The Headstrong Ward (14 page)

Anne's nails were digging so deeply into the viscount's arm that he had to pull her hand away. He had felt her start to tremble, and now her face had gone dead white and her eyes dark violet, huge and burning with outrage. “I will kill her!” she hissed. “I will scratch her eyes out! How
dare
she? How dare she tell such lies about Bella?”

“Now,
don't
, I pray you, let this go any further, Lady Duncan,” Lydia was finishing. “As you can see, it is the merest gossip. Probably inflated all out of proportion. Oh, there is Mama. Excuse me.”

“Duncan,” croaked Anne, so angry that she could hardly form words. “She is one of the greatest gossips in the
ton
.
Everyone
will hear that story before the night is out. Oh, I will kill her!”

“Come,” said Charles, his firm grip forcing her to walk along the wall to a door and into a deserted corridor.

But once out of the crowd, she jerked away. “No! I must see that…viper Lydia Branwell. I will throw her lies in her teeth and
make
her retract them!”

“That would be very unwise.”

“What do you mean?” She glared at him, her eyes still glittering with rage. “You don't believe it, surely!”

“I do not. But this is neither the time nor the place to do anything about it. You are too angry to think clearly, and there are far too many people present. To confront Miss Branwell now would merely draw more attention to the matter.”

Anne clenched her fists at her sides, her whole body rigid. She had not stopped trembling, and now she had to grit her teeth to keep from shouting at Charles. Finally, when she had gained a little more control, she said, “You do not care. You hardly know Bella.
I
must do something, or I shall
burst
!”

“You are mistaken.” He met her eyes, and she saw a spark of cold anger in his. “I do care. Miss Branwell's behavior was contemptible. I do not understand how she, or any woman, could sink so low. And I am not suggesting that you do nothing, only that you wait for a better time.”

“But the story will be all over London by tomorrow! Bella will be ruined!”

He shook his head. “It will not be so bad as that. Some people ignore malicious gossip. But it will be unpleasant; I can't deny that. However, we cannot prevent the story from spreading just now.”

“Why not? Only leave me alone with that spiteful creature for five minutes. I'll make her take back her vile story!”

“And confirm it,” he replied quietly.

“What?”

“If you, Miss Castleton's best friend, leap to her aid in that obvious way, most people will say there must be some reason for it. They will conclude that there
is
some truth in the story, else why should you be so angry?”

“Am I not to be angry if it is a lie?”

“I am only telling you what will happen.”

Anne's shoulders drooped. “You mean I must simply stand by and watch that dreadful rumor run round the
ton
? I cannot!” She raised her head again. “Charles, I cannot!”

“Of course you cannot.”

She looked at him.

“We must plan a more suitable counterattack, that is all.”

“More…?”

He nodded. “First, if you hear anyone repeating the tale, even tonight, you must look incredulous, then laugh as if it were the funniest joke you have ever heard.”

“Laugh? I couldn't!”

“You can. And that is the best defense against gossip. Never let the gossips see that you care about anything they say. They will soon find you poor sport.”

She merely stared at him.

“Second,” he continued, “we must think of some way to squelch the rumors
and
to give Miss Branwell her own again. I admit I do not yet see how that may be done, but I shall think of something.”

“You?”

Charles looked down at her, meeting wide inquiring eyes. “Is it so surprising that I mean to help you?”

“Well, no, but…that is, yes!”

He shrugged. “I like your friend Miss Castleton, and as I said, I think Miss Branwell's action contemptible. But chiefly I want to prevent you from doing something rash that you would regret for the rest of your life.”

She continued to gaze up at him.

“If you will listen to me, I believe we can bring this matter to a satisfactory conclusion.”

There was a momentary silence; then Anne said quietly, “I
will
listen to you.”

“Thank you.” Their eyes held, his a bit amused, hers still wide with surprise but softer than before.

A servant passing along the corridor broke the spell. Anne looked down at the floor. “But what will we
do
?” she asked him.

“I must think about that.”

“Oh, if it had been
me
she libeled, I probably deserve it; I am so heedless sometimes. But Bella! You have no idea how fine she is.”

“I am very glad it was
not
you,” he replied in a hard voice. “Are you ready to go back in?”

Anne swallowed. “Yes, I think so.”

