Read Lady Anne's Deception Online
Authors: Marion Chesney
“I told you. It was the servants. They locked me in by mistake.”
“So you did . . . tell me, I mean.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“What on earth gave you that idea, Lady Annie? I believe everything you say.”
Annie bit her lip. They were rolling toward the gates of Hyde Park again. She felt that she somehow
had
to get him to say something intimate. Something she could throw in Marigold’s face.
The day was clouding up, and she shivered slightly in the rising dusty wind.
They stopped in the press of traffic at Hyde Park Corner, and he reached behind her, pulled up a mohair carriage rug, and gently wrapped it about her shoulders. His face was suddenly very close to her own, so she could see the lazy smile on his mouth and the thick eyelashes veiling his eyes.
“Now you should feel warmer.” His voice held a caressing note.
“Thank you,” whispered Annie, feeling gauche and schoolgirlish. Marigold would have said something flirtatious and made the most of the moment. But, all at once, the traffic moved and he took up the reins again.
“Shall you be at the Worthingtons’ ball tonight?” he asked.
“I don’t think so,” said Annie. “My aunt said nothing about what we were to do this evening.”
“Oh, I think you’ll find you’re invited,” he said easily. “Everyone’s going to be there.”
Annie remembered all the gilt-edged invitation cards stuck in the corner of the looking glass in the drawing room. She had not studied them, knowing the names would mean nothing to her. She had another ball gown that should have arrived that morning. It was the same leaf green as her blouse and would turn Marigold’s eyes the same color with envy.
“The Worthingtons are very grand,” he was saying. “Not only are we to have a ball but a fireworks display as well.”
“I hope we’re invited,” said Annie anxiously. “I’ve never seen a fireworks display.”
“What! Not even on Guy Fawkes Night?”
“We don’t celebrate Guy Fawkes in Scotland.”
“No November fifth! What a heathen country. Ah, here we are.” He called to his groom, who ran round and held the horses while the marquess escorted Annie to the door.
“Thank you for a very pleasant drive, my lord,” said Annie shyly.
“My pleasure.” He bent and kissed her gloved hand, smiling into her eyes in a way that left her feeling strangely breathless. Then he turned and climbed back into his carriage, cracked his whip, and moved off as Miss Winter’s butler opened the door.
Annie trailed into the drawing room, unpinning her hat as she did so and feeling strangely flat.
Aunt Agatha came sailing in, looking flustered. “My dear Annie, I have just had a telephone call from your papa, and such news! It appears that Crammarth’s second cousin, the disgraceful one that went to America, has died—he was older than your papa, so one must
not
mourn—and he has left your papa a vast fortune. Just think! Marigold is a wealthy, wealthy heiress. You, too, my dear. But, of course, Marigold’s child will be the heir because, naturally, she will marry first.”
“I might well marry before Marigold,” said Annie.
“Oh, my dear, you are pinning your hopes on the wicked Jasper. Well, I am afraid we were all a bit silly about that. I telephoned that horrid Mrs. Burlington to tell her that Torrance was quite smitten with you, for it seemed as if he must be since he never entertains debutantes, and she said that Torrance had said at the Trevelyns’ ball that you were ‘an amusing little thing.’ Now, I ask you, is that what a man with any serious intentions would say about a girl? And, of course, with a beauty like Marigold around, it’s amazing that he noticed you
at all.
“I didn’t believe her, and said so, but Mrs. Burlington said that Torrance had said that to Bertie Ffrench, so I telephoned Bertie Ffrench. He was maddeningly vague but said, ‘Oh, you mean the gel with the hair like a pillar box? Jasper did say something fatherly.’ So there! You will just need to look around for someone more your weight. I have not forgotten your punishment, so you may finish your lines while I escort Marigold to the Worthingtons’.”
“Why can’t I go to the Worthingtons’?” asked Annie, in a bewildered voice. Her emotions were going up and down like a seesaw. There was so much to assimilate. Papa was very rich, which meant that she, as well as Marigold, must now be considered an heiress. The marquess had said that she was merely an
“amusing little thing.” And she was not to go to the Worthingtons’.
