by Jane Ashford
“Yes, I expect to see her there.”
“I hope she has forgotten that unfortunate mix-up at their musical evening. Did they discover what had become of Madame Callini?”
“Yes.” Laurence looked slightly self-conscious, much to Anne’s satisfaction. “She…er…had another engagement.”
“How heedless she must be, to make two appointments for the same evening. But the Branwells told her so, I suppose.”
Looking unhappy, Laurence nodded again. He turned to look out the carriage window. “Here we are.”
Anne leaned forward to look. “Mariah, here is Almack’s. Look.”
The other woman had been reclining in the corner of the chaise, lost in reflection, but now she started and sat up. “What? Oh, to be sure.” She looked out the window. “Very pretty.”
Anne smiled at her. “Aren’t you the least bit excited to see it, Mariah?”
Cocking her head, she considered the question. “Well, dear, I don’t believe I am. It is well enough, of course, and perhaps if I were younger I might feel differently, but as it is”—she looked again—“well, I fear I prefer my garden. Did I tell you that your parrot has learned to say ‘boxwood’?”
“Yes, Mariah.” The girl laughed as the carriage pulled up before the steps. “Perhaps you can reform his vocabulary. I know Laurence, at least, would be grateful.”
All three of them laughed at that, and they made a merry picture as they climbed down from the coach. Laurence was handsome in the knee breeches and silk stockings required by Almack’s. Mariah was neatly, if somberly, dressed in gray satin. And Anne wore an evening dress of pale green which by contrast brought out the violet shades in her eyes.
Inside, Anne duly admired the graceful proportions of the rooms, the scrolled molding on the walls, and the gleaming chandeliers. A set was forming, and she was asked to join it before she had time to do more. Mariah sat down with the chaperones by the wall, and Laurence went in search of the Branwell party. The first two sets, which were country dances, passed pleasantly; Anne saw Arabella and a number of other acquaintances and spoke to them during the interval. But for the third, the musicians struck up a waltz.
Grimacing, Anne retreated to the chairs along the wall. She looked around for Laurence, hoping that he was keeping his promise, but found him leading Lydia Branwell onto the floor. She saw no one she knew sitting out. With a sigh, she started to make her way across to Mariah.
“Lady Anne?” said an extremely aristocratic female voice behind her.
She turned, and found herself facing the Princess Lieven, Almack’s haughtiest patroness, and Charles.
The former smiled graciously. “I cannot introduce Lord Wrenley to you as a suitable partner, since you know him quite well, of course. But I hope you will consent to waltz with him?”
Considerably startled, Anne nodded. The princess inclined her head; Charles offered his arm, and in the next moment they were whirling together round the floor.
When she was certain she had grasped the steps correctly, Anne raised her head and shook out her red-gold curls. The waltz was as exhilarating as it had appeared. She thought it rather like riding—two creatures moving in harmony through set paces. She tossed her head again.
“You look remarkably pleased,” said Charles.
“I am! You know how I have longed to waltz. Oh, thank you for asking Princess Lieven to approve me.”
“My pleasure.”
She looked up at him questioningly, realizing that he had made an uncharacteristic effort to help her. “Is it?”
“Yes, Anne. But let us talk of something more interesting. What were you thinking a moment ago, when you looked so rapt?”
“Of how I enjoyed the dance, and how like riding it is.”
His eyebrows came up. “Riding?” Slowly he nodded. “I suppose I see what you mean. But don’t say so to anyone else, Anne.”
“Why not?” she began, then realized that the comparison was perhaps a bit indelicate. She almost laughed; then, incomprehensibly, her cheeks started to burn and she felt suddenly awkward. She looked down. For some reason, she had become much more aware of Charles—his arm encircling her waist, his hand holding hers, his chest only inches from her chin. Her flush deepened.
“You know,” said Charles conversationally, “I don’t believe I have ever seen you embarrassed before. I was not certain you ever were.”
A small spark of anger lessened her confusion. “Of course I am. What do you think me?”
“An interesting question. Do you know, I am not quite sure.” His tone was meditative, because, in fact, he had asked himself this more than once over the past few days. He knew very clearly what he had thought of Anne. He had judged her an infuriating, intractable child and, when she returned from school much improved, an acceptable young lady. He had expected then to dismiss her from his mind. But this had not happened. First her obvious, rather juvenile hostility toward him had been mildly amusing. Then, her insistence upon Laurence’s “happiness” and commitment to doing something about it had mystified him and, later, made him think. Indeed, he had not devoted so much thought to his family in years. Anne’s questions about his reaction to a friend’s trouble, as opposed to Laurence’s, had remained in his mind. He still believed he was right not to meddle in his brother’s affairs, but Anne had somehow become much more interesting to him. He had found himself wondering, often, what she would do next.
Anne gazed up at him. His face showed none of its usual mockery. Indeed, she could not interpret his look. As she continued to stare, his arm tightened slightly, and he whirled her in a sudden turn. Anne caught her breath and looked down again.
There was a silence between them. Finally Charles said, “How is your campaign to free Laurence coming along?”
