Brandy?” Lady Vickers asked, holding forth a glass.

Annabel shook her head. After the second day of receiving morning callers with her grandmother (who could not face any hour before noon without the proper libation) she had learned that it was best to stick to lemonade and tea until after dinner. “It will give me a stomachache,” she said.

“This?” Lady Vickers asked, eyeing the glass curiously. “How odd. It makes me feel positively serene.”

Annabel nodded. There was no other way to respond. She’d spent more time with her grandmother in the last few days than she had in the entire previous month. When Lady Vickers had told her to take the scandal like a lady, she’d been referring to herself as well, and apparently that meant sticking to one’s granddaughter’s side like glue.

It was, Annabel realized, quite the most tangible show of love her grandmother had ever displayed toward her.

“Well, I will say one thing,” Lady Vickers proclaimed, “for all that it’s a scandal, I have seen more of my friends than I have in years.”

Friends? Annabel smiled weakly.

“I do think perhaps it’s dying down,” Lady Vickers continued. “There were thirty-three visitors the first day, thirty-nine the second, and only twenty-six yesterday.”

Annabel’s mouth fell open. “You’ve been counting?”

“Of course I’ve been counting. What have you been doing?”

“Ehrm … sitting here and trying to take it like a lady?”

Her grandmother chuckled. “You probably didn’t think I could count so high.”

Annabel spluttered and stammered and began to regret turning down that brandy.

“Pfft.” Lady Vickers dismissed her distress with a sharp wave of her hand. “I have all sorts of hidden talents.”

Annabel nodded, but the truth was, she was not certain she wanted any more of her grandmother’s talents to rise to the surface. In fact, she was sure of it.

“A lady must have her own private reserve of secrets and strength,” her grandmother continued. “Trust me.” She took a sip of her drink, let out a contented exhale, and took another. “Once you are married you will understand what I mean.”

Ninety-eight visitors, Annabel thought, doing the addition in her head. Ninety-eight people had called upon Vickers House, eager to see the latest scandal. Or spread it. Or tell her how much it had spread.

It had been awful.

Ninety-eight people. She slumped.

“Sit up straight!” her grandmother snapped.

Annabel obeyed. Maybe not quite ninety-eight. Several people had come more than once. Lady Twombley had been by every day.

And where had Mr. Grey been in all this? No one seemed to know. He had not been seen since the altercation at his club. Annabel was quite certain this was true, because she had been told this, no fewer than ninety-eight times.

But Annabel supposed she wasn’t angry at Mr. Grey. None of this was his fault. She should have told him that she was being courted by his uncle. She was the one who could have prevented the scandal. That was the worst of it. She had spent the whole of three days feeling embarrassed and angry and small, and she had no one to blame but herself. If she had told him the truth, if not the moment she’d learned his name then at least when they’d met in Hyde Park …

“Visitors, my lady,” the butler announced.

“Our first two of the day,” Lady Vickers said dryly. Or was it mockingly? “Who is it, Judkins?”

“Lady Olivia Valentine and Mr. Grey.”

“It’s about damned time,” Lady Vickers grunted. And then, when Judkins had shown their guests in, she said it again. “It’s about damned time. What has taken you so long?”

Annabel wanted to die of mortification.

“I took ill,” Mr. Grey said smoothly, with a wry half smile that pointed up toward his eye.

His eye. It looked awful. Horribly red rimmed, a bit swollen, and with a blue-black bruise that spread from the underneath around to the outer corner. Annabel gasped aloud; she could not help it.

“I am rather frightening to behold,” he murmured, taking her hand and leaning down to kiss it.

“Mr. Grey,” she said, “I am terribly sorry about your eye.”

He straightened. “I rather like it myself. It gives me the air of a perpetual wink.”

Annabel started to smile, then tried not to. “A most gruesome wink,” she agreed.

“And here I thought it was dashing,” he murmured.

“Sit down,” Lady Vickers said, pointing at the sofa. Annabel started toward the spot, but her grandmother said, “No. Him. You over there.” Then she marched over to the doorway, called out, “Judkins, we are home to no one,” and firmly shut the door.

Once Lady Vickers had finished directing everyone into her chosen seats, she wasted no time in starting the conversation. “What do you plan to do?” she asked, directing her question not to Mr. Grey but to his cousin, who had heretofore managed to remain silent throughout the exchange.

But Lady Olivia was unruffled. Clearly she also did not judge either of the two principals able to manage their own scandal. “That’s why we’re here,” she said efficiently. “My cousin is aghast at the potential damage to your granddaughter’s reputation and is most apologetic over any part he may have had in the scandal.”

“As he should be,” Lady Vickers said tartly.

Annabel stole a glance at Mr. Grey. To her relief, he looked somewhat amused. Maybe even a little bored.

“Of course,” Lady Olivia said smoothly, “his involvement was completely inadvertent. As we all know, Lord Newbury threw the first punch.”

“The only punch,” Mr. Grey interjected.

“Yes,” Lady Vickers said, acknowledging the point with a grand wave of her arm. “But who could blame him? He would have been overcome with shock. I have known Newbury all of my adult life. He is a man of delicate sensibilities.”

Annabel very nearly snorted aloud at that. She looked over at Mr. Grey again, to see if he felt the same. Just as she did so, however, his eyes widened with alarm.

Wait a moment … alarm?

Mr. Grey swallowed uncomfortably.

“Yes,” Lady Vickers said with an affected sigh, “but now the entire match has been put at risk. We did so want an earl for Annabel.”

“Eeep!”

