by M C Beaton
“It is because they do not yet know.”
“You are immoral!” raged the major. “Why should you cause your hosts such distress and shock the Hadleys? They will surely want to know why you should wish to marry their youngest daughter. Have you been meeting her on the sly?”
“I have been meeting her, yes.”
“Then why did you not simply ask her father’s permission? She will surely have told her parents herself.”
Lord Granton had the grace to color up.
“You mean you haven’t told her? Such arrogance! You expect her to fall into your arms and say yes?”
“She is not indifferent to me. I love her. She has been humiliated and passed over. I want to give her her moment of triumph.”
“You are like Lord Byron—mad, bad, and dangerous to know. I am dreading this evening. You are behaving cruelly and irresponsibly toward that angel.”
“Frederica?”
“No!” howled the major, quite beside himself with fury. “Annabelle.”
“You are becoming exercised over nothing. Have I even held her hand, murmured sweet nothings to her, sought out her company? No, I have not.”
“Then let me tell you this. I feel honor bound to tell Miss Annabelle quite definitely that you are not going to propose to her!”
“I do not want you to mention Frederica’s name! They would stop her from attending.”
“No, but I will put her wise to your lack of honorable intentions.”
The major strode off and Lord Granton ruefully watched him go. He admitted to himself that he was behaving irresponsibly. But it was only a few hours now until the ball, and all would be resolved.
Ten minutes later the major found Annabelle in the ballroom, or the chain of salons which was to be the ballroom, supervising the French chalking of the floor. Ballroom floors in the best houses were not simply chalked. Colored chalks were used to make an elaborate pattern of flowers and fruit on the floor despite the fact that the whole artistic effect would be ruined by the arrival of the first guests.
“Miss Annabelle!” cried the major, his round face flushed with distress. “I beg a moment of your time.”
“But of course, Major,” said Annabelle, smiling on him sweetly, for she knew the major adored her and was therefore behaving just as a gentleman ought.
He drew her out of earshot of the busy servants and the “artist” from the village who was laboriously drawing out patterns on the floor.
“I do not like to be the bringer of bad news,” said the major. “I am ashamed to tell you that my friend, Lord Granton, is not going to propose to you.”
Annabelle surveyed him with a certain irritation. “Major, you really must pull yourself together. There is nothing to become excited about. You have already tried to tell me this.”
“There is! There is! I feel he has been playing fast and loose with the most beautiful lady I have ever met. Oh, Miss Annabelle, I love you from the bottom of my poor heart. Pray, be mine! You refused me before, but now I tell you, Lord Granton most definitely does not mean to propose to you.”
And to Annabelle’s consternation, the major sank down onto one knee in front of the curious stares of the servants.
“Control yourself, sir.” Annabelle backed away as the major tried to grasp her hand. “I am flattered by your proposal but must decline it. Do behave, dear sir, and go and drink a seltzer water.”
“But, Miss Annabelle…!” The major, red-faced, stumbled clumsily to his feet.
“I said, enough!” cried Annabelle, who was now thoroughly enjoying herself. She had never felt more beautiful, more irresistible, more powerful. She plucked a rose from a vase and held it out to the poor major, who took it and clutched it to his breast. “Now, begone!” Annabelle struck an Attitude she had seen in London that was meant to represent a princess repulsing the attentions of an unwanted suitor, one hand outstretched, the other to her brow. Still clutching the rose, the major walked away. And then he suddenly found himself becoming angry.
Annabelle deserved a good set-down, he thought suddenly, and Lord Granton would see that she got it!
Mrs. Hadley’s hands trembled as she opened the sealed letter that had arrived from the Hall. Now what? Were they all to be banned, and at the very last minute?
She read the contents and then let out a little shriek. Then she ran into her husband’s study. “Dr. Hadley!” she cried. “Such a surprise! A letter, a charming letter from Lady Crown. She feels Frederica has been punished enough and has graciously said she may attend. What do you think of that?”
Dr. Hadley sat very still, looking wearily at his wife. “I am not in a position to feel other than gratified. Frederica will have to be forced to go to that wretched ball.”
“What can you mean, sir?”
“I mean that Frederica will consider the lateness and tone of the invitation an insult.” He held up his hand. “And she will be right. But in my position, I dare not offend the Crowns. You must let me talk to Frederica myself. I will do it now.”
He rose slowly to his feet. “It is difficult, my dear, in our financial situation, to care for four daughters. But I fear we have treated Frederica more like a poor relation than a daughter.”
“But she is so young, little more than a child.”
“I have lately observed she has become a young lady. She has a fine ball gown. Make sure her hair is put up as befits her age and that she has any embellishments for her ensemble she requires.”
Frederica was sitting in her favorite chair by the window of her room when her father entered.
“Papa.” She rose dutifully. “Nothing is amiss, I trust?”
