First Season / Bride to Be

by Jane Ashford

  “Good morning,” said Norbury from the drawing-room doorway. “Are you more rested today? It is so pleasant, I thought we might go for a drive.” He came toward her, smiling, and took her hand. “It will do you good to get out.”

  “Oh…I…” Anabel felt confused. All her faculties had been concentrated on the coming confrontation. She didn’t want to go out; she wanted to get it over as soon as possible. But she couldn’t seem to think of objections.

  “Come,” said Norbury. “It is really a lovely morning. You will enjoy being out.” He continued to smile pleasantly. He knew that he had not come off well in the events of the last few days. He had allowed his temper to get the best of him again, and Anabel had been annoyed. He was anxious to erase this damaging memory and remind her of his manifold attractions. It would be a simple matter, he felt, to drive the uninteresting Mr. Hanford out of her mind.

  “I would prefer to stay here,” managed Anabel.

  “Nonsense. This is only because you have not been out and seen the day. I insist. Go and fetch your hat.”

  “But—”

  Slightly annoyed but feigning laughter, he took her shoulders and marched her toward the door. “I won’t hear it. You will thank me in the end, wait and see.”

  Defeated, Anabel went upstairs and got out a bonnet and shawl. She could not summon the energy to fight Norbury on this; she was saving it for the larger issue.

  It was indeed a lovely day, the air soft and fragrant and the sky a brilliant blue. Norbury had his phaeton, and as he helped Anabel into it he told the groom holding the horses that he might wait here for their return. This, at least, was a relief, Anabel thought. It would have been impossible to talk with a servant hanging on behind.

  They started off briskly through the busy streets. “A turn around the park?” asked Sir Charles, and she nodded, her thoughts still on what lay ahead. They said little during the short journey to the gates. Norbury was occupied with driving, and Anabel was abstracted. But when they turned into the quieter avenues of the park, he said, “I hope the children are completely recovered from their adventures?”

  “What? Oh, yes, they are well.”

  “I realized that I never actually heard where they had got to.” He was determined to counteract her previous impressions.

  “Uh, the boys went after Susan.” Anabel couldn’t concentrate on this when she was continually wondering how to bring up their engagement.

  “Went after?”

  Seeing that he was not going to leave the subject, she quickly explained what had happened. Her references to Christopher were inevitably warm.

  Norbury carefully ignored them. “I see. Well, I am very glad it is all straightened out again. I know you were terribly worried.”

  She nodded.

  “It is time I saw the children again,” he added. “Perhaps we might take them out tomorrow?” He put all the eagerness he could muster in his voice. Though this was the last thing he wanted to do, he felt it was necessary to restore his position.

  “No.”

  He glanced at her, surprised.

  “They are being punished for going out without leave,” she continued cravenly, intimidated by his look. “They are not to have outings.”

  “Ah.” He was relieved. “I suppose that is wise.”

  Anabel was berating herself for avoiding the true reason behind her refusal. She had to get it over with. “I must speak to you about something,” she blurted out.

  “Yes?”

  “It…it is very difficult. I don’t know precisely how to begin, so I shall simply say it. I wish to end our engagement, Charles.”

  “What?” He spoke blankly, as if he had not understood her words.

  “I am very sorry, but I do not think we shall suit after all. It is my fault. I made a mistake. And I sincerely apologize for any pain I may have—”

  “Are you joking?” He still seemed chiefly astonished.

  “N-no. I—”

  “I suppose Hanford is behind this. He put you up to it, and because you are grateful for his rescue of your children, you agreed. You do not really mean it.”

  “That is not true!” Anabel was flustered. This was not how she had expected things to go. She had not thought Christopher would come into it, and she could not precisely deny that he was behind it, though not as Sir Charles claimed.

  “Have you thought that he may have arranged the whole crisis merely to win your sympathy?” asked Norbury.

  “What?”

  “You say your daughter went to him. How do you know that? Perhaps he took her from the house, knowing that your sons would follow. Or perhaps he simply took the three of them, taught them what to say, and brought them back at the proper moment to earn your gratitude.” He warmed to this idea. “Yes. He would wait just long enough so that you would fall into his arms when he returned them.”

  “That’s ridiculous!”

  “You didn’t fall into his arms?” inquired Sir Charles sarcastically and, seeing Anabel’s expression, added, “Naturally you did. I’m sure he counted on that.”

  “He did no such thing!”

  “Indeed? You are not breaking off our engagement to marry Hanford, then?”

  She hesitated. Would it be better to tell him or not?

  But he saw the answer in her face, and was at once filled with a murderous rage. “I see. His little plot has succeeded. Or so he believes.”

  “There was no plot. Christopher would never do what you suggest. He is not that sort of person.”

  “Is he not?” Norbury sneered.

  “No! I have known him for years.”

  “Yet only now have you decided to marry him. Odd.”

  For a brief moment Anabel was shaken by doubt. Was it possible that he was right? Christopher had said that he was desperate over her engagement. Could he have planned to end it this way? But the thought was no sooner considered than rejected. He would do no such thing; she knew it. “It is of no consequence what you think. You are wrong. And this has nothing to do with my decision. I am breaking it off.”

