First Season / Bride to Be (18 page)

Norbury poured the last of the second bottle of claret in the late afternoon. He sat at his ease in the inn parlor, his legs stretched out, turning the wineglass by the stem and watching the light dance in the ruby liquid. He was not foxed, but the fumes of the wine surrounded his brain and filled it with self-congratulatory images. He remembered past triumphs and pleasures; he recalled the series of mistresses he had kept in the small house where his future wife now waited. The juxtaposition amused him. It seemed somehow apt. He had dismissed the last occupant soon after he had offered for Anabel, feeling extremely virtuous and domestic, but the lease had several months to run, and he had done nothing about getting rid of it. Now it was serving a final purpose.

He wondered what Anabel was doing and, in thinking about her, frowned. He was a bit disappointed in his promised bride; she had limitations he had not seen until today. How could any woman prefer Hanford to him? The man was a nobody, a country squire without pretensions to fashion or
ton
. He had no wit and, as far as Norbury had seen, little intelligence. He was like a thousand others. Norbury could only conclude, as he had told Anabel, that Hanford had tricked her. He had played upon her maternal feelings in a vulnerable moment. The more Norbury thought about it, the more certain he was that Hanford had staged the children's disappearance, then used it to his own advantage. It was the only possible explanation.

Still, Anabel should not have been so easily taken in. She was absurdly attached to those children. It came of shutting herself up with them in the country for so many years. Her perceptions had become distorted. But that would soon change. Norbury sipped his wine, smiling slightly. He had no doubt whatever of his ability to bring Anabel around to his own way of thinking. He had done as much so many times in the past. Women had resisted him or rebelled against his strictures, but in the end, they had capitulated to his powerful personality and physical charms. In the one or two cases where they had not, he had abandoned the field in disdain.

Anabel would soon change her tone, when he was able to exert the full force of his persuasive powers. He had been hampered with her, as he had not with his mistresses, by convention and propriety. Once they were wed, she would be very pleased that he had not let her break it off.

His smile widening, Norbury imagined the scene. There was always a thrill in overcoming a woman's initial opposition, and in this case it would have a particular spice, for his feelings for Anabel were truly quite strong. In a way he loved her, and drawing out her eager response would be vastly exciting. The picture, heightened by the claret, inflamed him, and he suddenly realized that there was no need to wait. Anabel was his now. Transfixed, he gazed at the wall of the tavern parlor. His determination to marry her remained firm—they
would
marry, and soon—thus they were practically married already. And how much easier it would be to have a willing, fervent bride than to force her through the ceremony. He would make her see her mistake first, now.

His pale green eyes gleaming, Norbury stood and tossed off the last of the wine. Leaving a few coins on the table, he retrieved his hat and strode out into the street. The afternoon was waning; dusk was near. It would be the perfect time for a seduction. His expression eager, he set off to walk the short distance to the house.

* * *

Anabel watched the day ending with resignation. She had run the gamut of emotions as it passed, from anger to hope to despair. She had had no luck in attracting the attention of passersby. Those who had heard her calling through the broken window had ignored her, and most had shown no sign of even hearing. Now she was simply waiting for this outrage to end. She knew what she would do tomorrow—depart for home at once—and she had finally admitted that there was nothing to be done before that.

She was lying on the narrow bed, hoping for sleep to make the time pass more quickly, when she heard the footsteps on the stairs. She sat up at once and listened; she had not expected Norbury to return before morning. Could this be someone else? She stood and moved around the bed, putting it between her and the door.

The lock clicked, and he came in, scanning the dim room for her and smiling when he saw her position. “Anabel, my dear. Are you comfortable?” With a twist of his hand, he relocked the door, putting the key in an inner pocket.

“Why have you come back?” She didn't like his tone.

“To see that you are all right, of course. I was worried you might be frightened, all alone in an empty house.”

“I should be much better at home. Perhaps you've reconsidered this ridiculous scheme?”

He shook his head, still smiling, and moved closer.

“It is not going to work, you know. I shall weather the scandal. I prefer it to marrying you.” He didn't seem to hear. He stepped still nearer, and Anabel caught the scent of wine. For the first time a hint of fear shot through her. In the gathering twilight Norbury seemed very large and strong. What did he mean to do? “I thought you were coming back in the morning,” she added.

“A better plan occurred to me.”