“And you will remember what I told you? If you hear any mention of the story, laugh.”

Her chin came up, and she squared her shoulders. “Yes. It will be one of the hardest things I have ever done, but I will. I would rather face a five-barred gate, however.”

He smiled. “I will circulate among the gentlemen. They are more likely to repeat it here; the ladies will save it for the drawing room.”

“Edward could help you.”

“Yes. I will enlist his aid. But not tonight. He is too likely to fly into a rage and spoil all.”

Anne smiled wryly. “As I nearly did? I suppose I must be glad you were with me.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I find it hard,” she told him. “If you had not been, I should have had the exquisite pleasure of throttling Lydia Branwell. I daresay I would be sorry now. But I would feel vastly better for having done it.”

He laughed. “We will try to ensure that you get an equally satisfying, if less violent, revenge.” He offered his arm.

“It is only that thought which is keeping me from her throat,” she replied, taking it. They strolled back into the crowded drawing room.

Anne faced the rout party the following evening with a mixture of apprehension and eagerness. She was at once anxious and afraid to discover the results of Lydia Branwell's contemptible lie, and she remained concerned about what she might say if forced to converse with Laurence's fiancée. When she thought of her, she still clenched her jaw in rage. As Crane retied one of the bunches of blue ribbon that trimmed her white muslin gown, she met her own eyes in the mirror and tried for a cool, composed gaze. It was no good; they continued to flash with righteous indignation. She would simply have to avoid Lydia and hope Charles came up with a solution to the problem before she blurted out something she would regret.

“There you are, my lady,” said Crane. She surveyed Anne's cloud of red-gold curls critically. “All set to rights.”

“Thank you,” replied Anne absently.

“You'd best go down. It's nearly nine.”

“Oh. Yes. Thank you.”

Charles, Laurence, and Mariah were waiting for her in the drawing room, and the group departed soon after. The viscount's presence was unusual enough to draw a comment from his brother, especially since the rout party was not an event he would customarily have attended, but Charles passed it off with a joke. They had, of course, said nothing to Laurence about Lydia's perfidy, but he seemed in low spirits as they drove the short distance to the Archers'. Only Mariah was as usual, and since she was habitually silent unless she had something important to say, the ride was quiet. Anne saw Charles glance at his brother several times, as if wondering what was the matter. She had an idea she knew, and could not decide whether to be glad or sorry.

The Archers' town house was brightly lighted, the pavement thronged with arriving guests, chairmen, link boys, and other attendants. They made their way in and greeted their host and hostess along with a stream of other fashionables, then moved on into the drawing room. As soon as they entered, Edward approached Anne and took her arm. “Come,” he murmured, “all is ready, but you must be there.” He drew her away from his brother.

“Ready for what?”

“For the introduction,” he answered impatiently. “Hargreaves is there, and the Branwells came in five minutes ago. I was only waiting for you.”

Anne drew back. “I can't. You…you go on; do it without me.”

“What?” Captain Debenham looked disgusted. “That will look strange. It's well known I'm not overfond of the Branwell; I daresay she knows it herself. Why would I go out of my way to present her to anyone?”

“Edward, I can't face her. You don't know what she has done!”

“Nor do I care. If she has been up to her tricks again, all the more reason to go forward. Come!”

Slowly and reluctantly, Anne followed him across the floor. He was undoubtedly right; it was more important than ever that they carry out their plan. But she hated the idea of facing Lydia Branwell. And she did not want to present her to a potential husband; she did not want her to marry at all. No man deserved such a mate. No, she hoped Lydia would sink into a miserable crabbed old age and… At this point Anne remembered that it was much more likely that Lydia would marry Laurence, unless something was done, and she tried to gather the resolve to do it.

Harry Hargreaves greeted her ponderously. He was standing alone in the corner where Edward had left him, making no effort to speak to anyone. “I was observing the behavior of what is, I suppose, the
haut ton
,” he told Anne. “There is much to deplore here, and little to admire, I fear.”

“You may be right,” agreed Anne. “But I should like to present you to some friends of mine who are quite different—Bishop Branwell and his family.”

Mr. Hargreaves was immediately at her service. “I should be delighted to meet the bishop,” he replied.

