The Headstrong Ward

by Jane Ashford

  Anne returned to her room, to receive a scold from Crane for leaving it without ringing, and in a state, if one was to believe the maid, of complete and disgraceful disarray. The girl endured a lengthy rearrangement of her hair, a change of footgear, and the retying of the sash on her white sprigged-muslin gown, but then she sent Crane away and sat down at her writing desk to compose a note to Arabella Castleton. She longed to see Bella again, and she wanted to let her know she had arrived in town.

  She made sure to finish well before ten, however, and a quarter hour before that time, she walked quietly down the stairs again and slipped into the drawing room, which was just down the corridor from Mariah’s parlor. She wanted to be on hand for whatever happened when Charles came down.

  She was greeted by a harsh squawk from Augustus. “Oh dear,” she exclaimed. “Poor Augustus, I almost forgot you. Has someone given you breakfast?” She hurried over to look in his cage. “Yes. That’s good.”

  “How about a drink, lass?” suggested the parrot.

  Anne smiled. “You have water right in front of you. And it’s far too early for anything else.”

  The bird repeated his request, and Anne laughed. “What am I to do with you? I begin to think I should have left you in that shop. I daresay you had more company there.” She looked at Augustus; he stared back from one green eye. “I know. I will put you in Mariah’s garden when she has finished it. You will like that. There will be green plants and a great deal of sunshine. I’ll hang your cage in the window, where you can look out at the street.”

  “Damn your eyes!” replied Augustus.

  “I must say I can see his point of view,” added a voice from the doorway. “It sounds like a wearisome sort of existence.”

  Anne whirled to face Lord Wrenley. Clothed in impeccable town dress, he lounged against the doorjamb.

  “I wager he would be far more content here,” continued the viscount, “where he can shock the company. I do believe he enjoys that.”

  “I thought you would be glad to have him out of the way,” answered Anne somewhat defensively.

  “Ah, you were moving him for my sake? I am touched.”

  She glared at him. Charles’s sarcastic tone never failed to anger her. Its careless mockery made it so clear that he did not care a straw for the person he spoke to. “I was thinking of Augustus,” she retorted, “not you.”

  One side of his mouth turned up, and he bowed slightly. It was almost too easy to provoke Anne. But before he could speak again, they were both startled by a great thump which shook the very floor of the drawing room. “What the devil?” said Charles. He turned to look down the corridor as Anne hurried toward him. “What are you doing, man?” he added.

  Peering around the door, Anne saw one of Mariah’s workmen on his knees in the center of the hall carpet. He had dropped his burden, the sack had split, and moist earth now covered a sizable portion of the corridor. “B-beg pardon, sir,” muttered the workman miserably. “It…it slipped out of me hands.”

  “What the deuce was it doing in your hands in my house?” asked Charles. “That is dirt, is it not? Good God!”

  The workman cringed. “It is for Mariah’s garden,” put in Anne, hoping to spare him any further berating.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  The girl merely pointed to the parlor where Mariah worked. Charles strode toward it, a set expression on his handsome features. Anne followed more slowly. She watched him reach the parlor doorway, pause, then clench his fists and disappear inside. She hurried to the door and stationed herself there.

  “Cousin Mariah,” said the viscount, “what in God’s name do you think you are doing?”

  Mariah did not even stop raking. “I am preparing my garden, of course,” she answered.

  Anne saw Charles’s back stiffen alarmingly; his fists grew even tighter. When he spoke, his voice held such exaggerated control that she was almost frightened. “You are planning to spread earth over this entire room?”

  “Yes. I cannot have proper plantings without that.” Mariah seemed to catch something of his mood. “You agreed that I should have a garden, Charles. It was a condition of my coming here.”

  “I had no idea you intended to fill my house with filth!” he exploded.

  Mariah leaned on her rake and raised her slender blond brows. Charles towered over her. “That is fortunate, for you would have been quite mistaken. I have no such intention. Once this is planted, you will see nothing but green in this room.”

