After Simon Hunt had left, Annabelle followed her mother to their room, where they would undoubtedly talk some more. Worried by Philippa’s unnatural quietness, Annabelle closed the door and considered what to say to her, wondering if she had reservations about the prospect of Simon Hunt as a son-in-law.

As soon as they were alone, Philippa went to the window and looked outside at the evening sky, then covered her eyes with one hand. Alarmed, Annabelle heard the sound of a muffled sob. “Mama…” she said hesitantly as she stared at her mother’s rigid back, “I’m sorry, I—”

“Thank God,” Philippa murmured unsteadily, not seeming to hear her. “Thank God.”

Despite Lord Westcliff’s vow that he would not stand up with Simon at the wedding, he came to London in a fortnight to attend the ceremony. Grim-faced but polite, he even offered to give Annabelle away, assuming the place of her deceased father. She was strongly tempted to turn him down, but the offer had made Philippa so happy that Annabelle was forced to accept. And she even took a certain spiteful pleasure in obliging the earl to take a significant part in a ceremony that he so obviously opposed. Only Westcliff’s loyalty to Hunt had brought him to London, revealing a bond of friendship between the two men that was far stronger than Annabelle would have guessed.

Lillian, Daisy, and their mother were also present at the private church ceremony, their presence made possible only by Lord Westcliff’s presence. Mrs. Bowman would never have allowed her daughters to attend the wedding of a girl who was marrying outside the peerage and was a bad influence to boot. However, any opportunity to be in the proximity of the most eligible bachelor in England was to be seized on. The fact that Westcliff was completely indifferent to her younger daughter, and actively disdainful of the elder, was a minor hindrance that Mrs. Bowman was certain could be overcome.

Evie, unfortunately, had been forbidden to attend by her aunt Florence and the rest of her mother’s family. Instead, she had sent Annabelle a long, affectionate letter, and a Sèvres china tea service painted with pink-and-gold flowers as a wedding gift. The rest of the small congregation consisted of Hunt’s parents and siblings, who were more or less what Annabelle had expected. His mother was coarse-faced and stout of build, a genial woman who seemed inclined to think well of Annabelle until something happened to persuade her otherwise. His father was a big, angular man who did not smile once through the ceremony, though the deep laugh lines at the corners of his eyes indicated that he was a man of pleasant disposition. Neither of the parents was particularly handsome, but they had produced five striking children, all tall and black-haired.

If only Jeremy could have attended the wedding…but he was still at school, and she and Philippa had decided that it would be best for him to finish the term and come to London when Hunt and Annabelle had returned from their honeymoon. Annabelle wasn’t quite certain what Jeremy’s reaction would be to the prospect of having Simon Hunt as a brother-in-law. Although Jeremy had seemed to like him, Jeremy had long been accustomed to being the only male in the family. There was every chance that he would chafe at any restrictions that Hunt might impose on him. For that matter, Annabelle herself wasn’t terribly fond of the prospect of kowtowing to the wishes of a man whom, in all honesty, she didn’t know that well.

That fact was forcibly brought home to Annabelle on her wedding night, as she waited for her new husband in a room at the Rutledge Hotel. Having assumed that Hunt resided at a private terrace house like many bachelors, Annabelle had been more than a little surprised to discover that he lived in a suite of hotel rooms.

“Why not?” Hunt had asked a few days earlier, amused by her open perplexity.

“Well…living in a hotel affords one so little privacy…”

“I beg to differ. I’m able to come and go as I please, without a horde of servants to gossip over my every habit and gesture. From what I’ve seen, life in a well-run hotel is far preferable to taking up residence in a drafty town mansion.”

“Yes, but a man of your position must have enough servants to demonstrate his success to others—”

“Forgive me,” Hunt had said, “but I always thought one hired servants if they were actually needed to work. The benefit of displaying employees as stylish accessories has always escaped me until now.”

“They’re hardly slave labor, Simon!”

“At the rate most servants are paid, that’s an arguable point.”

“We will need to hire a great deal of help if we’re ever to live in a proper house,” Annabelle had said pertly. “Unless you plan to have me on my hands and knees, scrubbing the floors and cleaning the grates?”

The suggestion had caused Hunt’s coffee black eyes to glint with a wicked humor that escaped her. “I plan to have you on your hands and knees, my sweet, but I can guarantee that you won’t be scrubbing.” He had laughed softly as he saw her bewilderment. Gathering her close, he had crushed a brief kiss to her lips.

She had strained a little in his embrace. “Simon…do let go…my mother won’t approve if she sees us like this—”

“Oh? I could do whatever I want with you now, and she wouldn’t offer a single objection.”

Frowning, Annabelle had wedged her arms between them. “Oh, you arrogant—no, I mean it, Simon! I want this settled…must we live in a hotel forever, or will you buy a house for us?”

Stealing another quick kiss, he had laughed at her expression. “I’ll buy any house you like, sweet. Better yet, I’ll build you a new one, as I’ve gotten rather accustomed to the comforts of good lighting and modern plumbing.”