A city creature. Annabelle was interested to learn there was a name for the cause of her particular malaise. She, too, was a city creature. She tried to like living in the country, but there was no denying she felt shortchanged by having to limit herself to country assemblies and such dull do’s as she had attended last night and tonight. Her own parties were much livelier, but it took more than one lady to create the sort of life she wanted.
She had tried to interest Dick in hiring a house in London for a Season after they were married, but he just said she would likely be enceinte by then, and why would she want to be rattling about London when she was in such an ungainly condition. Lord Sylvester, on the other hand, lived in a noble London mansion all year round, on close terms with the tip of the ton. A city creature. The phrase held the allure of sin for her.
She was the first one out the door when Dick announced that the dancing was about to begin. Only Sukey was there before her, waiting patiently on a bentwood chair against the wall. Annabelle had to have the first set with Dick, but as soon as it was over, she went to speak to Rosalind, who had been dancing with Sylvester.
“Should Sukey not be in her bed by now?” she said.
“Indeed she should. She likes to see the show—all the ladies in their finery.”
She went to dispatch Sukey, who was sleepy enough that she went without an argument.
When the next set began, Sylvester, perforce, stood up with Annabelle. Their first conversation was to agree that it was foolishly lax to allow a child to attend an adults’ party. That settled, Annabelle expressed a keen interest in poetry, and asked why there were none of his poems in the most recent issue of
Camena.
“I am ashamed to say I have never read your work, milord, for I am sure you must be famous. Croydon is so backward. I had to wait two weeks to get Sir Walter Scott’s
Guy Mannering.
I do miss the mental stimulation of London.”
“There is nowhere like it. As Dr. Johnson said, ‘When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life.’ Interesting you should ask why there is none of my work in the magazine, Miss Fortescue. There is nothing I like better than writing poetry, but the fact is, since I have become the editor and publisher of my magazine, I find my time pretty well filled up with the duties of running it. I have to read the submissions, you see, and decide which offerings merit publication.”
“Could you not hire someone to sort out the wheat from the chaff for your final approval, and leave you free to write your marvelous poetry?”
“Now we come to the financing. I should like to hire an assistant editor eventually, but I have to keep my staff to a minimum for the present. I don’t come into my inheritance for a few years. It is foolishly tied up until I am twenty-five. I am so weary of cadging from friends and relatives that I am sometimes tempted to marry a fortune.” This was accompanied by a laugh to show he joked.
“I’m sure you would not have any trouble, milord,” she said. “Someone of your intellectual attainments, to say nothing of your title and—” She blushed demurely and said daringly, “And your beauty.”
He laughed again, but there was a different note to his voice. “Are you from a large family, Miss Fortescue?” he asked a moment later.
“No, I am the only child,” she said. “If Papa had a large family to provide for, I expect he would still be in London. When a man has accumulated a good fortune and has only one to provide for, he may retire and do as he pleases—even if it does not please his daughter,” the city creature added with a moue.
She saw the glint of interest in his eyes and felt she had said enough for the moment. She hoped to have another conversation with Lord Sylvester before he left, but as things turned out, Sylvester left very soon.
Lady Amanda reminded him that he was to have a look at the John Donne fragment, and as he was leaving the next day, it seemed he must go that night. He apologized profusely to Dick, then went in search of Rosalind.
“This would be such a coup for
Camena
that I mustn’t hurt her feelings by refusing to go,” he explained. “If she takes a huff, she might very well send the Donne fragment to
Blackwood’s
or the
Edinburgh Review
in spite.”
“Yes, of course you must go,” Rosalind agreed. “If you get away early, you might come back for another dance. It is only ten-thirty. I expect the party will go on until one.”
“That was my intention,” he said with a conspiratorial smile. “You and I have not had a moment alone to get to really know one another. I feel we have more than poetry in common?” When she seemed pleased at this lure, he seized her fingers and squeezed them tightly. “I give you fair warning, Miss Lovelace, I want a deal more than words on paper from you.”
She blushed like a peony and gave a breathless little laugh. Sylvester, satisfied that she was amenable to seduction, went to fetch Lady Amanda’s mantle.
As Harwell watched their departure from across the room, he chewed back a smile and went to join Rosalind.
