The Lord Who Sneered and Other Tales (2 page)

“My cousin’s wife is certainly a force with which to be reckoned,” he said with a self-conscious
adjustment to his crisp, white cravat. “My parents, Mr. and Mrs. Williams, christened me Theodore, but my mother has called me Theo since I was in short coats.” With that revelation, he seemed to relax and turned to favor her with a small smile.

“Which begs the question, why ‘Willy’ when you might have been called ‘Teddy’ any day of the week?” Anne quizzed.

“I’m afraid the responsibility for that must be laid at the door of family tradition,” he replied with a more natural smile that lit his entire face.

“I see,” Anne replied, more than a little dazzled by the sweetness of his expression. “Do tell of your family. I am aware that you are Lord Avery’s cousin, though not a Haversham.”

“My beloved mother is the half sister of my cousin, the Earl. As for myself, I possess no title with which to encumber my name.”

“Nor do I. That is, to say, my husband, the Dowager Duchess’ grandson, was heir to his father, the Duke. Now the new babe has all the titles my husband once bore, and I am left with little but a place at the table. I suppose one might rightfully refer to me as Lady Crenshaw, but we already have one of those in the neighborhood and I refuse to countenance ‘the Dowager Countess’ for a single moment.”

Mr. Williams cocked his head and looked at her as if for the first time. “You are a widow, then, Mrs. Crenshaw,” he remarked, gently.

“Just above a year,” she replied, his kindness inducing a fluttering in her heart she thought she should never feel again.

He reached his hand across the table between them almost as if he dared to take her hand, but he seemed to think better of it and pulled it back. “May I offer you my most sincere condolences?”

“Thank you, Mr. Williams.” She felt unsure of, and a little breathless, at the direction their conversation was leading. “You are very kind. I think perhaps you are not unacquainted with grief?”

“Not of such a personal nature,” he replied, revealing nary a clue as to his own marital status.

Anne took herself to task for so much as wondering if he had a wife tucked away at home even as she noted how far from accurate Lady Avery’s description of her cousin had been. Not only was he not in the least ancient, he was, in fact, still a young man, though certainly old enough to have been married for some time. Anne might have pressed him further, but it was at this moment the maid entered the room with the tea cart, prompting Mr. Williams to rise to his feet in order that the cart should be placed between himself and the Dowager Duchess without his knees posing a hazard to the operation.

“I shall just move my chair back a bit,” he suggested.

As he did so, Anne observed how the Dowager was awakened by the small commotion in the room. She, however, said not a word. Anne hoped that the Dowager’s reticence to speak was not a sign that she should choose to have Mr. Williams removed from the premises. Yet, once they had filled their plates, Anne was pleased that the Dowager remained silent as it allowed her presence to be almost entirely forgotten. As such, Anne and Mr. Williams were afforded the freedom to converse without the Dowager’s usual quenching remarks.

Just as Anne was entertaining thoughts of supreme contentment in her tea-time companion, the Dowager stirred, leaving Anne in some anxiety as to just how long her grandmama had been awake.

“I believe, Mr. Williams, that you require an evening suit,” the Dowager remarked. “I shall send a footman to the Abbey to fetch yours here before time to dress for dinner.”

“That is most kind of you, Your Grace,” Mr. Williams replied. “If it does not prove inconvenient, I should like to have the rest of my things retrieved, as well.”

Anne held back a gasp at his daring but, to her great astonishment, heard herself add her request to his own. “Yes, Grandmama, I do believe we should very much enjoy Mr. Williams’ company for as long as it is tenable. That is to say, should he desire to stay,” she added hopefully.

“Very well, then,” the Dowager said as she rose to her feet. “I shall have all of your things brought if that is what you wish, Mr. Williams.”

“I assure you that it is,” Mr. Williams replied as he also rose to his feet and favored the Dowager with an exquisite bow.

Anne, delighted at how well her visit to Dunsmere was proceeding, remained seated in veiled observation of the increasingly attractive Mr. Williams until she was roused from her woolgathering by a deep “harrumph” from the Dowager.

“Roxanne, I do believe you are wanted elsewhere.”

“Yes, of course, Grandmama,” she said as she rose to her feet. As she followed the Dowager from the room, and up the stairs, she suddenly felt it quite appropriate to put off her widow’s weeds and don colors, forthwith. A dark blue for dinner would surely be acceptable and not in the least disrespectful towards the memory of her dead husband. However, she had precious little else but black gowns with her. Confounded at her own audacity at the very idea, Anne drew alongside the Dowager and spoke without having first been addressed.

