To Win A Wallflower

‘After one night?’ she squeaked out the words. Relief. Disbelief and relief again. And then a memory of their guest, who seemed to know the physician, and then that Barrett had found her alone in the room the physician had sent her to.

Her mother clasped her hands in front of her. ‘How wonderful. Wondrous. Gavin, you are a physician without compare.’

‘Odd.’ She dotted her hand over her cheek. ‘I still feel the epidemeosis.’

‘Well, you may have a lingering trace I can’t detect.’ Gavin put the monocle back in his coat pocket. ‘If you wish to sit alone in the night air a few more times, I see no harm in it.’

‘I will consider it,’ she said. ‘And I do wish to thank you for saving my life.’ She put a little too much smile into the words and he glanced away.

‘Well. I wouldn’t go that far.’ He turned to her mother. ‘But miracles do seem to follow me around.’ His back was to her. He waved his arm out, his movements so close to the same gesture she’d seen on Barrett the night before.

She shut her eyes, listening, trying to gauge a resemblance between the men.

‘Do you think there is any chance she will develop it again?’ Her mother spoke.

‘No. Not at all. Miss Annabelle is recovered. We are fortunate to say the least.’

Annie excused herself and left them as they each congratulated each other on having done such a perfect job with her.

She’d only seen Barrett in the dim lighting but still, she’d looked at him with her whole being. She’d not paid as much attention to the physician before, but now she had. They were related. She would wager a month of her epidemeosis on that.

The physician had arranged a meeting and she’d attended just as planned. And Barrett had seen, or not seen, whatever he wished and now he was satisfied not to see her again if her miraculous recovery was anything to go by.

She remembered when the physician had first visited. He’d been so genial with her parents. So caring. He’d even enquired after her father’s business and they’d talked long into the night. She’d thought it odd that the physician had been willing to stay and listen to the tedious details of her father’s different holdings.

Then, later, her father had mentioned selling one of the shops at a ridiculously low amount, but how happy he’d been to get the money just when he needed it and he’d mentioned the Viscount’s son for the first time. Her father had been happy Barrett wasn’t the viper his father was and she’d felt reassured—freed from worrying about how her father would survive after she left home.

She reached up, took a pin from her hair and put a lock back in place, then walked to the window of her room. No carriages moved along the street. Each house as perfect as the other.

Barrett must live in a house much the same, yet the house had the memory of losing his mother.

A curtain fluttered in one of the windows across the street, and she wondered if a child had been looking out at her. And she wondered if Barrett’s grandmother still lived. If she’d passed on, Annie hoped he’d not danced on that day, though she wouldn’t have blamed him if he had.

* * *

Her eyes opened into the darkness and she wasn’t sure what time it was because she could no longer hear the clock’s chimes. The lamp still burned because she’d turned the knob low instead of putting it out.

Washing her face with cool water from the pitcher woke her completely and confirmed her determination.

She worked herself into her corset, putting it on backwards, lacing it, turning it and then pulling it up a bit more. It wasn’t easy, but it sufficed.

She wound her hair into a knot quickly and the pins went in place.

Creeping downstairs, she moved to the library to look at the clock. Two thirty. Well, let the soirée begin. A man’s room. She did have her sisters’ blood in her.

But not the ghastly, simpering, hug, hug, kiss, kiss, can’t live without you sop they’d inherited.

She couldn’t bear to be a victim to such nonsense. Barrett might think her an innocent and he was right. She had no reason to lose her innocence where love was concerned. She’d seen women about the ton carrying on with tales of broken hearts and husbands gone astray and being locked in a marriage with a lout.

A bad marriage led to misery and a good marriage led to brain rot.

Her own parents truly cared for each other and sighed over each other’s perfection. Their hours of conversation about what to ask Cook to prepare could destroy an appetite.

‘Whatever you would like, dearest.’

‘No, whatever you would like, dearest.’

‘Oh, no, whatever you would like.’

‘Dearest...’

‘Dearest...’

‘Dearest...’

But her mother wasn’t a mindless fluff when her father wasn’t around. True, she was a bit of a hypochondriac because she loved being fussed over, particularly by her husband. But, separate them and her mother could tally a balance sheet and organise the staff, all while twirling a knitting needle or playing pianoforte.

But Annie could not stay in ton and become one of the pretty posies doomed to decorate a man’s arm and his house and his children. She shuddered.

Barrett had a good thought when he told her she should learn to defend herself. She was destined, not doomed, but destined to become a spinster with a mind of her own. She’d almost perfected the spinster part, but having a mind of her own was giving her some trouble. She’d never be able to do that around her parents. They cried too easily.

She knocked on the oak door, hoping Barrett was right and that sound didn’t carry well.

She rapped again. He was certainly right about not being able to wake people easily in the night.

