The Headstrong Ward (15 page)

“No,” agreed Charles equably. “It probably would have happened to some other girl, someone you didn't know well. That would have been all right, I suppose?”

Startled, Anne looked up at him.

“I am convinced that Laurence would have noticed the difference between the rather formidable Miss Branwell and other young ladies sooner or later,” continued the viscount. “And when he did, she would have taken some similar action. It is too bad that the victim happened to be your friend, but I believe things would have developed in much the same way without your intervention.”

“You do?” He nodded, and Anne heaved a great sigh.

Her drooping pose softened him. “I don't know if you still care for my help?”

Anne looked up sharply. “Care for it? Are you joking? I am relying upon it, almost solely. I don't know what you were talking about before, but I certainly do not expect Edward or Mariah to think of anything. Edward does not even know about this yet. Without you, Bella is lost—and so am I.”

He moved a little closer to her. “I shan't let that happen.”

“But what are we going to do?”

“It is a delicate problem. I have not yet thought of a solution.”

She leaned against the balustrade and stared unseeing out over the garden. “There is none, is there? There is no defense against gossip. If you protest, people merely take it as an admission of guilt, as you said before. We are helpless.” She pounded on the stone with her fist.

“It is not like you to give up, Anne.”

She turned to look at him. “I cannot fight all of society. And even if I could, there is nothing to lay hold of, nothing
real
. It is all
talk
.”

He moved to stand beside her. The helpless, broken look in her eyes touched him more than anything he could remember, and his momentary pique vanished. At that moment, she seemed to him a wild gallant creature harried by a host of petty, despicable attackers. Something within him protested violently against this unequal battle. He had no thought of responsibility; he did not see it as his
duty
to rescue Anne. Indeed, he hardly recognized his impulse. He knew only that that look must be wiped away and replaced by her old blithe mischief. “
I
know something about talk,” he replied, “and about the
ton
. I will think of a way to stop the rumors, and to end Laurence's engagement at the same time.”

Anne gazed up at him, surprised by the vehemence of his tone. “Do you really think you can?”

“Yes.”

“It seems so hopeless to me.”

“Have you no faith in my abilities?” he asked, in an attempt at lightness.

She considered the matter. She had never seen Charles fail at anything he truly wanted to do. If he was serious about wanting to help—and, unexpectedly, he seemed so—then perhaps something could be done. Slowly she nodded, gaining confidence. She took a deep breath.

“That's better,” he responded, seeing the violet shadow in her eyes lighten. “I shall devote all my time to plotting our revenge.”

She smiled a little. Their eyes held, and he put a hand over hers on the balustrade. “Don't worry,” he added.

For some reason, Anne suddenly found breathing difficult. She wanted to make some move, but she seemed frozen in place, her hand immobile under his. After a long moment, he smiled and drew it away. “Shall we go back in? It is getting late. Mariah will be wanting to go.” He offered his arm. “And do not, under any circumstances, tell her there is a garden here, or we will never get away.”

With a self-conscious laugh, Anne took his arm, and together they walked back inside.

When Anne entered the drawing room after breakfast the next morning, she found Laurence there, bent over a sheet of writing paper at the desk in the corner. When she spoke to him, he started, and turned to stare as if she were a stranger, then hastily folded the paper and put it in his pocket. Anne had only time to see that it looked like a list of some sort. But Laurence's appearance drove the matter from her mind in a moment; his expression was so strained and his skin so pale that she could feel nothing but pity. “Are you all right?” she could not help but ask. “You seem ill.”

“No, no,” he replied distractedly. “I am perfectly healthy, only a bit anxious.”

“Why?” Anne eyed him, wondering if he would mention Lydia Branwell.

“I heard some disturbing, er, gossip last night at the Archers'. Manifestly untrue. It concerned… That is…”

“Bella,” finished Anne quietly.

“Did someone dare to mention it to
you
?” He looked outraged.

The temptation to tell him about Lydia's part in this tangle was almost irresistible. Anne struggled with herself. If she revealed what she had overheard, either Laurence would not believe her, in which case she would have accomplished nothing, or he would, and then he would be more miserable than ever—bound to a woman without principle or delicacy. Finally she nodded.

“Infamous! I cannot understand how such a ridiculous story got started in the first place. Anyone who knows Miss Castleton must see how impossible it is.”

“Yes. But she is not known to everyone.”

“You are remarkably cool!”

“I have known about the rumor for several days, and I mean to do something to stop it.”

“What?” asked Laurence eagerly. “I will help in any way I can.”

“Well…ah…I am not quite sure yet. Charles promised to think of some plan.”

“Charles!”

“Yes. And since he knows far more about society than I, I am confident of our success.”

“But what has he to do with the matter? Why should he interfere?”

Anne looked at him. “He feels, as you do, that such gossip is very wicked. He wants to set things right.”

“Charles?” He seemed unable to accept this idea.