  “This is not the time to discuss it. Wait a few days, until your anxiety over your children has faded. You will see then that you are being hasty.” It was his last attempt at appeal.

  “No, I will not. I am quite certain.”

  Sir Charles’s rage flooded him. How dared she speak to him so? he thought. He had done her the unique honor of offering his hand, and now she was throwing it aside as if it meant nothing—and for a nonentity like Hanford! His plans and wishes were to be swept aside so that these two could have their way. He was to be balked of the woman he had chosen and the life he had envisioned. It was intolerable! Did she not realize that he might have had any woman in London? Yet he had chosen her, despite her widowhood and her pack of whining brats. He would have what he wanted. “I refuse,” he said.

  “What?” Anabel didn’t know what he meant.

  “I refuse to allow you to dissolve the engagement. I won’t agree to it.”

  “What do you mean? You must.”

  “Why?”

  “Well…that is…”

  “If I were the one who wished to break my promise, society would protest,” he countered. “It would not be ‘the act of a gentleman’ to draw back. Yet you may do as you please in the matter. Well, I will not go along. We shall be married.”

  “You would marry me even though I do not wish it?” Anabel was astounded and confused. She had never imagined such a response to her announcement.

  “You will come round eventually.” His tone was smug, and he spoke as if the matter were settled.

  “You’re mad. I certainly will not. And you cannot force me to marry you. I shall send a notice to the Morning Post today saying that our engagement is at an end. And now I want to go home. Turn around!”

  She expected anoth
er angry outburst, but Norbury merely frowned thoughtfully. Thinking he was reconsidering his ridiculous ultimatum, she added, “We should be very unhappy, Charles. You would regret it as much as I. When you have thought over the matter, you will see that.”

  He said nothing. He was gazing out over the horses’ heads as if weighing some idea.

  “We are not at all suited,” continued Anabel hopefully. “I find I do not care to live in town, and you are not overfond of children, I think. Your mother was not pleased with the match.”

  “Nonsense!” he snapped.

  Anabel abandoned this line. “You deserve someone who can take a place in society to match your own. I could not.” He was ignoring her again. Anabel gazed at his set profile and wished fervently that she had not come out with him. At home she could ask him to leave; here she was trapped. “Truly, Charles, you will be glad in a very few days.”

  With a sudden jerk on the reins, he turned the phaeton left, then left again into another avenue, heading back the way they had come. Anabel breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed a little in her seat.

  They drove in silence for a while. Anabel was happy to have things over and wary of upsetting the balance established, and Norbury was too angry to speak. He had never in his life been put aside by a woman he deigned to distinguish, and to have this occur when he had actually proposed marriage was more than he could bear.

  Outside the park, he turned into a busy street and wove in and out among wagons, carts, and pedestrians. Anabel sat slumped beside him, ignoring the spectacle, waiting to be home again. She was thinking how fortunate it was that she and Christopher did not want to live in London. She could not have faced Norbury day after day and maintained a pretense of polite indifference. When would they reach her mother’s? she wondered. Looking around, she was startled. “Where are you going?”

  Norbury did not reply.

  “This is not the way back. We should have turned long since. What are you doing?”

  He ignored her, guiding the phaeton past a wide lumber cart.

  “Charles!” Anabel gazed about, trying to identify the street.

  “This is another way home,” said Norbury.

  “I don’t believe you! Turn around at once.”

  In answer, he urged the horses forward at a faster pace.

  “If you don’t turn around, I shall jump off.”

  He laughed a little. “No, you won’t. You would be seriously injured on the cobbles, if not killed.”

  Anabel looked at the pavement rushing by beneath them and tried to steel herself to leap. She couldn’t. He was trying to frighten her as a punishment, she decided. If she refused to be intimidated, he would give it up and take her home. She sat back with folded arms and stared stonily ahead.

  But Norbury merely drove on, satisfied with her silence. They left the neighborhood of the park and the fashionable part of London, and continued into an area of small houses, neat but by no means elegant. Anabel had never been here before. Her resolve wavered. “Charles, where are we going?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Why are you doing this? I shan’t change my mind. Can you not be a little charitable and…”

  With a quick jerk on the reins, he pulled up. The horses plunged and reared. And before Anabel could gather her wits to jump down, his hand had closed firmly on her upper arm, keeping her in her seat. “Here, you,” he said to a grubby boy standing on the pavement below. “Go to their heads.” He was holding the startled team with one hand. The boy ran and took the bridles.

  “Let go of me!” demanded Anabel.

  In response, he pushed her before him out of the phaeton, almost knocking her to the ground from its high perch. She struggled, but his grip on her arm was cruelly tight; she could not break it.

  “Hold them for me,” he told the boy, then pushed her toward the narrow brick house in front of them.

  Anabel struggled harder. He transferred his grip from her arm to her waist, pinning her against him and propelling her up two steps to the front door. She hit at him as he took a ring of keys from his pocket and applied one to the lock, but he paid no heed. “Help!” she cried, twisting her head to try to see the boy. There was no one else visible in the street. “Help me! Get someone.”

