by Regina Scott
“Love,” Agatha sneered at her. “And do you think love will keep you warm when you live sniveling in some hovel with a pack of brats around you?”
Anne refused to answer. “This arguing is ridiculous. We agree that my behavior tonight was abhorrent. What exactly are we to do about it?”
Agatha held her gaze with a frown. Then, to Anne’s surprise, she looked away. “Oh, sit down. I can’t be expected at my age to stand about looking up at you.” She settled herself in a chair near the fire. With a sigh, Millicent relaxed against the back of the sofa. Anne sank thankfully beside her. Agatha regarded her with narrowed eyes.
“I still think Bath,” she rasped suddenly, causing Millicent to startle. “You must be out of town before the rumors begin to fly. With any luck, we will have been ensconced there for at least two months before the others begin arriving for the summer. You may even be safely betrothed before the gossip mongers appear.”
“Could we not retire to the country until next Season?” Anne ventured. While part of her was relieved that the confrontation with Agatha was apparently over, she dreaded having to continue the quest for an eligible suitor. She still felt that time was needed to mend her heart.
Agatha shook her head. “It won’t serve. We must catch our earl before the Season ends.”
“You may as well tell her all,” Millicent said with a sigh, then went on to do it herself. “We must catch our earl now, dear, or we won’t be back next Season. I’m very much afraid that by next Season, Agatha and I will be companions to some other elderly ladies. And you, well, perhaps we might find someone who needs a governess.”
Anne frowned. “What do you mean?”
“What she means,” Agatha snapped, “is that we will shortly be out on the streets.”
Anne stared at her, feeling as if a rope was tightening about her neck. “The town house, the house in Bath?”
“Mortgaged,” Agatha replied. “How did you think we managed the last three years? I daresay the banks will be glad to take them off our hands.” She pulled her cane closer to her thin body.
“I never realized how difficult things had become,” Anne said softly, yet she felt she should have. The infrequency of fires even in the winter, the comments Mr. Champworth had made about the furnishings, the chips in the China: somehow, she had never added them together, until now. Agatha had clearly gambled everything on Anne’s chances in the marriage mart, and Anne had nearly ruined them all.
She faced Agatha. “My actions have indeed been thoughtless. Somehow, I always thought we’d go on as we had. My marriage to an earl was just something you hoped for, not a necessity.”
“One cannot punt the River Tick forever,” Millicent said with a sniff.
“Oh, be silent,” Agatha told her. “I daresay we’ll manage. But you must understand, Anne. We have no time left. If we haven’t had a decent offer for you by summer’s end, we shall have to deal with the financiers.”
“I understand, Anne said, thinking about what she must do. “You think there’s still a chance after . . . after tonight?”
Agatha shrugged. “It remains to be seen. There will be some, no doubt, who will be attracted by the rumors about you. It remains to be seen if they will be acceptable. No, we have come too far to give up so easily. You will leave for Bath at first light. Take Bess with you. Millicent and I will see about closing the house and follow you in a few days with Henry. That should give you and Bess time to set the Bath house to rights. Then we shall see what can be done.”
* * * *
Anne scarcely slept that night. She helped Bess pack the clothes, toiletries, and house wares they would need for the trip and to set up the house. Bess tried to get her to talk about the reason for the sudden change in plans, but Anne refused, going stoically about her work like a statue come to life.
Inside, however, she felt as if she were withering and dying. She’d made such a mess of things! She’d obviously given Chas Prestwick the idea that she would be willing to accept his offer of protection, and, by his actions, he had been hurt by her rather high-handed refusal to even listen. By encouraging him, she had damaged her chances to attract other suitors. Without suitors, her aunts would be out of their home by fall. She would have to marry anyone who offered.
Worse yet, she realized that she had fallen in love with Chas Prestwick. What had started as an adventure had become the most important event of her life. Now that too was ending and by her own hand. She had done everything wrong, but Millicent and Agatha would pay the price.
