Dunn’s voice held just a trace of amusement as he offered his arm to her. “Can you forgive me, Lady Anne? In such a crush I have had the most difficult time making my way to you. Servant, Langham.”
Without the least hesitation, Anne accepted his arm. “There’s no need to apologize, Lord Dunn. Once the gong rings, it’s almost impossible to move in any direction but toward the dining room. If you will excuse me, Lord Langham.”
In an aside that Anne distinctly heard, Dunn informed her erstwhile suitor that Miss Breighton was apparently in need of an escort in to supper. Langham looked mulish, but after reflecting that it would do no harm to pique Lady Anne’s jealousy, he did offer his services to Miss Breighton, who accepted with giggling alacrity. Anne smiled slightly as she fanned her flushed cheeks.
“Do you know, Lord Langham actually thought you had forgotten me. Imagine such impudence. I know it would have been impossible for you to forget.”
“Would you care to tell me who you were supposed to have supper with?”
Her eyes dropped before his kindly regard. “No, if you don’t mind. It is not that he forgot, you understand. I had saved supper for him and he did ask, but I . . . thought it wisest to change my mind. He was probably relieved.”
“Did he look relieved?” Dunn asked, curious.
“Well, no,” she admitted. “He said, ‘Dammit, Anne, we haven’t finished discussing the matter,’ and he got that very stem look of his.”
Hastily reviewing his acquaintance for anyone who might have a remarkable “stern” look, Dunn failed to pinpoint any particular gentleman. But he found the conversation intriguing (which is to say, distracting) and pressed on. "I hope you intend to give him the opportunity to conclude your conversation. Nothing is more frustrating than not being able to speak one’s piece.”
“You don’t understand, Lord Dunn. He had no intention of ever broaching the subject, though I did not precisely force him to do so. I think it is a matter of different values.”
“What sort of values?” Since the progress toward the supper room was appallingly slow, the viscount kept his voice as discreetly low as hers. At any time he might discover (from a stray clue), whom they were talking about.
“Some people consider that rank, and fortune, are of paramount importance.”
“Aren’t they?” he asked with twinkling eyes.
“Certainly not! Neither rank nor fortune can guarantee happiness. They are convenient; I do not deny that. And a total lack of rank or fortune would be most unfortunate, but that is certainly not the case.”
“You relieve me.”
“Well, really, I doubt there is a person here tonight totally lacking in both rank and fortune. Not that my parents are particularly top-lofty, but it is, after all, a ball, and I am sure they have made every effort to invite only the haut ton.”
“With perhaps the exception of some of your brother Will’s friends,” he teased.
Anne frowned. “Perhaps. I fear I am boring you.”
“Not at all. You were telling me that some people consider rank and fortune to be of paramount importance, but you had not told me what . . . other people believe to be of value.”
“Other people,” she said defiantly, “think that character, and goodness, and sensibility, and intelligence, and an ease of manners, and a lack of affectation, and honesty, and openness, and a lively wit, and dignity, and resolution, and constancy and . . . and any number of other things are of far more importance!”
“Dear God! Never tell me you have met with such a paragon!”
Anne couldn’t help but laugh at his horrified expression. “Well, I am inclined, I think, to exaggerate just the tiniest bit. What I mean to say is that such virtues weigh a great deal more with some people than do rank and fortune. Fortune, after all, may be dissipated, and rank is a relative matter. Of what practical use is precedence? Do you really care if Lord Langham goes before or after you?”
Dunn appeared thoughtful. “That would depend entirely on where we were going.”
Anne chuckled. “Yes, I perfectly understand, but you know what I mean. I don’t intend to make light of a man’s rank, but I think his character is of far more consequence."
“As to Langham's character, I would not like to make any comment. I might just say that I do think he must have some, and if he shows any, I will be more than happy to let him go before me,” Dunn conceded graciously.