  The child merely gaped at her. Sir Charles flung open the door and pushed her into a narrow hall, slamming the panel behind him.

  “Have you gone mad?” asked Anabel. “What do you think you are doing?”

  In one quick movement he gathered her wrists in one hand behind her back. Then he forced her forward again, up two sets of twisting stairs. Anabel exerted all her strength to break away. She strained against his grip, threw herself from one side to the other in hope of overbalancing him, and kicked at him with her feet, all to no avail. He was amazingly strong. Nothing she could do seemed to have any effect on him.

  He paused on the second landing to open a door there. Then he forced her into a small bedchamber and released her. Anabel backed away from him, chafing her bruised wrists. He remained between her and the door.

  “This is a house I sometimes use,” he said. “You will stay here.”

  “What are you doing?” she cried. “You are mad!”

  “On the contrary, I am carrying out an extremely rational plan to make you keep your promise. You will remain here until tomorrow, at which time I will escort you home. Having been away all night in my company, as it will appear, you will have to marry me.” He looked complacent.

  Anabel’s blue eyes widened. “What? You…you…”

  “No harm will come to you. This house is perfectly safe; it is a very respectable neighborhood.” He smiled a little.

  “I will never marry you!”

  “Oh, I think you will. Your friend Hanford may not be quite so attentive when he knows you have spent the night with me. And the scandal would be shocking. Your children would suffer if you refused me.”

  Anabel flushed with rage. How dare he mention her children? “I will take them back to the country. We shall do very well there.”

  Norbury shrugged. “We will discuss it further in the morning. I think you will change your mind. And now there are some arrangements I must make, if you will excuse me.”

  “How can you wish to marry in this way?” cried Anabel. “Do you want a wife who hates you? Because that is what I should be, if we ever married.”

  He met her eyes. “Oh, I think you would put that aside quite soon. You are overwrought now, and you have been worried in the last few days. When you are calmer, you will see things differently. You did accept me, after all. You did not hate me then, and you do not now. You have simply allowed your concern for your children to cloud your mind, and Hanford took advantage of that.”

  “Nonsense! I had grave doubts even before the children ran away, and I am certain I would have broken it off in any case.”

  He frowned and took a step toward her. “You do not mean that. You are angry with me and trying to wound.”

  “I do mean it!”

  But he shook his head. “When you have had time to think, you will change your mind. I have no wish to hurt you, Anabel. Nothing will happen to you here. And I take such extreme measures only because I love you and cannot bear to lose you.”

  “Love,” she repeated derisively. “You do not know the meaning of the word!”

  His fists clenched, then relaxed. “You are mistaken. I do love you. I have never wished to marry a woman in my life before.”

  “What you call love is just another form of selfishness. If you love me, you would put my happiness before yours and let me go.” She saw his eyes flicker and felt a sudden hope.

  Then he said, “You will be happy with me.” And before she could speak again, he turned and strode out of the room, locking the door behind him.

  Seventeen

  Anabel was furious. She couldn�
�t remember ever having been so angry in her life. She had been suppressing her own reactions in the hope that reason would sway Norbury, but now they surged up. She ran to the door and listened to his footsteps retreat down the stairs. “I shall never marry you!” she cried, pounding her fist on the panels.

  There was no response. She tried the lock and found it firm, then ran to the single window at the opposite end of the room and looked out. The distance to the street was intimidating, and when she pushed on the sash to open it and get a better view, she found it was immovable. She could break the glass, she thought, sitting back on her heels, but she could not see how that would do her any good. There was a floor above this, so she was not near the roof. And she doubted that she could climb to safety from the shattered window.

  Standing, she went to the only article of furniture in the chamber—a bare, narrow bed—and sat down. Charles might do as he liked, she told herself; he would accomplish nothing. She might be forced to remain here until tomorrow, but she would do nothing else. She would not marry him. She would go home as she had planned, with Christopher and the children. He would believe her and stand by her, she was certain. And if scandal arose, they would simply ignore it. They could be happy without society if need be.

  Resolutely pushing aside doubts about her children’s future under these circumstances, she rose again and paced the narrow confines of the chamber. If only there were some way she could get word home. Or if she had not consented to go out with Charles in the first place. But though she had had a low opinion of him, she had never suspected he would try something so despicable. She still could not quite believe that he would wish to marry a woman who despised him.

  Remembering something, she went to the window again and gazed out. The boy who had held Norbury’s horses was gone, as was his carriage. If she could attract the attention of some passerby, perhaps he would take a message for her. She bent and slipped off her shoe, grasped the toe firmly, and rapped the glass with the heel. Nothing happened. She hit it again, harder. The pane cracked. Abandoning caution, she struck once more with all her strength, shattering first one square, then two more. When she stopped, she had three small openings surrounded by jagged spears of glass, and she eyed them doubtingly. She couldn’t get her head out. It would be very difficult to stop anyone by shouting from this height. Nonetheless, she must try. Putting on her shoe, she suddenly recalled that she had no way of writing a message or any money to offer the carrier. She had come out with little more than a handkerchief. Discouraged, she sat on the bed again and tried to think what to do.