The Headstrong Ward (12 page)

“Another!” said Charles.

She tried again, and this time her aim was perfect. The second checker struck the bird square in the chest. Outraged, he took wing, flying straight toward them. Charles made a massive swoop with the net, and missed by a hair! The momentum carried his upper body far out over the stair rail, and to Anne it seemed that he might fall over it altogether. Dropping the bag of checkers, she threw her arms around him and pulled back, but she realized at once that he had remained perfectly balanced. It was he who levered them both away from the drop. She tried to step back, her face crimson with embarrassment, and found that the buttons of her cuffs had become entangled with the strands of the net. “Excuse me,” she blurted. “I…I thought you were going to fall.”

He looked down into her eyes, only inches from his. “Thank you, I was taking care.” He raised one eyebrow, as if inquiring why she did not move away.

Anne, acutely conscious of his gaze, and of his body against hers, stammered, “My buttons. Stuck.”

“What? Ah. I see. Here, I will disentangle you.” In a moment he had done so, and Anne stepped hastily back, her face still flushed. Blessedly, he turned away. “Augustus has returned to his place,” he said, pointing. “Shall we try again?”

Anne bent to pick up the bag of checkers, grateful for the opportunity to hide her burning face. She nodded silently. Her first shot after this went wild, but the second again hit the parrot, and this time Charles managed to capture him in the fishing net. The parrot screeched with outrage and fought fiercely, but the strands held him immobile.

“I'll take him back to his cage,” said Anne quickly, holding out a hand for the net. “I'm sorry you were disturbed.”

Charles extended the handle, but kept his grip on it. This encounter had had a marked effect on him. When Anne looked up questioningly, he said, “Being ‘disturbed' is not always unpleasant.”

Abruptly, Anne's heart was beating very fast; her hands seemed frozen next to his on the net.

“I don't believe I had quite realized that before,” added the viscount.

Anne's lips parted, but no sound came out. She could not think of anything to say; her brain was whirling. But before the silence could drag, Fallow came into the hall again. “You have caught him, sir,” he said. “Thank heaven. Shall I call someone to return the creature to its cage?”

“No, no, I'm going,” stammered Anne. She pulled slightly at the handle and Charles released it. “I'll see that he doesn't escape again,” she blurted as she ran through the door and into the corridor.

The following Thursday was the day set for the Debenham ball, and Anne was amazed to rise to a reasonably orderly household that morning. After the upsets and confusion of the previous week, she had expected disaster, but somehow everything seemed to have been settled and solved. There was still much to do, but she no longer had to anticipate hysterics among the maids, fisticuffs between footmen, or pistols at dawn for Mariah and the housekeeper. Her chaperone had been wholly uninterested in the preparations from the beginning, refusing to become embroiled in the various discussions about food and decorations or to join the disputes with tradesmen, and now she blandly accepted the successful completion of arrangements as if these things had never existed. Indeed, her blithe attitude suggested that she had not noticed most of them.

“My lavender is not getting enough light,” was her first remark when Anne came into her garden at midmorning. “I was afraid of this. I told Charles I needed more windows.” She eyed one of the windowless walls speculatively.

“I don't think that would be possible,” replied Anne hurriedly. “All the other walls are interior.”

Mariah sighed. “True.”

“I wanted to ask you if you have everything you need for the ball tonight,” added the girl. “I am driving to Bond Street, and I can get anything you like.”

Cocking her head, Mariah smiled. In her outsized apron, she looked rather like a sparrow under a napkin. “No, no, I need nothing. I have more fripperies than I can manage now. You are taking Crane?”

Anne nodded.

“Good. I shall be very relieved when this ball nonsense is over and we can return to our normal routine in this house.” Gripping her trowel, she turned back to the bed she had been digging.

“Aren't you at all excited by the idea of our own ball?” asked Anne, whose excitement had been growing through the week.

Mariah smiled again. “No, dear. If the graft takes on my new rosebush,
then
I shall be excited.”

The girl laughed. “Well, don't forget that the dinner guests will begin to arrive at seven.”

“No, dear,” agreed Mariah, bending solicitously over her drooping lavender.

Anne did her shopping, exchanged a book at the library, and returned home to a solitary luncheon. She did not know where Charles and Laurence were, and Mariah never ate in the middle of the day. She could hardly sit still, and wished for someone to talk to. But no one appeared, either then or in the drawing room afterward, and the day passed with exasperating slowness for her. She did not want to read or write letters or sew; she wanted it to be evening and the ball under way.

At last it was time to go upstairs and dress. She still had not seen anyone, though she thought she had heard Charles come in and go to his study. She almost went to make certain, but though the viscount had been much pleasanter these past days, she still did not feel quite easy bursting in on him.

