But he had not disapproved of her then, and he would not disapprove of her now. Annabel had not a doubt.
She reminded herself that as he was a professional thief, he was hardly a suitable judge of anyone's character.
An unladylike elbow jammed in her side. "Annabel! It is that gent from last night, the one who invited you to play tennis today!" Lizzie was full of excitement. Her pretty cheeks were flushed pink.
Annabel looked up, saw a young, handsome fellow approaching their table, and felt her own cheeks go hot while her eyes widened in surprise. She watched James Appleton Beard as he wound his way through the dining room. Last night he had singled her out after supper, and after a brief chat, they had agreed to a tennis match the following afternoon. It had been ages since a real gentleman had shown any interest in her-it had been exactly two years, in fact.
James paused at their table, bowing. His cheeks were flushed. Helios were passed round. Annabel regarded him but remained silent. And gazing at him, seeing his discomfort, she knew.
Her heart sank. She should have expected this, fool that she was.
"Miss Boothe." His smile was brief, strained. "I am afraid the weather will prevent us from our match today." He avoided her eyes.
Annabel thought dully, he knows about Braxton. "Yes, the grass will be far too wet to play."
A silence fell.
"There is always tomorrow," Adam said. Annabel knew that he meant to be helpful. But the effect was the opposite.
"Actually," James said, growing more flushed still, "I have twisted my ankle this morning. Perhaps at the end of the week." He bowed and quickly turned, leaving their table.
Annabel knew her cheeks remained red. She picked up her spoon, resisting the sudden surge of anger that made her want to flip soup all over the table. She was fast. Unacceptable, an outcast. But this was what she had wanted, in order to be free. She had no right to feel sorry for herself, and by damn, she was not ashamed. Yet she had never known that such ostracism would be so painful.
An intense silence had fallen.
"He has probably heard that you are an outstanding tennis player. The poor fellow undoubtedly knew he would not stand a chance," Adam said kindly.
Annabel felt hot tears filling her eyes. She knew that she must not let anyone see that the stupid clod had hurt her feelings. Or had he? She was thinking about the damn thief again.
"Everyone knows that you are unbeatable at tennis," Lizzie said emphatically, agreeing.
"Well," Melissa began. "If Annabel ever wants to catch a husband she should lose at tennis a few times or so."
Annabel had composed herself and she looked up. "I will do no such thing." She locked gazes with Melissa.
"You are a fool, Annabel. No man wants to be with a woman who is stronger, smarter, and a better tennis player than he!" She turned to John. "Am I right, dear?"
"You are very right," John said, nodding.
Annabel had had enough. She was not hungry and she set her soup spoon down. "We all know that tennis is not, and has never been, the issue."
"Yes, let's do change this boring subject," Lizzie said quickly, her tone high. "Have you all heard that the Countess Rossini is arriving today? She is one of the wealthiest women in Europe!"
"I should hope so," Melissa replied, reaching for the bread. "She was seventeen when she married the count- and he was sixty-five. Everyone knows she married him for his money. Her family was quite impoverished. But no one expected him to live another fifteen years!"
"She is a widow, newly so," Lizzie said to Adam and Annabel.
Annabel had no interest in the countess or her money. She stood. "I am sorry. But I have a terrible migraine and I have lost my appetite. Please excuse me. I will see you all for supper." She pushed back her chair and swiftly left the table, aware of dozens of pairs of eyes in the hotel dining room following her as she crossed the room, which had suddenly become far too spacious. A gentleman was entering it as she was departing. They collided head-on.
"I am sorry!" They both cried at the same time, extricating themselves from one another.
"Miss Boothe!" The fellow was tall and a bit stocky, gray-haired with a darker mustache, about her father's age. He now smiled at her. "Have I hurt you?"
They had been briefly introduced the previous evening after supper. Annabel scrambled to recall his name. "Mr. Frank, no, you have not."
"You have finished dinner already?" he cried in disappointment, his smile fading.
"I am afraid so," Annabel said, preparing to walk around him. "If you will excuse me?"
"Miss Boothe." He detained her by his tone of voice. Then he swallowed. He was beginning to flush. "I would like to say that I so enjoyed making your acquaintance last evening, and I had hoped, the weather permitting, of course, that you might join me for a stroll along the beach later, or perhaps in town, if that is your preference." He smiled at her.
Annabel stared in dismay. Thomas Frank was interested in her? She recalled now that he was a widower. "I am not feeling well," she said quickly. "But thank you." And she lifted her pale, striped skirts and hurried from the room.
Relief filled her once she was in the large lobby. There the floors were dark oak and strewn with Persian rugs, the walls were paneled and covered with works of art, and three large crystal chandeliers were hanging from the high ceiling. Soft sofas and chairs in brocades and damask with occasional tables made the room very inviting, and it was usually filled with hotel guests, engaged in quiet conversation or sitting alone and reading. Through the tall windows, Annabel saw that it had indeed begun to pour, and in the drive outside, she saw a large, gilded carriage arriving. There were two liveried footmen standing in back, and watching the conveyance, drawn by four blacks, halt in the downpour, she felt sorry for the servants.
Annabel sighed. She had no headache, and hardly felt like locking herself up in her room. She plopped down on one red damask sofa, picking up yesterday's copy of The Sun, a New York daily which had been left lying about and which the hotel provided for its guests. She had barely scanned the headlines on the first page when she heard voices on the threshold of the lobby, behind her. A woman was talking, her Italian accent very pronounced. "How good of you to accommodate me and my staff with such short notice," she was saying. "I can hardly believe we have made it in this weather. I feel like a drowned eat." She laughed, the sound husky and pleasant.
"Contessa, I am so sorry that you had to endure such weather today, but please, let me assure you, anything you desire, it shall be yours."
Annabel openly regarded the woman as she entered the lobby with the hotel manager, whom Annabel recognized. She was a small woman fabulously dressed in gold velvet, but when she turned, Annabel saw that she was a gorgeous redhead with a perfect porcelain complexion. So this, she thought, was the infamous countess Lizzie had referred to earlier.
"You are too kind to me, darling," the countess purred. The manager bowed over her hand and kissed it before the countess could even remove her gloves.
And then he barked out orders. Annabel watched with some amusement and some fascination as trunk after huge trunk was carried by both the countess's staff and the hotel's through the lobby and into the elevators.
"My dear Contessa, you need not linger in the lobby. I have sent champagne and caviar to your suite, should you wish a bit of refreshment, and of course, we will keep the dining room open for you."
"You are too kind," she cried and, gold skirts swirling about her, she disappeared into one of the lobby elevators, followed by several ladies who were undoubtedly her maids.
Annabel watched the brass elevator door closing. Briefly, her gaze met the countess's just before the door closed.
She looked up at the dial above the elevator. The hotel had eight floors. The big arrow went from one to eight. But of course the countess would have a suite on the top floor.