"A caprice?
"
murmured the vicar.
"A sacred trust, more like. He
'
s like a guardian angel, and oh, Papa, guardian angels aren
'
t all that they
'
re cracked up to be, as I
'
ve discovered.
"
"Then if the man
'
s character is unpredictable, it
'
s best to sever your ties to him,
"
said the vicar thoughtfully. "You did the right thing.
"
W
ith a small, impatient shrug of her shoulders, Annabelle responded softly, "Oh no, Papa, if it were only that, I should not care. I can predict
Dalmar like, well, like the han
ds on that clock over there. Can
'
t you understand—it
'
s myself I don
'
t know.
"
The vicar was not very sure that Dalmar was the man he would have chosen for Annabelle. He did not like the sound of manacles and gag. But whatever the circumstances of that incredible encounter, he could not, in all conscience, permit his dear daughter to be crushed under the weight of her guilt.
"So you stepped out of character for a moment or two,
"
he said, "and the experience has left you shaken.
"
"Mortified,
"
responded Annabelle in a muffled undertone.
"It was the same with Jacob,
"
mused the vicar.
"Was it?
"
asked Annabelle, swiveling her head round to gaze at her sire. As she remembered, they had once had a gardener of that name.
"You recall that he robbed his brother of his birthright.
Shocking!
"
said the vicar.
"Did he?
"
asked Annabelle doubtfully. "I didn
'
t know Jacob
had
a brother.
"
"Esau was his name.
"
"Oh,
that
Jacob. You
'
re telling me stories from the Bible, Papa.
"
She smiled up at him. It was just like old times again.
"And yet he got over that unhappy episode and made his peace with Esau. And the Lord used him to effect mighty things.
"
Annabelle sighed inaudibly. She should have known that her father would start to moralize sooner or later. "Yes, Papa,
"
she intoned politely.
"And think of King David,
"
said the vicar, warming to his subject.
"I have you there, Papa! King David was a veritable hero!
"
crowed Annabelle, interested in spite of herself.
"You
'
re forgetting Bathsheba,
"
he corrected, "and her poor husband, Uriah.
"
"I had forgot,
"
said Annabelle contritely.
"Yes, David connived at the poor man
'
s death.
"
"Scandalous!
"
hissed Annabelle. "Sometimes, Papa—and I hope you don
'
t think this is blasphemy—but I think the Lord needs his head examined! King David should have been punished for what he did!
"
"Were you always such a Biblical illiterate?
"
asked the vicar, the smile in his voice robbing his words of any real censure. "We
'
ll let that pass. But my point is that everyone, unless he
'
s a blessed saint, steps out of character a time or two in his lifetime. Look at Edgar!
"
"Edgar,
"
said Annabelle musingly. "I don
'
t recall
…
you will have to refresh my memory, Papa. Does he appear in the Old or the New Testament?
"
"Edgar, your late husband,
"
said the vicar dryly.
"Oh,
that
Edgar.
"
"He wasn
'
t a bad man, you know. Well, look how he made provision for his son, Richard. He must have suspected that he stood to forfeit your good opinion once Richard
'
s existence became known. But he didn
'
t compound one error by adding another. He did his duty, and I
'
ve always admired him for it.
"
"Poor Edgar,
"
said Annabelle, and lapsed into a meditative silence. "Perha
ps I'
ve misjudged him,
"
she said, striving to be generous.
"And then there
'
s Annabelle Jocelyn,
"
said the vicar, regarding Annabelle
'
s bent head with a soft, knowing eye. "So you
'
ve seen yourself in a new light, and you
'
re shocked by what
'
s been revealed.
"
Annabelle cocked her head to one side. "Did you ever step out of character, Papa?
"
she quizzed. "I just can
'
t imagine it.
"
"
O
h yes,
"
said the vicar. "I do it all the time. Well, we all do, to a greater or less degree. But one lives in hope, you know. That is, after all, our creed.
"
They sat in companionable silence for a long interval. At length, Annabelle stretched and slowly rose to her feet. She pressed a kiss on top of the vicar
'
s bald head.
"Thank you, Papa,
"
she said. "I think I
'
ve learned a salutary lesson.
"
"And the young man, Dalmar?
"
The smile she bestowed on him was appallingly familiar to the vicar. An involuntary shiver danced along his spine.
"Oh, he
'
s in need of a salutary lesson,
"
said Annabelle. "And I
'
m just the one to give it to him.
"
T
he Earl of Dalmar received the first intimation of w
hat was in store for him on a F
riday morning. It arrived in the form of a one-page epistle from Annabelle. It seemed that the lady wished to buy him out of her publishing business. She was prepared to offer him very generous terms, so she wrote.
