First Season / Bride to Be (5 page)

This made him smile a little. “Has she indeed? But I am not certain I shall go down at once.”

“Really? Why not?”

“I am thinking of staying in town for part of the season.” His eyes gauged her reaction to this.

“You, Christopher? I cannot imagine you here.”

This stung. “Some would have said that of you only a few months ago.”

Anabel smiled. “That's true. But do you mean to join the season and make the rounds of parties and all that? You dislike parties so.”

“No doubt the London festivities are more amusing than those in the country.” His tone was a little clipped. He was angry at the implied comparison with Sir Charles, who was perfectly at home in town.

Anabel eyed him curiously. “Well, I can only marvel at this change. I have heard you swear you would never be caught in London during the season.”

“Perhaps I have changed my mind.” He was very annoyed with her now. Could any woman really be so blind?
She
was here, so he would stay, however much he disliked parties. Surely the connection was obvious?

Light seemed to dawn on Anabel. “I have it! How foolish I was not to see it at once.”

He looked at her.

“You have decided to marry at last, and you have come to town to find a wife.” She laughed up at him.

This was too much. He merely stared at the floor, lips set.

“
Is
that it, Christopher?” She sounded both surprised and not completely pleased. “I was only funning.” His continuing silence daunted her. Could this really be his reason? She had never pictured Christopher marrying, though of course nothing would be more natural, she realized. He ought to marry. But when she tried to imagine it, to think what sort of woman would be best, Anabel felt a sudden, unaccountable rush of annoyance. She tried to explain it to herself. Christopher might have informed her of his plans. They were, after all, old friends. And how would the children feel at the intrusion of a stranger into their familiar circle? They would not understand, particularly when Christopher began to desert them for his own prospective family. He might have prepared her for this, so that she could prepare them. But it was all of a piece. He had gone abroad with hardly more than a word, and now he meant to alter their old, comfortable relationship in the same way. It was really unkind. Her surge of emotion satisfactorily explained, Anabel raised her head and met his eyes, her softer blue ones hot.

Hanford, who had been watching her expression shift, was cautiously elated. She had not at all liked the notion of his marrying, he saw. Well then, perhaps he would let her consider it further. She might even discover that her feelings for him were not simple friendship and that she herself wished to fill the position of his wife. Accordingly, he merely shrugged in response to her questioning look.

Anabel was outraged. She had confidently expected a laughing denial and she felt cheated and deceived. Christopher had never said one word about marriage through the years of their friendship. Clearly, she was not really in his confidence; he had no respect for her opinion at all. Anabel rose. “It is late.”

“I beg your pardon. I shall take my leave of you, then.” Hanford had some trouble controlling a smile. He was very pleased with her reaction.

Chin high, she held out her hand. “I daresay we shall see you at some of the season's events.”

“No doubt,” he agreed amiably.

“I hope you do not find them tedious after all.”

“Anabel, I think that extremely unlikely.” Now he did smile, and she, interpreting it as anticipation of the courting ritual, pulled away her hand and stepped back. Hanford left the room with a jaunty salute and a lingering smile.

As a result of this conversation, Christopher Hanford paid a rather early morning call the following day, to a small but very elegant town house in Regent Street. Mrs. Amelia Lanforth appeared astonished when he followed the butler into her drawing room. “Christopher? Are you still in London? I was sure you would be safely in Hertfordshire by this time, tramping about your muddy fields.”

“I have decided to stay in town for a while, Amelia.”

She gaped at him. The two were remarkably alike, both just above medium size with ruddy blond hair and bright blue eyes, but Mrs. Lanforth's tresses were fashionably curled à la Méduse, and her pink muslin morning gown had obviously come from one of the most skillful London modistes. “Is something wrong?”

“No.”

“It must be. You needn't spare me, Christopher. Is it Aunt Seraphina? She wasn't at all well the last time I called, but—”

“Nothing is wrong. Can I not spend a few weeks in town without arousing this astonishment?”

She looked at him again. “No, you cannot. You have not voluntarily visited London for more than two nights since you were twelve years old, Christopher. Come to that, you have never called on me more than once in a visit since we settled here. And you have repeatedly told me how silly I was to enjoy town life.
What
is wrong?”

Hanford gazed down at his sister with a wry smile. She was, of course, perfectly right. And if he wanted her help, he was going to have to provide some explanations. He and Amelia had disagreed on a number of things during their lives. From a very early age he had devoted himself to the estate and country amusements, whereas she had counted the moments until her London debut. She had reveled in her first season and married a man who habitually came up for that period, returning home only for occasional holidays and to be with their mother for the births of Amelia's two children. After the older Hanfords died, she ceased these visits, and she and Christopher now saw each other only a day or two each year, when he was in town. Yet strong bonds of affection remained between them despite this separation. Their disagreements had never been acrimonious; indeed, they almost enjoyed arguing their divergent points of view. Christopher had no doubt his sister would do as he asked, after she had twitted him over his change of heart. His expression became more wry. “I want to be a man of fashion, Amelia. Will you oversee the transformation?”

