The Headstrong Ward (13 page)

“I have decided,” replied Lydia without preamble, “to tell you that I know precisely what you are doing.”

Anne paled slightly. “I?”

“Oh, come!” The other girl gestured to Laurence and Arabella, whirling in a graceful waltz not far away. “And I shall tell you my reaction as well. Exactly who do you think you are, Lady Anne Tremayne?”

“I…I don't know…”

“You return from school, a mere child, and at once you begin interfering in matters which are none of your affair. Do you really think you have a right to do this? Or any justification? I should like to know. Tell me!”

Anne had begun to tremble before this unexpected attack. “I don't know what you mean.”

“Nonsense! We both know quite well. If you wish to pretend ignorance—well, it is just another example of your lack of moral sense. What you are doing is
wicked
, Lady Anne. Meddling in others' lives is arrogant and wicked. No true Christian woman could do so.”

“H-how dare you speak so to me?”

Lydia Branwell raised her eyebrows, a superior smile curving her thin lips. “I am perhaps in a position to offer guidance to one who has not had my advantages.”

“Guidance? Why, you…”

“I believe this is our dance, Anne,” drawled a male voice behind her. She turned to find Charles standing there, holding out a hand. Before she could do anything, he had taken one of hers and was leading her onto the floor. Anne was still trembling with outrage and shock as he swept her into the waltz. “You looked as if you might need rescuing,” said the viscount. He held her shaking hand firmly. “Are you all right?”

“If you had waited a moment longer, it would not have been I that needed rescuing,” she replied through clenched teeth.

He smiled. “Doubtless. But I did not want to see you reduce Miss Branwell to ribbons before this crowd, satisfying as it might have been for some of us.”

Anne blinked and looked around. She had nearly forgotten the other guests. When she thought of what she had been about to say to Lydia, she flushed.

“Precisely,” added Charles, smiling down at her.

One side of Anne's mouth jerked. “I suppose you are right, though she
deserved
a tongue-lashing. But this is not the place.”

“No. What did she say?”

“Oh, all sorts of intolerable things. She called me unchristian.”

He raised one eyebrow.

“Well, I may not be a prating prig, but I am
not
unchristian!”

“Of course not.”

“And she said I shouldn't interfere.” Anne frowned. “I hope I am right to do so. I have worried about it, but Edward said—”

“Edward!”

“Yes.” She gazed anxiously up at him. “What do
you
think? Do you believe it is wrong for me to try to help Laurence in…in the way I mean to?”

He surveyed her uneasy features; her hand still trembled slightly in his. “Does it really worry you so much?”

“Yes! I want to do what is right. Meddling is so…horrid sometimes. I don't want to be the sort of person who interferes with all her acquaintances and is moaned about in secret.”

Lord Wrenley laughed. “You will never be that. You are too straightforward.”

“But do you think I am wrong?”

He hesitated a moment longer, then slowly shook his head. He was gradually becoming convinced that Anne's view of the situation was indeed the correct one. He had seen more of Laurence, of both his brothers, this season than at any time in the past ten years. And he was surprised to find them very likable men. Gone were the untidy, demanding boys who had vied for his time and approval at a period when he found them very hard to give. He didn't know how Laurence and Edward had turned out so well; he certainly took no credit for it. But somehow, they had, and Lord Wrenley was more and more drawn to all of his family. He met Anne's eyes again. “I think your purpose is laudable, and your means have been fair.”

Anne heaved a relieved sigh. “Thank you!”

He smiled again. “How do you progress?”

“Well, I think. Edward has found a substitute for Laurence.”

“A…?”

“A man she will like better. We mean to bring them together.” The music stopped, and Anne looked around the room. “Oh, no, Mariah is talking to Bishop Branwell again. I must separate them before they begin shouting. Excuse me.”

She hurried off. Charles watched her take Mariah's arm and pull her away with some excuse. The bishop, who was indeed looking thunderous, held himself rigid for a long moment, then stalked over to sit beside his wife. Charles smiled wryly and turned away.

