by Mary Balogh
He could hardly wait. Merrick smiled and bowed toward a couple of dowagers, who had found themselves comfortable chairs against the wall and were obviously settled for a comfortable coze, probably at the expense of many of the guests present. He had been looking forward to this part of the evening even before the discovery he had made earlier in the evening. He supposed it was Freddie who had caused it all. Anne's comment on his white waistcoat when he had entered the room had been so obviously calculated to make the poor man feel good about his costume that Merrick had had to smile. But looking at Anne, sitting in such a stately fashion on the edge of her chair, her back ramrod-straight, her wig and plumes looking so delightfully elegant, the black patch close to her mouth so provocative, he had been surprised by a totally unexpected rush of tenderness. How utterly sweet she was. And how he loved her!
The feeling of wonder had stayed with him throughout the play. As he acted out his part, he had fallen in love with Anne as surely as Charles Marlow had fallen in love with Kate Hardcastle. Of course he wanted her with him after this night was over. And of course he would want her after the Season was over. He would want her for the rest of his life. And so he waited for her arrival in the ballroom with impatience, longing to see her, to touch her, dance with her, talk to her, and eventually to tell her the truth. Finally he would be able to treat her without the cruelty that had plagued his relationship with her. He had it in his power to make her happy, to make amends for the past. Through his own fault, she had lived a dreary and a lonely life for more than a year. He would see to it that she had everything that money could buy and love offer for the rest of her life.
Anne, meanwhile, was ready and excited. She had been to some parties and balls on a small scale as a young girl. But she had never prepared for anything on such a lavish scale as this. She had been busy and preoccupied with the play all day, but even so, she had been aware of the fevered activities going on in the house in preparation for the ball that evening. She had been passing through the downstairs hall at the same moment in the day as a seemingly endless string of footmen were carrying huge armfuls of flowers in the direction of the ballroom, and she had peeped into the room on her way upstairs after tea to find that it was transformed into a magnificent garden that quite took her breath away.
Until the play was over, she had not had much time to think about the ball itself, but now she found herself somewhat nervous. It was several years since she had danced, and she had really not had much practice at any but country dances. She had never danced or even seen the waltz, which she heard was now all the rage. She hoped that she would not make a cake of herself by tripping all over her own or her partners' feet-if she had any partners, that was. She hoped that at least a few of the gentlemen would ask her to dance. Freddie surely would, and Stanley and probably Claude and Jack.
It seemed likely that Alexander would dance with her once, for form's sake. She hoped so. She was going to need all the memories she could collect after tomorrow. All that was left was this evening and the night. And the night would be short, with the ball beginning so late. It would be dawn, probably, before they went to bed. Their final night of love. Perhaps there would never be another. Anne gulped down a feeling of panic and won for herself a tut of disapproval from Bella, who was trying to clasp together a stubborn string of pearls around her neck.
Perhaps the whole evening would be a disaster, Anne thought. Perhaps Alexander would take no notice of her at all. She recalled the moment of alarm she had felt during the afternoon when he had been introducing her to a bewildering array of strangers. She had been feeling shy but happy to be on his arm, being presented to people who knew him well. But as soon as he had introduced her to Lady Lorraine Walsh and her new husband, she had been jolted. The very lovely, poised young lady before her was the girl to whom Alexander had been betrothed when he married her. Sonia had told her that. And she was in the house at this very moment and would be present at the ball. Perhaps Alexander would be paying her lavish attention. Perhaps she would see beyond any doubt that he still loved the girl. How would she be able to live with that knowledge afterward? The recollection of that would blot out all the other lovely memories with which she was to brighten the days and years ahead.