Annabel and Lady Olivia both looked over at Mr. Grey, who had, if Annabel’s ears did not deceive, just squeaked. He smiled tightly, looking as ill at ease as she had ever seen him. Not that she’d seen him terribly much, but he did seem the sort of gentleman who was rarely anything but utterly comfortable in his own skin.

He shifted in his seat.

Annabel looked down.

And saw her grandmother’s hand on his thigh.

“Tea!” she practically shrieked, jumping to her feet. “We must have tea. Don’t you think?”

“I do,” Mr. Grey said with great feeling, using the opportunity to scoot himself as far away from Lady Vickers as the sofa would allow. It was only a few inches, but still, far enough so that she could not grab him without being ridiculously obvious about it.

“I adore tea,” Annabel babbled, moving over to the bellpull to ring for it. “Don’t you? My mother always said that nothing could be solved without a pot of tea.”

“And does the opposite hold true?” Mr. Grey asked. “That anything can be solved with it?”

“We shall soon find out, shan’t we?” Annabel watched with horror as her grandmother edged across the sofa toward him. “Oh my!” she said, with what was certainly too much emphasis. “It’s become stuck. Mr. Grey, would you mind helping me with this?” She held out the bellpull, careful not to tug it into ringing.

He practically leaped to his feet. “I would be happy to. You know me,” he said to the other ladies. “I live to rescue damsels in distress.”

“It’s why we’re here,” Lady Olivia said smoothly.

“Careful,” Annabel said as he took the cord from her hands. “You don’t want to pull too hard.”

“Of course not,” he murmured, then mouthed, Thank you.

They stood there for a moment, and then, confident that her grandmother and Lady Olivia were ensconced in their conversation, Annabel said, “I’m sorry about your eye.”

“Oh, this,” he said, waving it away.

She swallowed. “I’m also very sorry I didn’t say anything. That was not well done of me.”

He gave an oddly sharp one-shouldered shrug. “If I were being courted by my uncle, I’m not sure I would wish to advertise it, either.”

She had a feeling she was supposed to laugh, but all she felt was a terrible desperation. She managed a smile—not a very good one—and said …

Nothing. Apparently the smile was all she could manage.

“Are you going to marry him?” Mr. Grey asked.

She looked down at her feet. “He has not asked.”

“He will.”

Annabel tried not to answer. She tried to think of something else to say, anything that would change the subject without being painfully obvious. She shifted her weight, then looked over at the clock, then—

“He wants an heir,” Mr. Grey said.

“I know,” she said quietly.

“He needs one quickly.”

“I know.”

“Most young ladies would be flattered by his regard.”

She sighed. “I know.” And so she looked up and smiled. It was one of those awkward sorts of smiles that are at least three fourths nervous laughter. “I am,” she said. She swallowed. “Flattered, that is.”

“Of course you are,” he murmured.

Annabel stood still, trying not to tap her foot. Another one of those habits her grandmother deplored. But it was so hard to stand still when one wasn’t feeling quite oneself. “It’s a moot point,” she said in a rush. “He has not called. I suspect he has moved on to another prospect.”

“For which I hope you are grateful,” Mr. Grey said quietly.

She did not reply. She couldn’t. Because she was grateful. More than that, she was relieved. And she felt so bloody guilty for feeling that way. Marriage to the earl would have saved her entire family. She shouldn’t feel grateful. She should be prostrate with grief that the match had fallen through.

“Mr. Gre-ey!” her grandmother trilled from across the room.

“Lady Vickers,” he said solicitously, walking back to the seating area. He did not, however, sit.

“We think you must court my granddaughter,” she announced.

Annabel felt her skin turn to beets, and she would have loved to have crawled under a chair, but panic set in, and she hurried over, exclaiming, “Oh, Grandmother, you can’t be serious.” And then to Mr. Grey: “She’s not serious.”

“I’m serious,” her grandmother said succinctly. “It’s the only way.”

“Oh no, Mr. Grey,” Annabel put in, absolutely mortified that he was being ordered to court her. “Please don’t think—”

“Am I that bad?” he said dryly.

“No! No. I mean, no, you know that you are not.”

“Well, I’d hoped …” he murmured.

Annabel looked over at the other two ladies for help, but they were offering none of it.

“None of this is your fault,” Annabel said firmly.

“Nevertheless,” he said grandly, “I cannot stand by while a damsel is in distress. What sort of gentleman would I be?”

Annabel looked over at Lady Olivia. She was smiling in a way that alarmed her.

“It’s nothing serious, of course,” Lady Vickers said. “All for show. You may part ways by the end of the month. Amicably, of course.” She smiled wolfishly. “We would hate for Mr. Grey to feel he was not welcome here at Vickers House.”

Annabel hazarded a glance at the gentleman in question. He looked a bit queasy.

“Please do sit again,” Lady Vickers said, patting the spot on the sofa beside her. “You make me feel a most incompetent hostess.”

“No!” Annabel burst out, without even beginning to ponder the ramifications of that one word.

“No?” her grandmother echoed.

“We should go for a walk,” Annabel said.

“We should?” Mr. Grey said. “Oh, we should.”

“Absolutely, you should,” Lady Olivia said.

“The weather is fine,” Annabel said.

“And everyone will see us and think we are courting,” Mr. Grey finished. He took Annabel’s arm with alacrity and announced, “And so we depart!”

They hurried from the room, not speaking a word until reaching the front steps, when Mr. Grey turned to her and let out a heartfelt, “Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure,” Annabel said, stepping lightly down to the pavement. She turned back and smiled. “I live to rescue gentlemen in distress.”