The Headstrong Ward

by Jane Ashford

  She was still angry whenever she thought of Lydia Branwell. That girl was utterly unscrupulous, and she obviously cared for no one in the world but herself. Anne could hardly wait to see her forced to retract her lies about Bella. And poor Bella! How low she must be feeling, and how helpless. That would perhaps be the worst, to know about the rumors and not to be able to do anything.

  Anne clenched her fists in frustration, then told herself that something was being done. She and Charles were doing something. And it was all settled now; everything was ready. As she insisted upon this, she seemed to realize it fully for the first time. Their plan was made, except for the final details; she had seen to the last element today. All was ready, and in a short time, Bella would be cleared.

  With a sigh, Anne relaxed, leaning back against the side of the window. She had been so worried about her friend for what seemed such a long time that she had not been able to consider anything else. But now that she knew what action would be taken, she could think of other things, and the first that occurred to her, quite naturally, was Charles.

  When she remembered how she had viewed him just months ago, she was amazed. She had come home from school intent on making him miserable, and getting revenge, certain that he was the most odious man alive. But the more she saw of him, the less she believed that. Either he had changed radically during the years she was away or she had been mistaken from the first.

  Anne frowned. Perhaps neither was precisely true, for Charles had seemed to have two personalities when she first came home—one for his family and another for his close friends. She still did not understand how he had become that way. However, he had abandoned his “family” manner almost completely as time passed, until she had nearly forgotten it.

  Anne smiled to herself and drew a finger lightly across her lips. She now had some notion of why that change had come. Who could ever have predicted that Charles would fall in love with her? Or she with him? It was the oddest thing. But Anne had known since this morning that it was indeed true. When Charles had kissed her, a great many things had suddenly come clear. She knew in that instant that what she had been feeling for him was not simple respect and liking. His gradually changed behavior and recent sympathy and help when her friend was threatened had led Anne step by step deep into love. And what of him? She had no doubt of his feelings; she was filled with a calm certainty whenever she thought of him. But what had made him love her? She was still the mercurial, unconventional girl he had sent away so long ago. Why, she wondered, had he changed his opinion of her so radically?

  After a while Anne abandoned this question with a shrug and a smile. Perhaps she would ask Charles when an opportunity came, or perhaps she wouldn’t. It would depend. She reviewed their meeting in the library once again; how strange and wonderful that kiss had been. A dreamy smile crossed Anne’s face as she imagined telling Charles that it had made her wish strongly for another.

  The door opened, and Crane came bustling in. She did not notice Anne at first, curled in the corner window seat, but went about her business getting out an evening dress and laying it across the bed. Then Anne moved slightly, making a small noise, and the maid started and whirled around. “My lady! I nearly jumped out of my skin, I was that startled!”

  Anne rose. “I’m sorry, Crane. I was here the whole time.”

  “I didn’t see you.” She sounded accusing. “And you’re never upstairs so early. Are you feeling well?”

  “Yes, indeed, very well.”

  The maid eyed her, suspicious of the enthusiasm in her voice.

  Anne grinned. “We shall all be wonderfully happy before very long, Crane. Wait and see!”

  The other turned away and went to fetch a pair of Anne’s evening slippers. “That’ll be a rare thing, my lady,” she replied. “I shall look forward to it.” Her expression merely became more severe when Anne started to laugh.

  Eighteen

  Laurence was out to dinner that evening, so Charles and Anne were able to explain their scheme to Mariah as soon as the servants were gone. They lingered at table going over the details, and in the end, Mariah was delighted. “How clever you are!” she exclaimed. “Mr. Hargreaves, eh? Oh, I shall have no trouble with him. I shall tell him precisely what is wrong with the bishop’s theories of pruning; that will occupy a great deal of time.” She laughed, and the others joined in.

  “If Lydia Branwell comes to him after all is over, however,” replied Anne, “you must go away and leave them alone.” When Charles glanced at her sharply, she added, “Well, even Miss Branwell deserves another chance.”

