by Maria Grace
∞∞∞
September 1809
Over the next week, Elizabeth fluttered and fretted over Mr. Elliot’s impending arrival. She took over many tasks, which usually fell to Anne, to ensure everything would be right for their guest. What matter that Anne knew much better how to manage the servants and their household tasks? Everything was certainly in better hands if Elizabeth managed it.
At least Anne had more time for her studies. Which she needed, considering how much time had already been taken up when Father forbade her from using Mama’s room—did he believe that study could only be carried out in that room?
All the books sent by the Order had to be transferred to Anne’s room. Naturally, the servants were all busy with Elizabeth’s disorganized efforts, and Anne had to move them all herself, one by one, carefully avoiding Father or any who might report her activities to him, lest he try to wrest the books from her possession.
At least it gave her opportunities to study Mama’s bookcases more thoroughly. Anne added a few Of Mama’s volumes—some which looked potentially very useful—to the formidable collection in her own chambers.
A bookcase would be required, but that would have to wait until after Mr. Elliot finished his visit and Anne could go back to managing the servants herself. In the meantime, most of the books could be kept in the trunk the Order had sent them in. Though it was tucked in near her chest of drawers, it extended into the room just enough that she kept knocking her shins on the trunk’s sharp corner. Two gowns had torn as well—managing dragons—or at least preparing to—seemed hard on one’s garments.
Anne laced her hands behind her neck and stretched, elbows brushing the sides of the overstuffed chair. Would her neck and back ever be straight again? Father might have a point; so much study was hazardous to one’s posture. She stood and rearranged the rose-vine curtains whose flowers matched the burgundy of her soft chair. The color was pleasing against the soft green of the walls. Cool and soothing in the midst of so much upheaval.
Half a dozen volumes vied for territory on the little round table by her window—some very slim monographs, others—rather substantial tomes---covered hatching, hibernations, genealogies, bestiaries, and histories. The dusty scent of old books overpowered the fragrance of summer flowers that used to fill her room. Her commonplace book lay open on top of an open journal, the two together taking up all the remaining space on the table. How soon could she have the writing desk from Mama’s room moved into hers? Not soon enough.
Was there even a place for that and a bookcase in her bedchamber? Overwhelming, simply overwhelming. Was she ever going to learn how to accomplish all the duties that had been unceremoniously dropped at her feet? No, that thought was utterly ungracious and unkind—though it was utterly true.
She stared through her windows down to Mother’s garden. Squinting, she could just make out the little divot in the beebalm plants where Beebalm made her home. They had been conversing quite regularly recently. The little dragon had become rather nervous about an unfamiliar cockatrice that had been raiding the dovecote and eaves. Apparently, pucks were prey to cockatrice. Anne shuddered. It was the way of things, according to the Order.
Beebalm’s anxiety made her willing to talk to even a “very stupid girl” since she had taken up the role of junior Keeper and might have the wherewithal to help.
Minor dragons with Friends in the Order could be afforded the protections of the Pendragon Accords, but those that lived wild did so at their own risk. That risk could be mitigated by living under the auspices of a dragon estate, subject to the rule of a major dragon. Then, the smaller dragons would be protected as part of the dragon’s Keep.
And therein lay the rub. The strange cockatrice had not obtained permission from the local major dragon. Now it was up to the Keeper to make it stop.
According to Beebalm, Father should be told and made to intervene. Anne guffawed—that was as unlikely to happen as him quitting Kellynch altogether and letting it to some untitled upstart. There had to be another way.
Perhaps she should request Lady Russell assistance. Her role as Watcher to Kellynch’s interests made her like a man’s steward, able to act for him in legal matters, whilst the dragon slept. Or at least that is what Dragon Hibernation: The Implications and Complications Thereof with a Look Toward Mitigating Damages and Avoiding the Necessity Altogether stated.
But on the other hand, Lady Russell often disagreed with what that monograph said—so often that Anne stopped mentioning it altogether. She pressed her forehead against the cool glass. The volume was, after all, an old one, and probably as out of date as Lady Russell argued it was. Still though, it was what the Order had recommended she read, and it remained her best source of information.
Odd that Lady Russell seemed averse to the Order’s information and more interested in actively avoiding their notice than following their regulations. Was it right to fully rely upon her? Who could tell, especially when what she said made sense, often more sense than the official works of the Order?
Still, it was difficult to trust her when she had never answered Anne’s question about Wentworth.
Best not dwell upon that. Anne crossed her arms over her chest and rubbed her shoulders.
Perhaps if she made it appear that she was requesting Lady Russell’s advice rather than implying that she needed to take action—that might work. She usually responded well to that, often taking on herself to do exactly what Anne hoped she would. Yes, that was definitely the way to manage Beebalm’s concerns.
Right after she did her duty by her family and their house guest. She sighed, straightened the curtains and turned away from the window. Mr. William Elliot, heir presumptive to Kellynch, would be arriving shortly, if the note he sent was to be believed. Father and her sisters would be gathering in the drawing room soon, if they were not already there. Her presence would be expected. As would her capitulation to Father’s orders.
Hopefully, she would have the strength to disappoint him.