  “I shall see nothing but what was here before,” snapped Lord Wrenley. “I want all of this…this”—he gestured, at a loss for words in his rage—“out of here at once. Do you understand me?”

  Mariah nodded, unimpressed. “Clearly. I shall pack my bags at once.”

  Charles glared at her.

  “That was our agreement,” added Mariah placidly.

  At this moment, Laurence came in, attracted by the shouting, and stopped beside Anne. After a wondering glance around the room, he said, “What is it? What is happening?”

  “Mariah was making her garden,” whispered Anne, “and Charles doesn’t approve.”

  “I daresay he doesn’t,” replied Laurence feelingly.

  “Our agreement is ended,” said Lord Wrenley. “If I had known what you meant to do, I should never have made it. This is intolerable. Do you realize that the weight of this earth could damage the floor or even the supporting structure of the whole house?”

  “I calculated the weight,” responded Mariah, “and asked a builder about it. He said it would not.”

  The viscount made a peculiar sound, like a seltzer bottle about to burst. “I don’t care what he said. I want this out!”

  Mariah nodded. “I will see that it is removed before I leave.”

  Laurence went over to his brother. “Charles,” he murmured, “you told us that Mariah was the only suitable chaperone you could find. I know she is not precisely what we would wish. But—”

  “You are a master of understatement,” interrupted Charles, “as well as a damned nuisance. I don’t care what I said. I’ll find someone else.”

  “Yes…but, Charles, you told us that your man of business had searched everywhere, and there was no one else.”

  The viscount ground his teeth. Mariah watched him with mild interest. Anne struggled between nervousness at the anger in his face and a desire to giggle.

  “The deuce!” he burst out at last. “Leave it, then. What does it matter? My peace is entirely cut up as it is; one more annoyance will make no difference.” He glared at Mariah again. “But if I see so much as a crumb of earth anywhere else in the house…”

  “We shall be very tidy,” said Mariah.

  Lord Wrenley let out an enraged breath, turned on his heel, and stalked out. They heard him say, “Get out of my way, you,” in the corridor, and then he was gone.

  “Whew!” breathed Laurence. “I haven’t seen Charles that angry since Edward took out his favorite gun without leave.”

  “A disgraceful exhibition of temper,” agreed Mariah. “And over nothing at all.”

  Laurence opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out. Unable to control herself any longer, Anne started to laugh. The man turned to stare at her, even more incredulous, then slowly smiled. In another moment, he too was laughing, though with more nervousness than humor, Anne thought. “It is rather ridiculous,” he murmured.

  “Completely,” agreed the girl.

  “But Charles had some grounds…”

  “Oh, yes.”

  Laurence sobered. “I wonder how we shall get through the season,” he added. Before Anne could reply, Fallow came in to announce that Edward had come to take her to Tattersall’s.

  When Edward asked her, as they drove through the busy streets in his phaeton, how her morning had been, Anne could not resist telling him the full s
tory of Mariah’s garden. His reaction was much less cautious than Laurence’s. He threw back his head and roared with laughter until Anne had to beg him to keep a better watch for pedestrians. “If I could have seen Charles’s face,” he gasped, “I would have paid a guinea—ten guineas—to have been there.”

  Anne gazed curiously across at him. “Don’t you like your brother? You always seem so pleased when he is annoyed.”

  Captain Debenham’s grin did not fade, but he raised his blond eyebrows a little. “It’s not a question of liking. It’s just that Charles has had his own way so much, I enjoy seeing him thwarted now and then. I think it’s good for him.”

  “Has he?”

  “What?”

  “Had his own way?”

  “Well, of course he has. You know it as well as I. He took charge when Father died; Mama couldn’t manage. He has been the head of the family since then.”

