The Headstrong Ward

by Jane Ashford

  He shifted uncomfortably again and looked away. “It is unusual, of course, but…”

  “Edward!”

  “I was only trying to help,” he burst out. “This was your scheme, and I think you might be more grateful for my ideas. I wasn’t the one who decided to meddle.”

  Anne opened her mouth on a blistering rejoinder, then shut it again. He was right. The original plan had been hers. Edward’s suggestion was outrageous, but perhaps her calm assumption that she knew what was best for Laurence, a man eight years her senior, and her headlong plunge into his affairs, was just as wrong. Edward’s impossible scheme showed her the folly of her own actions. “You are right,” she said, bowing her head. “How could I be so arrogant as to think I could order Laurence’s life better than he? I rushed in without thinking again, and made my usual muddle.”

  “No, here, I say, Anne. I didn’t mean—”

  “We will forget the whole matter,” she interrupted. “We won’t speak of it or think of it again. Laurence must be allowed to make his own decisions.” They had reached the park, and she turned her mare onto a gravel lane bordered with evergreens, spurring her to a trot.

  Edward fell a bit behind, and it took him a moment to catch up. “But, Anne…” he began then.

  “No. You aren’t to mention the matter again.” She looked away. “There are daffodils! See, through there.”

  He did not answer her, and she turned to look at him. Captain Debenham’s handsome face showed a very uncharacteristic expression. He seemed lost in thought. As she watched, his brows came further together, he shook his head once, and looked up. “No, Anne,” he said. “You are wrong.”

  She stared at him. He did not sound like the heedless, teasing Edward.

  “Not about my scheme,” he continued. “I see that that is unsuitable. I suppose I was half joking anyway. But we cannot simply give up. I admit I wasn’t keen on interfering when you first enlisted me, but now I am convinced. I’ve watched Laurence with that girl. She’s got him blinkered and tied. He has no more idea of her true character than a cat—less! He thinks her a model of goodness. It ain’t fair!”

  Anne gazed at him, astonished.

  “Dash it, Laurence and I disagree about scores of things, but he’s a good fellow. He don’t deserve that harpy. He needs a nice lively girl, to keep him from being stodgy.”

  “You…you care about him, don’t you?” murmured Anne, who had been watching his face as he spoke.

  “I?” Edward looked away, then down at the path before them. “He is my brother, dash it.”

  The girl smiled. “Yes. But do you think it is wrong to meddle in his affairs without telling him? I know it was my idea, but now…”

  “Well, we certainly can’t tell him what we mean to do,” replied Edward sensibly. “He wouldn’t stand for it.”

  “Exactly.”

  He eyed her. “Have you changed your opinion of Lydia Branwell all at once?”

  Anne shook her head.

  “Well, have you decided you don’t care for Laurence after all? Perhaps you want to see him miserable?”

  “No!”

  “All right, then. We must go on with our plan.”

  “Y-yes. Oh, Edward. I don’t know what is right. Perhaps we should ask Charles.”

  “Charles!” He stared as if she had suddenly lost her mind.

  “He is older, more experienced.”

  “Don’t you know what Charles would say to us if we ran to him with this?” Anne turned to look at him. “He would tell us we were both fools to worry over Laurence, and that Laurence was an even greater fool to have offered for the Branwell, and he would say that he has no patience with fools.”

  “But I did tell him…”

  “No, Anne. This is up to us. What are we going to do?”

  She frowned at him, feeling confused. “We are not going to compromise Miss Branwell.”

  “No, no. I told you I had done with that.”

  “Yes. Well…we must, uh, go back to our old plan, I suppose.”

  “A substitute for Laurence?”

  She nodded, still far from satisfied with the way things stood.

  “We can keep looking,” he agreed. “But we need some alternatives, in case we can’t find anyone. We must think.”

  The rest of their ride was taken up with discussing, and rejecting, various courses of action, and when they returned to the Debenham town house, they were no further along. As Anne bid Edward good-bye, she still felt distinctly uneasy. She had made so many mistakes in her life through being too impetuous, and she was afraid this was another. Edward’s reassurance, and his new concern for his brother, gratified but did not calm her. He was far too much like herself to represent the steadying influence she knew to be vital in these cases.

