First Season / Bride to Be

by Jane Ashford

  “How do you do?” said Anabel, smiling and giving a sketch of a curtsy.

  “My dear.” It was plain where Sir Charles got his dark hair and pale green eyes. Indeed, he resembled his mother in most particulars. She, too, was tall and had a commanding presence, and although an ebony cane was propped on the cushion beside her, she sat very straight. But Anabel found her gaze cold, and it was not clear whether she was responding to her greeting or addressing her son.

  “How are you feeling?” inquired the latter.

  Lady Norbury made a dismissive gesture. “You must present Lady Wyndham to the others, Charles.”

  He grimaced slightly, and her stern face relaxed into a thin smile. “Anabel, this is my Aunt Alice Norbury and my Aunt Anne Bramton. Uncle Anthony Norbury and Uncle Gerald Bramton. And these idlers are my younger cousins. John Norbury.” The dark young man lounging against the mantel raised a negligent hand. “Arthur Bramton.” The pale stripling on the other side of the fireplace bowed. “And Cecily Bramton.” A thin girl on the sofa opposite stood and curtsied awkwardly. “The older cousins have better things to do than come down to Kent. They are all married and parents of hopeful families of their own.” He glanced maliciously at his Uncle Anthony as he said this, and that gentleman bridled. Anabel realized that that branch of the Norburys was heir to the property until Charles had children. She looked away.

  The older generation seemed indistinguishable at first. Each murmured a greeting, and Anabel strove to fasten the correct labels to the faded blond Mrs. Bramton, the embittered-looking Mrs. Norbury, and the two stout men who belonged with them. She and Charles sat down, and silence fell.

  “Did you have a pleasant journey?” asked Lady Norbury after a while.

  Anabel waited a moment, but Charles said nothing. “Yes. It is not far, is it, and the day is so fine.”

  “Oh, you mustn’t say it isn’t far,” answered young John Norbury in a jocular tone. “You will spoil Charles’s excuse for not coming down more often.”

  “He comes very often,” retorted Lady Norbury crushingly. From the surprised looks the others gave her, Anabel saw that this was a novel pronouncement. “You were a Goring, I believe?” added the hostess.

  Anabel glanced at Charles, but he did not seem to find anything amiss with this question. “Yes.”

  “And you have children?”

  “Three,” she replied crisply.

  “What are their ages?” Lady Norbury seemed wholly unconscious of any rudeness. She might have been asking about the weather.

  “William is ten, Nicholas nine, and Susan six.” She saw that her tone made the Bramton women wince.

  “Ah. Two boys. They are in school, I suppose?”

  “No, they are not. They are in London with me because I wished to have them there.”

  Lady Norbury looked up and met Anabel’s eyes. Their gaze held for a moment, and Anabel realized that Charles’s mother was by no means as pleased by his engagement as he had told her. In fact, she was not pleased at all. And since Charles had been certain she wished him to marry, it could only be that she did not approve of Anabel. Perhaps a widow with young children was not her idea of a proper bride for her son. Anabel’s chin came up defiantly.

  “No doubt you are tired after your drive,” continued Lady Norbury. “I will have the housekeeper show you your room. I fear I do not get about as I used to. Dinner will be at seven. We keep country hours here. Arthur, will you ring?” He did so, and the silence remained unbroken until the summons was answered. Looking at Charles, Anabel saw that he was unaware of any awkwardness. He had strolled over to the hearth and was exchanging desultory remarks with his cousin John. As she followed the housekeeper from the room she heard Lady Norbury say, “I wish to speak to Charles. We will gather again for dinner.” The others were moving toward the door as she left.

  Upstairs, in a bedchamber that looked as if it had not been refurbished in a decade, Anabel sat down and thought over her welcome. It was certainly not what she had expected from Charles’s glowing reports. His mother was far from the charming, witty creature he had described. She obviously ruled her family with an iron hand, and Charles with some subtler methods. And she disapproved of his choice of a wife. Would she tell him so now? Anabel wondered.

