by Lucy Monroe
Although he continued to claim the customary two dances when they attended the same fete, he had not offered his escort for the evening since the Markham ball. He had not called at Lady Beauford’s townhouse either, nor had the promised trip to the museum materialized.
He had sent her a Kashmir shawl with a note saying it was to ward off the chill of London’s fog without putting undue constraints on her aunt’s coal supply. The jest had made her smile. Her smile had come rather sparsely of late when the gift was not followed up with a visit.
The final bit of evidence that convinced Annabelle that Ian no longer sought to court her was the fact that although Robert had been in Town for nearly a week, Ian had not approached him for permission to pay his addresses to her.
Diana would have told Annabelle, even if Robert did not. To hear Diana tell it, the two gentlemen found a great deal else to discuss. Annabelle had been right. They shared a mutual interest in crop rotation and fertilizers. In fact, the last time Annabelle had seen Ian had been in her brother’s drawing room. She had been visiting with Diana. Ian politely inquired about her aunt’s health and then went off to find Robert.
Diana’s voice interrupted her thoughts.”Oh, look at this one. It is so lovely.” Annabelle peered at the fashion plate Diana waved before her. It showed a split gown with a surprisingly low décolletage over an underskirt of contrasting color, both skirts ending in a double flounce. It was just the other woman’s style. “It would be scrumptious on you, I’m sure, Diana.”
“I was thinking of you.”
“I don’t carry off flounces well and the bodice is a bit low for my figure.” Diana frowned. “You are too hard on yourself by half. If you would give some of these fashions a chance, I’m sure you would be surprised at how well they look on you.”
“You know what I think—” Annabelle began, but was interrupted by a raised hand from her friend.
“I know, I know, you can’t make a peacock out of a peahen with tacked on feathers.
Really, Annabelle, I can’t imagine why anyone would want to make a peacock out of a peahen anyway.”
Annabelle smiled at Diana’s assertion. “Come, show me something more my style.”
“This is your style if you would but try it.” When Annabelle moved away, Diana abandoned the fashion plate. “At least you wear some interesting colors now, but you still have a lamentable tendency to dress plainly.” Annabelle grinned. “Now you are starting to sound like Aunt Griselda. If you begin comparing my dress to that of the domestic help, I shall not be responsible for my actions.”
“Perish the thought,” declared Diana.
The modiste caught Diana’s attention and soon she was busy looking through another set of fashion plates.
As Annabelle picked up bits of lace and rubbed fabric swatches between her fingers, she wondered why she was not a great deal happier that Ian had finally accepted her refusal of his marriage of convenience. She should be elated, but instead an awful sense of desolation pervaded her.
The interest of other suitors did nothing to dispel it. It had come something of a shock when more gentlemen began sending her flowers and calling on her. Lady Beauford was convinced that Ian’s suit had sparked interest in other gentlemen.
Annabelle smiled cynically to herself. Undoubtedly, her aunt had the right of it.
Several had become quite marked in their attention. Mr. Green had called at her aunt’s townhouse twice and sent her a small posy of violets. Ceddy had also become a frequent guest in her aunt’s drawing room.
At first, Annabelle had believed that to be because he was looking after his friend’s interests. Now she wasn’t so sure, considering the fact that Ian no longer showed any particular desire to be with her. Two widowers had also taken it into their heads that she would make the ideal wife.
She wanted to laugh, but felt more like crying. The constant callers and attention took precious time away from her causes. Ian had no right to set such a course in motion and then abandon her.
A masculine hand reached out and plucked the mustard lace from her fingers, catching her gloved hand. “I dinna think this color suits you.” Annabelle’s head shot up and her eyes clashed with dark brown ones. “Ian.” His name came out in a disbelieving whisper.
“Good day, Belle.”
“How did you come to be here?”
“Hamilton and I have just attended a very informative talk on sheep breeding.”
“Sheep breeding?”
