First Season / Bride to Be (10 page)

All in all, the riding party could not be called a success. They explored the lanes of the park for another hour, the children chattering to one another and to Christopher but speaking to Anabel only when directly addressed. Hanford exchanged commonplaces with her, unable to mention the engagement, and she grew more and more silent and withdrawn as the morning progressed. Everyone seemed relieved when they turned toward home again.

They rode back on one of the more-traveled avenues of the park, by this time filling with members of the
haut ton
, and their pace slowed perforce. Christopher soon noticed that Anabel was attracting a great deal of attention. Elegantly dressed ladies in smart barouches whispered among themselves as they nodded greetings. Pinks on horseback eyed her with speculative appraisal. Here is the woman, their eyes all said, who won the unconquerable Norbury. What is so special about her? How did she manage it?

Anabel saw it too, and found her new notoriety dreadful. It had been bad enough when everyone was wondering if Norbury would propose; now the attention was redoubled, and she hated it. “Why are we dawdling like this?” she said, moving forward and almost colliding with a landaulet. The children looked mystified—all morning she had been urging them to slow down—but Christopher understood, and even his anger with her could not prevent sympathy.

“Yes, we should be getting back,” he agreed, guiding them around the carriage and toward the gate.

The ride through the streets was generally silent. The children went on ahead, and Anabel was too occupied with her own thoughts to talk. When he left the Wyndhams at Lady Goring's house, Christopher was thoughtful. Perhaps Amelia had been right. There might be developments before the wedding took place. He would stay in town a while yet.

Anabel, walking up the steps and into the front hall, was wondering how she could excuse herself from going to the play tonight. They had planned the evening some time ago, and Georgina was very eager to see the melodrama, she knew. But could she not plead a headache and stay home alone? She dreaded facing the curious stares and whispered evaluations of the crowd in the playhouse.

In the event, she could not. Lady Goring was called to the bedside of one of the servants just after dinner, and the girl was ill enough that she felt she should stay with her until the doctor came. “I will join you later, if I can,” she told Anabel and Georgina. “It is only some trifling thing, no doubt, but Nancy is terrified of the doctor, and I want to make sure she sees him.”

“Perhaps we should all stay,” ventured Anabel.

Georgina looked desolate.

“Nonsense. There is nothing for you to do. Go on and enjoy the play. I daresay I shall come in before the second act.”

Meeting her cousin's eyes, Anabel could not refuse to go. Thus, the two of them set out together soon after, Georgina chattering about the play and Anabel morosely silent.

They entered their box in good time. Georgina had insisted they come well before the curtain. Anabel sat down and glanced quickly around, holding herself very straight. At least she could be confident about her appearance. She had put on a new gown of soft rose satin, which she had fallen in love with at the dressmaker's shop. The cloth seemed to shimmer with a dusting of muted silver, and she had had it cut with a scoop at the neck, tiny puffed sleeves, and a wide ruffle around the hem. It clung to the curves of her body with just the proper mixture of enticement and propriety, and looked lovely with a set of silver filigree that had belonged to Ralph's mother. None of the gapers could claim that she
looked
peaked or out of sorts, though she felt far from confident.

Georgina was gazing eagerly about the theater, smiling at people she knew and flushing with pleasure when some of the young men she had danced with saluted their box. The girl's happiness had been increasing with each new day of the season, as she received further proofs of her attractiveness and gained poise. “There are the Learningtons,” she said. “Oh, I hope George will come by at the interval. I want to tell Sophie about the rout party on Thursday. She had the headache and missed it.”

Anabel did not look up. Her interest in the Learningtons was minimal. She instead wished that the play would begin so that she could retreat into dimness. For it was obvious that their box was attracting attention. People indicated it to their friends with pointed glances, then bent to murmur comments to one another. It was worse than in the park.

At last the curtain rose. Georgina leaned forward and became absorbed, and Anabel relaxed a little, letting her rigid back and fixed smile slip. She fervently hoped that her mother would indeed join them, though she knew it was unlikely. But Lady Goring's sensible presence would be a great help tonight. She would not hesitate to face down anyone ill bred enough to stare. She would fix them with her lorgnette and raised eyebrows until they retreated in embarrassment. The picture amused Anabel and elicited a real smile, making her feel a little better. The
ton
's avid interest would pass, she told herself; some new sensation would arise, and she would be forgotten. She need only endure.