“I fear you are going to think it so. My child, Lady Crown has graciously decided that you may attend the ball this evening after all.”
Color flared up in Frederica’s face. “Never!” she said passionately.
“Sit down, Frederica, and listen to me and listen carefully. I know you often feel that we toady quite dreadfully to the Crowns. In my case, it is because of fears that they might remove my living, and then what would become of us? Lady Crown is so proud and yet has a flightiness of mind. Were you not to attend, that might be regarded as an insult. I cannot risk that. In our position in life, which we must always remember was given to us by the good Lord, we must respect the whims and foibles of our betters. So you must go, Frederica.”
She turned away from him and looked out the window. The weather was still fine, the sun still shone, intensifying the darkness she felt within her.
If she went, she would hear him announce his engagement to Annabelle. But perhaps that would be a good thing, would increase her contempt for him. It would be an opportunity to show him how little she cared.
She turned back and said in a flat voice, “Very well, Papa. But I shall wear my hair up.”
“Of course, and your mother and sisters will gladly lend you anything you require. It is only a ball, my dear. You look quite white.”
“I shall do very well,” said Frederica.
When her father had left, she sat down again. If only she could forget that kiss, which had meant so much to her and so little to him. She sat there for a long time, and finally with a little shrug she got to her feet. She would work on her appearance as she had never worked on it before. Lord Granton would not know her heart was breaking.
Dr. Hadley left the church just before he was due back at the rectory for the early evening meal. His conscience was troubling him. He had not liked the way in which Frederica had been invited at the very last minute, but he did not see what he could possibly do about it. He gave a little sigh as he emerged from the darkness of the church porch and nearly collided with the tall figure of Lord Granton.
“My lord,” he said with a gasp of surprise, “you startled me.”
“I am sorry, Rector; I have come to confess my sins.”
The rector looked anxiously at his turnip-sized watch, which he drew out from his pocket. He was gratified at the request bu
t felt uneasily that the sins of Lord Granton might take quite a long time to listen to. “Perhaps,” he ventured, “we could set a time for tomorrow? I am on my way to dinner, and then there are all the preparations to go to the ball, and…”
“It will not take long,” said Lord Granton. “If we might step inside the church for a moment?”
“Very well.” Dr. Hadley led the way back into the church. He turned in the center aisle to face Lord Granton. “Now, if I may be of assistance…?”
“I wish to ask your leave to allow me to pay my addresses to your daughter.”
The rector looked up at him in amazement.
“Which daughter?”
“Frederica.”
“Frederica! But you have only met her for a few moments.”
“This is my confession. I have been meeting Frederica secretly.”
Dr. Hadley’s face hardened. “You shock me. This is outrageous. Her reputation will be ruined.”
“Her reputation will not be ruined,” said Lord Granton testily, “because I am going to marry the girl, if she will have me.”
“But why did you meet her in secret? It was not necessary. She is a respectable girl. All you had to do was to ask my permission to pay court to her and you could have met her openly.”
“My conscience is sore on that point.” Lord Granton stared up at the church roof as if for inspiration. “She seemed to me to be little more than an intelligent child. She amused me. I was sorry for her because she was so neglected by you and your wife. Then I fell in love with her. You must forgive me for my strange behavior.”
Dr. Hadley stared at him with mounting anger. “You are outrageous, my lord. You are a guest of the Crowns; you are fully expected to announce your engagement to Miss Annabelle Crown this very evening. The Crowns will feel slighted and furious should you announce your engagement to Frederica instead, and I will lose my living. Oh, I have seen by the look on your face that you think I creep and crawl to them dreadfully, but what else can I do?”
A mocking smile appeared on Lord Granton’s lips. “Dr. Hadley, you may lose a living but you will be gaining as a son-in-law one of the richest men in England.”
“Oh, dear, so I shall,” said Dr. Hadley. “Oh, so I shall.”
“So you see, whether the Crowns disapprove or not, there is nothing they can do now to harm you. So I must ask you again, reminding you at the same time that you still have three daughters to bring out after Frederica, and with my patronage you will now be able to do so in style, may I marry your daughter?”
“Does Frederica accept you?”
“I have not yet asked her, but I will ask her at the ball. To be frank, I was furious at her treatment and did not wish to tell you anything until she had accepted me. I wanted her to be the star of the ball. I wanted to make it up to her for all the times she has been passed over, neglected, and humiliated. Come, Dr. Hadley, I think we both have much to be ashamed of in our treatment of Frederica.”
Dr. Hadley held out his hand, and Lord Granton solemnly shook it. “I welcome you as a son-in-law,” said the rector.
“I must crave your indulgence, sir. Do not tell your wife or daughters of this. I wish it to be a surprise.”
