She wondered if her father had even remembered how old she was. He had certainly never acknowledged birthdays. In actuality, he had seldom acknowledgêd her existence.
"As you can see, Mr Sinclair, I am hardly in need of a guardian," she said briskly. "I shall be twenty my next birthday, and Mrs Kemp has very kindly offered me a teaching post here. My father was unaware of the offer, of course, which was made after his death."
"Then you were in frequent correspondence with your father?"
The hazel eyes were focused intently on her face, and for some reason Annie found herself compelled to tell him the truth.
"I was not," she said succinctly.
"I see."
Even living as she had among the female offspring of parents who obviously did not wish to be burdened with hiring governesses and tutors for them, Annie had finally been forced to admit her father's total lack of interest in her was unusual. Most of her schoolmates got the occasional letter or present or visit. In all the years she had been at Fenton School she couldn't remember receiving any of those things.
"I'm very sorry you have made this journey for nothing," Annie said. "Especially since, as you say, the weather is uncertain."
The fine mouth tightened, and again Annie noticed the deeply graven lines that bracketed it. She wondered at his age, but there was something about his face that defied an attempt to judge it, despite the sweep of grey at the temples of his dark chestnut hair. His eyes, when they were smiling, made him seem quite young. Now however...
"Actually, I have been dreading spending Christmas alone," he said. And then he smiled at her again.
Annie had not been dreading the holidays. She enjoyed the quieter times they provided. There would be only a few girls left at the school, some of them, like Sally, quite small. Since Annie was the oldest student, and the one who had been here the longest, their Christmas entertainment had always fallen on her shoulders. And she welcomed the task.
There was something about the elegant gentleman's declaration, however, that tugged at her heart quite as much as had Sally's quiet sobbing during the first few nights she had spent here. And who are you, Annie Darlington, to be feeling sorry for the likes of him? she chided in self-derision.
"Are you sure I can't persuade you to join me?" Ian Sinclair continued. "I can't tell you how excited my servants are at the prospect of having a guest for the holidays. My existence of late has been far too sedate for their tastes, I'm afraid. They were counting on your arrival to give them an excuse for a full-blown, old fashioned Yule celebration."
'My existence of late.' Slowly Annie was beginning to put all the small, yet telling clues together. Ian Sinclair had confessed to knowing her father on the peninsula.
And if he had returned to England while the British forces were still engaged in the war for control of Spain, there could be only one reason. A reason that explained both the lines of suffering in his face and perhaps even that nearly inaudible gasp of reaction when she had careered into him.
If there was anything more likely than a sobbing child to stir a response in Annie Darlington's heart, it was a creature in pain. If it were not for Mrs Kemp's strictures, during Annie's years here the school would have become a refuge for every homeless cur or injured squirrel in the district.
In spite of the headmistress's injunctions, it had secretly sheltered a variety of carefully hidden invalids.
Unknowingly, and without any conscious intent on his part, Ian Sinclair had issued an invitation that would have been almost impossible for Annie to refuse.
"Then I should hate to disappoint them," she said bravely, "especially in this joyful season."
*~*~*~*
Not exactly what he had bargained for, Ian thought, as he waited in Mrs Kemp's office for his ward to pack.
And Annie herself willingly provided him with the perfect excuse not to take this farce any further.
For some reason, however, perhaps nothing more than what he had indicated to her about his staff's excitement at the prospect of a Christmas visitor, he had insisted that she come back to the Sinclair Hall with him. He could only imagine their reaction when he returned, not with the child they all expected, but with a young woman in tow.
"... shall miss her dearly, Mr Sinclair. Not that I would begrudge Annie her chance," Mrs Kemp said, his name bringing Ian's wandering attention back to the subject at hand. "She is a most intelligent and deserving young woman, with the kindest heart I have ever known. I am delighted she will be able to take her proper place in society. I was so afraid that her father had not realized the importance of seeing that Annie has her season."
The words were chilling. Ian had left home at dawn this morning, expecting to bring a little girl back with him for the holidays. Suddenly, without warning, he had been propelled instead into the role of introducing a