Lady Goring did not arrive, and at the first interval several of Georgina's new friends stopped by the box to chat with her. Anabel gratefully retreated to the rear and left them to it, marveling at the change in her cousin since her first days in London. Who would connect that pallid, sullen girl with the laughing, almost slender one before her now? Georgina was not beautiful, but she was far from ugly. Her well-shaped face and fine gray eyes were transformed by expression. Happy, she was very engaging.

“Contemplating the merits of the play?” asked a voice near her ear.

Anabel started and turned to find Sir Charles beside her.

“You looked very thoughtful,” he added, “and not well pleased. My opinion precisely.”

She smiled. “I wasn't thinking about the play.”

“No? What, then?” His eyes caressed her.

“Nothing. Georgina.”

Norbury glanced briefly at the girl, then dismissed her. “Alas. You might have been thinking of me.”

“I have been. I could hardly help it.” This didn't sound just right, she realized at once. She hadn't meant to be tart.

Norbury wasn't offended, however. “There has been some reaction,” he agreed. “Only natural. The
ton
has so little to occupy it.”

“It's…rather unpleasant.” It was good to have someone to share her discomfort.

“You don't find it amusing to set their silly tongues wagging?” He looked around the theater with a superior smile. Their tête-à-tête was the center of many eyes. “But we are practically social benefactors. They would be so deucedly dull without us.”

Anabel tried to smile, but his joke seemed sadly flat tonight. “I don't seem to have the character for philanthropy.”

“Nonsense.” He laughed. With the air of a man turning from trivial to important things, he added, “I have arranged our visit to Kent. My mother is delighted; she is very eager to meet you. We go down on Wednesday.”

“Oh.” Anabel felt a bit annoyed at his assumption that she could leave whenever he chose. “I believe we were engaged for dinner on Wednesday.”

He waved this aside. “It is far more important that you become acquainted with my family.”

She frowned and started to protest, but the interval was ending. People had returned to their seats, and the curtain was about to rise again.

“I will remain here with you,” said Norbury with a smile. “There appears to be an empty chair.” And in the dimness that followed the resumption of the play, his hand curled over hers in her lap. Anabel stirred a little, afraid the gossips would see. But the theater was too dark.

Throughout the second act, with Charles's fingers warm and suggestive around hers, she tried to analyze her feelings. The day had been far from satisfactory. She had been shaken first by her novel isolation from the children and Christopher, then by the half-malicious scrutiny of the
ton
. Now, with Charles at her side to support her, she ought to feel better, she thought. Love was supposed to overcome all sorts of ills; she was his acknowledged choice, the envy of many less fortunate women. Why, then, did she still feel dispirited and uneasy? Glancing over at Charles in the dim light, she traced the handsome contours of his face.
He
looked supremely confident and content. Perhaps it was just that she was unused to town life. The furor would decline, and surely the children would come round when they became accustomed to the idea of her marriage and knew Charles better. She must see to that.

When the second interval was announced, Anabel spoke first. “You must come to dinner with the children. Mama mentioned it. What about tomorrow night?”

Norbury's smile faded. “I have an engagement tomorrow.”

“Oh. Sunday, then?” When he hesitated, she added, “You must get to know them better. They are not…wholly reconciled to the idea of my marrying again.”

He frowned. “What has it to do with them?”

“Well, Charles…” She searched for words, astonished by his reaction. “We will be one family, after all.”

Hearing the doubt and amazement in her voice, he shrugged. “Of course. You must make allowances for the fact that I know nothing of children.” He had released her hand, but now he bent closer. “Though I hope to learn a great deal very soon.” His eyes were provocative, and she could not mistake that look for interest in her own children.

“You will come, then?” she replied a bit stiffly.

“Yes.” He smiled, and she told herself that all would be well when he and the children were better acquainted.

Norbury escorted them to their carriage at the end of the play. They were repeatedly detained by other members of the audience offering congratulations and full of questions about their plans. Anabel left the answers to him, though she was not always in agreement with them, because she could not face the innumerable pairs of avid eyes and falsely smiling mouths. None of these people truly wished them happiness, she felt; indeed, they would be much more interested in the opposite. And they inquired only to have news to retail to other, less-informed friends. There was no warmth in their faces.

Norbury didn't seem to care. He took patent pleasure in accepting their good wishes and dropping carefully rationed bits of information to one or the other. He was in his element, Anabel thought, without admitting the implications of their very different responses to the situation.

