[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
snobbery.
Because one gains nothing by trying to argue with such people. Annabelle scowled. If Simon saved a
dozen people from drowning, he would never be regarded with the same admiration as some fat old peer
who sat by and watched without lifting a finger to help.
Daisy raised her brows slightly. Are you sorry that you didn t marry a peer?
No, Annabelle said instantly, and ducked her head in sudden shame. But I suppose & I suppose
there are moments that I can t help wishing that Simon was a peer.
Lillian regarded her with a touch of concern. If you could go back and change things, would you
choose Lord Kendall over Mr. Hunt?
Good Lord,no . Sighing, Annabelle sank down onto a needlepoint stool, the skirts of her silk dress,
green with tiny printed flowers, billowing around her. I don t regret my choice. But I do regret not being
able to go to the Wymarks ball. Or the soiree at Gilbreath House. Or any of the other events that people
of good society attend. Instead, Mr. Hunt and I most often go to parties given by a far different crowd.
What sort of crowd? Daisy asked.
As Annabelle hesitated, Lillian answered in a voice laden with wry amusement. I would guess that
Annabelle is referring to the climbers. All the people with new money and lower-class values and vulgar
manners. In other words, our sort.
No, Annabelle said instantly, and both sisters laughed.
Yes, Lillian said gently. You ve married into our world, dear, and you don t belong there any more
than we will belong in the peerage, if we ever manage to get titled husbands. The truth is, I couldn t care
less about mingling with the Wymarks or the Gilbreaths, who are all deadly dull and intolerably full of
themselves.
Annabelle regarded her with a thoughtful frown, suddenly seeing her situation from a new vantage point.
I ve never questioned whether they were dull, she murmured. I suppose I ve always wanted to ascend
to the top of the ladder without ever wondering if I would like the view. But now the question is
immaterial, of course. And I must find a way to adapt to a different life than the one I thought I wanted.
Resting her elbows on her knees, Annabelle propped her chin on her hands and added ruefully, I ll
know that I ve succeeded when it no longer hurts to be snubbed by some whey-faced wife of a
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
viscount.
Ironically, the Hunts were invited that same week to a ball given by Lord Hardcastle, who was privately
indebted to Simon for advising him on how to restructure the family s dwindling balance of investments
and assets. It was a large and well-attended event, and despite Annabelle s new resolution not to care
about going to balls given by the upper class, she couldn t help but be excited. Dressed in a lemon-ice
satin ball gown, her hair dressed in ringlets caught up with yellow silk cording, Annabelle entered the
ballroom on Simon s arm. The ballroom, lined with white marble columns, was bathed in the sparkling
glow of eight chandeliers, the air perfumed from the massive arrangements of roses and peonies.
Accepting a glass of iced champagne, Annabelle eagerly mixed with friends and acquaintances, and
basked in the serene elegance of the affair. These were the people she had always understood and tried
to emulate civilized, beautifully mannered, knowledgeable about music and art and literature. These
gentlemen would never dream of discussing politics or business matters in front of a lady, and any of them
would have chosen to be shot rather than mention the cost of things or speculate openly about what
someone else was worth.
She danced often, with Simon and with other men, laughing and chatting in a relaxed manner and
skillfully deflecting the compliments that were showered on her. Midway through the evening, she spied
Simon across the room as he stood conversing with friends, and she experienced a sudden urge to go to
him. Managing to detach herself from a pair of persistent young men, she skirted the side of the ballroom,
where the space behind the columns provided a shadowy corridor. Between the columns, settees and
small groupings of chairs provided spaces for guests to relax and talk. She passed behind a group of
dowagers & then a group of disconsolate wallflowers, who provoked a sympathetic smile from her. As
she crossed in back of a pair of women, however, a few overheard words caused her to pause, while her
presence was screened by a heavy cluster of palms.
& don t know why they had to be invited tonight, one of them was saying angrily. Annabelle
recognized the voice as one belonging to a former friend, now Lady Wells-Troughton, who had spoken
to her only a few minutes earlier with brittle congeniality. How smug she is, flaunting that vulgar diamond
on her finger and that ill-bred husband, with no trace of shame whatsoever!
She won t be smug forever, came her friend s reply. She doesn t yet seem to have realized that they
are invited only to the homes of those who are financially obligated to him. Or those who are friends of
Westcliff, of course.
Westcliff is a significant ally, Lady Wells-Troughton admitted. But his favor can only get them so far.
The fact is, they should have the good taste not to push their way into places where they don t belong.
She married a commoner, and therefore she should mix with commoners. Though I suppose she thinks of
herself as too good for them&
Feeling sick and hollow, Annabelle backed away unseen from the pair of chatting women and headed to
the corner of the ballroom.I really have to cure this habit of eavesdropping, she thought with ironic
humor, remembering the evening she had heard the comments that Bertha Hunt had made about her.I
always seem to overhear such unflattering things about myself.
It did not surprise her that there was gossip about her and Simon what had startled her was the
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]