The Headstrong Ward (6 page)

The viscount ground his teeth. Mariah watched him with mild interest. Anne struggled between nervousness at the anger in his face and a desire to giggle.

“The deuce!” he burst out at last. “Leave it, then. What does it matter? My peace is entirely cut up as it is; one more annoyance will make no difference.” He glared at Mariah again. “But if I see so much as a crumb of earth anywhere else in the house…”

“We shall be very tidy,” said Mariah.

Lord Wrenley let out an enraged breath, turned on his heel, and stalked out. They heard him say, “Get out of my way, you,” in the corridor, and then he was gone.

“Whew!” breathed Laurence. “I haven't seen Charles that angry since Edward took out his favorite gun without leave.”

“A disgraceful exhibition of temper,” agreed Mariah. “And over nothing at all.”

Laurence opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out. Unable to control herself any longer, Anne started to laugh. The man turned to stare at her, even more incredulous, then slowly smiled. In another moment, he too was laughing, though with more nervousness than humor, Anne thought. “It is rather ridiculous,” he murmured.

“Completely,” agreed the girl.

“But Charles had some grounds…”

“Oh, yes.”

Laurence sobered. “I wonder how we shall get through the season,” he added. Before Anne could reply, Fallow came in to announce that Edward had come to take her to Tattersall's.

When Edward asked her, as they drove through the busy streets in his phaeton, how her morning had been, Anne could not resist telling him the full story of Mariah's garden. His reaction was much less cautious than Laurence's. He threw back his head and roared with laughter until Anne had to beg him to keep a better watch for pedestrians. “If I could have seen Charles's face,” he gasped, “I would have paid a guinea—ten guineas—to have been there.”

Anne gazed curiously across at him. “Don't you like your brother? You always seem so pleased when he is annoyed.”

Captain Debenham's grin did not fade, but he raised his blond eyebrows a little. “It's not a question of liking. It's just that Charles has had his own way so much, I enjoy seeing him thwarted now and then. I think it's good for him.”

“Has he?”

“What?”

“Had his own way?”

“Well, of course he has. You know it as well as I. He took charge when Father died; Mama couldn't manage. He has been the head of the family since then.”

“I wonder if he wished to be?” Edward stared at her, and Anne flushed a little. “It is just that I met the head of Arabella's family—her uncle Thomas—once, and he seemed to take great pleasure in his position. He meddled in everyone's affairs and tried to tell them what profession to take up and whom to marry. Yet Charles… Did he tell you to go into the army?”

“Are you joking? I have wanted that since I was in short coats.”

“Have you?” Anne looked wistful. “I never knew. But you see, Charles does not act at all like Arabella's uncle. In fact, he seems to want nothing more than to be rid of all of us. You and me and Laurence, I mean.”

Edward considered this, then shrugged. “Well, it don't make a particle of difference.”

“But, Edward, it is very…” She stopped abruptly.

Her companion frowned. “Are you up to something, Anne? I know you're all grown up, and looking fine as fivepence, but I'd swear you haven't changed
that
much. I've seen that look in your eye—the one that means you're plotting mischief.”

“Edward!”

“Oh, don't play the innocent; I
know
you. Indeed, Anne, I remember better than the others how you used to be. We shared a nursery for three years. So you needn't try to bamboozle me.”

“Bamboozle? What does that mean?” She tried the word on her tongue again, and found it good.

“Oh, Lord, now they'll say I'm teaching you slang. You know perfectly well what it means, and you shan't do it to me.”

Anne spread her hands. “Edward, I don't know what you mean.”

He looked at her through narrowed eyes. “I don't care what you're up to, see, as long as you leave me out of it. You can do what you like with Charles and Laurence. Be good for them. But not me. Anyway, you'll have enough to occupy you with your come-out and finding yourself a…” He shut his mouth with a snap and reddened.

Anne grinned. “A husband?” she finished.

Edward scowled. “Not what I was going to say.”

“Indeed it was. And you are right; it will be a great work. But as long as I am about it, perhaps I shall find you a wife as well.” She looked sidelong at him.

“Me?” he gasped. “Good God, no!”

Anne began to laugh. “Why not? You are older than I, after all.”

