The Worldly Widow (44 page)

Scandalous! And so mortifying to read another woman
'
s description of the virile attributes of the man she, Annabelle Jocelyn, was soon to marry. Apparently Monique Dupres had taken a more thorough and leisurely inventory than she had permitted herself.

Behind the building anger, she sensed another, more elusive emotion. With elbows on the desk, she palmed her closed eyes and strove to identify it. And then it came to her. Self-doubt, inadequacy, a sinking feeling that she wasn
'
t enough woman to satisfy a lusty man like the Earl. It wouldn
'
t be the first time that such a thing had happened. She hadn
'
t been enough woman for Edgar either.

It
was illogical but she felt like a betrayed wife all over again. Which was ludicrous, she chided herself, since Dalmar
'
s indiscretions could in no wise be deemed as infidelity. They had not even known each other when he had been stationed in Brussels. She sighed; she shook her head and tried to shake herself of her blue-deviled temper.

In such a frame of mind, Annabelle finally caught up with Bertie in the nursery. She saw at once that the poor girl was almost beside herself.

"You
'
ve been gone for hours,
"
she observed quietly.

Bertie turned up a tear-streaked face and opened her mouth to answer. A watery sob escaped her lips.

"Come away,
"
said Annabelle softly, careful not to attract Amy
'
s interest to the drama which was unfolding.

Bertie allowed herself to be directed to Annabelle
'
s small private sitting-room on the floor below. Tea and biscuits were sent for. Annabelle kept up a flow of inconsequential small talk until the servants withdrew.

The door closed. After a long and thoughtful pause, Annabelle introduced what she hoped was a neutral topic of conversation. "Amy seems to be settling in well,
"
she remarked. "I
'
ve given her the room next to yours. I hope I did right?
"

The response which met this innocuous observation floored Annabelle. Bertie burst into a torrent of tears and, between gulps, became involved in a long and convoluted explanation of which Annabelle could make neither head nor tail. Feeling somewhat alarmed, she fetched a small silver flask of "medicinal
"
brandy, which she kept secreted in her sewing basket. Having liberally dosed Bertie
'
s tea (and her own, as an afterthought), she commanded her to swallow the whole. Few argued with Annabelle when she adopted an autocratic air. Obediently Bertie drained every last drop of liquid in the small china teacup.

"Now, then, shall we start over?
"
said Annabelle, her voice carefully devoid of any overt sympathy.

The calm, assured tone seemed to strike just the right balance. Bertie fumbled for her handkerchief, blew her nose, and generally dallied till her composure was somewhat restored. Finally she looked into Annabelle
'
s troubled blue eyes and said tremulously, "Paul, that is, Colonel Ransome has asked me to marry him.
"

"Oh.
"
It was the last thing that Annabelle had expected to hear. "All things considered,
"
she continued doubtfully, "I suppose it
'
s the best course.
"
She was thinking that Ransome and her friend could not be in the same room together for five minutes but they became as stiff as starch. Still, if the man was Amy
'
s father…

"That's a matter of opinion!
"

"I beg your pardon?
"

"Don
'
t you see?
"
cried Bertie passionately. "I don
'
t wish to marry him! How should I, after what passed between us? But I don
'
t have a choice in the matter.
"

Bertie had never taken anyone fully into her confidence on the matter of Ransome and Amy
'
s parentage. It was a wretched episode she thought she was long over—the old, hackneyed story of a green girl who had loved unwisely and too well. She
'
d never suspected that the man she
'
d given her heart to had a wife in town while she was hidden away in the country, until that wife had burst into her little house in Chelsea and blown her world apart. She
'
d told Annabelle very little about her history except to imply that her marriage had not been a happy one. Having said as much, she knew that Annabelle would not press her to reveal the details of her background. In point of fact, she had invented the late Mr. Pendleton as an act of sheer desperation when she was alone, single, and pregnant with Amy. Afterward she had kept up the pretense out of habit and a very real fear that Ransome might one day discover her whereabouts if she kept her own name.

At that moment she wished she had taken Annabelle into her confidence. She longed for a little disinterested advice from someone whose judgment she valued. Absently, nervously, she twisted the handkerchief in her hands into knots. Though she could not bring herself to reveal the full magnitude of her deception, and omitting any reference to the imaginary Mr. Pendleton, she began to unburden herself, relating only the essentials of her unhappy circumstances.

Annabelle listened without interruption. Her expression betrayed neither the shock nor condemnation which Bertie half feared she would surprise on her friend
'
s face. Her story at an end, Bertie searched Annabelle
'
s eyes anxiously.

"Annabelle, perhaps you can advise me. What should I do?
"

Annabelle hesitated. Cautiously, she asked, "You
'
re quite sure you don
'
t wish to marry the man?
"

"Hardly!
"
responded Bertie with a semblance of defiance. "And the feeling is mutual, I
'
m sure.
"

"Then why has he offered?
"

"He wants Amy, naturally. He never thought of offering for me until he w
as sure that she… oh well…
no sense going into that now.
"
A fresh wave of tears welled in her beautiful pansy brown eyes.

