Romance: Detective Romance: A Vicious Affair (Victorian Regency Intrigue 19th England Romance) (Historical Mystery Detective Romance) (60 page)

*****

When James knocked at the door to Sedgefield House, it was snowing.

''Look mummy, it's Uncle James.''

''My, my, you two are growing up.''

''Have you brought some Christmas presents for us?'' Harriet asked.

''Harriet, don't be so rude,'' Emily said.

''Yes, don't be so rude,'' little James added. ''Have you though?''

''Who'd have a three year old and a five year old?'' Emily asked James.

''Uncle James is a hero,'' Harriet said. ''Mummy told me.''

Peter walked into the room. ''James, Merry Christmas.'' he said to his brother in law. ''Yes Harriet, Uncle James is indeed a hero,'' he added.

Annabelle Catesby sat before a plate of untouched food at lunch time. Her mind was on one thing, and one thing only. There was a ball later on that evening. But it wasn’t just any ball, it was the most important ball of the year, and possibly, of her life. Of course, some would think that no ball was important, but Annabelle was not one of them. She was Anna to her family and friends, a beautiful girl of nineteen with an overprotective father and a mother who doted upon her only daughter. She had two brothers, both older, both young men working with her father at his business, each of them learning so that they may run it themselves one day.

For Annabelle’s part, she didn’t quite know what her father did. She knew it was something like banking, but not exactly that. He loaned large sums of money to people sometimes, often if they were trying to open a business themselves. The whole world bored Anna, and she stayed out of it.

Anna liked nature. She spent hours upon hours atop a horse, or walking through the woods which surrounded her father’s lavish home and grounds. Her eldest brother Edwin had even taught her to fish, and though her mother looked down upon it, Annabelle did so in the small pond on the grounds as often as she could, when weather was permitting.

She would miss the pond most of all, if she wasn’t taking people into account, but she was ready to leave. And the ball had finally come, and that meant she would perhaps have a chance to find a husband.

The petite young girl had caught the eyes of men since she was just fourteen. But in the recent years, sideways glances at her large, perky breasts had become something else entirely. First it was requests to dance, and then it was men calling at her home for her. And for the past two years, there had been the proposals.

Henry Catesby, Annabelle’s father, had built such an impressive business for himself that it had done wonders for his social standing. He had been raised poor himself, and he had sworn to himself that he wouldn’t put his own children through that. And so he hadn’t, and in his late fifties he commanded a certain respect that was shared with his wife and children as well. Anna would not be marrying just anyone, the offers she had received had been from men of great standing. Nobility. Dukes.

Last year at Lady Patterson’s annual dance, Annabelle had been proposed to by Colonel Warren, a man of thirty-three who had no doubt had his eye on the young girl for quite some time, judging by how often he came by to see her.

Anna liked the man, found him to be attractive and kind, and she was eager to marry. She saw how happy her mother was, how fulfilled she was to be a mother and a wife, and she had yearned for the same for years. But her father had forbade it.

Anna spoke to him that same night, a year previous, in his study after the ball. Hot tears had streamed down her face, leaving trails down her cheeks which shone in the soft light of a single candle, burning on her father’s desk top.

“Please, daddy,” she had pleaded.

“You are too young,” her father had said. He was a tall man with a bushy moustache, though he had no hair upon his head.

“I am eighteen!” she said. “A woman grown!”

“No to me,” her father had said, and then he looked to see his daughter crying, having been previously staring out the window, and his hardness vanished in an instant. When he spoke again his voice was softer, gentler. “A year from now. Alright, my daughter? My beautiful little girl? That is what you are to me, even now, so grown and amazing. You will always be my little girl, running around in this home, getting underfoot. But that is not fair to you. This ball, it is every year, the same date, yes?”

Anna nodded her head, and used the back of her hand to wipe away the tears.

“And then next year, at this ball, if a man wants your hand, and you’re willing to give it, I will not stop you.”

And so it had been, and for a few months after the conversation, Annabelle gave herself to a string of daydreams and hopes, wishing that Colonel Warren would ask her again. The young woman was worried he would ask someone else, but instead he lost his life. It was an accident out of the city, something the Colonel had been doing with his men, but he went out alive and came back dead, and Annabelle found herself mourning him. He was going to be her husband. She had thought about it so often, and though she didn’t know the man well, she had grieved for him.

