by Mary Balogh
"I cannot answer for her," Anne replied, "but I would think her very poor-spirited if she did not, Freddie. Unless." She paused to make sure that he was giving her his full attention. "Unless she does not love you, you see. Sometimes it is possible to like someone terribly, but not to love him. And some people do not wish to marry those they do not love. Do you understand me, Freddie?"
Freddie's brow creased with concentration. "What if someone loves someone else, but does not like him?" he asked. "Do they marry?"
"Oh, yes," she said gently. "Quite frequently, I am afraid."
He looked at her. "Like you and Alex," he said, arrested by the thought. "That's it, isn't it, Anne? If you were mine, I would like you and love you, y' know."
"Thank you, Freddie," she said, for some absurd reason fighting tears. "And can you do the same for Miss Fitzgerald?"
"Oh, yes," he said, his eagerness returning. "She is a remarkable female, Anne. She will look after me. But she don't bully me. Told me I should wear my canary waistcoat even if no one else likes it, provided I like it myself."
"Did she?" said Anne. "She is a wise lady, Freddie. When do you plan to make your offer?"
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On the day of the ball life became fevered. Claude positively insisted that all the actors attend a final rehearsal of the play after luncheon in the small ballroom. It was fortunate for him that he had made this wish in the form of a definite order three days before, because there were many other activities that might have distracted his actors. All of them had their preparations for the ball to attend to. And there were many visitors arriving. Most of the guests were coming from distances close enough that they could arrive merely for the evening functions. But many were coming from London and needed to stay overnight.
The lure of meeting these old acquaintances was strong upon the actors, but Claude was adamant, and the duchess declared that she did not wish to see one of the pack of them until at least teatime. The duke too cleared his throat loudly at the luncheon table and said that since this was the duchess's wedding anniversary, everything must be as she wished. As if matters were not always that way, Jack muttered to Peregrine.
The rehearsal was a disaster. Freddie kept forgetting to pause between his speeches to allow others to play their parts; Martin as Mr. Hardcastle, the bore, overdid his part to such an extent that Jack declared the audience would all drown him out with their snores; Maud as Mrs. Hardcastle played her indignation with Peregrine as Tony so well that her waving fist actually did connect with his nose and drew blood; Prudence as Constance Neville became so furious with her play lover, Jack, that she stamped her foot and called him "horrid man" just at the moment when she was supposed to be weeping sentimental tears over being parted from him for three whole years; Jack made fun of everyone and everything and continually leered and waggled his eyebrows at Prudence; Peregrine played the clown and threw himself down on the stage, clutching his sides and laughing insanely every time the script called for some merriment; Merrick was wooden again and bumped Anne's chin painfully when he was supposed to bow formally over her hand; and Anne, according to Claude, appeared dull and frightened instead of pert and bouncy in her interviews with Merrick as Charles Marlow.
Claude was complaining of an upset stomach and a splitting headache by the time they had limped and clowned their way to the end of the play. He declared that they would have to cancel the whole proceeding and let the duchess fume and scream. It was Freddie who saved the day.
"The same thing used to happen at school," he said. "I used to sing in the choir." Jack snorted, but Freddie continued, apparently not having noticed. "The last practices were always terrible. Sopranos squeaky. Altos off key. Choirmaster never worried. 'Boys,' he used to say, 'if your last practice is poor, I know you will be good on the day. If your last practice is good, I start to worry.'" Freddie beamed and Jack applauded.
" 'Out of the mouth of babes,' " he said. "Bravo, Freddie, my lad."
Merrick sighed and sat down heavily on a chair. "Go and drink several cups of tea, Uncle Claude, and get yourself ready for dinner. We will all be too nervous tonight to do anything wrong. We would be too terrified of Grandmamma's wrath, anyway, if we dared do anything as reprehensible as forget a line. Not to mention Grandpapa. I have the feeling that tonight he might really prove to be the ogre that Grandmamma always makes him out to be if we do anything to spoil her day."
"And we promise for your sake to do our best," Anne said, smiling at Claude. "You really have worked very hard, Uncle Claude, and have been very patient with us. I may speak only for myself, but I must say that these two weeks have been very happy ones, working with almost the whole family on a project like this. I thought it would be quite impossible when Grandmamma first mentioned it."
"Do let us go to the drawing room for tea," Hortense pleaded. "We are missing all the new arrivals and the latest news from town."
Anne would have retired to her room, suddenly shy at the knowledge that the house was full of strangers. But Merrick crossed the room to where she was quietly piling the books, which were no longer needed, and extended his arm to her without a word. He had made a decision, and he was intending to put it into effect immediately.
In the drawing room the duke and duchess were holding court with obvious relish. They were surrounded by friends of other days, some of whom they had not seen for several years. The room became suddenly much overcrowded and loud with greetings when it filled with the family members who had been acting their play.
Merrick placed Anne's hand on his sleeve and circled the whole room, speaking to each new arrival in turn. All appeared to know him so well and so freely called him Alex that Anne shrank closer to his side, wishing that she could disappear in the process. But he would not allow her to remain either invisible or anonymous. He constantly drew her forward and introduced her as his wife. She was smiled upon and spoken to until her mind was bewildered and she gripped Alexander's arm as if it were a lifeline.
