The Birthright

by T. Davis Bunn

  Anne gave her warmest greeting to her Grandfather Price: I wish he were here to walk with me along the hedgerows, she wrote. We could have such good chats as we strolled. I know he must have wonderful memories of his life as a boy growing up here in England. The letter then drew to a close with further words of love and longing.

  Catherine folded the pages tenderly, her thoughts many miles away. In all, it had been a cheery letter, despite Anne’s disclosing that she’d spent some lonely days and even lonelier nights. At least the terrible wrenching sorrow seemed to be finally lessening. Perhaps time was indeed healing the deepest of Anne’s wounds. Catherine prayed that it might be so and that God, in His mercy, would help the young woman find her way on life’s path once again.

  While wiping at her eyes, Catherine rose from the chair and handed the two letters to her father. “Andrew won’t mind if you read them before he does.” Then she proceeded to the kitchen to finish preparations for their simple evening meal.

  Later that evening, as soon as she finished serving the family and cleaning the kitchen, Catherine took out a sheet of paper and began a letter of her own. She had decided she would reply while her daughters’ words were still fresh in her mind and heart. Her letter would be one that would bring them joy and comfort, she thought as she raised the pen and dipped it in the inkwell. She would not write of the loneliness and pain that was in her heart. She would convey to them her love, not her sorrow. With this in mind, Catherine started her letter, writing each word on the page in carefully flowing script.

  It turned out to be a folksy note. She shared the news of the villagers and made much of the ordinary things that formed her world. She wrote of weddings and new babies, of her work at the Acadian school and the acceptance they’d received within the new community. She dwelt on Andrew’s ministry and the people who were showing interest in the truths of God. Of Grandfather Price’s continued good health. Of sunny summer days and the promise of good crops in both the gardens and fields.

  Nothing was written about the longing for her children or the pain caused by the absence of her grandchild. There were the usual admonitions concerning things spiritual, that they would follow the Lord’s ways and seek His guidance for all life’s decisions. She reminded them that they were prayed for morning and evening. Then came a great outpouring of words of love, and with a sigh, she signed, Your loving mother and grandmother. Catherine was folding the sheets that she’d filled—where she had carefully concealed her longings—when the tears gushed forth. She let them fall, as she needed to bring some release to her mother’s heart.

  Chapter 26

  For Anne, the next few days held a breathless quality. There were several trips to the dressmakers on Bond Street. When Anne objected to Charles over the vast sums being spent, he expressed delight that finally Nicole was willing to have more clothes made.

  While Nicole clearly took no pleasure in the activity, Anne felt guilty over the delight she found in the new clothes. The dressmakers had responded with excitement, as Anne’s delicate frame and dainty features proved ideal for the current fashions.

  Nicole took her everywhere. They began at Nicole’s morning session with Lord Percy, whom Anne had met on other occasions. Gradually Percy walked Nicole through Charles’s affairs, which she clearly found hard going. Her sister, on the other hand, saw it all as very fascinating and several times was able to point out things that Nicole had simply overlooked.

  Now that Anne had left her dresses of mourning behind, those she’d met before now greeted her like a newcomer. And perhaps this was the case, for certainly the world appeared different. The veil of sorrow had lifted, at least partly. It was not that she stopped missing Cyril, but that a new day had dawned. She often found herself praying silently for direction, asking the Lord to show her what was to come of her now, what service might she do, and whether it was time to return to Nova Scotia and start a new life there.

  These feelings were strongest the morning a letter arrived from Catherine with an enclosure from Louise. As always, Catherine’s letter began with the words, My dear daughters. The two sisters read and wept and clung together for support.

  Charles, however, did not seem to take in the letters at all. In fact, he took little notice of Anne’s gradual transformation. Ever since the late-night discussion with Anne, he had become increasingly self-contained. He was not normally a grim man, but his countenance had grown stern. He refused to be drawn out over what concerned him. Even the staff took to moving cautiously about the London residence.