“That's different. Anne, swear to me that you will not try any such thing—or even think about it. The deuce! I never dreamed—”

“But, Edward,” she interrupted teasingly, “you might
like
being married.”

“I should as soon be shipped to the eastern plantations. Sooner! Anne, promise that you will
not
—”

“Is that Tattersall's?” asked the girl innocently, pointing to that establishment as they sped past it.

Cursing, Edward yanked back on the reins, and in the confusion that followed his attempt to turn the phaeton in the crowded street, their conversation lapsed.

The following morning was to be devoted to social calls. Mariah remained completely engrossed in her “garden,” but Anne and Laurence set out at ten to visit the Branwells and the Castletons. Anne was in high spirits during the short drive, for Charles had informed her at the breakfast table that the Debenham group would attend the first evening party of the season that very night. Not even the prospect of seeing Lydia Branwell again could dampen her enthusiasm. “I wonder if Arabella is going,” she said as they rode. “I can hardly wait to ask her.”

Laurence, who had by this time heard all about Miss Castleton, was forced to admit ignorance. “Lydia and her mother will be present, I know,” he offered.

“Oh. Splendid.”

“There is to be music, and Lydia is passionately fond of music.”

“I would have predicted that.”

Laurence smiled. “She is a sensitive creature, is she not? Charles and Edward will never see her true value.”

“Well, I am not yet intimately acquainted with her, but I am sure you are right.”

“You saw how distressed she was when Cousin Mariah criticized her father. She told me later that she nearly burst into tears.”

Privately thinking that it had looked more like rage, Anne nodded.

“Lydia takes a great deal on herself, you know. Her mother is…not particularly interested in the bishop's work. Lydia helps him instead; indeed, it has kept her from many of the amusements common to young girls. She is extremely dedicated.”

“Well, I am happy that she is to have a season in London, then. It sounds as if she deserves it.”

“Oh, yes. Her father insisted.”

Laurence sounded slightly dissatisfied, and Anne determined to examine Lydia Branwell carefully this morning. If, as she suspected, the bishop's daughter was false, she would make a real effort to show Laurence the truth. After that, he could make his own decisions.

The Branwells had hired a house near Berkeley Square. Anne and Laurence were admitted by a stately butler and taken directly up to the drawing room, where Lydia and her mother awaited them. Lydia rose as soon as they entered, and came forward with outstretched hands. “My dear Lady Anne,” she cried, taking both of Anne's hands and pressing them gently. “How wonderful to see you again. I have longed for your arrival.”

“Thank you,” replied Anne, extricating her fingers as politely as possible.

“It will be so good to meet someone with whom one can have a rational conversation at these endless
ton
parties,” continued the other, tossing her black curls. “I find them unbearably tedious. All that gossip and empty chatter.”

“Laurence!” exclaimed Anne. “Have you been gossiping to Miss Branwell? For shame!”

Lydia stared blankly at her, but Laurence smiled. “I hope Lydia excludes me from her denunciation.” Seeing his fiancée's bewilderment, he added, “It was a joke, Lydia. Anne is bamming us.”

“Oh. Oh, of course.” Miss Branwell smiled thinly. “Very amusing. Laurence has told me about your lively sense of humor, Lady Anne.”

“He flatters me.”

“What have you done since you arrived in town?” asked Lydia, shifting the subject away from dangerous ground.

“Well, it has been only two days.” Anne thought of Mariah's garden. She would not mention that to this girl. “I have bought some horses.”

“Horses?”

“Yes, Edward took me to Tattersall's yesterday. I bought the sweetest little mare you can imagine for riding in the park, and I could not resist two hunters. They were so fine-looking. Great shoulders and strong hocks. How I should like to try them at a fence.”

“You…you hunt, then?” Lydia sounded rather as if she were asking about some indelicate eccentricity.

“Whenever I have the opportunity. I am very much hoping to get an invitation to Leicestershire this winter.”

“From whom?”

“Anyone with a house in the neighborhood of the Quorn.” Anne grinned.

“I shall have to see that you meet Lady Ellis.” Laurence laughed. “She always gathers a large house party for the hunting.”

“Do, by all means,” encouraged Anne.

“I don't quite approve of hunting,” murmured Lydia sweetly. “I feel so sorry for the poor little fox.”

