The rest of the week passed in a flurry of activity. When she was not standing before the seamstress for fitting after fitting, she was helping Aunt Augusta with a variety of tasks that revived so many happy memories.
Invitations to the wedding breakfast had to be written. She remembered helping her mother write invitations, with her mother telling her about each person on the list, just as Aunt Augusta was doing now.
“Mr. Jameson is an amiable young man who can be trusted to make pleasant conversation with anyone, and Miss Waterhouse is a lady of similar quality. Some day I will have to bring them together. I think they might get on quite well together.” Lady Augusta frowned momentarily. “Of course, they may be too much alike. Perhaps they would bore each other.” She shook her head to banish the frown. “I’ll think about that another time. Just now, they are too useful as buffers. Mr. Hamilton, for example, must not be put near Mrs. Quentin. Her husband suspects, and probably quite rightly, that they are having an affair. I do not want them adding to his suspicion at my table. Mr. Quentin must also be kept away from Lord Waters. They had an argument about a broken fence and it has escalated. They must be kept well apart.”
Anne began to laugh. “I cannot help but think it would be much simpler to invite as guests only those people one likes, who in turn like one another.”
Lady Augusta laughed. “Indeed it would. However, Greystone has been determined to introduce Philip to as many people as possible so that everyone will be able to see that he is nothing like his Tremaine relatives.” A shadow crossed her face as she remembered that was how Lord and Lady Hadlow had come to be guests.
The menus for supper at the ball and for the wedding breakfast had to be planned. This was something Anne had been doing for years now, but this time she did not have Uncle Craddock insisting that every penny do the work of ten and that an impressive dinner be created from the cheapest ingredients. Savory tarts filled with mushrooms or lobster, fresh oysters, delicate slices of ham and cheeses, freshly baked rolls, bowls of peaches and berries, tiny lemon and almond cakes—anything was possible.
By Thursday, the only task remaining was to deal with the flowers, a duty Aunt Augusta cheerfully turned over to Anne. “Campbell and I always end up at loggerheads over the flowers,” she said. “He likes height in his arrangements, which is fine in the ballroom but not on the dining table. Perhaps you could take charge of those flowers and make it possible for us all to see each other across the table.”
Years of practice in smoothing down the Craddock feathers provided useful experience when it came to soothing the feelings of an irascible Scottish gardener. Nonetheless, it was an exhausting few hours, and by the time the last blossom was tweaked, Anne was more than ready for a rest. She stood up, hands on the small of her back, and arched her back, rolling her head gently.
That was how Penworth and Wetherby came upon her, a few stray petals and bits of fern caught in her hair, and an admirable bosom on display. Penworth halted and stood immobile. He had forgotten how beautiful she was when not wearing her frozen mask, and the graceful curve of her body… Wetherby gave him a poke. “She is your accident? I do not believe it. No one is that fortunate.”
Penworth shook himself. “Go away,” he said softly to Wetherby. “I’ll introduce you later.” Then he stepped toward Anne, who gave a slight start when she saw him.
“My lord. You are earlier than we had expected.” Her smile was uncertain.
He bowed with a flourish. “I should play the lover and come up with some poetic phrases about flying on the wings of love, but I fear I have no gift for extemporaneous verse. Suffice it to say I wished to be here in good time.” He smiled at her. “You look delightful.”
“There is no need for you to play the lover,” she said dryly, “and I am all mussed.”
“Delightfully mussed,” he corrected. “I brought something for you, and I wanted a chance to give it to you before the ball. But first this.” He lifted her hand and slipped the betrothal ring on her finger.
She stared at it, speechless, turning her hand from side to side as the afternoon sunlight flashed off the diamonds. Then she looked at him.
“A betrothal ring,” he explained, before she could ask. “It is the custom, is it not? Does it please you?”
“It is beautiful beyond all expectations.”
He bent down to retrieve the box he had left at the door and presented it to her. “There is also this. It is by way of an apology.”
