“It is my great pleasure, Lord and Lady Wentworth, to present you to my wife,” Haverstock said.
Anna shyly stepped forward and curtsied.
“You did well to marry her before the season,” Lord Wentworth said in a fatherly voice to Haverstock, “for one of her beauty would not have lasted long.”
“I am aware of my good fortune,” Haverstock said.
Lady Wentworth took Anna’s hand. “London is abuzz with the story of Haverstock’s heroic rescue of you in the park. We are very happy to meet you at last, my dear.”
“Thank you, my lady. Being here tonight is very special, not only for me but also for our sister, Lady Charlotte. This is her first ball.” Anna reached for Charlotte and presented her.
With the dreaded introduction behind her, Anna squeezed her husband’s hand as they climbed the marble staircase. Haverstock introduced her throughout the upstairs ballroom.
Had Anna not been so confident in her appearance, she would have been mortified at her reception. Men and woman alike stopped conversations and stared at Anna as she walked by on her husband’s arm.
It took nearly an hour to make their way across the crowded room. Anna stiffened when she saw the bald head of Sir Henry Vinson amidst a group of men against the far wall. He met her gaze and smiled, walking toward Anna and Haverstock.
“My dear Anna, how lovely you look,” Sir Henry greeted.
Haverstock looked puzzled. “You know my wife?”
“Yes, we are very old friends. I have known her since she was but a baby,” Sir Henry said, “and I must tell you, Haverstock, she was beautiful then, too.”
Anna detected an uneasiness in her husband in Sir Henry’s presence. Haverstock soon directed his gaze a bit farther away and excused himself and his wife, saying he had to speak to a friend.
Haverstock found seats for his wife and sisters and left them to get ratafia.
As he passed Sir Henry, Haverstock invited the man to have a smoke with him on the balcony of the adjoining room.
On the balcony that faced Berkeley Square, Sir Henry accepted a cigar Haverstock offered, and the two men stood smoking in the chilled air.
“You are wondering why I wanted a private word with you?” Haverstock said, blowing out a pungent puff of smoke.
“Yes.”
“It pains me to admit I have not been completely truthful to my very satisfactory wife,” Haverstock said. “Anna does not know of my post in the Foreign Office.”
Sir Henry took a long drag on his cigar. “I see.”
“I beg that she will not learn of it from you.”
“The nature of our work makes secrecy a necessity, my good man,” Sir Henry said.
Haverstock tossed his cigar away. “I am glad we agree on that.”
~ ~ ~
WHEN HE RETURNED to the ballroom, Haverstock found his wife and sisters surrounded by admiring men clamoring for dancing partners. “I claim my wife for the first dance,” he announced, holding out his hand for Anna.
Though conversations hummed from every part of the room, Anna felt as if her every footstep echoed on the wooden floor as she followed her husband to join the other dancers. The pounding in her chest returned. Dancing with a dancing master in her own drawing room was altogether different than doing the quadrille with a host of strangers and an even greater host of onlookers. But Haverstock put her at ease, teasing her about the flock of men who had already begged to stand up with her. She was so relaxed in his company she did not even have to think about the dance steps. They came naturally. And not once did her feet betray her.
Her feet did begin to hurt after an hour of non-stop dancing. She was most thankful when she could finally sit down. She sat alone, fanning herself rapidly in a vain attempt to displace the room’s heat while tying to spot her sisters on the dance floor. But it was her husband—so much taller than all the others—who stood out most as he danced with Kate. Anna felt a flash of pride as she watched him. His manliness made all the elegant dandies look like fops. And though he did not warm to the social whirl, he performed satisfactorily at every level from dancing to conversing.
A man smelling of sandalwood came and sat next to Anna. She turned and saw it was an exquisitely dressed Morgie. “How very good it is to see you here,” she said with pleasure.
“I confess to holding no great fondness for such events,” he said, “but Haverstock demanded I come. Seems he wanted to guarantee his sisters would be assured of dancing partners.”
