First Season / Bride to Be (7 page)

“But we are not!” exclaimed Susan. “There is nothing to be interested in here.” She indicated the room with disgust.

“I know, Susan, but if we act as if there is, Mama will miss us just as we miss her, and she will take us home again, where we can all be comfortable.”

“She will?”

William looked doubtful. “I don't know, Nicky. This sounds like one of your harebrained schemes. Mama hardly notices what we do lately. She won't care.”

“She doesn't notice because we are just as we always were. If we changed, she would wonder soon enough. I only worry that Susan will forget and spoil the whole plan.”

“I can do anything you can do,” protested his sister at once. But she looked confused. “What am I to do?”

“Just pretend you do not care whether Mama comes to us or not, and that you have a great many more interesting things to do when she does.”

Susan's full lower lip protruded. “That will be very hard.”

“It will, Nick,” agreed William. “I don't know if
I
can do it. Without Mama…”

“We shall have each other,” insisted Nicholas. “And we must always remember that playing our parts will get us home again and make things as they used to be.” He looked from one to the other. “Will you try?”

William and Susan had learned to trust Nick's intelligence. After a moment they nodded.

“Good, here is what we must—”

The door opened, and a tall, spare young woman entered. “You are all here. Splendid. We can begin at once.”

Nicholas closed his mouth, and the three children shuffled into their chairs around the table. In the country their mother had supervised their lessons each morning, but here in London Lady Goring had insisted on a governess. Miss Tate was neither unkind nor unamusing, but she was still a stranger, and her substitution for Lady Wyndham made the children slow to warm to her. They did their lessons and generally obeyed her commands but did not offer confidences or affection as yet.

As they fetched books and pencils Nicholas signaled the others with jerks of his head and grimaces that they would finish their conference after studies. He was extremely pleased with himself, certain that his idea would work within a fortnight. As always, the exercise of his intelligence exhilarated him, and he even managed to slip William the answer to the problem that had been plaguing him without Miss Tate seeing.

The first few weeks of the season passed quickly. Neither Anabel nor Christopher had ever experienced such a whirl of social activity, and Georgina was almost dazed by the constant round. To Lady Goring's amazement and gratification, her niece maintained her resolve to avoid chocolates and other sweets, and the effects soon became apparent. Georgina's face looked more slender within just a few days, and her figure slowly followed suit. The image that emerged was quite engaging, and Lady Goring was certain that she would be very pretty indeed if she continued. Georgina herself, astonished at the reflection her mirror showed her, became even more Spartan in her self-discipline and often had to be urged to eat.

Anabel watched the process with a mixture of amused encouragement and chagrin, for though she was happy that Georgina should feel more comfortable in town, she always felt an irrational annoyance when she saw the girl with Christopher. Her adoration was so patent, and yet he did nothing to discourage it. Anabel felt someone ought to speak to him, but for some reason she hesitated to do so herself.

For one thing, she was too busy. They went out nearly every night, and as the days passed, Anabel became more certain of seeing Sir Charles Norbury at each event they attended. At first she had met him only intermittently, and she heard that he was known for ignoring invitations he judged boring. His presence at a party was considered a great coup. But as time went on, he turned up at more and more of the gatherings and practically devoted himself to her. People began to gossip about it, and Anabel knew she should withdraw, but Norbury continued to fascinate her. His polished manners, sardonic opinions of the world of fashion, and aura of barely controlled passions attracted her despite whatever firm resolves she made. When he approached her, she forgot the staring crowds in the heady new game of flirtation. And when some brief flash in Norbury's pale green eyes suggested that it was more than a game, Anabel felt a tremor of excitement and half-apprehensive anticipation.

Watching this spectacle, Christopher Hanford grew progressively more dour, though it was obvious only to those most interested in the outcome. He flirted with the debs, danced, and drank champagne among the
haut ton
, but his gaze was most often fixed on the woman he was
not
partnering, and he moved like an automaton through society's rituals, scarcely aware of what he said or did. He was losing Anabel, he knew, and nothing else mattered to him. His sister rarely looked at him without a frown now, and Lady Goring was filled with annoyance and concern for both him and her daughter. Yet nothing either said appeared to make a particle of difference.

In this charged atmosphere the children's scheme fell rather flat. They exerted themselves mightily to carry out Nicholas's orders, but their mother hardly seemed to notice the withdrawal. Once or twice, when she visited them in the nursery, she wondered that they did not greet her more enthusiastically, but Anabel's mind was too occupied with her own situation to concentrate on anything else. Nicholas was much downcast by the failure, and Susan and William were indignant.

