Petticoat Rebellion (20 page)

Annabelle took one look at Sylvester and felt she was better off with Mr. Singleton. Her one dance with Susan’s brother confirmed it. He was an insufferable prig. What he needed was an entanglement with a female of O’Leary’s ilk, to knock the starch out of him.

“What luck!”
Abbie said to Algie, when he stood up with her. “I didn’t know your mama had invited Lord Sylvester. Mr. Sheridan will provide a distraction for Susan.”

“You underestimate me, my pet. You must not think, only because I am trivial, that I am not awake on all suits. I feared Susan would regret her jilting of me when she saw all you other ladies had snagged a beau. Sheridan is only a distraction, of course. She could never present a commoner to ‘Papa, the duke’
as a contender for her hand, but he will do as a flirt to replace O’Leary until we get her bounced back to Slats. Sylvester and Sheridan are staying with us for a few days.”

“Very cagey, milord.”

“Thank you, my pet. And now that you have accepted my offer, I can cease being cagey vis-a-vis the da Vinci cartoons. They have served their purpose.”

He handed her a small brass key. “You will find them in the large cupboard behind the desk in my study. You are welcome to see them, anytime. Especially when I am there. Shall we go now?”

Her fingers trembled as she accepted the key. “I  don’t know if I can take any more happiness tonight,”
she said in a small voice.

He led her to the study anyway, and closed the door behind them. Then he took the little brass key, unlocked the cabinet door, and drew out an aging folio. He placed it on the desk and opened the cover.

Abbie gave a gasp of appreciation. It was a sketch of the artist, done by himself in a brick-colored pastel. The eyes seemed to be reaching into her very soul.

“I shall never have the nerve to take up a sketch pad again,”
she said, gazing at it.

Algie’s heart swelled to see the wonder in her eyes. It was the way he felt when he had first seen her. She gazed at the sketch for a long moment, then looked up at him.

“These cartoons are the real reason I came to Penfel Hall. What a long time it has taken for me to get to see them.”

“Some things are worth waiting for,”
he said.

“Oh, yes. They are marvelous!”

“I wasn’t talking about the cartoons,”
he said. “I was talking about”—he drew her into his arms—
“this.”

And “this,”
a very deep kiss indeed, made Abbie forget everything, even the da Vinci cartoons.

Copyright © 1997 by Joan Smith

Originally published by Fawcett Crest (ISBN 044925534X)

Electronically published in 2014 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads

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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.