“How very sweet of him, though his fears were completely unnecessary. The girls have danced every dance.”
Morgie watched the dance floor. “Terrible cravat on Weatherford,” he murmured. “Wonder how much Tolivar paid Prangle to dance with his fat sister?”
“Morgie, you are so very wicked.”
“Not wicked. Just honest.”
“And critical. Pray, what would you say about me if I were on the dance floor now?”
“Don’t criticize friends—not that I could find anything disparaging to say about you.”
“I am glad we are friends.”
“I see Kate and Charlotte and Cynthia. Where’s Lydia?”
“She did not wish to come.”
“I’ve always said she was the smartest of the lot.”
“You are quite honest. And correct.”
Sir Henry’s voice broke in. “Ah, Lady Haverstock, how good it is to find you seated. I beg you will grant me this dance.”
Anna excused herself to Morgie, stood up and took Sir Henry’s proffered hand, limping slightly because her left foot had blistered.
“Are you all right, Anna?” Sir Henry asked.
“It is just that my feet are unused to the dancing.”
“Then we must sit this one out,” he suggested, leading her from the room, down a cool marble hall and into an asparagus green library.
Seeing that there was no one else in the room, Anna came to an abrupt halt. It would do her reputation no good to be found alone with a man who was not her husband. “I beg that we return immediately to the ballroom. My husband would not approve of me meeting with another gentleman here.”
Ignoring her request, Sir Henry moved to close the door. “But, my lady, an authority much higher than your husband demands that you hear what I have to impart.”
Trembling, she sank into a chair.
ELEVEN
HIS EYES NARROW, Sir Henry watched Anna gaze up into her husband’s face while they danced. Only when the marquess was her partner did Anna come alive with laughing eyes and a relaxed grace. Sir Henry noted the way she tenderly caressed Haverstock’s broad shoulder, the way their hands locked in a familiar clasp, the way she casually brushed a stray lock of dark brown hair from her husband’s forehead. Damn. The woman’s fallen in love with her husband!
After hearing of Haverstock’s heroic rescue of Anna in the park, Sir Henry suspected the marquess was excessively fond of his wife. But now he knew Haverstock’s feelings toward Anna far exceeded fondness. Even when she danced with others, Haverstock’s eyes followed his wife with every beat of the music as she glided through throngs of richly dressed dancers.
What a fool he had been not to have anticipated this unwanted complication. The girl would be far less pliable now. He would have to be very careful how he manipulated her. At this point, it wouldn’t do at all to suggest any harm could befall her husband. Just simple revelations about his supposed activities would suffice. When Anna helped him uncover the identity of Haverstock’s accomplices, a tidy sum could come his way.
Later that evening, Sir Henry found her and quietly escorted her from the ballroom to the library. He lowered his voice. “You must find out the identity of your husband’s contacts in London. Information your husband’s passed has cost thousands of British lives. We must stop them.”
“Even my husband?”
He shook his head. “He’s far too valuable.”
“I have learned nothing at all in these weeks we’ve been marri
ed.”
“You must find a way, my dear. And soon. Despite that he and I—both of us being fluent in French—oversee espionage operations, your husband fiercely protects his contacts, even from me. He’s obsessed in his drive for success. Few men trusted him—because of his father. The former marquess’s arrogance cost him dearly. He always had to be superior to everyone, had to have the best, bet the most, lose the heaviest. It came to the point where he refused to pay his gaming debts. The son has been driven to clear the tarnish from his family name even at the cost of his country. His coldness extends to everyone. He trusts no one, except Ralph Morgan.”
“Did Morgie accompany Charles to France?”
Sir Henry nodded. “Those two are closer than most brothers. I’ve heard that Haverstock came to Morgie’s defense when the two were just boys at Eton. Seems Morgie suffered greatly because he descended from Jews. As the story goes, Haverstock saved Morgie as he was undergoing a vicious beating by several chaps. The fellows all looked up to Haverstock. He was a viscount then and a full head taller than all his classmates. To this day, Morgie fairly worships your husband. Were Haverstock desirous of using his friend’s head for target practice, I have no doubt Mr. Morgan would oblige.”