  She thought over their conversation again as she walked up the stairs, holding up the heavy skirts of her habit. It made her frown. But her gloomy meditations were interrupted dramatically on the first landing. One of the housemaids burst out of the corridor doorway, her arms flung over her head, shrieking. Close behind her flew Augustus, his gaudy red-and-blue plumage flashing against the pale blue walls. The maid did not pause upon seeing Anne, but ran down the stairs with dangerous speed, still screaming at the top of her lungs, and disappeared through the door leading to the kitchens, slamming it behind her. Augustus, thwarted, screeched, “Blast ye!” and spiraled up to settle on the hall chandelier, glaring down at Anne with malevolent glee.

  At this moment Mariah appeared at one side of the landing, wearing a long earth-soiled apron and carrying a trowel, and Charles at the other, in impeccable yellow pantaloons and a light blue coat. Both of them followed Anne’s stunned gaze to the chandelier. “Damn your eyes!” squawked the parrot, swaying back and forth among the crystal teardrops.

  “How,” inquired Charles calmly, “did he escape his cage? I presume it was not intentional?”

  “If they would let me be,” complained Mariah, “and not continually plague me with silly questions about this ball, it would not have happened.”

  The viscount turned to look at her.

  “I let him out in the garden for some exercise,” added Mariah. “Every creature needs exercise; birds are no exception. The door was tightly closed; there was no possibility of escape. Then that silly girl came in with some question about glasses. What do I know about glasses? Why do they send to me? She left the door standing open, and when Augustus saw it, he naturally flew out. He is not stupid. But he did not attack the girl. It was her screaming that excited him. I might have gotten him back into his cage by now if it weren’t for that.”

  Anne bit her lower lip to keep from giggling.

  “I see,” replied Lord Wrenley. “Well, perhaps you might do so now.”

  Mariah snorted. “He will not come now. He is overstimulated and hysterical.”

  Charles looked up at Augustus, who returned his gaze impassively. “Is he?” They regarded one another.

  Unable to restrain herself any longer, Anne burst out laughing. She laughed so hard that she had to lean against the stair rail.

  The viscount turned to her. “Happy as I am to see you so amused,” he added, “I cannot help but wish that you would remove your, er, pet from my chandelier.”

  This only made Anne laugh harder. She put a hand to her mouth and tried valiantly to stop. “I’m sorry,” she gasped. “It was just the way you looked at each other.” She lapsed into giggles.

  Charles gazed up at Augustus, whose beady eye remained on the group below him, then back at Anne. A spark of amusement kindled in his gray eyes though his face showed nothing.

  “She won’t get him down either,” said Mariah. “Leave him. He’ll come when he’s hungry.”

  “Possibly,” agreed the viscount, “but I am not inclined to await that event. I cannot endure hours of shrieking hou
semaids or the, er, other inconveniences attendant upon Augustus’s freedom.” He noticed that Fallow had come into the hall below and was eyeing the parrot with dislike and apprehension. “Is that not right, Fallow?” he added.

  “Absolutely, sir,” agreed the butler.

  “We must find some means of dislodging him,” concluded Lord Wrenley, “and I think the task falls to Anne. The bird belongs to her.”

  Anne, who had finally gotten her giggling under control, replied, “I don’t know how to get him down. Why, he is twenty feet from the floor. And I can’t put a ladder against a chandelier.”

  “Call him,” retorted Charles, a hint of irritation creeping into his voice.

  Hearing it, Anne decided to oblige, though she had little hope of success. “Augustus! Come down at once. Down, sir.” She held out her wrist as she had seen a woman do in an old picture of hawking. “Augustus!”

  Lord Wrenley’s lips twitched visibly. The parrot swayed from side to side on the chandelier and leered at Anne.

  “Come down, Augustus! I will give you a seed cracker.” She moved her wrist suggestively.