Her mouth dropped open. “You're bamming me!”

“Word of honor.”

“But…but…”

Her amazement was so comical that he laughed.

“Christopher! You have nothing but contempt for ‘men of fashion,' even poor Lanforth, who is far from a pink of the
ton
. What has suddenly changed your mind?” Before he could reply, her blue eyes sharpened. “A woman, I suppose.”

He looked down.

“I had received the impression that you were interested only in your neighbor, Lady…oh. She is in London this season, is she not?”

“Have you met her at last?”

“No, but I remember hearing that Lady Goring has her daughter with her. This is your reason, then?” Her eyes had started to dance.

Sheepishly Hanford admitted it. “She is much taken with town ways and…”

“And town beaux, I suppose. Oh, Christopher, I could not have hoped for such a perfect revenge if I had planned it for years. You see where your country stubbornness has brought you.” She was laughing almost too hard to speak.

“To throw myself on your tender mercies,” he agreed. “I am in your hands, Amelia. Will you help me?”

“I wouldn't miss it for anything.” She thought of something. “But you must do as I say, Christopher. No contemptuous sputterings.”

He sighed but nodded.

“What fun I shall have!” She walked slowly around him, as if making notes.

“I have rather given Anabel the impression that I am hunting for a wife,” he added.

“As you are. Oh, you mean among the debs?” Amelia's delighted smile returned. “How devious of you, Christopher. This may be easier than I thought. You have the instincts of a tulip already.” As he grimaced she continued. “First, you must get rid of that coat. You should never wear olive drab, with your coloring. It is cut well enough, but…”

“I bought this coat in Paris,” he protested.

“And I said it was well enough. But the color is all wrong. You should always wear blue, or buff or black, but never olive.”

“But it was—”

“Christopher! You promised you would do as I say.”

Their very similar eyes met. “Very well,” he muttered.

“Good.” Amelia smiled. “We must get you a new haircut, of course. And your cravat will never do. Oh, Christopher, we shall have such fun!” She clapped her hands gleefully. Her brother grimaced again. “Are you still at Claridge's? I will send someone for your things.” Seeing him start to speak, she added, “You must stay here, naturally. It is one thing to claim you will give me too much trouble on a one-night visit to town—which is ridiculous, as I have always told you. But if we are to carry through your plan, you cannot be so far off. You can have the blue bedchamber. It's all ready.”

Hanford watched her animated features as she set forth an arduous program of shopping for the next several days. He had rarely seen his sister so pleased. It made him glad he had sought her help, though he knew he would not enjoy much of it. If anyone could prepare him to compete with Norbury, it was Amelia, and he was determined to do everything in his power to win in this unforeseen contest.

* * *

The first major event of the season was the Duchess of Rutland's ball the following week. Amelia had no trouble securing an invitation for her brother, and she hounded his tailors so mercilessly that he was completely reoutfitted in plenty of time. As he came into the drawing room that evening both Lanforths turned to look at him, Amelia with a professional's critical eye and her husband, George, with a combination of fellow feeling and curiosity. He, too, had been a victim of his brother-in-law's mockery of the
ton
. Christopher felt ridiculous. His new clothes seemed outlandishly exaggerated, despite his sister's assurances that both cut and fabric were very plain. His hair, cut and brushed into a Brutus by a fellow he had found intolerable, seemed stiff and strange. And he was almost frightened of the valet Amelia had made him hire to care for his new finery. “Here I am,” he declared, stopping beside them. “Complete with cap and bells.”

“You look splendid,” encouraged George. “Top of the trees.”

“You have left off your quizzing glass,” objected Amelia. “I told you, it is to hang—”

“I
could
not,” he interrupted. “I have tried my best to be docile, Amelia, but I simply could not.”

Meeting his gaze, she smiled a little. “Oh, very well. You
do
look splendid, Christopher. Even I did not imagine that you could look so polished.” She eyed his black evening coat and knee breeches, his snowy cravat tied in an Osbaldeston, his silver-shot waistcoat. “Indeed, I would hardly have known you for my country-squire brother.”

“I hardly know myself,” he replied ruefully. “I glance into a mirror and start to nod to the overdressed stranger.”

“Nonsense. You are not the least overdressed. Shall we go in to dinner? We do not want to be late.”

“Do we not?” murmured Christopher. But he took her proffered arm and led her into the dining room.

Only a few streets away, the ladies of the Goring household were putting the finishing touches on ball gowns and toilettes before also sitting down to dinner. Anabel, surveying her reflection in a full-length glass, was very pleased with the effect of the ball gown that had arrived yesterday from her dressmaker. It was of deep blue satin with an overskirt of creamy Mechlin lace. The bodice and short puffed sleeves were also overlaid with lace, and it was belted with a matching blue velvet ribbon. She had got out the sapphire pendant Ralph had bought her in Paris, with its companion earrings, and her soft brown hair had been done in a cloud of curls. The overall impression was of exquisite fragility, and she smiled a little before going along to the nursery, as she had promised to show the children her gown.

