by Jane Ashford
“Why? He is an abominable slowtop, I promise you.”
“Nonetheless, I should like to see him first.”
“All right.” Edward shrugged. “I daresay he’ll be happy enough to come to Charles’s house.”
Anne dimpled. “I’ll warn Charles to keep out of his way, so as not to be cajoled out of one of his livings.”
“Charles!” He stared at her, then grimaced. “It’s all very well to joke, but I have had a great deal of trouble over this. I missed Richard’s dinner at the Daffy Club to fawn on this Hargreaves.”
“You have been wonderful,” replied Anne warmly. “I am very grateful to you, and Laurence will be also, someday.”
“I hope so.” Edward rose. “I must get back; I have duty this afternoon.”
“Thank you for coming to tell me. And you will bring Mr. Hargreaves?”
“Yes, yes. Tomorrow.”
She held out her hand. “I am proud of you, Edward.”
He nodded, his expression a mixture of complacence and impatience, and took a hasty leave of her. When she sat down with her book again, Anne was smiling. Edward really was behaving splendidly, but it was comic to see his half-annoyed satisfaction with his good deeds.
The following day, Captain Debenham kept his promise; he and Harry Hargreaves arrived at midmorning and were taken directly up to the drawing room, where the latter was presented to Anne. She surveyed him with interest. Mr. Hargreaves was a tall, thin gentleman with sparse red hair and a great many freckles on his face and hands. Yet despite this, he was not ugly. His features were well-formed and his blue eyes large and expressive. Anne was thankful for this, for she could not imagine Lydia Branwell rejecting the handsome Laurence for an ugly man.
They all sat down, Mr. Hargreaves looking around the room as if searching for something. “You have just arrived in London, I understand, Mr. Hargreaves?” said Anne.
“That is correct. I am here on business for my employer, the Archbishop of Canterbury. I am his personal secretary.”
“So Edward has told me. You must find your work very interesting.”
“Indeed. Pardon me, Lady Anne, but is your companion out this morning? We certainly do not wish to embarrass you by an untimely call.”
“My…? No, Mariah is here.”
“Ah.” Mr. Hargreaves leaned back a little. “No doubt she will join us directly, then. I feared we had intruded on you at an inconvenient moment, and I did not wish to allow politeness to stop me from righting the mistake.”
Edward grimaced expressively at Anne.
“N-no. To be sure. I am, uh, grateful for your consideration. I’ll just see what is keeping Mariah.” Anne rose and hurried to the back parlor. Mariah was working on one of her floral borders. “Pardon me, Mariah,” said the girl, “but I must ask you to come to the drawing room for a little while. A gentleman has called.”
The other straightened and laid aside her trowel. “Of course, dear. You mustn’t receive gentlemen alone.”
Honesty forced Anne to add, “Edward is here.”
In the act of pulling off her gardening gloves, Mariah paused. “He is? Then why must I come?”
“Well, the gentleman, the other gentleman, thinks it improper for me to sit with them alone.”
Mariah smiled. “He does not sound like one of Edward’s friends.”
“No. He is not.”
“Very well. I shall be along in a moment.”
“Th-thank you. I am sorry to inconvenience you—”
“Nonsense, dear. I promised Charles I would look after you, and I shall. You were very right to fetch me.”
Anne returned to the drawing room, where Edward and Mr. Hargreaves were involved in a labored conversation about the painting over the mantel. Murmuring that Mariah would join them directly, she sank into her chair once more. Mr. Hargreaves looked serenely unaware of anything but his own concerns, she thought. Possibly he was pleased that the proprieties had now been satisfied. When Mariah entered a few moments later, he stood and greeted her punctiliously. Mariah’s reply that she had been working in her garden made him hesitate, but he soon recovered and initiated a smooth flow of commonplaces that continued for precisely a quarter of an hour. After this very correct interval, he rose and made ready to depart. “Do you come with me, Debenham?” he asked.
“No, I shall stay a moment longer. But I will see you tomorrow at the Archers’.”
“Of course.” He bowed slightly. “Ladies.”
They were all glad to see him go. “What a priggish young man,” snorted Mariah almost before he was out of earshot. “Why did you bring him here, Edward? He is not at all your sort.”
Captain Debenham grinned. “Anne wished to make his acquaintance.”
Mariah frowned at Anne. “Well, I hope she has learned her lesson. I am going back to the garden. If any other gentlemen call, send them away.”
Edward burst out laughing. “You may count on me.” Mariah went out, and he turned back to Anne. “You see?”
“He is very pompous. Oh, Edward, I cannot believe Lydia will like him. Who could?”
“Wait and see. We will meet at the Archers’ rout party, and carry out the next phase of our campaign. I must go.” He rose.
“Do you really think it can succeed?”
“Not a doubt of it! Truly, Anne.”
“I hope you are right.”
He grimaced comically and with a wave of his hand went out. Anne stayed where she was, thinking over their plan and wondering whether they had made a mistake. Could anyone wish to marry Harry Hargreaves? She could not imagine it.
