by Jane Ashford
“Hello, Susan,” he replied, hugging her like a man accustomed to such assaults. “I am. I arrived this morning.”
“How did you know where we were?” Susan had drawn back a little and was pulling him toward the sofa, where she settled herself on his knee.
“I saw it in the newspaper.”
The child’s green eyes went wide. “Are we in the newspaper?”
“Your mother is. It says she attended a ball last night.” His tone in imparting this information was ambiguous.
“Oh. That.” Susan’s interest vanished. “I am so glad to see you, Uncle Christopher. You must take us all home at once.”
Christopher Hanford eyed the small girl meditatively. He was not really her uncle. The Wyndhams and the Hanfords had been neighbors in Hertfordshire for generations, and he had grown up with Ralph Wyndham and remained his closest friend even after the latter’s marriage. Upon his untimely death, Hanford had naturally become the mainstay of Wyndham’s bereft young family, and all of the children called him “uncle.” Anabel, too, relied on him. He had always been happy to oblige. But in the last six months or so he had gradually realized that his happiness was not simply that of a faithful friend. The Wyndhams had less and less need of him as the grief for Ralph faded and Anabel learned about running an estate and managing alone. Yet he called as often and found himself resenting the change. Finally the truth had struck him. He had, in the past three years, fallen deeply in love with his charming neighbor, and he could no longer be content without her.
This knowledge had unsettled him, chiefly because Anabel herself showed no signs of returning his regard. She was always glad to see him and treated him with the relaxed informality of long-standing friendship; she seemed delighted by his love for her children. But on the few occasions when he had tried to express more profound feelings, she had not understood, or perhaps, as he sometimes thought, she had pretended not to, thinking he would see that she could offer him nothing more. This conclusion had so cast him down that he embarked on a sudden voyage abroad, resolving to stay away until he had conquered his unrequited passion. He told the Wyndhams only that he was leaving, and he did not write. But this accomplished no more than to keep him wondering how they were through the entire trip. Last week he had given it up and turned homeward, determined to confront Anabel and find out his chances. But almost the first thing that greeted him in England was the announcement that she had brought her family to town. He was irrationally angry that she should have taken this step without consulting him, and uneasy about its consequences.
“Have you seen her?” asked Susan, tugging at his lapel to get his attention. “Uncle Christopher!”
“What? Seen whom?”
“Daisy. My cat. I’m looking for her. She comes down here all the time, and the servants get angry.”
“I haven’t seen her, Susan. I’m sorry.”
Susan shrugged and smiled angelically up at him. Not for the first time, Hanford marveled at the strange combination of seraphic face and hellish temper.
The drawing-room door opened again, and Nicholas peered around it. When he saw Hanford, he looked first astonished, then delighted. “William!” he called over his shoulder. “Here.” Then he in his turn ran forward and embraced the man, to be followed quickly by the elder male Wyndham. “How good that you are back,” said Nicholas when their greetings were over. “You can speak to Mama.”
Hanford smiled at his assurance. “About what?”
“Going home, of course. I daresay she will be more willing to go now that you will be there.”
“What makes you think so?” he replied rather sharply.
“Oh, things were dreadfully flat after you went. We all said so.”
“Your mother too?”
This time Nicholas glanced up at his eagerness, slightly puzzled. “Oh, yes. Will you tell her? We dislike London so.” William and Susan nodded vigorously.
“We shall see.” He felt a rising hope. Was it possible that Anabel had come to London because she missed his company?
The footman opened the door and ushered Lady Goring in. Hanford put Susan aside and rose to greet her. But before either could speak, a large mass of ginger fur streaked past her ladyship’s feet, almost oversetting her, and buried itself in one of the blue velvet draperies. It was hotly pursued by another footman, who arrested his headlong rush barely in time to avoid his employer. He came to attention, breathing hard and pulling at his coat to adjust it, just outside the room.
