by Jane Ashford
Captain Debenham shook his head vigorously and fled.
“Whatever were you saying to Edward?” asked Lord Wrenley. Anne started and turned to find him standing behind her. “I don’t believe I have ever seen him look so harried.”
She smiled slightly. “I was roasting him.”
The viscount raised one eyebrow.
“I threatened to try to find him a bride.”
“Did you? Why?”
“Oh, it is only a joke. That is, I think it is.”
“You are not certain?”
“Well, no. It might be a good thing, though it seems unlikely.”
“But why should you concern yourself with Edward’s matrimonial plans? They are not your worry.”
“But I should like to see him happy, of course.”
“Why?”
Anne gazed up at him, frowning. “What do you mean?”
“You can hardly be said to know Edward. And his marriage will have no effect upon you. Why think about it?”
“Well…well, because…” She stopped, at a loss to explain her feelings.
Lord Wrenley shrugged, losing interest, as he assumed Anne would when the season kept her busier with more personal concerns. “Have you enjoyed your first venture into London society?” he asked instead.
“Oh, yes. Edward presented several of his friends, and they were very kind. And I have met a number of others as well.”
“Where is Cousin Mariah?” He scanned the crowd.
“Over there. With the other chaperones.”
“I don’t suppose she has been much help to you.”
“I haven’t required help,” replied Anne a bit stiffly.
The viscount sighed. “I would have provided a better companion for you if I could have discovered one, Anne.”
“I like Mariah!”
He shrugged again. “Well, that is something.” He looked out over the crowd, as if dismissing the subject from his mind.
“H-have you enjoyed the evening?” ventured Anne.
Lord Wrenley’s lip curled. “Not overmuch. We had a few hands of piquet, but they would have been better at White’s.”
“It…it was good of you to escort me.”
He looked down at her, his light gray eyes meeting her darker ones. “Yes, it was.”
His bland complacence made her angry. “You need not feel obliged to do so again,” she snapped. “I daresay Laurence or Edward would be happy to take on that burden.”
“That is my plan,” he answered, unaffected by her sarcasm. “I am not much use at these deb parties, in any case.”
Seething, Anne tried to think of some blighting remark, but nothing suitably withering came to mind.
“Are you nearly ready to go?” continued the viscount. “I confess I have been eager these two hours.”
“Whenever you like,” responded Anne icily.
“Good. I’ll fetch Edward, and you speak to Laurence, will you?” He walked away; Anne watched him for a moment, her expression indignant, then stalked off to find Laurence.
Seven
Right after breakfast the next morning, a messenger brought a very large package for Anne. It contained four gowns she had ordered from the dressmaker on her earlier visit to London, and she had them carried directly up to her bedchamber so that she could try them. But as Crane fastened and adjusted first one, then another, and Anne stood before the long mirror to see the fit, she found herself thinking not of gowns but of her conversation with Charles the previous evening. This exchange had been in her mind often since then. She had first of all forgiven him for finding the party boring; a man who had seen at least ten seasons come and go could not be expected to enjoy such a commonplace gathering. But she still could not understand his attitude toward his brothers, and toward her interest in them. He had been truly puzzled by her remarks on Edward’s future, as he had by her inquiries about Laurence’s engagement. Yet to Anne it seemed inevitable that she should be concerned with these things, and incomprehensible that Charles was not.
“This ruffle drags in the back, my lady,” said Crane. “The dress will have to be returned. Shoddy workmanship, I call it.”
Diverted, Anne turned and looked in the mirror. “It is hardly an inch. We could alter that ourselves.”
Crane looked outraged. “The dressmaker ought to correct her own mistakes, my lady. That is her job.”
“But it is not really her fault. She told me I should have another fitting, but I could not go, and made her finish it without.” She untied the ribbon sash in the front. “We will do it. If you don’t care to sew it up…”
“I shall, of course, my lady, if you wish it.” The maid was clearly unmollified.
But Anne had lost interest again. “Thank you, Crane,” was her only reply, and she changed back into her blue muslin morning dress without further comment. Crane, picking up the offending garment as if it had a bad smell, left the room with her chin high, every line of her body expressing injured dignity.
Anne, finally noticing it as the door snapped shut, smiled a little. “Poor Crane,” she murmured. “I must be a trial to her. I shall have to do something particularly nice to make up.” But she did not pursue this thought. Her expression became thoughtful again, and after a moment she went downstairs and into the library. Charles often sat there in the mornings working over his papers. But the room was empty today.
Still preoccupied, Anne walked back into the corridor, where she encountered Mariah, struggling under the weight of a large leafy potted plant. “Mariah, let me help you!” she exclaimed and ran to hold one side of the container.
“Thank you, dear,” replied the other, straightening up with the lessening of the weight. “It is a trifle heavy.”
“Why didn’t you ring for someone to carry it—one of the footmen? You should not be doing such heavy work.”
“Nonsense. I do much more at home. And I didn’t want to disturb any of the servants. They have quite enough to do without my garden added to it.”
“Someone would have had time,” insisted Anne.