  “I wonder if he wished to be?” Edward stared at her, and Anne flushed a little. “It is just that I met the head of Arabella’s family—her uncle Thomas—once, and he seemed to take great pleasure in his position. He meddled in everyone’s affairs and tried to tell them what profession to take up and whom to marry. Yet Charles… Did he tell you to go into the army?”

  “Are you joking? I have wanted that since I was in short coats.”

  “Have you?” Anne looked wistful. “I never knew. But you see, Charles does not act at all like Arabella’s uncle. In fact, he seems to want nothing more than to be rid of all of us. You and me and Laurence, I mean.”

  Edward considered this, then shrugged. “Well, it don’t make a particle of difference.”

  “But, Edward, it is very…” She stopped abruptly.

  Her companion frowned. “Are you up to something, Anne? I know you’re all grown up, and looking fine as fivepence, but I’d swear you haven’t changed that much. I’ve seen that look in your eye—the one that means you’re plotting mischief.”

  “Edward!”

  “Oh, don’t play the innocent; I know you. Indeed, Anne, I remember better than the others how you used to be. We shared a nursery for three years. So you needn’t try to bamboozle me.”

  “Bamboozle? What does that mean?” She tried the word on her tongue again, and found it good.

  “Oh, Lord, now they’ll say I’m teaching you slang. You know perfectly well what it means, and you shan’t do it to me.”

  Anne spread her hands. “Edward, I don’t know what you mean.”

  He looked at her through narrowed eyes. “I don’t care what you’re up to, see, as long as you leave me out of it. You can do what you like with Charles and Laurence. Be good for them. But not me. Anyway, you’ll have enough to occupy you with your come-out and finding yourself a…” He shut his mouth with a snap and reddened.

  Anne grinned. “A husband?” she finished.

  Edward scowled. “Not what I was going to say.”

  “Indeed it was. And you are right; it will be a great work. But as long as I am about it, perhaps I shall find you a wife as well.” She looked sidelong at him.

  “Me?” he gasped. “Good God, no!”

  Anne began to laugh. “Why not? You are older than I, after all.”

  “That’s different. Anne, swear to me that you will not try any such thing—or even think about it. The deuce! I never dreamed—”

  “But, Edward,” she interrupted teasingly, “you might like being married.”

  “I should as soon be shipped to the eastern plantations. Sooner! Anne, promise that you will not—”

  “Is that Tattersall’s?” asked the girl innocently, pointing to that establishment as they sped past it.

  Cursing, Edward yanked back on the reins, and in the confusion that followed his attempt to turn the phaeton in the crowded street, their conversation lapsed.

  Six

  The following morning was to be devoted to social calls. Mariah remained completely engrossed in her “garden,” but Anne and Laurence set out at ten to visit the Branwells and the Castletons. Anne was in high spirits during the short drive, for Charles had informed her at the breakfast table that the Debenham group would attend the first evening party of the season that very night. Not even the prospect of seeing Lydia Branwell again could dampen her enthusiasm. “I wonder if Arabella is going,” she said as they rode. “I can hardly wait to ask her.”

  Laurence, who had by this time heard all about Miss Castleton, was forced to admit ignorance. “Lydia and her mother will be present, I know,” he offered.

  “Oh. Splendid.”

  “There is to be music, and Lydia is passionately fond of music.”

  “I would have predicted that.”

  Laurence smiled. “She is a sensitive creature, is she not? Charles and Edward will never see her true value.”

  “Well, I am not yet intimately acquainted with her, but I am sure you are right.”

  “You saw how distressed she was when Cousin Mariah criticized her father. She told me later that she nearly burst into tears.”

  Privately thinking that it had looked more like rage, Anne nodded.

  “Lydia takes a great deal on herself, you know. Her mother is…not particularly interested in the bishop’s work. Lydia helps him instead; indeed, it has kept her from many of the amusements common to young girls. She is extremely dedicated.”

  “Well, I am happy that she is to have a season in London, then. It sounds as if she deserves it.”

  “Oh, yes. Her father insisted.”

