He smiled, well able to picture the scene in his mind. If only Miss Sommersby had one-tenth of Anne’s strength of character. If she had, he might have found himself more in sympathy with her. But as it was, he counted the minutes until he could honorably call an end to the excursion and free himself from her company.
By the time the sketching session was over, Freddie felt he had more than done his duty as host for the day. Appointing David Rutledge to keep an eye on Priscilla and her admirers, Freddie rode over to see Anne.
This was only the second time he had been able to see her since the start of the house party. He was aware that his visits were still cause for gossip, but reasoned that the gossip would continue whether he saw Anne or not. And with any luck, Elizabeth’s visit might remind everyone of the closeness that had always existed between the two families.
On his visits he was careful not to press Anne for an answer. He knew if he rushed her, the answer would be no. So he was patient, knowing in time that she would realize all the benefits marriage to him would bring.
When he arrived, Anne seemed pleased to see him. With only a little prompting on her part, he found himself relating the events of the last days.
“And there I was, stuck in the rowboat with that silly girl. I found myself praying for a sudden storm, or for the boat to spring a leak. Even an attack by a lake monster would have been a welcome diversion.”
“Poor Freddie,” Anne said, but then she spoiled the effect by laughing.
“It is not funny,” he insisted.
“A lake monster? Come now. Next you’ll be saying that you declared yourself lake-sick, and insisted the girl row you back to shore.”
He smiled in spite of himself. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“More tea?”
“No, thank you.” He put his cup and saucer down on the table and then leaned back against the sofa and stretched his legs out in front of him. For the first time in days he felt himself at peace.
“I do not understand her,” he said. “At times, I think she is as mortified by the situation as she claims to be. Then, at other times, I have the feeling that this is all part of a scheme and she has set her cap at me.”
“That is indeed a pickle. I know you would have no compunction about putting a schemer in her place, but if Miss”—Anne looked over at the maid who was there to play propriety—“that is, if the young woman is indeed an innocent, I know you would not wish to be unkind.”
“Precisely.” He had known that Anne would understand his dilemma.
“Still, there are only a few days left. Then she will leave, and with luck you will not have to meet her until after she is safely wed. But tell me, is there no other woman present who catches your fancy? Surely she would leave you in peace, were you to begin courting another.”
The only woman he wanted was in this room. But mindful of their audience he did not press his suit. He had promised Anne he would give her time to consider his proposal, and that was what he would do.
“The young ladies have all formed attachments, or so it seems,” he said at last. “Not that I have much time to notice. I have my hands full avoiding the girl while at the same time keeping my eyes on Priscilla. I swear Priscilla is more trouble than the rest of my sisters put together.”
“I am certain it is just youthful high spirits. And she must be looking forward to her ball.”
The summer Elizabeth had turned eighteen, Lady Frederick had arranged a house party and ball to celebrate her daughter’s birthday. The custom had continued for each of his sisters, and each occasion had been grander than the last. Priscilla’s would be the finest yet, with a special treat that he had arranged for her from London.
Freddie was genuinely fond of his sister, and he had looked forward to seeing her enjoying the celebrations. But the presence of Miss Sommersby had tainted the occasion for him.
“Indeed. It is all she talks about. In one moment she is sure she will be a triumph and the next she worries that foul weather will keep away most of the guests.”
Besides their house guests, Priscilla and his mother had invited every person of rank who lived within an easy drive.
Anne gave a wistful smile. “I am certain it will be a splendid occasion, and that Priscilla will be the envy of every other young lady present I only wish I could see it for myself.”
It struck him that Anne had probably not been to a ball since her own first Season in London, seven long years ago. This, too, she had given up. He felt a sudden urge to make up to her for all the things that she had missed out on in those years. “But of course you shall be there. You will be my guest.”
He heard a dull thud and turned to see the maid, having knocked her sewing basket onto the floor, was staring at him gape-mouthed. “Beg your pardon,” the maid said, as she bent down and began gathering up the contents that had spilled.
“I do not think that would be wise,” Anne said.
“Why not?”
Bright spots of anger flared in Anne’s cheeks. “You know the gossip. Do you want everyone saying that you brought your mistress to your sister’s ball?” she demanded, seeming to forget that they had an audience.
“We both know that is not true.”
“The truth does not matter. What matters is what people think. Your mother would have an apoplexy at the sight of me. Half your guests would give me the cut direct, while the other—”
“Stop.” He could not bear to hear her disparage herself. “Let us make a bargain, you and I. If my mother sends you an invitation, you will agree to come. As her guest, there can be no question of any impropriety.”
“I would wager a hundred pounds that Lady Frederick would cut off her own hand rather than write that invitation.”
“Then there is no reason for you not to agree, is there?”
After a moment of thought, Anne nodded. “I agree. But I think you are being foolish.”
“You just leave this to me.”
