The Headstrong Ward (10 page)

She made no further introductions, merely waving the men onto the platform and dropping into a chair beside her father. When the bishop leaned over to ask an irritable question, he received a glance of such burning outrage that even he drew back, daunted. “Why did Charles have to meddle?” murmured Anne savagely.

“What?” Arabella looked around for Laurence, then moved over into his seat as the musicians struck up. “What is the matter, Anne?”

The other sighed and leaned back in her chair. “Nothing, Bella, I promise.”

“Shh,” hissed Lydia, glaring at them as if everything were their fault, and they fell silent, turning dutiful eyes to the players.

The program seemed rather long to Anne and, judging by the restless rustling that increased as time passed, to other members of the audience as well. The quartet no sooner finished one piece than they began another, hardly pausing for the audience to express appreciation. Anne concluded that they had received harsh orders from Lydia Branwell. At last, however, they ceased, and the bishop announced a buffet supper in the dining room. The guests filed out eagerly, as many turning toward the stairs, Anne noticed, as toward the food. The second part of the performance would be more sparsely attended.

Anne and Arabella walked to the dining room together and joined a table of young people near the door. A lively, noisy meal was in progress, the gentlemen fetching plate after plate of tidbits and vying for designation as most discriminating provider. Arabella laughingly agreed to judge between the lobster patties and the meringues, insisting that she liked them equally well, but Anne refused to be pulled into the competition. She was looking around for Charles, determined to speak to him.

She did not find him at once, but at last a group of diners moved toward the buffet, and she saw him in the far corner. Rising despite the others' protests, she made her way across and caught him just as he was leaving a group there. “Charles, I want to talk to you.”

He turned. “Of course.”

Meeting his cool gray eyes, the blond brows slightly raised, Anne was at first uncertain how to begin. She had been very annoyed when he stopped Laurence from following Lydia, but now she felt only confused. “Why did you interfere?” she blurted finally and, at once, bit her lower lip in annoyance.

The eyebrows climbed higher. “I? Interfere?”

Anne raised her chin, determined to continue. “Yes. When I sent Laurence after Miss Branwell. You stopped him.”

“I haven't spoken to Laurence since… Do you mean in the drawing room?”

She nodded.

“I see. I did not realize that you had ‘sent' him.”

“Well, I did. And you spoiled it. I wanted him to see her in a rage.”

“Ah.” Lord Wrenley's expression was wry. “I see. And I, in a misguided attempt to spare him that sight, forestalled you.”

“Spare him?”

“Yes, Anne. I am not entirely unfeeling, you know. I may weary of my brothers' follies, but that does not mean that I wish them to endure the rages of a creature like Lydia Branwell. I was moved by, er, compassion to save him.”

“But if he
saw
—”

“I understand now. No doubt you are quite correct. I apologize for ‘interfering.' I shan't do so again.” He looked away. He had given some thought to Anne's remarks about Laurence, and decided that they had merit. And though nothing could be done about his brother's unfortunate choice, Charles had felt a moment's sympathy for him tonight and acted upon it. Predictably, this had only caused more problems. He wished he had left it alone.

He looked so strange, almost piqued, that Anne added, “I have a plan, you see, to show him the truth.”

Charles bowed his head, coldly acknowledging her remark, but expressing no interest or approval.

“And when he knows, all will be at an end.”

“Will it?”

“Well, of course. No one would wish to marry someone like Lydia Branwell if he realized what she is really like.”

“Possibly not. But what has that to do with anything?”

Anne stared up at him. “What do you mean?”

“If you achieve this revelation for Laurence—as I suppose you must, the girl certainly offers ample opportunity—what do you expect him to do?”

“Why, break it off, of…” Anne shut her mouth abruptly. She raised her eyes to his. He looked inquiring. “He cannot break it off, can he?” she whispered after a while.

“It is certainly not the act of a gentleman.”

“But… Oh, dear.”

“It appears that your meddling is as misguided as mine. Perhaps we should both give it up.”

Anne was thinking. “I shall have to find a way to make her cry off,” she said to herself.

“An unlikely development.”

“Yes, it will be much harder. I hadn't thought.” She looked at him speculatively. “You might help me.”

He shook his head, still rather offended. “My philanthropic impulses are erratic, and limited to such as you saw tonight.”

“Very well, I shall do it myself, then. With Edward.”

“He is unlikely to be of assistance.”

“On the contrary, he has promised to help me.”

“Indeed?” Lord Wrenley looked truly surprised. “Haven't the two of you enough to amuse yourselves with the season?”