But the sadness ebbed, and as the ball had drawn close, her dizziness returned. The deceased Colonel hadn’t been the first man to propose to her, and he wouldn’t be the last. She was sure of it.

“You are not eating,” her father said to her, from over his own bowl of soup.

“My stomach is in knots,” Annabelle said.

“You think you will be engaged tonight,” her father said in a knowing tone.

“As if father would be so lucky, to get you taken off his hands,” Annabelle's brother, Reginald, said. He was two years younger than Edwin, and still lived at home, while Edwin had been married for three years, and had his own home elsewhere outside of London, in the same green fields and pastures where Henry’s home was built.

“I’ll marry before a woman will accept your proposal,” Anna said, glaring across the table to her brother.

“You two bicker too often,” Anna’s mother said quietly, and both of her children bowed their heads slightly.

“Eat,” Henry said, and Anna lifted her spoon to her mouth, knowing there was no sense in arguing with her father. “You do not want to waste away,” he said with a laugh as he watched her. With each bite she took, Annabelle realized just how hungry she was, and through her nerves were on edge, she cleaned her plate and bowl, and then hurried upstairs to begin getting ready for the most important evening of her life.

*****

The excited young woman knew that it would take hours for her to be ready, so though the ball didn’t begin until eight, she didn’t dawdle in the bath. Anna washed herself quickly after the brass tub was filled with hot water that almost boiled by two servants, and then she was out, allowing a young girl to wrap her in a towel. She went back to her room and was surprised to see Mrs. Clack there. Mrs. Clack had been Anna’s chaperone to all of her social gatherings since she had first developed under her corsets and under her gowns, and men began to lust after her. Mrs. Clack oversaw the servants in the Catesby household, and had done so since before Anna was born. She was a short woman of lean frame, with a severe and hooking nose like a hawk’s, the only thing which marred a rather pretty face. Her eyes were icy blue and her hair as fair as an early morning sunrise.

She was married to Mr. Clack, who had been the groundsman of the manor for just as long as Mrs. Clack had been overseer. They had been hired separately, and met on Mrs. Clack’s first day, as they enjoyed telling the Catesby children every few months. They lived together in a small cabin in the southern corner of the grounds, and had both grown to be a part of the family, as much as they were hired help.

“I thought you may want to ready yourself early,” the older woman said.

Annabelle smiled. “I wish to look my best.”

“You wish to find a husband,” Mrs. Clack said.

Anna thought there was a gleam in the woman’s eye, which might have been a teary mist in her gaze. “You cry Mrs. Clack?” Anna placed her hand upon the older woman’s arm. “I did not mean to upset you.”

Mrs. Clack laughed and wiped away the tears. “Silly girl, it is not sadness, but an overwhelming sense of pride I have for you,” she said. “Your mother feels the same. We spoke of it earlier, and I know she will want to see you off. When you come home, neither of us doubt that it will be as a woman engaged. I can remember bathing you myself, you know.”

Annabelle smiled and nodded. “As can I. Mother and you both often.”

“You were that much of a handful,” Mrs. Clack teased.

“You know, I think of you as a second mother,” Annabelle told the woman, and she could see the effect her words had on her instantaneously.

Mrs. Clack beamed, her eyes widening, her mile spreading to show an almost impossible number of teeth. She had no children of her own, and had become attached to Annabelle in particular, since she was the only daughter out of three children. Anna’s mother had never been the kind of woman to leave it all to the servants, but she had always allowed Mrs. Clack a bit of space and time with her daughter, because Mrs. Clack had been told at a young age that it would be unlikely for her to conceive, and that had proven true.

“I thought you might want to wear this,” Mrs. Clack said, turning and marching to the armoire. She opened the heavy oak doors and reached inside. The gown she collected was gorgeous, a light blue color that shimmered as it turned in the light. The neck was a low cut scoop, and the sleeves were ruffled and fell to the wrist. Down the front of the gown were pale white bows.

“It’s my favorite, you know that,” Annabeth said with a soft smile.

“And mine too,” the old woman said. “Let’s get you ready, shall we?”