That evening, Laurence escorted Anne and Mariah to an evening party in Berkeley Square, at the house of Lady Mountjoy. The gathering was not particularly brilliant, but Arabella and some of Anne’s other friends were there, and she had a pleasant time. About midway through the evening she encountered Charles as she came out of the small back drawing room into the crowded front one. They paused beside the doorway to exchange greetings. “I did not know you would be here tonight,” said Anne.
“I did not intend to be. The friends with whom I dined dragged me with them afterward.”
Enviously she wondered who these influential friends were. She could not have coaxed him to a party he did not wish to attend.
“They regret it already,” he added lightly. “Have you ever seen such a tedious group of people under one roof?”
“Yes, it is not a very interesting party.”
“What is the matter?”
She glanced up quickly. “What do you mean?”
“You sounded so unhappy.”
“I? I am not. Perhaps it is fatigue, or boredom.”
“More likely the latter. You never tire.”
“Don’t I?” answered Anne wistfully.
Charles looked down at her with a frown. “You really are out of sorts, aren’t you? Would you like some lemonade? Are you too hot?”
“No. I am perfectly all right.” His questions were mere politeness, she thought. He really cared a thousand times more for his friends than for her.
He did not say any more, but he examined her face closely before remarking, “I understand that you have met your ‘substitute.’ Edward was telling me about him earlier.”
Anne found this a little startling. “Was he?”
“I asked. The gentleman is not here this evening, evidently.”
“No. But he will be at the Archers’ rout party tomorrow night.”
“I am tempted to come and have a look at him.”
Even more surprised, she replied, “You won’t like him.”
“No, from what Edward said, I doubt that I shall. But will the lady? That is the important thing.”
“I don’t know. Edward says she will, but…”
Seeing her knotted brow, the viscount’s gr
ay eyes twinkled. “Edward is expert in these matters, I assure you.”
“I… Is he?” Anne gazed up at him with a frown.
“Absolutely.”
“That’s what he said, but—”
“He did not! Not even my scapegrace brother would be such a coxcomb, surely?”
“He…he didn’t use those words precisely, but I got the notion that he…”
Charles began to laugh. “Edward, Edward!”
She eyed him doubtfully.
“I am sorry. I shouldn’t laugh.”
“Shouldn’t laugh with me, you mean?”
“What?”
“Never mind. You do laugh more often than I remembered. I expect my memory is at fault.”
Surprised, he stared down at her, seeming uncharacteristically at a loss for a reply. Before either of them could speak again, a penetrating voice on the other side of the doorway said, “Yes, Laurence and I hope to be married in August.”
“Lydia Branwell,” murmured Anne. They could not see Miss Branwell, or the person she addressed, but they could hear her perfectly well.
“Oh, yes, a wonderful family,” continued Lydia. “They have been very kind to me. You know Lord Wrenley, of course. A most distinguished man.”
Anne wrinkled her nose at Charles, who smiled. He took her arm and whispered, “Let us go before we hear something worse.”
She started to agree; then Lydia said, “Have you met Lady Anne? She must be counted as a member of the family, though of course she is not actually related to them.” Anne pulled him back and bent her head to listen; Charles smiled again.
“A sweet girl,” Miss Branwell went on. “A bit impetuous perhaps, but she is young. I hope to exert some influence in that quarter when we are married. Laurence thinks I can have a calming effect on her.”
Anne grimaced and stuck out her tongue at the vacant doorway.
“Her choice of friends, for example, may have been a bit unwise. I do not mention anyone in particular, of course, but a little guidance is clearly in order.”
“Do come away, Anne,” urged Charles softly.
She shook her head, her lips firmly pressed together. “I will hear this!”
The inaudible second person had evidently begged Lydia to elaborate. “Well, I shouldn’t say anything, but you are very discreet, I know. I was thinking of Miss Castleton, actually.”
Anne’s grip on the viscount’s arm tightened convulsively.
“Yes, the little dark-haired girl. Have you met her? She is quite pretty, I believe.”
“She believes,” hissed Anne. “She knows very well that Bella is ten times prettier than she is!” Lord Wrenley held her arm firmly.
“But a little…shall we say, too biddable,” continued Lydia.
Her listener said something.
“Well, I shouldn’t, but I know you will not spread the story about. I have heard that Miss Castleton’s conduct was not quite all that it should be while she was at school. That is where Lady Anne met her, of course.”
There was another pause as the other spoke, still inaudible.
“Oh, nothing definite. You understand that I heard this from someone who had gotten the details from the headmistress. But I didn’t really care to listen. I believe there was some talk of an elopement. It was stopped, naturally, and the matter hushed up at once. I really don’t know the truth of the matter. You mustn’t take my word for anything.”
Anne’s nails were digging so deeply into the viscount’s arm that he had to pull her hand away. He had felt her start to tremble, and now her face had gone dead white and her eyes dark violet, huge and burning with outrage. “I will kill her!” she hissed. “I will scratch her eyes out! How dare she? How dare she tell such lies about Bella?”
“Now, don’t, I pray you, let this go any further, Lady Duncan,” Lydia was finishing. “As you can see, it is the merest gossip. Probably inflated all out of proportion. Oh, there is Mama. Excuse me.”