“Well, well,” he said. “Now you see what you will be up against in London. The town is rife with ladies of Lady Amanda’s sort. Sure you can hack it?”
“Quite sure,” she replied, with a maddening smile.
Chapter Eight
They spoke in the hallway just outside the ballroom door.
“Lord Sylvester always puts the good of his magazine first, Harry,” Rosalind said, with a proprietary air. “Quite rightly, too.”
“I should be very much surprised if Amanda has any scribbles of John Donne’s in her library,” Harwell replied. “It was an excuse to snatch Sylvester out from under your nose. You may accept his departure with equanimity, but your lady guests will be heartbroken.”
She gave him a tolerant smile. “He does seem to be universally pleasing, does he not? To everyone but you, I mean.”
“It pleases me that he has spared me a round with Amanda. And by the by, your beau is especially pleasing to Miss Fortescue, in case you are blind and failed to notice the chit throwing herself at him.”
As they spoke, Snow Drop came flying down the staircase with Sukey in hot pursuit.
“You’re supposed to be in bed!” Rosalind scolded. “And you haven’t even undressed yet.”
“I had to go to the kitchen first to get some cake from Cook,” the child replied, as if to an idiot. “I was just going to bed. I told that stupid Snow Drop to wait on my pillow, but she fell off.”
Snow Drop, who considered the whole thing a game, looked over her shoulder at her pursuer, then darted into the ballroom. Sukey took off after her. Rosalind didn’t see the resulting confusion, but she heard it. Some lady—it sounded like Mrs. Warbuck—let out a frightened howl. There was a rather hard bump as a body hit the floor, then a moment’s silence as the music wavered to a halt, followed by a buzz of voices and some laughter.
“Thank God Lord Sylvester has left!” Rosalind said, and hastened to the ballroom. Harwell gave a bah of disgust at her concern and went after her.
Mrs. Warbuck, a good-natured lady, had recovered both her feet and her humor by the time Rosalind arrived. She was brushing off her skirt and straightening her turban.
‘I’m so sorry. Are you hurt?” Rosalind asked.
“I’m fine. ‘Twas only Sukey chasing her kitten. I didn’t know what hit me at first,” she said, laughing.
“I’ll give her a good scold and put her straight to bed. This is really the outside of enough.”
The miscreant was led forward by Dick, with Snow Drop tucked in her arms. Dick was annoyed, but Annabelle, who was with him, was livid.
“This has gone too far. The child is incorrigible!” she exclaimed. “Whoever heard of a child attending a rout party? You’ve got to do something with her, Dick. If you don’t, I shall. I won’t permit this sort of rowdiness at Apple Hill.”
“It’s not your house!” Sukey said.
“It soon will be!” Annabelle shot back. Her cabbage eyes narrowed into angry slits.
“I’ll take her upstairs,” Rosalind said, and took Sukey by the arm to lead her off. She gave her sister a good scold and warned her not to come downstairs again that night.
“I wish Dick wouldn’t marry her,” Sukey said, pulling her nightgown over her head. “I’m glad you’ll be here to take care of me when he does. Don’t stay too long in London. Come back before Dick marries her. Promise me, Roz.” She directed a commanding blue gaze at her sister and hopped into bed.
“Go to sleep,” Rosalind said, tucking in the blanket, but she felt like a traitor when she left the room.
This business tonight wasn’t really Annabelle’s fault. Sukey was getting out of hand. She needed firm guidance. Dick wouldn’t let Annabelle abuse Sukey. There was no physical danger, but Sukey would be deuced unhappy. Rosalind determined to find a good, kindhearted governess for her before she left for London. It was really the governess who would raise Sukey.
Rosalind still felt troubled when she returned belowstairs. Harwell was waiting for her in the hall.
“I expect this will be dumped in my dish for giving her the kitten,” he said.
“No, it’s my fault. Sukey is getting too forward for her own good lately.”
“It’s not the first time she’s attended one of your parties.”
“It’s the first time she sent one of my guests flying across the room. It really was too bad of her.”
Harwell just batted his hand. “Mrs. Warbuck took it in good spirit. I shouldn’t worry about it.”
