Regency Sting (4 page)

Anne sighed. “I don't know. Oh, Cherry, I can't bear to think of it! Let's not dwell on
this
subject either—it will only bring us
both
to tears. Come, the horses are waiting.”

It was indeed unthinkable to Anne that her dreams of marriage to Lord Arthur Claybridge might not come true. She had never loved a man before, and she was convinced that she could never love another man. The tender feelings he aroused in her, she knew, would never fade. There had been many young men who had attempted to win her affections in the two years since her come-out, but her heart had been stirred by none of them. Only Arthur had been able to move her in that special way that the poets and the writers of romance describe so lyrically.

She had met Arthur in a truly romantic way. He had been thrown by his horse and was lying unconscious alongside the bridle path that threaded its way through Hyde Park. Anne and Cherry, accompanied by two gentlemen whose names Anne no longer remembered, had been strolling nearby and had heard his moan. They'd hurried to his assistance. Anne had knelt down beside him and loosened his cravat. Her escort had run for some water. By the time Lord Claybridge had come round, Anne had placed his head in her lap and was staring down at what she judged to be the most beautiful face of any man she'd ever seen. When his eyes had fluttered open, and he'd fixed his melting blue gaze on her face, even the onlookers could tell that love had instantly struck.

Lord Arthur Claybridge possessed the kind of good looks that even in a man are called beautiful. His features were perfectly proportioned, like the head on a Greek coin. His dark-gold hair had a natural curl, and a lock of it persisted in falling over his forehead and tempting every female to smooth it into place. Although not above average height, his body, too, was perfectly proportioned, and he moved with unaffected grace. Anyone having seen him once would be willing to swear that there was not a handsomer creature in all of London.

In the year since their first meeting, neither Anne nor Arthur had eyes for another. As often as possible they were in each other's company. Arthur's nature was as flawless as his face; he was always thoughtful, earnest and sincere. He made no attempt to hide his feelings—the sincerity of his declarations of undying affection was unquestionable. If sometimes Anne (who could not claim to equal her beloved in perfection of character) became impatient with his consummate earnestness, if sometimes she became bored with his unfailing reliability, if sometimes she chafed at his lack of humor, she had only to look into those beautiful blue eyes, and her resistance would melt.

Into this romantic atmosphere, the intrusion of financial and familial woes was bound to come as a rude shock. The questions of encumbered estates, disinheritances, marriage settlements and fortuitous financial alliances had never been discussed in their ardent meetings. Even now, when each of them had been made aware of the seemingly insurmountable problems a marriage between them would create, Anne realized that Arthur was reluctant to spoil the purity of their relationship with discussions of sordid business matters.

As Anne confided to Cherry, her greatest concern was that he would give her up without discussing the matter with her at all. She believed that his affections were as intense as ever, but the nobility of his nature might dictate that he sacrifice himself to an advantageous marriage rather than force poverty upon his family and hers. As the two friends climbed into the carriage and rode off to the park, they could not tear their minds from that dreadful prospect. “Do you
really
think Arthur will break it off?” Cherry almost whispered in her consternation.

Anne shook her head and forced herself to smile. “No, of course not. I admit that prospects for our marriage look bleak at the moment, but I am not without hope. As I said to Mama and Peter, one can never say what the future may bring. Why,
anything
may happen!” And on that faint note of optimism, the girls tried to put aside their depression and face the November wind with what courage they could muster.

Lady Harriet, too, tried to keep a spirit of optimism alive, but in the days that followed her practical mind warned her that optimism was in vain. The new heir was bound to come, soon or late. The titles and wealth were too sizeable a prize to be ignored. The fellow would appear, and she made up her mind to prepare for the event. Her best course lay first in remaining calm, and second in encouraging Anne to find an eligible suitor. But how this was to be accomplished when Anne had set her heart on the impecunious Lord Claybridge, she did not know.

