Annabelle

by Beaton, M. C.

  With luxury, plenty and ease,

  That they more for their carriage than courage are known.

  And they scarce know the use of a piece.

  Let them say what they will, since it nobody galls,

  And exclaim still louder and louder,

  But there ne’er was more money expended in balls,

  Or a greater consumption of powder.

  “I resent that,” said the Captain fiercely. “How dare you mock the soldiers of England, sirrah!” He staggered forward and raised his gloves to strike the startled Mr. Louch on the cheek; then he swayed ludicrously for a few moments, and obviously forgetting what he was about to do, collapsed into an armchair and fell sound asleep.

  “What a man!” sighed Lady Emmeline. “Ah, if I were only a few years younger … You are a lucky girl, Annabelle.”

  Lord Varleigh watched Annabelle’s expressive face. The proposed match obviously was not to her taste. So what was behind it all? The Captain had no money and neither had Miss Quennell. They were obviously not in love. Somehow, he decided, Lady Emmeline must be pulling the strings of her handsome puppets. It might prove to be a marionette show worth watching. The Major and Mr. Louch were hauling the drunken Captain to his feet.

  “I am sure you shall be all the rage, Annabelle,” went on Lady Emmeline. “We may even ask Mr. Brummell to dine.”

  “Who is Mr. Brummell?” asked Annabelle, moving from her corner towards the fireplace.

  “Why, you innocent,” laughed Lady Emmeline. “Mr. Brummell is the Leader of Fashion. It is to be hoped he will not give you one of his famous setdowns. If only he would come here. It is said he rarely dines at home.”

  Annabelle felt tired and cold, and humiliated by the indecency of her gown. “Indeed!” she said sweetly. “Then it could be said that Mr. Brummell never opens his mouth except at the expense of another.”

  Lord Varleigh put his hand to his mouth to hide a smile. So the milk and water miss had a tongue after all. He bowed gracefully and begged for permission to call.

  “I suppose so,” said Lady Emmeline ungraciously. “But she’s spoken for—mind.”

  After the gentlemen had left, Annabelle remembered to ask about the welfare of the Squire’s maid, Bessie.

  “She is very well, I trust,” said Lady Emmeline with a sudden cavernous yawn. “She will, of course, return to Yorkshire as soon as the horses are rested. Do not trouble your pretty head over the affairs of rustic domestics, my dear. Tell me. Are you not pleased with the Captain? Is he not a fine and dashing man?”

  “Yes, indeed,” faltered Annabelle. “I did promise my parents I would try to make an advantageous marriage.”

  “Well, and so you shall,” snapped Lady Emmeline. “You will get my money if you marry the Captain as lord knows he has none of his own. If you do not—then you may find your way back to Yorkshire.”

  She saw the alarm on the girl’s face and felt she had gone too far too soon. “I shall not press you, Annabelle,” added Lady Emmeline. “You shall have your Season and enjoy all the balls and parties. But you see, the Captain’s father was a great friend of mine, and I feel it my duty to keep an eye on his son. Jimmy MacDonald is undoubtably too wild, but he will soon settle down.”

  “His manner is somewhat frightening,” said Annabelle, trying to choose her words carefully. “Lord Varleigh seems more, perhaps, the gentleman.”

  “Varleigh!” sneered the Dowager Marchioness. “A bloodless aristocrat. I like a man with a bit of fire. The only thing to say in Varleigh’s favor is that he keeps Lady Jane Cherle as mistress, and he must have some stamina to mount that one.”

  Annabelle felt suddenly immeasurably tired and sad.

  Chapter Three

  Annabelle was not to see either Lord Varleigh or Captain Jimmy MacDonald for the next two days. She had contracted a feverish cold and was obliged to keep to her bedchamber.

  The Captain sent a whole hothouse of flowers to the invalid, but the effect of his generosity was somewhat marred by Lady Emmeline muttering under her breath about being dunned by the florist. Much more welcome was a present of Miss Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice from Lord Varleigh. Annabelle had never read a novel in her life before, despite her mother’s conviction that she had somehow managed to obtain the forbidden volumes on the quiet. She turned to the opening page and plunged in headfirst. The sights and sounds of the square outside faded before the interesting present and magic of Elizabeth Bennet and the supercilious Mr. Darcy.

