Annabelle's Courtship Read Free

can think of one right off.
    Lady Annabelle. You met her today. Good sort, but she’s got some funny ideas.” He had been right. Annabelle was all that she seemed. And his body reacted to her in an unexpected, but wholly pleasant way. “What kind of funny ideas?”
    “She’s a blue-stocking.” Finchley said it as if he was confessing that Lady Annabelle was not all that she should be.
    To Ian’s way of thinking, Annabelle’s intelligence was not a shortcoming. “I dinna think her mind is filled with a bunch of silly romantic nonsense.”

    Finchley shook his head violently, or as violently as his high pointed collar would allow. “She’s not romantical at all, don’t you know.” Ian smiled. Perhaps this trip to Town would not be so bad after all. He would get to know Annabelle better and if she met his requirements, they could be married and return before the spring lambing.

    * * *
    Annabelle watched the glittering crowd at Almack’s and tried to ignore the leap of her heart every time a new arrival entered. She must stop acting like a silly schoolgirl.
    The Scottish laird most likely would not come. For the past two weeks, he had singled her out for attention whenever they attended the same affair and on one such occasion, he had told her that he no more cared for this bastion of the ton ’s doings than she did. Since her first Season when she had been labeled the Ordinary , Annabelle had detested the midweek soirees.
    The unimposing building and less than stellar décor served as a backdrop to the ton ’s most initiated hunt—that for the advantageous marriage. Her aunt insisted they come each week. Although the rest of the ton considered Annabelle, at the age of four and twenty, to be firmly on the shelf, Lady Beauford would not give up hope of seeing her niece wed. Annabelle could have refused to attend the season at all, but that would have curbed her own plans.
    Stifling an unladylike urge to yawn, she tried to pay attention to her current companion’s meandering. A young buck enjoying his first season, Mr. Green still had the spotty complexion of youth. Experience had taught her that dancing with him required vigilance on her part to protect her tender toes. Safer to sit, sipping tepid lemonade and listening to his monologue. Unfortunately, it was not more enjoyable.
    Annabelle’s mind drifted. So did her eyes, back to the entrance. Her heart skipped a beat. Laird MacKay stood in the doorway, surveying the room as if he was looking for someone. She could not tamp down hope that the person he sought was herself.
    His gaze locked on her and their eyes met. His firm lips, lips that she had spent entirely too much time daydreaming about, tipped at the corners. It took all her self-discipline not to return his smile across the crowded room in a most unladylike manner.
    He began moving toward her. He ignored bids for attention by lovely young debutants and their fond mammas.

    Unbelievable as it seemed, Ian found her company more fascinating than the loveliest creatures of the ton .
    It was extraordinary, but then so was Ian. He towered above his peers and walked with an air of authority that would have done Wellington proud. Annabelle no longer even made a pretense of listening to Mr. Green. She simply waited for Ian to arrive and stop the boredom threatening to overwhelm her.
    Would he ask her to dance? She experienced the most extraordinary feeling whenever he touched her, as if her corsets were laced too tight. Although she lectured herself severely on being a modern woman of the nineteenth century who did not need a gentleman in her life, he invaded her dreams and the thoughts of her waking hours.
    However, Ian never called on her. He did not send her posies and notes. He did none of the things a gentleman falling in love was supposed to do. She chastised herself for being a ninny and wanting him to. She had given up finding a love like her late parents had enjoyed. Hadn’t she?
    Mr. Green’s