As he handed her into her carriage he dropped a light kiss on her wrist. “Shall I see you tomorrow at the Atleys'?”

“No.” Anabel felt she couldn't bear another such evening. “I must…help Mama.”

This was weak, and he raised his eyebrows. “Help?”

“Yes.” She pulled the carriage door, and he shut it. “We will meet at dinner on Sunday.”

“Ah. Yes.”

“Good night.” She smiled and drew back. After a moment he stepped away and signaled the coachman to start. Anabel sighed with relief, very glad to see the end of this evening. She had been longing for the quiet of her bedchamber for hours.

But once there and in her dressing gown, she remained restless. The days ahead seemed full of difficult tasks and unwelcome events. For the first time since the season had started, she wished she was back home. There, she had never felt so alone or endured a day like this one. She had been surrounded by family and friends, secure in their undoubted affection. She had not been plagued by decisions and worry over whether she had decided correctly. Perhaps she should never have come to London.

Then, climbing into bed, she shook her head slightly and scolded herself for cowardice. Things could not remain always the same. The children were growing up alarmingly quickly, and in a few years she would have been alone in the country as well. It was time she took charge of her life, and she would become accustomed to the process eventually, she had no doubt. In any case, things always looked better in the morning.

Anabel did not see Sir Charles again until the evening set for dinner. Indeed, she did not go out on Saturday, having had her fill of unwanted attention. Lady Goring was once again available to chaperone Georgina, and Anabel left them to attend a ball while she stayed home with her thoughts. She spent the early evening in the schoolroom with the children, trying to recapture their old intimacy, and partly succeeding. They could not resist her affectionate overtures. But a pall remained over the family, and the younger Wyndhams showed a notable lack of enthusiasm when told that Norbury was coming to meet them.

He arrived punctually at six, and Anabel, who had been on the watch, came downstairs as the footman let him in. The atmosphere in the drawing room was stiff, and she wanted to take him in herself.

“Good evening,” he said, handing his hat and gloves to the servant and offering her his arm. “Here I am, as commanded. Do you know, I have never in my life eaten my dinner at six. It will be a novel experience.”

“The children always eat early,” answered Anabel, a little piqued by his mocking tone.

“Of course.”

They walked up the stairs together.

“They…they are still becoming accustomed to the idea of our marriage,” she added in a rush. “You must understand if they are…a bit…wary at first.”

“Ah?” He raised one dark eyebrow, not helping her.

“It is difficult for children to adjust to new arrangements, you know. They like everything to stay as it was.”

“Indeed? And I thought I had been told they were very flexible creatures. My mistake, I imagine.”

Anabel frowned. No one was making it easy for her. She felt like a clumsy diplomat, trying to negotiate between warring states. Her mother had been elaborately bland about the evening, and Georgina didn't seem to understand how awkward it might be.

They entered the drawing room. “You know my mother, of course,” said Anabel. “And I believe you have met my cousin, Georgina Goring.” Norbury nodded. “And this is William.” The children had been thoroughly coached. William came forward and made his bow. “Nicholas.” The younger boy followed suit. “And the youngest, Susan.” Susan curtsied, but her expression remained sullen.

“How do you do?” replied Norbury, smiling dutifully.

There was a short silence.

“Shall we sit down?” said Anabel, feeling desperate. She had not realized until this moment what divergent topics of conversation she used with Norbury, the children, and even her mother. None of them was interested in the others' favorite subjects. She could not imagine Charles discussing a new pony for Susan, or William's dogs, nor her mother enduring Norbury's gibes at society in silence. She had to say something, but she couldn't think of any neutral topic that would include them all.

“You boys are not at school?” inquired Sir Charles with a geniality that did not conceal his boredom.

William glanced quickly at his mother, then shook his head.

“Taking a holiday?”

“We don't go to school,” responded Nicholas. “Mama teaches us. Or, she did.
Now
we have a governess.”

“Really?” His eyebrow cocked again, Norbury turned to Anabel. “Do you think that wise? Boys are usually better off at school.”

The children glowered, and Anabel felt a spark of resentment. “I have considered sending them. They are very young yet.”

“They look like well-grown lads to me.” He attempted joviality again. “And I daresay they wish they were in school with other boys. Don't you?”

William and Nicholas simply scowled. Lady Goring watched the scene with interest, her expression bland but her eyes sparkling. Georgina was looking from one to another of the group with the dawning apprehension that something was wrong.