The duchess's eyes were frequently on the pair, and she smiled rather smugly as she conversed with those closest to her chair.
Chapter 12
Forty people sat down to a very early dinner that evening, the performance of She Stoops To Conquer having been set for eight o'clock. The male actors left the dining room with the ladies, so that they might be ready in their costumes by the time the dinner guests had drunk their tea and port, and the outside guests had arrived. Claude had to ask his actors what the main course at dinner had been; he could not for the life of him remember. No one answered him.
Hortense was the first to be ready in her maid's outfit. She went to help Anne dress in the elaborate lady's outfit that she was to wear for the first part of the play until she changed into the housemaid's dress that her father in the play preferred. Bella had been loaned to some of the guests from town who had come without their own maids, though she would be in Anne's room after the play to help her dress for the ball.
"I am more than ever glad that Grandmamma saw fit to give me a small part," Hortense said. "Are you not positively petrified, Anne? Has your mind not gone totally blank?"
"Don't," Anne said. "I refuse to believe that I have forgotten my part, and I have no intention now of trying to recall lines, just in case I might find that you are right. Do help me with these buttons, Hortense. There must be at least two dozen of them down the back."
The peacock-blue gown was soon in place, the panniers evenly arranged over her hips and the bow neatly centered at the back. Anne tugged ineffectually at the bodice to try to cover her breasts more completely.
"Do you think I should wear some insert here?" she asked Hortense, gazing anxiously into a mirror.
"Definitely not," the girl replied. "You look quite ravishing, Anne. All the men will be ogling you."
"Oh, dear," said Anne.
The wig came next. Hortense helped her adjust it snugly over her own curls and then carefully powdered it before inserting the plume
s so that they stood proudly above her head. Anne hesitated over the patch box. Was it really necessary to wear a patch? It would be hardly visible to the audience, anyway. However, she finally found herself placing the heart shape beside her mouth again and turned away from the mirror before she should lose her spirit and peel it away. She caught up the peacock-feather fan that the duchess had brought to her the day before after finding out that Anne was to wear her old blue gown, and was ready to go. Her stomach felt rather as if the arms of a windmill had got inside it and were turning. She still dared not try to remember any of her lines.
All the actors were assembled behind the stage that had been set up at one end of the small ballroom, except Freddie. Peregrine announced that he was still undecided about which waistcoat he should wear. Sarah had found him a white one to wear beneath the plain black coat that he must have as the servant Diggory, but Freddie felt that his costume was too plain. He had been wearing the canary one when Peregrine had gone to accompany him downstairs, but even Freddie had realized that that particular waistcoat was unsuited to a servant. He had been considering a lime-green one when his cousin had lost patience and come downstairs without him.
"Alex," Claude said with ominous calm, "go upstairs and find that nincompoop without delay. Tell him that I want him here inside the white waistcoat within two minutes, or within five minutes he will be wearing-it inside his throat."
Merrick grinned and left.
The ballroom was filling up with chattering, gorgeously clad ladies and gentlemen. Anne sat bolt upright on a chair. She dared not lean back for fear of crushing her bustle, and she dared not move her head lest plumes or wig or both come tumbling down about her face. She would be able to relax more, she felt, once her first two scenes were over and she could change into the plainer but by far more comfortable housemaid's dress. She looked about her. Everyone did indeed look quite splendid clothed in the fashion of half a century before. There seemed to be something so much more stately about those earlier styles.
Alexander had left the room, having gone in search of poor Freddie. But Anne had noticed every detail of his appearance in the few minutes during which they had been in the room together. She had always considered that his thick dark hair contributed largely to his handsome appearance. But tonight she found his powdered wig, tied at the neck with a black ribbon, quite suffocatingly charming, especially when he had carelessly put the black tricorne on his head while helping Martin rearrange his neckcloth. His long brocaded waistcoat beneath a well-fitting skirted frock coat also suited his tall, well-built figure to perfection. Had she not loved him before, she would surely have fallen in love with him tonight, she thought with disgust.
"Aunt Jemima and Uncle Roderick have just made a grand entrance," Claude announced, blanching noticeably. "We should be ready to begin in five minutes' time."
And they all became aware of the hush that had begun to descend beyond the curtains that divided the stage from the rest of the small ballroom. Merrick reentered the room with Freddie in tow almost at the same moment. Freddie was wearing a white waistcoat.
"Oh, you do look distinguished, Freddie," Anne said.
Freddie beamed and both Merrick and Jack grinned. Martin and Maud stepped onto the stage and took up their positions for the opening scene.
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Freddie had been quite right. The performance proceeded quite flawlessly if one ignored the fact that Freddie, Hortense, and Constance, who were supposed to be caught in a fit of the giggles when Mr. Hardcastle mentioned one of his old jokes, really did become hysterical and laughed for much longer than the script called for. Freddie said afterward with some indignation that he could have remained perfectly serious if the audience had not laughed so loudly and destroyed his control.