“Aye, ’tis something I wouldna mind improving at Graenfrae. My father kept good diaries. He wanted to follow in Sir John Sinclair’s footsteps and bring the latest farming techniques to Graenfrae.” A brooding look settled on Ian’s face. “I have taken his dreams as my own.”
“I see.” She did too. Ian needed the money his stepfather had left him to keep his father’s dreams alive. Realizing that he still had hold of her hand, she pulled it free.
She noted her brother and Diana looking through the pattern books. Diana had confided that Robert believed she wore her necklines too low. From the mutinous look on her friend’s face, Annabelle surmised that to be the topic of their current debate.
“I did not realize that Robert intended to join us on our shopping expedition today.” Ian raised his brow. “I believe your brother seeks his wife’s company as often as possible.”
Annabelle bridled at Ian’s amused tone. “My brother loves Diana. It should come as no surprise he enjoys being with her.”
“Dinna bite my head off, Belle. I dinna mean insult.” She inclined her head, in no mood to extend him forgiveness. The man had promised to court her and then promptly lost interest. Righteous indignation coursed through her.
He should be ashamed of himself. “As you say.” She turned back to the display of lace and pretended absorption. “This lace is not up to Madam’s usual standards.”
“I dinna know about that.”
“No, I do not suppose you do.”
His eyes narrowed. “What is wrong, Belle?”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“Come, are you two ready?” Robert’s voice penetrated the silent battle of wills between Ian and Annabelle.
“Ready for what?” Annabelle asked.
Robert faced Ian. “Didn’t you ask her?”
“I didna have the chance.”
Annabelle crossed her arms under her chest and tapped her foot. “Ask me what?”
“Whether you and Diana would like to take a small break from your shopping and visit Gunther’s with us.”
Usually, Annabelle would like nothing better. Shopping was not her favorite pastime. Ian’s unsettling presence caused her to consider declining, but she could think of no way to gracefully abandon the foursome. “Very well.” Robert raised his brows. “I thought you would be relieved to get a reprieve from Diana’s zealous shopping.”
“Your sister is not so weakhearted,” Diana said. Robert led Diana out of the modiste’s and Ian offered his arm to Annabelle. She acted as if she did not see it and followed the other couple on her own. As she came into the street, she nearly bumped into a woman passing out penny pamphlets. “A pence to help war widows, milady?” Annabelle dug in her reticule and extracted some pence. The woman smiled brightly.
“Thank you, milady.” She handed Annabelle a pamphlet before moving on.
Annabelle seized the pamphlet without looking at it and made her way to Robert’s carriage. He was already seated inside with Diana, so Annabelle had no choice but to accept Ian’s help in ascending. As he grasped her firmly by the waist and lifted her up, Ian gave her a mocking smile. She gasped and glared at him. “You forget yourself.” Ian ignored her rebuke and leaped into the carriage beside her. She scooted as far away from him on the seat as she could get. His eyes filled with sardonic amusement, but he said nothing.
“What is that you have in your hand?” Robert asked.
Annabelle looked down at the paper. “Oh, it’s just a penny pamphlet.” She handed it to Robert.
He scanned the pamphlet and then slapped his leg with it in disgust. “Do not tell me you paid someone a pence for this?”
Already annoyed with Ian, Annabelle had no patience for a remonstrance from her brother. “No. I paid several pence.”
“Annabelle, you must stop and look before giving your money to this riff-raff on the street.”
Sitting up perfectly stiff, she matched her brother glare for glare. “The woman was a war widow, not riff-raff.”
“You expect me to believe a respectable war widow would be peddling this?” He waved the paper in the air between them.
She snatched it from him and read the first paragraph. It was a statement deploring the state of laws regarding women in England. Annabelle’s temper ignited. “Yes. As a matter of fact I’m certain the woman selling these is indeed respectable. What is wrong with making the shocking plight of women known?”
