by Jennifer Joy
Anne bit her lips and settled back into her chair.
Mother looked at the cushion again. “This is very good,” she said before giving it to a maid to place on her couch.
Anne thought her heart would burst with pride.
“Tell me about your drawings and paintings.” Mother poured the tea that was just set on the table.
“I have been doing more sketching than I have ever done before. Portraits, mostly. Then, I make a miniature portrait with watercolors.”
“I should like to see some of your work. The arts are very important, and it only seems natural that my daughter should be proficient in some form of art. Whom do you paint?”
Anne squirmed in her seat. Best to tell her now.
Accepting the tea cup and saucer handed to her, she gently set it down while thinking how to start. The simple truth would have to suffice.
“When I arrived in town, I had very little money and it struck me as unfair that Nancy should work to buy my bread. In conversation, the lady whose hospitality I then enjoyed, Mrs. Hepplewhite, revealed a trend amongst the ladies of the ton. She said that miniature portraits were en vogue, but the painter most of the ladies preferred was too busy to do them in a timely manner. I went to him and proposed that I might help lighten his workload. I even auditioned by painting one of his sketches on the spot.” Anne remembered how nervous she had been. About as nervous as she was at that moment.
“After two weeks instruction, he considered me proficient and I started working with him. He is Rosalba Carriera’s nephew.” She paused after mentioning the renowned Venetian artist, hoping Mother would be impressed.
Mother dropped a lump of sugar into her tea with such abruptness, the tea splattered off her saucer and soaked through the table cloth. “You are accepting payment. You are working!”
“I had no other option.” Anne locked eyes with Mother, refusing to look away. She wanted their relationship to improve, but brushing over the consequences of decisions rashly made would not help. Anne had never been devious, and she did not plan to start now. She had nothing to be ashamed of, she kept repeating to herself.
“You could have come home! I never meant for you to leave and, when you did, I was so confident you would come back before nightfall.” Mother cradled her arms, gripping the fabric of her sleeves at the elbows.
Anne reached out to her, touched by her vulnerability.
“You must think I am a cold, bitter, old woman, but you have no idea what I have suffered.”
“Then tell me. Let me share your burden,” Anne implored.
“There are some things you protect your children from.”
“I am not a child anymore. I am a grown woman.”
Anne watched as Mother built her barrier up before her eyes. First, she exhaled deeply, straightening her posture. Then, she unfolded her arms and placed her hands together on the table. A few breaths later, her head was back in its haughty position and her mask was securely in place. Her eyes were as cold as her house, and Anne could no longer see any expression in them.
“We could help each other, if you would let me. I will continue to call on you while you are in town, but I cannot live any longer on your terms.” She stood. “Perhaps you meant to protect me from disappointment. I will never know unless you tell me, but I have learned in these past short months that I am capable of doing things and of being someone I could look up to. For the first time in my life, I can look at my reflection and feel content with the woman I am becoming. I want to share my joy with you— if you will let me. Good day, Mother.”
Anne’s chin trembled as she descended the stairs, but her steps were light. She had been honest and done everything she could to mend her shaky standing with her mother. And, though it was a brief moment, Anne believed that if given enough time, Mother would come around. She held on to that belief with the stubbornness she had inherited from the great lady herself.
Descending the stairs to her carriage, she saw her cousin riding up on his buckskin blood horse.
Saluting Anne, he dismounted and strode over to the steps. Standing three steps higher than Richard put them at eye level. It was good to see his merry face. A grin was never far from her cousin. He bobbed his head in greeting to her.
“Our paths finally cross. I keep hearing your name mentioned at the assemblies and wonder why your name is present, but you are not.”
“I have been too busy in other pursuits. Unlike you, I am in no hurry to the altar.” She knew that would silence his inquisitive mind.
Richard chuckled. “I take it your time with the Hepplewhites was pleasant?”
Anne instantly felt guilty for her negligence. She could have thanked him somehow.
“I should have told you how perfect the situation was. Millie has become a kindred friend. In fact, I am on my way to her house this minute. We have a meeting for the East Side Orphanage. We would like to raise funds to take them on a picnic outside the city. The air over there is stifling in the summer months, and an outing would do the children good.”
“I am glad to hear how you have involved yourself in charitable pursuits. But you are residing neither there, nor here.” His observation was clearly a question.
“Before Mother arrived, I arranged to stay with an aunt on my father’s side. Did you know he had an elder sister? She lives alone in a house at St. James, so I am keeping her company for a while.”
Richard knit his brows together and glanced toward Mother’s house. He was not completely convinced.
“I would love to stay and chat, but I really must be on my way. Millie and her orphans await.” She smiled sweetly at her cousin and stepped down the stairs toward Aunt Beatrice’s carriage. The de Bourgh family crest shone in contrast to the black wood of the frame.
“Very well then, my secretive cousin. Do your good deeds of the day and I will attend to mine.” With a gallant bow, he proceeded up the stairs to pay a call on his aunt.