It was a stupid wager. He knew that, and yet he had invited her to the ball out of friendship. Still, there had to be a way to convince his mother to invite Anne. After all, the ball was only one evening. What would his mother think if she knew he had invited Anne to become his wife?
As he rode back home, he considered how he would best approach his mother. Should he request that she invite Anne as a favor to him? No, it was unlikely she would agree. Perhaps he should enlist Elizabeth, gain her support first. But no, there was no need to drag Elizabeth into the middle of this. He would simply go to his mother and not allow her to intimidate him. He would not argue or plead, but instead be firm until his mother gave in.
As he was entering the house, a footman informed him that Lady Frederick wished to see her son at once. He tried to see this as an opportunity, but his heart was heavy, for he knew there was little chance that he could live up to the bargain he had made with Anne.
Pausing outside the door to his mother’s sitting room, he squared his shoulders. I will be calm, he reminded himself. Even if she says no today, it is not the end of the world. There are still several days before the ball to convince her to change her mind.
He knocked on the door.
“Enter,” she called.
Freddie opened the door and was surprised to see his mother was not seated in her favorite chair, but instead had apparently been pacing the room. “You wished to see me?”
“Yes,” the Dowager Lady Frederick said.
He closed the door behind him, and felt the familiar sense of suffocation. Of all the rooms in the house, this was the one he liked least. His mother had chosen to decorate it in the style of her youth. In one corner stood a French writing desk, while in the other was the sofa upon which Lady Frederick preferred to recline while reading. Scattered throughout the room were upholstered chairs that appeared too fragile to bear his weight, next to small lace-covered tables displaying ceramic figurines and other objets d’art. One could hardly move for fear of bumping into something.
&nb
sp; He waited for his mother to speak, but instead she crossed to the window, placing one hand on the lace curtain as she looked out over the estate. From her situation she could see the gardens and the park that led down to the lake. But from her expression he knew that she was not seeing the beauty of the estate; something else was preying on her mind.
Then she turned to him and spoke.
“I have seen the child,” she said.
“The child?”
She released the curtain and turned to face him. “Anne Webster’s brat. I was out driving when I passed by the old manor, and there he was.”
“You mean you went there to spy on Anne,” he said angrily, appalled that she would stoop so low. The Websters’ residence lay to the east, while the village of New Biddeford lay to the west. There was no reason for her to have driven by Anne’s unless she had done so deliberately.
“I went there to see for myself. And now that I have, I have one question for you. You have never lied to me before, so I expect the truth now. Is that boy your son?”
He felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him. “My son? How could you think such a thing? Do you have so little regard for me as to believe I would father a bastard child and not accept responsibility for what I had done? What kind of man do you think I am?” His disbelief turned to anger. How dare she accuse him of this?
His mother seemed to sag with relief. “Then he is not your son.”
“No. But would to God he were.” If only Ian had been his child and Anne’s. Then there would have been every reason for her to marry him. Instead, out of concern for Ian, there was a strong possibility that Anne would refuse his offer.
“How can you say such a thing? Have you lost all sense of propriety?”
“Because it is true. Any man would be proud to claim Ian as his son.”
His mother shook her head. “I swear to you, I do not know you anymore. Ever since that trollop Anne Webster—”
“Enough,” he said, in a voice that was not quite a shout. “Anne Webster has done nothing that deserves your condemnation. You will speak of her respectfully or not at all.”
Lady Frederick glared at him. “You were always quick to defend her. But what would you think if Priscilla had behaved in that way?”
“I pray to God Priscilla is never put to the test. But if she were, I would hope that she would behave with the same sense of duty and courage Anne has shown.”
“Duty? Courage? You have completely lost your wits. If only your father were here to see this.”
For once the admonition brought no sense of shame or failure. He would not let his mother cow him by reminding him of how much he had to live up to.
“But Father is not here. And as you constantly remind me, I am Viscount Frederick. If you do not approve of how I choose to live my life, then you may feel free to depart. You can have your choice of properties, so long as you are out from under my roof.”
There was a hiss of indrawn breath. His mother appeared shocked. He had never argued with her before, let alone threatened to banish her. But never before had the stakes been this high. He would not—could not—let his mother rule his life. He had to make her understand this, or he would never be free to be his own man.
“You would not dare.”
“Try me.”
“But what about Priscilla?”
“Priscilla may stay or go as she pleases. She will always be welcome here.”
The silence stretched on between them. He could not believe that his mother was actually considering his threat. He had expected her to capitulate rather than give up her position as the Lady of Beechwood Park.
Finally she said, “I will stay, and I will hold my tongue. But you can not rule my thoughts. And when you find yourself disgraced, you can expect no sympathy from me. I only hope I can protect Priscilla from the consequences of her brother’s folly.”
It hurt to realize that his own mother had so little faith in his character or his judgment. All these years of trying to live up to her impossibly high standards had been for naught. He could never please her.