“This is not about the plight of destitute women. It is an indefensible attack on English Common Law and should not be tolerated.” Robert’s voice had taken on the pompous edge that Annabelle despised.
“It is narrow thinking like yours that has kept women under the tyranny of men for centuries.”
At the look of shock on Diana’s face and the fury on Robert’s, Annabelle knew she had gone too far.
“Is that what reading that Rights of Women book has done to you? You think I tyrannize my wife?” Robert’s angry words slashed at her like a knife.
“I didn’t say anything about Diana. I was talking in general and for your information, Wollstonecraft is not the only voice in the debate about women’s rights.” Robert made a sound of disgust. “I know. They are having some lecture in Cheapside tomorrow on this very issue. My solicitor’s wife has insisted on attending. He is beside himself what to do with her. And I have the unenviable task of deciding whether or not to get another solicitor.”
Annabelle grew cold. She almost blurted out that she planned on attending as well.
Would he then consider getting another sister? Sanity intervened, though. It was no use.
She and Robert simply came from two different viewpoints.
Diana’s soothing voice entered the fray. “Come, Robert. Do not argue so vehemently with Annabelle. You and she do not have to agree on this issue.” Annabelle felt unexpected tears prick her eyes. If only her parents had lived. They would have understood her need to do something. Even Diana did not comprehend how important this issue had become in Annabelle’s life.
Ian had sat silent during the argument. He now reached out and squeezed Annabelle’s hand. “’Tis all right, Belle.”
She swept her gaze to his and read nothing but sympathy in his eyes. No condemnation, just compassion. She felt comforted. She turned her hand under his and returned the pressure, feeling an immeasurable peace at the contact.
Ian met Robert’s still angry gaze. “Dinna raise your voice to your sister. ’Tis no gentlemanly.”
Pleasure rippled through Annabelle at Ian’s support. He knew exactly what to say to her brother as well. Robert prided himself on being the perfect gentleman.
Her brother laughed and her eyes flew to his. “I’m sorry, Annabelle. I don’t know what came over me. I know how you feel about your causes. Call pax?” Unwilling to remain angry with him, she nodded. She smiled at her brother’s use of their childhood term. “Pax.”
She did not let go of Ian’s hand.
Chapter Six
The chatter of women’s voices washed over Annabelle as she stood near the back wall of the public room. She did not see Vivian anywhere. Perhaps George had foiled the other girl’s plans to join Annabelle at the lecture in Cheapside. A woman walked up to Annabelle and shoved a paper in her hand. It depicted a woman behind bars and each bar was labeled with a law that restricted the rights of women. Clever.
A hand gripped her shoulder. “Lady Annabelle, I must admit I am surprised to find you here.”
Annabelle turned swiftly to place the country accents of the man speaking. “Squire Renton, I did not realize you had an interest in the Rights of Women.” In fact, astounded would be a better word. Like many Englishmen, Squire Renton’s chief interests seemed to be hunting and his club.
The squire extended his neck, turtle-like, to see the crowd around them. “Can’t say that I am. Came to find out what she has to say. A gentleman should not get too set in his ways.”
She smiled at him. “Why, Squire, that’s very forward thinking.” Considering her brother’s blatant rejection of the efforts women were making for improved laws, she was all the more impressed with the squire’s apparent interest in the cause.
“Not at all, my dear. A wise man knows when to adjust his thinking. That’s all.” She was taken aback by the fact that the squire managed to make a humble speech sound quite superior.
Spying Vivian on the other side of the room, she said, “I believe I see my friend. If you will excuse me, sir.”
Squire Renton nodded. “Of course. Perhaps I will see you both after the lecture.” Her attention more on her friend than the man at her side, Annabelle agreed absently.
“Perhaps.”
She made her way through the crowd of milling women, noting that the squire was one of less than half a dozen men in the room. It surprised her, but she recognized one of the other gentlemen. He had asked her to dance at the last few soirees she had attended.