Georgina's feelings were far different. She, too, had a new dress, of fine pink muslin trimmed with knots of darker pink ribbons. But her silhouette was anything but fragile, and as Lady Goring's maid applied the hot curling tongs to her pale blond hair, she frowned at her pudgy features in the dressing-table mirror. Everyone would laugh, Georgina thought. It was silly to fuss over her hair and to buy new gowns. She would be miserable at the ball, as always. She wished that she dared get out her box of chocolates in front of the maid. Dinner was late tonight, and she was hungry.

When Lady Goring, splendidly dressed in purple satin and amethysts, met her two charges in the drawing room some minutes later, her thoughts echoed theirs. She reveled in her daughter's beauty and despaired at Georgina's bulk. But she said merely, “We must hurry. What have you been doing, Anabel? You are late.”

“The children kept me, admiring my lace.” Anabel smiled. “Susan wants a gown exactly like this one for her birthday in September.”

“And doubtless she will get it,” answered her mother dryly. “I shudder to think what that child will be like at her come-out if she is demanding quite unsuitable dresses at the age of six.”

“Susan will be a belle, of course. She is already pretty enough.”

“And capricious enough,” countered Lady Goring. “Come in to dinner.”

* * *

The line of carriages beneath the glittering windows of the Rutland town house stretched far down the street as each halted briefly to deposit its elegantly dressed passengers, then moved on to make way for the next. The Goring party arrived in good time and, after greeting their hosts on the landing, made their way up to the half-filled ballroom. “Look at the flowers!” exclaimed Anabel at once.

“Very beautiful,” responded her mother, surveying the great garlands of pink roses and greenery that festooned the walls. A trellis had been erected in one corner, and it looked remarkably natural.

“I have never seen so many roses in my life. Isn't it wonderful, Georgina?”

The younger girl nodded, but her eyes were on the other guests. Several were looking in their direction, probably talking of who they were and how dreadful she looked.

“I wish I had worn pink, as you did,” added Anabel in an effort to cheer her.

Georgina merely looked disgusted.

“There is Jane Danvers,” said Lady Goring. “Let us go and join her.”

The room filled rapidly, and in a very short time the duchess gave the signal to begin the dancing. Anabel was asked at once, but Lady Goring had to summon a partner for Georgina, who accepted him with as little grace as he had showed at the command. When the first set ended, she escaped to the supper room, ignoring all frowns cast her way and hiding when Lady Goring came to search for her. Anabel, glowing from the country-dance, was delighted when the orchestra struck up a waltz, and more so when Sir Charles Norbury came up to claim her hand. She hadn't seen him arrive.

They moved onto the floor as the music began, and Norbury pulled her into a quick turn, making her very aware of the strength of his arm around her waist and the closeness of his body to hers. She felt small beside him, irresistibly guided by his whim. It was a new sensation, and uncertainty mixed with pleasure as they moved around the ballroom. Sir Charles remained an enigma to her. The men in her life had been very different—her father, a genial, uncomplicated creature extremely fond of his only daughter; Ralph, a bluff and hearty squire, pleased to have found such a wife; Christopher, a reliable, amusing friend. Norbury was none of these things, except perhaps amusing. In his polished looks, his assured, almost arrogant manner, and in the feeling of trembling excitement he engendered in her, he was unique in Anabel's life. She found him fascinating.

Norbury's thoughts were similar as they turned in the waltz and chatted. He had never encountered a woman precisely like Anabel. Most of those he knew had been schooled for years in the rituals of the
haut ton
, and the one or two countrywomen he had met had shown none of Anabel's easy understanding or quick wit. She was a curious mixture of naïveté and wisdom, and very pretty besides. He had had serious reservations about continuing his acquaintance with her when he discovered the existence of three tiresome children and their attendants. But Anabel's charm on their drive together had slowly disarmed his doubts. He enjoyed her company, he realized, more than that of any other female he could name, including his current inamorata. This was an odd circumstance, and one he wished to explore.

“Isn't that the lady you pointed out to me in the park?” asked Anabel then.

“Which?”

“There, in the puce satin. Did you not say that she has four daughters out at once?”

“I did indeed. The Marsden ensemble, each uglier than the next. There they are, sitting in a row on that blue sofa.”

“Where? Oh.”

“Remarkably like a row of gargoyles on a cathedral porch, aren't they? Just as avaricious and terrifying.”

“How can you?” But she couldn't help but laugh. There
was
something grotesque in the Marsden sisters' expressions.

“Easily. I have endured too many pretensions and too much fustian to be impressed by my fellow man any longer. Most of the people here, Lady Wyndham, are masterpieces of falsity and pettiness.”

“Well, at least they are good at it, then.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“If they are masterpieces, they must do it very well. That's something.” She smiled up at him.

Sir Charles laughed. “Indeed, we certainly have the best of everything in London—the most single-minded greed, the greatest hypocrisy, the most refined cruelty.”