Subtle reproval fleeted through Elizabeth’s gaze. Well, too fucking bad.
Once Annabelle realized I wasn’t staying and Nate was going to have his housekeeper look after her, she opened her eyes and declared she was well enough to travel.
She’s also well enough to put a hand on my thigh. She has to be the most tone-deaf woman I’ve ever encountered. I grip her hand, about to fling it away. The only thing keeping me from crushing her bones is her gender.
“She’s going to get Nate to marry her…”
Elizabeth didn’t say yes when Nate said, “Marry me.” She brought up another man—
“…the little whore.”
The pronouncement grates on my nerves. Not necessarily because Elizabeth isn’t one, but because someone like Annabelle doesn’t get to say that about her.
“Of course, she has to find someone,” Annabelle adds.
Has to?
I’ve never heard a whisper that Elizabeth had to marry, not even from the most gossip-loving socialites. What does Annabelle know?
Wait, wait, hold on a minute. I’m dealing with a self-absorbed, melodramatic bitch who’ll say anything for attention. I shouldn’t take her too seriously.
Besides, what she’s saying doesn’t match what I saw between Elizabeth and Nate.
I would’ve brought Tolyan…
A woman who needs to marry doesn’t bring up another guy when an eligible bachelor offers himself.
Unless Tolyan is even more eligible.
Who the hell is this Tolyan guy, anyway?
“Do you know anybody named Tolyan in our social circle? Maybe around Nate’s age?”
Annabelle blinks at the abrupt shift. “Tolyan? Never heard of anyone with that name. Why? Is he somebody important?”
“Not really.” If she hasn’t heard of him, he doesn’t belong to the “right” class, regardless of marital status or age. I’ll have to look into this mysterious person on my own. “What did you mean when you said Elizabeth had to marry?”
Annabelle pulls her hand out of my grip and places it on my shoulder, leaning so close that I can smell the Bloody Mary on her breath. “Julian laid down the law to all his kids when his father died. You’ve probably heard of him. Thomas Reed? A very famous painter.”
I have, but not for the reason she thinks. Ten years ago, Elizabeth told me about her grandfather—how she dreamed of becoming an artist like him. Liar.
“Yeah, well, ol’ Tom did portraits of his grandkids as they turned eighteen. Really nice ones, from what I heard. His works are worth millions, you know. Anyway, Julian somehow ended up with all the paintings. I was surprised the old man didn’t leave them to his grandkids. I mean, he adored them, and they sucked up to him all the time. So you can imagine their disappointment.
“Anyway, Julian decided Elizabeth and her brothers could have the portraits on three conditions.” She ticks the points off. “One, they need to marry within six months. Two, they need to stay married for at least one year. Three, all five of the siblings need to do it. If any one of them doesn’t come through, the deal’s off, and nobody gets their painting.”
I shrug. “They could just wait until he dies.” I can’t imagine people like Elizabeth and her brothers jumping through inane hoops to get their hands on some portraits.
“Not if they want those particular paintings. Julian swore he’d destroy the portraits if they didn’t comply.”
I’ve heard Julian can be a dick, but this nudges him into ultra asshole-ville. “How do you know all this?”
She shrugs. “I have my sources. And I can totally see Julian pulling something like that. He’s a complete bastard.”
“Yet you married him.”
“And divorced him.”
She flashes me a smile that she seems to believe is sharklike. Sadly, it shows too many teeth, and she has a lipstick smudge on one incisor.