Anna's Refuge

by Kerryn Reid

  Her voice trembled through the opening lines of Lucy Gray. But a murmur of pleasure rose as the guests recognized and approved the selection, and she warmed to her oration. Smart of her to go with something familiar, something that must always be welcome.

  Smart, too, to avoid anything too dreadfully melancholy. The poem was sad, to be sure, and she rendered it beautifully, the occasional quaver in her voice only adding to the drama of a child lost in the snows of a Yorkshire winter. He had worried she might choose a lamentation about heartbreak and unrequited love, but there was nothing personal in Lucy Gray, nothing to remind listeners of recent rumors.

  A small group gathered round her as she vacated the impromptu stage for the next performer. Satisfied with her smiles and blushes, Lewis left her to bask in their attentions and wandered over to join Cassie and Miss Landrum—and Captain Fuller again. Had he left Cassie’s side all evening?

  “Well, I thought it pretentious,” Miss Landrum said in response to something Lewis had missed, setting stiff dark curls a-jiggle as she tossed her head. “Though one can hardly blame her. Poor Miss Spain. She hasn’t a jot of musical talent. Have you heard her sing, Mr. Aubrey?”

  “I haven’t had that pleasure,” he replied, his jaw tight. “But I hope to, sometime soon.”

  “I suppose it’s true then,” the mannerless chit said. “Your brother says you’re mad for her, taking her part against him, believing all her lies.”

  An impossibility, since Miss Spain had told him nothing. “I know only what I’ve seen. His behavior damns him quite thoroughly.”

  “Bah,” she said. “How disloyal you are, all of you. The Wedburys, his lifelong friends, didn’t even invite him here tonight, because of a nobody like Anna Spain.”

  “So that’s it,” said Cassie, bold enough to say what Lewis was thinking. “You’re angry because you don’t get to hang on his sleeve, showing off your conquest.”

  Miss Landrum’s dainty hands clenched into fists. “You know nothing, Miss Wedbury. Perhaps you’re jealous because he shows no preference for you.”

  “Hardly!” Cassie laughed, and Miss Landrum stalked off with another flounce of her curls.

  “Whew.” Captain Fuller made a show of wiping his brow. “I never imagined this little affair would become a battlefield.”

  “Don’t be silly.” Cassie tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow.

  “Say, Cassie,” Lewis said. “I asked Miss Spain, and she is eager to make that excursion to Richmond Park. How about tomorrow? Perhaps Captain Fuller can join us?”

  If, as it seemed, Miss Spain was warming to him, he should take the earliest opportunity to further her interest. Assuming he really wanted it.

  Chapter 5

  Mama, receiving Anna’s report on the Wedburys’ soirée the following morning, found little to compliment and much to criticize. “Why did they not invite Mr. Aubrey, when by all accounts the families are such close friends? Of what possible use is his brother?”

  By Anna’s modest standards, it had been a rousing success. Until almost the very end. As she’d left the ladies’ retiring room, Alice Landrum had walked in. Their gazes had locked.

  “Please, be careful,” Anna had breathed.

  Miss Landrum had said nothing at all. Yet her expression, compounded of disgust, pity, and an immense superiority, had left Anna shaking. What had Gideon told her about their relationship? Certainly not the whole of it, for that would have frightened Miss Landrum away. But some part of it, perhaps painting Anna as wanton.

  After that jarring encounter, she had almost cried off from today’s outing. Better to be out with friends, however, than penned in with Mama.

  “Oh, this weather,” Mama said, glaring at the clouds hanging low above the rooftops. “Such a shame to settle for Green Park, when you might have been in their company most of the day. Plenty of opportunity to get closer to Mr. Wedbury.”

  Yes, Anna had encouraged Mama to think a large group of young people would meet at Richmond Park, rather than just four of them. Not something she was proud of, but a minor sin in comparison.

  Seated in Mr. Aubrey’s curricle with a groom up behind them, she fingered the tiny silk flowers pinned to her pelisse, the ones she’d bought the day before. Miss Wedbury and Captain Fuller rode ahead of them as they wended their way among the vehicles in Piccadilly, so Anna and Mr. Aubrey were dependent on each other for conversation. There was little enough of it. He must pay attention to his horses—she had no excuse at all.