Anne felt a spark of annoyance. “Is that so hard to believe? Do you think your brother without moral scruples?”

“No, no. I know his principles are good. It is just that I have never known him to exert himself on another's behalf.”

For some reason, Anne was suddenly angry. “Have you not? Not even your own?”

Laurence gazed at her in surprise.

“Did he not watch over both you and Edward when you were boys? It must have been a burdensome task for a young man, but I don't suppose he ever complained of it.”

Her companion's mouth dropped open.

In the face of his blank astonishment, Anne colored slightly and looked down. “But that is beside the point,” she added. “He
has
promised to help put a stop to these ridiculous rumors, and I believe he can, if anyone can. So I am not as angry as I was at first.”

“Yes…well…that's all right, then.” Laurence seemed a bit stunned. “You must tell me what I can do.”

“Of course.”

There was a short silence. Anne went to sit on the sofa before the fireplace, and Laurence paced about the room as if he found it impossible to stay still. His face reassumed the expression Anne had noticed when she came in. As she watched him, she frowned with concern. Surely he was thinner than he had been when she came to London, and the beginnings of lines showed in his forehead and down his cheeks. He looked five years older. She wished she could ask him what was wrong—for it must be something more than the gossip—but it did not seem right to mention Lydia. She could not tell him what she planned.

Abruptly he stopped pacing and swung around to face her. “Are you enjoying the season, Anne?” he said.

“Why…yes.”

“I have not spoken to you about it. We have been so busy these last weeks. I hope London is all you wished for.”

“I have had a splendid time,” answered the girl, puzzled. “Until this recent business, everything has been wonderful.”

“Good, good.” Laurence seemed both uneasy and distracted, and Anne could not make out why. “It is a great change for you, after the quiet life at school.”

“Yes,” she agreed.

“You haven't… That is… I am not prying, but I cannot help but wonder if you have met anyone you like
particularly
.”

“Everyone has been kind,” responded Anne, still more perplexed. “I have made a great many new friends.”

“Ah, yes, yes.” He tapped his hands together nervously. “I was thinking of something more than friendship, however. During the season, one meets a variety of persons of… That is…one has the opportunity to…”

“Do you mean have I met anyone I want to marry?” asked Anne, suddenly comprehending. “I haven't.”

Laurence took a deep breath. “Ah. Yes, I was asking that.”

“Well, why didn't you, then? Surely you needn't be so indirect with
me
, Laurence.”

“No.” He sounded doubtful. “But it is a delicate question. I did not wish…” He paused, then seemed to come to a resolution. “What I wanted, Anne, is to offer you some advice. I know I have no real right to do so, but I am a bit older than you, and I have made my…that is, I know a little more about the world, and I thought—”

“I should be happy to hear your views,” she interrupted, before he could become hopelessly tangled in his own words.

“Thank you!” But with this, he hesitated so long that she almost thought he had changed his mind. “I only wished to say,” he continued finally, “that you should take your time. Serious decisions ought to be made with the utmost care and thought. Do not hurry into an attachment. You are very young. You may have another season, two more, before you choose. Wait until you are certain.”

He met her eyes, and Anne swallowed. She did not know how to answer him. It seemed obvious to her that he was regretting his own engagement, and his resigned tone made her throat tight with tears. “I will,” she managed finally.

He nodded once briskly and turned away. “I must go. I have letters to write.” But before he had taken a step, Fallow entered the drawing room and announced Arabella, who came in on his heels.

“Bella!” said Anne, jumping up and striding toward her friend, hands outstretched. She hoped to cover the lingering awkwardness between her and Laurence with her enthusiasm. “How wonderful of you to call. I particularly wanted to see you today.”

Arabella smiled and squeezed Anne's hands quickly, but she did not look as cheerful as usual. She glanced toward Laurence, then away again.

“Good morning, Miss Castleton,” he said. “How are you?”

“Very well.” Arabella's voice trembled a little. “I…I meant to tell you last night that I enjoyed the book you lent me very much. It was just what I like.”

He smiled. “Was it? I thought so.”

“Am I so transparent?” To the dismay of everyone in the room, her voice cracked, as if she were about to cry. She quickly turned her back on the others, putting a hand to her mouth. Laurence's expression was agonized; he took one step in Arabella's direction, then stopped. “Letters,” he murmured in a strangled voice and rushed from the room.

Anne went to Bella, throwing an arm about her shoulders. “Come and sit down.”

They both sat on the sofa. Anne patted Bella's hand. “I'm sorry,” whispered the latter. “What a fool I am.”

“Nonsense. You are no such thing.” But despite her bracing words, Anne did not know how to comfort her friend. Too many important topics were forbidden.

Arabella turned wide dark eyes on her. “Mr. Debenham seemed…angry. I hope I have not done anything to…offend him.”

“Of course not! And he wasn't angry. He was, er, thinking of something else, I daresay.”

