Susan Johnson by When Someone Loves You

actress, after all—and went to open the door.
    Her mother rushed forward and opened the door instead, greeting the marquis like a long-lost friend. “Do come in, Lord Darley. What a lovely day we have, don’t you think? Perfect for the track.”
    As her mother and Duff exchanged pleasantries, Annabelle stood in the passage from the parlor listening and watching, like she might have in the wings at one of her plays.
    Darley was more handsome than any principal actor of the day, his manner completely unstudied and natural, as though he wasn’t a peer of the realm visiting a modest cottage, but rather a neighbor of lesser rank—an old friend.
    “There you are, darling,” her mother called out, catching sight of Annabelle in the shadows. “Do you have your reticule with you? She always forgets it, the dear—since she was a child. Don’t scowl at me, sweetheart. I’m sure the marquis doesn’t mind that you’re a bit forgetful,” her mother added with a warm smile. “She always has more important things on her mind, you see. Her plays and politics and such. She reads the papers she has sent out from London every day and books—my goodness…so many books—”
    “I’m sure the marquis doesn’t care about my books, Mama,” Annabelle interposed, touching her mother’s arm. “I’m quite ready,” she noted, smiling up at Duff. “Reticule and all.”
    “You two have a marvelous time!” her mother exclaimed. “And bet a few shillings for me on any little gray mare,” she added, handing some coins to Duff. “They’re always lucky for me.”
    “Consider it done, Mrs. Foster.” He offered his arm to Annabelle.
    As they strolled down the path to the phaeton, Mrs. Foster and Molly stood in the open doorway radiating good cheer.
    “He’s sweet on her,” Molly whispered. “It’s plain as the nose on my face.”
    “He is sure enough, but Belle’s right not to expect anything more than friendship,” her mother murmured. “She’ll enjoy herself today, though, and for that we should all be grateful.”
    “Amen to that, ma’am,” Molly agreed. “We all be right pleased that somethin’ fun be a-happenin’ for Miss Belle.”
     
     
    And indeed the afternoon was highly entertaining.
    Duff was on his best behavior, taking care to be charming and amusing in equal measure, never stepping over the bounds of the most casual of friendships.
    Annabelle, in turn, responded with wit and disarmingly candid replies, perhaps even mildly flirtatious comments at times.
    They agreed the weather was perfection, the crowd a lively crush, the lemonade more tasty than usual.
    They found they were inclined to bet on the same horses and they favored the same jockeys as well.
    It was an afternoon of congenial accord.
    They even won a sizeable sum on two of the Westerlands’ racers.
    “I told you,” Duff said with a grin as the duke’s thoroughbred finished by an easy five lengths.
    “I would have bet on him anyway,” Annabelle replied, smiling. “That horse is absolutely glorious from nose to tail. He looked as though he could have raced another ten miles without effort.”
    “He can,” Duff affirmed. “The desert breeds are known for their stamina. If you like, you could ride him sometime.”
    “Thank you. I may take you up on your offer,” she remarked courteously, when she had no intention of going anywhere near his family. She’d already politely declined his offer to take a glass of champagne with them at their box in the stands. While she was enjoying Duff’s company, she knew better than to allow herself to go beyond simple enjoyment. In fact, what most appealed about their friendship was its platonic nature. He’d promised not to ask her for more and he’d kept his word.
    It was very liberating to find him charming and leave it at that.
    Or so the rational part of her brain attested.
    The less rational part of her brain was finding him increasingly attractive.
    But she sensibly repressed those