‘Don’t, Anne! I am too fond of you to enjoy this cynicism you pretend. It is not your true nature. You are not hard! A trifle unsympathetic at times, but that is a fault of youth.’
If only he knew how difficult it was to keep up that show of indifference! It was not she but Julia who, beneath that veneer of tenderheartedness, was hard as nails. Her heart ached for the distress he must feel when the truth finally forced itself upon him. Sooner or later he must be disillusioned with his idol, but Anne did not want to be there when that happened. Till then she must dissemble. Let him think ill of her if he wished. What did it matter? Better he should disapprove than guess at her foolish love for him.
‘Youth? I am not young any more, Edmund,’ she protested impatiently. ‘I am twenty-two now. Many women younger than I are married with families. Perhaps I too should have a child by, now, if Julia’s bereavement had not upset my wedding plans.’
She could see that idea had startled him. They had spoken of her marriage before but always as a vague future event.
‘I forget those lost years,’ he said slowly, staring at her as if he suddenly saw her with fresh eyes. ‘In my mind I still see you as a child, but I am mistaken. You are almost the age Julia was when we first met. Six years have brought so many changes. We are all vastly altered.’
Was he referring to Julia too, she wondered, or was it too soon for him to glimpse the flaws in the facade Julia presented to the world?
‘Older and wiser, I hope,’ she said lightly, and hurried away before she was tempted to say more than she ought. Edmund was left behind, staring after her, oddly thoughtful.
Back indoors, she found Kit volubly explaining his adventures to his mother, who reclined weakly on her chaise-longue with James in anxious attendance.
‘I’m sure I don’t understand what you are about, Anne,’ Julia greeted her petulantly, ‘encouraging the child to associate with a band of ruffians!’
‘They weren’t so dreadful. A little eccentric, perhaps, but quite respectable.’
‘Not if what Kit is telling me about them is true. They sound totally unsuitable companions for a young boy. Then to persuade Edmund to let them settle so close, too! I cannot imagine what you were thinking of! Don’t blame me when we are all found murdered in our beds!’
‘I can safely promise not to do so.’
‘That’s right! Mock at me! I dare say it all seems a joke to you, but I am not amused when my son arrives home in such a tattered condition and expects me to countenance his friendship with a set of vulgar players!’
‘But, Mamma, they’re not…’
‘Oh do be quiet, Kit,’ Julia told him peevishly. ‘You make my poor head spin with all your noise. Go and tell Nurse all about it if you must bore someone with your chatter.’ She sank back into the cushions, one hand pressed dramatically to her brow while the other groped for her vinaigrette.
‘Run along, Kit, as your mother bids.’ Edmund, who had come in time to hear this, silenced the boy’s protest. ‘She has had a very distressing time worrying over your disappearance.
You should think of other people before you play such foolish pranks.’
Disappointed, Kit ran out, slamming the door behind him. Julia winced at the sound.
Edmund frowned and James hastened to proffer her smelling salts to the stricken beauty.
While Julia luxuriated in the attentions of her anxious suitors, Anne followed Kit to ensure that excitement did not prevent his making up for the meal he had lost. At his age children needed plenty of nourishment.
Bleakly she wondered why no one else had noticed how soon Julia’s maternal fondness had faded once her son was restored to her.
CHAPTER
SIX
It was always difficult to keep Kit’s mind on his lessons, but Anne found it next to impossible the following day. Kit was, bubbling over with information about his new friends and questions on the plays they had mentioned. Anne answered the first dozen queries patiently, then pointed out that when he learned to read properly he could discover all these things for himself.
‘Even Ferdie had to begin with his ABC. Now no more chatter until you have finished the next page.’
With every ill grace Kit turned his attention to his copy book and consented to toil away at his letters, though Anne could see that his heart was not in the task. His gaze was far oftener directed outside into the park than down to his book.
She could scarcely blame him. Her own enthusiasm for teaching him was very half-hearted this morning. Too many conflicting thoughts coursing through her brain prevented her concentrating on giving Kit the help and encouragement he needed. How could she expect him to be enthusiastic when she was so indifferent?