“Well, well,” added Norbury, sensing opposition. “We can talk of that another time. Tell me, William, are you fond of hunting?”

Though riding out with the local hunt was one of William's passions, he shrugged.

“No? I would have pegged you as a bruising rider. What about Nicholas?”

Seeing his mother's pained expression, Nicholas relented and admitted they liked to hunt.

“I have a hunting box in Leicestershire,” replied Norbury. “We had some splendid runs last season.”

In any other circumstances the boys would have pelted him with eager questions about the Quorn, but Norbury's position in the family, and the fact that he made no move to invite them to hunt with him or even to suggest that they might at some future time, left them silent.

Sir Charles, annoyed at their unresponsiveness, turned to Susan. “And what do you like?” he asked. “I suppose you have a great many…dolls?”

His tone was condescending, and Susan, who had one much-beloved rag doll and a host of less important ones, pursed her small mouth and shook her head. “I hate dolls!”

Norbury raised his eyebrows again.

“I believe dinner must be ready,” blurted Anabel, looking beseechingly at her mother.

Lady Goring had been letting events take their course with some satisfaction, but now she took pity on her daughter. “Yes, I think we might go in.” Rising, she took Norbury's arm and started toward the dining room. “Did you notice Julia Buckingham's new town carriage at the ball last night, Sir Charles?” she asked. “That's the third this year, is it not? I hope Buckingham can stand the nonsense.”

Norbury responded wittily, and the first half of the meal passed in similar remarks between the two. He repeatedly sought to bring Anabel into the conversation, but she was too conscious of the children, silent and ignored, eating their dinner without looking up from their plates. Georgina occasionally spoke to them, but tonight she elicited no more than monosyllables.

With the second course came another silence. Lady Goring had exhausted her fund of gossip, and in any case she wished to give her daughter another dose of reality. She addressed herself to a Chantilly cream. “This is very fine, isn't it, William?” she said.

William, who was fond of sweets, nodded enthusiastically.

“I forgot to ask. Did you have a good ride in the park on Friday? Were the horses from the livery suitable?”

“They were slugs,” answered Nicholas. “But better than nothing. We had some first-class games with Uncle Christopher.”

“Yes,” seconded William heartily.

“We like Uncle Christopher better than
anybody
,” offered Susan.

Her brothers seemed to feel that this was going too far. They fell silent again and concentrated on their plates.

“‘Uncle' Christopher?” queried Norbury. “Ah. That would be the fellow I met here one day. Hanford, wasn't it? One of your bucolic neighbors.”

His tone made Anabel's cheeks redden slightly. But before she could reply, Georgina snapped, “He is a wonderful man!”

“Is he?” Norbury eyed her with cool amusement. “I must become better acquainted with him.”

Georgina turned fiery red and looked down.

“He is a good friend and a close neighbor,” said Anabel. “I don't know what I would have done without him when Ralph died.”

“Indeed?” He looked less pleased.

“Shall we remove to the drawing room?” asked Lady Goring. She was happy to see Anabel learning some home truths about Norbury, but she had no intention of letting things get out of hand. “You must come with us, Sir Charles. We are a household of females and have no proper port.”

They returned to the drawing room, and the children went to bed soon after, followed by Georgina. At this, the situation eased somewhat, and Anabel found conversation easier. But when Lady Goring excused herself a little later and Charles came to sit close beside her on the sofa, she was not in the mood for dalliance. “It didn't go particularly well,” she said.

“What?” He seemed honestly puzzled.

“The dinner. I had hoped you and the children would…like one another.”

“Like?” He frowned in perplexity. “I daresay we shall rub along quite well eventually. The boys must go off to school, of course; it is past time. And as for Susan”—he smiled provocatively at her—“I have not yet encountered the female I could not captivate.” His arm tightened around her shoulders.

Thinking that he was unlikely to have encountered one like her daughter, Anabel sat very straight. “I am not sure I wish to send them to school. I put it off because I wanted them with me.”

He shrugged, smiling. “There is no need to discuss it now. You will be making a great many changes. Pleasant ones, I hope.” Bending his head, he kissed her.

Gradually Anabel relaxed against his arm, feeling again that languorous helplessness Charles always produced in her. His free hand wandered along her silk-clad body, and slowly she brought one arm up and about his neck. The kiss seemed to go on forever. Anabel's annoyance and objections slipped from her mind; she felt reasonless, without volition.