Impulsively, she squeezed his arm. “Mama sent you to me, didn’t she? Sometimes I am in awe of her wisdom.”
“Sometimes?” He raised one impressive brow. “My dear girl, you should always be in awe of the marchioness. I have never met anyone quite like her myself.”
The dining parlor was already filled, and the salon beyond, but there were several empty, and even more partially filled, tables in the gallery. Dunn cast an eye over the various groups. “We shall not sit at Langham’s table, since he has gone before me without any ostensible exhibition of character. Shall we sit with the Fieldings?”
Anne had done a survey of her own and was glad enough to acquiesce in his choice. Mr. Rogers and Helena were seated some distance away, and though it hurt her to see the startled look in Helena’s eyes when she did not accept her smile of invitation, Anne could only shrug slightly as she allowed Dunn to lead her elsewhere. But for the first time it was borne in on her how difficult her encounter with Mr. Rogers could make her friendship with Helena.
Though she had often worried what Helena would think of her if she took the idea into her head that Anne only called in hopes of seeing Mr. Rogers, Anne knew that her affection for Helena was quite apart from that for her brother. They were in the habit of having a comfortable coze every few days in Argyll Street because there were fewer visitors coming and going there. And Helena didn’t always have access to the one carriage Mr. Rogers kept in town, since he frequently needed it.
Once Helena had walked to Grosvenor Square, laughingly protesting that she enjoyed nothing more, but a walk in the city was not the same as one over fields and country lanes. For Anne to go now to Mr. Rogers’s house to see Helena was not out of the question, but it could be very awkward for her.
Dunn, too, had surveyed the supper rooms, and remembered the table at which he and Lady Anne had sat the previous year. Emma had been with Lord William then, but her attention had been on Sir Nicholas, as it was tonight. He forced himself to look away from where the two of them were sitting with Lady Bradwell and Sir Arthur Moresby, and chose a table as far away as possible. The Fieldings were good company and there was no lack of amusing conversation during the meal. He firmly thrust his own problems from him to join in the discussion, and when he and Anne rose to return to the ballroom, he said kindly, "We have allowed ourselves to wander from our previous discussion. You were explaining to me the value of character Though I didn’t feel comfortable discussing Langham’s qualities with you, I would be happy to consider someone else.”
“Who?”
“The gentleman you decided not to have supper with. If you would care to divulge his name, I would count it an honor to hear your estimate of his character. I might even be persuaded to venture an opinion of my own.”
Anne raised her eyes to his. “Thank you, no. It’s not that I don’t value your opinion. I promise you I do! But this is not something I can discuss with you, and I would appreciate it if you said nothing to Mama of our talk.”
“As you wish, of course, but it might be useful for you to speak with your mother. We have already established, I believe, that she is a wise woman.”
When she glanced fleetingly at him, she could see only friendly interest in his eyes. She pleated the skirt of her gown between restless fingers. “I ... I may. I thought I was being mature, rational, and patient and it turns out I have only been childish, romantic, and forward. It would be embarrassing for me to explain that to Mama, as devoted as she is to all of us. Perhaps because she’s so devoted. Living up to her example is difficult. Not that she expects us to
be perfect, but I have come to demand it of myself—within reason."
Her voice trailed away and Dunn considered the slightly averted face. “The marchioness would be horrified, I think, to find that you consider her perfect, and distracted to hear that you compare yourself to her, and find yourself wanting. She has, after all, quite a few more years to her credit than you do, and all the experience that comes with them. I can perfectly understand why you would choose to emulate your mother, but comparing yourself to her will stunt your growth, my dear child, as surely as smoking cheroots!”
A nervous giggle rewarded this sally and Anne faced him, her countenance puzzled. “Do people often confide in you, Lord Dunn?”
“All the time,” he said with a sigh. “I think it is my age.”
“Why, you can’t be much above thirty!”
“No, but I must look older. And I admit to feeling a great deal older at times.” His mouth twisted in a wry grin that did not quite match his tone. “And even the old can’t solve very problem.”