“Yet you don’t believe Morgie knows about Charles’s treason?”
“I think not. The Morgans have a deep hatred for the French, particularly since Boney robbed them of their Prussian holdings.”
Sir Henry rose abruptly. “We must return to the ballroom,” he said, offering her his hand, “before your husband misses you. From now on we will meet at noon every Wednesday at Hookam’s.”
The library door burst open, and Anna saw the dark giant who was her husband standing in the doorway, his mouth an angry grim line, his eyes flashing. She felt as if the air had squeezed from her lungs.
Haverstock directed a steely gaze at Sir Henry. “I wish to speak privately with my wife.”
“By all means. I’ve been regaling Lady Haverstock with tales of her youth.” Though he was a tall man, Sir Henry seemed small as he swept past Haverstock to exit the library.
~ ~ ~
HAVERSTOCK HAD BEEN pleased when he was dancing with his sister to observe his wife and Morgie engaged in conversation. When he looked back a minute later, he noticed her gone. A deep frown etched Haverstock’s face as he spotted the back of Sir Henry’s bald head and saw him leading Anna from the ballroom.
He had never warmed to Sir Henry, though he was forced to work closely with him. Haverstock could not fault Sir Henry’s efforts. Despite that the man had spent much of his life in France, he was a true patriot to the English crown. He was accepted everywhere, including in the beds of half the matrons in London.
Perhaps it was Sir Henry’s treatment of women that rankled Haverstock. He cast off mistresses without even a small settlement, and he divulged intimacies about married women that no man of honor would countenance.
That Sir Henry directed his attentions on Anna displeased Haverstock excessively. His concern mounting, he could hardly wait for the dance to be over so he could go to his wife.
When the dance finished, he looked for Anna and Sir Henry at the refreshments table but did not find them. With growing concern and anger, he searched for them on the empty balcony.
Blast the woman! He had let her impeccable taste and cultured voice fool him into thinking she was a every inch a lady, when at her first ball she behaved as a strumpet.
Now that he had found her in Lord Wentworth’s library, Haverstock itched to crash a fist into Sir Henry’s face and drag his errant wife from the house. But he refused to give fodder to the gossip mongers.
His face rigid, Haverstock closed the library door and spoke with controlled anger. “You have conducted yourself in a totally improper manner, Lady Haverstock. Closeting yourself alone in a room with any man is a breech of propriety, but to do so with a bachelor who is noted for his dalliances with married women is inexcusable.”
“But, surely—”
He cut her off. “You and I both know there was no love on your part when you schemed to become my wife, but since you are my wife, I will expect you to give every indication of being a faithful mate. Is that clear?”
Anna nodded. “I see now that my behavior was deplorable.” Her voice cracked. “I will endeavor to conduct myself in an acceptable manner if you can only forgive me.”
She could portray innocence most convincingly, he thought as he led her from the library.
The remainder of the ball, Haverstock hovered possessively over his wife, attempting to appear jovial to counteract any unpleasant rumors that could have resulted from his wife’s tete-a-tete with Sir Henry.
But on the carriage ride home, he dropped the artifice. While his sisters chatted merrily, he sulked.
“Did you not find Captain Smythe to be quite the most dashing man at the ball, Kate?” Cynthia asked.
“Indeed. A pity he’s only a second son.”
“La!” Cynthia said. “I would not care were he to show a preference for me for I think he’s positively the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.” Turning to her younger sister, she said, “I vow, Charlotte, you danced every dance and not twice with anyone.”
“I did dance twice with Mr. Hogart,” Charlotte said quietly.
“Was that the man with the terribly ill-fitting coat?” Kate asked.
“You cannot judge a man merely by his clothes,” Charlotte defended.
“But really, he stood out like a sty on the eye,” Kate said.
“I’ve never heard of Mr. Hogart,” Cynthia added. “What kind of family is he from? Do you know anything of him, Charles?”
