell your father.’
Annabelle went quite white and the Duchess surveyed her with malicious satisfaction. Her grace had noticed the way Brabington’s eyes rested too frequently on this pert miss, and she did
not want such a matrimonial prize snatched away when she had young relatives resident who were more deserving of such a distinguished marriage. Also, if she riled the Reverend Charles Armitage in
just the right way by criticizing Miss Annabelle, then he might forbid Minerva to marry Sylvester.
As if she had read her thoughts Annabelle said evenly, ‘If you think that complaining of me to papa will somehow cause a family row in which Minerva will be forbidden to marry your son,
then I take leave to tell you, ma’am, that you do not know your son very well.’
‘I made a mistake even in trying to talk to you,’ said the Duchess haughtily. ‘Your father will hear from me. Since you are here at my son’s suggestion then I cannot
unfortunately send you away, much as I would like to do so.’
‘Good day to you, your grace,’ said Annabelle with what the Duchess thought was a quite infuriating air of dignity.
Annabelle survived with her dignity intact until she reached the security of her bedroom where she flung herself face down on the bed and burst into tears. After a hearty bout of crying, she
felt much better and all her old anger returned. Now more than ever was she determined to marry the Marquess.
If Annabelle had told Minerva of what the Duchess had said, then Minerva would have told Lord Sylvester, and there would have been no question of her grace writing to the vicar. But Annabelle
was very jealous of Minerva and could only be glad that she had removed all traces of her weeping by the time Minerva softly entered the room and asked what the Duchess had said.
‘Oh, it was nothing of any account,’ said Annabelle airily. ‘She thinks I am a child and should be constantly engaged in useful work. She wanted my assistance in completing
some needlepoint for a firescreen and I said I would help her, but not today.
‘I pleaded the headache. And you know, Merva, it is quite dreadful, for no sooner had I got here than I did begin to feel my head aching. Do make my excuses to Lady Coombes. If I
lie down for a little, then I will feel quite the thing.’
‘Of course,’ said Minerva warmly. ‘I am so relieved her grace said nothing to upset you. Sylvester feared she might, and sent me to find out. If she had lectured you too
strongly, then he was going to deal with her himself. But I shall tell him there was nothing amiss and the Duchess only wished to give you some employ.’
Minerva’s voice ended on a faint question as if she were not quite reassured.
‘Oh, don’t bother discussing me with your fiancé,’ yawned Annabelle,
‘Sit down, Miss Annabelle,’ said the Duchess with her chilly smile. ‘I find it necessary to remind you that the Allsbury name is a very old one.’
‘Yes,’ said Annabelle, feeling younger by the minute.
‘Our families are shortly to be allied,’ went on her grace, ‘and it is important to remember that conduct which would pass unnoticed in a country vicarage may not be becoming
to an Allsbury.’
‘You do my parents an injustice,’ said Annabelle hotly. ‘My father is very strict!’
‘Indeed! From your conduct and speech last night, I assumed he was as I had heard him to be, a disciplined man on the hunting field and quite undisciplined off it.’
‘If behaving like an Allsbury means criticizing your guests’ parents, then I would rather not behave like an Allsbury,’ said Annabelle, assuming a quaint dignity. ‘By all
means tell my father when you see him what you think of his character, your grace, but do not put me in the unfortunate position of defending a gentleman who needs no defence whatsoever.’
‘Very well,’ said the Duchess. ‘Instead of telling you what I think of your language and manners, I shall write and tell your father.’
Annabelle went quite white and the Duchess surveyed her with malicious satisfaction. Her grace had noticed the way Brabington’s eyes rested too frequently on this pert miss, and she did
not want such a matrimonial prize snatched away when she had young relatives resident who were more deserving of such a distinguished marriage. Also, if she riled the Reverend Charles Armitage in
just the right way by criticizing Miss Annabelle, then he might forbid Minerva to marry Sylvester.
As if she had read her thoughts Annabelle said evenly, ‘If you think that complaining of me to papa will somehow cause a family row in which Minerva will be forbidden to marry your son,
then I take leave to tell you, ma’am, that you do not know your son very well.’
‘I made a mistake even in trying to talk to you,’ said the Duchess haughtily. ‘Your father will hear from me. Since you are here at my son’s suggestion then I cannot
unfortunately send you away, much as I would like to do so.’
‘Good day to you, your grace,’ said Annabelle with what the Duchess thought was a quite infuriating air of dignity.
Annabelle survived with her dignity intact until she reached the security of her bedroom where she flung herself face down on the bed and burst into tears. After a hearty bout of crying, she
felt much better and all her old anger returned. Now more than ever was she determined to marry the Marquess.
If Annabelle had told Minerva of what the Duchess had said, then Minerva would have told Lord Sylvester, and there would have been no question of her grace writing to the vicar. But Annabelle
was very jealous of Minerva and could only be glad that she had removed all traces of her weeping by the time Minerva softly entered the room and asked what the Duchess had said.
‘Oh, it was nothing of any account,’ said Annabelle airily. ‘She thinks I am a child and should be constantly engaged in useful work. She wanted my assistance in completing
some needlepoint for a firescreen and I said I would help her, but not today.
‘I pleaded the headache. And you know, Merva, it is quite dreadful, for no sooner had I got here than I did begin to feel my head aching. Do make my excuses to Lady Coombes. If I
lie down for a little, then I will feel quite the thing.’
‘Of course,’ said Minerva warmly. ‘I am so relieved her grace said nothing to upset you. Sylvester feared she might, and sent me to find out. If she had lectured you too
strongly, then he was going to deal with her himself. But I shall tell him there was nothing amiss and the Duchess only wished to give you some employ.’
Minerva’s voice ended on a faint question as if she were not quite reassured.
‘Oh, don’t bother discussing me with your fiancé,’ yawned Annabelle,
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