Anne passed several quiet days after the ball. No important social events were scheduled, and the family had dined at home two nights running, a very unusual occurrence. She chatted with Mariah in her garden, did some necessary shopping, and called on Arabella. She found she welcomed the respite, as much as she would probably welcome the resumption of festivities with an evening party the following night.

On the third morning, she was sitting in the drawing room with a new novel when Edward came striding in. “I have met him,” he said.

“Who?”

“Harry Hargreaves, of course. You can't have forgotten already.”

Anne laid aside her book. “No indeed. What is he like?”

Captain Debenham grinned. “Perfect!”

“Really?” She laughed. “How? Tell me about him.”

“He is the most pompous, sententious, solemn chap I have ever had the misfortune to dine with. He cares about nothing but church matters and, I fancy, his own preferment. You should have seen how he brightened when I hinted that Charles has three livings in his gift. He asked me to dine in an instant.”

Anne laughed again. “But if he is so pompous, I cannot believe Lydia Branwell will like him. She isn't stupid, Edward. And she likes Laurence, who is quite charming.”

“She likes him because of his name and his prospects,” retorted her companion. “Show her better ones, and she will forget about liking.” He paused. “Besides, Laurence can be fairly pompous when encouraged.”

“That seems harsh,” murmured Anne. “How do we know that—”

“Anne.” He fixed her with an intent look, all joking gone. “You know that I have been on the town for some years, since I was twenty.”

“Yes, but…”

“And I've seen a deal of flirtation and a good many matches made in that time. I've even, er, had some encounters myself.”

Anne grinned at him.

“So, well,” he hurried on, “I can tell something about what a girl feels for the man she's engaged to. I've seen all sorts, and I'm certain that Lydia Branwell cares nothing for Laurence
himself
. In fact, from the look in her eye, I'd wager she means to change him all out of recognition as soon as she has him safely married.”

Anne thought this over, remembering certain remarks she had overheard. “You may be right.”

“I
am
. I tell you I've seen it a dozen times.”

Meeting his gray eyes, she was suddenly convinced that he had. “Very well. We must put Mr. Hargreaves in her way, making certain that she knows all about him.”

Edward nodded. “I shall get him an invitation to the Archers' rout party on Friday; they will be glad to have another man. We will present him then.”

She nodded. “Bring him to call here before that.”

“Why? He is an abominable slowtop, I promise you.”

“Nonetheless, I should like to see him first.”

“All right.” Edward shrugged. “I daresay he'll be happy enough to come to Charles's house.”

Anne dimpled. “I'll warn Charles to keep out of his way, so as not to be cajoled out of one of his livings.”

“Charles!” He stared at her, then grimaced. “It's all very well to joke, but I have had a great deal of trouble over this. I missed Richard's dinner at the Daffy Club to fawn on this Hargreaves.”

“You have been wonderful,” replied Anne warmly. “I am very grateful to you, and Laurence will be also, someday.”

“I hope so.” Edward rose. “I must get back; I have duty this afternoon.”

“Thank you for coming to tell me. And you will bring Mr. Hargreaves?”

“Yes, yes. Tomorrow.”

She held out her hand. “I am proud of you, Edward.”

He nodded, his expression a mixture of complacence and impatience, and took a hasty leave of her. When she sat down with her book again, Anne was smiling. Edward really was behaving splendidly, but it was comic to see his half-annoyed satisfaction with his good deeds.

The following day, Captain Debenham kept his promise; he and Harry Hargreaves arrived at midmorning and were taken directly up to the drawing room, where the latter was presented to Anne. She surveyed him with interest. Mr. Hargreaves was a tall, thin gentleman with sparse red hair and a great many freckles on his face and hands. Yet despite this, he was not ugly. His features were well-formed and his blue eyes large and expressive. Anne was thankful for this, for she could not imagine Lydia Branwell rejecting the handsome Laurence for an ugly man.

They all sat down, Mr. Hargreaves looking around the room as if searching for something. “You have just arrived in London, I understand, Mr. Hargreaves?” said Anne.