  That afternoon they attended a social gathering given by an Austrian princess at a women’s club known as Almacks, located on King Street. Anne accepted a glass of orgeat from a passing waiter and gradually stepped away from the fray. Orgeat was considered the proper afternoon drink for a woman of high society and was made of crushed almonds, barley sugar, and orange-flavored water. Anne found it far too sweet, but if she held the glass, the hovering waiters would not continue to approach. She climbed the stairs leading from the main ballroom to an elaborate balcony shaped like a quarter moon. From there Anne was able to observe the homage paid to Nicole by the other debutantes. Most of them were younger, more frivolous, and far less attractive. Anne also noticed the stiff manner in which Nicole moved and spoke. It was quite evident just how burdensome her sister found the social events. Yet Nicole managed to carry herself well, responding with decorum. The men flocked to her, young and old alike. Nicole was kind and well spoken to all but touched deeply by none of them.

  Anne moved toward a side table from where she could take in the whole sweeping affair of chiffon and clamor. Yet as she was seating herself, she heard a woman directly behind her ask, “Have you observed the Viscountess Harrow there?”

  Anne shifted a fraction, just far enough to see the two dowagers looking down their noses at the swirling colors and people. She turned away as the other woman sniffed, “She’s not titled yet. Lord Charles has shown the sense not to formally present the inheritance decree.”

  The first dowager had the rich, throaty tones of one to whom all had been given, and more. “You’ve heard the stories of her upbringing, I suppose.”

  “Simply scandalous,” the other agreed.

  Anne bit back on her sudden anger. That such ladies would speak with casual viciousness about her beloved sister left her almost choking with rage. But nothing would have been gained by speaking up, so she kept her back to them.

  One of them demanded, “Who is that tall gentleman fawning about her now?”

  “Surely you know Lord Harwick.”

  “Is that who it is? I thought he was on the Continent somewhere.”

  “Vienna. Acting as the Crown’s agent on some matter. Look at the way he bandies about with the strumpet.”

  “It would be shameful for a man half his age,” the dowager said.

  “It is such utter infamy, how the men fawn over the likes of that colonial upstart,” the other snorted.

  “You are here with your niece, I believe.”

  “Yes, Amelia is there in the yellow.”

  Anne spotted an anemic-looking twig flittering nervously across the ballroom. The color and cut of her dress only accented her awkwardness.

  “How lovely,” simpered the other lady behind Anne. “And my Leslie, see her in the lavender?”

  The girl chose that moment to bray like a barnyard animal, causing one of the members of the string quartet playing in the far corner almost to drop his bow.

  “A ravishing young thing,” the other dowager offered. “Why those addle-headed gentlemen insist on making fools of themselves about that backwoods ruffian in silk is utterly beyond me.”

  Then the gentleman speaking with Nicole bowed and took a step back. Nicole turned and searched the gathering, clearly looking for Anne. Gratefully Anne used this as an excuse to rise from the chair.

  Behind her one lady said, “But the young woman there is nothing near as bad as what Lord Charles himself is up to these days.�
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  “You don’t mean to say he’s a nonconformist, then?”

  “Worse. A Whig in all but name. I understand he’s going to speak on the Revolutionaries’ behalf.”

  “In public?” The woman’s tone sounded horrified. “You cannot be serious!”

  As Anne moved stiffly toward the ballroom floor, she heard the dowager respond, “Indeed I am. His poor father must be rolling in his grave.”

  Nicole watched as Lord Reginald Harwick cut his way through the crowd like a great ship parting the waves. He ignored the younger debutantes who fluttered their fans and sought to catch his eye. His gaze remained fixed on Nicole. He planted himself before her and gave her a rigidly formal bow. “An honor to see you again, Miss Nicole.”

  She curtsied with practiced grace. “Greetings to you, Lord Harwick.”

  He glanced around the gathering with distaste. “Once again I find myself attending a rather annoying event in order to seek you out. Did you receive my letters?”