He was very close now, and Anabel straightened, refusing to cower in the corner. “What better plan?”

Instead of answering, he moved swiftly, catching her shoulders and pulling her against him, his lips fastening irresistibly on hers. He propelled her backward toward the wall and imprisoned her body with his.

Anabel twisted and struggled, but she could not break free. When she brought her hands up to claw at him, he grasped her wrists and encircled them with one of his behind her back. She could not even avoid his kiss; he kept his lips on hers and pressed her head against the wall. His free hand roved about her body, teasing and seeking to inflame, expert in the ways of passion. She could feel his excitement growing, and she stopped struggling, fearing that her resistance increased rather than quenched his desire.

Norbury felt it and laughed a little. “You see? You were wrong. I am the man for you.” His voice was thick with desire, and he began to force her around the headboard to the bed.

Anabel, frantic, suddenly remembered the key. It was in his pocket; she had seen him put it there. If she could get it away… Slowly, so as not to arouse his suspicions, she relaxed in his arms. Norbury laughed again and released her wrists, the other hand fondling her breast as he buried his face in her neck. Anabel carefully moved her hands along his sides and across the lapels of his coat. It was the left waistcoat pocket, she was sure.

In another moment she had the key! She threw all her strength into one effort to break his hold, and failed. It didn't even loosen. Indeed, her momentary lapse had allowed him to maneuver her to the bed, and now he forced her down upon it, covering her body with his. “The key, eh?” he murmured. “Keep it, and see if you want to use it after a while.” One of his hands pulled at her skirts and moved up her leg under them; the other remained on her breast.

Anabel saw that her tactics had been to no avail, and she struggled desperately again. It was no use; he was too strong. “I hate you!” she cried. “And I always shall, whatever happens.”

He raised his head, surprised. He had thought she would be yielding by now. He kissed her throat, her lips, her forehead; she remained rigid, her face turned away. Reining in his passion, he redoubled his efforts to arouse her, using every trick he had gleaned in a long and varied amorous career. She was unmoved. Puzzled, Norbury drew a little away, while keeping a firm hold on her, and looked into her eyes. She looked back at him with fear and contempt.

They stared at each other for a moment, neither in the least understanding what was in the other's mind. Then the tension was broken by a rhythmic crashing sound downstairs. The volume increased to a crescendo; there was a splintering of wood, then the sound of running footsteps on the stairs.

Norbury sat up with a jerk. He twisted the key from Anabel's hand and rose, listening to the noise with a scowl.

“Anabel!” called a male voice. “Anabel!”

“Christopher!” she cried, sitting up also. “Here I am.”

The footsteps pounded to a stop outside the door of the room. “Are you all right? Can you open the door?”

“No, it's locked and—”

“I have the key,” roared Norbury, striding toward the entry. His brief puzzlement had exploded into rage at this appearance of his rival and the thwarting of his desire. Whatever qualms he had felt had been swept away. He felt murderous.

The door shook under a heavy blow, then, at a second blow, the hinges on the ancient, poorly made door ripped from their foundation and Christopher burst through. “To the rescue once again, eh?” sneered Sir Charles.

With an inarticulate cry of rage, Hanford threw himself upon the man, and they fell together and rolled over and over on the dusty floor. Anabel stood and looked for a weapon, but there was none. She strained forward, trying to decipher the tangle of limbs in the fading light. Each man had his hands locked around the other's throat, and Norbury was gouging Christopher with his knees. She stepped forward, hoping to help him, but they rolled again at that moment, and she could get no clear opening.

The battle was all but silent. The only sound in the room was the ragged breathing of the combatants, very loud in that enclosed space. Suddenly Norbury twisted and straddled Christopher, his grip on his throat tightening. Christopher heaved ineffectually.

Anabel, seeing her chance, darted forward and struck Norbury's head with all the strength in her arm. The blow did not really hurt him, but it surprised him so that he slackened his grip on Hanford, who immediately reversed their positions, pinning Norbury to the ground. The latter gazed at Anabel, stunned by her action.

Christopher's blue eyes burned with rage. His hands tightened until Norbury made strangled choking noises and clawed at his fingers desperately. “Christopher!” cried Anabel. “Don't
kill
him!”

Her voice brought him upright, and he drew his hands back and gazed at them as if seeing them for the first time. Norbury did not take advantage of the opening. He lay where he was, rubbing his neck and scowling.