“Understood,” he said grimly. “And there is one more thing. Tomorrow morning you will send Anne Webster an invitation to the ball.”
“I will not.”
“You will, or I assure you, dear Mother, I will not be in attendance.” He would have threatened to cancel the ball altogether, but that would not have been fair to Priscilla.
“But what will our guests say?”
“Our guests will take their cue from you. If you tell them Anne is an old friend of the family, then they will accept her.”
“There will be talk—”
“I expect you to see that there is none. I expect Anne to be treated as an honored guest. If I see otherwise, then I warn you, our bargain is off.”
“Do you love her?” His mother said the word “love” as if it were a contagion to be feared.
“I do not know,” he answered honestly. He felt a closeness to Anne that he had never felt with another. He enjoyed her friendship, and he strongly wanted to care for her and to save her from her current situation. But would his feelings for her have been so strong if she did not need his care? Was he simply playing protector, as he had when they were children?
And was there any hope that she loved him, as something more than a friend and the brother she had never had?
His mother seemed to take some comfort in his admission. “At least you are not totally lost to reason. I will send Anne Webster an invitation. Perhaps this is all for the best, for once you have a chance to see her mixing with ladies of quality, you will be able to form a true judgment of her character and worth.”
“As you say.” He did not need to see Anne in a public role to know her worth. But perhaps, once she had seen Anne, his mother might soften her opinion toward her.
If not, then this first confrontation with his mother would not be the last. One way or another, he meant to have Anne for his wife. If Lady Frederick was unable to accept this, she would have to take up residence elsewhere. Anne had suffered enough. He would not allow his mother or anyone else to hurt her.
Ten
Anne looked down at the stiff vellum card in her hand. On it, in copperplate script was written, “The Viscountess Frederick requests the pleasure of your company at a ball to celebrate the birthday of her daughter, Miss Priscilla Pennington.” Anne turned the card over, certain that it was a mistake. But no, there was her name, written on the other side in the same elegant hand.
“I do not understand,” she said at last.
“I assure you, it is no mistake,” Mrs. Elizabeth Rutledge replied.
Anne could not believe this was happening. It was only yesterday that Freddie had recklessly invited her to his sister’s ball. Anne would have wagered any amount that no such invitation would be forthcoming. Yet here it was, delivered in person by his own sister.
She should never have made that foolish bargain with Freddie. She had thought herself long past such impulsive behavior. Yet when Freddie had challenged her, she had reacted as if they were still children, recklessly agreeing to his bargain without pausing to consider what it would mean if he won.
“But why would she invite me?”
“I can not say,” Elizabeth replied. “But I assure you the invitation is genuine, and when you attend you will find my mother is anxious to show you every courtesy and respect.”
Anne smiled bitterly. If Lady Frederick wanted to show Anne every courtesy, then she would have called upon her. Or invited Anne to visit her at Beechwood Park. No, she saw the fine hand of Freddie behind this invitation. Yet how on earth had he convinced his mother to invite her? She had not credited him with such powers of persuasion.
Anne smiled wryly. “I doubt very much that Lady Frederick would truly be pleased to see me. However, it is of no consequence. It would not be proper for me to attend. Other considerations notwithstanding, I am still in mourning for my father.”
She was surprised
at how disappointed she felt. She had no wish to expose herself to the censure of her neighbors. But there was a small, girlish part of her that wished just once she could go to a ball and give herself over to her own enjoyment. She could not remember the last time she had been free to consider only her own wishes. Ever since Ian’s birth, she had been forced to set aside her own wants to care for him. She loved him, and knew that whatever sacrifices she made for his sake were amply repaid by his love for her. But at times, like this one, she could not help wishing that just for one night she could put her cares aside.
Mrs. Rutledge waved one hand dismissively. “It has been three months since his death. And this is not London, but a country ball, held for a girl you have known since she was born. No one will think it remarkable if you attend.”
“But I have nothing to wear,” she said, surprised to find that a part of herself was actually considering the idea.
Elizabeth looked her over critically. “We are much of a size, I think. If you permit me, I would be pleased to send over one of my gowns. It is no trouble, for I have far more than I can possibly wear. Your maid can make any alterations necessary.”
“I can not accept.”
“But you must. I insist.”
“Why are you doing this?” It was not as if Elizabeth Rutledge had been a close friend of hers. And for all Elizabeth knew, Anne was indeed a sinner, the mother of a bastard child. Yet Elizabeth was showing her far more kindness than Anne had any right to expect.
Elizabeth looked at Anne, and then glanced down at her hands in apparent fascination. After a moment she looked up and began to speak. “It was a very difficult time for me when Lieutenant Carson, my first husband, died. Our daughter was scarce a week old when he was killed in battle. When Freddie heard the news, he did not send a mere letter of condolence, but came all the way to Portugal. He settled John’s affairs, and then, when I was strong enough, brought Mary and me back to England. I don’t know what I would have done without him.”
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