Anne raised one eyebrow. “That ‘poor little fox' would soon destroy every covey in the county if he were left alone.”

“And why not? I do not see why birds should be shot either.”

Anne, seeing a dispute ahead, shrugged and would have abandoned the subject.

“My father is one of the strongest opponents of hunting and shooting,” continued Lydia. “He feels they are unchristian.”

“Well, you know, Lydia, I have always thought he goes a bit far,” put in Laurence. “Hunting isn't all sport. It does help balance things on the land.”

Miss Branwell drew herself up. Anne, with a slight smile, sat back in her chair.

“But, of course, the bishop knows more about it than I,” added Laurence hastily. “I shall have to discuss it with him and learn his views.”

“Oh, yes,” breathed his fiancée, leaning forward and putting a hand over his where it lay on the chair arm. “Do, Laurence! He will convince you, I'm sure. He is so wise.”

He nodded. But Anne saw his shoulders move impatiently beneath his coat, and her smile broadened a bit.

“Have you been shopping since you arrived in town?” Lydia asked Anne, eyeing her buff walking dress with approval.

“No, but some of the things I ordered last month have begun to arrive. I think I am fairly well equipped for now, thank heaven.”

“You don't care for shopping?” Miss Branwell seemed surprised.

“I loathe it. I leave it for months, then I rush out and buy everything at once, half of it useless most of the time. But my new maid has been a great help, and the mother of one of my friends.”

“Who is that?” Lydia cocked her head.

“Mrs. Castleton.”

“Castleton.” As Lydia considered this information, Anne was irresistibly reminded of one of the Wrenley dogs from her childhood. That hound had been celebrated for its discriminating sense of smell, as well as for the way it delicately tested the scent, then raised its head and seemed to compare it to all the others it had ever tried. “Is that the Dorset family?” concluded the other girl.

“Yes.”

“Ah. A very good line, and extremely wealthy, I believe.”

Anne nodded silently. “Speaking of them,” she said, “we must go. I promised to call there this morning, and we have taken up too much of your time already.”

“Not at all,” answered Lydia, but she rose.

They took their leave of her and of the silent, inexplicable Mrs. Branwell and went downstairs to the carriage. When they had climbed in, Laurence said, “You do like Lydia, do you not?”

Anne hesitated. She had decided that she did not like Miss Branwell at all, and that Laurence was making a mistake. But to say this would only goad him into defending her and keep him from looking squarely at her deficiencies. She contented herself with, “She seems a thoughtful person.”

“Yes.” Laurence leaned forward. “It is very rare, you know, to find a girl who cares about serious things and can discuss them. Most of the London debs I have met are quite empty-headed. Lydia is exceptional.”

“I'm sure she is,” agreed Anne.

“Charles and Edward
won't
see that.”

“Well, their opinions don't really matter, I suppose.” She watched him curiously.

Laurence frowned. “No. No, of course not.”

The Castleton town house was not far away. Again, they were admitted at once, but before they could mount the staircase, Arabella appeared on the landing and came running to meet them. “Anne!” she cried, hugging her. “Oh, how glad I am to see you. It seems an age. I called on you yesterday afternoon, but you were out.” She gazed reproachfully up at her friend.

“I'm sorry. If I had known you were coming, I would have stayed home. Arabella, this is Laurence Debenham. Laurence, my friend Miss Arabella Castleton.”

Arabella held out her hand, flushing a little at having betrayed such exuberance before a stranger. “Come upstairs,” she said. “Mama is there.”

Mrs. Castleton received them cordially, and they had a quarter hour's pleasant conversation. Anne retold the story of her visit to Tattersall's, in much greater detail this time, and soon had Arabella and her mother laughing. Laurence looked on appreciatively, clearly finding Anne's friend very pretty indeed, and occasionally added a comment on his brother's judgment of horseflesh. A little later, however, he rose. “You will want some private conversation with Miss Castleton,” he told Anne, “and I have some business nearby. Shall I call for you in an hour, perhaps?”

“You needn't trouble, if you don't care to. I can go home alone in the carriage.”

“No indeed. In an hour, then.” He took punctilious leave of the Castleton ladies and went out.

“What a nice young man,” said Mrs. Castleton. “So thoughtful. One hardly expects that these days.”