“I would not have him angry with me for the world.”

“I tell you, he wasn't, Bella.”

The younger girl looked down at her clasped hands. “You don't know whether… That is, he didn't mention that he had…heard anything about me?”

Anne's heart sank. The rumors had reached Arabella, a thing she had prayed would not happen. She hardly knew how to answer. “What do you mean?” she finally, cravenly, replied.

Her friend gazed at her. “I think you know, Anne. People have been talking about me. You must have heard something of it.”

Anne slumped, dropping her own eyes. “Yes,” she admitted at last.

Arabella's eyes filled with tears, and she pressed her lips tightly together.

“Everyone knows it is nothing but a pack of lies. No one believes a word of it, Bella.”

“Jane Thorndale does. So do others. Mrs. Thorndale gave me the cut direct last night.”

Anne felt such a mixture of outrage and pity that she could not speak. She took her friend's hand and squeezed it hard.

“It is the sort of story people
do
believe. They enjoy it.”

“They are beastly, then!”

Bella sighed. “It makes me feel better just to talk to you. You never let things pull you down. But I don't know what to do, Anne. I cannot contradict the rumors. I am not supposed to know anything about them. And no one would believe me anyway.”

“No, it is very hard; you can do nothing. I, however, can.”

Arabella frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I am going to stop the talk, as soon as may be.”

“How?” asked the other, looking alarmed. “Anne, you mustn't do anything foolish.”

“I shan't. Even if I wished to, Charles won't let me.”

“Ch-Charles? Lord Wrenley?”

“Yes, he is planning how we should set about it. Isn't it splendid of—”

“He knows all about this?” Bella put her hands to flaming cheeks. “I suppose
everyone
does. I have never been so mortified in my life.”

“But, Bella…”

“He is almost a complete stranger to me, Anne! And people I know even less well are gossiping about my private affairs, perhaps at this very minute? It is horribly humiliating.”

Anne nodded, mute before her vehemence.

“Mr…Laurence Debenham must know also, then?”

“He…heard something, I believe.”

Arabella burst into tears, putting her face in her hands. “I can't bear it!” she sobbed.

Anne threw her arms around her and let her cry. She could think of nothing else to do. But as the other's tears gradually lessened, she vowed once again to do everything in her power to stop the talk, and to pay back Lydia Branwell to the last degree.

Arabella stayed only long enough to regain her composure and remove the signs of tears from her face. Then she insisted on going, despite Anne's entreaties. When she had seen her to the front door, Anne turned and ran up the stairs, hurrying straight to the library to find Charles. He
must
decide what they were to do at once.

But the library was empty, as were the other parlors on the first floor. She looked in the “garden” and asked Mariah if she had seen Charles, but the reply was negative. “Is anything wrong, dear?” added the other. With a quick negative, Anne returned to the drawing room and rang for Fallow.

“Where is Lord Wrenley?” she asked when he appeared.

“He said he had business in the City this morning, my lady. He expected to return in time for luncheon.”

“I see.” Anne sighed, half angrily.

“Is anything wrong? Should I send after him?”

“No, Fallow. I shall speak to him later. But if he should come in soon, will you tell him that I want to see him, please?”

“Certainly, my lady.”

“Thank you.”

“Is there anything else? Would you care for a cup of tea, perhaps?”

“No.” She dismissed him and threw herself down on the sofa once again. But she found it impossible to sit still. Every feeling cried out for instant action, yet there was nothing she could do. She could not bear the thought of reading or sewing or even of talking to Mariah. Why didn't Charles come home? Anne pounded the sofa arm in frustration, stood, and began to pace the room like a caged animal.

She was still pacing when Edward sauntered in half an hour later. He looked fashionably jaunty in yellow pantaloons and a light blue coat, a spotted kerchief knotted round his neck. “Hullo,” he cried. “I have good news.”

“That would be welcome just now!”

“Harry Hargreaves is practically living in the Branwell's pocket. He called there already and stayed
two
hours.”

Anne turned away with a sigh. “That's good, I suppose.”

“You suppose! I should think it is.”

“I really can't worry about Harry Hargreaves at the moment.”

“You can't…?” Edward stared disgustedly at her. “I don't understand you, Anne. You made a great fuss about helping Laurence, practically forced me to go along, and now that I have made a tremendous effort and things are coming along well, you say you haven't time to worry about it.”

“I'm sorry, Edward. Arabella was here this morning.”

“Miss Castleton? And so?”

“I can't think of anything but her problem now.”

“Dash it, Anne. I know she is your best friend, but her trifling little problems really cannot compare with—”

“Haven't you heard?”

“Heard what? I have been too busy running about London after Hargreaves to hear anything.”

She told him the story, including, this time, Lydia Branwell's part in it. When she finished, he was staring at her with his mouth open. “That…that harpy! I didn't like her before, but even I would not have thought her capable of
this
.”

“Bella is terribly unhappy.”