“Well, you see,” said Aunt Agatha, “it was a teensy bit foolish on my part. I was so concerned with finding a husband for Marigold that when Mrs. Worthington told me about the ball, well, I only mentioned Marigold, and it would be too pushing to take you along because it would upset the supper arrangement to have one more, and the Worthingtons are such sticklers. So you see. And you are being punished anyway.”
“It’s just
not
fair,” said Annie, rebelliously.
“On the contrary, it is very fair. Despite your appalling behavior, I allowed you the treat of a drive with Torrance, so you have had quite enough for one day. Now go to your room and don’t let me hear another word!”
When Annie reached her room, she turned the key in the door. Marigold would no doubt be calling shortly to crow over her defeated sister.
Annie paced up and down, up and down. In her mind’s eye, someone, not necessarily the marquess, would propose to Marigold at the Worthingtons’, and she would have to take second place again as she had done all of her young life.
Annie’s very dull and sheltered upbringing had kept her very emotionally immature. First a nanny, and then a governess, who favored Marigold no matter what she did, had made her very bitter toward her sister. She burned with hurt and a desire for revenge. Somehow, she just
had
to get to that ball.
The door handle turned, then stopped. “Let me in!” called Marigold.
“Go away,” said Annie, furiously.
“Oh, you silly cat. You’re just mad because I’m going and you’re not.”
Annie took a deep breath, then said loudly and clearly, “Of course I am furious. I had hoped to be allowed to spend some time with my fiancé.”
“What!”
“You heard me.”
“You can’t mean Torrance. Oh, it’s too stupid. You’re such a liar. I’m going to tell Auntie.”
Marigold’s footsteps could be heard retreating rapidly down the corridor. Annie slowly went over and unlocked the door. She had just told one terrible lie. And, somehow, she knew all at once that she was going to go on telling it.
Aunt Agatha opened the door and walked into the room. “Now, what’s all this tarradiddle, Annie?”
“Send her away first,” said Annie grimly, pointing to Marigold, who was hovering in the doorway.
“Oh, very well, but if this is another of your . . . Go away, Marigold. Now, Annie!”
“Well, he did propose to me,” said Annie defiantly. “I didn’t tell you because he said he would be writing to Papa and that he would be calling to see you tomorrow.”
Aunt Agatha sank into a chair and stared at Annie with a bewildered look on her face. “One would almost think you were telling the truth,” she said slowly.
“I am,” said Annie, “and if you don’t believe me, well, there’s an easy way to find out.”
“Which is . . . ?”
“Why, telephone him,” said Annie, sending up a silent prayer that her aunt would react as she expected her to.
“No. I couldn’t possibly do that. It would be questioning his honor. If you are lying, then it would make a terrible fool of me. And if you are not, then he would think me extremely rude.”
“In that case,” said Annie, trying to keep her voice level, “do you not think that the best idea would be to take me with you to the Worthingtons’? Jasper said he was looking forward to dancing with me.”
“Oh, very well. I shall telephone Mrs. Worthington and tell her to expect an extra guest. I shall say nothing to Torrance unless he chooses to speak to me. But if he ignores you, if his manner proves that he has not the slightest interest in you, then you will be sent home.”
With that, Aunt Agatha left the room, leaving Annie in a misery of anxiety. To follow her aunt and apologize, to say that she had made the whole thing up, would mean that she would be sent back to Scotland anyway.
Even the sight of her new green ball gown spread out on the bed did nothing to allay her fears.
* * *
“Of all the awful lies,” she whispered. “Won’t it be fun seeing Torrance’s face when I tell him.”
“You won’t,” said Annie, hopefully. “Aunt will stop you.”
“So it
is
a lie,” hissed Marigold, as the steps to the carriage were let down.
“If you choose to think so, then that is your affair,” retorted Annie, in what she hoped was a chilling voice.
“Please let him not be there,” she prayed as the carriage bore them inexorably nearer to the Worthingtons’.
The Worthingtons lived in a large mansion in Princes Gate, so the drive, unfortunately for poor Annie, was very short.
Again the red carpet, the canopy, the police, the stairs, and the hostess. Again the gentlemen bowing and scribbling their names in her card. Again Mr. Russell with his moustache and sideburns begging her for the supper dance.
“I’m surprised you didn’t try to keep a dance for your fiancé.” Marigold tittered from behind her fan.
“I did,” said Annie defiantly. “The last. That’s the one he asked me to keep.”
