The Headstrong Ward

by Jane Ashford

  When she was dressed, Anne could not restrain an ecstatic sigh. “Oh, Crane, it is a beautiful dress, is it not?”

  Her charge’s glowing looks had softened even the redoubtable Crane. “It is that, my lady,” she replied. “I’ve never seen one to match it.”

  Anne smiled at her reflection in the mirror, turning this way and that to look at the dress. A tap on the door made her whirl; Crane admitted a footman laden with boxes. “Whatever are those?” wondered the girl, moving to open the top parcel. “Oh, flowers!”

  There were five bouquets in all. Laurence and Edward had each sent one, and three of Anne’s admirers and most frequent partners had also remembered. Crane took them from their boxes and set them in a row on the mantelpiece, looking smugly pleased.

  “How shall I choose?” wailed Anne. “I cannot carry them all.”

  “Of course not, my lady. But there’s no question of that. These pink roses won’t do at all, nor will the yellow.” Crane removed the offending blooms to the dressing table, eliminating the contributions of Edward Debenham and one of his fellow officers. “The white roses are suitable,” continued the maid, moving down the row, but her tone suggested that she did not think much of this choice, “and the lilies, of course. The red roses are wrong.” A third bouquet joined those set aside.

  “I suppose the roses,” Anne was beginning doubtfully, when there was another knock. Crane opened the door to reveal a footman with a single parcel. She took it and sent him on his way.

  “Perhaps this one will be…” The maid stopped abruptly and drew in her breath.

  “What is it?” Anne joined her just as Crane pulled the final bouquet from its wrappings. It was beautiful. In a filigree silver holder rested a great purple orchid surrounded by a wide border of violets and fern. Anne also caught her breath. “Who is it from?” she asked. Crane handed her the card. “Oh, it is Charles!” The girl took the flowers and turned to the mirror; they complimented her gown perfectly. “Did you tell him about my dress, Crane?”

  “No, my lady.” She began to gather up the rejected flowers. “I’ll put these in water, shall I?”

  “What? Oh, yes. I’m just going downstairs.” But when Crane had gone, Anne remained where she was for a moment, gazing into the mirror. She read the card again, “Unusual blossoms for an unusual girl,” and could not understand why this message made her heart beat so fast.

  The Branwells, the Castletons, and Edward had been invited to dinner before the ball, and Anne found the former family in the drawing room chatting with Laurence when she came down. Lydia looked very well in deep pink satin and pearls, and the bishop was massively solemn in his evening clothes. She had hardly greeted them when Arabella and her parents arrived, and Anne took the first opportunity to retire into a corner with her friend. “That gown is splendid!” exclaimed Arabella then. “And your bouquet is wonderful. Oh, Anne, you look just as I imagined you might. Extraordinary!”

  “I shall take that as a compliment.” Anne laughed. “Unlike you, I need an extraordinary dress to come up to standard. It is not everyone who can wear a mere slip of white satin and look pretty as a picture, you know.”

  Arabella objected to this description of her elegant ball gown. “If Papa could hear you! After the way he grumbled over the bill.” But indeed the art of her dress was in its simplicity. It was a mere sheath of white, with the tiniest of sleeves and a plain round neck. Yet Arabella’s dark sparkling eyes, perfect features, and creamy complexion provided all the ornament necessary. “Where did you get your bouquet?” she added.

  “From Charles. Can you imagine?”

  Clearly her friend found it difficult, but Anne did not elaborate. Edward came in, splendid in a new long-tailed coat, and Mariah followed close on his heels. She looked resigned to her fate. Their party was now complete, save the host. “I wonder where Charles can be,” murmured Anne.

  In the next moment, he appeared in the doorway, apologizing for his tardiness. He wore black knee pants and coat, with striped stockings, a snowy shirt, and a silver waistcoat; all in all, Anne could not recall having seen a more elegant, handsome figure in London. As she gazed across at him, he turned and met her eyes. There was an intensity in his gray ones that made her smile tremulously back at him. She glanced down at her bouquet, then up again, nodding slightly. Charles smiled and bowed his head before going to speak to the Castletons.

  Fallow announced dinner, and the party went into the dining room. Anne was seated in the middle of the table, between Mr. Castleton and Edward. As their numbers were uneven, Arabella sat across between the bishop and his daughter, and looked none too happy about the arrangement. Mariah, at the foot of the table, addressed Mr. Castleton at once, and so Anne was free to talk with Edward. As soon as conversation became general, he leaned over and murmured, “I have found a candidate.”

  “What?”

  “You know.” He glanced significantly at Lydia Branwell.

  “Oh! Who is it?”

  “Harry Hargreaves. He’s the brother of a friend of mine.”

  “Captain Hargreaves?”

  “That’s it. Both sons of Earl Chalham, you know. Harry went into the church. He’s secretary to the Archbishop of Canterbury.”

  “Oh, Edward, that’s splendid!”

  “Ain’t it? They say he has good prospects. And a tidy fortune.”

  “He sounds perfect.”

  Captain Debenham nodded. “Dull as ditchwater, too.”

  Anne frowned. “That sounds less promising.”

