“You shouldn’t,” Annabel said. “Your condition…”

“Does not prevent me from walking,” Olivia finished with a cheeky expression. “In fact, I should enjoy the air. I was miserable for the first three months, and according to my mother, I’ll likely be miserable for the last three, so I had better enjoy this middle time.”

“It’s the best part of a pregnancy,” Annabel confirmed.

Olivia cocked her head to the side, giving Annabel a quizzical look.

“I am the oldest of eight. My mother was with child almost the whole of my youth.”

“Eight? My heavens. I am one of but three myself.”

“It is why Lord Newbury wishes to marry me,” Annabel said flatly. “My mother was one of seven. My father, one of ten. Not to mention that according to gossip, I am so fertile that birds sing when I draw near.”

Olivia winced. “You heard that.”

Annabel rolled her eyes. “Even I thought it was funny.”

“It’s good you can have a sense of humor about it.”

“One has to,” Annabel said with a fatalistic shrug. “If one doesn’t, then…” She sighed, unable to finish the statement. It was too depressing.

She slumped, letting her gaze settle on the ornate curve of the foot of a nearby end table. She stared at it until it grew fuzzy, then split into two. Her eyes must be crossing. Or she could be going blind. Maybe if she went blind then Lord Newbury wouldn’t want her anymore. Could one go blind by keeping one’s eyes crossed for days?

Maybe. It might be worth trying.

She tilted her head to the side.

“Annabel? Miss Winslow? Are you all right?”

“Fine,” Annabel said automatically, still staring at the table.

“Oh, the tea is here!” Olivia exclaimed, clearly relieved to break the awkward silence. “Here we are.” She sat down and placed a cup in a saucer. “How do you take yours?”

Annabel reluctantly pulled her gaze from the table and blinked, allowing her eyes to uncross. “Milk please. No sugar.”

Olivia waited for the tea to finish steeping, chattering away about this and that and nothing in particular. Annabel was happy—no, grateful—to just sit and listen. She learned about Olivia’s sister-in-law, who didn’t much enjoy coming to town, and her twin brother, who was (on odd days) the spawn of the devil. On even days, Olivia had said, her eyes flicking heavenward, “Isuppose I love him.”

As Annabel sipped the hot liquid, Olivia told her about her husband’s work. “He used to translateawful documents. Just dreadfully boring. One would think that papers for the War Office would be filled with intrigue, but trust me, that is not the case.”

Annabel sipped and nodded, sipped and nodded.

“He complains about the Gorely books all the time,” Olivia continued. “The writing reallyis dreadful. But I think he secretly loves translating them.” She looked up, as if she’d just thought of something. “Actually, he has Sebastian to thank for the job.”

“Really? How is that?”

Olivia’s mouth opened, but it was several moments before she actually said, “Honestly, I don’t quite know how to describe it. But Sebastian gave a reading for Prince Alexei. Who I believe you met last night.”

Annabel nodded. Then frowned. “He gave a reading?”

Olivia looked as if she still couldn’t quite believe it. “It was remarkable.” She shook her head. “I still

can’t quite believe it. He had the housemaids in tears.”

“Oh my.” She really did need to read one of these Gorely books.

“At any rate, Prince Alexei fell in love with the story.Miss Butterworth and the Mad Baron . He asked Harry to translate it so that his countrymen can read it, too.”

“It must be quite a story.”

“Oh, it is. Death by pigeons.”

Annabel choked on her tea. “You’re joking.”

“No. I swear to you, Miss Butterworth’s mother is pecked to death by pigeons. And this, the poor woman, after being the only member of her family—except for Miss Butterworth, of course—to survive the plague.”

“Bubonic?” Annabel asked, wide-eyed.

“Oh, no, sorry, it was pox. Iwish it had been bubonic.”

“I need to read one of those books,” Annabel said.

“I can give you one.” Olivia set her tea down and stood, walking across the room. “We have many copies here. Harry sometimes marks the pages, so we’ve had to buy multiples.” She opened up a small cabinet and bent down to look inside. “Oh, dear, I forgot I’m getting a bit unwieldy.”

Annabel started to rise to her feet. “Do you need help?”

“No, no.” Olivia let out a little groan as she straightened. “Here we are.Miss Sainsbury and the Mysterious Colonel . I believe it is Mrs. Gorely’s debut effort.”