The members of the audience had come out for an unusually festive evening. Many of them had attended a lavish dinner earlier and ail of them would be attending a large and elaborate ball later. It was a special treat, even for those who had come from the busy social life of town, to be entertained with a full-length and well-known drama between the two events. No one had come prepared to be overly critical. The humor was laughed at, the romance smiled at. The fact that the hero and heroine were a husband and wife who had never been seen together before ensured that extra attention was paid to the main romantic scenes, and several people actually applauded when Merrick caught his wife around the waist and planted a kiss on her lips when the character he played mistook her character for a maid in the Hardcastle house.
But it was Peregrine who stole the show. Everyone took one curtain call at the end. Merrick and Anne and Maud took two, and Peregrine three. The audience had roared with laughter at his treatment of the scene in which Tony Lumpkin takes his mother by night in a wide circle around the house while she believes that she is thirty miles from home on Crackskull Common surrounded by highwaymen. At his third curtain call, Peregrine sang again a raucous and rather vulgar song that he had sung at the Three Jolly Pigeons inn during the play.
It made a fitting ending to what had really been a very jolly middle part of the evening. Claude declared after the curtain had been closed for the final time and the stage was suddenly strewn with wigs and fans and buckled shoes that had proved too tight for the wearers, that the duchess had actually had tears in her eyes at the end of it all and that even the duke had looked suspiciously bright-eyed.
"And so they should," Jack said. "Shedding a few tears is the least the old tyrants can do after ruining a perfectly decent couple of weeks for us all. The next time I am invited down here for an anniversary I shall remember a quite pressing previous engagement."
"Oh, nonsense, Jack," Hortense said. "You know you have loved every minute of it. And tonight you were positively basking in the glory of being so much in the limelight. You know very well that all the ladies will be falling over themselves to dance with you later on, now that they have seen how dashing you looked on the stage."
"Sisters!" Jack said, his eyes turned skyward.
The duke and duchess came through the doorway, the former supporting himself very heavily on an ivory-handled cane. "You were all quite wonderful!" the duchess said. "In fact, I do not know quite how we got out of the habit of gathering here every Christmas and having theatrics. We really must start again."
"Grandmamma," Jack said, "I have no wish to be rude, but if you wish us to be present to see you and Grandpapa open the ball, you must allow us to go upstairs to dress."
"Are you really going to dance with Great-aunt Jemima?" Prudence asked the duke, saucer-eyed.
"You think I am incapable of doing so?" the duke barked, glaring at his grand-niece.
She laughed and hugged him as she followed her cousins and other relatives from the room.
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Merrick was in the main ballroom long before most of the other actors and actresses put in an appearance. He was dressed in a black, closely fitting evening coat and knee breeches, looking quite conspicuous among the brightly colored clothes of most of the other men present. Only the vivid whiteness of his lace cuffs, silk stockings, starched shirt points, and elaborately tied neckcloth relieved the severity of his outfit. But there was nothing dull about his appearance, if the many glances he was receiving from a large number of ladies were any indication.
The duke and duchess were still in the receiving line. The dancing had not yet begun, though the hour was well advanced. Merrick spoke to a large number of acquaintances, but he waited impatiently for the arrival of his wife. He had thought of going to her room so that he might accompany her downstairs, but he found himself unaccountably shy of doing so. They did not yet have a normal husband-and-wife relationship, despite the fact that they had shared a bed for the past two weeks. He could not bring himself to walk into her dressing room, where her maid would probably be fussing over her. So he had come down alone to await her in the ballroom.
He felt restless and strangely
excited. He wanted her with him as he talked to acquaintances. He wanted people to see them together; he wanted everyone to know that he claimed her as his wife. He had found more and more in the last few days that his eyes followed her whenever she was in his view and that he had a greater awareness of her presence in a room than of anyone else's. When he had become conscious of the fact, he had asked himself why it was, and the answer had fascinated him. He found her beautiful, desirable, charming.
He was proud of her, proud that she belonged to him. He had noticed with the pride of possession that the other members of his family liked and even admired her. And he had seen the reason why. Anne was a kind and warmhearted person, a fact that was not immediately evident because she was quiet and unassuming. But Freddie responded to her, and the children were constantly hanging about her skirts when they were not confined to the schoolroom. Jack treated her with noticeably more respect and less flirtatiousness than he had at first. And the rest of the family appeared to accept her and love her as if she had always been one of their number.
Merrick had decided two days before that he would keep his wife with him and make a proper marriage of their relationship. He had not yet told her. He planned to do so this evening. It would be a fitting occasion on which to pledge themselves to a new life together. She was planning to return to Redlands the next day and talked of it quite freely to other family members. He had kept to himself the knowledge that he would be able to hand her a last-minute reprieve. She did not know that she would be spending the rest of the spring in London, tasting all the delights that the Season had to offer. She did not know that he planned to lavish his money on her, buying her clothes and jewels and anything else that her heart desired. Perhaps when the Season was over he would travel with her and show her places and treasures that she had only dreamed of seeing.