Perhaps when they finally moved into Melthorpe Hall things would be better. The delay while Edmund’s extensive improvements were put into effect would sorely try her nerves.
She longed for the time they would move there away from Edmund’s disturbing presence, yet dreaded it too. There was a melancholy pleasure in being near him, but pain, too, in watching him fall back under her sister’s spell.
Julia had been particularly sweet and attentive to him last evening—perhaps to combat the bad impression her hysterical outburst had given earlier. How long would it be before they married: what would Anne do then? She could not bear to remain at Ashorne with them— perhaps with the additional distress of seeing Edmund grow disenchanted with his bride.
Marriage with James was equally unthinkable. What was the alternative? She could not set up house on her own. Her aunt might take her in, but the prospect of life with Aunt Mattie was not an inviting one. It was almost a relief that her thoughts were interrupted by Kit’s excited shout.
‘There’s Ferdie and Rosy! I knew they’d come. Please may I go down and see them? I’ll work twice as hard tomorrow, I promise.’
Following his eager finger, she saw an ill-assorted couple walking across the park towards the Manor. Glad of the excuse to end the unproductive lesson, she allowed Kit to pack up his books. He managed the task in a fraction of the time it had taken to fetch them out and clattered off downstairs to greet his friends. Anne followed at a more sedate pace, curious to meet the remaining members of the Delamare family.
Ferdie was an undersized child. Anne judged him to be around twelve years old, though the contrast between his careworn face and skinny frame made exact calculation difficult. Yet for all his lack of inches there was a distinct resemblance to his father. The occasional dramatic turn of phrase and grand manner, even more ludicrous in one so young, brought Mr.
Delamare clearly to mind. She wished that Edmund was there to share the joke, then checked the thought—that way lay heartbreak.
Rosy, as she had expected, was a full-blown version of her sisters. The clothes that hung loosely on their adolescent bodies strained over her highly developed form, displaying all her ample charms. She nodded coolly as Kit introduced her to Anne, staring at Anne’s simple muslin gown with a hint of contempt in her eyes, and complacently smoothing her own elaborately trimmed creation. But for all its magnificence, noted Anne, it could do with a good wash and press. Rosy’s neck, too, showed traces of grime though her face was freshly painted.
‘We’ve brought you an invitation from our father for this evening’s Grand Performance,’
began Ferdie impressively, but Rosy shook her head, holding the paper tightly folded. ‘Pa said we was to give it to the lord hisself, in person!’ Though Ferdie protested she remained adamant. Fortunately before the argument could grow too violent, Edmund came out of the stable yard with Weston. If he was impressed by the vision before him Edmund gave no sign of it. Weston, less reticent, immediately sized up the newcomer with a calculating gleam in his eye and moved adroitly round till he was standing close beside her.
Exchanging a brief grin with Anne, Edmund declared solemnly, ‘I am Lord Ashorne, Madam. How can I assist you?’
Rosy wriggled delightedly and in a refined coo, very differen
t from the strident tones she had employed earlier, she simpered, ‘Pa said to tell your lordship how terrible grateful he is to your lordship for your lordship’s kindness, and begs that your lordship will honour us by coming to view the performance tonight.’
She handed over the paper with a provocative smile, allowing her hand to brush lingeringly over his in a blatant version of a trick Anne had seen Julia enact more skilfully a dozen times. She wondered whether Edmund would notice the resemblance, but doubted it. Julia’s victims rarely seemed to notice her ploys. Only Thomas had seen through them, which was one reason why their marriage had failed so rapidly.
‘What is the play to be?’ she asked, as Edmund puzzled over the elaborately curled script of the invitation.
‘The Merchant of Venice. I’m to play Portia.’
‘Unless father changes his mind again,’ put in Ferdie bitterly. ‘You can’t imagine the trouble it was to settle on that, miss! Father was all for Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, but Rosy wouldn’t hear of it.’
‘No, I wouldn’t! What chance is there for me in Hamlet, pray? Pa does very nicely with all those dramatic “To be or not to be”s but he always makes me play Ophelia. It’s a rotten part.