“An apology? You have no need to apologize for anything,” she said, hesitating before she took it.
“But I do. Whatever lies ahead of us, it is my fault that you are in this situation. I can only hope that I never give you cause to have more regrets in the future,” he said.
Suddenly he was terrified as he watched her remove the paper. Whatever had possessed him to choose such a gift? He did not really know her at all. He had been creating himself a bride from his imagination. There was nothing but hope that had made him think she might like a musical bird—a toy, really. He should have bought something serious. Diamonds, probably. All women like diamonds, don’t they?
She opened the box, removed the bird, and smiled. “How utterly charming.”
He reached over, put it down on the table, turned the key and started the mechanism to put the bird in motion. Then its wings spread out and its song was the only sound to be heard. He leaned over to see her face, and saw her eyes shining with delight. She held out a hand to hover near the bird and then pulled back. She reached out with the other hand but again she did not touch it.
Finally the song died down and the bird came to rest. “Oh,” she sighed, and held her hands out again, barely touching it. “It is…magical.”
He smiled in relief and, somehow, joy. It was all right. He had read her correctly. “There is no cage,” he observed softly.
“No,” she agreed, smiling up at him, “no cage.”
He reached out and drew his fingers along her cheek and felt a surge of longing. It is not just that she is beautiful, he thought. She is honest. When she is not hiding behind that frozen mask, there is no pretense. She hides everything or nothing. That makes her vulnerable. The realization frightened him, and his smile faded. It would be so easy to hurt her.
He took her hand to help her rise, and managed to keep his tone formal as he showed her the key to start the mechanism.
She lifted it and held it carefully. “I do not know what to say,” she said, almost in a whisper.
“A simple thank you will suffice.” He leaned over and dropped a light kiss on her brow. “Till this evening.” He hurried away, not quite sure what it was that had just happened.
Anne stood there immobile for a moment, and then raised a hand to her brow. She could still feel his kiss. Did it show? She was utterly confused. The ring, the incredible gift, and then the almost casual kiss—what was he doing? The gift—it was as if he could truly see her, and had chosen something just for the person hidden inside. As if it mattered to him that she be pleased. But then the slight, fleeting kiss, as if it was all simply a formality.
He was insisting on this marriage purely as a matter of honor. She must remember that. He was clearly a kind man as well as honorable, but she must not start thinking that he meant anything more than kindness. Surely that was enough. It would have to be enough.
Chapter Fourteen
In which the dance begins
It was like looking at a stranger.
Well, she was a stranger, wasn’t she? He barely knew her. But even so, this was unexpected. Her hair was uncovered—that dreadful cap was gone—and dark curls framed her face. Her dress, of some silky blue stuff, flared out from an impossibly tiny waist, and a cloud of white rested on her bosom, too sheer to hide it.
She looked innocent, untouched, and utterly desirable. The sight of her in the drawing room, chatting with an avuncular gentleman whom he recognized after a moment as the Duke of Winchelsea, struck him speechless. It was somewhat embarras
sing to realize that while his tongue was useless, he could feel another part of his anatomy straining to greet her. He wanted to whisk her off someplace private immediately. Instead, he stepped behind a settee until he felt himself under control again.
The dinner before the ball seemed to him interminable as he scowled down the table at his betrothed. He could not fault her behavior. That, he admitted to himself, was part of the problem. Her voice was perfectly pitched; she was neither flirtatious nor overly withdrawn. She listened with apparent interest to her dinner companions, Charles Wetherby and a Mr. Spencer, making comments and asking questions to draw them out, and they were clearly entranced. If Charles does not stop leering at her bosom, I will flatten him, thought Penworth savagely.
“Penworth!” Lady Hadlow called across the table. “I had a chance to chat with your charming little Lady Anne today. What a sweet thing she is, but so shy! I could barely get her to utter a word about your courtship.” She smiled slyly.
