First Season / Bride to Be (11 page)

Hanford looked up. “Norbury came to dinner yesterday?”

She turned to him. “Yes. Anabel wanted him to meet the children and…become friends.” Her tone was so doubtful that both her listeners understood the attempt had not met with success. Christopher felt a rush of guilty joy.

“I suppose the children are not very pleased about the engagement,” said Amelia. And as the others looked at her she added, “They rarely are in such cases. It is a great change.”

Georgina, frowning over this novel viewpoint, slowly nodded, “I think you are right. I have never seen them so sullen as last night. Of course, Sir Charles did not help. He does not know how to talk to children.”

This naive statement made Amelia smile and Christopher lean forward, unconsciously avid. Georgina noticed it, and compared his earlier despondence with the intense eagerness in his eyes now. A revelation swept over her, and she sat back abruptly, stricken.

“I admit I do not see how they will go on together,” said Hanford. “Norbury is settled in London. He goes into the country only to visit or hunt. But I cannot imagine Anabel or the children staying here permanently.”

“He…he means to send the boys to school,” managed Georgina. Her throat seemed to be obstructed by a large lump.

“School. Well, it is time they went. But I should have thought Anabel would want to decide. Is she going to let him take over her life?” This last came out charged with emotion and, realizing it, Christopher shut his mouth and turned a little away.

Georgina scanned his profile and wondered at the confusion of emotions she felt. It hurt to discover that the man she so admired was in love with someone else; yet she could not help but see the logic of it. He had known Anabel for years, and her cousin was very lovely and charming. To her own surprise, she realized that her strongest response was pity. She wished she could do something to comfort Hanford and to change things so that he might be happy. She loved him, but… “I…I think Anabel was a little annoyed with him when he suggested it,” she ventured.

Amelia, hearing the quaver in her voice, looked sharply at her. What she saw made her eyes soften and a slight smile curve her lips. Unconsciously she reached over and patted the girl's hand. When Georgina looked up, startled, she said, “More tea?” knowing that to acknowledge the girl's state would be unforgivable.

Georgina shook her head, turning back to Christopher.

“Annoyed? Was she really?” he could not resist asking.

“Yes. It was not at all a pleasant evening.” She wanted desperately to cheer him.

“Ah.”

“And I heard Lady Goring say that Sir Charles's mother is disagreeable. So perhaps when Anabel goes to Kent to visit her—”

“She is going out of town?”

“Yes. Tomorrow. But only for a day.”

Hanford leaned his head on his hand briefly, then straightened. “I beg your pardon. I have remembered something I must do. Please excuse me.” He left the room in three strides, the women silent behind him. Georgina anxiously watched the door close, and Amelia watched her.

“Will he be all right?” the girl asked finally.

Amelia shrugged.

“It is so… I didn't know… I would never have…”

“You did splendidly,” Amelia assured her. “Your aunt—and your father, no doubt—would be proud of you. Indeed, I am.”

Georgina frowned doubtfully at her, biting her lower lip. She felt exposed.

Amelia bent to pour more tea. “But you were telling me about a new book you have found. I must hear all about it. I have been searching for something fresh to read this age.”

Georgina took a deep breath and tried to gather her thoughts. What book had she been talking about? She had no idea.

“Was it called
The Count's Reveng
e
?” prompted Amelia.

“Oh. Oh, yes.” And with a massive effort she took up her description again.

In the library downstairs, Christopher sat alone, head bent. Anabel was going away; she had freely accepted another man, and she continued to ignore his feelings. He had never felt so low in his life as he did at that moment. All hope of happiness seemed gone. He would gladly have throttled Sir Charles Norbury, but he had no excuse to do so. The children's dislike was no motive. Anabel liked him—loved him!—and that tied his hands and racked his heart.

Anabel departed for the visit to Norbury's family at ten the following morning. She was not at all eager to make the journey, feeling that many things required her attention at home, but she had agreed to go and Charles seemed set on it. As they would spend only one night at his mother's and return the following afternoon, she made no objections when he arrived in his traveling carriage and handed her in.