With a brief glance at her dressing table mirror, she removed her fichu from her favorite pink muslin visiting dress and steeled herself for a trip to the drawing room. That felt more exposed than she would have liked, but the Order had made it clear, it was not simply about her preferences. Was this the right way to compete with Elizabeth? Who knew, but at least she could in good conscience say that she had tried everything she could think of, no matter the outcome.
Like Father’s office, the drawing room was blue, and he disliked it. More than once, he talked of refitting both chambers, but with no proper mistress in the house to oversee the matter, it became a background complaint, muttered when there was no other source of dissatisfaction to trouble him.
The room was hardly the eyesore he proclaimed it to be. The robin’s egg blue walls were fashionable and a fitting backdrop for portraits of cross Elliot ancestors that lined the two long walls in neat rows, looking down judgmentally upon all who entered their domain. Bright lilies filled bowls on the sideboard and tables, perfuming the air with their unique fragrance. The blue—something like the color of clouds before a storm—brocade furniture might not have been the newest style, but it filled the room with a certain formality that suited the Elliot pride. A harp and pianoforte took up the far corner near the windows, with several small card tables and matching chairs in the opposite corner. Altogether it was a serviceable drawing room, enough to be recognized as the finest in the neighborhood—what more could Father ask for?
No, that was not a good question to ask. Newer, finer, grander—that was always what he wanted.
Elizabeth and Father, both on the verge of being overdressed for the occasion, sat on the long brocade couch near the windows, watching the drive for any sign of Mr. Elliot’s arrival. Mary, somewhat less well-dressed, plinked out something on the pianoforte. Was she purposefully creating that awful noise so that she would not be asked to play for company and thus avoid missing out on any interesting conversation? It was the sort of thing Mary might do.<
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Heavens above! That was another cranky and ungracious thought. Somehow, she would conquer such things. Dragons would not change her. Absolutely not.
“There! Papa, look! It is a carriage. I am sure that it is he.” Elizabeth stood and pointed out the window.
Mary left the pianoforte—sweet relief!—and minced toward the window, wrinkling her nose. How was it her rounded shoulders that left her looking absolutely dumpy escaped Father’s criticism? “There is no crest on the carriage. How can you be sure whose it is?”
“It would be presumptuous of him to have a crest on his equipage. He is only the heir presumptive. Why would you expect such a thing?” Father did not rise, but sat up very straight, peering at the window.
“Who else are we expecting today? There is no one in the neighborhood who has a coach like that one. Therefore, it must be.”
One, two, three …. There, like clockwork, Mary had to have her say and the bickering began. Lovely, just lovely.
Anne made her way to the pianoforte. Music, soft and soothing was in order. If it did not quell their argument, at least it would soothe her own nerves and while away the time until the occupant of the mysterious carriage arrived.
A quarter of an hour later, the butler announced, “Mr. William Elliot.”
A young man stood in the doorway. He was a well-looking man who had enough of the Elliot countenance to be quite acceptable to Father and to Elizabeth. Medium height, medium build, his eyes a medium sort of brown just like his coat and trousers. Elegant in an ordinary sort of way that one would probably not remember well once he left the room.
“You have come at last.” Father rose.
Mr. Elliot, high hat tucked under his arm, bowed deeply. “I am honored by your invitation, sir.”
“May I introduce my daughters, the eldest, Miss Elliot.” Father pointed to Elizabeth, wearing her new white-and-green-striped walking dress, and she curtsied.
“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, sir.” Her voice was everything soft and refined.
“The pleasure is mine.” He almost looked like he meant it.
“And her sisters, Miss Mary and Miss Anne.” Father chin-pointed, and they curtsied.
Mary stood a little straighter. How subtle of him to introduce her younger sister ahead of her. It was not as though she needed an additional reminder of Father’s opinions. He had been very clear, indeed.
“Ladies.” Mr. Elliot bowed again, eyebrows slightly raised.
Interesting. Had he noted the slight, too?
“I shall call for refreshments, I am sure you are weary from your travels.” Elizabeth glided toward Mr. Elliot. Her figure showed to best advantage whilst walking.
“You are too kind. Thank you.” He strode past her toward the chair Father indicated with long confident strides, barely seeming to pay her notice.
Elizabeth’s cheeks colored. Oh, she was not happy.
“Go on and play for us, Anne.” Father waved her back toward her instrument.
So, he would keep her from the conversation. At least he was trying to be subtle about it, not sending her to supervise some task in another part of the house. That was something to appreciate.
She began to play, softly though. Did Father realize she could hear everything said in the room? Perhaps preternatural hearing had some advantages.
“Did you have your driver circle the property as I suggested?” She did not need to look to know Father’s chest was puffed up and his chin held high, just waiting for compliments to be paid to Kellynch.
“I did. A very impressive view, just as you said.” That could be genuine or patronizing—without a glimpse of Mr. Elliot’s face, it was impossible to tell.
“One that could hardly be improved upon, I am certain.” Was it possible to hear Father thumbing his lapels?
“I do not know that I share that sentiment. Everything could use some improvement.”
“Indeed? How would you improve it?”
“That walnut grove, for example. Do you not think a Grecian temple would be more suitable?” Perhaps that was a smirk in his voice?