“Let us go home, Christopher,” urged Anabel, putting a hand on his arm.

Dazed, he nodded and rose, stepping away from Sir Charles's prone figure.

“You hit me,” said the latter, slowly sitting up and gazing at Anabel.

She turned away from him.

“You
really
prefer him to me.” It was not a question, but he sounded astonished.

“Yes, I do!” she snapped, pulling again at Christopher's arm. “Please, let's go.”

Hanford rubbed his face with his hands. It was difficult to move from a murderous rage to normality; he felt disoriented. And the fact that he had been perfectly ready to kill Sir Charles still stunned him. With a massive effort he recovered himself. “Yes. By all means, let us go.” He turned to Norbury, who remained on the floor. “A notice of the dissolution of your engagement will appear in tomorrow's
Morning Post
. If you try to create a scandal, I—”

“I shan't.” He shook his head with weary incredulity. “I can see when I am beaten.”

Anabel and Christopher left him sitting there and hurried from the room.

At the bottom of the stairs, seeing that Norbury did not intend to follow them, Christopher and Anabel fell into each other's arms. A great wave of relief and happiness washed over Anabel as she rested there, and she nearly cried at the joy of their reunion. How could she ever have overlooked Christopher's perfections? she wondered again. He was everything she wanted in a man.

“Are you all right?” he said.

“Yes, I am perfectly all right now.”

“I came as soon as I could. It took a deucedly long time to find out about this house.”

She raised her head from his shoulder. “How did you find it?”

“I knew you must be in London, so I bribed his groom to tell me where.” He shrugged, and she smiled. “Come, I must get you home. They are worried.” Keeping an arm around her, he started toward the door, then stopped.

“What is it?”

“We have no carriage. I took a hack.” He looked so chagrined that Anabel burst out laughing. After a moment's indignation Christopher started to smile, then he laughed with her. The tensions both had experienced during this day were released in great gusts of merriment, and at last they had to hang on to each other to keep from doubling over with laughter.

“Sir Charles will think we have gone mad,” gasped Anabel.

“Fortunately we do not care a whit what he thinks,” responded Hanford, trying to catch his breath.

Their eyes met, and they both laughed again, more moderately, both thinking that there was no one else in the world with whom they could have shared this amusement.

“Not a proper rescue at all,” added Christopher. “The knight in shining armor always has his horse. But I have been rushing about London without a plan, so frantic to find you that my brain was addled.” His smile died. “Indeed, I have never felt such terror. If I had not discovered where you were…” He shook his head.

Anabel nodded, also sobering. She did not want to think of what would have happened if he had not come when he did.

“I was truly ready to murder him,” continued Hanford thoughtfully. “It is a daunting prospect.”

Their eyes met again, serious. Without words, they communicated their love for each other.

“Let us find another hack,” said Anabel, taking his arm. “It will be an adventure. I have never ridden in one before.”

Arm in arm, they left the house and walked along the darkening street until Christopher saw a hackney cab and signaled it to stop. They sat close together on the drive home, holding hands but saying little, and when they climbed down before Lady Goring's town house, Anabel paused to look at it. “I feel as if I've been away for days,” she said.

He nodded. “It seems a long time since I came to call on you here; yet it is only a few hours.” He rang the bell, and they were admitted by an eager footman who looked as if he would very much like to ask what had happened.

“Is my mother at home?” asked Anabel.

“Yes, my lady. She is—” He was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Susan on the landing above. She surveyed the hall, and the newcomers, and started determinedly down.

“Have you seen William down here?” she asked.

“No,” said Anabel. “What are you—”

“Or Georgina?”

“We have just come in.” The prosaic welcome made Anabel smile a little.

“I know
someone
came down,” replied her daughter. “I heard them. Do you think it was Grandmama?” Seeing their uncomprehending looks, she added, “We are playing hide-and-seek.”

“Grandmama too?” asked Anabel, amazed.

Susan shrugged. “It was Nick's idea. He insisted that everyone play.”

Christopher and Anabel exchanged a glance. He had told her of Nicholas's knowledge of her disappearance.