“Thank you.” Annabel took the book and looked down at it, running her fingers over gilt letters on the front. She opened to the first page and read the opening.

The slanted light of dawn was rippling through the windowpane, and Miss Anne Sainsbury huddled beneath her threadbare blanket, wondering as she often did, how she would find money for her next meal. She looked down at her faithful collie, lying quietly on the rug by her bed, and she knew that the time had come for her to make a momentous decision. The lives of her brothers and sisters depended upon it.

She slammed it shut.

“Is something wrong?” Olivia asked.

“No, just…nothing.” Annabel drank more tea. She wasn’t sure she wanted to read about a girl making momentous decisions just then. Especially not one who had brothers and sisters depending on her. “I think I will read it later,” she said.

“If you want to read now I’m more than happy to leave you to your peace,” Olivia said. “Or I could join you. I’m still only halfway through today’s newspaper.”

“No, no. I’ll start it tonight.” She smiled ruefully. “It will be a welcome distraction.”

Olivia started to say something, but just then they heard someone entering the front door.

“Harry?” Olivia called out.

“Only me, I’m afraid.”

Annabel froze. It was Mr. Grey.

“Sebastian!” Olivia called out, shooting a nervous glance at Annabel. Annabel shook her head frantically. She didn’t want to see him. Not now, when she was feeling so fragile.

“Sebastian, I wasn’t expecting you,” Olivia said, hurrying toward the drawing-room door.

He stepped in, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “Since when do you expect me or not expect me?”

Annabel slouched down in her seat. Maybe he wouldn’t see her. Her dress was almost the same blue as the sofa. Perhaps she’d blend in. Perhaps he’d gone blind from having crossed his eyes for days. Perhaps—

“Annabel? Miss Winslow?”

She smiled weakly.

“What are you doing here?” He walked swiftly across the room, his brow knitted with concern. “Is something wrong?”

Annabel shook her head, unable to speak. She’d thought she had herself under control. She’d been laughing with Olivia, for heaven’s sake. But one look at Mr. Grey and everything she’d been trying so hard to keep down rose right back up, pressing behind her eyes, clenching at her throat.

“Annabel?” he asked, kneeling down in front of her.

She burst into tears.

Chapter Seventeen

Sebastian had seen Annabel only once the previous evening after her dance with his uncle. Her eyes had been shuttered and she had seemed subdued, but there had been nothing that might have predictedthis . She was sobbing as if the world were about to crash on her shoulders.

Seb felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach.

“Good God,” he said, turning to Olivia. “What happened to her?”

Olivia pursed her lips and didn’t say anything. She just tilted her head toward Annabel. Seb had the

impression he had just been scolded.

“It’s nothing,” Annabel sobbed.

“It’s not nothing,” he said. He looked at Olivia again, giving her an urgent—and annoyed—expression.

“It’s not nothing,” Olivia confirmed.

Seb swore under his breath. “What did Newbury do?”

“Nothing,” Annabel said, shaking her head. “He didn’t do anything…because…because…”

Sebastian swallowed, not liking the queasy feeling building in his belly. His uncle did not have a reputation for baseness or cruelty, but nor had any woman ever had cause to call him gentle. Newbury was the sort who inflicted pain through carelessness, or more accurately, selfishness. He took what he wanted because he thought he deserved it. If his needs conflicted with someone else’s, frankly, he didn’t much care.

“Annabel,” he said, “you have to tell me what happened.”

But she was still crying, gulping down big huge breaths, and her nose…

He handed her his handkerchief.

“Thank you,” she got out, and used it. Twice.

“Olivia,” he snapped, whipping around to face her, “will you tell me what the hell is going on?”

Olivia walked over and crossed her arms, looking righteous as only a woman could. “Miss Winslow believes that your uncle is about to propose marriage.”

He let out a long breath. He was not surprised. Annabel was everything his uncle wanted in a bride, moreso now that he thought Sebastian wanted her, too.

“Here now,” he said, trying to be comforting. He took one of her hands and squeezed. “It’ll all work out. I’d be crying, too, if he asked me to marry him.”

She looked as if she might laugh, but then she just cried again.

“Can’t you say no?” he asked. “Can’t she say no?” he asked Olivia.

Olivia crossed her arms. “What do you think?”