  After two days, when her fever abated, she was allowed to transfer herself downstairs to a daybed by the window in the drawing room, where she could view the comings and goings of fashionable society in the square. She had finished the novel the previous day and passed the time by studying the passersby for that young man with the square tanned face who would rescue her from the prospect of marriage to the Captain.

  But the bucks and bloods who promenaded the square were startling and frightening creatures to the country-bred Annabelle.

  A young man of high society, if he were on his own, seemed to walk around the square with as much consequence as if the houses he passed all belonged to him. The idea also seemed to be to turn into Berkeley Square in such a hurry that the buck would have a chance of dashing himself against some well-dressed woman or elderly gentleman and hurling them into the filth of the kennel in the road. If raining, the sport seemed to be to dip your cane into a puddle and flick it under your arm so that if you did not blind the person behind you, you might at least have the satisfaction of flicking muddy water all over his clothes.

  The most distressing thing they seemed to find to do, these swells of society and Pinks of the ton, was to make water in the most public place possible, especially if a party of young ladies happened to be passing.

  Annabelle had mentioned her shock and dismay at the latter spectacle to her godmother, but Lady Emmeline had only given her terrible girlish laugh and pointed out that ladies could not be offended when they see—nothing. A well-bred gentlewoman was not, of course, aware of this necessary human function, so naturally nothing at all could have taken place.

  All too soon her short period of convalescence was over. The Season had begun. Almack’s opening Wednesday was not due for another week. The Egremonts’ ball in Grosvenor Square was that evening, a sparkling social event. The Captain would be calling to escort Annabelle. The notice of her engagement had been posted in the Gazette so it would be quite the form for her to perform the waltz with her fiancé, said Lady Emmeline.

  Annabelle rose trembling to her feet and held up her hand to stop this flow of news and instruction as Lady Emmeline happily rattled on. “I have not been properly consulted on the matter of my engagement, ma’am,” she said in a trembling voice. “I have not had a chance to become acquainted with Captain MacDonald and so far, what I have seen has not endeared him to me. I have not had time to consult my father on the matter, nor my feelings.”

  “Pooh, fiddlesticks!” said Lady Emmeline, little knowing how much this small assertive effort had cost her young guest. “Don’t fret about it,” laughed Lady Emmeline, “you’ll come about. You’ll discover you are the envy of every girl in London. Mark my words!”

  “But to announce my betrothal in such a hurly-burly fashion…,” began Annabelle.

  Lady Emmeline surveyed the flushed and angry girl, and her eyes narrowed. “I should have thought that a girl reared in a rectory would have a better sense of duty,” she said. “I have gone to considerable expense to furnish you with an attractive wardrobe and to affiance you to one of the most dashing men in London, and you repay me by sulking like the veriest child!”

  “Indeed, I am t-truly s-sorry, Godmother,” stammered Annabelle, near to tears. She was still too young to realise that doing one’s duty did not necessarily mean obeying every single dictate made by a more senior adult.

  “There, there, we will say no more about it. Now I note you are wearing one of your old gowns. This will not do at all.
I told Madame Croke to supply me with the dashingest wardrobe for you, and although I have not examined it myself, I am sure it would be a vast improvement on what you are wearing.”

  Annabelle meekly said, “Yes, Godmother,” while her mind worked furiously. If her godmother had not seen the wardrobe, then it might be possible to make some discreet alterations. Annabelle was an excellent needlewoman.

  “Oh, and while I remember,” went on Lady Emmeline, ‘it would be better if you called me ‘Emmeline.’ ‘Godmother’ is so aging. We are almost the same age after all.” And with that stunning remark Lady Emmeline took herself from the room.

  DESPITE Annabelle’s fears the Captain did not seem to think it necessary to call on her during the day. She found an opportunity to ask Horley early in the afternoon which of her gowns she would be wearing to the Egremonts’ ball. The dress, when produced, looked deceptively simple. Of heavy white satin, it was high-waisted in the current mode and trimmed with tiny seed pearls and gold thread. Annabelle dismissed Horley and tried it on as soon as the lady’s maid’s footsteps had faded down the corridor. As she had suspected, the bosom was again too low, the combination of virginal white and sophisticated cut making her appear shockingly fast. Madame Croke, the dressmaker, must indeed be a kind of depraved genius, thought Annabelle grimly, little realising that that was probably the first hard and uncharitable thought about anyone that had ever entered her young brain.