In her bedroom, Crane was waiting. She had spread Anne's dress out across the bed, and the girl could not help but take a deep breath when she saw it. She had devoted a great deal of thought to this gown for her own ball, and she was extremely pleased with the result. She had liked the combination of violet and silver used in one of her other dresses, and her dressmaker agreed that it was flattering. So when Anne suggested that they design a gown using several layers of gauze in these shades, the woman had been eager, and the result was a garment as lovely and changeable as the sea. The modiste had begun with a deep violet layer, then added a series of others shading through lavender to a shimmering silver. Each nearly transparent gauze allowed the previous hues to show through, and when Anne moved, the effect was stunning. Otherwise, the design was simple—tiny puffed sleeves, a scooped neckline, and a ruffle at the hem that foamed about her silver slippers. Deep violet ribbons were used here and there as trim, and Anne's red-gold hair rose out of this creation like a glorious sunset.

When she was dressed, Anne could not restrain an ecstatic sigh. “Oh, Crane, it
is
a beautiful dress, is it not?”

Her charge's glowing looks had softened even the redoubtable Crane. “It is that, my lady,” she replied. “I've never seen one to match it.”

Anne smiled at her reflection in the mirror, turning this way and that to look at the dress. A tap on the door made her whirl; Crane admitted a footman laden with boxes. “Whatever are those?” wondered the girl, moving to open the top parcel. “Oh, flowers!”

There were five bouquets in all. Laurence and Edward had each sent one, and three of Anne's admirers and most frequent partners had also remembered. Crane took them from their boxes and set them in a row on the mantelpiece, looking smugly pleased.

“How shall I choose?” wailed Anne. “I cannot carry them all.”

“Of course not, my lady. But there's no question of that. These pink roses won't do at all, nor will the yellow.” Crane removed the offending blooms to the dressing table, eliminating the contributions of Edward Debenham and one of his fellow officers. “The white roses are suitable,” continued the maid, moving down the row, but her tone suggested that she did not think much of this choice, “and the lilies, of course. The red roses are wrong.” A third bouquet joined those set aside.

“I suppose the roses,” Anne was beginning doubtfully, when there was another knock. Crane opened the door to reveal a footman with a single parcel. She took it and sent him on his way.

“Perhaps this one will be…” The maid stopped abruptly and drew in her breath.

“What is it?” Anne joined her just as Crane pulled the final bouquet from its wrappings. It was beautiful. In a filigree silver holder rested a great purple orchid surrounded by a wide border of violets and fern. Anne also caught her breath. “Who is it from?” she asked. Crane handed her the card. “Oh, it is Charles!” The girl took the flowers and turned to the mirror; they complimented her gown perfectly. “Did you tell him about my dress, Crane?”

“No, my lady.” She began to gather up the rejected flowers. “I'll put these in water, shall I?”

“What? Oh, yes. I'm just going downstairs.” But when Crane had gone, Anne remained where she was for a moment, gazing into the mirror. She read the card again, “Unusual blossoms for an unusual girl,” and could not understand why this message made her heart beat so fast.

The Branwells, the Castletons, and Edward had been invited to dinner before the ball, and Anne found the former family in the drawing room chatting with Laurence when she came down. Lydia looked very well in deep pink satin and pearls, and the bishop was massively solemn in his evening clothes. She had hardly greeted them when Arabella and her parents arrived, and Anne took the first opportunity to retire into a corner with her friend. “That gown is splendid!” exclaimed Arabella then. “And your bouquet is wonderful. Oh, Anne, you look just as I imagined you might. Extraordinary!”

“I shall take that as a compliment.” Anne laughed. “Unlike you, I need an extraordinary dress to come up to standard. It is not everyone who can wear a mere slip of white satin and look pretty as a picture, you know.”

Arabella objected to this description of her elegant ball gown. “If Papa could hear you! After the way he grumbled over the bill.” But indeed the art of her dress was in its simplicity. It was a mere sheath of white, with the tiniest of sleeves and a plain round neck. Yet Arabella's dark sparkling eyes, perfect features, and creamy complexion provided all the ornament necessary. “Where did you get your bouquet?” she added.

“From Charles. Can you imagine?”

Clearly her friend found it difficult, but Anne did not elaborate. Edward came in, splendid in a new long-tailed coat, and Mariah followed close on his heels. She looked resigned to her fate. Their party was now complete, save the host. “I wonder where Charles can be,” murmured Anne.

In the next moment, he appeared in the doorway, apologizing for his tardiness. He wore black knee pants and coat, with striped stockings, a snowy shirt, and a silver waistcoat; all in all, Anne could not recall having seen a more elegant, handsome figure in London. As she gazed across at him, he turned and met her eyes. There was an intensity in his gray ones that made her smile tremulously back at him. She glanced down at her bouquet, then up again, nodding slightly. Charles smiled and bowed his head before going to speak to the Castletons.

