Sally pounced on her as soon as she arrived, tucking her arm through Annabel’s and drawing her to the Lady Patronesses’ seats. “How was your visit to Hampton Court with Glenrick?”

  Oh, dear. Emily had obviously been talking. “It was very enjoyable.” Then, when Sally opened her mouth, no doubt to ask for details, she put in quickly, “Did you see anything of note today at the Exhibition?”

  Fortunately, the distraction worked; Sally’s brow furrowed. “No—apart from more attacks on the Hebblys. It was disgraceful, Annabel—worse than the baby pig. I just hope Lady Hebbly hasn’t seen any of them. It would be enough to send anyone into a decline.”

  Annabel sighed. “I cannot compass how one keeps the wife of the head of the Hanging Committee of the Exhibition away from it. Perhaps one of us should call on her, though I fear that might just distress her more, if she’s seen the pictures.”

  “Maybe she hasn’t recognized herself,” Sally said hopefully. “One doesn’t go to the Exhibition expecting to see one’s features superimposed on livestock—ah, Quin! How pleasant to see you here this evening.”

  Annabel fought to keep her expression under control as Lord Quinceton, debonair in a midnight blue coat, strode up to them. She hadn’t known he’d be here tonight—not that she’d had the opportunity to exchange more than two words with him today.

  “I wondered if anyone else had noticed that bit of nastiness,” he said, acknowledging Sally’s greeting with a nod. “I should have known that you would, Fellbridge. I don’t believe that much gets past you.” There was something unpleasantly pointed about his words, which mystified Annabel.

  “I’ve no notion what I’ve done to deserve such praise—if praise it is,” she said.

  “Why, what have you noticed, Quin?” Sally asked. Annabel smothered a smile. Watching Sally—Sally!—switch on such an innocent, unknowing air was most amusing.

  “The pictures at the Exhibition being altered so abominably, especially the ones being made to look like Lady Hebbly. I would give a great deal to know how it’s being done.” He cocked one eyebrow at Annabel. “Another investigation, Fellbridge?”

  “Ooh, does Annabel investigate things? How exciting!” Sally burbled. “Annabel, you never told me! What do you investigate?”

  Annabel heartily wished the marquis at the bottom of the sea—and hoped Sally didn’t think she’d somehow compromised the Lady Patronesses. “Nothing, really. Lord Quinceton is pleased to make his little jokes,” she said coolly.

  To her relief, Sally flashed her an understanding look, then said, “I shall leave you to enjoy your joke, then—I see that Maria is trying to catch my eye.” She nodded to them both and left.

  Annabel wished she could go with Sally and leave him standing, but no good reason to do so occurred to her. Instead, she remained resolutely silent after Sally’s departure. The odious marquis would have to speak first!

  “I’ve told you before, Fellbridge—if you ever need my help with your investigating, I am at your service,” the odious marquis said softly.

  “And I have told you that your offer, though kindly meant, I do believe—” she drew the last words out till they negated their own meaning—“are misguided. I am engaged in no such activities.”

  “Ah, yes. So you’ve said.” He paused. “Why Lady Hebbly, do you think? I cannot imagine anyone might have cause to attack her; a vendetta against her husband is much more likely. Will you call on her? I would instead talk with Sir Henry—it would probably be more to the point and less distressing to her. If I should happen to see him at Brooks’s, I would be happy to make some inquiries on your behalf.”

  “That would be very kind of you if the matter were of any interest to me, but I believe I have already said it is not,” she said. It wasn’t a lie; this was Frances’s investigation, officially.

  He sighed. “You did mention that, didn’t you? My memory grows worse daily. Then we shall speak of something else. Did you enjoy Hampton Court? Those secluded paths in the Wilderness seemed to meet with your approval.”

  For a moment she wished she could hide; he must have seen Lord Glenrick kissing her. But then she grew angry. The effrontery of him! She was an adult. What business was it of his if she chose to permit a man to kiss her? “As did the maze with yours, I am certain,” she snapped.