“Perhaps, dear. But you see, I wanted it done now.” Mariah smiled up at her, her diminutive frame and pale coloring very much at odds with the iron determination in her face. Her light gray eyes danced with mild self-mockery. “I always do, and it is so vexing to wait until someone is free to help.”
Anne smiled. “Well, I am nearly always free. Ask me.” She nodded down at the pot in their hands. “Let us take this in. It grows heavier by the moment.”
Mariah laughed. “Very well.”
They carried the plant down the hall to the “garden.” Anne had not seen the room for a whole day, and when they reached the doorway, she drew a surprised breath. The transformation was amazing. The earth the workmen had carried in was smoothed over the floor in a uniform layer about two feet deep, confined by a wide plank at the door. In this, Mariah had already planted a number of green things, including, astonishingly, two small trees in the far corners. There were also beds of flowers started here and there.
“It is quite a sight, isn’t it?” Mariah chuckled.
Anne nodded. “I had no idea it would look so…so real.”
“Yes, it is a challenge. I am enjoying it much more than I thought I would. I think, when I finish, it will be unique.”
“Indeed, it will.”
“Come, we can put this down beyond the plank there. I haven’t yet decided just where I shall plant it.”
They heaved the pot onto the soil inside the door. Mariah eyed it critically. “I think I shall have everything in by tomorrow, or perhaps the next day. It depends upon when Robin arrives from my house with the last load.”
“All this is coming from your garden at home?”
“Of course. Where else?”
“But what will you do when you return?”
Mariah stared at her. “Why, take it with me.” Then she grinned. “Unless Charles wishes to keep it for himself. I shall ask him.”
Anne couldn’t restrain a smile at this prospect. Mariah stepped up over the plank and into the garden, immediately becoming engrossed in her work. Anne watched her for a few minutes, then strolled to the drawing room. To her surprise, she found Charles there.
“Hello,” he said. “I was just looking for you.”
“For me?”
“Yes.” He held out a stack of envelopes. “These invitations arrived with the morning post, the first of an avalanche, I suppose. Go through them and choose the ones you wish to accept.”
“I?”
He raised one blond eyebrow. “Who else? You are the one coming out this season.”
“But I don’t know any of the people. How will I choose?”
“Oh, Laurence can help you with that,” he replied carelessly.
“And do you not wish to be consulted?”
“No. I shall not be attending most of them. You and Laurence and Edward must go where you like.”
She took the envelopes. “Very well.” He nodded and turned to leave. “Charles?”
“Yes?”
“Are you…are you very busy? Might I talk to you for a moment?”
“I was on my way out.” He met her eye and shrugged. “I can delay a short time, however.”
“Thank you.” She went to sit on the sofa. “I feel I must speak to you about Laurence. I am determined in my own mind, but it does not seem right to do anything without consulting you. You are the head of the family, after all.”
Lord Wrenley’s face hardened. “Consulting me?”
Anne nodded. She looked down at the pile of envelopes in her hands. “Charles, I am…convinced that Miss Branwell is not a proper match for Laurence. I thought so before, but now I am certain. They will not be happy.”
The viscount’s lips turned down. “And what do you expect me to do about it?” he answered coldly. “I warn you that I shall do nothing.”
Anne gazed at him. There was no hint of emotion in his eyes. “I know your feelings on the subject,” she agreed. “So I thought I would do something. But I wanted to tell you first.”
The icy withdrawal in his face was softened by puzzlement. “You? But why should you? Laurence’s happiness is not your responsibility.”
“I cannot understand your complete lack of interest in these questions—for Edward as well.”
“And I cannot understand your concern about them. Why should you care, Anne?”
Their eyes met in mutual incomprehension and held for a long moment. Charles was clearly intrigued. It was almost the first sign of real feeling Anne had seen him show. She sought words to explain. “I…I can’t help but be concerned,” she said at last. “Laurence has been kind to me; I have known him since I was a child. I want him to be happy.”
Lord Wrenley continued to watch her.
“And…I want to do what I can to help him become so.”
“Become?” He seemed to examine the word.
“Yes. And Edward, too.”
“You believe, then, that they are not happy now?”
Anne blinked. “What…what do you mean?”
“You used the word ‘become.’ It implies that neither of my brothers is, in your view, happy now, if they must ‘become’ so.”
She flushed. “I didn’t mean… I wasn’t thinking of that when I spoke.”
“Precisely. You used it automatically.” The viscount still gazed at her as if at some rare new breed of animal. It was astonishing to him that anyone should wish to shoulder the sort of responsibility that he had always found so irksome. To feel that another’s happiness depended on one’s actions—this had seemed a burden to him since the age of sixteen. He had thought Anne foolish to seek it, but he had also been convinced that she would soon change her mind; it was doubly surprising that she persisted.
Anne was looking down in confusion.
“And what of me?” added Lord Wrenley.
“You?”
“Do you include me in your program for happiness?” he asked, one eyebrow raised in habitual condescension.