The drive was about three hours, and during it Charles was once again the charming, sophisticated companion she had admired at
ton
parties. He did not make love to her; rather, he pointed out sights along their route, reminisced about his childhood trips on that road, and asked her opinion about various arrangements he had made. Before long she was feeling more in charity with him than she had for a while, and she laughed at his sallies unrestrainedly.

“You have told me nothing about your family,” she said as they began the last stage of the journey. “I know I am to meet your mother. Will there be others as well?”

“I fear so. My marriage is such an astonishing development that every ambulatory Norbury has gathered to witness the miracle.” He looked comical, and she laughed again.

“But who is that? You must prepare me.”

“I dare not. You might simply jump out of the chaise and leave me to face them alone.”

“Perhaps I shall if you keep me wondering what I am in for.”

Norbury smiled. “Very well. Besides my mother, whom you will like very much, I think, there will be two uncles with their families. One is my late father's younger brother and the other my mother's older one. Enough?”

“Not at all. How many cousins?”

He groaned. “Three. But we are fortunate. There are three more who will not be present for one reason or another.”

“You don't get on with them?”

“We cordially despise one another, and have since we were in short coats.”

Anabel looked doubtful; this didn't sound like a happy family.

“Don't judge until you have met them,” added Norbury.

After a moment she nodded. “Have you no brothers or sisters?”

“None. The explanation, according to one of my uncles, of all my character flaws. Overindulgence.”

“You are making me dread this visit, Charles.”

“You asked to be warned. You see I am being completely honest with you.” He grinned. “It is unlike me.”

“Well, I think you are teasing me. They are probably all very pleasant people.”

He smiled. “You may decide for yourself. Here we are.”

Anabel looked out the window. They had turned in at a massive stone gate and were trotting up an avenue lined with oaks. At the end, she could see a pillared portico of gray stone, windows glittering in the afternoon sun. Well-kept gardens extended around the sides to the back, and the place had an air of carefully controlled wealth. She turned back, to find Norbury gazing at her expectantly. “It is beautiful.”

“Is it not? Your new home.”

Inevitably this made Anabel think of the less grand but comfortable and familiar house she had left behind. It would be very hard to abandon it for this.

They pulled up to the front door with a flourish, and it opened before they could climb down. A liveried footman ushered them into the hall and took their wraps as another fetched the luggage and a third waited to escort them farther into the house. Anabel was startled by the number of servants. Seeing her expression, Norbury said, “My mother holds to the formalities of her girlhood. She will laugh about it, but she will not give them up. Come, let us go and see her.”

“Shouldn't I go upstairs first?” She put a hand to her hair, wondering if the curls had been crushed by her hat.

“You look lovely.” He smiled and took her hand, and Anabel allowed him to lead her up to the spacious drawing room on the first floor.

At first glance, it seemed remarkably full of people. Two sofas were occupied, and a number of gentlemen were leaning against the mantelpiece or turning the pages of newspapers. Anabel hesitated. Norbury squeezed her hand reassuringly, then guided her in, a hand on her elbow. They stopped before an imposing woman, clad in dark green, on one of the sofas, and he said, “Mama, this is Anabel. My mother.”

“How do you do?” said Anabel, smiling and giving a sketch of a curtsy.

“My dear.” It was plain where Sir Charles got his dark hair and pale green eyes. Indeed, he resembled his mother in most particulars. She, too, was tall and had a commanding presence, and although an ebony cane was propped on the cushion beside her, she sat very straight. But Anabel found her gaze cold, and it was not clear whether she was responding to her greeting or addressing her son.

“How are you feeling?” inquired the latter.

Lady Norbury made a dismissive gesture. “You must present Lady Wyndham to the others, Charles.”