Haverstock snapped to attention. “Who?”
“Mr. Hogart,” Cynthia chided.
“Never heard of him,” Haverstock said gloomily.
“Well, I can tell you all about him,” Charlotte said, her eyes sparkling. “He has neither money nor family, but he is wonderfully kind. He is quite pious and plans to become a minister.”
Kate rolled her eyes. “Charlotte, my dear, you can do far better. Pray, do not encourage the poor man.”
“If he should do me the goodness of calling, I assure you I will be all that is amiable to him,” Charlotte said with spunk.
Anna applauded Charlotte’s deep goodness but deemed it wisest to keep her own views private for fear of angering Kate or Cynthia. Besides, she did not feel like talking. She still stung from her husband’s words. Schemed to become my wife. No love on your part.
With those thoughts—and Sir Henry’s instructions—keeping her awake, Anna was unable to sleep. She heard Charles in his dressing room, but he never came to her. It was the first night since she had been at Haverstock House that Charles did not share her bed.
~ ~ ~
LYDIA AND HER BROTHER, fresh from riding in the park, joined Anna in the breakfast room the following morning.
“Oh, Anna,” Lydia said excitedly, “the chestnut Charles bought me is undoubtedly the best piece of horseflesh in London. Charles said she was your idea, and I do most gratefully thank you.”
“Seeing your face so lively is thanks enough,” Anna said. Davis entered the room and directed his gaze at Haverstock. “Her ladyship requests your presence in her chamber, my lord.”
~ ~ ~
“YOU SENT FOR ME?” Haverstock asked, striding into his mother’s gilded chamber where she took a breakfast tray in bed. He noted the grim set to her face. Even in her youth, his mother had not been a beauty. But she possessed what his father wanted in a wife. She was the daughter of earl who settled a generous dowry, and she bore him seven children while maintaining a cool detachment from her husband.
“Sit down,” she commanded, her voice sharp.
He did as bid.
“I have been delivered a letter this morning—never mind who sent it. It informs me of your wife’s deplorable conduct last night. You have brought me untold disappointment in your choice of a wife, Charles. Once a whore, always a whore.”
Overcome with rage, Haverstock rose and towered over his mother. His voice quivered with anger. “I will not allow you to speak of my wife in such a manner. She is a total innocent. If she behaved with impropriety last night, it was because she is ignorant in the ways of the ton.”
“She has bewitched you,” the dowager said with disgust. “We cannot have the daughter of that horrible woman bear the title Marchioness of Haverstock. Divorce her before she can become the mother of the future marquess. Don’t you see, Charles?”
“I see that you are dangerously close to breaking the bond of my filial duty, Mother. My wife made an innocent mistake. Do not speak so of Anna again.”
He turned on his heel and left the room.
TWELVE
TODAY, MORE THAN ANY TIME since her mother’s death, Anna was in a blue funk. A terrible one. She had not slept at all the night before.
Over and over she had remembered the harshness of Charles’s words spoken in anger—anger she richly deserved. She wondered how she could learn from Charles the truth about his activities when he refused even to share her bed. At the core of her misery was fear over what would happen to him if she betrayed him.
Perhaps by going to the East End she could purge herself of self-pity.
On her way back to Mayfair after her visit to the East End, Anna lacked her usual feeling of satisfaction. She had brightened one day in their lives but had done nothing to improve their lot. Poverty bred poverty. These people had no skills, no knowledge. They were locked in a never-ending cycle of misfortune. If only they could learn trades to earn a living wage. But how could they?
She had an idea. She and Colette were skilled at needlework. Perhaps they could provide fine fabrics and threads and instruct the women. As their skills increased, the seamstresses might even be able to get commissions to sew for the upper classes. Her idea snowballed, and Anna’s gloom shed like layers of an onion. Some of the women—with her assistance—would be able to open shops. A modiste. A milliner. A tailor. Glove maker. Purveyor of fine christening gowns.
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