“No one expects them to,” Anne said softly, giving his arm a squeeze. “In the end, we all have to solve our own problems—or live with them.”
Their eyes met in a moment of understanding before she was claimed for the next dance.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The bustle of the previous night had receded, but there was still a certain amount of activity going forward in the Marquess of Barnfield’s Grosvenor Square town house. Maids and footmen tidied rooms or stowed silver from the previous evening’s activity and the door knocker was beginning to sound with unnerving regularity, bringing a collection of flowers and notes of appreciation. A posy arrived for Lady Anne from Lord Dunn with the simple message:
“You are quite right, of course. Character is paramount. Dunn.”
“What does he mean?” Will asked, peering over her shoulder to read the words.
They sat in the breakfast parlor at the back of the house, en deshabille due to the relatively early hour of eleven, sipping from steaming mugs of chocolate. Anne folded the note and placed it on the table beside her plate. “We were discussing the relative merits of character and rank last night, not to mention fortune. It was quite a philosophical conversation,” she teased.
“At a ball! Lord, you’re not supposed to consider anything more significant than whether you’ll have another glass of champagne. Whatever possessed Dunn?”
Anne gazed out the window, a tiny frown creasing her brow. “He was in rather a melancholy mood, I think, but it wasn’t his choice of topic. I—”
Her remarks were interrupted by a discreet knock at the door. A footman entered to inform them, "Mr. Harold Rogers has called to see Lady Anne. He mentioned that he had an appointment to take her walking.”
“But he didn’t!” she protested, flushing.
“Oh, Annie, you’ve simply forgotten,” Will scolded her. “Which is really no wonder when you consider how very long an evening it was. We weren’t in bed before five! How could you have told him eleven?”
“I did no such thing!”
The footman coughed discreetly. “I should tell Mr. Rogers...?”
Before his sister could speak, Will intervened. “Well, you must certainly go, Annie. He’s Helena’s brother after all, and I daresay he was no more please to be abroad at this hour after such a late night than you will be.”
“I can’t . . ."
“Pooh. It won’t take but a few minutes to change into something decent.” Will turned to the footman and declared, “You must have Mr. Rogers wait in the blue saloon, Fredericks. Tell him Lady Anne will be with him shortly.”
When Anne made no further demure the footman departed, closing the door carefully after him. Anne distractedly deposited her chocolate mug on a gateleg table and rose, but before stomping from the room she muttered, “Really, Will, you haven’t the slightest idea what you’ve done.”
Mr. Rogers was standing by the mantelpiece, gloves in hand, when Anne entered the room some time later. She had taken the time to put on her best walking dress, but had then placed over it a hooded cape of navy blue that covered her whole ensemble and made her look more an orphan than the petted daughter of the Marquess of Barnfield. The marchioness had protested her bringing it to town at all, considering it worthy only of strolls on blustery days at Parkhurst, but Anne had truthfully protested that it didn’t take much space, after all.
Inside the door of the blue saloon she paused long enough to regain her composure after seeing him and then walked purposefully toward him. "You know very well we had no appointment to go walking, and I would have refused but for my brother’s being so densely insistent. He even scolded me for forgetting and for setting such an early hour.”
Ignoring her sparking eyes and her tirade, he lifted her hand to his lips. “Good morning, Lady Anne. I would commend you on your looks but frankly you appear the veriest waif this morning.”
“Perhaps you have forgotten, Mr. Rogers, that the ball lasted until after four. I was barely up when you called.”
“I am surprised that your brother would disturb your rest. You did say that it was he who insisted on your coming?”
“We often take our chocolate in the back breakfast room the very first thing after arising.”
“I see. Shall we go?” Imperturbable, he held the door for her, and after one last defiant glare she walked past him with as much dignity as she could muster. They continued in silence out of the house and along Upper Brook Street to Hyde Park. There was but a solitary gentleman to be seen in the promenade, and a pair of riders beyond the rows of trees. Anne concentrated her attention on a patch of spring flowers and then a stray dog trotting across the path.