  Laurence sounded slightly dissatisfied, and Anne determined to examine Lydia Branwell carefully this morning. If, as she suspected, the bishop’s daughter was false, she would make a real effort to show Laurence the truth. After that, he could make his own decisions.

  The Branwells had hired a house near Berkeley Square. Anne and Laurence were admitted by a stately butler and taken directly up to the drawing room, where Lydia and her mother awaited them. Lydia rose as soon as they entered, and came forward with outstretched hands. “My dear Lady Anne,” she cried, taking both of Anne’s hands and pressing them gently. “How wonderful to see you again. I have longed for your arrival.”

  “Thank you,” replied Anne, extricating her fingers as politely as possible.

  “It will be so good to meet someone with whom one can have a rational conversation at these endless ton parties,” continued the other, tossing her black curls. “I find them unbearably tedious. All that gossip and empty chatter.”

  “Laurence!” exclaimed Anne. “Have you been gossiping to Miss Branwell? For shame!”

  Lydia stared blankly at her, but Laurence smiled. “I hope Lydia excludes me from her denunciation.” Seeing his fiancée’s bewilderment, he added, “It was a joke, Lydia. Anne is bamming us.”

  “Oh. Oh, of course.” Miss Branwell smiled thinly. “Very amusing. Laurence has told me about your lively sense of humor, Lady Anne.”

  “He flatters me.”

  “What have you done since you arrived in town?” asked Lydia, shifting the subject away from dangerous ground.

  “Well, it has been only two days.” Anne thought of Mariah’s garden. She would not mention that to this girl. “I have bought some horses.”

  “Horses?”

  “Yes, Edward took me to Tattersall’s yesterday. I bought the sweetest little mare you can imagine for riding in the park, and I could not resist two hunters. They were so fine-looking. Great shoulders and strong hocks. How I should like to try them at a fence.”

  “You…you hunt, then?” Lydia sounded rather as if she were asking about some indelicate eccentricity.

  “Whenever I have the opportunity. I am very much hoping to get an invitation to Leicestershire this winter.”

  “From whom?”

  “Anyone with a house in the neighborhood of the Quorn.” Anne grinned.

 
“I shall have to see that you meet Lady Ellis.” Laurence laughed. “She always gathers a large house party for the hunting.”

  “Do, by all means,” encouraged Anne.

  “I don’t quite approve of hunting,” murmured Lydia sweetly. “I feel so sorry for the poor little fox.”

  Anne raised one eyebrow. “That ‘poor little fox’ would soon destroy every covey in the county if he were left alone.”

  “And why not? I do not see why birds should be shot either.”

  Anne, seeing a dispute ahead, shrugged and would have abandoned the subject.

  “My father is one of the strongest opponents of hunting and shooting,” continued Lydia. “He feels they are unchristian.”

  “Well, you know, Lydia, I have always thought he goes a bit far,” put in Laurence. “Hunting isn’t all sport. It does help balance things on the land.”

  Miss Branwell drew herself up. Anne, with a slight smile, sat back in her chair.

  “But, of course, the bishop knows more about it than I,” added Laurence hastily. “I shall have to discuss it with him and learn his views.”

  “Oh, yes,” breathed his fiancée, leaning forward and putting a hand over his where it lay on the chair arm. “Do, Laurence! He will convince you, I’m sure. He is so wise.”

  He nodded. But Anne saw his shoulders move impatiently beneath his coat, and her smile broadened a bit.

  “Have you been shopping since you arrived in town?” Lydia asked Anne, eyeing her buff walking dress with approval.

  “No, but some of the things I ordered last month have begun to arrive. I think I am fairly well equipped for now, thank heaven.”

  “You don’t care for shopping?” Miss Branwell seemed surprised.

  “I loathe it. I leave it for months, then I rush out and buy everything at once, half of it useless most of the time. But my new maid has been a great help, and the mother of one of my friends.”

  “Who is that?” Lydia cocked her head.