The next hour was a blur as Anne memorized a couple new faces to sketch at home later. She had already painted a few of the ladies present, and it gave Anne a thrill to know that her art was now displayed in their fine homes. Normally quiet and contemplative, she even went so far as to make a few recommendations about the refreshments to be served for the picnic. Millie thought her idea was brilliant, and the ladies soon applauded unanimously about her suggestion. It was a simple suggestion that they serve lemonade and tea sandwiches as they would be less cumbersome to bring and easier to distribute amongst the children, but they made Anne feel as if she had discovered a new star or something equally significant. Anne decided to make more of an effort to participate at her meetings.
Soon it was time to go home to begin her real work. Sketching.
Aunt Beatrice met them at the door, smacking an unopened letter in her hand impatiently.
“Oh! You are finally home! I am on pins and needles.” She held the letter out to Anne. “It is from your father, my dear.”
Anne took the letter and saw how similar the handwriting was to the letter tucked away in her trunk.
She held it to her chest and squealed before breaking the seal and devouring the single page, reading it aloud for Aunt Beatrice to hear.
May 3, 1812
Paris
Dearest Anne,
I write this message with trembling hands and a hopeful heart. Could it be? I have a daughter! I apologize for my delay in writing. I have written at least a dozen letters to you, all of which made it no further than the trash bin.
What I want to say is that knowing about you has made me the happiest man alive, and I will leave on the first boat crossing I can find.
Your father,
Sir Lewis de Bourgh
“He says he will come on the first boat leaving.” Anne looked at the date, then to Aunt Beatrice.
“He could be here tomorrow.”
Tomorrow!
Chapter 19
The next morning, Luc left the theater earlier than normal. Practice
was running smoothly and he figured his time was better spent at his sister’s shop. Maybe Anne would be there.
On opening the door, peals of laughter welcomed him from the sewing room. Crossing the room and peeking into the workroom door, not wanting to disturb the friendly talk in the room, Luc was surprised to see that Anne was the center of the gaiety.
She was prancing about the room, bits of fabric draped across her shoulders for effect. She looked like a Grecian goddess; very different from the sickly, quiet woman he had met at the start of the season.
He watched as she waved her arms about the room, pausing to recite different scenes from The Fair Penitent. One moment she was innocent Calista. Then, she would switch roles to the seducer Lothario, preying upon the tormented Calista. The effectiveness with which Anne sprang back and forth between the two roles made Luc laugh along with the rest of her audience. While Lothario made them laugh, she was very convincing as Calista.
Luc watched the girls’ reaction. Most of them had stopped stitching altogether and were enthralled with the performance before them. Luc leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, one hand supporting his chin to keep it up.
So engrossed in her role was Anne, she did not notice him standing there. Or if she did, she expertly ignored him.
Skipping to the final act, Anne stripped a length of loose fabric off her shoulders and knelt down on the floor. She caressed the fabric in her lap as if it really were her deceased lover, Lothario. With one final outburst of emotion, Anne recited her final lines. The position of her body and the expression on her face lured in her audience. Luc heard sniffles around the room, and more than one young lady dabbed at her eyes.
When Calista accepted the imaginary dagger and plunged it into her heart— much in the style of Romeo’s Juliet— to die before their eyes, a silence pervaded the room. Luc shook his head to come out of his reverie. Clapping enthusiastically, he entered the room. He was soon joined in his applause by the girls in the room.
Anne stood and curtsied so deeply her knee touched the floor. Adélaïde and Nancy rushed up, each with a single rose they had taken out of a vase of flowers on the counter.
“Wonderful! Simply wonderful!” said Luc as he bowed before Anne.
She blushed at the compliment. She looked so lovely, Luc wished a portrait could be painted to capture the joy on her face that very moment.
“I did not know you were such a talented actress, Miss… de Bourgh.” For weeks, he thought of her as Anne, but it would not do to speak to her so intimately. Not yet.
“It was only for fun and I would hardly say that I am talented.”
“Oh, but you are. If I could find a young lady with half the passion you displayed in your performance, I would offer her a contract immediately.”
Anne smiled so largely, her eyes turned up at the corners. Luc resisted the urge to place his hands on her cheeks and kiss the tip of her adorable nose. Instead, he clasped his hands behind his back and took a step back.
“To what do we owe the pleasure of your performance?” he asked.
“I received a letter from Father. I might get to meet him this very day. Aunt Beatrice grew weary of me pacing about the house, so she sent me here. I fear I have not been much use anywhere— more a distraction.” She looked repentantly at Adélaïde.
“Think nothing of it. Happy workers make productive workers. You have brought much happiness to me and to my girls this morning. Besides, Miss Beatrice can easily get news to us. This is where you need to be.”
This is where you need to be. Adélaïde’s words echoed in Luc’s mind, refusing to leave. She fit in so well and had thrived in the artistic environment she had surrounded herself with. Anne needed to stay in London where she could continue to flourish, where she had friends, where he could take care of her… No. That was not right. Anne did not need anyone to take care of her. She was stronger now than when he had first met her almost two months before. But Luc wanted to stand beside her and encourage her as she continued to explore her limits. He would help her see that she was capable of anything she set her mind to. It was inspiring to watch.