Arabella nodded. “Come up to my room, Anne,” she added, “where we can have a comfortable coze.”

Her mother laughed. “You may have the drawing room. I must speak to Cook. But really, Arabella, you mustn't dismiss anyone besides me so abruptly. It would be very rude.”

The girl's dark eyes widened. “Mama! I wouldn't…”

“All right, dear. Anne, good day. We will see you tonight.”

When she was gone, the two girls settled on the sofa. “How is everything?” asked Arabella anxiously. “Are you getting on with the Debenhams?”

“Well enough. They are not quite…what I expected.”

“What do you mean?”

Anne frowned. “It is hard to say.”

“Well, what did Lord Wrenley say about the parrot? Has he been horrid?” She smiled. “Augustus, I mean.”

“He said almost nothing. I think I made a mistake buying Augustus, Bella. It was a very childish thing to do.”

The other stared at her, astonished to hear this from the madcap Anne Tremayne.

“In fact, I am rapidly coming to the conclusion that the Debenhams need my help,” continued Anne. She grinned. “They have made a shocking mull of things without me.”

“What can you mean?”

“I think—though I am not yet certain, mind—that I shall set the family in order.” Her dimples showed again.

“Anne! What are you planning? You know it is disastrous when you try to interfere in other people's lives. Remember Miss Trevor!”

“That wasn't my fault. I bought her those books because she longed for them so. If she had not told the headmistress, she would not have been reprimanded.”

“But she was asked where they came from. And everyone knew she hadn't the money to get them herself.”

“Well, she should have said her uncle sent them, or something.”

“The headmistress knew she hadn't any family either. Anne…”

“Well, it doesn't matter now. And besides, this is completely different.”

“Yes. You are likely to get in much more trouble this time. Think how angry Lord Wrenley would be if he knew you planned to interfere.”

Anne looked thoughtful. “I wonder.”

“What precisely do you mean to do?” asked Arabella anxiously.

Her friend eyed her. “Have you met a Miss Lydia Branwell?”

“No.”

“Well, I think I shall wait until you do to tell you.” Anne rose. “Now I must go, Bella. I haven't decided what I will wear tonight, and Crane must do my hair, which takes
so
long. I shall see you at the party.”

“But, Anne…”

“Good-bye.” Waving a hand, Anne fled. Only when she was walking down the stairs did she remember that Laurence was to fetch her. “He can take a hack,” she murmured to herself. “I want to go home.” And giving these instructions to the Castletons' butler, she climbed into the carriage and did so.

***

All three of the Debenham brothers gathered in the town house drawing room that evening, prepared to escort Anne to her first London party. And their mood was much lighter than they had predicted only three weeks ago. Indeed, Edward was ebullient, Laurence quietly optimistic, and even Charles blandly pleasant. Anne, pausing unobserved in the doorway to look at them, thought what a fine picture they made in their evening dress. Though Charles was by far the most elegant, Laurence was very handsome, and Edward had a certain careless grace that almost rivaled his oldest brother's austere perfection. The three seemed more in charity with one another than Anne had ever seen them as they stood before the fire discussing the latest political clash between supporters of the Regent and those of the poor old King.

Anne took a breath, smoothed the skirt of her dress, and said, “Good evening.” The brothers turned as one and surveyed her. Crane had dressed her red-gold curls in an airy cloud around her head, with tendrils floating beside her face and softening it. She wore a gown of deep rich violet satin with an overdress of silver tissue and silver and violet ribbons. This combination, which had come to her dressmaker as a “revelation,” echoed the shifting tints of her eyes admirably and set off the warm hue of her hair. Around her neck she wore amethysts and silver, and though her toilette could not impart classical beauty to her features or make her any less tall and slender, it was so enchanting that these flaws seemed to fade, leaving only the impression of glorious hair and eyes in a cloud of color.

“Whew!” exclaimed Edward.

“You look lovely, Anne,” said Laurence.

She turned to look at Charles. For some reason, his opinion seemed more important than the others'.

“A stunning outfit,” he responded with a nod.

“You'll break hearts tonight,” added Edward. “Upon my soul, Anne, who would have thought you would turn out so elegant, after the way you used to race about the fields covered with mud and—”