Anna dressed in small clothes first, and then let Mrs. Clack help her wiggle into a corset. She sat on the edge of her bed, keeping her back stiff and straight while the old woman sat behind her, and pulled the wide ribbon at the back, tightening the corset and forcing it to give Anna a pleasing hourglass shape.

Once the corset was tied, Mrs. Clack pulled stockings onto Anna’s legs, since the young woman was unable to bend that far to do it herself. Afterwards Anna stood up and they worked to pull the gown on over her head. The skirt didn’t flair as much as other gowns in Anna’s collection did, and Annabelle was glad for that, it made it easier to walk.

Dressing took some time, a little over an hour when all was said. Then Anna sat at a small desk, and Mrs. Clack stood behind her, and they began work on her hair.

“What a sight,” a voice said from the doorway, and Anna turned her head as much as Mrs. Clack would allow to see her mother there. She was the opposite of Mrs. Clack in every way. Heavier and taller, with dark brown hair the color of the bark of an oak tree. She was beautiful, with eyes the same honey brown as her daughter.

“Thank you, mother,” Annabelle said with a smile. Her mother came into the room properly, and stood next to Mrs. Clack.

“Would you care to finish?” Mrs. Clack asked.

Mrs. Catesby nodded and took the older woman’s place. She took her daughter's hair up in two hands, and with practiced movements twisted and piled it. Once her hair had been piled up in a cascade upon her head, Mrs. Clack brought Annabelle a couple of head-dresses to choose from. The girl thought for a moment, and then settled on a small band with two flowers upon it, side by side. Mrs. Clack placed it upon Anna’s head. Then Anna’s mother helped her put on her shoes, ankle length heeled boots the color of pitch. They all went to a mirror near the door to look.

“Beautiful,” Mrs. Clack said. “I fear you may have too many men to choose from tonight.”

The women all giggled, and then Annabelle turned to hug them in turn. “I love you both.”

“And we love you,” her mother replied. “Do you have time for tea with us?”

“I believe so,” Annabelle said, and the three women went downstairs together. Mrs. Clack went off to fetch the tea while Anna and her mother sat in the drawing room.

“Tell me about father,” Anna said.

“About your father? Don’t you know him?” her mother asked with a laugh.

“I know him now. I don’t know who he was when he was younger. If he ever was younger.”

“Of course he was younger!” Anna’s mother insisted. “You want to know about when he proposed to me?”

“I do.”

“Well, it’s a bit different than your proposal may end up,” the older woman said. “I knew your father for quite some time. His mother worked for mine. Your father’s father was not a successful man, not as successful as your father. He didn’t work as hard, you see. So while I didn’t grow up the way you and your brother’s have, I wasn’t wanting either. Your father would not have been a good suitor for me, and indeed he was not. I knew him, and I thought he was dashing, but I could not be his wife, so I fell in love with another.”

“You loved another man?” Anna asked, her mouth opening in shock.

“Oh yes,” Anna’s mother said, nodding her head softly. “His name was Hector. He was a kind man, three years older than I. His family sold horses, and they had grown it into quite a business, and the horses they bred were known far and wide. He loved me as well, though we met when I was too young to marry.”

“What happened to him? He is not my father.”

Anna’s mother nodded, and a small smile curled upon her lips, but it was one that was bittersweet and sad looking. “He died.”

Anna couldn’t help but think of her deceased colonel. “How?” she asked, hoping it wasn’t too painful for her to speak of.

“He became ill,” her mother said simply, and for a moment, Anna thought that was all she was going to say. But then she opened her mouth and more came out, and once she was talking it didn’t seem as though she would stop. “He was a strong young man, so tall, so handsome. Not as handsome as your father, I will say, but handsome. His hair was the color of a strawberry not quite ripe. A hint of red. I’ve never seen a shade like it. I loved it. He kept it long, so I could run my fingers through it as we walked together, or lay together,” she added, with a slight glance to her daughter. “When he was twenty-one he became ill. A cough at first, nothing more, but then it simply kept growing worse. A cough became sweating, and it was a hoarse hacking sound in his chest. He grew so thin in those few months. By the end, he didn’t look like the man I had once known and loved. He wasted away, and he died, and I was inconsolable.”