“I…I haven’t done anything else as yet.”
“Ah.” He looked around. “They seem in charity with one another.”
Anne followed his gaze to Laurence and Lydia, dancing nearby. They were talking animatedly. “Yes. But he was shaken by her anger at the party; I could tell.”
“Could you? And what is your next move?”
“I don’t know. I have been trying to think of a way to draw Miss Branwell off. But it is difficult.”
“So I should imagine.”
“Perhaps you could suggest something? You know more of these things than I.”
“You flatter me. I fear I haven’t the smallest notion.”
Anne nodded. “Well, you will tell me if you think of something, I hope.”
He shrugged, looking a little distant. “That seems to me very unlikely.” There was another pause. Anne was offended at his tone; he had begun the subject, after all. Finally he said, “Have you tried your mare in the park yet?”
“Yes.”
“You are satisfied with her? You didn’t sound particularly enthusiastic.”
“Oh, yes,” replied Anne warmly. “She is a sweet goer. Our only trouble is that we cannot have a gallop in the Row. I believe she finds trotting up and down as stupid as I do. I have seen it in her eye.”
“You are well matched, then.” Charles laughed.
“Yes indeed.”
“Well, when you take her down to Wrenley, you can both have all the gallops you care for. Will you hunt her?”
With this, they plunged into a discussion of the hunt pack near Wrenley and of the various courses Charles had done with them in the last few years. This occupied them through the remainder of the set, and when the music stopped, Anne was surprised. She had not realized so much time had passed. As they walked across to the refreshment room to get a glass of ratafia, she marveled. Charles had been uncommonly pleasant to her, nearly as pleasant as to his friends on the night she watched him rally them. What had come over him? She could not remember enjoying a dance more in her life. And Charles had not even said he was coming t
o Almack’s tonight.
They encountered Laurence and Lydia Branwell in the refreshment room and paused a moment beside them. Arabella came up with her partner, and the group chatted desultorily for several minutes. Anne could almost feel Charles becoming bored with Lydia’s description of a concert she had attended the previous evening. The music started up again, and Arabella’s partner excused himself, saying he was promised for this set. Lydia continued her story, oblivious of the increasing restlessness of her audience, including Laurence. Finally, when Arabella had been gazing into the ballroom for a full minute, her foot tapping in time to the music, Laurence smiled and asked if she would like to join the set. With a brilliant smile, she nodded.
“But I am talking, Laurence,” interrupted Lydia, clearly displeased.
“You have told me about the concert already,” he replied. “And Charles and Anne are here with you. I am sure you will excuse me.”
“Are you?”
Laurence’s smile started to fade. He seemed both puzzled and embarrassed. But before he could speak again, Lydia noticed his reaction and added, “Of course I do. Go on. I will be with Mama later.”
Smile restored, Laurence bowed slightly and went off with Arabella on his arm. Lydia watched them go, her expression thunderous, and the others observed her curiously. When Miss Branwell turned back and became aware of their scrutiny, she produced a smile that was more like a snarl. “Such a charming girl, your friend Miss Castleton,” she said to Anne.
But Anne had faced more frightening opponents than this. “Isn’t she?” she responded, sternly keeping the amusement out of her voice and eyes.
“And you are so kind to her, presenting her to everyone.”
“Well, of course I do that. But I hardly call it a kindness, unless to my friends. Arabella needs none of my help.”
“Indeed? One can see that she has extremely accommodating manners. I hope they do not lead her into trouble one day.”
Anne’s gray-violet eyes blazed at the insinuation in her tone. She was about to make a blistering reply, which would no doubt be as ineffective as unwise, when Lord Wrenley said, “I think your choice of words inapt, Miss Branwell. But there are less attractive sorts of manners, even so.”
Lydia’s head jerked as if she had been slapped, and she turned to stare at Wrenley as if she had forgotten he was present. In an instant, her face changed, a smile effacing the annoyance so visible a moment before. “But of course, Lord Wrenley,” she agreed. “I meant nothing. Perhaps my word choice was careless. Miss Castleton is the most delightful of girls. And now, if you will excuse me, I must speak to Mama.” She walked away, the set of her back proclaiming the falseness of her apology.
Anne found that she was shaking, whether with rage or in reaction to this hostile exchange, or both, she was uncertain. She clenched her fists and opened them again.
“You will endure a lot more of that sort of thing, and worse, if you continue in your efforts to end the engagement,” said Charles.
“She is an odious girl!” replied Anne.
“Undoubtedly. And because she is, she will always be willing to say more than you. She can make your encounters very unpleasant. Are you certain you wish to face that?”
“I don’t wish to at all. But if I must to help Laurence, I shall, of course.”
The viscount gazed down at her. She was still visibly shaking. “Are you serious?”
Anne glanced up, surprised. “Yes. But I must speak to Edward, and there he is. Excuse me.”
He watched her approach the youngest Debenham, detach him from a group of fellow officers, and pull him to a vacant sofa. Lord Wrenley’s face showed puzzlement and a dawning admiration.