Only one decent speech and a bit of singing then she drowns herself like a ninny before the play is half done.’
‘It’s not one you can show your legs in, neither. That’s why you don’t like it.’
Rosy silenced her brother with a shrewdly aimed kick, and continued as if he had not spoken.
‘So we finally settled on the Merchant. Shylock is one of Pa’s most famous roles, and I flatter myself I make a very passable Portia!’ She glared at Ferdie, daring him to disagree, then fluttering long eyelashes at Edmund, confided, ‘My gentleman friend at Bath was kind enough to call it a superlative performance. He said I far outclassed Mrs. Siddons—and he should know! He remembers her when she was young, before she lost her looks, poor soul.
But there, I mustn’t brag. As Pa says, “Talent is a Divine gift!” ’
Ignoring Ferdie’s snort of disgust, she smiled dazzlingly at Edmund and at the same time cast a saucy glance sideways to where Weston’s hot gaze was fixed on her in bold approval.
‘Shall I tell Pa that both you gentlemen will be honouring us tonight?’
‘We must certainly come to judge your performance for ourselves,’ replied Edmund, his face solemn. Only the faintest suggestion of a quiver in his voice ‘betrayed his amusement to one who knew him as well as Anne did.
‘Father will be overjoyed at the news! It isn’t often we get a real nob in the audience— apart from Rosy’s baronet, and he only comes to look at her legs.’ Ferdie beamed at them.
Anne had to bite her lips hard to prevent her mirth escaping.
‘Pa asks your lordship to excuse him not being here to present the invite hisself,’ put in Rosy hastily. ‘Only he is a trifle off-colour this morning.’
‘Bosky again, she means,’ explained her brother helpfully.
‘Well to be honest he is,’ admitted Rosy. ‘As drunk as a lord!’ She broke off with a shriek of laughter. ‘Begging your lordship’s pardon, I’m sure. Anyone can see your lordship is stone cold sober!’
‘Don’t mention it,’ Edmund told her unsteadily.
‘Can I go and see the play, too?’ Kit tugged urgently at Anne’s sleeve. ‘Please say I can!’
As she hesitated, not thinking that Julia would approve of such an outing, Edmund said, ‘What do you think, Anne? I’m sure you won’t want to miss the chance of enjoying this unique experience. Shall we allow this wholly undeserving young man to join us?’
‘ Please!’
‘If his Mamma permits it,’ agreed Anne weakly, not proof against the pleading blue eyes.
With a shriek of delight Kit raced off to demand permission, dragging Ferdie with him.
‘Then thank your father for us, Miss Delamare, and tell him that we shall be delighted to be present at this evening’s performance. Till then, au revoir!’ Edmund bowed gallantly to Rosy, who bobbed a delighted curtsey.
‘About the seating, your lordship, sir,’ she exclaimed, reluctant to see him escape. ‘Pa was wondering if your lordship could see your way clear to letting us use some of the hay. We could…’
‘You had better settle that sort of detail with Weston,’ suggested Edmund hastily. ‘We have finished our business for the present, so he can walk back to the barn with you and sort out all the problems on the spot.’
Nothing loath, Weston accepted the arm she offered and they went off together, heads very close. Remembering what she had learned of the steward’s reputation, Anne had a moment of doubt about giving the girl such an escort, but a second glance at Rosy convinced her that the actress could take care of herself. If Rosy were seduced it would be with her full co-operation. She was no innocent country girl to be taken in by his wiles. Although giggling happily at whatever Weston was whispering into her ear, she still found time to cast back a languishing glance at Edmund. He acknowledged it with a broad smile, murmuring laughingly in Anne’s ear, ‘I feel confident I have eclipsed the baronet already. Don’t you agree?’
‘Undoubtedly, but don’t let it go to your lordship’s head! It is only because you have your own teeth. Weston seems a very dangerous rival. I wonder you risk allowing him such an opportunity to cut you out of the lady’s affections.’
‘Ah, but you are forgetting that Weston has no title. I rely on that to sway the preference my way.’’
When he could read Rosy’s motives so clearly why was he not equally suspicious of Julia’s, wondered Anne unhappily.