“Whatever is the…” began Lady Goring, then stopped and sighed. “The cat again, I suppose.”
“Yes, ma’am,” answered the footman. “He got into the kitchen, and Cook says—”
“Susan, you promised me you would keep that animal upstairs,” interrupted the other, not wanting to hear what Cook had said. She could easily imagine it.
“I did, Grandmama. Only, Miss Tate said I had to do my lessons, and so I—”
“I know you want to keep him, Susan. But he is really not the sort of pet for you to…”
Seeing Susan’s ominously reddening face, Hanford ventured, “I believe he is climbing the curtain.”
He was. William and the footman ran to the window, followed more slowly by Nicholas. The cat’s progress was evident only from a moving agitation of the cloth, but he was already above the reach of the brawny footman. “A chair,” suggested Hanford, and one was quickly shifted. Daisy was retrieved with an ominous rip and a flurry of claws and teeth. Susan ran to cradle him.
“Go downstairs and have Mrs. Beecham tie up your hand at once, James,” said Lady Goring in a long-suffering voice. The footman, hands behind his back to hide the bleeding, hurried away. “Susan!”
“Daisy was just frightened. She didn’t know what they were going to do to her, did you, Daisy?”
The giant cat focused a derisive yellow eye on the group.
“If he cannot be kept upstairs, Susan…”
“I will. I will, Grandmama. I promise!”
Lady Goring sighed. “We will try it once more. But only once, Susan. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Grandmama.” She gripped Daisy more tightly, his tail, legs, and belly hanging over her small arms. The cat surveyed his audience complacently.
Lady Goring stepped forward, holding out her hand. “I beg your pardon for this uproar. I am Anabel’s mother, and though we have not met, I have heard a great deal about you. I am delighted to make your acquaintance at last.”
Hanford bowed slightly as he took her hand. “And I yours.” His bright blue eyes were still dancing at the scene he had just witnessed, and Lady Goring found herself smiling.
“Shall we sit down?”
They had hardly done so when the unwounded footman came in again, announcing, “Sir Charles Norbury,” and ushering that gentleman into the room.
There was an immediate alteration in the atmosphere. The tall, very fashionable figure who strode to the middle of the carpet and looked down at them was in marked contrast to the inhabitants of the household. Lady Goring was well dressed, but common sense rather than changing modes always governed her choices. Christopher Hanford was a countryman, and his clothes, although good, had no pretensions to elegance. In his many-caped driving coat and gleaming Hessian boots, Norbury seemed to epitomize the town buck, and his sardonic expression as he scanned each of them merely increased this impression. “Good day, Lady Goring,” he said. “I hope I do not…intrude?”
Hanford disliked him at once, for no discernible reason. And Lady Goring’s reply was not warm. She implied, without actually asking, a question about his visit.
“I am here to fetch Lady Wyndham for a drive in the park,” he said. “Did she not mention it to you?” His slight smile and one raised brow were very handsome, and extremely annoying to his adult listeners. Hanford’s dislike was confirmed, and joined by suspicion. Lady Goring fro
wned. Their visitor appeared amused.
“I want to go, too,” stated Susan, putting Daisy down on the floor. “Mama said we might go to the park, but Nurse never wants to take us.”
Norbury eyed her with distaste, and Lady Goring recalled her duties as hostess with a certain relish. “You haven’t met my grandchildren, Sir Charles,” she said cordially. She gave their names. William and Nicholas made very creditable bows, but Susan merely moved closer to the man and stared up at him with a fixity that earned her a haughty look. “And forgive me, Mr. Hanford, I ought to have mentioned you first. Mr. Hanford is a neighbor of my daughter’s in Hertfordshire.”
“I see.” Sir Charles was obviously impatient. “I fear I cannot keep my horses standing too long, Lady Goring. If Lady Wyndham might be informed of my arrival…”
“Oh, John has gone to tell her. I daresay she will be right down.” She seated herself and indicated with a gesture that the gentlemen should follow suit.