“That is correct. I am here on business for my employer, the Archbishop of Canterbury. I am his personal secretary.”

“So Edward has told me. You must find your work very interesting.”

“Indeed. Pardon me, Lady Anne, but is your companion out this morning? We certainly do not wish to embarrass you by an untimely call.”

“My…? No, Mariah is here.”

“Ah.” Mr. Hargreaves leaned back a little. “No doubt she will join us directly, then. I feared we had intruded on you at an inconvenient moment, and I did not wish to allow politeness to stop me from righting the mistake.”

Edward grimaced expressively at Anne.

“N-no. To be sure. I am, uh, grateful for your consideration. I'll just see what is keeping Mariah.” Anne rose and hurried to the back parlor. Mariah was working on one of her floral borders. “Pardon me, Mariah,” said the girl, “but I must ask you to come to the drawing room for a little while. A gentleman has called.”

The other straightened and laid aside her trowel. “Of course, dear. You mustn't receive gentlemen alone.”

Honesty forced Anne to add, “Edward is here.”

In the act of pulling off her gardening gloves, Mariah paused. “He is? Then why must I come?”

“Well, the gentleman, the
other
gentleman, thinks it improper for me to sit with them alone.”

Mariah smiled. “He does not sound like one of Edward's friends.”

“No. He is not.”

“Very well. I shall be along in a moment.”

“Th-thank you. I am sorry to inconvenience you—”

“Nonsense, dear. I promised Charles I would look after you, and I shall. You were very right to fetch me.”

Anne returned to the drawing room, where Edward and Mr. Hargreaves were involved in a labored conversation about the painting over the mantel. Murmuring that Mariah would join them directly, she sank into her chair once more. Mr. Hargreaves looked serenely unaware of anything but his own concerns, she thought. Possibly he was pleased that the proprieties had now been satisfied. When Mariah entered a few moments later, he stood and greeted her punctiliously. Mariah's reply that she had been working in her garden made him hesitate, but he soon recovered and initiated a smooth flow of commonplaces that continued for precisely a quarter of an hour. After this very correct interval, he rose and made ready to depart. “Do you come with me, Debenham?” he asked.

“No, I shall stay a moment longer. But I will see you tomorrow at the Archers'.”

“Of course.” He bowed slightly. “Ladies.”

They were all glad to see him go. “What a priggish young man,” snorted Mariah almost before he was out of earshot. “Why did you bring him here, Edward? He is not at all your sort.”

Captain Debenham grinned. “Anne wished to make his acquaintance.”

Mariah frowned at Anne. “Well, I hope she has learned her lesson. I am going back to the garden. If any other gentlemen call, send them away.”

Edward burst out laughing. “You may count on me.” Mariah went out, and he turned back to Anne. “You see?”

“He is
very
pompous. Oh, Edward, I cannot believe Lydia will like him. Who could?”

“Wait and see. We will meet at the Archers' rout party, and carry out the next phase of our campaign. I must go.” He rose.

“Do you
really
think it can succeed?”

“Not a doubt of it! Truly, Anne.”

“I hope you are right.”

He grimaced comically and with a wave of his hand went out. Anne stayed where she was, thinking over their plan and wondering whether they had made a mistake. Could
anyone
wish to marry Harry Hargreaves? She could not imagine it.

That evening, Laurence escorted Anne and Mariah to an evening party in Berkeley Square, at the house of Lady Mountjoy. The gathering was not particularly brilliant, but Arabella and some of Anne's other friends were there, and she had a pleasant time. About midway through the evening she encountered Charles as she came out of the small back drawing room into the crowded front one. They paused beside the doorway to exchange greetings. “I did not know you would be here tonight,” said Anne.

“I did not intend to be. The friends with whom I dined dragged me with them afterward.”

Enviously she wondered who these influential friends were.
She
could not have coaxed him to a party he did not wish to attend.

“They regret it already,” he added lightly. “Have you ever seen such a tedious group of people under one roof?”