“We are not
amusing
ourselves,” retorted Anne fiercely. “Can't you see that?”

He looked down at her, frowning slightly. “The first time your crusade seriously inconveniences you, you may see matters differently.”

Anne began a hot reply, then paused. Charles really could not understand how she felt, and this made her more sad than angry. “I won't,” she answered with quiet conviction. “I like Laurence more and more. I
care
about him. I will do everything I can to further his happiness, whatever the inconvenience.”

Their eyes met. Charles was genuinely puzzled. His bewildered expression made Anne smile faintly. “What if one of your friends were about to make a disastrous marriage?” she ventured daringly. “Would you not do something?”

“Of course not. It would be none of my affair.”

“You never offer advice, then? Or any kind of help?”

He started to shake his head, then paused.

“You see? How can it be different for your own
family
?”

He frowned. “I have always fulfilled my responsibilities toward—”

“Oh, Charles, I am not talking about
responsibilities
. If that is all you can feel, then I pity you.” And turning on her heel, she walked away.

Lord Wrenley watched her go, his frown deepening. He really could not imagine what the girl meant. His family had meant nothing
but
responsibility since he was sixteen. His duty had overshadowed all other emotions, and it had been a burden very nearly too heavy for an adolescent. Now that Laurence and Edward were older, he was only too glad to give them free rein. What more could Anne ask?

Raising his head, he looked at her from under lowered eyelids, trying to dismiss her remarks from his mind. But for some reason, this was very difficult. Her phrases and, particularly, her intense tone lingered in his thoughts. He could not, quite, still the echo of that outraged—“I am not talking about
responsibilities
.”

Two evenings later, Anne, Mariah, and Laurence set off after dinner for Almack's. This was to be Anne's first visit to that famous assembly, and she was eager to see the rooms she had heard so much of. Mariah, who had completed the planting of her parlor garden that afternoon and wanted nothing more from life than to work in it, was resigned to the outing but not inclined to talk, so the conversation during the drive was confined to Anne's questions about what she could see and Laurence's replies.

“I do wish Brummel were still in London,” said Anne finally. “Mrs. Castleton was telling me about him yesterday. I should have liked to see him.”

“Yes, we haven't anyone to match the Beau,” agreed Laurence. “But perhaps the Prince will look in. He does sometimes, when he is in town.”

Anne's eyes twinkled. “I understand he is a wondrous sight. They say his corsets creak.”

Her escort smiled back at her but said, “Don't say such things to strangers, Anne. The Prince is sensitive.”

“I won't. And I hope he does come. But even if he does not, at least I shall be able to waltz,
finally
.”

“I hope you will.”

“Is there any doubt of it?”

“Well, no, of course not.”

“Do they sometimes leave one sitting at the side through
all
the waltzes?” she demanded, suspicions aroused.

“No. That is, hardly ever. Only when they…er…”

“When they don't like you,” finished Anne. “And I trod on Lady Jersey's flounce at the Archers' ball and tore it! She will probably tell the others not to approve me. Oh, Laurence, if I have to sit by and watch everyone else dancing many more times, I shall…burst!”

“You won't. I'll…I'll speak to someone.”

“Will you? Are you well acquainted with one of the patronesses?”

“Ah, no. But I…”

“Fiddle. I shall have to do something myself.”

“No!” exclaimed Laurence, then quickly added, “I will take care of the matter, I promise.”

She met his anxious eyes and almost giggled, he looked so afraid of what she might do. “Well, I will give you a chance to do so,” she conceded, “but I warn you, I will not sit through every waltz again tonight.”

He nodded.

“Is Miss Branwell coming to Almack's tonight?”

“Yes, I expect to see her there.”

“I hope she has forgotten that unfortunate mix-up at their musical evening. Did they discover what had become of Madame Callini?”

“Yes.” Laurence looked slightly self-conscious, much to Anne's satisfaction. “She…er…had another engagement.”

“How heedless she must be, to make two appointments for the same evening. But the Branwells told her so, I suppose.”

Looking unhappy, Laurence nodded again. He turned to look out the carriage window. “Here we are.”

Anne leaned forward to look. “Mariah, here is Almack's. Look.”

The other woman had been reclining in the corner of the chaise, lost in reflection, but now she started and sat up. “What? Oh, to be sure.” She looked out the window. “Very pretty.”

Anne smiled at her. “Aren't you the least bit excited to see it, Mariah?”

Cocking her head, she considered the question. “Well, dear, I don't believe I am. It is well enough, of course, and perhaps if I were younger I might feel differently, but as it is”—she looked again—“well, I fear I prefer my garden. Did I tell you that your parrot has learned to say ‘boxwood'?”