When he drew back, he was breathing rapidly, his hand at rest on her hip. “Lovely Anabel,” he murmured. “Do you know how I love you? There is no woman like you in the world.”

She gazed into his pale green eyes, still tremulous from his caress. He cared about her. It was obvious. But what did
she
feel, beyond that pliant loss of will? She was less and less certain, and that fact was increasingly unsettling. “It's late,” she said.

He laughed a little. “Don't you trust me? You can, you know. And that is more than could be said for almost any woman I have known. Do you feel your power?” He pulled her closer and kissed her again, then straightened and rose. “I will go, with great reluctance. We must set a wedding date, Anabel. Very soon.”

“I…I haven't thought.”

He laughed again. “Well, do so, my heart's darling. Think very hard.” He took her hand and kissed the palm. “And dream of me.” With a last flashing smile, he went out.

She looked at her hand for a moment, then let it fall and suddenly shivered. She didn't understand anything anymore, least of all herself. Events seemed to be rushing forward, out of control. She knew she had to do something, but what? She didn't even know what she wanted. She had thought she did; she had been dazzled by possibilities and new sensations. Now nothing was clear. Her brain seemed to whirl dizzyingly from one image to another, never pausing long enough for her to really see any. Her emotions were in turmoil. And no one could help her.

With a sigh, Anabel turned toward the stairs. She would have difficulty sleeping again tonight, she could tell. But it did no good to stand here and worry. Perhaps time would solve her problems for her.

* * *

The following day was very quiet in Lady Goring's household. Anabel did not go out. She prepared for her journey to Kent and spent a great deal of time sitting and thinking. In the afternoon she went up to the schoolroom to tell the children she would be away for a short time, and met the predictable unenthusiastic response. As she was coming down the stairs again she encountered Georgina, dressed for the street and accompanied by her maid. She looked excited. “Are you going out?” asked Anabel.

“Yes.” The girl smiled. “I am invited to tea with Amelia Lanforth. It is so close that I am going to walk.”

Anabel felt chagrin. Why was her cousin asked to the Lanforths and not she? She had known Christopher for years, certainly his sister might have included her in the invitation. They had chatted at several gatherings, and though they had never had an opportunity to become well acquainted, Anabel liked Mrs. Lanforth very much. She would have been happy to see her more intimately. Had Christopher's inexplicable new coldness spread to his sister? She frowned.

“I must go,” added Georgina. “I don't want to be late.” And with a sense of half-guilty relief, she skipped past and down to the hall. Georgina was finding Anabel puzzling lately. Her older cousin seemed either abstracted or overanimated, and the previous evening had been dreadful.

At the Lanforths, Georgina was taken directly up to the drawing room and greeted with a smile by Amelia. They had confirmed their mutual passion for novels during a visit Amelia had made to Lady Goring after the announcement of Anabel's engagement, and they both looked forward to a long, cozy chat comparing all their favorites.

They settled on the sofa and fortified themselves with cups of strong tea. But before they could really begin, the drawing-room door opened and Christopher came in. Georgina's eyes brightened, and her cup rattled slightly in its saucer.

“Christopher,” said Amelia. “I thought you had gone out riding.”

“Yes. But I returned early. The park is too crowded. Will you give me some tea?” He smiled also, but his voice and stance conveyed depression.

“Of course.” She poured out another cup. “But I give you fair warning we mean to talk about novels. We have met just for that purpose, and you won't stop us.”

Hanford's smile became more genuine. “Ah. Didn't I tell you, Miss Goring, that my sister's interest in them equaled your own?”

Georgina nodded, speechless with joy at his joining them.

“And do you have favorites in common?” he added.

“We haven't discovered that yet.” Amelia smiled at the girl. “I am excessively attached to Mrs. Radcliffe.”

“Oh, yes! I have never been so frightened as when the wicked duke…” They fell into an energetic exchange, and Christopher allowed their voices to fade into a background for his thoughts. Despite his resolutions, he was finding it extremely difficult to remain in London. He thought of nothing but Anabel, though he rarely saw her. And he had nothing to do. At home he would manage his estate and ride out every day. Here there were only parties which reminded him again of his loss. He didn't know how much longer he could endure it.

“Yes, I was reading it only last night before Sir Charles came to dinner,” said Georgina.