  One corner of his mouth quirked. “Indeed. The groundskeeper up on his platform overlooking it has his uses beyond directing the lost. Not that his chaperonage was required.”

  “Nor was any in the Wilderness!”

  “No?” He paused, just long enough to allow the skepticism in that one syllable sink in. Then he said, abruptly, “Tell me, madam—what did you think of The Mother’s Plight?”

  “The what?” She stared at him. Talking with him tonight was like conversing with an eel.

  “One of the few pictures at the Exhibition that has not had Lady Hebbly’s countenance incorporated into it. The Scottish picture—I was told by one whom I presume is a reliable source that you had seen it and admired it greatly.”

  What picture? What was the man talking about? Then she remembered: the Scottish woman with her infant. “Oh, that one. It was—um—”

  He was watching her intently. “‘Um?’ Is that all you have to say about it?”

  “I didn’t look at it very closely, if you must know,” she said crossly. “I was rather more concerned about Lady Hebbly.”

  “In the pictures which you aren’t investigating,” he said drily, but his expression had cleared.

  Annabel dearly would have liked to stamp on his foot in sheer annoyance, but one simply could not do that, no matter how strong the temptation. “Lord Quinceton, I was in an excellent mood when I arrived here, and I will not allow you to ruin that.”

  “Far be it from me to dampen your mood. What has happened to put you in alt?” He took her arm and tucked it under his. “Come, you must tell me about it.”

  “I don’t want to walk with you—” she began furiously, but he had already drawn her along beside him.

  “We have some catching up to do since I was away. I regret not being able to converse with you earlier today,” he said, ignoring her protest.

  “No, you seemed quite happily occupied,” she couldn’t help retorting. “I wish you would not trifle with Frances, sir! She is my friend.”

  “Not as happily occupied as you were—” he began, then shook his head. “No, that isn’t fair. You were Glenrick’s guest, after all, much as I might deprecate that fact. I beg your pardon.”

  Annabel swallowed, deflated by his apology. She should not have said what she had, either. “Why did you invite yourself to Hampton today?” she heard herself ask.

  “Can’t you guess?” he said, smiling grimly. “Now, why the excellent mood?”

  For some reason, she suddenly felt shy. This was probably the oddest of the many odd conversations she’d had with him. “I received some good news from my bailiff this afternoon. Nothing you would find of interest.”

  “On the contrary, I find it of absorbing interest. What was his news?”

  She made her voice as off-hand as she could. “Just that the wool from our spring shearing has already sold. If the fall crops come in as well as they’re promising, I shall find myself more beforehand with the world than expected and can take care of some matters I did not think to be able to attend to for another year.”

  “Ah. What matters?”

  “My lord, you cannot really—oh, very well,” she hastily amended when he frowned. “I’ve been wanting to repair some pensioners’ cottages on the estate for some time. I know I should put any profits back into the land, but I’d promised myself a bit of a treat if this were a good year.”

  “And repairing tenants’ cottages is your treat.” The muscles of his arm tightened where her hand rested on it, as if he were clenching his fist.

  “Is there anything wrong with that?”

  A long moment passed before he answered, in a slightly constrained voice, “Not a thing, Fellbridge. Not a thing.”

  She didn’t believe him for an instant. “Well then, how would you spend a windfall like mine?”

  He paused again, and then to her surprise laughed softly. “How would I spend it? If the world were a perfect place, probably at Rundell and Bridge, buying something gorgeous and ludicrously expensive with which to bedeck my wife. Pearls, quite possibly. Or pink diamonds.”

  Definitely the oddest conversation! “But you aren’t married!”

  “No,” he agreed. “I said ‘if the world were a perfect place.’ Regrettably, it is not.”