  As with the dozen or so other times they had met, Nicole found herself mysteriously drawn to the man’s magnetic personality. Yet there also remained a foretaste of something more, and today it came out more clearly than ever before. “I did not.”

  “I feared as much. War has the spiteful habit of interrupting the natural flow of things.” He nodded distractedly to an older woman and continued, “I’ve been on the Continent. Vienna, actually. Perhaps you know it.”

  Nicole found herself flashing back to another man, a handsome rogue of the bayous, a man she loved so that it tore her apart to leave him. Yet leave is what she had to do, for she knew there could be no future with someone who disregarded God’s commands. Here again she felt attracted to a man of power, intrigued also by the challenge of taming him and molding him through her strong will. But this time she found the temptation far weaker than the warnings she sensed in her heart.

  She realized the man was waiting for her reply. “I’ve never traveled anywhere other than here, sir.”

  “Ah yes. Of course.” He paused, studying her face and form. “With your elegance and accent, I forget the fables of your mysterious upbringing.”

  “You are too kind, but they are not fables.”

  “I am many things, Miss Nicole. Blunt, impatient with many of the world’s ways, too forceful for my own good. But certainly not overly kind. Kindness is a virtue I would hope to reap from an alliance with one fairer and more benevolent than myself.”

  Then Lord Harwick waited as if expecting some form of invitation. But Nicole had learned from her many contacts with other suitors that, on such occasions, silence was always the wiser recourse. So she snapped open her fan and waved it idly while looking up at him and saying nothing.

  Her poise clearly rattled the older gentleman, and his expression tightened somewhat. “I’ve spent the previous months acting as the king’s own emissary, Miss Nicole. He trusts me. That should speak for something.”

  Again she felt the battering of his power, but now she felt more certain of herself and of her direction. “Indeed it does, sir. Yet we are speaking of matters where the king holds no place.”

  “Does he not? Does he not indeed?” His face tensed further. “Do you perhaps remember what I said to you earlier, about how I am in a position to offer great aid to my allies?”

  “I recall all our conversations, sir.”

  “It would do you much good to think on this matter, m’lady.” He started to say something further but stopped himself with visible effort. He then bowed and said, “I have the honor of being invited to dine with you tonight. Perhaps we shall speak more on this matter then.”

  Anne decided not to speak with Nicole of what she had overheard. There was scarcely time to bathe the baby and herself and then get everything ready before the guests began arriving for dinner.

  As usual, Lord Percy was the first to come. Normally he used such occasions to discuss business matters with Charles. Tonight, however, he was there at the bottom of the stairs to greet Anne as she descended. “Madame, your presence lights up the room. And that dress—what a work of art you are tonight.”

  She gave him a genuine smile. Percy was an odd-looking character, his habit of taking snuff rather vile. But he had a heart of pure gold and he doted on Charles and Nicole. Anne lifted the hem of her new gown. The material was Chinese painted silk, the colors ivory and mint green, with a collar of Medellin lace. “The dressmaker called it a polonaise design.”

  “Upon you it looks positively ravishing.” Percy bent over her hand. “Might I say, madame, it makes my heart glad to see you taking such a brave step.”

  Anne fluttered her fan. “Your eyes miss nothing, Lord Percy.” And because the topic left her discomfited, she went on, “Might I ask where your own title comes from?”

  “A trifle, madame. A chance encounter, an opportunity to do some royal a small service, which now escapes me.” He dipped into his snuffbox, sneezed like a cannonade, then continued, “I am a landowner by chance and a Christian by choice. I am a lordship by sheer amazement. It’s the clearest sign I have that God possesses a rich sense of humor.”

  He offered her his arm, which she accepted. As they walked toward the drawing room, Anne asked, “I don’t suppose you could tell me what is troubling my uncle so.”

  Percy faltered momentarily, but then quickly composed himself and said, “Your eye is remarkably keen, madame. But some questions must be left for his honor to answer.”

  “Charles is lucky to have such a friend, Lord Percy.”