  And how did she herself feel about this development? Part of her was annoyed and combative, ready to show Lady Norbury that she had no power over her and that she cared not a whit for her good opinion. Another part wished to go back to London at once and forget the whole matter. Still a third very softly suggested that perhaps her hostess was right.

  Pushing this thought aside, Anabel rose to get out her evening dress. It would be a very long visit, she saw. She would speak to Charles and ask him to be more helpful. Once he realized how uncomfortable she felt, he could no doubt do a great deal to ease the situation.

  * * *

  The house party met in the drawing room before dinner. Anabel had changed into a gown of rose pink silk, very severely cut, which she thought should placate Lady Norbury, but when she saw her hostess, forbidding in black satin trimmed with jet, she abandoned that hope. The older members of the family, clearly taking their cue from the hostess, were dour. But John Norbury smiled mischievously at her when she came in, and Arthur Bramton offered her a chair. She took it, wondering where Charles could be and how he could leave her to face this scene alone.

  Silence fell. Anabel looked around. The aunts and uncles avoided her eye. Cecily looked frightened. Anabel tried to think of some commonplace remark to begin a conversation, but the atmosphere in the room seemed to press in on her brain, stifling thought.

  “I trust you are recovered from your journey,” said Lady Norbury at last.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “One must be more careful, past a certain age, not to wear oneself down.”

  Anabel’s blue eyes widened, then her eyelids dropped. If her hostess thought she would take such gibes, she was mistaken. “Do you find it so?” she answered sweetly. “I myself am never tired.”

  John Norbury snickered. His formidable aunt silenced him with a glance, then turned back to Anabel with a glare of combined anger and surprise. More than one adversary had mistaken Anabel’s fragile looks for timidity in the past. “You have a quick tongue.”

  “Thank you,” answered Anabel perversely.

  “You are very pleased with yourself, are you not?” Lady Norbury sounded goaded, and Anabel wondered what Charles had said to her during their tête-à-tête.

  “Not overly pleased, I hope.” It was very odd, she thought, the way no one else in the room spoke at all. They might have been wax figures. Were they really so firmly under Lady Norbury’s thumb?

  “Indeed?” The older woman sounded contemptuous.

  To Anabel’s vast relief, Charles came in. He smiled at her and at his mother, not seeming to see the others, and said, “I’m sorry to be late. My valet is a careless fellow.”

  The butler, who had been on the watch, announced dinner. Lady Norbury stood slowly and gazed at Charles.

  He obediently offered his arm. The aunts and uncles paired up and hurried to follow. Cecily clutched her brother’s arm when he would have approached Anabel, which left her to John Norbury.

  “What do you think of this bedlam house?” he murmured as they walked toward the dining room.

  She merely raised her eyebrows. She would not make the mistake of talking freely to any of these people.

  “Right. Mum it is. But I’ll give you a piece of advice. If you really want to marry Charles—can’t see it myself, but you’ve accepted him—get him away from here and keep him away until the knot’s tied. My aunt is poison.”

  Anabel looked at him curiously.

  “Wondering why the heir apparent is so loose-tongued?” He laughed a little. “I don’t want this place. I’d as soon live in a mausoleum.” They had ent
ered the dining room, and he escorted her to a chair between his father and his uncle before going to his own, farther down the table. Anabel slid into it quickly—the others were already settled, Charles beside his mother—and the meal began.

  It was long, slow, and, to Anabel, excruciating. Her neighbors did not speak to her. The only conversation was at the head of the table, and a few murmurs on the opposite side, where the cousins alternated with the aunts. There were five courses, each consisting of far more dishes than she could sample, and the intervals between them seemed endless. At first Anabel was uneasy. She tried more than once to elicit some comment from the uncles. Then she felt inexpressibly weary and bored, and finally angry at the way she was being treated. Why didn’t Charles say something? she wondered. But by the time the last course was offered round, her pique had given way to amusement. It was really ridiculous, this solemn party, the heavy silence, the furtive eyes of the people around her. Whatever they might feel, Lady Norbury had no hold on her, and she refused to allow her spirits to be depressed. The evening would end eventually, and tomorrow she would depart, never to visit here willingly again. The future implications of this decision she pushed aside.

