but he realized it was how he felt.
He truly liked and respected Annabelle. While he might not have imagined this future, he would do all within his means to make the best of it for both himself and Annabelle. How he didn’t yet know. He could only hope the path forward would reveal itself.
“We’ll allow the two of you to have a moment alone.” Lady Gold turned to her husband and held out her hand. “Reginald?”
Her husband hesitated before stepping around the desk and escorting his wife out the door.
Thomas turned to face Annabelle, words failing him now that he had the chance to speak with her in private. Did he apologize? Reassure her that all would be well? Tell her he’d do his best to make certain she didn’t come to look at this moment as a dreadful mistake?
“I’m quite certain the uproar will soon pass, and all will return to normal.” Yet the smile she offered was brittle as if even she doubted her words. “A broken betrothal is not so unusual.”
The weight pressing on him—or rather, on his heart—increased ten-fold. “I don’t think we should expect that.” He wanted to ask if being married to him would be so terrible, but he couldn’t, too afraid of her answer.
“We shall see. Allow us to shift our attention to what is truly important. What did you find in Sir Alexander’s desk?”
Thomas sighed. Trust Annabelle to be more concerned with the investigation than their betrothal.
Chapter Thirteen
Two days later, Annabelle sorted through the notes she’d jotted down about the mystery element of the book she was plotting. Unfortunately, nothing was clear as to how all the bits and pieces she’d written would work together.
With a frustrated sigh, she pushed back from her desk. The book wasn’t the only thing that failed to be going smoothly in her life at the moment.
Though she hadn’t seen Thomas since he’d asked her father for her hand, she had no doubt she’d somehow disappointed him by her response that day. The idea bothered her more than she cared to admit despite the feeling that she’d disappointed everyone. She hadn’t been trying to ignore the situation. It was just that a murder seemed more important. Something she could investigate and work through to solve while her relationship with Thomas felt more complicated and impossible to unravel.
Had he been surprised by her suggestion of breaking the betrothal once all the uproar had passed? Surely he wasn’t happy about being forced to propose because of Society’s silly rules. She already knew he was an honorable man and would protect her whenever possible. He’d proven that when he’d saved her and her father at the dock.
Did he understand how much the idea of marrying him pushed and pulled at her? It was appealing on many levels as she enjoyed spending time with him, and there was no doubt as to the attraction they shared. But it frightened her as well. He could so easily become the center of her world. But allowing that to happen meant she’d lose herself by becoming fully immersed in his wants and needs, the very thing she’d tried so hard to avoid.
The entire situation, so filled with uncertainty, was upsetting. Therefore, it made sense to focus on the murder.
She’d scoured the broadsheet each day for mention of a second murder, but much to her relief, none had been noted. Did that mean the right person was in jail and Pickford was guilty after all?
When Thomas had told her he’d only found a mention in Sir Alexander’s correspondence that the East India Company wished to purchase her father’s business, she’d been frustrated. Considering the ramifications they’d experienced, the least they could have done was find evidence to prove who the guilty party was.
A knock sounded on her door. She considered ignoring it as she assumed it was Margaret trying once again to cheer her spirits. She appreciated her sister’s concern, but her attempts at lighthearted conversation weren’t helping. Yet she knew if she didn’t answer, Margaret would open the door anyway. “Enter.”
Caroline peeked her head inside before walking in. “I’ve come to see how you’re feeling.”
“I’m well, thank you.” Annabelle frowned at the notes spread on her desk, unwilling to face the inevitable upset on Caroline’s face. “I’m trying to discover the motivation for the murderer in my next book.”
Thank heavens she had her writing to throw herself into. Anything was better than pondering the solemn look in Thomas’s green eyes the previous day when