  “And Miss Nicole to have such a sister.” Percy nodded in response to Gaylord bowing them into the drawing room. “Your presence has done her a powerful good.”

  “She will make a fine heir for Charles,” Anne said, yet in her heart she could not help but wish that Nicole might find joy in the work.

  Percy turned to her and said for her ears alone, “So would you, madame.” Then he bowed and went to greet the other guests now trickling in.

  The new dresses did not alter Anne’s habit of standing to one side and observing the gathering. Before long, she sighted the familiar form of Lord Harwick as he closed in on Nicole. He said something to her, then grimaced at Nicole’s calm response. Harwick spoke again, this time at length. Although Anne could not hear the words, she saw how Nicole noticeably tensed and then nodded acceptance.

  Anne watched them walk together toward the balcony doors. They made a truly striking couple. Nicole wore a deep green gown of Lyons silk, and the color shimmered as she moved, like the shifting surface of the sea. But there was no joy to be found in either face.

  There was another who scrutinized the couple, a young sea captain by the curious name of Gordon Goodwind. He had come as a late addition, a guest of guests, as the friend of Captain and Mrs. Madden, who spoke now with Charles. Captain Goodwind gazed at Nicole with undisguised ardor. He cut a dashing figure in his long black coat and frill-fronted shirt. He wore trousers in the newest fashion, long stovepipes that descended over the tops of his polished black boots. The only mark of color to his person was the blue ribbon with which he kept his long copper hair tied tautly back. On another man it may have looked effeminate, but with his hawkish features and the slash mark on his right cheek, the effect was quite stylish.

  Yet Captain Goodwind made no gesture toward Nicole except to bow at their greeting. Then he went to hanging back and examining her every movement. Anne could well guess the reason for his reluctance to approach Nicole—a sea captain had little chance to cross the chasm that separated him from a viscountess. Besides, Lord Harwick kept a vigilant closeness to Nicole as they headed for the balcony.

  Nicole walked with her head tilted high, her auburn hair cascading in well-managed curls. Lord Harwick maintained a possessive grip on her arm. The gentleman was perhaps fifteen years her senior, which in itself was not that great a difference. Yet he carried himself too stiffly, and his chin was set at too determined an angle. Anne noticed how others regarded the two, how sev
eral of the other young men stared at Nicole wistfully. It was a mystery to Anne how such a lovely young woman could remain not just unattached but isolated.

  Anne stepped away from the laughing throng, and as the couple entered the narrow balcony, she moved alongside the open doors. She told herself she merely wished to ensure they were not disturbed, but there was something else. She desperately wanted to know what was happening between Nicole and this mysterious gentleman. Anne had never known a closeness like she felt toward Nicole. Their bond was one of friendship and sisterhood both. And yet there were new walls within Nicole, strange undercurrents that Anne did not yet understand. Even so, Anne was certain her sister was distressed, and if help was required, Anne wanted to be there for her.

  Lord Harwick spoke with a deep baritone voice, rich in timbre and very masculine. “My dear Miss Nicole, I do wish you would grant me leave to pay suit.”

  Anne took a single step backward, closer to the balcony. She heard Nicole’s utterly flat tone as she responded, “You would be disappointed, sir.”

  “Call me Reginald, I implore you.” He then chuckled, but it sounded forced. “On the contrary, I am absolutely infatuated with you. I feel we would make for a perfect match.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “You must have seen the way people watched us tonight. Everyone here would most certainly agree we outshine the entire gathering. Not to mention the few moments we have shared together suggest a harmony that could only turn to deeper sentiments, if you would only allow—”

  “Might I ask how you feel about the war with the American colonies?”

  “What I…my dear, if you will forgive me, I hardly feel this is the time or place to discuss worldly affairs.”

  “Very well, then. What about affairs of the heart? Do you hold your faith in God as paramount?”

  “I hold the Church in highest esteem, as should every decent British gentleman. But this has scarcely any place in our discussion this evening, my dear.”