  “Poor Mr. Hargreaves,” he murmured.

  “I think Mr. Hargreaves is as careful of his own interest as she.”

  He shrugged.

  “But when is it to be?” interrupted Mariah. “The sooner the better, I should think.”

  Charles agreed. “I suggest Lady Huntington’s ball two nights from now. I know her house well, and she is a friend of mine; she will let us do what we like. And two days should give us ample time to arrange everything.”

  “Two days,” echoed Anne uneasily. She had carefully avoided thinking much about her part in the proposed plan. The idea of a confrontation with Lydia was too unnerving, but with the time so short, she was forced to face it. Would she manage? Would her temper get the best of her and ruin the whole?

  “All will go well,” said Charles, as if reading her thoughts. “We will rehearse what you must say until you are comfortable.”

  Anne smiled gratefully at him.

  “Still, it will be a delicate business,” said Mariah. “All those comings and goings. I hope we can carry it off.”

  “I shall play stage manager,” answered Charles. “I have every confidence in my ability to steer people where I want them at the proper moment.”

  The two women looked at him; they could not but agree.

  “So,” he continued, “it remains only to speak to Edward—”

  “Speak to me about what?” replied Captain Debenham, striding into the room. “Are you still at table? What sluggards!”

  “We are discussing what is to be done about Bella,” responded Anne.

  “Ah.” Edward pulled out a chair and sat down. “I see why you want to speak to me, then. What’s the scheme?”

  Charles smiled. “You sound ready for anything.”

  “Absolutely!”

  Anne met Charles’s amused eyes and grinned. “Well, then you will not mind when we tell you that we have decided you should marry Bella in order to put a stop to the rumors.”

  Edward had taken a grape from a plate on the table and popped it into his mouth. Now he choked so violently that Mariah leaned over and pounded him on the back. “You must be joking,” he croaked the moment he could form words. Anne and Charles both burst out laughing, and he eyed them with disgust. “Very amusing. I suppose you would have found it even funnier if that grape had done for me once and for all.”

  “Oh, Edward, I’m sorry.” Anne laughed. “You looked so eager; I couldn’t resist.”

  Edward, who had just become fully aware of his older brother’s pleasant expression, nodded absently. “Never mind. Suppose you tell me the real plan, though.”

  Anne proceeded to do so, occasionally seconded by Charles. When they were finished, Edward stared from one to the other for a full minute, then exclaimed, “First-rate! So I am to manage Laurence? I can do that, no fear.” He gazed at his brother. “You thought of this, Charles?”

  The viscount shrugged slightly.

  “He did,” said Anne, “all except for Mrs. Branwell.” The others turned to gaze at her, and she suddenly remembered that she had neglected to tell them of her success this afternoon. She did so now.

  “That makes things easier,” mused Charles when she was done. “I can leave Miss Branwell to her mother. Splendid, Anne!”

  The girl colored slightly.<
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  “You really went and asked her?” said Edward. “You always were a plucky girl, Anne. But I am amazed she agreed to help you; the woman always looks so browbeaten.”

  “She has more character than people know,” answered Anne very quietly. Charles looked at her.

  “Well, so, all is ready, then.” Captain Debenham rubbed his hands together. “This will be a pleasure, if it works.”

  “It will!” insisted Anne. “Won’t it, Charles?”

  “I think our chances are very good.”

  “A toast,” cried Edward, pouring himself a glass of wine and standing with it held high. “To success!”

  Laughing, the other three raised their glasses and drank. Edward drained his and made as if to throw it into the fireplace. “Not the Limoges!” exclaimed Charles, and his brother grinned and set the goblet gently down on the cloth.