A sudden scrabbling sound made them all look up. Daisy was galloping down the stairs, his ginger fur disheveled. Ignoring Susan's cry of welcome, he streaked past them and shouldered his way into the library, the door of which was on the latch. Soon they heard protests from within, and Susan ran after him. “That wasn't fair,” declared Nick. “He clawed me behind the curtain.
You
wouldn't have found me for a long time.” A triumphant Susan reappeared, leading her scowling brother. But when he saw Anabel, his face lit. “Mama, you are home!” He threw himself into her arms.

Susan put her hands on her hips. “Well, of course she's home. It's nearly dinnertime. Now you must help me find the others before we are made to stop.”

Anabel smiled into Nick's eyes and caressed his soft brown hair. “There is nothing wrong,” she said.

Nick swallowed, then looked at Hanford.

“For dinner,” Christopher said. “I promised, remember?”

The boy nodded, blinking rapidly.

“Come
on
,” said Susan, starting up the stairs again. “Daisy's here.”

The cat had indeed emerged, and Susan was trying to carry him, very much against his inclination. Nick hesitated. “Go ahead,” said Anabel. “I must change.” They walked up together, and Anabel parted from the others at the drawing-room doorway. She was eager to wash the dust from her face and hands, and exchange her crumpled morning dress for a fresh gown.

She did not linger in her bedroom, however. In a quarter hour she was down again to find the drawing room empty. Puzzled, she walked to the stairs and looked down. No one was about. What had become of them? As she walked back down the corridor Christopher suddenly peered out of the back parlor, then emerged to join her. “I have been recruited into the game,” he said, smiling. “I thought to end it, but Susan was very insistent. So I offered to be the seeker. I meant to find your mother and Georgina, and give them the news.” He shrugged, smiling wryly. “But I cannot. And now Susan and Nicholas have hidden again, and there has been no sign whatsoever of William.”

Anabel laughed. “We will find them together. And then we will announce our plans to everyone. I have an idea where Mama may be.”

They found Lady Goring in the small writing closet adjoining her bedchamber, just as Anabel had suspected. She was writing a letter and looked up with slight annoyance when the door opened. But when she saw Anabel, she was on her feet at once and embracing her. “Where have you
been
?”

Anabel explained, her account punctuated by her mother's cries of outrage. “How dare he?” she exclaimed when the story was finished. “I can hardly credit it, even of him.”

“It is over now,” answered Anabel. “He will not trouble us again. I prefer to think of the future.” She smiled at Christopher, and he squeezed her hand. “In fact, Mama, we want to tell the children of our plans. You must help us find them.”

“Hide-and-seek in earnest?” responded Lady Goring with a smile. “Very well. And we will have some champagne with dinner, to celebrate.”

“Where do you suppose Georgina has gone?”

Lady Goring shook her head. “She was deep into the game when we separated. She might be anywhere from the attics to the cellars. And the children…!” She spread her hands eloquently.

Hanford grinned. “We will start in the attics, then, and move downward, with you guarding the stairs, Lady Goring, to see that no one slips past. We will soon uncover them.”

Anabel laughed at him. “You are enjoying this.”

“Why not?” He put an arm about her as they started toward the stairs. “I shall enjoy every moment of my life from now on.”

Discreetly Lady Goring moved ahead, and she refrained from comment when the others joined her with flushed faces and sheepish smiles.

Georgina was in the attic. She had settled behind two ancient wardrobe trunks, where a dusty window gave just enough light so that she could read a novel. With the increasing darkness, she had to hold it almost at the end of her nose, and she was so absorbed that she did not even hear them approach. Only when Hanford said, “Found!” did she start and look up.

“I didn't think anyone would find me here,” she replied, disappointed. Then she saw who it was. “Anabel! Are you… That is, we were worried about you.”

“All is well,” answered her cousin. “Except everyone is hiding. Come and help us find them.”

“Did you discover me first?” she said. “I thought I had been so clever.”

“We have Lady Goring,” Christopher assured her. “And we started at the top of the house.”

The rest of the attics were untenanted. On the nursery floor below, they were just about to give up when Anabel remembered a tiny storage room under the stairs. Holding their candles into its dimness, they discovered William crouched among the discarded furniture and linen. He bounced out at once. “Where is Susan? She's supposed to be looking.”

“We have taken her place. Come along and help search for her and Nick.”

William looked disgusted at being found before them. “Oh,
I
know where Nick will be. Behind the curtain in the library; he always hides there.”