(“Please, oh
please,
don’t let him come.”)
Aunt Agatha leaned across Marigold and addressed Annie in a threatening whisper, “Mind, young lady.
No engagement, and back to Scotland you go. Oh, I just
know
you’re lying. Why did I ever listen to you? Why can’t you be more like your sister?”
“Who wants to be like
her
?” muttered Annie, but Miss Winter mercifully did not hear, and Annie’s partner approached to claim her for the first dance.
Of course, the marquess would have to arrive just as she was beginning to relax. Just as she was beginning to enjoy herself. Please let him not speak to Marigold or Auntie!
Then Annie stumbled and fell over her partner’s feet. “I must go,” she blurted. “I have to tell my aunt something important.” For the marquess was heading straight for Aunt Agatha.
Annie managed to get there at the same time. Under the cover of her fan, she winked and grimaced at him desperately. He raised his eyebrows slightly but turned away from Annie and bowed over Aunt Agatha’s hand.
“My dear Lord Torrance,” said Aunt Agatha, with a grim edge to her voice. “I must thank you for entertaining Lady Annie this afternoon.”
“Not at all. The pleasure was mine entirely,” he murmured.
“I gather you had a very interesting conversation,” pursued Aunt Agatha.
“Quite,” said the marquess, at his most urbane.
Annie heaved a sigh of relief. Now if she could get him alone and ask him to help her out of this jam!
Oh, no! Marigold.
That young lady came tripping up on the arm of her partner. Annie closed her eyes.
“Lord Torrance!” cried Marigold, all false innocence. “My congratulations! Our little Annie has achieved the first engagement of the Season. When is the wedding to be?”
There was a heavy silence. Annie closed her eyes tighter.
They flew open at the sound of the marquess’s amused, lazy drawl. “Oh, I think in about a month’s time.
Neither Annie nor myself believe in long engagements.”
He turned to Annie who, by this time, was chalk white, and took her hand in his.
“You are a naughty puss, Annie,” he said playfully. “You are supposed to wait for your father’s permission before you tell anyone. I shall call on you tomorrow, Miss Winter, to formally request
your
permission as a start.”
“Delighted,” said Aunt Agatha faintly.
“Now, Annie,” said the marquess, giving her limp hand a little shake. “Let me see your dance card. Who has the supper dance? Russell. Ah, well, he will let me have it now that he knows I have prior claim.
There you are, Russell. You must really let me have this dance, old chap. You see, Lady Annie is engaged to me. You shouldn’t all stand with your mouths open like that. I had a friend who kept doing that and do you know what happened to him?” He smiled benignly at his stunned audience.
“Well, one day, a blooming great wasp flew right into his mouth and stung him right in the back of the throat, and he nearly choked to death. Come along, Annie. The music’s started.”
Annie placed her hand on his arm, and he walked off with her to the center of the floor.
Somewhere behind them, Marigold began to scream.
At first the Earl and Countess of Crammarth were worried about the shortness of their younger daughter’s engagement. Such speed was open to misinterpretation. They had traveled to London as soon as they had heard the news.
But the fact that their daughter had hooked the catch of London society was not to be overlooked. The marquess was all that was reassuring. And so they agreed to the early wedding.
Perhaps Annie would have called the whole thing off if she had been left alone in her fiancé’s company.
Perhaps she would have realized the danger of getting married simply for revenge. But no sooner had he won her parents’ approval than he had taken himself off to France “on business,” promising to return only the day before the wedding.
Also, revenge on Marigold was terribly sweet. Now Annie was the fêted and petted one. And so she went headlong toward her marriage to a man she did not know in the slightest and had not even kissed.
Annie had been deprived of affection and attention for as long as she could remember. She luxuriated in it now; she basked in it.
Marigold did all she could to puncture Annie’s balloon of happiness.
“He’s a masher,” said Marigold, triumphantly. “And there’re a lot of rumors around that he’s short of money, and it’s well known that his father expects him to support himself. He must have jumped at the chance when you threw yourself at his head. It was all around the ball as soon as we arrived that we were heiresses. Aunt Agatha told Mrs. Worthington on the telephone when she rang her to say that you were coming, and Mrs. Worthington told everyone else. You poor, deluded little thing! Think of all the mistresses he’s had!”