across the room. She poured herself a glass of sherry before she looked back at Annabelle. “I do not like the sound of that.”
“It was fine. We all knew it wouldn’t be easy. Our family has shunned such society for so many years and there are the antics of my brothers and even our father to contend with.”
They exchanged a sad and knowing smile. Being a Flynn woman was not always easy. Not for either of them. But their trials and worries over their male relations had brought them together. Annabelle saw her mother as a friend and confidante.
She forced a smile. “Of course Rafe’s title and the money in my dowry will help.”
Instead of showing relief, her mother’s face fell further. “That sounds like a man will settle for you, despite misgivings.”
Annabelle flinched. “Perhaps that is the best we can hope for. You needn’t worry, though. I would only ever pick a man I had some liking for on some level.”
She thought again of Claybrook, but also of Marcus Rivers. Two different men there could not be. So why did each cross her mind at this moment? She was obviously overly tired.
“Still, I do not want you to find someone who cannot see your fine qualities—your humor, your wit, your intelligence, your talent, your beauty.”
Annabelle blushed at the recitation of her supposedly finer qualities. It was likely good her mother could not read her sometimes very dark and dangerous thoughts or she might not think so highly of her.
“We cannot all have a love match,” she said softly.
Her mother frowned. There was a moment of reflective silence again and then she cleared her throat. “Do you think Crispin’s recent behavior will come back to haunt you?”
Annabelle leaned in. There were lines of worry around her mother’s eyes and she could see now that she had been crying.
“What has happened?” she whispered.
Her mother dipped her chin. “I am too obvious, I see.”
“Mama!”
“Crispin came here tonight, a few hours ago. He did not look well.”
Annabelle gripped her fists at her sides. Neither she nor Rafe had told their mother about the strange night that Crispin had spent at the Donville Masquerade. It would only worry her and that did no good.
“Was he in his cups?” Annabelle whispered.
“I think he’d had a drink,” her mother admitted. “But he wasn’t drunk. Yet there was a hollowness in his eyes, a wildness to his behavior that concerned me greatly. I asked him to stay here with me, but he refused.”
“Did he say where he was going?” Annabelle asked, thinking again of the Donville Masquerade. Of Marcus Rivers.
She blinked and tried to maintain focus on her mother’s answer. “He said something about a card game, a masquerade?”
Annabelle let out her breath in relief. If her brother had gone back to Rivers’ club, there was a very good chance he would look out for Crispin. She didn’t understand why he would do so, but he did. And there was more to that than Rivers’ mere explanation that Crispin was a good patron.
But would the other man know when her brother had truly reached his limit? Would he keep an eye on him at all times, no matter what? Would he refuse him if that was what Crispin needed or intervene at the right moment?
Those questions haunted Annabelle.
“Rafe seems to think our brother requires the rope to hang himself, I fear,” she whispered.
Her mother squeezed her eyes shut, and the pain was plain on her face. “I hate to think that will be the solution, but he may be correct. Crispin changed after Rafe inherited his dukedom. It is as if he was lost, and I don’t know why it affected him so powerfully. It is almost as if there was more to it, though he won’t confide in me.”
Annabelle nodded. “Or anyone.”
“And that is the material point that Rafe’s attitude addresses. If Crispin doesn’t want to be reached, I don’t know what else we can do. He is of sound mind and body and far into his maturity.”
Annabelle snorted
“It was fine. We all knew it wouldn’t be easy. Our family has shunned such society for so many years and there are the antics of my brothers and even our father to contend with.”
They exchanged a sad and knowing smile. Being a Flynn woman was not always easy. Not for either of them. But their trials and worries over their male relations had brought them together. Annabelle saw her mother as a friend and confidante.
She forced a smile. “Of course Rafe’s title and the money in my dowry will help.”
Instead of showing relief, her mother’s face fell further. “That sounds like a man will settle for you, despite misgivings.”
Annabelle flinched. “Perhaps that is the best we can hope for. You needn’t worry, though. I would only ever pick a man I had some liking for on some level.”
She thought again of Claybrook, but also of Marcus Rivers. Two different men there could not be. So why did each cross her mind at this moment? She was obviously overly tired.
“Still, I do not want you to find someone who cannot see your fine qualities—your humor, your wit, your intelligence, your talent, your beauty.”
Annabelle blushed at the recitation of her supposedly finer qualities. It was likely good her mother could not read her sometimes very dark and dangerous thoughts or she might not think so highly of her.
“We cannot all have a love match,” she said softly.
Her mother frowned. There was a moment of reflective silence again and then she cleared her throat. “Do you think Crispin’s recent behavior will come back to haunt you?”
Annabelle leaned in. There were lines of worry around her mother’s eyes and she could see now that she had been crying.
“What has happened?” she whispered.
Her mother dipped her chin. “I am too obvious, I see.”
“Mama!”
“Crispin came here tonight, a few hours ago. He did not look well.”
Annabelle gripped her fists at her sides. Neither she nor Rafe had told their mother about the strange night that Crispin had spent at the Donville Masquerade. It would only worry her and that did no good.
“Was he in his cups?” Annabelle whispered.
“I think he’d had a drink,” her mother admitted. “But he wasn’t drunk. Yet there was a hollowness in his eyes, a wildness to his behavior that concerned me greatly. I asked him to stay here with me, but he refused.”
“Did he say where he was going?” Annabelle asked, thinking again of the Donville Masquerade. Of Marcus Rivers.
She blinked and tried to maintain focus on her mother’s answer. “He said something about a card game, a masquerade?”
Annabelle let out her breath in relief. If her brother had gone back to Rivers’ club, there was a very good chance he would look out for Crispin. She didn’t understand why he would do so, but he did. And there was more to that than Rivers’ mere explanation that Crispin was a good patron.
But would the other man know when her brother had truly reached his limit? Would he keep an eye on him at all times, no matter what? Would he refuse him if that was what Crispin needed or intervene at the right moment?
Those questions haunted Annabelle.
“Rafe seems to think our brother requires the rope to hang himself, I fear,” she whispered.
Her mother squeezed her eyes shut, and the pain was plain on her face. “I hate to think that will be the solution, but he may be correct. Crispin changed after Rafe inherited his dukedom. It is as if he was lost, and I don’t know why it affected him so powerfully. It is almost as if there was more to it, though he won’t confide in me.”
Annabelle nodded. “Or anyone.”
“And that is the material point that Rafe’s attitude addresses. If Crispin doesn’t want to be reached, I don’t know what else we can do. He is of sound mind and body and far into his maturity.”
Annabelle snorted
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