  For Anne, the next two days flew by. She wrote to Mrs. Branwell and received a guarded affirmative reply. And she spent a great deal of time going over what she was to say to Lydia Branwell. Edward was constantly underfoot, and Laurence suddenly seemed much more in evidence than usual, so that they had to sneak about to make their final plans. There seemed to be no opportunity for Charles and Anne to be alone, and after one abortive attempt that had been interrupted four times in the first five minutes, Charles ruefully abandoned the effort. “We will talk as soon as this thing is over,” he told her. “The very minute!” She had nodded and smiled, almost as amused by his impatience as frustrated by the circumstances that caused it.

  At last, all was ready, and the day arrived. Anne spent it fidgeting, alternately longing for the time to come and be over and wishing the minutes were longer before her ordeal. But the day passed at the customary speed, and by the time she went up to her room to dress for the Huntingtons’ ball, she was screwed up to an extremely high pitch of excitement.

  “Do stop squirming, my lady,” complained Crane as she buttoned Anne into a ball gown of white satin trimmed with pearls. “I can’t do up all these fastenings if you keep moving about. I declare there must be forty buttons on this dress.”

  With an audible sigh, Anne tried to be still. When she had chosen this gown she had thought the long row of pearl buttons down the back lovely. Now she wondered how she could have been so stupid. “Do hurry, Crane,” she said, shifting restlessly again.

  Her maid stopped altogether and put her hands on her hips. “I could, my lady, if you would stay still!”

  Making an enormous effort, Anne controlled her nervousness until the dress was closed. Then she rushed Crane through the dressing of her hair and the finding of her gloves, wrap, and other necessities. When she strode out the door ten minutes later, the maid could be heard muttering, “I can’t do a proper job all in a minute. That fan was wrong; the dear knows where she put the other one. This is not what I’m used to, I must say.”

  Anne and Mariah drove to the ball together. Charles had gone ahead to make certain arrangements at the Huntington town house, and raise Lady Huntington’s curiosity to fever pitch. The two women greeted their hostess briefly and went directly into the ballroom, where the first set had not yet begun. Charles, standing on the other side of the floor, nodded to them but did not approach. Anne saw Edward lounging in the far corner and Laurence standing with the Branwell party nearby, his expression far from happy. Lydia was chatting animatedly with Harry Hargreaves. Everything was in place, and the time they had chosen, directly after the second set, would soon arrive.

  Anne danced the opening set with a friend of Edward’s, but when another officer solicited her for the next, she refused abstractedly. Charles was to be her partner, both to finalize their plans and to ensure that she could get away.

  Just before the music started, he came. It was a waltz, and he encircled her waist with an expert arm as they joined the revolving couples on the floor. “All is ready,” he told her.

  “Good.” She hesitated, then added, “I think.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m sure you will do very well.”

  “I wish I were. It is so important, and I must do it all alone.”

  “I would help if I could.”

  “Oh, I know that. I wasn’t… It is just that I have a great knot in my stomach.”

  He smiled a little. “The best thing for that is to get it over. It is time you were in position, in any case.” He steered their steps in the direction of the ballroom door.

  “Already?”

  He nodded as Anne swallowed nervously. Soon they were beside the doorway, and in another moment they had slipped through it into the corridor beyond. “This way,” added Charles, leading her to a small parlor toward the back of the house. A fire was burning in the grate, and candles were lit. “You will confront her here,” he said. “This door communicates with a larger room, as you see.” He showed her. “We will leave it ajar, and I will make sure that several of the greatest gossips in the ton are there to hear what you and Miss Branwell have to say. She won’t notice because of this curtain.” As he spoke, he drew a light drapery over the doorway, disguising it completely. Then he turned to gaze at Anne. “I must go and gather the audience. Will you be all right alone?”

  She nodded, though her expression was not very happy.

  “It will be done with very soon,” he added encouragingly and, with a quick squeeze of her hand, went out.

  Anne walked over to the fireplace and held out her hands to the blaze. The house was not cold, but she felt shivery. So much depended upon her words in the next few minutes.