Besides, a proper marriage for Anne needed a great deal of time and arranging, and it would take place—
if
it would take place—too far in the future to be of immediate comfort. Therefore, Lady Harriet decided to consult with the late Lord Mainwaring's man of business before determining what other courses of action would be necessary. To that end, she took herself in hand, one cold November day, and dressed herself as cheerfully as her state of mourning permitted. She brightened her black gown with a shawl of lilac mohair, tied on a flowered bonnet with a black veil and told her coachman to take her to the city.

As they rode through the gloomy streets, Harriet wondered if the flowered hat was too gay for her state of mourning. Would Mr. Brindle look on her with disapproval? But she needn't have worried, for Mr. Brindle proved to be a cheerful, rotund, rosy-cheeked gentleman whose optimistic nature was quite at variance with his profession.

He ushered her into his private office, apologizing profusely for its disarray and urging her into a seat with great ceremony. As soon as he had taken his place behind his desk, she put back her veil and, after calming herself with a few deep breaths, faced him bravely. “Without roundaboutation, Mr. Brindle, I want you to tell me just what is my financial situation,” she said bluntly.

“Just as before, dear lady, just as before,” he said with an upraised eyebrow. “Didn't my letter make that clear?”

“No, it did not. As I understood what you'd written of the terms of the will, I am left with
nothing
.”

“In a manner of speaking, that is true,” Mr. Brindle explained, “but in actuality it is not quite the case. You
are
to have an income, but the exact amount of it is left to the discretion of the new heir.”

“But that is as bad as being left with nothing, is it not?”

“Only if the new heir were an unfeeling monster,” Mr. Brindle explained with a kindly smile. “In my experience, Lady Hartley, most heirs take on the responsibilities borne by their forebears as a matter of honor. You may have every expectation that the new heir will be as generous to you and yours as your brother was.”

“Do you think so?” asked Lady Harriet, much relieved. “But perhaps Americans are not motivated by honor in the same way that the English are.”

Mr. Brindle suppressed a smile and appeared to consider the matter seriously. “Perhaps so,” he said thoughtfully, “but in this case, I have every reason to be optimistic. You see, although we have not yet located Mr. Jason Hughes, the heir, we have managed to learn a bit about him. He was born and is thought to reside in the state of Virginia, although there is some information that he may be traveling on their western frontier—Kentucky, I believe—where he has recently acquired a sizeable tract of land. He is well thought of by his business associates and friends. They describe him as honest, kind and generous. It is, therefore, quite unlikely that the fellow would cut you off without a penny.”

“How delightful!” Harriet gave a heartfelt sigh. “This is the best news I've had since Osborn passed on. But tell me, Mr. Brindle, what am I to do until the heir is found and informs us of his intentions toward the family?”

“I see no reason why your income should not continue in the manner instituted by the late Viscount. I've already made those arrangements, since I am the executor of the will until such time as the heir is located.”

Lady Harriet smiled at the lawyer warmly. “I don't know how to thank you, Mr. Brindle. You have dispelled a worrisome cloud from my mind. There is only one more matter which troubles me. Do you think we may remain in the Curzon Street house?”

“Since the Mainwaring townhouse is the only family residence in London, I have no idea what Mr. Hughes' wishes will be in that regard. But you may certainly remain there until Mr. Hughes arrives and makes his intentions known.”

Lady Harriet nodded and rose to leave. The news she had learned was much more promising than she'd expected, and she left feeling years younger than when she arrived. Without bothering to replace the veil in front of her face, she permitted Mr. Brindle to escort her to her carriage. Before driving off, she asked him curiously if he had learned anything else about the new Viscount.

“Not much, I'm afraid,” he told her. “Only that he is thought to be under thirty years of age and unmarried.”

Unmarried! Lady Harriet sat back against the coach seat and savored the news.
Unmarried
! If only he would take a fancy to Anne! All their problems would be solved in such a case. Her sensible mind cautioned restraint, but throughout the entire trip home, she found herself daydreaming about it. She realized that every unmarried female in London would set her cap for the American, even if he proved to be as boorish and uncouth as most Americans were reputed to be. The fortune and the Mainwaring titles would be enough to minimize, in the eyes of every matchmaking Mama, any drawbacks of appearance or manner which the American might possess. The new Lord Mainwaring would have his choice of young ladies. But Anne might very well win him, if she chose to do so; she would have the advantage of being the first female with whom he would become acquainted. If only the girl could be persuaded to forget her attachment to Lord Claybridge.