“It’s Sukey I’m worried about. I fear she and Annabelle will never rub along after I’m gone.”
“Well, at least you didn’t say Lord Sylvester wouldn’t like it.”
“No more he would,” she said, with a
tsk
. “It was a good thing Amanda stole him away after all, or he would know how shabbily we go on here at Apple Hill.”
“Speaking of shabby, I think he and Amanda might have waited another hour before leaving.”
“Oh, he is returning,” she said. “He is just going to pick up the famous fragment.”
“You must root through your library and see if you have anything similar to lure him. A few lines from Spencer, a Shakespearean play scribbled on the back of a menu.”
“He has already inquired whether we are related to the famous Richard Lovelace who wrote about Althea in Prison, you know. Or probably you don’t know.”
“I’m not a complete illiterate!” he said, offended. “I’ve heard of Lovelace. ‘Stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a cage.’ Was the author some kin to you?”
“I don’t think so. It seems he was from Kent, or inherited a property somewhere near here. Lord Sylvester wants to search the old family papers for a connection. I don’t know when he will do it, as he plans to leave tomorrow.”
“If you were wide-awake, you would invite him to spend the night. In the library, I mean!”
“I didn’t think you were encouraging me to seduce him, Harry. You are not quite that bad.”
“Certainly not. I never encourage older ladies to seduce minors. If you are in the mood for seduction, you must practice your charms on older gentlemen, like myself.”
“If I ever feel I require practice, I shall be sure to call on you. Now, shall we stop being foolish and return to the ballroom? You haven’t stood up with Annabelle. I shall hear about it if you don’t.”
Before they reached the ballroom, Dick came pelting out, wearing a scowl.
“Dash it, something has to be done about Sukey,” he said. “Annabelle is in a pelter, calling her a hoyden and I don’t know what all. Can’t you find her a governess, Roz? She is running wild.”
“Yes, you’re right. I had planned to wait until autumn, to let her have a summer free, but I see it will not do. There must be some nice girl who needs a position.”
“The Rafferty girl from Croydon is at liberty,” Harwell mentioned. “I was speaking to Lady Syon the other day. The chit Miss Rafferty was teaching has been sent to a ladies’ academy to put the final polish on her before her presentation next spring.”
“Sylvia Rafferty?” Rosalind said. “She would be perfect! Shall I speak to her, Dick, or will you? Perhaps you ought to interview her, as you are the one who will be here after I go to London.”
“I wish you would forget that notion.” Dick scowled. “Very well. I’ll call on Miss Rafferty tomorrow. Anything to get some peace in the house.”
The three returned to the ballroom. Annabelle was restored to a semblance of good humor by Harwell’s company for the next set. And Harwell was chirping merry when it was time for a midnight supper and still Lord Sylvester had not returned. Supper was an informal meal. Assorted dishes were laid out on a buffet table for the guests to fill their own plates and sit where they liked.
“It would be common of me to say, ‘I told you so,’ “ Harwell said, when he led Rosalind to the refreshment parlor, “so I shan’t say it.”
Rosalind was annoyed with Sylvester, but she refused to let Harwell see it. “Lord Sylvester didn’t say he would be back for supper,” she replied. “Merely that he would return before the party was over. He has very little interest in food, in any case.”
“So I have noticed. I, on the other hand, mean to fill my plate before Dick gets all the lobster patties.” Annabelle had had her way with the lobster patties. Mrs. Fortescue’s cook had prepared them and sent them over for the party.
They took their plates and made their selections. Rosalind sat with the Warbucks, to make more apologies for Sukey and to escape Annabelle, who sat with her parents and Dick and Harwell, very pleased to have garnered two gentlemen to her side.
Some of the older guests left immediately after supper. The younger ones stayed for a few more dances. By one-thirty they began taking their leave, and still Sylvester had not returned. At two o’clock everyone but Harwell had left. He gave Rosalind a quizzing look.
“It seems Sylvester has got lost along the straight mile of road between here and Merton Hall,” he said. “I shall keep an eye out for him on my way home. Perhaps he’s wandered to the Abbey in error.”
“I told him the party would be over around one. Very likely he found something interesting at Merton and stayed to examine it.”
“So I assume,” he murmured, repressing a smile.