  Chapter Three

  Annabel sneaked into Somerset House the next day before the Exhibition had officially opened even though her partner for the morning, Georgiana, would not arrive for another hour. Perhaps observation duty would give her something to think about beyond the curious events of the day before, events that a restless night had done nothing to clarify.

  At first, she had been pleasantly ruffled yesterday by Lord Glenrick’s kiss and by Frances’s comments. After her conversation with Lord Quinceton at Almack’s she felt even more ruffled—but less pleasantly so. The man had a positive genius for putting her off balance, in notable contrast to Lord Glenrick, who never challenged or riled her.

  On the other hand, Glenrick did not make her feel so…alive.

  Glenrick and Quinceton…as much as it went against her grain (after all, Shellingham women were not brought up to think of themselves as attractive) she was forced to admit that Emily might be right: both men had an interest in her. The question was, what were those interests? Lord Glenrick might be “smitten,” as Eliza had put it; did that mean he was thinking of her as a possible future wife, as Frances had implied? What about Lord Quinceton? She had assumed he merely enjoyed fencing with her as one would with an amusing acquaintance. But there had been a definite whiff of anger in his not-so-subtle digs about Glenrick’s conduct at Hampton Court and her implied complicity in it (goodness, that made her sound the veriest criminal!)—anger that could well be explained by jealousy. Was it jealousy at the thought of losing a flirting partner to another man, or something more?

  And what was the pair’s relationship with each other? Several times now she’d seen them in close conversation; yet Lord Quinceton had warned her to avoid Glenrick that first night at Almack’s. And then there was what happened last night….

  She had not lingered long at Almack’s, tired after all the activity of the day. Lord Quinceton found her as she was calling for her carriage and remained with her until it arrived, saying very little. He accompanied her into the street, ignoring the footman and handing her into it himself.

  “Thank you. Good night,” she’d said politely, not in a mood to brangle with him further.

  “Good night,” he replied, but did not step away from the landau. Instead, he remained there, one hand on the door, looking at her with a faint frown on his face. In the light of the torches by the door, his hair and eyes were nearly black, yet caught unexpected glints of fire.

  “Was there anything you wished to say, my lord?” she said, pointedly looking at his hand.

  He gave a small start, as if her words had recalled him to himself. “Yes, actually.”

  “Well?” she said, after a moment’s silence.

  “Just…be careful, Fellbridge.” He’d paused again, then added, “Please.”

  She’d found herself turning to look at him as her carriage moved down King Street toward St. James. He returned her look, until she had turned the corner and he was lost from view.

  Be careful of whom? Or of what?

  But it was the please that had kept her awake last night. She could not spend her life wondering just what he wanted from her. It was almost as bad as spending her life in this wretched Exhibition, waiting for something to happen.

  Just then, something did happen—though it was not by any means a welcome event. Annabel saw a short, stout woman in a dark gray pelisse sidle around the doorway into the Great Room. She wore a veil over her elegant black hat, but Annabel knew her immediately…and her heart sank. She waited until the small figure was out of sight, then slipped off her shadow and followed it.

  Antonia Hebbly stood before Death of the Leviathan, in which a group of Laplander hunters were savagely harpooning (in a most realistic and sanguinary manner) a large whale—which somehow bore Sir Henry’s features. She appeared as transfixed as the whale…but when Annabel reached her side, she saw that her shoulders were heaving, and heard a muffled sniff escape her.

  “Lady Hebbly,” she murmured, and gently touched her arm. “This is…simply dreadful.”

  Lady Hebbly stiffened, but relaxed when she turned and saw Annabel. “Oh, my dear child,” she said, and collapsed against her.

  Annabel patted her back and made soothing sounds as Lady Hebbly wept into her shoulder. Thank heavens the Exhibition had not yet opened for the day; the clerk must have known who Lady Hebbly was and allowed her in. “I wish you had not had to see it, ma’am,” she said.