  “What do you mean? Just the sort of fellow she wants. Talks of nothing but the rates and the Catholic question, that kind of thing.”

  “But Laurence is not dull.” Looking around hastily, Anne lowered her voice. “Quite the opposite.”

  “She’d like it if he were, though. Haven’t you heard her?”

  Anne looked doubtful.

  “I tell you, Harry Hargreaves is our man.”

  “You’ve met him?”

  “No. He lives in Canterbury.” As Anne started to protest, he added, “But he’s coming up to London for several weeks on church business, and Alec, his brother, has promised to present me.” Edward grinned. “Nearly cost me my reputation to arrange that. Alec can’t see why I want to meet a dull dog like his brother.”

  Smiling, Anne said, “You will bring him to call?”

  “And we’ll push him onto the Branwells at the first opportunity,” he agreed. “After that, I daresay things will take care of themselves.”

  Anne was less sanguine, but she nodded. She would be there to help them along if they did not. “I am impressed, Edward. How did you manage to find someone so quickly?”

  “I asked.” He grinned. “No one takes any heed of what I say. I can find out anything, and they forget they’ve told me.”

  She laughed. “I must keep that in mind.”

  Mr. Castleton ended his conversation with Mariah and turned to Anne, throwing Edward back upon Mrs. Branwell and her timorous silences. He made heavy work of that while Anne enjoyed a pleasant chat, and they had no more opportunity for private discussion through the rest of the meal. The party did not linger at table; the guests would begin to arrive right after dinner. And an hour later, Anne was standing on the stairs before the ballroom, flanked by Charles and Mariah, holding out her hand to the first of them.

  The file seemed endless. All of London turned out for the first ball at the Debenham house in twenty years. Anne soon lost track of time and of the countless names she heard. She had been present at many of the tremendous “squeezes” of the season, but she had never before been required to greet so many people personally. Finally, when the flow of arrivals had begun to slow, Charles took her arm. “Come, you must open the dancing. I will present you to your partner.”

  “Present me?”

  “Yes, you will be dancing with a duke’s son.”r />
  “I don’t know any dukes’ sons.”

  He smiled slightly. “Does that signify?”

  “Of course. I should much rather dance with a friend.”

  “Yes. But in this case, a duke’s son will give your debut cachet, you see.”

  “Do I? I suppose so. Is he at least a charming duke’s son?”

  “I believe the duke is considered very charming.”

  “No, I meant… Oh, you know quite well.” She wrinkled her nose at him, and he smiled down in response. Anne remembered her bouquet. “I must thank you for my flowers. They are exquisite. How did you know to get purple?”

  “An inspired guess.”

  “No, really! I thought my gown such a secret.”

  “I assure you it was. Here is the marquess.”

  He presented Anne, and the couple took their places on the floor as Charles went to ask one of the older ladies for the set. Soon the room was filled with dancing couples. Anne found her partner rather dull, and she was not sorry when the dance ended and she could exchange him for one of Edward’s officer friends. After that, the ball went merrily; she danced with two other Guards officers, Laurence, and Edward, and went down to supper with a third military man, joining a gay, noisy table which also included Arabella. After the interval, the two girls went upstairs, then returned to the ballroom together. “I do like dancing,” said Anne as they walked. “I am having a splendid time; are you?”

  “Oh, yes.” Arabella’s rose-pink cheeks were glowing. “I think I like balls better than any other sort of entertainment.”

  Anne laughed. “I am sure of it.”

  A waltz was beginning as they entered the ballroom, and Laurence came up to ask Arabella to join it. As they walked away together, Anne noticed Lydia Branwell coming toward her. She looked quickly about, but could not see any possibility of rescue. Short of obvious rudeness, she could not avoid her. With a sigh, Anne fixed a smile on her face. “Good evening,” she said when Miss Branwell was closer. “Are you enjoying the ball?”

  “I have decided,” replied Lydia without preamble, “to tell you that I know precisely what you are doing.”

  Anne paled slightly. “I?”

  “Oh, come!” The other girl gestured to Laurence and Arabella, whirling in a graceful waltz not far away. “And I shall tell you my reaction as well. Exactly who do you think you are, Lady Anne Tremayne?”

  “I…I don’t know…”

  “You return from school, a mere child, and at once you begin interfering in matters which are none of your affair. Do you really think you have a right to do this? Or any justification? I should like to know. Tell me!”

  Anne had begun to tremble before this unexpected attack. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Nonsense! We both know quite well. If you wish to pretend ignorance—well, it is just another example of your lack of moral sense. What you are doing is wicked, Lady Anne. Meddling in others’ lives is arrogant and wicked. No true Christian woman could do so.”

  “H-how dare you speak so to me?”

  Lydia Branwell raised her eyebrows, a superior smile curving her thin lips. “I am perhaps in a position to offer guidance to one who has not had my advantages.”

  “Guidance? Why, you…”

  “I believe this is our dance, Anne,” drawled a male voice behind her. She turned to find Charles standing there, holding out a hand. Before she could do anything, he had taken one of hers and was leading her onto the floor. Anne was still trembling with outrage and shock as he swept her into the waltz. “You looked as if you might need rescuing,” said the viscount. He held her shaking hand firmly. “Are you all right?”