A rented hack arrived in the predawn stillness, and Anne helped Bess and Henry load the belongings into it. It was a shabby equipage; Anne remembered a time when her aunt would never have allowed her to set foot in it, let alone use it to travel any distance. It was a reminder of their financial straits that Agatha merely looked at it and sniffed. As if another omen, a thick fog had rolled in, contributing to the death-like stillness. She and Bess dressed in as many layers of warmth as possible, covering all in dark wool traveling cloaks. It was rather like preparing for her own funeral.
The hack’s driver turned out to be a crotchety little man with thinning hair, a narrow face, and a slack jaw. He sat on the box without offering a word of help and alternated between taking sips from a flask under his thick coat and spitting on the sidewalk, muttering. When one of his shots barely missed Henry’s toe, their man took Anne aside.
“I don’t like the looks of this fellow, Miss Anne,” he confided. “If yer aunt weren’t so hell-fired certain you had to leave now, I’d send him packing and drive the coach myself. You best watch him. If you see anything havey cavey, have him drop you and Bess at a respectable inn and wait for the mail coach. I’ll tell Bess the same.” He scowled up at the fellow and was rewarded with an equally dark look back. Anne shook her head.
Agatha also had parting advice. “Tell your driver to go straight through. He may change horses of course, but I want you to Bath as quickly as possible. If you must spend the night, find a reputable inn. And don’t talk to anyone until we get there.”
Anne nodded, gave each of her aunts a peck on the cheek, and hustled Bess into the waiting carriage. They were away.
It was a nightmare trip from the start. First, the bad-tempered driver turned out to have a bladder the size of a pea. He stopped three times before they even crossed Kensington to get out and relieve himself. He was ham fisted as well. Every bump in the road he hit, every rut he crisscrossed. Bess was soon green and clutching her stomach with increasingly pathetic moans.
To make matters worse, the fog not only failed to dissipate but thickened, cutting them off from the rest of the world. They saw no other carriages on the road; at times they could barely glimpse the road itself. For all Anne could see out the window, they may very well have been going around in circles.
Between Bess’ moans and Anne’s depression, neither was predisposed to conversation, so they passed the first part of the journey in a silence punctuated by Bess’ complaints. At one point Anne thought it must be near nuncheon, but one look at Bess’ ashen face dissuaded her from opening the hamper Millicent had packed for them.
In the early afternoon, they changed horses at a country inn where the hack company kept horses. Anne had thought to get a bite to eat, but as she started to alight, she saw another pair of coaches enter the yard. Great-coated gentlemen and ladies in wool traveling cloaks and fur muffs spilled merrily out of the elegant carriages, laughing and calling to each other as they moved into the inn. Fearing the gossip that might proceed her, Anne drew stiffly back into the hack. Bess’ moans deepened as the carriage moved off shortly after.
In the afternoon they faired no better, but Anne felt they must be making good time. Even with their early start, it would be nearly impossible to reach Bath by nightfall. As the grey outside deepened to a smoky brown, she began to wonder if she shouldn’t instruct their driver to stop at the next inn.
She was about to knock on the coachman’s window above her head whe
n she felt the carriage slowing.
“Praise the Lord,” Bess murmured, rousing herself and proving her thoughts were following Anne’s. “We must be at an inn.” She too peered out into the gloom.
“No, Bess, I don’t think so. Surely we’d see buildings.” Beyond the grey, Anne thought she could make out the trunks of trees. The carriage ground to a halt at a peculiar angle. Anne could only conclude that they had stopped on the side of a hill for the fellow to relieve himself yet again.
“Bess,” she said, straightening, “go tell him to continue until we find someplace to spend the night.”
Bess was only too happy to comply. “Be right back, Miss Anne. I need some air anyway.” She scrambled out the door, which was a bit above them on the slant. Anne could hear her feet crunch against the dirt of the road as she moved away.
Anne sat back against the seat with a sigh. After the rolling gate of the last few miles, being still was a blessing. She closed her eyes and willed herself to think peaceful thoughts. All would be well. She and Bess would reach Bath safely; she would find the perfect titled, rich gentleman to wed; and they would all live happily ever after. Perhaps if she repeated that enough, she’d come to believe it. She was dimly aware of Bess’ voice, muted by the fog, and the terse note of the driver’s reply. All else was quiet.