The three of them made their way to the Branwell party. Laurence had already joined them and was standing—rather forlornly, Anne thought—at the edge of the group. Lydia was talking animatedly to another girl.

Anne performed the introductions. Both parties seemed extremely pleased. At the mention of the archbishop, Branwell's eyes sharpened, and he moved forward to engage Hargreaves in conversation. Lydia at once abandoned her female friend and sidled close to the newcomer, gazing up at his freckled face with a sweet smile. Anne, satisfied and glad to escape without speaking to Lydia, edged away with Edward. When they had definitely disassociated themselves from the group, he grinned widely and sauntered off into the crowd.

“What is the matter with Edward?” Laurence asked Anne.

She started; she had almost forgotten him. “Matter?”

“Why was he grinning in that idiotic way?”

“Oh, just a joke. I am going to find the Castletons, Laurence. Why not come with me?”

He swallowed, glanced back at the Branwells, and shook his head. “No. I must stay here just now.”

“But they are very busy talking.” Indeed, the trio had become engrossed in a discussion of the poor rates.

Laurence shook his head again and turned away. Anne did not press him further; she was rather pleased than otherwise with his reaction.

Arabella and her mother were not far away. They greeted Anne cordially as she sat down beside them, but the former was frowning. “I just had the oddest encounter with Jane Thorndale,” she said, referring to the daughter of one of the highest sticklers in the
ton
. “She went right by me without speaking, though I am certain she saw me. I wonder if she has the headache again? She is horridly plagued by them.”

Anne stiffened. Had the gossip already begun to have an effect? As she returned some light answer, she scanned the room carefully. It did seem that an unusual number of people were looking in their direction. She clenched her fists. What could she do? She looked for Charles. He was chatting with friends and appeared blithely unconcerned. How could he?

“Oh, there is Alice Worth,” said Arabella. “Let us go and speak to her, Anne. She told me she had some beautiful new dress patterns.”

Anne obediently rose, praying that Bella would not meet another snub, but as they walked across toward Miss Worth, they encountered Laurence coming in the opposite direction with a glass of lemonade.

He could not avoid greeting them, but he looked rather self-conscious as he said, “Good evening, Miss Castleton.”

“Good evening.” Arabella had flushed a little, and now she looked at the floor. A silence fell which Anne made no effort to break; she was busy observing the reactions of her two companions. They seemed to have forgotten her presence. They were too aware of one another to think of anything else. But they were also embarrassed and uncomfortable. Anne could not restrain a small smile.

“Have you taken to drinking lemonade?” she asked Laurence to relieve the tension.

“What? Oh, no. It is for Lydia. I must take it to her. Pray excuse me, Anne, Miss Castleton.”

He hurried away. Arabella watched him, and Anne watched Bella's face. She did not look happy, and if Anne had not already determined that Laurence should not marry Lydia Branwell, she might have done so in that moment. “I like Laurence more and more,” she ventured. “He is not at all what I expected a Debenham to be.”

Arabella continued to gaze in his direction. “He is charming.”

“Do you think so? I'm glad you like him too.”

The other girl started and turned to Anne, her flush deepening. “Indeed, he is all one could wish in a…a brother.”

Anne raised her eyebrows but made no reply. It was unfair to tease Bella this way.

They chatted with several acquaintances and had a long satisfying conversation with Alice Worth about dress patterns. Then Mrs. Castleton summoned Arabella to be introduced to someone, and Anne started across to speak to Edward. But Mariah stopped her before she reached him, saying, “Come over to that sofa. I want to speak to you.”

This was so unusual—for Mariah always spent social evenings in a quiet corner—that Anne hastened to comply. The sofa was vacant, and no one stood near it; they were completely private.

“I have been hearing some disturbing stories,” Mariah began as soon as they were seated. “Everyone seems to be talking of your friend Miss Castleton.”

Anne stiffened and clenched her fists.

“I assume they are not true?”

“Of course not!”

Mariah nodded. “That is what I thought. She seems a nice sort of girl to me. What am I to say?”

Anne gazed at her blankly.

“In response to the gossip,” added the other impatiently. “How shall I refute it? You must know all about Miss Castleton. Surely you can provide evidence to contradict the rumors.”

This was a new idea. Anne frowned. “What are they saying?”