“Yes, Mariah.” The girl laughed as the carriage pulled up before the steps. “Perhaps you can reform his vocabulary. I know Laurence, at least, would be grateful.”

All three of them laughed at that, and they made a merry picture as they climbed down from the coach. Laurence was handsome in the knee breeches and silk stockings required by Almack's. Mariah was neatly, if somberly, dressed in gray satin. And Anne wore an evening dress of pale green which by contrast brought out the violet shades in her eyes.

Inside, Anne duly admired the graceful proportions of the rooms, the scrolled molding on the walls, and the gleaming chandeliers. A set was forming, and she was asked to join it before she had time to do more. Mariah sat down with the chaperones by the wall, and Laurence went in search of the Branwell party. The first two sets, which were country dances, passed pleasantly; Anne saw Arabella and a number of other acquaintances and spoke to them during the interval. But for the third, the musicians struck up a waltz.

Grimacing, Anne retreated to the chairs along the wall. She looked around for Laurence, hoping that he was keeping his promise, but found him leading Lydia Branwell onto the floor. She saw no one she knew sitting out. With a sigh, she started to make her way across to Mariah.

“Lady Anne?” said an extremely aristocratic female voice behind her.

She turned, and found herself facing the Princess Lieven, Almack's haughtiest patroness, and Charles.

The former smiled graciously. “I cannot introduce Lord Wrenley to you as a suitable partner, since you know him quite well, of course. But I hope you will consent to waltz with him?”

Considerably startled, Anne nodded. The princess inclined her head; Charles offered his arm, and in the next moment they were whirling together round the floor.

When she was certain she had grasped the steps correctly, Anne raised her head and shook out her red-gold curls. The waltz was as exhilarating as it had appeared. She thought it rather like riding—two creatures moving in harmony through set paces. She tossed her head again.

“You look remarkably pleased,” said Charles.

“I am! You know how I have longed to waltz. Oh, thank you for asking Princess Lieven to approve me.”

“My pleasure.”

She looked up at him questioningly, realizing that he had made an uncharacteristic effort to help her. “Is it?”

“Yes, Anne. But let us talk of something more interesting. What were you thinking a moment ago, when you looked so rapt?”

“Of how I enjoyed the dance, and how like riding it is.”

His eyebrows came up. “Riding?” Slowly he nodded. “I suppose I see what you mean. But don't say so to anyone else, Anne.”

“Why not?” she began, then realized that the comparison was perhaps a bit indelicate. She almost laughed; then, incomprehensibly, her cheeks started to burn and she felt suddenly awkward. She looked down. For some reason, she had become much more aware of Charles—his arm encircling her waist, his hand holding hers, his chest only inches from her chin. Her flush deepened.

“You know,” said Charles conversationally, “I don't believe I have ever seen you embarrassed before. I was not certain you ever were.”

A small spark of anger lessened her confusion. “Of course I am. What do you think me?”

“An interesting question. Do you know, I am not quite sure.” His tone was meditative, because, in fact, he had asked himself this more than once over the past few days. He knew very clearly what he
had
thought of Anne. He had judged her an infuriating, intractable child and, when she returned from school much improved, an acceptable young lady. He had expected then to dismiss her from his mind. But this had not happened. First her obvious, rather juvenile hostility toward him had been mildly amusing. Then, her insistence upon Laurence's “happiness” and commitment to doing something about it had mystified him and, later, made him think. Indeed, he had not devoted so much thought to his family in years. Anne's questions about his reaction to a friend's trouble, as opposed to Laurence's, had remained in his mind. He still believed he was right not to meddle in his brother's affairs, but Anne had somehow become much more interesting to him. He had found himself wondering, often, what she would do next.

Anne gazed up at him. His face showed none of its usual mockery. Indeed, she could not interpret his look. As she continued to stare, his arm tightened slightly, and he whirled her in a sudden turn. Anne caught her breath and looked down again.

There was a silence between them. Finally Charles said, “How is your campaign to free Laurence coming along?”

“I…I haven't done anything else as yet.”

“Ah.” He looked around. “They seem in charity with one another.”

Anne followed his gaze to Laurence and Lydia, dancing nearby. They were talking animatedly. “Yes. But he was shaken by her anger at the party; I could tell.”

“Could you? And what is your next move?”

“I don't know. I have been trying to think of a way to draw Miss Branwell off. But it is difficult.”

“So I should imagine.”

“Perhaps you could suggest something? You know more of these things than I.”