Penworth looked at her and tried to understand whatever had possessed him to consider a liaison with her. True, she was beautiful, her features flawless, her blond hair elaborately dressed with plumes at least two feet high, her posture elegant. But it was all just a little excessive—the bodice of her deep bronze gown cut too low, the topaz and diamond necklace too lavish, the sidelong glances too practiced. He felt disgusted with himself for having succumbed.
However, he suspected that it would not be wise to make an enemy of the lady, so he smiled. “Not every woman can aspire to the elegance and savoir faire of a Lady Hadlow.”
Her tongue peaked out to moisten her lips and her eyelids dipped. “Perhaps even in your married state you will not forget old friends completely and will come to call.”
Since he couldn’t think of anything to say—Not in this lifetime did not seem tactful—he simply smiled. Unfortunately, when he turned away, he saw that Anne was looking at him. She had obviously seen his smile, and when she shifted her gaze to Lady Hadlow, she saw that worthy’s self-satisfied expression.
He would never be able to explain this. Then irritation started to replace the embarrassment. Why should he have to explain this? He hadn’t done anything wrong. In fact, he was behaving with virtuous and positively exemplary conduct. If Anne was not willing to trust him, he was not going to spend the rest of his life apologizing for what had been at worst a minor peccadillo.
Well, she had known he was a rake. Why should she be surprised to see him flirting with Lady Hadlow? Just because it was his betrothal ball—why should that weigh with him? Anne tightened her lips and then, since she didn’t want anyone else to notice, forced them to ease into a sweet smile.
It wasn’t that she was jealous. She had no right to be jealous. Penworth was going to marry her; he was going to save her from disgrace, rescue her from the slights and humiliations foisted on her by her Craddock relatives, and install her in the social position to which she had been born. It would be unreasonable of her to expect more.
Although it was embarrassing to see her betrothed flirting with another woman the day before the wedding.
She kept her eyes turned firmly away from Penworth and concentrated on her dinner partners. It was disconcerting to be suddenly treated like a diamond of the first water when for years she had felt as if she was wearing a cloak of invisibility.
She could understand it, at least in part. Becoming the betrothed of a marquess must of necessity produce an instantaneous boost in significance. Nonetheless, she was a trifle uncomfortable with her new popularity. There was nothing personal about it.
More flattering, but more dangerous, was the admiration she could see in the eyes of the gentlemen who had surrounded her. That could not be attributed entirely to her new position and it made her feel alternately beautiful and awkward. At dinner, Mr. Spencer and Penworth’s friend, Mr. Wetherby, were being most assiduous in their attentions. So assiduous that they had been ignoring the other ladies at the table, and she had been forced to redirect the conversation to bring in others.
It was all well and good to receive the admiration of personable gentlemen, but not at the price of earning the enmity of the ladies whose social circle she would share. She was well aware that, in the future, the friendship of the ladies would offer far more protection than the passing admiration of the gentlemen.
Her efforts brought success. When the ladies withdrew, she found herself invited into a circle of young women of her own age eager to trade gossip and debate bonnets. Their comments may not have drawn the interest of philosophers, but Lady Anne realized that it was the sort of triviality for which she had longed. She could run a household, arrange the servants’ duties to disguise the fact that four were being asked to do the work of six, plan menus for an economical family dinner or a lavishly pretentious dinner party, but part of her had hungered for debate on such topics as the desirability of more than two rows of flounces and the currently fashionable trimming for bonnets. She followed the conversation with happy attention, and began to relax, surrounded by easy smiles and laughter.
However, long practice had made her sensitive to disapproval. It was bad enough that Aunt Craddock was simmering. Anne had tried to include her cousin in the group, but the more Corinne pushed herself forward, the more the other girls shouldered her out. And now Lady Hadlow was turned in her direction, scrutinizing her, to determine Anne was not sure what.
It was really too much. None of this was her fault. She had not set out to capture Lord Penworth. He was marrying her because his sense of honor compelled him to preserve her reputation. Once that was done, he would be free to resume his dalliance with Lady Hadlow.