“Knock down the grove that has been part of Kellynch for generations to replace it with such a useless structure? Banish the thought.”
“You did ask for my opinion.”
Father snorted.
Anne screwed her eyes shut. That sound never boded well.
Elizabeth and several maids brought in trays of refreshments. Shuffling footsteps suggested both men went to attend Elizabeth. Thank heavens!
Anne finished playing. Dare she join the rest?
“I do not think your father liked my suggestions.”
She jumped and turned.
Mr. Elliot stood behind her, plate in hand, taking a bite of a small sandwich. “Forgive me, did I startle you?”
That was hardly the material issue. “Do you often presume musicians are eavesdropping on your conversation?”
Had she really just said something so very bold? How was she to keep that daring in check now that it had been awakened?
He cocked his head just so and gave her such an odd look and smile. That ring on his little finger, it matched her signet! He wore it so openly, not like a shameful secret to be kept. Papa never wore his.
He glanced at her waist, her chatelaine. “There is no need for you to prevaricate with me, Miss Anne, even if your father refuses to acknowledge what he is. You and I are both big enough to own to it.”
A response would be polite and appropriate, but that would require words that she simply did not have.
“You have never met one of our kind in public, have you?”
Actually, she had, Mrs. Smith, but best not contradict him so soon in their acquaintance.
“That is rather quaint. I expect you are accustomed to pretending that you are as other girls, but you do not have to do so with me.”
“I … I do not know what to say.”
“Then say nothing at all. It will be our secret. I see your sisters do not sport the same little bauble as you have. You are one of a kind then.” Something about his tone, the tilt of his head; was he flirting with her?
Her cheeks flushed. Was she supposed to feel this way?
“Come, have something to eat. Join in the conversation. Perchance then something sensible might be said.” He turned and beckoned her to follow.
Merciful heavens! Elizabeth was glowering from the other side of the room. Seething, really. Perhaps she should stay at the pianoforte.
But how would she accomplish what the Order demanded of her if she did that?
She rose and allowed Mr. Elliot to serve her a plate.
Chapter 10
Mr. William Elliot had been in residence four, or was it five days, now? On none of those did he please Father with his attitudes or his opinions. Nor did he please Elizabeth by delivering to her the attentions she thought were her due. In fact, he seemed to take some perverse pleasure in vexing her by including not just Anne, but Mary as well, in all conversations.
Mary enjoyed it, but Father did not approve. He called it an air of conceited independence, which was to say, he was not certain he could bend Mr. Elliot to his will. That left Father irritable and easily provoked, a game Mr. Elliot seemed far too fond of playing.
Is that why he continued to flirt with her every time Father or Elizabeth was about? Did she wish it was something more? Perhaps. Maybe. One should enjoy a bit of flirtation from the man she had to marry, no? Or was it better that it was all business?
That was a rather dismal thought, was it not? Just the way to begin a day.
Anne sighed and paused at her dressing table. Best discard the fichu, again. Mr. Elliot seemed to respond well to that, even if it left her feeling a mite cold, and if it were possible, vulnerable. But she would do what she had to in order to save her family, even if they were totally unaware of her sacrifice.
Now she was adequately dressed—on to face the morning room.
Anne ventured downstairs. Instead o
f the sun’s welcome, Elizabeth glowered from her seat near the door, a half-eaten plate in front of her. Two settings of used dishes flanked Elizabeth’s sides. Most likely left by Father and Mr. Elliot. Elizabeth and Father had stopped keeping town hours since his arrival, that way they could join him for the earlier breakfasts he seemed to prefer.
The breeze through open windows wafted gentle floral perfume in to mix with the fragrance of the tea and coffee services set out on the sideboard. Despite the sunshine, dark clouds seemed to gather on the landscapes on the walls.
Why Elizabeth was so cross? Perhaps that her breakfast company had left her to her own devices?
While that behavior might be construed as rude, yes, gentlemen had business to discuss and sport to enjoy during the morning hours. It would have been unusual for them to keep company with the ladies so early in the day. Not that such a little thing as social convention would stay Elizabeth’s—dare she think it?—overinflated expectations.
Anne slipped in and made her way along the round table, toward the chair nearest the windows and farthest from Elizabeth. Light clouds that hinted at a possible afternoon storm drifted past and changed the sky blue of the walls to something vaguely grey and disquieting, an effect somewhat offset by a platter of fragrant Bath buns just within reach on the marble-topped dark oak sideboard.
“You are quite the lay-a-bed this morning.” Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed over her teacup.
“This is quite my normal hour to come downstairs.”
“Mrs. Trent was looking for you.”
“For me? Are you not handling—”
“It was not about the menus or entertaining our guest. There is a problem with a maid and a footman—” Elizabeth’s eyebrows rose just so. “A disagreeable sort of affair. You are much more appropriate to manage that sort of thing. I believe that was her business with you.”
Anne bit her tongue. Asking why she was the appropriate person to deal with distasteful things rather than the one who was acting as mistress of the house definitely would not improve the atmosphere in the room. She served herself a Bath bun and tea with extra sugar to sweeten her disposition.