She gradually became aware of another noise, growing rapidly in volume. Hoof beats--surely another carriage was approaching fast from behind. She only had time to open her eyes before there was a shout, the terrified neighing of horses, and then an impact that shook the fragile old vehicle to its foundation. The carriage tilted to the left. Terrified, she tried to brace herself, but she slid with the lap robes and Bess’ travel kit into a heap as the carriage crashed over onto its side. Aunt Millicent’s hamper collided with her head, and everything went black.
Chapter Fifteen
Chas regarded the latest cup of wine before tossing it back as he had all the others that night. Across the table, Leslie’s opera dancer giggled at something Leslie was whispering in her ear and batted his hands away from her hips. Watching the candlelight glint off her heavily made up face, Chas felt sick. He pushed the wine bottle away, but he knew it wasn’t the wine.
Leslie had taken one look at his face there at the Bamingers and immediately called for his carriage. He had kept up a steady stream of pleasantries as he ushered Chas in and whisked him off to Covent Garden. Leslie’s opera dancer had been only too happy to entertain two such distinguished gentlemen in one of the more private areas of the theatre, but Chas was finding little to amuse him. All he could think about was Anne.
He should have known what to expect. Bert had warned him she was hunting a title. She had tried to tell him he would not be welcome to call. But he was the great Chas Prestwick. He could convince her, convince them all. Despite his jitters before the ball, the outcome in his mind had never been in question. All he had to do was show Anne he cared, and she would be his.
When she had begged him not to let go as they danced, he was sure she felt the same way. All his love and desire had gone into those kisses in the conservatory, only to be rebuffed. She may have cared about him, but she cared for a damned title far more.
The damned title. He knew many second sons who wasted their lives blaming their birth for every failing. Somehow he had never thought to find himself among their number. He had left Oxford those years ago to make his own way. He would blaze a path that would light London with its glory. He would prove to Malcolm and his mother that he was his own person, capable of living his own life his own way.
He could see now that he had done nothing. The races, the outrageous stunts, the ladies he had pursued--none of them made any difference. If he died tonight, not one person would be worse for his passing. He doubted any would care. Some, his brother came to mind, would doubtless heave a sigh of relief.
That reminded him of his duty. He had to escort his mother home. For once, he almost relished the thought of going to Prestwick Park. He couldn’t sink any lower than he had tonight. He’d go home, endure the scolds, the disappointed looks. Perhaps he could talk to Malcolm about what to do with his life. Doubtless, his brother would have a number of suggestions. A career in civil service sounded dismally appealing. Surely there must be something useful he could do. Malcolm would likely be overjoyed to arrange an entre.
He shrugged and rose. “I’m off, Les. Thanks for the company. Duty calls.”
Leslie surged to his feet, upsetting the opera dancer onto the floor where she squealed in protest. “N’sense. Evenin’s just beginin’. Can’t leave yet.”
Chas grinned at his friend’s state. For all the times he and Leslie had been out carousing, Leslie was always the first to feel his wine. He was also the last to feel it in the morning. “You don’t need to leave, my friend. I’ve a date at Prestwick Park, remember? I’ll catch a hack back to the town house. See you when I get back.”
Leslie caught him at the door. “Can’t go alone,” he insisted, shaking his head wobbly. “Been dealt a blow. My duty to see you through.”
“Les, cut line. Stay here and enjoy yourself. I’ll be fine.”
But nothing he could say would dissuade his friend from following him out of the Garden like a loyal hound. Chas finally whistled up Les’ own carriage and ordered the driver to take them both to the Prestwick town house, where a slightly more sober Les waited while Chas changed into a wool jacket, chamois breeches, and Hessians. Pulling on his tweed great coat, Chas once more attempted to convince his friend that he could go on alone, but Leslie was adamant.
“I have to go north in the morning anyway,” he stubbornly told Chas. “I promised my father I’d join him at Lord Hazeltine’s for a house party before Easter, and that’s on your way.”