Daisy had been scouting the perimeters of the room since being set free, and now he looked out from under the sofa, drawn by the high shine of Norbury’s boots. Nicholas, under whose legs the cat emerged, drew them quickly up. Daisy stepped out, head extended, and sniffed delicately. The sound attracted Sir Charles’s attention, and the sight of Daisy brought a twist to his lips. Some instinct made the cat raise its head and meet the man’s pale green gaze. In an instant the streetwise creature had retreated out of sight.
“You have been traveling abroad, Mr. Hanford?” said Lady Goring.
“Yes. I’ve only just returned.”
“How did you find the Continent now that the war is over? Much changed?”
“Well, I had never visited it before, so I am not the person to say. But it is certainly interesting.”
Norbury’s face showed contempt at this commonplace, and Hanford, who had replied at random as he tried to work out what he would say to Anabel when she appeared, felt a strong desire to hit him.
“My husband and I visited Paris on our wedding journey,” said Lady Goring. “We always meant to return, but the war came, and then Gerald’s death, and we never managed it. Paris is a wonderful city.”
Hanford agreed. Sir Charles hardly tried to conceal his impatience.
William and Nicholas had effaced themselves since the second caller arrived, feeling that their presence was now unwelcome, at least to him. But Susan was unhampered by such scruples. She had wandered to the window and now she approached Norbury’s chair. “Is that your carriage outside?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve never seen one like that. What is it called?”
He looked annoyed. “A high-perch phaeton.” His voice was clipped.
“Why is it so tall?”
Alarmed by Sir Charles’s languid annoyance, Lady Goring and Christopher Hanford spoke at the same moment.
“That is the fashion,” she said.
“You can see a great distance from the seat,” he said.
They glanced at each other, smiled slightly, and apologized. Norbury looked pained.
“But…” Susan was never easily diverted.
“I am so sorry I am late,” exclaimed a breathless voice from the doorway, and Anabel hurried in, looking charming in a white sprig muslin gown, with tiny blue flowers and long tucked sleeves, and a chip straw hat. She carried a dark blue pelisse over her arm.
The gentlemen stood, Norbury stepping forward.
“Christopher!”
“Hullo, Anabel.”
“When did you get back?”
“Just this morning.” She had come forward and offered her hand, and he took it and squeezed it warmly. The way her face had lit when she saw him had speeded his pulse.
“However did you find us so soon?”
“You were in all the society papers.”
“I?” She seemed both astonished and a little pleased.
“Yes, indeed. ‘The charming Lady Wyndham.’” His eyes teased her.
“Oh my.”
“I beg your pardon,” put in Sir Charles, “but I really cannot leave my horses standing much longer.”
Anabel turned quickly. “Indeed, it is my fault. I am sorry.” She looked back at Hanford, biting her lip. “We must go.”
He said nothing. He refused to tell her it was all right.
“Are you staying in town long, Christopher?”
“A few days.” He had planned to go straight home, but her presence changed that.
“Good. I will see you later, then. Good-bye Mama, children.”
“I want to go with you,” said Susan. “You promised I could see the park.”
“Nurse will take you this afternoon, dear.”
“I want to go now!”
Seeing Norbury’s face and knowing her daughter, Anabel cravenly fled with a hurried “Another time, love.” Lady Goring, watching the youngest Wyndham’s imperiousness turn to outrage, braced herself. William and Nicholas waited with identical grimaces.
“The park is very dull at this time of day,” said Christopher Hanford. “I know a better place. Have you heard of Astley’s Amphitheatre?”
“Where they have the wild beasts?” asked William.
“That’s it. Why don’t we have a look at it today?”