As though he had not a worry in the world, Mr. Rogers strolled beside her, matching his pace to hers, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. “Helena has created a delightful flower border at Farthing Hill. It seems almost a pity to be in town in the spring, when it’s in full glory The display is remarkable in summer, too, of course but I prefer the muscari and tulips to the lupine and iris. Purely a matter of personal taste, I suppose.”
Anne said nothing.
"And then there are the birds at this time of year. One sees far more pipits and buntings than in the heat of the summer. And the song of the warbler is captivating, though perhaps not as liquid as the blackcap. Have you the lesser spotted woodpecker at Parkhurst?”
“Yes.”
“Helena is particularly fond of drawing them. We have an ancient pine forest along the path to Enfield where the crested tit makes its nest in holes of decayed trees. Helena will sit for hours, waiting for a sight of one. I’m sure she’s shown you her sketchbooks."
“Yes.”
“She won’t bring them up to town with her most years, for she says there is little occasion to employ them here. Too busy with other things, and the variety of birds is limited.”
Anne adjusted the hood of her cape.
Mr. Rogers proceeded as though she were showing an absorbed fascination with his commentary. “Farthing Hill is not a large house; it could fit in the east wing of Parkhurst. Originally it was simply a timber-frame hall house built by a small squire about 1480. It has been extended and renovated over the centuries, but there are any number of inconveniences remaining. Still, in all we find it a comfortable small house, with only three bedroom suites and three reception rooms, including the dining parlor. Enfield is the closest town of any size. When the opportunity arises I add to the farming land, but I’m cautious about over-extending my resources. And I have chosen to invest a certain amount in London itself, or rather those areas which are likely to be overrun by the city very shortly. I see no end in sight to the expansion of the city and have bought up pieces of undeveloped land on the fringes, which appear to me to be in line for building.”
“Have you in mind to hold onto the land until its value increases or to pursue a building scheme of your own?” Anne could not help asking.
“That will depend on
whether my first venture is successful. There are several houses being built now in the area off Grosvenor Place. I have put up the land as my share of the venture and I had the final say as to the finished design.”
“Why have you never told me of this before?”
“You might better ask yourself why I am telling you now, Anne,” he suggested, studying her face.
“Oh, I’m sure I know the answer to that,” she returned with lofty dignity. “You are illustrating to me, in the gentlest possible manner, that you are not a wealthy man and that you have speculated on a project which could make your position even less desirable. Do you think I care?"
“You should, my dear, and your parents certainly would. Actually, I don’t think there is any chance that this venture will leave me any the worse off and I’ve found it stimulating, if rather time-consuming.” He directed her to a bench and waited as she seated herself. With an automatic movement he swept the skirts of his coat out of the way and joined her, his face mirroring his concentration.
“I have given a great deal of thought to what I wish to tell you. Not just since last night. For most of the last year I have considered the deterrents to and the possibilities of our relationship, when I was unable to thrust it from my mind altogether, as I knew I should. I have tried to weigh the advantages of rank and fortune against the intangible and possibly illusory benefits of affection.” She was regarding him intently and he offered a disparaging smile. “It can’t be done, Anne. Not by me, at least. I don’t wish to suggest that our attraction is purely sensual; I know very well that it isn’t. Which is why I have cherished the idea that we could always remain friends.”
“Hogwash!” said Anne, unmoved by his reason.
Mr. Rogers grinned. “I do love your very direct outlook on life, Anne. But let us consider what is expected of you. You come from a prominent, titled, wealthy family and have every right to marry into a similar situation. It is hard at your age to realize the difference these things make to one’s comfort and position. To you they are as natural as the air. Much as I would wish to, I cannot duplicate such a setting.”
The Loving Seasons Page 33