  She pulled open the drawers, looking for some material. Her new undergarments frothed and foamed with white lace. Annabelle surveyed them for a few minutes and then carefully began to unpick some exquisite white lace from the leg of a pair of drawers. Then sitting beside the window to catch the best light, she began to stitch the lace into the bosom of her ball gown with nimble and expert fingers.

  When Annabelle entered the drawing room that night, Lady Emmeline was fortunately too excited to notice that her young guest’s ball gown was strangely demure in style for one of Madame Croke’s creations.

  “Only look, my dear,” she cried, holding out a piece of paper. “It is prodigious exciting. I have an unknown admirer.”

  The paper contained a few short unsigned lines.

  Please accept these flowers,

  They come from one who loves you,

  Be seated in Diana’s bower,

  Until he comes.

  “‘Diana’s bower,’” read Annabelle. “It doesn’t make much sense.”

  “Oh, but it does,” giggled Lady Emmeline. “There is to be a classical theme in the decoration of the Egremonts’ ball. Gods and goddesses, you know. Ah! Diana—chaste and fair.” She pirouetted round the room in a girlish debutante dress of filmy white muslin embroidered with rosebuds which revealed all the charms of a black corset and little else underneath.

  “And look at the flowers—lilies, I declare.”

  Annabelle felt horribly embarrassed. Someone must be playing an unkind joke. But then she did not yet know London society. Perhaps elderly matrons with brassy curls were all the crack.

  Captain MacDonald was announced, and Lady Emmeline delivered herself of a lame excuse and left them alone. The Captain was looking very handsome in black and white evening dress with a fine diamond pin winking at his stock. The pin was an engagement present from Lady Emmeline which she had given him with the curt reminder that it would be in the worst taste to take it immediately to the pawnbroker.

  He nervously twisted his side-whiskers round one broad finger and eyed the girl in front of him with some trepidation.

  “Well, here we are—all engaged, right and tight.”

  “It has all been too sudden,” said Annabelle, equally nervous. “I hardly know you.”

  “Oh, we’ll be seeing lots of each other before we tie the knot,” said the Captain blithely. “Fell in love with you at first sight, ’pon my soul I did.”

  “Lady Emmeline has commanded me to marry you,” said Annabelle in a low voice.

  “Put that way, it sounds a bit dismal,” said the Captain, espying a decanter of Madeira in the corner and feeling that life had taken a rosier turn. Should he kiss her before he had a drink? Better. Some females didn’t like the smell of the stuff.

  He advanced and grasped her firmly round the waist and planted a warm kiss on her mouth. It was like kissing a statue. Well, the money that Emmeline would leave her would pay for many a pretty ladybird.

  But the girl seemed to have turned very white and faint. Perhaps she had been moved by his kiss after all.

  The Captain poured out two glasses of Madeira with an expert hand and carried one to Annabelle. She stiffly took the glass like a marionette and drained the contents.

  “That’s the stuff,” said Captain MacDonald enthusiastically. “Ain’t been kissed before?”

  Annabelle shook her head dumbly.

  “You’ll soon get used to it, heh! You’ll find me accounted a ladies man. Even the Prince Regent himself will tell you. “Pon rep, Jimmy MacDonald is a terror with the ladies.”

  Annabelle smiled faintly. “Terror” was indeed the right word. But perhaps it was merely because of her inexperience. The wine had given her false courage, and she tried to assure herself she would get used to the Captain in time.

  “You’ll like being married, you’ll see,” said the large Captain, pacing up and down the room with his replenished glass in his hand. “We’ll buy a neat little house right in Town and we can do a bit of entertaining. Got to ask the Colonel and his wife, of course, before anybody else.” He paused and looked at Annabelle. She really was remarkably beautiful with that incredible hair and voluptuous figure. He realised he had let his eyes roam too freely and turned his attention to his glass.