  “Of course he won’t,” began Mariah, and Charles burst out laughing. Anne glanced sharply over at him, started to frown, then smiled instead. Their eyes met, and she was once again overcome by giggles. Mariah put her hands on her hips. “I shall be in the garden if you want me,” she said disgustedly, and she turned on her heel and disappeared into the corridor.

  Charles and Anne laughed until they were weak, he leaning against the door frame, she again draped over the stair rail. Fallow watched them with bewilderment for a while, then went to fetch a footman and a ladder. Augustus remained as he was.

  Finally, exhausted, they fell silent. “Nevertheless, we must get him back to his cage, you know,” said Charles then.

  “Oh, yes. But how?”

  Fallow returned with his henchmen. The tallest footman placed the ladder against the wall and climbed up as far as he could, Fallow and another servant holding the base steady. It brought him nowhere near the parrot.

  “I have an idea,” said Charles. Anne turned to find a mischievous light in his eyes. “Wait here,” he added, and ran lightly up the stairs and out of sight.

  He was gone so long that Anne began to consider going after him. She could not imagine what he was doing. But after about half an hour, during which Augustus did not move and Fallow and the footmen gave up and took the ladder away again, he came down; in his hands were a long-handled net and a small cloth bag. “I thought this was still in the attics,” he said with satisfaction, indicating the net. “It belonged to my father. He was a great salmon fisherman. I am only glad he is not here to see the use I mean to put it to.”

  “But it is not long enough to reach Augustus,” replied Anne.

  “No, but I have a plan. I shall stand on the stairs as near to the chandelier as possible, holding the net. You will dislodge the bird with these.” He handed her the cloth bag, and she opened it.

  “Checkers!”

  He nodded, smiling. “They were also in the attic. I wanted something light enough to spare the crystal. Wooden checkers are just the ticket. How is your throwing arm? I remember it was once very accurate.”

  She wrinkled her nose at him. “If you are thinking of the cricket ball that I threw at Edward, that was an accident.”

  “Naturally.”

  “And I haven’t tried anything like it for years.”

  “But you are game?”

  Anne weighed the bag of checkers in her hand; their eyes met. She smiled, bit her lower lip, and nodded.

  “Good.” He moved up a few steps and braced himself on the rail, grasping the net in both hands. “Fire when ready.”

  She moved up beside him, taking a checker and calculating the distance that separated her from Augustus. Her eyes narrowed as she cocked her hand back and threw. The missile struck the crystal teardrop beside the parrot’s perch, causing it to swing dangerously, but it only made Augustus flap his wings and screech at them.

  “Another!” said Charles.

  She tried again, and this time her aim was perfect. The second checker struck the bird square in the chest. Outraged, he took wing, flying straight toward them. Charles made a massive swoop with the net, and missed by a hair! The momentum carried his upper body far out over the stair rail, and to Anne it seemed that he might fall over it altogether. Dropping the bag of checkers, she threw her arms around him and pulled back, but she realized at once that he had remained perfectly balanced. It was he who levered them both away from the drop. She tried to step back, her face crimson with embarrassment, and found that the buttons of her cuffs had become entangled with the strands of the net. “Excuse me,” she blurted. “I…I thought you were going to fall.”

  He looked down into her eyes, only inches from his. “Thank you, I was taking care.” He raised one eyebrow, as if inquiring why she did not move away.

  Anne, acutely conscious of his gaze, and of his body against hers, stammered, “My buttons. Stuck.”

  “What? Ah. I see. Here, I will disentangle you.” In a moment he had done so, and Anne stepped hastily back, her face still flushed. Blessedly, he turned away. “Augustus has returned to his place,” he said, pointing. “Shall we try again?”

  Anne bent to pick up the bag of checkers, grateful for the opportunity to hide her burning face. She nodded silently. Her first shot after this went wild, but the second again hit the parrot, and this time Charles managed to capture him in the fishing net. The parrot screeched with outrage and fought fiercely, but the strands held him immobile.

  “I’ll take him back to his cage,” said Anne quickly, holding out a hand for the net. “I’m sorry you were disturbed.”

  Charles extended the handle, but kept his grip on it. This encounter had had a marked effect on him. When Anne looked up questioningly, he said, “Being ‘disturbed’ is not always unpleasant.”