By the beginning of Georgina's second month in London, Lady Goring was feeling so pleased with her that she determined to give a ball for her charge. There had been no such entertainment at the Goring house for nearly a year, and she felt in the mood to give one. If she could have discovered some excuse for
not
asking Sir Charles Norbury, she would have been perfectly content.

She could not, however, and when the gilt-edged invitation cards went out, one was addressed to him. They received a flattering number of acceptances, considering the rather impromptu nature of the ball, and Lady Goring threw herself into the preparations, with occasional help from Georgina. She was so busy that she scarcely noticed Anabel's lack of participation or her frequent absences during the day. And, indeed, Anabel's mind was in such turmoil that she would not have been of much use. Norbury's attentions had become so marked, so unmistakable, that she knew she could expect a declaration soon. Even the gossips had altered their tone. Norbury was notorious for his intense, and short-lived, flirtations, and he customarily conducted them with willing young matrons, who could not threaten him with marriage. At first Anabel's widowhood had seemed to put her in the same class, but when Norbury's campaign continued and even intensified, the
ton
began to look more closely. What they saw suggested to more than one gossip that Sir Charles's famous immunity to serious attachments had at last given way. This was ten times more interesting than his flirtations, and the talk redoubled, with gentlemen placing bets at their clubs on the timing of the announcement in the
Morning Post
.

Anabel found this public scrutiny of her private affairs highly unsettling. She began to feel reluctant to enter crowded drawing rooms, and the knowledge that she could expect an offer, without any certainty as to when, strung her nerves too tight. Worst of all, she was not completely sure how she felt about Norbury. It seemed very soon to make a decision, though she knew many women made such a choice after even shorter acquaintance. Nonetheless, she felt hurried. There seemed too many elements to consider; they all rose up to badger and confuse her. When she was with Sir Charles, the thrill of his presence dispelled her doubts, but when he was gone, she again wondered. It was a new experience; Anabel had accepted Ralph Wyndham on her parents' recommendation, never thinking of refusing. She had had no practice in the games of courtship.

On the night of the ball, Lady Goring, Anabel, and Georgina met early in the drawing room to receive a few dinner guests before the main entertainment. They had had new dresses made up for the occasion, and each in her own way looked splendid.

Lady Goring had chosen an emerald silk whose brilliance and sheen were merely enhanced by the very simple cut. She wore emeralds and diamonds, and had fastened a spray of them in her hair.

Anabel wore a warm peach satin embroidered around the hem and sleeve with ivory blossoms. Ivory ribbons fluttered at the high waist, and one of the cameos her grandmother had brought back from Paris years ago was fastened close about her throat. She looked cool and untouchable as a Dresden shepherdess, but inside she was seething with expectation and uncertainty.

Georgina's appearance was the most remarkable. In the weeks since her revelation she had shed a surprising amount of her bulk. She was still far from sylphlike, but the fashion of the day was charitable toward a slight thickening of the waist and hip. In a gown of floating white muslin, with sleeves cut to the elbow and a generous flounce about the hem, she made a very creditable show. And her face was by now almost beautiful. As its fullness declined, the finely sculpted bones became evident, and her thickly lashed gray eyes seemed larger and more expressive. Tonight a becoming color stained her cheeks, and her pale hair had been dressed by Lady Goring's maid into a helmet of curls. Georgina was trembling with excitement.

“Well,” said Lady Goring, sinking onto the sofa. “I believe we are actually ready at last. I cannot think of a single thing left to do. If you had asked me last week, I would have vowed this moment would never come!”

“The ballroom is wonderful,” breathed Georgina.

“It does look well, doesn't it?” answered her aunt complacently. “I must say, I think it was a good idea to use the ivy. Don't you, Anabel?”

Her daughter started. “What? I beg your pardon, Mama?”

Lady Goring frowned at her, hesitated, then shook her head. She was beginning to think that her husband had been right when he married Anabel off without a come-out.

There were sounds of arrival in the front hall below, and in a moment a footman was announcing Christopher Hanford and his sister and brother-in-law. Lady Goring greeted them warmly, Georgina with tremulous smiles and Anabel abstractedly. Hanford frowned and turned to the younger girl. “You are looking very pretty tonight, Georgina,” he said.

She swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump in her throat. “Th-thank you.”

“I hope you are saving a dance for me.” He was gazing sidelong at Anabel as he spoke; she didn't seem aware of anyone.

“Oh yes!”

The fervency of her answer transfixed him. Surveying Georgina more closely, Hanford made a discovery. The girl was deep in the throes of calf love, and he himself was the object! He almost groaned aloud. He wanted to concentrate all his faculties on Anabel, and here was this schoolgirl with worship shining in her eyes. It wasn't fair.