He grimaced slightly, and her stern face relaxed into a thin smile. “Anabel, this is my Aunt Alice Norbury and my Aunt Anne Bramton. Uncle Anthony Norbury and Uncle Gerald Bramton. And these idlers are my younger cousins. John Norbury.” The dark young man lounging against the mantel raised a negligent hand. “Arthur Bramton.” The pale stripling on the other side of the fireplace bowed. “And Cecily Bramton.” A thin girl on the sofa opposite stood and curtsied awkwardly. “The older cousins have better things to do than come down to Kent. They are all married and parents of hopeful families of their own.” He glanced maliciously at his Uncle Anthony as he said this, and that gentleman bridled. Anabel realized that that branch of the Norburys was heir to the property until Charles had children. She looked away.

The older generation seemed indistinguishable at first. Each murmured a greeting, and Anabel strove to fasten the correct labels to the faded blond Mrs. Bramton, the embittered-looking Mrs. Norbury, and the two stout men who belonged with them. She and Charles sat down, and silence fell.

“Did you have a pleasant journey?” asked Lady Norbury after a while.

Anabel waited a moment, but Charles said nothing. “Yes. It is not far, is it, and the day is so fine.”

“Oh, you mustn't say it isn't far,” answered young John Norbury in a jocular tone. “You will spoil Charles's excuse for not coming down more often.”

“He comes very often,” retorted Lady Norbury crushingly. From the surprised looks the others gave her, Anabel saw that this was a novel pronouncement. “You were a Goring, I believe?” added the hostess.

Anabel glanced at Charles, but he did not seem to find anything amiss with this question. “Yes.”

“And you have children?”

“Three,” she replied crisply.

“What are their ages?” Lady Norbury seemed wholly unconscious of any rudeness. She might have been asking about the weather.

“William is ten, Nicholas nine, and Susan six.” She saw that her tone made the Bramton women wince.

“Ah. Two boys. They are in school, I suppose?”

“No, they are not. They are in London with me because I wished to have them there.”

Lady Norbury looked up and met Anabel's eyes. Their gaze held for a moment, and Anabel realized that Charles's mother was by no means as pleased by his engagement as he had told her. In fact, she was not pleased at all. And since Charles had been certain she wished him to marry, it could only be that she did not approve of Anabel. Perhaps a widow with young children was not her idea of a proper bride for her son. Anabel's chin came up defiantly.

“No doubt you are tired after your drive,” continued Lady Norbury. “I will have the housekeeper show you your room. I fear I do not get about as I used to. Dinner will be at seven. We keep country hours here. Arthur, will you ring?” He did so, and the silence remained unbroken until the summons was answered. Looking at Charles, Anabel saw that he was unaware of any awkwardness. He had strolled over to the hearth and was exchanging desultory remarks with his cousin John. As she followed the housekeeper from the room she heard Lady Norbury say, “I wish to speak to Charles. We will gather again for dinner.” The others were moving toward the door as she left.

Upstairs, in a bedchamber that looked as if it had not been refurbished in a decade, Anabel sat down and thought over her welcome. It was certainly not what she had expected from Charles's glowing reports. His mother was far from the charming, witty creature he had described. She obviously ruled her family with an iron hand, and Charles with some subtler methods. And she disapproved of his choice of a wife. Would she tell him so now? Anabel wondered.

And how did she herself feel about this development? Part of her was annoyed and combative, ready to show Lady Norbury that she had no power over her and that she cared not a whit for her good opinion. Another part wished to go back to London at once and forget the whole matter. Still a third very softly suggested that perhaps her hostess was right.

Pushing this thought aside, Anabel rose to get out her evening dress. It would be a very long visit, she saw. She would speak to Charles and ask him to be more helpful. Once he realized how uncomfortable she felt, he could no doubt do a great deal to ease the situation.