The reflected image of Bella was staring at her, eyebrows raised. Anne got to her feet and crossed to a long mirror, in which she could see the full effect of her gown. Yes, Bella had been right, as she usually was. The sea-green lace overdress over the royal-blue silk gown looked quite stunning. The lace had been caught up with small bows at intervals around the hem, to show the rich color of the underdress. She wore very little else to ornament her person. Blue slippers, a blue ribbon threaded through her hair, her pearls, and long white gloves completed the outfit. Anne stared at herself with satisfaction. She still had not got over the novelty of being slim. The high-waisted style of the dress, with its short, puffed sleeves and low neckline, made her feel positively dainty.
Anne slipped past the receiving line and entered the ballroom feeling nervous and conspicuous. Familiar faces from across the room immediately beamed at her, and an elegant exquisite, dressed all in gold, bowed in front of her and complimented her on her acting ability. And then Alexander was at her side and she smiled up at him with the sheer relief of no longer feeling completely isolated. He was smiling back, and her heart did a somersault.
"I hope you have reserved the first set for me," he said, taking her hand and laying it on his sleeve. "How beautiful you look, Anne. You quite put into the shade all these ladies in their insipid pastel shades."
She hardly had time to look up at him in surprise before the orchestra could be heard tuning up in the minstrel gallery and the duke and duchess appeared in the ballroom.
"Is Grandpapa really going to dance?" Anne asked. "Surely he will never be able to do so."
"Grandpapa has a will far stronger than any bodily ailment," Merrick said dryly. "I'll wager that he will dance the whole set before collapsing for the rest of the night. You and I will be expected to dance in their set, too, my dear. I am Grandpapa's heir, you know."
"Oh, no," Anne said, shrinking back. "I am not a dancer, Alexander. I shall not be able to remember the steps, especially if I know that we are the focus of everyone's attention. It would be far better if you led out Aunt Maud or Aunt Sarah or one of your cousins."
"Nonsense!" Merrick replied. "I will be expected to dance the opening set with my wife. And Grandmamma has instructed the orchestra to choose a tune that is not excessively lively so that Grandpapa will not find it too great a strain. It will be slow enough to give you time to remember the steps. Keep your eyes on Grandmamma and follow what she does. I shall help you, too."
Anne followed him apprehensively to the center of the floor, aware of eyes directed at them and aware that her husband had claimed this first dance only because it was what was expected of him.
Chapter 13
Two hours after the start of the ball Anne was feeling flushed and happy. She had not dreamed that she would be in such demand as a partner. She had not sat down since entering the room, and she had not danced with the same partner twice. Alexander, before leaving her at the end of the first set, had written his name in her card for both the dance before supper and the one after. And her card had quickly filled completely. She had been complimented on her appearance, on her acting, and even on her dancing by one young man whose own dancing skills suggested that he was hardly an expert critic.
She was standing now with her arms on the stone balustrade of the terrace outside the ballroom, enjoying the cool air on her cheeks and arms. Freddie stood beside her, leaning against the barrier, looking back toward the ballroom.
"So it is all settled," he was saying. "I am the happiest man alive, Anne. She knows I don't have brains, but she'll have me anyway."
"Indeed, I am very happy for you," Anne said. "Miss Fitzgerald is a very sensible lady, and my opinion of her good sense has increased in the last minute. Any lady would be
fortunate to have won your love, Freddie, and she must realize it."
Freddie giggled. "She told me at first that she can bring no dowry and I must consider very carefully," Freddie said. "As if that would make any difference to me. Can you imagine, Anne? Dear Ruby!"
"Are you to make the announcement tonight?" Anne asked.
"Can't," Freddie replied. "Wouldn't be able to get the words out in public, y' know. M' mind would go blank. Can't ever remember things. Don't have too many brains, y' know. Not like Alex. And couldn't get Ruby to make the announcement. Wouldn't be fitting."
"No, it would not be fitting," Anne said.
"Besides," Freddie said, brightening, "haven't talked to the reverend yet. Her father, y' know. Must talk to her father tomorrow. Ask for her hand. The proper thing to do."
"Yes, you are quite right, Freddie," Anne said. "I had not thought of that. How clever of you."