Meeting her unwavering gaze again, he sighed, then smiled. Calf love was one of the most dreadful experiences in life, as he well remembered. He had to do what he could to ease her through and out of it.

More dinner guests were ushered in, and after a few minutes they went in to dinner. Norbury had not been included in this party—Lady Goring had been determined on that, at least, and Anabel had not objected. There were two old friends of hers, carefully chosen parents of offspring about Georgina's age, and their sons and daughters. Georgina was seated between two of the former, to ensure her partners for some of the dances, and Anabel was cunningly placed beside Hanford. Georgina at first resented this exile, but when the young men seemed inclined to admire her, she unbent and, to her own astonishment, found things to say that made them both laugh.

“We haven't talked much recently,” said Hanford over the first course. “It seems odd, after the way we used to do so in the country.” He was ready to use whatever weapons he could now—to give up flirting, to return to his old coats—if that would win Anabel away from the hated Norbury.

“Yes,” she agreed. “It is very different here, of course.”

“Very. How are the children? They seemed a trifle out of sorts when I saw them last week.”

“When did you see them? They didn't mention it to me.” Anabel was astonished. The children always described their outings to her in great detail.

“We went riding. I thought they would like it, as they are accustomed to get out at home. We found a fine pony for Susan at the livery.”

“How kind of you.” Anabel's reply was a bit faint. She was wondering why she had not thought of providing the children with mounts. They adored riding. And why had they not told her? Suddenly anxious, she frowned down at her plate.

Hanford saw it with pleasure. Perhaps he could still reach her. “I promised we should go again on Friday. Will you come with us?”

She nodded. “I should like to.”

“Good.” He left the matter there, satisfied that the hints he had thrown out would stay with her, and the conversation drifted to more general topics.

They didn't linger at table. By nine the party had moved to the ballroom, and Lady Goring was greeting the first new arrivals under the archway. The room soon filled, and Georgina was called upon to play the part she had been dreading—opening the dancing with a young man presented to her by Lady Goring. She was quaking when the music struck up, but as they moved through the steps and her partner made it clear that he did not feel the task a penance, she felt better. By the end of the set she was even smiling at him and talking in a voice that was nearly normal.

Anabel had not joined the first set. Still vaguely worried, she had slipped upstairs to look at the children. She had bade them good night earlier, after showing them her ball gown, but she needed to see them again to reassure herself of their well-being after Hanford's surprising revelations. Susan was fast asleep, curled in a tight ball and clutching a tattered rag doll that she claimed only at night. She looked angelic, and Anabel smiled at the deceptiveness of sleep as she tucked the blanket closer around her neck. No one would guess her daughter's strong will from this picture. The boys were in bed but not yet quite asleep. They blinked up at her candle when she came in and asked what was wrong. “Nothing. I just came up to say good night.” She bent to kiss each of them, her throat tightening at their hugs and the fresh child smell of their skin. She missed them, she suddenly realized. They had seen much more of one another at home. “I am going riding with you and Uncle Christopher on Friday,” she whispered.

“You are!” They bounced up, eyes shining.

“Yes. But you must lie down now. It is late.”

It took her a while to get them settled and, indeed, she lingered a little, feeling very happy. But at last they were quiet, falling into sleep, and she took up her candlestick and slipped out again. The music from the ballroom filtered up the stairs, and she moved down them slowly, her blue eyes soft with memory.

“There you are,” said someone from the hall below. “They said you had gone upstairs.”

She looked down to find Sir Charles Norbury gazing up at her. A tingling shock ran through her body, and the candle trembled a little, dripping wax.

“You have missed the first waltz,” he added, meeting her at the bottom of the staircase and taking the candlestick from her hand. He snuffed the flame between forefinger and thumb and set it aside. “And I came early especially to engage you for it.”

“I wanted to look in on the children.” As always, his presence overwhelmed her. He seemed to tower over her, yet his pale green eyes felt close and compelling. She found it hard to breathe.

“It is a country-dance now, unfortunately. Mayn't we wait outside here for the next and hope?” He smiled and reached for her hand to lead her across to a small empty anteroom.

Anabel knew she should say no, but her voice seemed to have died, and she went with him silently and allowed him to escort her to a sofa and sit beside her, his arm thrown along its back.

“You look exquisite tonight,” he said softly. “The loveliest woman at the ball.”

This outrageous compliment revived her. “What a plumper. There are dozens of prettier ones.”

“No.”

“Flatterer.” She smiled, but when she met his eyes, they were very serious.