"My dear, you don
'
t have to marry any man if you don
'
t wish to,
"
pointed out Annabelle reasonably.

Between sniffs Bertie got out, "Oh Annabelle, you
'
re such a simpleton sometimes. Haven
'
t you learned yet that it
'
s a man
'
s world? Where do you think we went this afternoon? To my brother-in-law
'
s, that
'
s where! And Paul and James have decided between them that everyone
'
s interests are best served by my marriage to
…
to the father of my child.
"

It
'
s a man
'
s world.
The truth of that unpalatable statement was incontrovertible, thought Annabelle. For the most part, men ordered things to suit themselves. Women, the weaker vessels, were forced to accept the confines of that submissive role which was fashioned by society, buttressed by law, and sanctified by church—all bastions of male power. It took an exceptional woman to break out of that rigid mold. But it could be done. If a woman used the wits she was born with, she could thumb her nose at the male species and still stay on the right side of public opinion.

Very gently Annabelle stated, "Nevertheless, no one can force you to marry Ransome unless you wish it.
"

It never occured to Annabelle that her friend was concealing more than she had revealed. Bertie said that she did not wish to marry Ransome, and Annabelle believed her. She could not guess that what stuck in Bertie
'
s craw was the fact that the gentleman had offered marriage only after he had deduced that he had fathered her child. In point of fact, as is the case with most people, though it was advice Bertie had specifically asked for, it was reassurance she
'
d hoped to receive. She was disappointed and did not know why.

The conversation lost focus and drifted into other channels. By and by their thoughts turned to Henrietta and her projected sojourn in Greek Street. With a gaiety they were far from feeling, they set their minds to devise some outings to entertain Henrietta when she should arrive. They were determined that everything should be done to ensure that she
did not mope for her absent children. "For a more maternal lady I
'
ve yet to meet,
"
said Annabelle knowledgeably.

As it happened, Henrietta took them by surprise and landed on their doorstep late of that very afternoon. In her best hostess manner, Annabelle invited her sister-in-law to look upon her home as if it were her own. Before the evening was out, it was very evident that Henrietta, or "Harry
"
as she now insisted on, had taken Annabelle at her word.

When Dalmar and Colonel Ransome dropped in after dinner, the main floor public rooms were fairly choked with people, most of them intimates of Lady Diana. Annabelle was still dazed from the speed with which everything had been arranged. She
'
d thought to spend a quiet evening nursing her sore jaw, now artfully covered with paint and powder. But events had simply overtaken her with the force of a hurricane.

"What the deuce is going on?
"
asked Dalmar of a slightly abstracted Annabelle as she greeted him at the door.

"An impromptu party to welcome Henrietta, I mean Harry, to town.
"
She couldn
'
t help being a little stiff with him. The episode in Monique Dupres
'
s memoirs was still very fresh in her mind. Her greeting to Colonel Ransome was only a trifle warmer.

The gentlemen appeared not to notice, or perhaps they could not hear her for the uproar. In one room, which the guests themselves had cleared of furniture, a rollicking reel was in progress. It was Bertie
'
s nimble fingers which hammered out the music on the piano.

The gentlemen
'
s eyes slowly traveled the crush of people.

"It
'
s rather a young crowd for Greek Street, wouldn
'
t you say, Ransome?
"
observed the Earl. "And not a literary type in sight.
"
He turned a laughing face upon Annabelle. "You won
'
t be able to combine business and pleasure at this sort of do.
"

"I
'
m scarcely in my dotage,
"
retorted Annabelle. "And I
'
m not averse to pleasure. Why ever would you think so?
"

"
I don
'
t think so, and with good reason.
"

She chose to ignore the sardonic smile and intimate tone. They idled their way to the room where the dancing was taking place. When the reel came to an end, the dancers stamped and hooted their displeasure. Ransome excused himself and went
with alacrity to sit beside Bertie on the piano bench. Catching sight of Dalmar, Henrietta detached herself gently from her partner who was apparently reluctant to let her go.

"You
'
re in looks tonight, Lady Jocelyn,
"
murmured Dalmar, bowing over the hand she offered him.

"If I am, I have you to thank for it.
"
Rather shyly, she added, "I
'
m following your advice, you see.
"

"And Sir Charles?
"

Her smiled faded momentarily, then flashed more brilliantly than before. "There
'
s always much to occupy him in and around Rosedale.
"
A mischievous glint crept into her eyes. "I should feel guilty, I suppose, for dumping five boys in his lap. But frankly, I don
'
t give a straw.
"

"I
'
m sure it couldn
'
t happen to a worthier person,
"
said Dalmar. "Console yourself with the thought that time won
'
t hang heavily on his hands.
"

They laughed companionably.

Annabelle shot a keen look at first one and then the other. She was on the point of asking them to explain themselves when Lady Diana gave a trill of pleasure and threw herself at the Earl.