The boys leaped up and began to pelt him with questions, their exuberance revived. Hanford kept one eye on Susan. At first it seemed that she would cling to her grievance. But when William’s hope that there might be lions was confirmed, she gave in and joined the group. Lady Goring, amazed and grateful, watched the exchange with a smile, then saw them all off in a hansom cab. As Hanford was bidding her good-bye she said, “I hope we shall have an opportunity to talk again, in better circumstances. Will you come to dinner one night?”
“I should be delighted.”
“Tomorrow? We are at home.”
He agreed and, as the children were clamoring to go, stepped up into the carriage. Lady Goring saw them off before turning back into the front hall, a meditative look on her face.
Four
Christopher Hanford was so punctual for his dinner appointment the following evening that he arrived before either Lady Goring or Anabel had come downstairs. As the footman took him to the drawing room to await them, Hanford felt unexpectedly awkward. He had purchased several new coats in Paris, having been assured by one of the best tailors that they became him and were in the very latest mode. He wore one tonight, but he had an uneasy suspicion that he could not compete with Sir Charles Norbury in this area. He looked like a sensible, well-bred gentleman, one whose family had been prominent in the county for centuries, but he was no Corinthian, and he never would be. Walking through the door the footman held open for him, Hanford again told himself that it was very common for ladies to be taken driving in town. It meant nothing in particular. Anabel could not be well acquainted with Norbury after such a short stay; perhaps she had merely gone out of politeness or the desire for variety. But he found his arguments unconvincing. The image of the polished Norbury had lingered painfully in his thoughts through the night, and his expression as he crossed the Turkey carpet toward the fireplace was wry and concerned.
“Oh!” said a female voice. There was a scuffling sound and then a cascade of small objects over the sofa front.
“I beg your pardon,” said Hanford, moving around it. “The footman did not tell me there was anyone here.”
Georgina Goring scrambled up. She had been reclining on the sofa, wholly engrossed in a book and fortified with a box of chocolate creams. The story was so enthralling that she had not heard the door open, and not until Hanford’s footsteps were quite close had she noticed him. Startled, she had jumped, overturning the confections and raining them in confusion on the rug. Her heart was pounding because she had at first thought the intruder was Lady Goring, and braced herself for a scold. Discovering he
r mistake, she felt both embarrassed and irritated at facing a stranger and a male. “You crept up on me,” she accused.
Hanford eyed the very plump pale girl with some amusement. The scene told him a great deal. “Indeed, I did not mean to. The servant did not say you were here.”
“He didn’t know,” admitted Georgina. She had formed the habit of slipping about the house, so that Lady Goring would have difficulty in finding her and preventing her pleasures.
Hanford knelt and began to pick up the scattered chocolates. He handed her the book that had fallen facedown on the floor. “The Monk’s Curse,” he read. “Is that a novel?”
“Yes.” She snatched it from him.
“Are you fond of novels?” He deftly returned the last candies to their paper holders and put on the box’s cover.
“Yes.” Georgina rose, taking this also from him and clutching both to her. She was a trifle disheveled, and her gray eyes sparkled defensively.
“So is my sister. She is continually telling me to read one or another, but I fear I am not a great reader. What do you like about them?”
The girl surveyed him suspiciously but could find no trace of mockery in his face. She thawed a little. “The stories are so exciting. I always feel as if I were hurtling down a long, dark tunnel with no notion of what is to come next.”
Hanford was surprised. The girl looked dull, but she was obviously not. “Do you? It sounds too terrifying for me.” He smiled at her to show that he was joking.
Georgina gazed at him with wonder and dawning interest. No gentleman but her father had ever bothered to be kind to her before. And this was a very attractive gentleman.
“I am Christopher Hanford, by the way.”
“Oh no!”
He raised his eyebrows, still smiling.
“I beg your pardon. But you are coming to dinner.”
“I am.”
“I mean, you are here for dinner, and I have not changed. I did not hear the bell. My aunt will be angry with me. I must go at once before she comes down.” But even as she hurried toward the door, still awkwardly grasping her possessions, it opened and Lady Goring came in, impressive in silver-gray satin.