“I think he has left it for another spot,” replied Christopher with a smile. “Daisy routed him.”

“Truly?” The boy laughed. “How he hates that cat. If he would but ignore it, it wouldn't torment him so.”

The adults exchanged a smile at this bit of wisdom.

“He is probably in the kitchens, then. Once, when we were playing, he hid there eating cake the whole time!” He frowned. “Why didn't I remember that before? I'm hungry.”

“It is nearly dinnertime,” said Anabel. “We will eat as soon as we find the others.”

William started forward. “I'll look in the kitchen.”

Christopher caught him. “No, we will stay with our system. First, the drawing-room floor.”

There was no one there; nor did they discover Nick or Susan on the ground floor. “They must have gone to the cellars,” marveled William. “I should think Susan would be frightened.”

Taking a large branch of candles, all but Lady Goring descended the cellar stairs. The foundations of the house were a vast, echoing space supported here and there by a stone pillar and piled with stores.

“Nick! Susan!” called William. “Come out.”

There was no response.

“They mean to make us find them,” he added, disgusted.

“Do come out,” urged Anabel. “It is nearly dinnertime, and we have something to tell you.”

In the far corner of the cellar, Nick's head appeared from behind a pile of boxes. He was very dirty. “All right,” he responded, moving toward them.

“Where is Susan?” asked his mother.

“
I
don't know. Hiding with her wretched cat, I suppose.”

“Didn't you come down here together?”

“No. I went back into the library.” Here William made a small triumphant sound. “But the stupid cat came after me and wouldn't let me be, so I shut it in and tried the cellar.”

“Where can she be?” Anabel frowned.

“I didn't see the cat in the library,” replied Hanford.

“It wasn't there,” agreed Lady Goring. “I
always
notice Daisy.”

“We must have overlooked their hiding place,” said Anabel. “We shall have to search again.”

Without obvious enthusiasm, the group returned to the ground floor and began to look for Susan. When they had scoured the house yet again, they congregated in the nursery and wondered what to do. It was past dinnertime. Cook was becoming annoyed, and the rest of them were hungry. The boys favored sitting down to eat and letting Susan take her chances, but Anabel wished to find her first. “I am a little worried,” she admitted.

“She is crouching somewhere and laughing at us, Mama,” sighed William. “She is so small; she might be anywhere. And if she will not come out when we call her…”

“She had to hear us,” put in Nicholas. “We shouted in every room.”

“Perhaps she is hurt, or…”

Both boys gazed at their mother skeptically. They had played such games with Susan often. Anabel hesitated. “Well…”

“Let us at least go down to the drawing room,” declared Lady Goring, who was looking irritated. “And let us announce dinner. Perhaps that will bring her out.” She glanced meaningfully at the boys, who rightly interpreted this as a signal to shout her announcement.

It was thus a very odd descent from the upper floor. William and Nick went first, advertising dinner at the top of their lungs, followed by the older members of the party, looking variously concerned, amused, and annoyed. Their own noise obscured a rising disturbance lower down for quite a while, but finally, in a lull, they heard a confused shouting and thumping from belowstairs. “What is that?” asked Anabel, hushing her sons.

“It sounds as if it is coming from the kitchens,” replied Georgina, who was fighting a smile.

“That cat!” exclaimed Lady Goring, picking up her skirts and hurrying down the staircase.

It was not only Daisy. It was Susan, too. The cat was racing round and round the kitchen, claws rasping on the brick floor, ginger fur wild, with one of the kitchen maids in hot pursuit with a cleaver. Susan, her face smeared with a dark substance, was standing before Cook, her head hanging, but when the others burst in and she looked up, a spark of unrepentant mischief gleamed in her green eyes.

“What is happening here?” demanded Lady Goring in a penetrating voice.

The kitchen maid froze, allowing Daisy to escape into the scullery. Susan bit her lower lip, and Cook turned, arms akimbo and scowling, to reply, “Miss Susan was found in the larder, if you please, ma'am, eating the chocolate cake I baked for tea tomorrow. Indeed, she has as good as finished it, and I expect she will be sick now.”

Susan shook her head. Her brothers eyed her with half-admiring outrage. “Nick's trick,” murmured William.

“Well, she shan't have any dinner, then,” said Anabel, moving to take Susan's hand—then shifting to her upper arm when she saw the sticky state of that member. “Come along and get washed.”