But Lady Harriet was not so foolish as to embark on a program of persuasion. She knew that her urgings would have little effect on her stepdaughter. In matters of the heart, most young ladies were wont to be obstinate, and the more one tried to separate them from the young men for whom they developed a
tendre
, the more likely they were to hang on. So Harriet wisely refrained from confiding to Anne her hopes for a match that would keep the Mainwaring fortune in the family. And she tried to remain calm.

November and December passed much as they always had. As the weeks went by, another hope began to grow in Lady Harriet's breast: perhaps the American was not coming after all! She developed a new interest in the
Morning Post
and would peruse its pages eagerly as soon as it arrived. (It was indeed wonderful how one's interest in politics increased as one's own fortunes became affected by the affairs of state.) The dispatches from America were infrequent and lacking in detail, but Harriet was able to learn that the Americans had curtailed their shipping to England because of their dislike of an English edict known as the Orders of Council. She had no clear idea what it all meant (and when she'd asked Peter to explain it to her, the explanation was so complicated that it quite made her head swim), but she understood enough to realize that travel to England from America was now almost impossible. By the time the new year had come and gone, and the unknown heir had not made an appearance, Lady Harriet became convinced that he would never come at all.

But one day in late January, a note arrived from Mr. Brindle informing her that Mr. Jason Hughes had been located by a British agent in America and was on his way to London. Lady Harriet's hope was crushed beyond repair. He was coming! Terrible things might happen. He might cut them off without a cent. He might turn them out of the house. The fearful worries that had assailed her at the time of her brother's demise returned in full force.

Now her only hope was to push the new heir into the arms of her stepdaughter. If only he were a pleasant, presentable gentleman, it would not be too cruel a thing to do to Anne. Lady Harriet knew only too well the benefits of an advantageous match. If only
her
mother had encouraged her to make one, she would not now be in this position. With this salve to her conscience, she began immediately to draw up a workable scheme. If she proceeded cleverly, all might not be lost.

Harriet decided that it would be wise to keep from the rest of the family the news of Jason Hughes' imminent arrival. Thus Anne was completely ignorant of her stepmother's hopes for her. Once she'd been informed that the family income was likely to continue indefinitely, she assumed that the dire predictions which her stepmother had made at the time of Lord Mainwaring's death would not come to pass. Besides, the situation with Arthur drove from her mind any concern she might otherwise have felt for the future of her family or the possible arrival of the gentleman from Virginia.

In the months since Lord Mainwaring's death, she had seen Arthur so infrequently that she could number the occasions on the fingers of one hand. And on those few occasions, his tongue had been guarded, and she'd learned nothing of his plans. It was only his gloomy aspect and the urgent appeal in his eyes that told her how much he'd suffered at her absence. There was a desperation in his tone the last time he'd seen her that told her he was at his wit's end. He'd even made a suggestion, quite veiled and vague, of a runaway match.

Anne's nature rebelled at the suggestion of a Gretna Green marriage. Such runaway affairs only caused pain and disappointment to the families and gave to the marriage an air of disreputable squalor. She would have liked a proper, formal, stylish wedding, during which all of London society could wish them joy, not a surreptitious, sordid affair which she and Arthur would always remember with shame. Yet, if there were no other way …

On a cold February afternoon, with the sleet making icy traces on the windowpane, Coyne delivered into Anne's hands a letter which had been brought to their door by a street urchin who had made it clear to the butler that the missive was for Miss Hartley's eyes and hers alone. One look at the designation told her it was from Arthur. She dismissed the butler, telling him that she did not want to be disturbed, and ran upstairs to the small sitting room at the head of the stairs in order to read the letter in strictest privacy. The note begged her to arrange a clandestine meeting so that he could discuss with her “Certain Matters” which were causing him “great Mental distress.”