“I can’t imagine you’d enjoy the trip riding in a stuffy old carriage,” Chas pointed out.
“But surely you’ll be taking your curricle,” Leslie protested. “You’ll need to get back, after all. I thought you might let me handle the reins again.”
“Oh, that would please Malcolm greatly,” Chas quipped.
Leslie would not give up. Chas had to admit that two or three days in a carriage with his mother was a bit daunting. In the end, he agreed to let Leslie come along in the curricle while his mother and the young maid who had accompanied her on her trip to London rode in one of Malcolm’s closed carriages.
Rames, having been alerted the night before by the footman, had seen to the countess’ packing so that by the time Leslie returned with his bags, himself wearing traveling togs, the party was ready to go. As Chas turned to hand his mother up into the coach, she pressed a sealed envelope into his hand.
“We must give this to Millicent before we leave,” she told him, her green eyes solemn.
Chas felt a constriction near his heart. “I’m sure Rames would be happy to see it delivered, Mother.”
She pouted. “No, I want to do it. Millicent is angry with me, and I must apologize. A lady takes responsibility for her actions.”
Chas struggled with his feelings. He had no desire to go anywhere near Crawford House, but it galled him that Lady Crawford would take her dislike of him out on his mother. She stood beside him, her eyes pleading.
“Oh, very well,” he said with a shrug and was rewarded by the glow of his mother’s smile. At least I’ve made someone happy, he thought as he handed her up.
A rather dilapidated hired hack was just pulling away as they came to a stop in St. Mary’s Circle. Chas paused, realizing that both of Anne’s aunts stood at the street side, a daunting sight in the predawn stillness. Before he could convince himself to alight, his mother had cracked open the carriage door and was waving.
“Millicent! Oh, Millicent!”
Mrs. Fairchild startled even as Lady Crawford scowled. As Millicent hurried to the carriage, Chas jumped down to intercept Lady Crawford. Perhaps he could still be of some use to his mother.
Lady Crawford glared at him, a formidable sight.
He swept her an elaborate bow. “Lady Crawford, how lovely to see you again.”
“Don’t you dare speak to me,” she hissed. “If you were any kind of gentleman, you would have made my Anne an offer after your outrageous exhibition last night!”
Chas startled, staring at her more closely. Were those tears in the sharp grey eyes? He decided to be honest with her. “I attempted to do just that. Your niece refused me.”
“Liar!” She stamped her cane down within an inch of his foot. “You have no scruples! I warned Anne not to lose her heart to you. Now get out of my sight before I call the Watch!”
He bowed again, too confused by her words to do otherwise. Millicent puffed up beside him.
“It’s all right, Chas,” she smiled, patting his arm reassuringly. “I’ve explained everything to your mother. Have a safe trip.” To his amazement, she carefully winked the eye that faced away from Lady Crawford.
“Henry!” Lady Crawford all but shrieked. “Escort Mr. Prestwick on his way.” Her man stepped up with a forbidding frown. Obviously secure in the knowledge that he would send Chas packing, she linked arms with Millicent and moved stiffly back to the house. Chas could only offer Henry what he hoped was a repentant smile and climb back onto the curricle.
“What was that all about?” Leslie asked with a frown.
“I wish I knew,” Chas murmured as he took the reins.
They drove out of London, heading west. Chas knew he ought to return to the carriage with his mother, but his mind was in a whirl and he preferred Leslie’s more quiet company. Lady Crawford’s words had completely baffled him. She had made it sound as if she had expected him to offer, would have permitted him to do so. But Mrs. Fairchild had indicated that Lady Crawford was the main impediment in his suit. Was it Anne who wanted the title or her aunt? And what had Lady Crawford meant when she said she’d warned Anne not to lose her heart? Had Anne lost her heart to him? Could it be he had misconstrued her actions last night?
They were only an hour out of London when he made up his mind. Signaling the coachman to stop, he pulled over, explained his intent to a dumbfounded Leslie, and climbed down to talk to his mother. He was pleased to see that she seemed much happier than she had been the last couple of days. When he made his proposal that she continue on alone while he returned to London, however, she protested.