Dalmar mulled the matter over in his mind. There was no real reason, he thought, why he should not accede to her wishes. But something in him resisted, something that refused to accept the severing of this last link between them.
He wondered where the capital to buy him out was to come from. As he well knew, Bailey
'
s was in the throes of expansion, and every spare penny that Annabelle had was tied up in the business. She was up t
o something. He could smell it—
something that she knew he would put a stop to if he had any say in the matter. He decided, then, rather indignantly, that
nothing on God
'
s earth could make him tamely relinquish his half share in Bailey
'
s.
On Saturday morning, another epistle arrived at Gilcomston, this time from John Falconer. It appeared that the young man was having such a good time in town that he proposed to stay on for another sennight, if his brother could spare him. Dalmar snorted. As they both knew very well, in February, things were
very quiet in th
e country. Most of his time was spent at books and ledgers, and a very dull time of it he was having. As if anyone cared.
As he read further, a laugh was startled out of him. He could picture Annabelle
'
s party as if he were there. Was there to be no end to the scrapes she got into? The girl needed a keeper. He
'
d thought so from the moment he
'
d first clapped eyes on her. How damnably unfortunate that he had to disqualify himself from taking on that role for circumstances beyond his control.
The next paragraph in Falconer
'
s letter brought storm clouds to the Earl
'
s brow. This, he thought, even for Annabelle, was skating too close to thin ice—Harriette Wilson, London
'
s most notorious courtesan, to be observed entering Bailey
'
s by its front doors! And to leave standing outside in the street for a good half hour or more, her equipage—for who could mistake its distinctive blue satin trappings?—that was tantamount to courting social disaster for Annabelle. What could the girl be thinking of?
It was here that the Earl came very close to suffering a mild apoplexy.
She wouldn
'
t dare!
he thought, and on the next breath,
Who says she wouldn
'
t?
He
'
d spiked her guns once before, in the matter of Monique Dupres
'
s memoirs. And though every word was imprinted in her memory, she had given her word to Somerset that she would never commit them to paper. But Annabelle hated to be bested in anything. He should have expected, thought Dalmar, that she would find some way of demonstrating her utter contempt for all his schemes to order her life to suit himself.
"Damn her to hell!
"
The roar reverberated through the great house, from cellars to attics, sending innocent little mice scurrying for their holes, and turning startled servants into
statues of stone. It was only when his lordship
'
s curricle was observed to be safely disappearing in a cloud of dust down Gilcomston
'
s stately drive that whispering servants dared come together in clusters to decry their unhappy lot. The proverbial Falconer temper was flying at full mast.
"
'
ere,
"
said cook, a certain Mrs. Flood by name, as she waved her spurtle under old Raggett
'
s long nose, "A
'
thought the new earl were a downey
'
un.
'
E ain
'
t never show
'
d us that
'
orrid side o
'
'
is character a-
fore.
"
"No,
"
agreed that august gentleman, carefully removing a speck of lint from the sleeve of his new scarlet livery. He appeared to fall into a brown study. Emerging a moment or two later from his reverie, he smiled rather oddly and observed, "The old lord was a bit of Turk, if ever there was one.
"
"Ain
'
t that the truth,
"
concurred Cook readily.
"D
'
you know what I think?
"
"No, wot?
"
"I don
'
t think we
'
ll see the likes of the old lord again.
"
His tone was faintly regretful.
Mrs. Flood blinked owlishly. She looked askance at the butler
'
s straight-backed figure. "An d
'
y know wot I says, Mr. Raggett?
"
she asked, deceptively mild.
"No, what?
"
asked Raggett absently.
"Amen to that!
"
she roared. "
That
'
s wot! Amen to that!
"
T
he Earl arrived in town too late to present himself at Greek Street. And since he was not expected in Cavendish Square, and young Falconer did little more than rack up there for the night, the caretakers had made no provision for visitors. He had to content himself with a cold house and indifferent victuals.
A fire was soon kindled in the study, however, and Dalmar set himself to while away the hours with a good book and fine brandy till his brother should return from some vaguely specified party. He had a long wait.
Falconer arrived when it was almost three of the clock in the morning, and though he greeted his brother effusively, he wanted nothing more than to crawl into a comfortable bed.
Another hour was to pass before he had his wish, for Dalmar cross-examined him most particularly on the very minutiae of Annabelle
'
s comings and goings. As far as Falconer knew, there was nothing worth the telling. He could not know how his carelessly thrown out words set the Earl back on his heels.