And as far as she was concerned, that was a matter of no importance whatever. She lifted her chin to indicate that she regarded any connection between Lord Penworth and Lady Hadlow with complete indifference.
Just then, the gentlemen began coming in. She saw Lord Penworth find her in the crowd and smile at her, but then he looked concerned and turned to say something to Mr. Wetherby. His friend then headed in her direction. She looked around to see if something had caused a problem, and there was Lady Hadlow also headed in her direction. Wetherby tried to speed up, but Lady Hadlow arrived first. The feline smile she turned on Anne was clearly not intended in friendship.
“My dear child,” she said, “you must be quite overwhelmed with all that is happening. It hardly seems right for such a little innocent to be married off to a man of such wide experience as Penworth. Do feel free to ask if you have any questions about how to please a man.”
Anne started to freeze up so she could allow the comments to slide past without touching her, the technique she had perfected while coping with the Craddocks. Then she realized that she did not have to retreat. Thanks to Penworth, she now had a place of her own, a standing quite as secure as that of Lady Hadlow.
She offered a smile as sincere as Lady Hadlow’s. “Oh thank you so much, Lady Hadlow. Not every older woman is generous enough to offer the fruits of her experience to the next generation. I am sure we could all profit”—here she gestured at her new friends, who were listening avidly to the exchange—“from the lessons of your many years in…society.” She lifted her hand to her breast so that her betrothal ring glittered in the candlelight.
Lady Hadlow had not been expecting any riposte, and since she was staring, mesmerized, at the ring, it took a few moments for the import of Anne’s words to sink in. Her eyes widened, and her fingers curled. “Next generation! Why you little chit…” Wetherby had arrived in time to hear the exchange, and grasped Lady Hadlow’s arm to draw her away, murmuring in her ear as she kept trying to turn back.
Miss Simmons began to giggle, and Miss West joined her. “Oh, what a lovely set-down,” Miss Simmons said. “However did you have the nerve? Everyone knows how nasty she is to other women.”
“I was not kind, I suppose,” said Anne, half surprised at herself, “but she was not being kind either. I find I rather enjoyed it.” She felt quite pleas
ed. There would be definite advantages to being a married woman and a marchioness, she thought. From now on, no one would be able to patronize her with impunity.
The next thing she knew, Lady Augusta and Greystone had herded her and Penworth into the ballroom for the reception line.
“They are, for the most part, neighbors, country gentlemen and their families who rarely go to London,” said Lady Augusta of the expected guests. “But they all have connections to whom they will write in, we trust, complimentary terms of the new marquess and his bride, who were so affable and courteous at their betrothal ball. They will be so honored to be present that their praises will obliterate any unpleasantness that might emanate from Lord and Lady Hadlow.”
“I bow to your expertise in this arena,” said Penworth with a smile.
“You had better,” said Greystone, chuckling. “My sister has made it her mission in life to see to it that people behave in the way that will best promote the general welfare. She, of course, is the one who determines what that general welfare may be.”
Lady Augusta batted her brother with her fan, but could not hide her smile. “Mock me at your peril. You know I am right. That this ball was already planned is fortuitous—everyone will assume it was intended as an announcement of the coming wedding.”
And then it began. Anne was introduced to more people than she had met in the past five years, and found herself enjoying it. They all seemed friendly and welcoming—someone seemed to step in to intercept whenever Lady Hadlow headed in her direction. Penworth was almost always at her side, except when she was dancing with another partner.
The prospect of dancing had worried her. She had never actually danced in public. But her body remembered those lessons from the school room. She may not have been the most graceful dancer in the room, but she did manage to avoid her partners’ toes, and to preserve her own. Since Penworth was her first partner, followed by Winchelsea and Greystone, her popularity would have been safe even had she fallen on her face or knocked her partner into the wall. There was nothing like being surrounded by the highest echelons of the nobility to make one appear the epitome of grace and beauty, she thought sardonically. But she could not deny that she was enjoying it.
A MATCH FOR THE MARQUESS Page 9