Fallow announced dinner, and the party went into the dining room. Anne was seated in the middle of the table, between Mr. Castleton and Edward. As their numbers were uneven, Arabella sat across between the bishop and his daughter, and looked none too happy about the arrangement. Mariah, at the foot of the table, addressed Mr. Castleton at once, and so Anne was free to talk with Edward. As soon as conversation became general, he leaned over and murmured, “I have found a candidate.”

“What?”

“You know.” He glanced significantly at Lydia Branwell.

“Oh! Who is it?”

“Harry Hargreaves. He's the brother of a friend of mine.”

“Captain Hargreaves?”

“That's it. Both sons of Earl Chalham, you know. Harry went into the church. He's secretary to the Archbishop of Canterbury.”

“Oh, Edward, that's splendid!”

“Ain't it? They say he has good prospects.
And
a tidy fortune.”

“He sounds perfect.”

Captain Debenham nodded. “Dull as ditchwater, too.”

Anne frowned. “That sounds less promising.”

“What do you mean? Just the sort of fellow she wants. Talks of nothing but the rates and the Catholic question, that kind of thing.”

“But Laurence is not dull.” Looking around hastily, Anne lowered her voice. “Quite the opposite.”

“She'd like it if he were, though. Haven't you heard her?”

Anne looked doubtful.

“I tell you, Harry Hargreaves is our man.”

“You've met him?”

“No. He lives in Canterbury.” As Anne started to protest, he added, “
But
he's coming up to London for several weeks on church business, and Alec, his brother, has promised to present me.” Edward grinned. “Nearly cost me my reputation to arrange that. Alec can't see why I want to meet a dull dog like his brother.”

Smiling, Anne said, “You will bring him to call?”

“And we'll push him onto the Branwells at the first opportunity,” he agreed. “After that, I daresay things will take care of themselves.”

Anne was less sanguine, but she nodded. She would be there to help them along if they did not. “I am impressed, Edward. How did you manage to find someone so quickly?”

“I asked.” He grinned. “No one takes any heed of what I say. I can find out anything, and they forget they've told me.”

She laughed. “I must keep that in mind.”

Mr. Castleton ended his conversation with Mariah and turned to Anne, throwing Edward back upon Mrs. Branwell and her timorous silences. He made heavy work of that while Anne enjoyed a pleasant chat, and they had no more opportunity for private discussion through the rest of the meal. The party did not linger at table; the guests would begin to arrive right after dinner. And an hour later, Anne was standing on the stairs before the ballroom, flanked by Charles and Mariah, holding out her hand to the first of them.

The file seemed endless. All of London turned out for the first ball at the Debenham house in twenty years. Anne soon lost track of time and of the countless names she heard. She had been present at many of the tremendous “squeezes” of the season, but she had never before been required to greet so many people personally. Finally, when the flow of arrivals had begun to slow, Charles took her arm. “Come, you must open the dancing. I will present you to your partner.”

“Present me?”

“Yes, you will be dancing with a duke's son.”

“I don't know any dukes' sons.”

He smiled slightly. “Does that signify?”

“Of course. I should much rather dance with a friend.”

“Yes. But in this case, a duke's son will give your debut cachet, you see.”

“Do I? I suppose so. Is he at least a charming duke's son?”

“I believe the duke is considered very charming.”

“No, I meant… Oh, you know quite well.” She wrinkled her nose at him, and he smiled down in response. Anne remembered her bouquet. “I must thank you for my flowers. They are exquisite. How did you know to get purple?”

“An inspired guess.”

“No, really! I thought my gown such a secret.”

“I assure you it was. Here is the marquess.”

He presented Anne, and the couple took their places on the floor as Charles went to ask one of the older ladies for the set. Soon the room was filled with dancing couples. Anne found her partner rather dull, and she was not sorry when the dance ended and she could exchange him for one of Edward's officer friends. After that, the ball went merrily; she danced with two other Guards officers, Laurence, and Edward, and went down to supper with a third military man, joining a gay, noisy table which also included Arabella. After the interval, the two girls went upstairs, then returned to the ballroom together. “I
do
like dancing,” said Anne as they walked. “I am having a splendid time; are you?”

“Oh, yes.” Arabella's rose-pink cheeks were glowing. “I think I like balls better than any other sort of entertainment.”

Anne laughed. “I am sure of it.”

A waltz was beginning as they entered the ballroom, and Laurence came up to ask Arabella to join it. As they walked away together, Anne noticed Lydia Branwell coming toward her. She looked quickly about, but could not see any possibility of rescue. Short of obvious rudeness, she could not avoid her. With a sigh, Anne fixed a smile on her face. “Good evening,” she said when Miss Branwell was closer. “Are you enjoying the ball?”