* * *

The house party met in the drawing room before dinner. Anabel had changed into a gown of rose pink silk, very severely cut, which she thought should placate Lady Norbury, but when she saw her hostess, forbidding in black satin trimmed with jet, she abandoned that hope. The older members of the family, clearly taking their cue from the hostess, were dour. But John Norbury smiled mischievously at her when she came in, and Arthur Bramton offered her a chair. She took it, wondering where Charles could be and how he could leave her to face this scene alone.

Silence fell. Anabel looked around. The aunts and uncles avoided her eye. Cecily looked frightened. Anabel tried to think of some commonplace remark to begin a conversation, but the atmosphere in the room seemed to press in on her brain, stifling thought.

“I trust you are recovered from your journey,” said Lady Norbury at last.

“Yes, thank you.”

“One must be more careful, past a certain age, not to wear oneself down.”

Anabel's blue eyes widened, then her eyelids dropped. If her hostess thought she would take such gibes, she was mistaken. “Do you find it so?” she answered sweetly. “I myself am never tired.”

John Norbury snickered. His formidable aunt silenced him with a glance, then turned back to Anabel with a glare of combined anger and surprise. More than one adversary had mistaken Anabel's fragile looks for timidity in the past. “You have a quick tongue.”

“Thank you,” answered Anabel perversely.

“You are very pleased with yourself, are you not?” Lady Norbury sounded goaded, and Anabel wondered what Charles had said to her during their tête-à-tête.

“Not overly pleased, I hope.” It was very odd, she thought, the way no one else in the room spoke at all. They might have been wax figures. Were they really so firmly under Lady Norbury's thumb?

“Indeed?” The older woman sounded contemptuous.

To Anabel's vast relief, Charles came in. He smiled at her and at his mother, not seeming to see the others, and said, “I'm sorry to be late. My valet is a careless fellow.”

The butler, who had been on the watch, announced dinner. Lady Norbury stood slowly and gazed at Charles.

He obediently offered his arm. The aunts and uncles paired up and hurried to follow. Cecily clutched her brother's arm when he would have approached Anabel, which left her to John Norbury.

“What do you think of this bedlam house?” he murmured as they walked toward the dining room.

She merely raised her eyebrows. She would not make the mistake of talking freely to any of these people.

“Right. Mum it is. But I'll give you a piece of advice. If you really want to marry Charles—can't see it myself, but you've accepted him—get him away from here and keep him away until the knot's tied. My aunt is poison.”

Anabel looked at him curiously.

“Wondering why the heir apparent is so loose-tongued?” He laughed a little. “
I
don't want this place. I'd as soon live in a mausoleum.” They had entered the dining room, and he escorted her to a chair between his father and his uncle before going to his own, farther down the table. Anabel slid into it quickly—the others were already settled, Charles beside his mother—and the meal began.

It was long, slow, and, to Anabel, excruciating. Her neighbors did not speak to her. The only conversation was at the head of the table, and a few murmurs on the opposite side, where the cousins alternated with the aunts. There were five courses, each consisting of far more dishes than she could sample, and the intervals between them seemed endless. At first Anabel was uneasy. She tried more than once to elicit some comment from the uncles. Then she felt inexpressibly weary and bored, and finally angry at the way she was being treated. Why didn't Charles say something? she wondered. But by the time the last course was offered round, her pique had given way to amusement. It was really ridiculous, this solemn party, the heavy silence, the furtive eyes of the people around her. Whatever they might feel, Lady Norbury had no hold on
her
, and she refused to allow her spirits to be depressed. The evening would end eventually, and tomorrow she would depart, never to visit here willingly again. The future implications of this decision she pushed aside.

At last Lady Norbury rose, signaling the ladies' departure. Taking her cane, she walked slowly along the table, spurning an aunt who offered assistance. “Do not linger too long over your port,” she told the gentlemen.

“Don't worry, Mama,” replied Charles. “We shall join you soon.”

The walk upstairs was slow. Everyone kept behind Lady Norbury, and she obviously found the climb very difficult. But she refused help again, sharply, and nothing more was said.