“You flatter me. I fear I haven't the smallest notion.”

Anne nodded. “Well, you will tell me if you think of something, I hope.”

He shrugged, looking a little distant. “That seems to me very unlikely.” There was another pause. Anne was offended at his tone; he had begun the subject, after all. Finally he said, “Have you tried your mare in the park yet?”

“Yes.”

“You are satisfied with her? You didn't sound particularly enthusiastic.”

“Oh, yes,” replied Anne warmly. “She is a sweet goer. Our only trouble is that we cannot have a gallop in the Row. I believe she finds trotting up and down as stupid as I do. I have seen it in her eye.”

“You are well matched, then.” Charles laughed.

“Yes indeed.”

“Well, when you take her down to Wrenley, you can both have all the gallops you care for. Will you hunt her?”

With this, they plunged into a discussion of the hunt pack near Wrenley and of the various courses Charles had done with them in the last few years. This occupied them through the remainder of the set, and when the music stopped, Anne was surprised. She had not realized so much time had passed. As they walked across to the refreshment room to get a glass of ratafia, she marveled. Charles had been uncommonly pleasant to her, nearly as pleasant as to his friends on the night she watched him rally them. What had come over him? She could not remember enjoying a dance more in her life. And Charles had not even said he was coming to Almack's tonight.

They encountered Laurence and Lydia Branwell in the refreshment room and paused a moment beside them. Arabella came up with her partner, and the group chatted desultorily for several minutes. Anne could almost feel Charles becoming bored with Lydia's description of a concert she had attended the previous evening. The music started up again, and Arabella's partner excused himself, saying he was promised for this set. Lydia continued her story, oblivious of the increasing restlessness of her audience, including Laurence. Finally, when Arabella had been gazing into the ballroom for a full minute, her foot tapping in time to the music, Laurence smiled and asked if she would like to join the set. With a brilliant smile, she nodded.

“But I am talking, Laurence,” interrupted Lydia, clearly displeased.

“You have told me about the concert already,” he replied. “And Charles and Anne are here with you. I am sure you will excuse me.”

“Are you?”

Laurence's smile started to fade. He seemed both puzzled and embarrassed. But before he could speak again, Lydia noticed his reaction and added, “Of course I do. Go on. I will be with Mama later.”

Smile restored, Laurence bowed slightly and went off with Arabella on his arm. Lydia watched them go, her expression thunderous, and the others observed her curiously. When Miss Branwell turned back and became aware of their scrutiny, she produced a smile that was more like a snarl. “Such a charming girl, your
friend
Miss Castleton,” she said to Anne.

But Anne had faced more frightening opponents than this. “Isn't she?” she responded, sternly keeping the amusement out of her voice and eyes.

“And you are so
kind
to her, presenting her to everyone.”

“Well, of course I do that. But I hardly call it a kindness, unless to my friends. Arabella needs none of my help.”

“Indeed? One can see that she has extremely
accommodating
manners. I hope they do not lead her into trouble one day.”

Anne's gray-violet eyes blazed at the insinuation in her tone. She was about to make a blistering reply, which would no doubt be as ineffective as unwise, when Lord Wrenley said, “I think your choice of words inapt, Miss Branwell. But there are less attractive sorts of manners, even so.”

Lydia's head jerked as if she had been slapped, and she turned to stare at Wrenley as if she had forgotten he was present. In an instant, her face changed, a smile effacing the annoyance so visible a moment before. “But of course, Lord Wrenley,” she agreed. “I meant nothing. Perhaps my word choice was careless. Miss Castleton is the most delightful of girls. And now, if you will excuse me, I must speak to Mama.” She walked away, the set of her back proclaiming the falseness of her apology.

Anne found that she was shaking, whether with rage or in reaction to this hostile exchange, or both, she was uncertain. She clenched her fists and opened them again.

“You will endure a lot more of that sort of thing, and worse, if you continue in your efforts to end the engagement,” said Charles.

“She is an odious girl!” replied Anne.

“Undoubtedly. And because she is, she will always be willing to say more than you. She can make your encounters very unpleasant. Are you certain you wish to face that?”

“I don't wish to at all. But if I must to help Laurence, I shall, of course.”

The viscount gazed down at her. She was still visibly shaking. “Are you serious?”

Anne glanced up, surprised. “Yes. But I must speak to Edward, and there he is. Excuse me.”

He watched her approach the youngest Debenham, detach him from a group of fellow officers, and pull him to a vacant sofa. Lord Wrenley's face showed puzzlement and a dawning admiration.