Dr. Hadley gazed at him in a dazed way. The import of these glorious words, “one of the richest men in England,” was slowly sinking in. God is rewarding me at last, thought Dr. Hadley.
“Yes, of course,” he said. “It shall be our secret until tonight.”
“Then I bid you good day, sir.”
Lord Granton turned and strolled out of the church.
Dr. Hadley slowly followed. Security at last! It no longer mattered what the Crowns thought. Frederica, of all people, would be a viscountess. She would take precedence over Lady Crown.
When he entered the house, his face was so suffused with happiness that his wife observed sharply, “You look almost exalted.”
“Something wonderful happened to me in the church. A revelation!” cried Dr. Hadley. He beamed at Frederica, who was sitting with her hair in clay rollers. Frederica looked bleakly back. She wished she could share what she understood to be her father’s strong spiritual belief, for she had tried to pray for help but could only come to the dismal conclusion that an unforgiving God had sent down on her head the humiliation she so richly deserved for asking a rake to kiss her, and in the church, too!
Chapter Seven
Lord Granton smiled dreamily at his reflection in the mirror as he took a freshly starched and laundered cravat from his valet and proceeded to tie it carefully in the style known as The Oriental. He had finally done the correct thing. He had obtained Dr. Hadley’s permission to marry Frederica.
The door of his dressing room crashed open and Major Harry Delisle walked in. “Leave us,” he snapped at the valet.
Lord Granton swung round, his face darkening. “I hope you have a good explanation, Harry, for bursting in while I am dressing and dismissing my valet.”
“You are a monster and no friend of mine,” howled Harry. “That angel still believes you are going to marry her. But your perverted taste prefers the charms of a gauche schoolgirl young enough to be your daughter!”
“That’s enough. Do not dare insult my future bride.”
“I proposed to Annabelle and was rejected.”
“Harry, I have obtained the good rector’s permission to pay my addresses to his daughter, and that is that. We have stayed at country houses before. I have risen hopes before by my very presence. I always do. It is my title and my fortune, not my face or figure, that is always the attraction. Yes, I admit I have been behaving badly, but I am about to rectify the matter. Before you punch me, which you are obviously dying to do, think on this. Apart from a short drive this morning, I have always seen Annabelle in your presence. Have I ever done or said anything to raise her hopes?”
The major glared at him.
“No, think about it, Harry. I sometimes pay pretty young misses compliments; I sometimes flirt. It is the fashion. In the case of Annabelle Crown, I have done neither of those things. And how did she reject your suit? Triumphantly, I should think. Did she strike an Attitude?”
The major now scowled at the carpet, remembering that outstretched hand and the other to her brow in such a theatrical way.
“I thought so,” said the viscount, reading his silence for assent. “So instead of concentrating on my bad behavior, what of the behavior of a young miss whose vanity leaves her impervious to every coldness? A good set-down might do her the world of good.”
That was what the major had been thinking earlier, but his pride had reasserted itself and he had become convinced that Annabelle would have accepted him had it not been for his friend’s disgraceful ways.
“I am sorry,” said Lord Granton ruefully. “I feel you are so anxious to be wed, Harry, that you are ready to fall in love with anyone. And if you married Annabelle, you would not see much of her, for she would not be the sort of army wife to go with you.” He finished tying his cravat. “Now, you look very fine. Let us go downstairs. You will not believe me at the moment, but such as Annabelle Crown is not worth losing a good friend.”
They walked in silence out of the room and along the passage that led to the main staircase.
As they passed Annabelle’s rooms, they heard her trill of laughter. “Can you believe it, Mama?” came her voice with dreadful clarity, for the door was slightly ajar. “There was that funny, fat little major down on one knee with all the servants staring. I was hard put not to laugh.”
And Lady Crown replied, “You will break hearts tonight. You are so very beautiful.”
“I think you have heard enough,” said Lord Granton quietly. He put his hand under the major’s arm and urged him forward.
“Where is Frederica?” demanded Mrs. Hadley shrilly as she, her husband, and her three other daughters waited impatiently in the rectory drawing room. “If we are late, we will offend the Crowns.”
“A pox on the Crowns,” said the re
ctor happily. “Let them wait.”
“Dr. Hadley! Such language, and in front of your daughters, too!”
The door opened and Frederica came in. Her family stared at her in amazement. She had cleverly copied one of the new Roman hairstyles from a fashion magazine and threaded her mother’s seed pearls through it. The new ball gown shimmered with little pearls in the candlelight of the drawing room. Her face was delicately flushed, and her eyes were very wide and dark.
Dr. Hadley walked forward and held out his arm. “You look like a princess.” Frederica smiled vaguely and put her hand on his arm. “Shall we go?” she said quietly.
They climbed into the old rectory carriage, driven for the evening by a man from the village. The sun was setting, sending great slanting shafts of sunlight over the tussocky grass of the churchyard.