“Duncan,” croaked Anne, so angry that she could hardly form words. “She is one of the greatest gossips in the ton. Everyone will hear that story before the night is out. Oh, I will kill her!”
“Come,” said Charles, his firm grip forcing her to walk along the wall to a door and into a deserted corridor.
But once out of the crowd, she jerked away. “No! I must see that…viper Lydia Branwell. I will throw her lies in her teeth and make her retract them!”
“That would be very unwise.”
“What do you mean?” She glared at him, her eyes still glittering with rage. “You don’t believe it, surely!”
“I do not. But this is neither the time nor the place to do anything about it. You are too angry to think clearly, and there are far too many people present. To confront Miss Branwell now would merely draw more attention to the matter.”
Anne clenched her fists at her sides, her whole body rigid. She had not stopped trembling, and now she had to grit her teeth to keep from shouting at Charles. Finally, when she had gained a little more control, she said, “You do not care. You hardly know Bella. I must do something, or I shall burst!”
“You are mistaken.” He met her eyes, and she saw a spark of cold anger in his. “I do care. Miss Branwell’s behavior was contemptible. I do not understand how she, or any woman, could sink so low. And I am not suggesting that you do nothing, only that you wait for a better time.”
“But the story will be all over London by tomorrow! Bella will be ruined!”
He shook his head. “It will not be so bad as that. Some people ignore malicious gossip. But it will be unpleasant; I can’t deny that. However, we cannot prevent the story from spreading just now.”
“Why not? Only leave me alone with that spiteful creature for five minutes. I’ll make her take back her vile story!”
“And confirm it,” he replied quietly.
“What?”
“If you, Miss Castleton’s best friend, leap to her aid in that obvious way, most people will say there must be some reason for it. They will conclude that there is some truth in the story, else why should you be so angry?”
“Am I not to be angry if it is a lie?”
“I am only telling you what will happen.”
Anne’s shoulders drooped. “You mean I must simply stand by and watch that dreadful rumor run round the ton? I cannot!” She raised her head again. “Charles, I cannot!”
“Of course you cannot.”
She looked at him.
“We must plan a more suitable counterattack, that is all.”
“More…?”
He nodded. “First, if you hear anyone repeating the tale, even tonight, you must look incredulous, then laugh as if it were the funniest joke you have ever heard.”
“Laugh? I couldn’t!”
“You can. And that is the best defense against gossip. Never let the gossips see that you care about anything they say. They will soon find you poor sport.”
She merely stared at him.
“Second,” he continued, “we must think of some way to squelch the rumors and to give Miss Branwell her own again. I admit I do not yet see how that may be done, but I shall think of something.”
“You?”
Charles looked down at her, meeting wide inquiring eyes. “Is it so surprising that I mean to help you?”
“Well, no, but…that is, yes!”
He shrugged. “I like your friend Miss Castleton, and as I said, I think Miss Branwell’s action contemptible. But chiefly I want to prevent you from doing something rash that you would regret for the rest of your life.”
She continued to gaze up at him.
“If you will listen to me, I believe we can bring this matter to a satisfactory conclusion.”
There was a momentary silence; then Anne said quietly, “I will listen to you.”
“Thank you.” Their eyes held, his a bit amused, hers still wide with surprise but softer than before.
A servant passing along the corridor broke the spell. Anne looked down at the floor. “But what will we do?” she asked him.
“I must think about that.”
“Oh, if it had been me she libeled, I probably deserve it; I am so heedless sometimes. But Bella! You have no idea how fine she is.”
“I am very glad it was not you,” he replied in a hard voice. “Are you ready to go back in?”
Anne swallowed. “Yes, I think so.”
“And you will remember what I told you? If you hear any mention of the story, laugh.”
Her chin came up, and she squared her shoulders. “Yes. It will be one of the hardest things I have ever done, but I will. I would rather face a five-barred gate, however.”
He smiled. “I will circulate among the gentlemen. They are more likely to repeat it here; the ladies will save it for the drawing room.”
“Edward could help you.”
“Yes. I will enlist his aid. But not tonight. He is too likely to fly into a rage and spoil all.”
Anne smiled wryly. “As I nearly did? I suppose I must be glad you were with me.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“I find it hard,” she told him. “If you had not been, I should have had the exquisite pleasure of throttling Lydia Branwell. I daresay I would be sorry now. But I would feel vastly better for having done it.”
He laughed. “We will try to ensure that you get an equally satisfying, if less violent, revenge.” He offered his arm.
“It is only that thought which is keeping me from her throat,” she replied, taking it. They strolled back into the crowded drawing room.
Fourteen
Anne faced the rout party the following evening with a mixture of apprehension and eagerness. She was at once anxious and afraid to discover the results of Lydia Branwell’s contemptible lie, and she remained concerned about what she might say if forced to converse with Laurence’s fiancée. When she thought of her, she still clenched her jaw in rage. As Crane retied one of the bunches of blue ribbon that trimmed her white muslin gown, she met her own eyes in the mirror and tried for a cool, composed gaze. It was no good; they continued to flash with righteous indignation. She would simply have to avoid Lydia and hope Charles came up with a solution to the problem before she blurted out something she would regret.