  “If you had waited a moment longer, it would not have been I that needed rescuing,” she replied through clenched teeth.

  He smiled. “Doubtless. But I did not want to see you reduce Miss Branwell to ribbons before this crowd, satisfying as it might have been for some of us.”

  Anne blinked and looked around. She had nearly forgotten the other guests. When she thought of what she had been about to say to Lydia, she flushed.

  “Precisely,” added Charles, smiling down at her.

  One side of Anne’s mouth jerked. “I suppose you are right, though she deserved a tongue-lashing. But this is not the place.”

  “No. What did she say?”

  “Oh, all sorts of intolerable things. She called me unchristian.”

  He raised one eyebrow.

  “Well, I may not be a prating prig, but I am not unchristian!”

  “Of course not.”

  “And she said I shouldn’t interfere.” Anne frowned. “I hope I am right to do so. I have worried about it, but Edward said—”

  “Edward!”

  “Yes.” She gazed anxiously up at him. “What do you think? Do you believe it is wrong for me to try to help Laurence in…in the way I mean to?”

  He surveyed her uneasy features; her hand still trembled slightly in his. “Does it really worry you so much?”

  “Yes! I want to do what is right. Meddling is so…horrid sometimes. I don’t want to be the sort of person who interferes with all her acquaintances and is moaned about in secret.”

  Lord Wrenley laughed. “You will never be that. You are too straightforward.”

  “But do you think I am wrong?”

  He hesitated a moment longer, then slowly shook his head. He was gradually becoming convinced that Anne’s view of the situation was indeed the correct one. He had seen more of Laurence, of both his brothers, this season than at any time in the past ten years. And he was surprised to find them very likable men. Gone were the untidy, demanding boys who had vied for his time and approval at a period when he found them very hard to give. He didn’t know how Laurence and Edward had turned out so well; he certainly took no credit for it. But somehow, they had, and Lord Wrenley was more and more drawn to all of his family. He met Anne’s eyes again. “I think your purpose is laudable, and your means have been fair.”

  Anne heaved a relieved sigh. “Thank you!”

  He smiled again. “How do you progress?”

  “Well, I think. Edward has found a substitute for Laurence.”

  “A…?”

  “A man she will like better. We mean to bring them together.” The music stopped, and Anne looked around the room. “Oh, no, Mariah is talking to Bishop Branwell again. I must separate them before they begin shouting. Excuse me.”

  She hurried off. Charles watched her take Mariah’s arm and pull her away with some excuse. The bishop, who was indeed looking thunderous, held himself rigid for a long moment, then stalked over to sit beside his wife. Charles smiled wryly and turned away.

  Thirteen

  Anne passed several quiet days after the ball. No important social events were scheduled, and the family had dined at home two nights running, a very unusual occurrence. She chatted with Mariah in her garden, did some necessary shopping, and called on Arabella. She found she welcomed the respite, as much as she would probably welcome the resumption of festivities with an evening party the following night.

  On the third morning, she was sitting in the drawing room with a new novel when Edward came striding in. “I have met him,” he said.

  “Who?”

  “Harry Hargreaves, of course. You can’t have forgotten already.”

  Anne laid aside her book. “No indeed. What is he like?”

  Captain Debenham grinned. “Perfect!”

  “Really?” She laughed. “How? Tell me about him.”

  “He is the most pompous, sententious, solemn chap I have ever had the misfortune to dine with. He cares about nothing but church matters and, I fancy, his own preferment. You should have seen how he brightened when I hinted that Charles has three livings in his gift. He asked me to dine in an instant.”

  Anne laughed again. “But if
he is so pompous, I cannot believe Lydia Branwell will like him. She isn’t stupid, Edward. And she likes Laurence, who is quite charming.”

  “She likes him because of his name and his prospects,” retorted her companion. “Show her better ones, and she will forget about liking.” He paused. “Besides, Laurence can be fairly pompous when encouraged.”

  “That seems harsh,” murmured Anne. “How do we know that—”

  “Anne.” He fixed her with an intent look, all joking gone. “You know that I have been on the town for some years, since I was twenty.”

  “Yes, but…”

  “And I’ve seen a deal of flirtation and a good many matches made in that time. I’ve even, er, had some encounters myself.”

  Anne grinned at him.

  “So, well,” he hurried on, “I can tell something about what a girl feels for the man she’s engaged to. I’ve seen all sorts, and I’m certain that Lydia Branwell cares nothing for Laurence himself. In fact, from the look in her eye, I’d wager she means to change him all out of recognition as soon as she has him safely married.”

  Anne thought this over, remembering certain remarks she had overheard. “You may be right.”

  “I am. I tell you I’ve seen it a dozen times.”

  Meeting his gray eyes, she was suddenly convinced that he had. “Very well. We must put Mr. Hargreaves in her way, making certain that she knows all about him.”

  Edward nodded. “I shall get him an invitation to the Archers’ rout party on Friday; they will be glad to have another man. We will present him then.”

  She nodded. “Bring him to call here before that.”