  A few short weeks ago, she would have been shy, sitting with a handsome young man. She was not shy today. But she was a cheat, there under false pretenses, disguised as a virtuous maiden.

  Had she been too friendly last night? Had she given him the wrong impression? That is, the right impression, that she liked him, but the wrong one if he had any interest in a future with her.

  One of the horses shied at the stentorian call of a ragman as they entered the park gates. Anna jumped, but Mr. Aubrey slowed the pair and spoke to them soothingly. Such a nice voice he had. It seemed made for gentling frightened souls, or for poetry.

  They had the place almost to themselves under the threatening skies. Leaving the horses in the care of Mr. Aubrey’s groom, they strolled four abreast along the wide dirt path, past the ranger’s lodge tucked away in a clump of trees. Each of the men swung an umbrella, and Miss Wedbury carried a burlap sack of bread for the birds.

  Children played nearby while a pair of nursery maids gossiped together on a bench. Anna saw them eyeing Captain Fuller, handsome in his uniform. A couple stood arm-in-arm, watching the fountain at the far end of the reservoir, with a mere handful of other pedestrians in sight, none nearby.

  The captain scoffed. “They’re lily-livered, all these Londoners. Afraid of a little rain.”

  “Eh! In Yorkshire, tha’ knows, us does our bathin’ in th’ rain.”

  Anna and the captain stopped short, gazing at Miss Wedbury in astonishment. Mr. Aubrey laughed at their expressions. “That’s Cassie’s rendition of our local dialect. She does it well.”

  “What about you, Mr. Aubrey?” Anna asked him.

  He shook his head. “No. At least, not so well.”

  “You see,” said Miss Wedbury, “my parents found it amusing when we copied the dialect, so I cultivated the skill. Lewis’s parents thought it a punishable offense.”

  Anna could imagine Papa’s reaction if she had mimicked the dockworkers! She’d been punished for lesser offenses, including some she never understood. That one had never occurred to her.

  It was cold for May, but the ducks sailed the reservoir in full force, ducklings in tow. Miss Wedbury set her sack on the path and then doled out a large hunk of bread to each of her companions. Mr. Aubrey came to stand beside Anna, breaking off small pieces and tossing them into the water.

  “Do say something in the Yorkshire dialect, Mr. Aubrey.”

  He shook his head. “I told you, I’m not good at it.”

  “But I’ll not know the difference, and it’s so funny to hear.”

  He paused a moment, a flush creeping up from his collar to cover his cheeks. Then he cleared his throat.

  “ ‘Chimley-sweeper, blackymoor,

  Settin’ o’ top o’ t’ chapel door.

  Tak a stick an’ knock him daan,

  That’s the way to Chapeltaan.’”

  Anna laughed and tossed the last of her bread to the ducks so she could applaud. “Oh, the poor sweep! Chimley. What a peculiar language, so English and yet so foreign.”

  “You should hear the real country folk. Sometimes I can’t understand a word in ten.”

  “Tell me another one.”

  “I’d far rather hear one of your poems.”

  She shook her head. “Oh no.” She’d been an idiot to tell him. “As bad as you claim to be at replicating your local dialect, I’m worse at writing poetry.”

  “But as you said a moment ago, I’ll not know the difference. You once recommended Christabel
, do you remember? I didn’t like it at all. Which shows what I know about poetry.”

  Anna wrinkled her nose. “I might have mentioned it, but I can’t have recommended it. I don’t like it either.”

  “That’s a relief. In any event, I expect I’d like anything you wrote. And I would never mention it to anyone else, I hope you know that.”

  Oddly, she did. How could he be so different from his brother? Lewis self-effacing, hiding his light under a bushel, while Gideon strutted across a stage all his own, showing off everything he had. Which was little enough.

  Yes, she trusted him. Surely they could be friends, though there could be nothing more. She faced away from the others and spoke softly, directing her words to the knot in his cravat.

  “It’s called, Betrayed by a Poet.

  “A rosebud may dance in the breezes of spring

  Yet wilt before flow’ring as love’s cruel sting

  Saps laughter and joy from its yet unfurled heart,

  Deception decaying that bright, hopeful start.