  After what seemed to her a long time, she heard people come into the other parlor. Their conversation was a bare murmur, but she began to worry that Lydia would hear it as soon as she came in, spoiling everything. But before she could do more than frown, the sound diminished. Charles must have done something. Now there was just the barest hint of noise, and she heard that only because she knew to listen for it. She smiled, then immediately was serious again. Footsteps were approaching along the corridor.

  “Why would Laurence ask us to come here?” she heard Lydia Branwell’s resonant voice asking. “I think you’ve muddled things, Mother, as usual.” Her disrespectful tone strengthened Anne’s resolve. “Indeed, I think I saw him in the ballroom as we left.”

  Mrs. Branwell made an inaudible reply, and in the next moment Lydia appeared in the doorway of the small parlor. She checked when she saw Anne. “You!”

  “Good evening, Miss Branwell.” Anne saw the girl’s mother slip away along the corridor as Lydia came farther into the room.

  “What are you doing here? Where is Laurence?”

  “Laurence?” Anne tried to make her tone sound falsely innocent.

  “Did he send you here to meet me? Why? He has been very annoying lately, and if this is—”

  “He has been uneasy about my friend Bella, I know,” interrupted Anne. “Particularly after you spoke to him about the rumors.”

  Lydia paused, a slight smile curving her lips; Anne felt like strangling her. “I?”

  “Yes, he mentioned it to me.” Their eyes met squarely. “Where did you hear it originally?”

  Miss Branwell shrugged. “Who can remember such things?”

  “I remember hearing you tell it to Lady Duncan some time ago. Indeed, it was the first night the story was mentioned.”

  “Do you?” Lydia’s voice was honeyed poison.

  “Yes. In fact, I believe you started the rumor yourself, out of spite because Laurence seemed to like Bella. And because Bella is my friend, and you dislike me!”

  Lydia Branwell seemed to make some inner calculation. Then she smiled again. “You are quite right,” she admitted.

  “You know the story is a contemptible lie!” Anne felt her temper rising and sternly controlled it.

  “A lie, certainly. But contemptible?” She shrugged. In the brief pause, Anne heard the sligh
t scrape of footsteps in the corridor behind them. Was Edward performing his part? She hoped so. “I thought it a very fine lie,” continued Lydia. “It was so effective. Nothing Miss Castleton or her ‘friends’ could say or do. Nothing unpleasantly overt. But in that one stroke I finished her, as a rival or anything else. And I had my revenge on you as well.” Her smile widened. “You see where your silly little schemes got you. I warned you to leave me alone. Starting that gossip was the neatest thing I ever did.” Seeing Anne’s outraged expression, she added, “And you needn’t think you will tell everyone what I have said, because no one will believe you. I shall deny it, and they will think you are clumsily trying to help your friend.”

  Simultaneously, Anne heard the hidden door click shut and a rush of movement behind her. She turned to see Laurence standing there, his face flushed with rage, his figure trembling. “You…you…monster!” he sputtered. “I could hardly believe my ears! You began that dreadful lie?”

  Lydia Branwell glared furiously at Anne, but there was also, for the first time, a spark of fear in her dark eyes. “Laurence! What do you mean? I have just been joking with Lady Anne. We—”

  “You needn’t try to cover it up. I heard what you said. You are the most contemptible woman I have ever met, Lydia. I had some doubts about your character before this, but I never imagined you could behave with such an utter want of principle or delicacy or…or any admirable quality.”

  “H-how dare you talk to me this way?” gasped his fiancée.

  Laurence stepped farther into the room, facing her. Anne unobtrusively moved back; she didn’t want to be a distraction in this confrontation. “I?” Laurence laughed harshly. “I, dare? That is amusing. You say that to me when you have dared to behave like the lowest woman of the streets.”

  Lydia gasped again. “You… Our engagement is at an end, Laurence Debenham!” She tossed her head. “My father shall hear of the way you have spoken to me!”