  At last Lady Norbury rose, signaling the ladies’ departure. Taking her cane, she walked slowly along the table, spurning an aunt who offered assistance. “Do not linger too long over your port,” she told the gentlemen.

  “Don’t worry, Mama,” replied Charles. “We shall join you soon.”

  The walk upstairs was slow. Everyone kept behind Lady Norbury, and she obviously found the climb very difficult. But she refused help again, sharply, and nothing more was said.

  At the drawing-room doorway, Anabel excused herself and ran up another flight. She was determined to stay in her room until it seemed likely that the gentlemen would have come up. She could not face another period of icy silence, or another exchange with Charles’s mother.

  She calculated correctly. When she entered the drawing room again, the whole party was there. Defiantly she crossed to sit beside Charles on a sofa. He smiled at her and turned back to his mother. The others remained as before.

  Anabel watched their interaction curiously. She had not considered it until now, but Charles’s devotion to his mother was uncharacteristic. It did not seem to fit his Corinthian pose. She listened to their conversation.

  If asked, she would have predicted that Lady Norbury complained about her ills, questioned her son’s doings, and tried to dictate to him. She was mistaken. Lady Norbury was hardly talking at all. She was listening to her son repeat some triumph he had achieved—Anabel did not completely understand what; she had missed the beginning of the anecdote—and murmuring praise and admiration as he spoke. When he finished, she added that she had always known he was superior to any man in the country, let alone London, and Charles smiled slightly, as if he acknowledged a truth rather than a compliment.

  This went on for half an hour, Anabel growing more and more amazed. She had never heard such a litany of self-congratulation. They did not discuss any other person or any events but those in which he had participated. It was as if the world existed only for Charles to shine in it. She watched his face. He seemed younger. The bored mask was gone, revealing an intense, eager personality that might have been very attractive had his attention ever wandered from himself. Shaken, Anabel rose and walked over to a window, parting the curtains to look out on the moonlit drive. Charles did not seem to notice, though Lady Norbury did. Anabel’s mind felt peculiarly blank. She looked out but did not really see anything.

  “My mother says Charles was indulged all out of reason,” whispered a voice close beside her. Starting, she turned to find John Norbury at her side. “I heard her tell Papa so. My Aunt Norbury has insisted he was perfect since he was born.”

  Anabel moved away from the window to face the room.

  “I suppose we can’t talk about that, either. This place makes me nervous as a cat.” He paused. “Do you like London?”

  “Uh…yes, very much.”

  “I haven’t been. But I shall, as soon as I come of age.” He eyed his parents darkly.

  Before Anabel could do more than wonder how to respond to this, Charles was helping his mother to her feet and looking around for her. “Mama retires early,” he said. “I shall just take her up. I won’t be a moment.”

  Anabel came forward to say good night. Lady Norbury acknowledged it with a nod, and the two went out.

  It was as if a great weight had been lifted from the group. Mrs. Norbury leaned forward to speak to Mrs. Bramton, and the two uncles beat a hasty retreat, muttering about the smoking room. Arthur Bramton joined Anabel and John, and after a hesitant moment Cecily followed. “Whew,” Arthur murmured. “That’s over. These dinners are almost more than I can stand.” Cecily cast a frightened glance at her mother, but the older women were paying no attention.

  “How about a game of billiards?” suggested John. “All of us. We can trade off.”

  “Right.” Arthur nodded. “Come, Cecily, I’ll give you four strokes.” They all looked at Anabel.

  “I must wait for Charles.”