What was there about her sister to inspire so uncritical an admiration in all the men she met?
To everyone’s amazement, Julia not only gave permission for Kit to see the play but insisted on making one of the party herself.
‘I don’t think you’ll enjoy it,’ Anne warned her. ‘They aren’t a fashionable company of actors such as you are used to seeing in town.’
‘Obviously not, if the female I saw prancing off with Phillip just now was any sample.’
‘That was Rosy—Rosalind Delamare, their leading lady. I thought Weston appeared very smitten with her.’
‘Rubbish!’ Julia exclaimed with unnecessary violence. ‘What has Phillip in common with a vulgar hussy like that? I could hardly bear to watch her flaunting herself so shamelessly. She put me in mind of that low creature Thomas used to bring here to vex me. That one was always making eyes at Phillip too, which thoroughly embarrassed the poor man. He didn’t want to offend Thomas by being rude to her, yet he was disgusted by her vulgarity. You cannot imagine his taste to be so degraded as to admire that blowsy female!’
This sounded remarkably like jealousy on Julia’s part but Anne was unwilling to admit that her sister could really be attracted to her steward. She tried to convince herself that Julia’s anger was proof only of a reluctance to relinquish any of her admirers, however unfavoured, but the vehemence with which she had spoken left Anne uneasy. The relationship between the two was beginning to look more complicated than she had supposed.
‘You’ll have to see Rosy again if you come with us this evening,’ she warned. ‘She is to play Portia.’
‘Shakespeare!’ exclaimed Julia in disgust. ‘I might have guessed!’ Then, anticipating Anne’s objection, she insisted, ‘Even so, I shall come. If you imagine I intend to stay at home moping on my own while the rest of you are off enjoying yourselves, you are very much mistaken. You’d like the chance to get Edmund to yourself, I’m sure. Don’t think I haven’t seen you playing off your airs on him! But he’s remember, mine!’
Sadly Anne reflected that this confidence was justified. She had seen Edmund’s eyes soften as he watched her sister too often not to know that his love for Julia was unchanged. It could only be a matter of time before he acknowledged that love openly. Perhaps only a regard for convention, more scrupulous than Julia had ever felt, prevented his announcing their engagement before
the year of mourning for Thomas was over.
Anne must harden herself to accept their eventual marriage. Fiercely she tried to persuade herself that it would not matter to her—that her childhood infatuation for Edmund was over and done with—but that was daily proving more difficult. The rapport that had existed between them years ago, was gradually being re-established—perhaps even more strongly.
Automatically her eyes sought for his to savour a joke, and every pleasure felt twice as vivid with Edmund beside her to share it. Over and over she warned herself that she ought not to indulge the bitter-sweet delight, but found it hard to resist although she knew it meant far less to Edmund than to herself.
She hesitated a long while over her dressing that evening, unsure for once of what to wear for the occasion. Full evening dress seemed inappropriate, yet she was unwilling to give offence to the Delamares by making too little effort. They were such showy dressers themselves that anything in her wardrobe must appear dull by comparison.
Eventually she settled on a simple striped tarlatan gown with fine lace trimming and, lest this be thought too plain, swept her hair up into an elaborate coil out of which the golden ringlets cascaded, a style which she knew to be a trifle out-dated but one which was very flattering to her. As an afterthought she added a brightly embroidered silk shawl to the ensemble.
Edmund’s warm approval when she came downstairs made all the effort seem worthwhile.
Even James, resplendent in skin-tight blue coat and masterly folded white neckcloth, gave her an admiring glance and admitted that she looked ‘almost as handsome as your sister in that rigout.’
Kit, who had been ready two hours before the appointed time, was dancing around the hall in a frenzy of impatience as they waited for Julia. Even Edmund was frowning over his pocket watch before she appeared, ablaze with diamonds. Mourning was completely cast off now. The shimmering silver gown, cut daringly low, moulded to her slim form. Sparkling stones glinted at throat, wrist and dainty ears. Anne felt totally outclassed by this magnificence.
Change of Heart Page 11