The bell on the shop door rang. Adélaïde left to see who it was. Anne stepped toward the hallway, no doubt to see if it was a messenger for her.
Adélaïde almost ran back into the room, holding out a missive for Anne. She tore it open, shuffling her weight back and forth, unable to keep still.
“I must go! A boat has arrived from Calais and Father said he would be on it.” She headed out of the room to leave the shop.
Nancy ran behind her, “Miss Anne, your wrap and bonnet!”
Anne stopped long enough for Nancy to help her tie her bonnet while she put her wrap in place. Looking to the back of the shop, Anne exclaimed, “Oh, how rude of me. I did not even properly excuse myself.”
Seeing her predicament, Luc and Adélaïde waved her away. “Go, Miss Anne. Go meet your father.”
Smiling, she spun around and left with the footman for her aunt’s house.
Luc turned and went back into the sewing room. The first thing he saw was Adélaïde, arms crossed, tapping her foot against the smooth wood floor.
“What?” Luc asked, feeling that somehow he was in trouble.
Adélaïde jabbed her pointy finger into his chest. “You like her.”
Luc did not like his inner feelings proclaimed out loud before he completely understood them and could plan accordingly. He crossed his arms, saying defensively, “What if I do?”
“Yet, you say nothing?”
“What am I supposed to say? You yourself told me that she is out of my league. Or have you forgotten how well she put me in my place in this very room?”
Adélaïde ignored him and continued, “You are sensitive to her wants and needs, you scolded Maman over her, you are very protective and encouraging…” Adélaïde’s fingers reached up to tap on her chin while she chewed on the corner of her mouth— a sure sign she was up to something.
Luc wanted to leave, but knew he could not at that moment. Adélaïde and her girls would have him married by the end of the season if they had their way. Not that he would mind marrying Anne…
Adélaïde held her arm up in triumph. “I think it will work!”
“What will work?” Luc was afraid to ask.
“You and Anne. You would make a lovely match. Now, we need a plan. Her mother is in town and her father may have arrived today.” She continued tapping on her chin as she paced from one end of the room to the other. “You must win the mother over. She and Anne are having difficulty now, but I can tell that Anne loves her deeply. She would respect you all the more if you could get the approval of Lady Catherine—”
“Enough, Adélaïde,” Luc cut in before she enumerated her plans in front of the whole room. “I need to know she returns my affections before I lose my heart completely.”
Adélaïde placed her hand on his shoulder. “Luc, do not be blind. You visit me every day because you know Miss Anne will be here. I know you enjoy my company, but I do not think you come to visit me. I believe your heart is already lost.”
What she said was true, but it still jarred Luc to hear it.
“I will ask because I know you will not,” Adélaïde said. “Nancy, is there any possibility Anne returns my brother’s affection?”
Nancy did not say a word. She walked over to the table, where lengths of fabric were cut, and picked up the tattered portfolio Anne brought with her everywhere. She opened it up and turned the pages so they could see.
“Miss Anne left this behind in her haste. It is hers.”
Luc saw his sketched portrait. Nancy turned the page to another— a profile of his face.
He wanted to believe it meant something, but Anne’s book was full of sketches of people.
Though she had left the room only minutes ago, he needed to see Anne. Fortunately for him, Nancy held the perfect reason to call at Miss Beatrice’s.
Holding out his hand, he asked, “May I return it to
her? If her father has indeed come, she will want to show him some of her work. It would make him proud.”
“As long as you promise to take care of it. Its contents are precious.” Nancy looked intensely at him while holding the book just outside his reach. Her meaning was clear. She loved her mistress and would not see her come to harm. Neither would he.
“I promise.”
Nancy handed the book to Luc and he left for Miss Beatrice’s. He had little hope of seeing Anne if Sir Lewis had arrived, but he could at least return her drawings. She would notice they were gone soon enough, and having them returned would save her the worry of wondering where they were.
Hopping up the steps to Maman’s house, the butler welcomed him inside and showed him into the waiting room where he greeted two very subdued women.
“Oh, Luc, I am glad it is you. We need some good company.” Maman nodded toward Anne. She looked to be on the verge of tears.
“He did not come,” she whispered. She set the book she had been trying to read down and wrapped her arms around her body.
Luc crossed the room and sat next to Anne. He was happy to note that she did not even flinch, though he was careful to leave a sizable space between them. He had not come to startle her.
“He will come. So it was not today, but there is tomorrow, is there not? I know he will come.”
“That is what I keep telling her, Luc. Lewis has made poor choices in the past, but he would never disappoint his own daughter. It is dangerous to travel, and I am sure he will come at the first safe opportunity.”
“How could I be so selfish? I knew it was dangerous to cross the channel when I wrote him, yet write him I did. I begged him to come. I was only thinking of my own desire to meet my father. What if he should come to harm because of me?” A tear trickled down Anne’s cheek. He wanted to wipe it away with his fingers, but settled with offering his handkerchief.
“You do not know what your father has been up to these past twenty years and more, do you? Your aunt has said nothing?” Luc looked at Maman.