“Yes, it is not a very interesting party.”

“What is the matter?”

She glanced up quickly. “What do you mean?”

“You sounded so unhappy.”

“I? I am not. Perhaps it is fatigue, or boredom.”

“More likely the latter. You never tire.”

“Don't I?” answered Anne wistfully.

Charles looked down at her with a frown. “You really are out of sorts, aren't you? Would you like some lemonade? Are you too hot?”

“No. I am perfectly all right.” His questions were mere politeness, she thought. He really cared a thousand times more for his friends than for her.

He did not say any more, but he examined her face closely before remarking, “I understand that you have met your ‘substitute.' Edward was telling me about him earlier.”

Anne found this a little startling. “Was he?”

“I asked. The gentleman is not here this evening, evidently.”

“No. But he will be at the Archers' rout party tomorrow night.”

“I am tempted to come and have a look at him.”

Even more surprised, she replied, “You won't like him.”

“No, from what Edward said, I doubt that I shall. But will the lady? That is the important thing.”

“I don't know. Edward says she will, but…”

Seeing her knotted brow, the viscount's gray eyes twinkled. “Edward is expert in these matters, I assure you.”

“I… Is he?” Anne gazed up at him with a frown.

“Absolutely.”

“That's what he said, but—”

“He did not! Not even my scapegrace brother would be such a coxcomb, surely?”

“He…he didn't use those words precisely, but I got the notion that he…”

Charles began to laugh. “Edward, Edward!”

She eyed him doubtfully.

“I am sorry. I shouldn't laugh.”

“Shouldn't laugh with
me
, you mean?”

“What?”

“Never mind. You do laugh more often than I remembered. I expect my memory is at fault.”

Surprised, he stared down at her, seeming uncharacteristically at a loss for a reply. Before either of them could speak again, a penetrating voice on the other side of the doorway said, “Yes, Laurence and I hope to be married in August.”

“Lydia Branwell,” murmured Anne. They could not see Miss Branwell, or the person she addressed, but they could hear her perfectly well.

“Oh, yes, a wonderful family,” continued Lydia. “They have been very kind to me. You know Lord Wrenley, of course. A most distinguished man.”

Anne wrinkled her nose at Charles, who smiled. He took her arm and whispered, “Let us go before we hear something worse.”

She started to agree; then Lydia said, “Have you met Lady Anne? She must be counted as a member of the family, though of course she is not actually related to them.” Anne pulled him back and bent her head to listen; Charles smiled again.

“A sweet girl,” Miss Branwell went on. “A bit impetuous perhaps, but she is young. I hope to exert some influence in that quarter when we are married. Laurence thinks I can have a calming effect on her.”

Anne grimaced and stuck out her tongue at the vacant doorway.

“Her choice of friends, for example, may have been a bit unwise. I do not mention anyone in particular, of course, but a little guidance is clearly in order.”

“Do come away, Anne,” urged Charles softly.

She shook her head, her lips firmly pressed together. “I
will
hear this!”

The inaudible second person had evidently begged Lydia to elaborate. “Well, I shouldn't say anything, but you are very discreet, I know. I was thinking of Miss Castleton, actually.”

Anne's grip on the viscount's arm tightened convulsively.

“Yes, the little dark-haired girl. Have you met her? She is quite pretty, I believe.”

“She
believes
,” hissed Anne. “She knows very well that Bella is ten times prettier than she is!” Lord Wrenley held her arm firmly.

“But a little…shall we say,
too
biddable,” continued Lydia.

Her listener said something.

“Well, I
shouldn't
, but I know you will not spread the story about. I have heard that Miss Castleton's conduct was not quite all that it should be while she was at school. That is where Lady Anne met her, of course.”

There was another pause as the other spoke, still inaudible.

“Oh, nothing definite. You understand that I heard this from someone who had gotten the details from the headmistress. But I didn't really care to listen. I believe there was some talk of an elopement. It was stopped, naturally, and the matter hushed up at once. I really don't know the truth of the matter. You mustn't take my word for anything.”