“So you see,” Anne was telling Captain Debenham, “my plan was not quite right. Laurence cannot be the one to cry off; she must. We must find a way to make her.”
Edward scratched his head. “She won’t do that. The bishop is keen on the ‘family connection.’”
“How do you know that?”
“One of his cronies is father to a friend of mine. Heard the whole story.”
“Hmm. Well, but surely there are other families?”
He shrugged. “But the girl likes Laurence, I suppose, hard as that may be to stomach.”
Anne grimaced at him, but considered this possibility seriously. “I am not certain she does,” she said finally. “She seems to want to manage him, but I haven’t noticed any signs of real affection.”
“Well, the only way to call her off is to dangle a better match before her.” Edward grimaced in his turn. “A rum notion.”
“Edward, you are brilliant. That is precisely what we will do. We will find someone better suited to Miss Branwell and throw them together!”
He shook his head. “No one’s suited to that harpy. Wouldn’t wish her on my worst enemy.”
“N-no. But surely there is some man who would find her amiable.”
“Laurence,” suggested Captain Debenham pessimistically.
“Yes, but he is mistaken!”
“There you are.”
“I mean someone who would admire her true qualities, someone who likes a woman to be…”
“It won’t fadge, Anne. Who would?”
“Well, I don’t care,” snapped the girl impatiently. “It must be someone other than Laurence. I shall begin looking at once, and you are to do so too.”
“I’ll do my best, but I don’t promise anything. Everyone I know avoids the Branwell like plague.”
Anne waved this aside. “Is there nothing else we can try at the same time? Think!”
Edward frowned. “Might make a push to convince her that Laurence is unworthy of her regard.”
“What do you mean?”
“Tell her something off-putting about him. Tell her he drinks too much.”
“He does not!”
“No,” admitted Edward rather regretfully. “And she wouldn’t believe it, either. Have to think of something else.”
“We are not going to tell lies about Laurence, not even to save him,” said Anne firmly.
“All right.” Edward shrugged. “Still, it’s not a bad idea.”
She ignored this. “We must consider what sort of man would draw Miss Branwell away from Laurence, and then find him. I suppose she wishes to marry a clergyman, as her father is a bishop. And you say they are concerned with a good family connection.”
“She has money, too,” added Edward. “Her father won’t countenance a pauper.”
“I should think a very serious young man,” mused Anne. “Interested in music, and eager to have the management of his household taken wholly out of his hands. Yes.”
Edward laughed. “Particularly that last. Find a wellborn churchman who wants to live under the cat’s foot, and there’s your man.”
She could not help but giggle at this description. “That does not sound too difficult.”
He snorted. “Sounds dashed impossible to me.”
“Nonsense. We can begin looking tonight. Can you think of anyone who might be here?”
“At Almack’s?”
“Laurence is here.”
Edward frowned and pondered the question. After a while, he shook his head. “This’ll never work, Anne.”
“Of course it will. It has to. Come, let us walk about and examine the crowd.”
“Looking for clergymen? Have you lost your wits?”
“Are you turning cow-hearted on me now, Edward?”
“I? Not a bit of it. But, Anne—”
“Good. Come along, then.” She took his arm and urged him up from the sofa.
“See here, Anne…”
“Don’t worry, we’ll find someone. Now, who is that gentleman over there?”
With a sinking heart, Edward followed the direction of her gaze and embarked on the first
of what was to be a long series of character sketches.
Eleven
The following morning, Anne went riding in the park with Edward. They had agreed upon this appointment at the end of an unsuccessful search at Almack’s, in the hope that one or the other of them might think of a new scheme during the night. The day dawned fresh and clear, with air so cool and crisp that Anne could almost imagine that she was in the country again, and as she put on her dark blue riding habit, she said to herself, “We will solve this problem today; I’m sure of it.”
And in fact, Edward’s first words to her were, “I have hit upon something!”
She hurried down the stairs to join him in the front hall, but nothing more could be said until they had mounted their horses and started toward the park, the groom following at a distance. “What is it?” she asked then, easily holding her fresh mare alongside Edward’s mount.
“It is the simplest thing. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it last night.”
“What?”
“Well, we want to see the Branwell married to someone else, don’t we?”
“Yes, Edward. Do come to the point.”
“Give me a chance. Now, there is one very simple way of ensuring that she must do so.”
“What?” said Anne impatiently again.
He gestured with his free hand. “We will arrange for her to be stranded overnight with the chap, someone we don’t like. A bit of work on a carriage wheel ought to turn the trick. And then, you see, they will be forced to…” He trailed off in the face of Anne’s wide, horrified gaze. “What’s the matter?”
“The matter? Edward! You cannot be serious.”
“Why not? The thing’s a certainty.”
“We could not be a party to such a shocking trick. I am…I hardly know what to say to you. How could you suggest such a thing?”
Edward moved his shoulders uneasily under her accusing stare. “I thought you wanted to separate her from Laurence,” he said defensively. “This would do it, with the least trouble and sure success. I don’t see why you’re cutting up rough about it.”
“Don’t you?” She continued to gaze at him.