Perhaps men in the ton were starting to see how serious an issue reform was.
Annabelle gave Vivian a smile of welcome. “Miss Graves, you made it. I had almost given up hope of you doing so.”
“I was not sure I would.”
“I thought perhaps your brother had gotten wind of your plans and scotched them.” Vivian grimaced “Very nearly. He took it into his head to stay home today. I could not believe it. The last time my brother stayed home from his clubs he had a head cold.”
“What did you do?”
Vivian leaned forward and whispered, “I told him I was going to the lending library.” She blushed after her admission.
“Well done.” Annabelle believed in honesty, but some things required subterfuge.
Her and Vivian’s activities on behalf of the rights of women was one of those things.
Annabelle had become involved with women’s rights after the flu epidemic that took both of her parents in one devastating blow. She stumbled upon a meeting quite by accident. The speaker at the meeting had been so very passionate. Afterward Annabelle had waited to speak to the lecturer and soon found herself involved in the dissemination of pamphlets and attending lectures both in London and in the country. However, she accomplished most of her work in London.
A hush fell over the crowd. Annabelle and Vivian craned their necks to see the speaker. Annabelle thought it would have surprised those who passed her on the street to discover that Mrs. Burnaby, a short woman of matronly appearance, was one of the great orators for Reform.
She began speaking and all talking ceased. Not even the occasional rustle of clothing could be heard as the charismatic woman mesmerized her speakers with tales of efforts to gain advances on behalf of women in England and abroad. She quoted Wollstonecraft and other voices of their movement.
Annabelle was entranced and did not at first notice the men filing in through the doors. They came in silently, but eventually her head and others began to turn. Several men now filled the small spaces that had been open in the aisles. The lecturer ignored them and continued her speech.
One of the men near Annabelle raised his voice to speak. Burly, he stood a head taller than most of the men crowded into the room. “What you tryin’ to do, duck? Talk our women into acting like men?”
Several men guffawed. Another man spoke from the opposite side of the room.
“Next thing you know you’ll be wanting to wear trousers and share a pint down at the pub.” The men broke out in raucous laughter.
The speaker did not flinch. She caught the eye of the man and spoke coolly, “Yo
u may keep your pubs and your pints. We seek equality in rights and property.” Annabelle nodded her head in agreement. She noticed many other women doing the same thing.
The big man glared at the speaker. “Ye wants us to give up our manhood is what ye wants.”
At that the men cheered.
Annabelle had endured all that she was going to. First her brother, now this ruffian.
Could the men not see that she and the others sought equality, not emasculation of their men? She started forward, ignoring Vivian’s pleas not to get involved.
Annabelle poked the huge man on the back. He turned around and she spoke to him.
“Sir, you may hold your own public forum, but right now Mrs. Burnaby is speaking and I and the rest of the audience would like to hear what she has to say.”
“I’m not so sure about that.” Raising his voice, the man asked, “Do we wants to hear this Burnaby woman speak, lads?”
A resounding chorus of “no’s” went up.
Annabelle was incensed. How dare this man make light of Mrs. Burnaby in this way? She raised her own voice, glad that Aunt Griselda was not there to hear her unladylike bellow, “That will be quite enough, sir. No one invited you and your uncouth friends to join us. I think you should leave.” The man advanced on Annabelle forcing her to back away. “Who’s going to make us, ducks? You?”
Annabelle raised her parasol and pointed at the man. “I should not have to make you leave. Good manners should be enough to make you realize that you’re not wanted here.” She punctuated each word with a poke from her parasol to the man’s chest. Now he was backing up and her voice had risen to unladylike proportions once again.
Vivian hissed at her. “Lady Annabelle, stop that. Come back here.”
Annabelle ignored her friend’s pleas and continued to berate the intruder. “We are doing nothing to warrant your foolish interference.” The man’s face mottled with rage. Perhaps she should not have called him uncouth.