  The poet must shoulder some part of the blame,

  For his is the hand that, in service of fame,

  Puts down on his parchment in words that delight

  What we silly maidens would wish him to write.

  And though to the poet they might ring true,

  Yet lovers to come may quote without rue,

  Ne’er taking the trouble to feel what he felt.

  Corrupted, his words may engild a frayed pelt

  That covers deceit ‘neath those amorous lines,

  And leaves a dead rosebud adroop on the vine.’”

  He said nothing when she finished. She didn’t dare meet his gaze, so she continued talking to his chest.

  “It’s not very good, mere couplets in no proper form. I wanted it to be a gilded cloak, or cloth of gold, but I couldn’t think of a rhyme I liked.”

  “Pelt is perfect. It’s unexpected, and it evokes just the sort of beast my…the sort of beast you’re writing about.” He spoke still more softly, his voice vibrating with some emotion she couldn’t name. “Thank you for sharing it with me…Anna.”

  She risked looking up and wished she had not. His gaze pierced her with its earnestness, just the sort of intensity she must avoid.

  She turned again toward the water. “Mr. Aubrey, I must—”

  “What a brute you are!” Miss Wedbury exclaimed, stealing Anna’s opportunity to dash Mr. Aubrey’s hopes. Two swans had paddled over to join the ducks, like nursemaids for the flock, except they stole everything they could from their charges. Miss Wedbury scolded one of the regal creatures as it pecked at a duckling, which squawked its way to its mother’s protection. “That’s the last you’ll get from me.”

  The captain’s face lit with mischief. He winked at Anna and snatched up the sack of bread.

  “Aha!” He pulled out what appeared to be half a loaf, tore it in two, and tossed a piece to each of the swans. His crow of mirth blended naturally with the cackle of the birds. “To the mighty go the spoils of war.”

  “Unfair,” cried Miss Wedbury. “That only leaves some little crumbs for the ducks.” Pouting, she emptied the sack into the water. Then she hooked her arm through Anna’s and they marched off, leaving the men to follow or not.

  “So,” she said, “do you go to Almack’s on Wednesday?”

  Anna thudded back to stinging reality. “I suppose so. Mama says I must.”

  “I think she’s right, Miss— Oh, do let me call you Anna. I hate being Miss Wedbury all the time. It’s so formal and cumbersome. And Cassandra is almost as bad. My name is Cassie.”

  Anna gave her consent. Cassie seemed to have little use for the social conventions, and in any case she was difficult to rebuff. Not that Anna wanted to do so.

  “You think me cruel,” Cassie continued, “but the best way to disappoint the gossipmongers is to dance until they close the place, smiling all the while. You must start sometime, unless you’re going to run home and hide.”

  Anna sighed. “I know.”

  “And you’re bound to see Gideon again. I expect the first time will be the worst, don’t you?”

  By the time they drove through the park gates, the clouds were all about them, the air filled with a fine mist. “Miss Wedbury and I will ride on to Brook Street,” said Captain Fuller. “Perhaps we can get there before it rains in earnest.”

  “I’ll see you on Wednesday, Anna,” Cassie called out over her shoulder as she and the captain trotted away down the busy street. They were lost in the mist before they had gone ten yards.

  The groom had raised the hood on the curricle, but it did little to keep out the mizzle.

  “I don’t suppose the umbrella would keep you any drier,” Mr. Aubrey said.

  Anna touched a gloved finger to a droplet trembling on the brim of her bonnet. “They’re not much use against this sort of rain, are they? Anyway, I like it, don’t you?”

  “Yes, though it’s far nicer in Yorkshire. Pure and cleansing.”

  Anna turned to see his expression. Was he remembering Cassie’s joke as she was?

  “But we do not bathe in it,” he said, laughing, “whatever Cassie says.”

  She chuckled. This Mr. Aubrey could be humorous too, on occasion. Gideon treated all of life as a joke, and all of life had been fun when she was with him. Fun had so often been one of those punishable offenses under her father’s roof, that Anna had been carried away by the pleasure of it. But a measure of seriousness was no doubt a virtue.