  “It’s h-h-horrible!” poor Lady Hebbly managed to say, between sobs. “That picture…my poor Henry—what has he done to deserve this?”

  Oh, good—maybe she hadn’t seen Lowther Castle, Westmoreland: Evening or any of the other pictures that bore her likeness. But Lady Hebbly went on, dashing her hopes.

  “I d-don’t care about the ones of me. I know my face is—is easy to mock. But this—it is so hateful.” She found her handkerchief and lifted her veil to dab at her eyes. “I beg your pardon, Annabel. I did not intend to trouble you. Please forget my lapse—how are you? I have not seen you since the beginning of the season. And the boys? Have they settled into Eton? I know your mother is well—I received a letter from her on Tuesday and have been very remiss in not yet answering it.”

  It was Lady Hebbly all over to make light of her distress. Annabel had known her forever—she was related to half the nobility of England and had been one of Mama’s closest friends since they were young girls, both of them being daughters of important earls. But her lofty origins had not made her proud; she was the kindest and most considerate of women…hence her concern at not having replied to Mama’s letter two days after having received it.

  “The boys are having a splendid time at school, and I’m very well, thank you. Busy, of course, with Almack’s and everything.” She tucked Lady Hebbly’s arm in hers and tried to steer her away from the picture. But Lady Hebbly would not be distracted.

  “Who could be doing this?” she asked plaintively. “I am terrified that Henry will see them, even though as a rule he avoids the Exhibition once it is installed because he says he can no longer stand the sight of the pictures. But he has in the past come back to check that all is as it should be, and I must keep him from doing so this year. I only came because I overheard a conversation at a rout-party last night. I know I should not have eavesdropped—it was very wrong of me—but I could not help it. Oh, how shall I keep Henry away? He does not need to see this—not after all he’s been through—” Her lips quivered.

  Annabel looked involuntarily down at Lady Hebbly’s hand on her arm, still clad in black gloves though it had been nearly a year and a half since their only son was killed at Corunna. Again, how typical of her to think of her husband’s grief above her own.

  “You didn’t say anything to Sir Henry about this, did you?” she asked.

  “Oh, no. I wanted to see it first, to see if it were really true. I only hope no one else tells him. How is this happening? I cannot believe they were like this when they were hung or Henry would have seen immediately.”

  Annabel hesitated. “I don’t know, ma’am—but I am hopeful it will end soon.”

  Lady Hebbly looked up at her, her—yes, regrettably cow-like—eyes still swimming with tears. “Do you think so? Oh, Annabel, I hope you’re right.”

  “I’m convinced I am.” Annabel steered her toward the exit to the stairs. The clerk must have opened the doors, as viewers were starting to drift in. She wanted to be able to watch them…which meant encouraging Lady Hebbly to leave.

  But Lady Hebbly stopped at the doorway. “You’re so certain—do you know something about this, my dear?”

  “Er…no.” Lying to Mama’s oldest friend was particularly trying, especially when those gentle brown eyes were fixed on her face. “But it can’t go on. Someone will catch whoever is responsible and make him or her stop.”

  Lady Hebbly studied her for a moment, then smiled her sweet smile. “Thank you, my dear. I hope that will be the case.” Her smile faded. “You will tell me if you learn anything about this?”

  “I doubt that I will,” Annabel said quickly. “But if I should, I will certainly tell you.” She bent and kissed Lady Hebbly’s plump cheek and watched while she slowly descended the Great Staircase…then hurried over to look at Death of the Leviathan again to study it.

  There was a deeper quality of anger evident in it—deeper than had been seen in the earlier alterations—that was disquieting. And not far away, Sir Henry’s portrait of Lady Hebbly had been rendered so hideous that she could only hope that Lady Hebbly hadn’t seen it. She made a circuit of the room, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling. Sally had been right last night: this was the worst yet.

  “Annabel?” Georgiana had come up beside her. “What are you doing not in shadow? Is everything all right?”

 

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