"Ruby says we will get married during the summer," Freddie said. "Splendid idea. Addie and Rose will be able to come to London for next Season. We can find them husbands. Or Ruby can. Not me. I ain't got the brains to do it, but Ruby will know who is suitable for them. Splendid girls, Addie and Rose." He beamed.
"What a very kind thought!" Anne said. "You will be a quite wonderful brother-in-law, Freddie. Those girls are very fortunate."
"Have to go dance with Grandmamma," he said as the music from within the ballroom drew to a close. "Grandpapa is in the card room. He was roaring for someone to bring him a cushion to put under his leg when I saw him. Grand person, Grandpapa. Brains, y' know."
Before Freddie could escort Anne back inside the ballroom, they were joined on the terrace by Jack.
"Ah, here you are," he said to her. "The next set is mine, I believe. You may run along, Freddie. Grandmamma is loudly predicting that you will probably have forgotten that you are her next partner and that she will end up being a wallflower. Go and convince her that she is as much in demand as she ever was as a girl."
When Freddie had left, Jack turned to Anne and grinned. "Did I arrive just in time to save you from death by boredom with that intellectual giant?" he asked.
"I perceive that you enjoy having a joke at the expense of Freddie," Anne said, "but I shall not allow it. It seems to me that all his life people have been telling him that he is some kind of half-wit, and he was come fully to believe it. He may not have a great deal of intelligence, but he has something infinitely more valuable. He was sweetness and kindness and humility and I would choose him before an intellectual or a wit any day."
Jack's grin did not falter. "Anne," he said, "you are quite adorable when you are angry, you know. I apologize most humbly. I should have known you would take that idiot's part. I have noticed how you will go out of your way to try to make him feel good about himself. Why will you not do the same for me?"
"I think you already feel quite good enough about yourself not to need my assistance," she said.
"I have not felt particularly good about most of this fortnight," he said. "I have finally met a girl for whom I could feel a serious affection, and it turns out that she is already married to my arch-rival and cousin."
"Nonsense, Jack," Anne said. "You do not at all fit the image of a tragic lover. You wished to flirt with me and had your nose pushed a little out of joint when I showed you that I would have none of it. I suspect that rejection does not often come your way. You are too handsome and too charming for your own good, you know. And at this moment the goose bumps on my arms are so large that I fear they may burst at any moment. Please take me inside to dance."
Jack sighed. "I could suggest a much more pleasurable way to warm you up, Anne," he said, "but I know when I am beaten. I did not realize at the start that you care a great deal for Alex, but you do, and I suppose he has a right to you. But I do think it a crying shame. Why could I not have been caught in that snowstorm?" He offered his arm and led her into the stuffy warmth of the ballroom.
The next dance was the supper dance. Anne found her spirits lifting as soon as Jack left her in search of his next partner. She would be with Alexander now for the whole of one set, for all of supper and again for a set. She must make it memorable. She must notice the touch of his body, the expressions on his face, the words he spoke. This would be almost her last contact with him. After this, there would be only his presence in her bed for the little that would remain of the night by the time the dancing was over and all the guests had left. One more chance to be with him and one more chance to make love with him. Then perhaps endless years at Redlands.
It was a waltz. Anne had danced one earlier with Stanley, who had shown great patience when he had realized that she was unfamiliar with the dance. For the first part of the set he had danced only the basic steps with her, until she had caught the rhythm of the music and felt more confident. Only then had he taken her through some wild turns and twirls. Now she felt confident that she would not make a fool of herself.
It was really quite blissful. They did not speak at all, but there was no awkwardness in the silence. Alexander held her very firmly and led her through the waltz so confidently that she felt she would have floated along with him quite faultlessly even without the earlier lesson with Stanley. She became less and less aware of the other people in the room and of her surroundings in general, and more and more aware of the man who held her, the man who had become everything in life to her. She had tried not to let it happen, had tried to convince herself that her need for him was merely physical and that his character was not one that could arouse true love in her. But unfortunately, she had found, one's heart will not always listen to one's head, and the heart is inevitably the stronger of the two.