Then she considered kicking the door.

She couldn’t wait in the hallway forever.

Then she turned the latch and eased inside. The four-poster did look to have a shape in it, but she turned her head slightly aside because she shouldn’t look at a man in bed.

‘Pardon me,’ she whispered.

He didn’t move.

She slid back against the door and knocked on it from the inside.

‘Mr Barrett,’ she began on a whisper, but ended on a high note.

The form rolled over. Long arms. A muttered oath. ‘What—do you want?’ A wakening growl.

‘I thought about what you said.’

He sat up. Covers fell away. She closed her eyes and swallowed, forcing her courage to remain with her. Even in the dark, the man was a tower of strength. She opened her eyes and looked over his head.

He exhaled and his teeth were clenched. He finally spoke. ‘Couldn’t you have thought about it—tomorrow, after breakfast? Before dinner.’ He raised his hand and ran his fingers through his hair. She’d seen that movement before. On a pedlar when his cart of apples had been overturned.

‘You know I’m watched closely. I’m not even allowed to sleep on the same floor as you.’

‘For good reason, apparently.’

‘Did you have the physician arrange for me to be in the room?’

He didn’t answer.

‘Why?’ she asked.

‘You are said to be one of the beautiful Carson sisters. He said I would fall slavering at your feet. I was curious. That’s all.’

Her stomach gave the oddest flutter when Barrett mentioned falling slavering at her feet.

‘And the physician has kept you informed of my father’s business dealings?’

‘Not particularly. Not considerably. Your father has kept me informed. He talks when he’s nervous.’

She ignored his words and instead focused on her purpose. ‘I want you to help me learn to defend myself. In case it’s needed.’ And it might be once she left home. She wouldn’t be living in a large house with servants.

His eyes shut. ‘Practise your punching. Learn to scream out and shout No! If in doubt, bring a knee to the private parts. Goodnight.’

She didn’t move. She’d knocked on his door in the early morning. He should appreciate what an effort it had taken.

‘That was a mannered way of telling you to go away.’ He lay back down, rolled away from her and pulled the covers over his shoulders.

* * *

Barrett could feel her eyes on his back. He should never have spoken with her. Never have convinced his brother to arrange a meeting—wager or no. The damn little innocent was standing in his room in the middle of the night. And he was naked and the bed was warm and big and cosy. Way too comfortable for one. A perfect bed.

But not for him and this naive miss. She was little more than a pretty piece of pottery. Much too young. Younger than he’d been at birth. She was too naive for her own good. And she wasn’t doing him any favours.

‘I...I would prefer to hit you.’ Her voice moved like music along the air. ‘Hitting a pillow alone is not as intimidating. It doesn’t have eyes.’

‘Hire a footman.’ If he rolled towards her, he would not be able to go back to sleep. Well, that didn’t matter. He was unlikely to fall back asleep this night.

‘My parents would never let me punch a footman.’ She sounded shocked.

Heaven save him from an artless miss shocked at the thought of hitting a footman.

‘Go away.’ He put force into the words. No man would dare ignore such a command.

‘I don’t think it’s polite to keep your back to me as you talk.’

Much better than telling you to get the hell out of my room. A thread of civility remained in him. ‘Said the woman holding a lamp near the man’s bed.’

‘I’m across the room and you wouldn’t answer the door.’

He slung his body into a sitting position, using both hands to comb back the hair that had moved to cover his face. ‘Because knocks in the middle of the night never bring peace.’ He bit out the words.

Now she flattened her back against the wood, but her feet remained still.

‘Reach down. A little to the left. Open the latch. And go to your room and practise hitting the pillow. I will speak with your father about sending a maid to you so you can practise dodging punches.

‘Oh, that would never do. If you make him think I am in any kind of danger, he will have me sleeping in my mother’s room the rest of my life.’ She took in a quavering breath. ‘I would have thought you would want me to be safe. After what you said about shouts in the night not waking anyone...and then we have the physician in our house.’

‘You have no need to worry about the physician,’ he grumbled. ‘The man has a strict code of honour. He only lies on weekdays and is careful not to speak on Sunday.’

‘How do you know him?’ she asked.

He shook his head, causing his hair to move over his vision. ‘Everyone knows Gavin.’

‘Well, that doesn’t mean he’s trustworthy.’

‘He’s a whole damn lot more trustworthy than I am.’

He threw back the covers and she dived for the doorknob. She scurried.

‘Portrait gallery.’ He bit out the words before the door shut.

He would teach the wench to fight. And he was not in the mood to take pity on her. A woman who woke a man in the middle of the night needed to learn that was the number one thing not to do for safety.

He stopped. And a man who woke in the middle of the night should not be following along after a chaste woman like a puppy on a string. He was going to need that knee in the bollocks.

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