  “You musn’t mind Emmeline pushing you around,” he said in a kindly voice. “Fact is—the old girl’s fond of me. The old Marquess, Emmeline’s husband, was a famous soldier, you know, and Emmeline favors the military. Known her since I was so high. She bought me my first pair of colors. Don’t know what I would do without her and that’s a fact,” he added gruffly.

  Annabelle found herself warming to him. “I am also very grateful to Godmother,” she said quietly. “She has really gone to a great deal of effort on my behalf.”

  “Wouldn’t have done if you’d been an antidote,” said the Captain. “Only the best would do for old Jimmy.”

  At that moment the Dowager Marchioness came tittupping in, clutching her bouquet and eager to tell her new audience about her unknown admirer. “Lilies, eh!” said the Captain. “Funny sort of flower to send. Must have thought it was your funeral. Joke, that’s all,” he added hurriedly as Emmeline gave him a steely look. “Shall we go?”

  THE Egremonts’ ballroom was indeed decorated in the classical manner. Captain MacDonald gallantly scrawled his name several times in Annabelle’s dance card before escaping to the card room. Lady Emmeline headed straight for Diana’s bower which was in a secluded corner of the ballroom. A pretty arbor with a small sofa, it was partly concealed from the rest of the ballroom by masses of flowers. Behind the sofa a marble statue of Diana, goddess of the chase, stood complete with marble bow and marble hounds.

  Annabelle had little time to take in the splendor of the ballroom with its glittering and elegant guests, its French chalked floor and great banks of hothouse flowers. Soon she was surrounded by admirers, and by the time the orchestra struck up, her dance card was full.

  How handsome and courteous the gentlemen seemed! Not at all like the bucks and bloods she had watched promenading in the square. There was admittedly quite a sprinkling of fops with their extraordinary wigs, stiff-skirted coats, and high red heels mincing and tittupping around the edges of the floor. The famous Mr. Brummell was pointed out to her by one partner, and Annabelle thought he looked surprisingly amusing and amused, and not at all like the terrifying Leader of Fashion she had been led to expect.

  She dipped and turned, curtseyed in the dance, moving increasingly easier as she became accustomed to partnering a gentleman and not
one of her sisters on the sanded parlor floor of the rectory. The only thing that made her feel uncomfortable was the fact that several of the ladies kept staring at her gown and then putting their bejewelled and feathered heads together. Then she noticed Lord Varleigh standing at the entrance of the ballroom. His evening dress looked as if it had been molded to his tall muscular form, and his light gray eyes raked over the dancers searching for someone. Annabelle, perhaps!

  She felt quite breathless when the dance ended but put it down to the energetic steps of the Scottish reel she had just performed. He was coming towards her. He stopped and gave her a singularly sweet smile accompanied by a bow. Then he moved on.

  “You are looking more enchanting than ever, my dear,” Annabelle heard him say in a caressing voice. But the words were not said to her. Lord Varleigh had come to a stop beside a ravishing brunette. Her pink satin gown clung to her shapely figure, and her low neckline revealed magnificent breasts. Annabelle glanced down at her own lace-covered bosom and wondered if she had been too missish. The dashing brunette was a shade on the plump side. Probably be as fat as a sow by the time she’s forty, thought Annabelle and then wondered why she should so vehemently dislike a lady she did not even know. The brunette was dimpling up at Lord Varleigh in the most enchanting way from under thick black eyelashes.

  Annabelle became aware that she was staring at the couple quite blatantly. She blushed and turned away to look for her next partner.

  The gallant Captain came bounding up exuding a strong smell of the best Burgundy and Rowlandson’s Macassar Oil.

  “It is the waltz,” said Annabelle, listening to the announcement. “I fear I do not know how to do it.”

  “It’s easy,” said Captain MacDonald, putting an arm round her waist. “I lead … you follow.”

  Once Annabelle had become accustomed to the strange feeling of a man’s arm round her waist, she began to enjoy her first waltz. There was no denying that the Captain’s agility at Covent Garden extended to the ballroom, and Annabelle floated happily in his arms, executing turns and twists she would have believed impossible some few minutes before. As she relaxed, Annabelle suddenly thought of Emmeline. She had not seen the Dowager Marchioness for some time.