“Oh, a host of things. But the chief tale seems to be that she was entangled with some unsuitable young man while still at school. Her parents rejected him; there was an elopement, and she was dragged back by her father. Setting aside various absurd embroideries, that is the gist.”

“It is a lie!”

Mariah sighed. “Yes, dear, but what am I to say? It is not enough to insist the story is false. One must have some convincing proof to offer.”

“Any of her fellow students knows it is not true.”

“Yes. Well, we might refer to them.” She looked around the room. “Which are they?”

Anne looked down. “Only me.”

“Oh. And you are known to be her dearest friend. That won't do.”

“How can one stop these dreadful stories once they are started? It is horrible!”

“Yes, I've never cared for gossip. I can't imagine how this rumor was started. It is unusual for a young girl like Arabella, so polite and quiet, to be singled out.”

Her heart swelling with rage, Anne told her precisely how it had happened. As she spoke, Mariah's gray eyes hardened and her thin mouth turned down. She showed more emotion than Anne had ever seen her display for anything outside her garden. “That young woman badly needs a lesson,” she said when Anne had finished. “Either she does not understand what harm her malice can do, in which case she is a ninnyhammer, or she does.”

“She knows,” put in Anne. “She knows quite well.”

“Then she is contemptible.”

“That is what Charles said.”

“He was right. But what is to be done?”

“Charles said he would think of something.”

Mariah nodded and rose. “I will do my best to discourage the gossip. But we must take decisive action soon.”

“I know.” Distracted, Anne searched the room for Charles. As Mariah walked away, she saw him. He was still with his friends. They were all smiling, and as she watched, she saw Charles throw back his head and laugh heartily. She clenched her teeth. Despite what he had said about Bella, it was obvious he did not care a straw about her. Anne had wondered lately if Charles was changing—he seemed so much more pleasant than before—but now it seemed to her that he was the same callous, cold man she had hated through her school years. But he had
promised
to help Bella in this instance, and Anne was determined to hold him to that. This was not a case of mere slights to herself; Bella was in real trouble. And Charles was better equipped to get her out of it than anyone else Anne knew. He
would
do it. Her eyes sparkling with rage, Anne walked across to where Charles stood with his friends. She did not wait for a pause in the conversation, but interrupted, “Charles, I must speak to you!”

They all looked surprised. Charles turned slowly and met Anne's eyes. “To me?”

“Yes!”

“You're certain you have finished with everyone else—Edward, Laurence, Mariah, Miss Castleton?”

She gazed up at him, astonished. He sounded almost annoyed. What sort of game was he playing now? “Charles…” she began in an ominous voice.

Seeing her expression, he put a hand under her elbow. “Come, there is a terrace just outside these windows. We can talk there.” He opened one of the French doors behind them and urged her outside.

The flagged terrace overhung an uncommonly large garden for a town house. The evening was warm, and a full moon hung in the sky above the nearby rooftops. A climbing rose had flung its branches across the balustrade, filling the air with perfume. But Anne was too preoccupied to notice any of these things. “I am sorry to take you away from your
friends
,” she said. “But something has happened. The gossip about Bella has begun; Mariah heard the story, and Bella has been snubbed once already. This will not interest you overmuch, I know, but I came to remind you that you told me you would help.”

“Did you indeed? But only after you had consulted everyone else in the ballroom, evidently. Edward must have been a
great
help! I never thought I should see the day that his opinion would be preferred to mine.”

“Have you run mad, Charles? And how, may I ask, was I to consult you when you were so engrossed with your
friends
that you had forgotten my existence, let alone Bella's? The way you were laughing—as if you hadn't a care in the world!”

“Certainly I was. Did my advice make such a small impression on you that you do not see why?”

“Advice?”

“I see.” He turned away from her and looked out over the garden. “I suppose you have shown the whole ballroom your distress; that will have redoubled the gossip. My help appears to mean very little to you, since you ignore it at the first test.”

Abruptly Anne remembered what he had said about putting a brave face on things. “Oh.” She was immediately filled with despair at the thought that she had added to the talk surrounding Bella. “Oh, what a fool I am.” Tears formed in her eyes. “What can we do? No one will believe it is a lie now. Poor Bella.” A tear slid down her cheek and onto the stone balustrade. “And it is all my fault. If it weren't for me, this would not have happened to her in the first place.”