Her flush deepening painfully, Anne stammered, “I did not think… I would not presume…”
“Good. In that case, you may meddle all you like, as long as I am not bothered with the consequences. Does that satisfy your scruples?”
A spark of anger drove the blush from Anne’s cheeks. “That is precisely what Edward said. Do you Debenhams care for no one but yourselves?”
Lord Wrenley frowned, the hint of interest in his eyes changing to a kind of self-conscious resentment. “I can only speak for myself, naturally. But I cared for my brothers throughout their adolescence, which seems to me quite enough for one lifetime.”
“As you ‘cared for’ me?” retorted Anne. The moment the words were out, she regretted them.
His expression froze. “Precisely.”
Anne’s anger overbore her manners. “Then all I can say, Charles, is that you haven’t the least idea of the meaning of the word ‘care.’”
Silence fell: the two of them glared at one another across the Turkey carpet. Then, at the same time, Fallow came in to announce Arabella Castleton, and Augustus screeched, “At ’em, lads. Full forward!”
Anne blinked twice and started to laugh. Lord Wrenley looked toward the parrot, his expression less severe, but he said nothing, merely bowing slightly and striding out of the room. Anne shook her head. The man was impossible. “Send Miss Castleton right up,” she told the butler, and she rose and walked over to Augustus’s cage. “There are times,” she told the bird, “when I cannot help but credit you with a particularly malicious sense of mischief.”
“What has he done now?” asked Arabella from the doorway.
Anne turned, smiling. “Merely routed Charles with one well-chosen phrase, which is more than most people could do.”
“Oh, dear, did he make him angry?”
“No, I did that. I’ve never needed any help to exasperate Charles.”
“Anne.”
“Don’t look so despairing, goose. It wasn’t at all important. Come, I have decided to move Augustus into Mariah’s garden. If she will allow it, that is. Let us go and ask her. You can see the place at the same time.”
Looking rather anxious, Arabella followed her friend down the hall. They found Mariah digging energetically in the corner of the parlor and had no trouble obtaining permission to move the parrot. “I’m fond of birds,” said Mariah. “They’re pleasant creatures. Quite unlike moles—and rabbits! A rabbit will eat a green shoot as soon as look at it.”
“I’ll bring him in a little while,” replied Anne.
“Very well, my dear. I shall be here.”
“He…ah…he talks, you know.”
“Does he?” Mariah did not seem to be really listening; she was lowering the plant they had carried into the soil.
“You heard him, remember?”
The other looked up, then smiled. “Oh, yes. A most interesting bird. I shall enjoy his company.”
Anne smiled back at her and nodded. With a sign to Arabella, she walked out.
“What an extraordinary place,” said the latter, who had gazed openmouthed at the transformed parlor the whole time she stood there.
“Isn’t it? I am beginning to admire Mariah’s single-mindedness.”
When they returned to the drawing room, they found Laurence there, looking for Anne. “Charles told me you wanted my advice on some invitations?” he said. His diffident tone made it a question.
“Yes indeed.” She pointed to the pile on the table. “I am to choose among these, but I don’t know anyone in London. I know; let us all go through them—the three of us. It will be great fun.” They sat down
and Anne reached for an envelope. “A Venetian breakfast at the Drews’. I know no one by that name.”
“Yes, you do,” replied Arabella. “You met Mrs. Drew and her daughter last night.”
“I don’t recall. What do they look like?”
Arabella glanced doubtfully at Laurence. “Well, they don’t much resemble each other. Mrs. Drew is…tall.”
“And her daughter is not, I suppose. Come, Bella, you are not usually so reticent. Do you know the Drews, Laurence?”
“I do.” He grimaced faintly. “Edward calls them Friday-faced.”
Arabella stifled a giggle, and Anne said, “I remember them now. A bony predatory woman with a little mouse of a girl in tow. They talked to me of dukes.”
Laurence looked puzzled. “Dukes?”
“I couldn’t make head nor tail of it. But they seemed enamored of some duke or other and were singing his praises for a quarter hour. It took all my address to escape them.”
Arabella burst out laughing.
“Now, Bella. Is that kind? I do have some social address.”
Laurence smiled.
“I know,” gasped Miss Castleton. “It was just the way you said it. And the duke is the Duke of Cumberland. He asked them to one of his levees.”
“They were praising Cumberland for a quarter hour!” Laurence shook his head. “Refuse the invitation, Anne.”
Arabella giggled again, and Laurence grinned at her.
“I certainly shall. And I want to hear all about the Duke of Cumberland later. Now we must deal with these other cards.” She tore open another envelope. “Oh, a ball! Given by a duchess, the Duchess of Rutland.”
“You must go to that,” said Arabella. “Her entertainments are famous. We will be there.”
“That is settled, then. Laurence?”
“I agree completely.”
“Good. I will make separate piles for acceptances and refusals. Now, here is an evening party at the Smythes’. What have you to say of them?”
Arabella shook her head. “I haven’t met them.” Both girls turned to Laurence, expectant.
He smiled a little. “I don’t know them well, but the family seems pleasant. There is a daughter coming out this season, I believe. And there is at least one son.”