  “He’ll come and find us,” said John.

  She was tempted, but she did not really want to play billiards. She wanted to talk to Norbury. “No, you go on.”

  John shrugged and led the others out. Anabel returned to the sofa, smiling to show that she would be happy to join in the aunts’ conversation. But they were discussing some stranger’s prolonged illness, and as they did not explain any of the particulars, she was soon lost.

  It seemed hours before Charles reappeared. Lady Norbury had no doubt kept him as long as she could. But finally he came in, smiled at her, and held out a hand. “Come, there is something I want to show you.”

  She was happy to follow. He led her downstairs to a door opening on the back terrace; they walked across it and onto a gravel path bisecting the lawn. “I should get a shawl,” said Anabel.

  “It isn’t cold. Come.”

  She took his arm, and they walked to a copse some way from the house. The path twisted among the trees and then emerged in front of a tiny white gazebo, the interior furnished with dark green cushions. Moonlight was pouring over the small clearing in which it sat, gilding everything with silver, and the air was very soft and still. “Come,” said Charles again, and he led her up two steps and seated her on a cushion. “This has always been one of my favorite places.”

  “It is lovely.”

  He sat beside her and pulled her close within the circle of his arm. “You see? You don’t need a shawl.” His clasp tightening, he kissed her slowly.

  But Anabel was too unsettled to respond. When he drew back, she moved a little away and said, “Charles, I must talk to you about something.”

  His hand caressed her shoulder. “What?”

  “Has…has your mother said anything to you about me?”

  “She thinks you charming.” He started to pull her close again.

  “But, Charles.” She did not yield. “Did she say so?”

  “I can tell what she thinks.” He sounded impatient. “She is very happy for me, for us. There is nothing for you to worry over.” And as if the issue were settled, he bent his head again, his free hand coming up to encircle her waist and mold her against him. His kiss was insistent and compelling. Anabel found her thoughts becoming less clear. Could she have imagined Lady Norbury’s resistance? He must know his own mother better than she, after all. And did it matter?

  But as Charles’s expert lips and hands once more lulled her into a kind of blank surrender, a remote part of Anabel objected. She stiffened. She was nearly reclining on the cushions by this time, Charles bending over her. She struggled to sit up.

  For a moment he prevented her. Then he seemed to recollect himself and drew back. “You are right, my love,” he agreed. “We had best go in. This is a dangerous meetin
g place.” He looked around the tiny space as if reviewing fond memories, but he stood, pulling her up against his side and moving toward the door. “We must decide on a wedding date, however, my darling. I am on my best behavior, but I am not superhuman.” They walked outside and back along the path. “What about three weeks from tonight? We needn’t make too great a fuss. That should give you time to prepare.”

  “I…I must think,” she replied breathlessly, conscious of a strong desire to put off this decision.

  He chuckled. “I am happy to know that I can so disrupt your thoughts. We will talk it over tomorrow.” They had reached the terrace door again. “But tonight, one last farewell.” Sweeping her into his arms, he kissed her passionately again.

  Twelve

  In London, the following morning dawned bright and clear, but in the schoolroom at Lady Goring’s house, storm signals appeared as soon as the children finished their breakfast. “I don’t want to do lessons,” Susan told her brothers. “I want to go riding first, as we do at home.”

  “We can’t,” responded William. “We haven’t any horses, and we can’t hire them ourselves.”

  “Why not?” Susan’s little face was screwed into a mighty scowl.

  “Well…” William turned to Nicholas.

  “They wouldn’t give them to us,” the latter said. “And anyway, we wouldn’t be allowed to ask. Perhaps Uncle Christopher will take us again soon.”

  “I hate it here!” declared Susan. “At home I can go riding whenever I like.”

  Though this was not strictly true, neither of the boys dared point this out to her.

  “When is Mama coming home?” she added. “She has been gone forever.”

  “This afternoon,” answered Nick. “She promised to sit with us at our dinner.”