  Abruptly, Anne’s heart was beating very fast; her hands seemed frozen next to his on the net.

  “I don’t believe I had quite realized that before,” added the viscount.

  Anne’s lips parted, but no sound came out. She could not think of anything to say; her brain was whirling. But before the silence could drag, Fallow came into the hall again. “You have caught him, sir,” he said. “Thank heaven. Shall I call someone to return the creature to its cage?”

  “No, no, I’m going,” stammered Anne. She pulled slightly at the handle and Charles released it. “I’ll see that he doesn’t escape again,” she blurted as she ran through the door and into the corridor.

  Twelve

  The following Thursday was the day set for the Debenham ball, and Anne was amazed to rise to a reasonably orderly household that morning. After the upsets and confusion of the previous week, she had expected disaster, but somehow everything seemed to have been settled and solved. There was still much to do, but she no longer had to anticipate hysterics among the maids, fisticuffs between footmen, or pistols at dawn for Mariah and the housekeeper. Her chaperone had been wholly uninterested in the preparations from the beginning, refusing to become embroiled in the various discussions about food and decorations or to join the disputes with tradesmen, and now she blandly accepted the successful completion of arrangements as if these things had never existed. Indeed, her blithe attitude suggested that she had not noticed most of them.

  “My lavender is not getting enough light,” was her first remark when Anne came into her garden at midmorning. “I was afraid of this. I told Charles I needed more windows.” She eyed one of the windowless walls speculatively.

  “I don’t think that would be possible,” replied Anne hurriedly. “All the other walls are interior.”

  Mariah sighed. “True.”

  “I wanted to ask you if you have everything you need for the ball tonight,” added the girl. “I am driving to B
ond Street, and I can get anything you like.”

  Cocking her head, Mariah smiled. In her outsized apron, she looked rather like a sparrow under a napkin. “No, no, I need nothing. I have more fripperies than I can manage now. You are taking Crane?”

  Anne nodded.

  “Good. I shall be very relieved when this ball nonsense is over and we can return to our normal routine in this house.” Gripping her trowel, she turned back to the bed she had been digging.

  “Aren’t you at all excited by the idea of our own ball?” asked Anne, whose excitement had been growing through the week.

  Mariah smiled again. “No, dear. If the graft takes on my new rosebush, then I shall be excited.”

  The girl laughed. “Well, don’t forget that the dinner guests will begin to arrive at seven.”

  “No, dear,” agreed Mariah, bending solicitously over her drooping lavender.

  Anne did her shopping, exchanged a book at the library, and returned home to a solitary luncheon. She did not know where Charles and Laurence were, and Mariah never ate in the middle of the day. She could hardly sit still, and wished for someone to talk to. But no one appeared, either then or in the drawing room afterward, and the day passed with exasperating slowness for her. She did not want to read or write letters or sew; she wanted it to be evening and the ball under way.

  At last it was time to go upstairs and dress. She still had not seen anyone, though she thought she had heard Charles come in and go to his study. She almost went to make certain, but though the viscount had been much pleasanter these past days, she still did not feel quite easy bursting in on him.

  In her bedroom, Crane was waiting. She had spread Anne’s dress out across the bed, and the girl could not help but take a deep breath when she saw it. She had devoted a great deal of thought to this gown for her own ball, and she was extremely pleased with the result. She had liked the combination of violet and silver used in one of her other dresses, and her dressmaker agreed that it was flattering. So when Anne suggested that they design a gown using several layers of gauze in these shades, the woman had been eager, and the result was a garment as lovely and changeable as the sea. The modiste had begun with a deep violet layer, then added a series of others shading through lavender to a shimmering silver. Each nearly transparent gauze allowed the previous hues to show through, and when Anne moved, the effect was stunning. Otherwise, the design was simple—tiny puffed sleeves, a scooped neckline, and a ruffle at the hem that foamed about her silver slippers. Deep violet ribbons were used here and there as trim, and Anne’s red-gold hair rose out of this creation like a glorious sunset.