She was in love with Alexander, hopelessly and utterly in love with him, and she was no longer going to try to deny it. She would have this hour and this night, openly and vulnerably in love with him. The hurt of being alone again from tomorrow on was not going to be any the less if she refused to admit the truth to herself. She might as well open herself fully to the pain.
There was a general movement toward the supper room as soon as the waltz was finished.
"Are you hungry?" Merrick asked.
Anne shook her head.
"Let us walk in the garden, then," he said. "May I fetch you a shawl?"
"I shall get it," said Anne, and ran lightly up to her room. How well this hour was turning out for her. Instead of having to share her husband with a roomful of other people during supper, she would have him all to herself. Not that he was likely to talk any more than he had during the dance, but at least they could walk together. She would be able to feel his presence, store away one more memory.
They did indeed walk in silence for a while, crossing the lawn at the side of the house until they came to the cobbled walk before the house and then angling off toward the rose arbor. Anne snuggled inside the warm wool shawl that she had fetched from her room, though one of her arms was drawn snugly beneath his and held to his side. She wished that they might never speak, that nothing might ever happen to break the spell, the illusion that they were a normal married couple, in harmony with each other.
"Bella has your boxes packed?" Merrick asked at last.
"Yes," she said. "It was lucky that this shawl was close to the top of one of them. I will not keep the coachman waiting tomorrow."
"Perhaps we will give the coachman an extra day off," he said.
Anne looked up at him, a query in her eyes. "You think I shall be too tired to travel," she said. "I think not. Grandpapa's carriage is so well-sprung that I shall probably sleep on the road. Anyway, I shall be able to sleep all I want when I get home to Redlands."
"And if I tell you that you will not be going to Redlands?"
"What do you mean?" Anne asked.
"You are not going back there," Merrick said. "You will be returning to London with me the day after tomorrow."
Anne stopped walking to turn and stare at him. "Why?" she asked.
"Why?" he said with a laugh
. "I tell you you are going to London rather than to Redlands and you ask me why? Because I have decided that it shall be so. That is why."
Anne searched his eyes, a pain in her throat that made drawing breath almost a physical effort. "No," she said. "Please do not do this to me, Alexander."
The remains of his smile disappeared instantly.
"Always," Anne said, having difficulty with her breathing, "always you must play the tyrant with me. You have always hated me, have you not? Even when you married me. You treated me with quite calculated cruelty the day after our wedding and then you abandoned me for more than a year. I believe you would have been well contented never to see me again, Alexander. But I have been forced on your attention once more. And now you find that you have not yet wreaked enough revenge on me for taking you away from your chosen bride. I did not miss noticing tonight that you have danced with her twice already. And so you must take me to London with you. Why, pray? So that you can flaunt your flirts and your mistresses before me? So that you can continue to humiliate me by showing me constantly that you have only one use for me?"
Merrick stood very still looking back at her, his face shuttered. "It appears to me," he said finally, "that you have not objected overmuch to the use to which I have been putting you. Or has your acting ability this fortnight extended beyond the stage and into our bed?"
Anne could feel herself flushing and was thankful for the darkness that surrounded them. "No," she said, "there has been no acting involved. You are a very good lover, my lord. I would guess that I am receiving the benefit of the lessons you have learned from a countless number of light-skirts. This has been a very pleasurable two weeks, but I fear that tedium would set in if the period were extended. You see, Alexander, I have used you in the same way as you have used me." Anne smiled and turned to enter the arbor.
Merrick was after her in a moment, grabbing her arm and turning her roughly to face him. "It is not true," he said. "You merely speak this way because I have hurt you and you wish to salvage your pride. Admit it, Anne. I can force you to do so, you know."