  “We take good hot baths when we arrive home,” Lewis went on, “just like other people. Might be a good idea today.” Wearing the familiar look of concern, he asked, “Are you cold? You’ve only got that thin pelisse. Here, take my greatcoat.”

  A big roan clattered to a stop beside them, close enough she could have reached out and touched it. Anna shuddered. She knew that horse. For weeks, she had watched for it eagerly in Hyde Park, on the city streets, from the window in their parlor. Now, there could be no sight less welcome…except for the tall man in the saddle, so handsome, so cruel.

  Mr. Lewis Aubrey—the nice Mr. Aubrey—lowered his coat over her shoulders. His arm lingered there for just a moment, solid and strong.

  “Well, well,” said Gideon’s familiar voice. Anna kept her gaze on her lap. “If it isn’t little Lewis. Really, Lew, you should buy yourself a real carriage and some horses worthy of the name.”

  If only little Lewis would put the whip to those horses and race away to some far-off land where she need never hear that voice again. Or maybe hit Gideon’s stallion with it, make him rear up and dump his master in the street. Except Gideon was a superb horseman whom no horse would dare dump anywhere.

  “I’m glad you brought along a groom as chaperone. Though I’m not sure you need one, little brother, such a chivalrous knight you are.” His tone made clear his opinion of chivalry.

  “And Miss Anna Spain, I believe.” The drawl became a caress as Gideon bowed to her and tipped his tall hat.

  Anna sat rigid, her hands clenched into fists in her lap. She did not need to see his eyes to know they glittered with guile. She heard Lewis take a breath to say something, but this was her battle, not his.

  “How quaint that you know my name today, Mr. Aubrey.” She could not quite meet his gaze, but at least her voice did not shake. “As you can imagine, we are in a rush to get out of the wet. Good day.”

  Taking her cue, Lewis slapped the reins across the horses’ backs. Gideon followed alongside as they started moving. “Ah well. Perhaps I’ll see you both at Almack’s on Wednesday. Three whole days! How shall I survive?”

  Chapter 6

  Wednesday arrived, shadowed by the evening to come and the threatened encounter with Gideon. Lewis had fully expected to hear his brother’s malevolent laugh as they’d pulled away from him in Piccadilly the other day. The mist must have swallowed it.

  Miss Spain had done well, far better than he. It was some comfort that Gideon’s onl
y insult to her had been by inference, in thinking her stupid enough to fall victim to his charm a second time. Yet it galled him that he’d found no cutting, unanswerable retort on her behalf.

  Lewis could have used a ride this morning to clear his head. But Jack seldom awoke early enough these days, and when at length he staggered from his room, he was surly. Lewis blamed it on late nights and cheap liquor.

  It was past noon before Jack was ready for their planned visit to Angelo’s fencing academy today. They headed out the door to find Captain Fuller on the step outside, his hand raised to the knocker.

  “My sister’s not at home,” Jack said in lieu of a greeting. A less good-tempered man than the captain might have been discouraged from further inquiry.

  “Where are you two going then? I have the afternoon free.”

  When Lewis told him, he invited himself along. “It’ll be good fun watching you novices play around with those silly foils. You should try a real weapon sometime.”

  Lewis laughed, while Jack grumbled at the good-natured gibe. “Don’t know where you think you’ll use a sabre, now that Bonaparte’s out in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Might be you should learn to fight like a gentleman.”

  The day was warm and the instructor worked them hard. Their blades snicked and slid against each other as Lewis pushed Jack across the floor, determined to score another touch before they quit.

  Jack’s retreat was clumsy, and a growl of anticipation rose from the small group of onlookers watching them practice. Pressing his advantage, Lewis lunged. Jack attempted a parry but engaged only the foible of his weapon. A meager defense.

  “Oh, mal-paré!” someone called out. Lewis drove through and pressed the tip of his foil to Jack’s chest. In a scramble to avoid the touch, Jack lost his balance and fell ignominiously onto his backside. A scattering of applause broke out. Grinning, Lewis reached a hand down and pulled Jack to his feet.

  “Eh bien,” said Monsieur Fortier. “Almost, today, you look like un duelliste, Monsieur Aubrey.”