“Grandmama, I do believe you are most correct with regard to putting off my blacks. I should like to do as you suggest but haven’t but one or two gowns other than mourning in my trunks. Might a footman be sent for the rest of my wardrobe, as well?”

“Don’t be a fool, Roxanne; those gowns are nearly two years out of fashion. I shall send for my mantua maker and have you measured for a new wardrobe tomorrow morning.”

Anne might have argued. Indeed, she should have; the expense would be enormous and she was not the responsibility of her husband’s grandmama. Yet, however much she wished to resist, she knew it pointless to try. Instead, she allowed herself a moment of private glee before expressing her gratitude to the Dowager for her tremendous generosity.

“There is no need to thank me, Roxanne. Did I not say that it was time to forge a new life for yourself?”

“Yes, Grandmama, you did, but I had never expected…”

“Of course you had not! Nor had you expected to be a widow at such a young age, I surmise,
but here you are. Now!” she continued on despite Anne’s attempts to speak, “it is my intention to hold a ball. The one I arranged at Christmas-last served to remind me how very much I enjoy such affairs. You shall have a gown made up expressly for my first ever Harvest Ball, one of periwinkle, I think, to match the unusual shade of your eyes. I am persuaded I have never seen another pair like them. Naturally you shall wear my
parure
of amethysts as they will set off your eyes to perfection!”

“But, you must not, Grandmama. They are much too fine for me.”

“Nothing is too fine for any relation of mine. You must remember that, Roxanne,” the Dowager said as she paused in front of her chamber door and looked at her grandson’s widow for the first time during the course of their conversation. “Yes, I am persuaded I am absolutely correct about the amethysts. It isn’t as if I shall ever again have occasion to wear them.”

“If you insist, I shall wear them, and gladly,” Anne said meekly. “And, I must agree, a ball should be lovely. It shall give me plenty to do in helping with preparations. I only wonder if perhaps the sudden commitment of our resources might not be at the expense of Mr. Williams.”

The Dowager looked down her nose at Anne; a preposterous feat at best considering how petite the old lady was in comparison to Anne’s more than average height. “As to Mr. Williams, we shall see.”

Anne knew this pronouncement to be her dismissal. After bobbing a curtsy, she turned down the passage towards her own room and wondered which chamber the Dowager would give Mr. Williams should she allow him to stay, then blushed at such temerity as to entertain thoughts so inappropriate. With a sigh, she entered her room and laid down on her bed to rest before dinner. However, the novelty of wearing colors again filled her once again with glee, making sleep impossible until, quite without warning, the face of her husband rose into her mind.

Assailed by a wave of guilt, she thought perhaps it
was
wrong to think of giving up her formal mourning quite so soon. Resolved to speak to the Dowager about it directly after dinner, Anne slipped into slumber and dreamt of a blanket of purple crocus blooming amongst a field of snow.

She woke refreshed and feeling more hopeful than she had in many a year. With fingers that trembled a bit with anticipation, she donned the dark blue dress but regretted that it was still so close to black as to make little difference. It was then she remembered that she had with her the peacock colored shawl given her by her husband shortly before he died and which she had never worn. She hadn’t intended on wearing it during her stay at Dunsmere but had been so delighted by its beauty when first she drew it forth from its tissue that she could not bear to leave it behind.

Determined to begin anew, she draped the bright paisley-patterned shawl around her shoulders and opened the door to find a maid with her fist raised as if she were about to knock.

“Oh! Beggin’ your pardon, Missus, but Her Grace has sent me to do up your hair.”

Anne had rarely bothered to seek help in arranging her long, golden locks; her hair required little artifice or ornamentation and she was able to accomplish simple styles with ease. “That will be lovely, however, if you are needed elsewhere, I am most content to leave it be.”

“Your hair is beautiful if you pardon me sayin’ so, Missus,” the maid said as she entered the room and shut the door behind her. “But, there’s nothing I should like better than to make it shine!”

“Well, then,” Anne replied as she sat herself at the dressing table, “I shall enjoy watching you.” In the end, Anne was absolutely fascinated with the efforts of the maid who divided a simple twisted bun into a convoluted style of curls, braids and tendrils of gold that took Anne’s breath away. As she gazed at her reflection in the mirror, she felt as if her new life had well and truly begun.

Chapter Two

After a week as a guest at Dunsmere, Mr. Theodore Williams was beginning to feel a bit like Scheherazade. Each evening, as he had bid the ladies good night, he had been awarded the gift of another twenty-four hour stay by the formidable Dowager Duchess. He would have long ago taken himself off through one means or another if it weren’t for the lovely and gracious Mrs. Anne Crenshaw.
He had known her to be lovely the moment he first laid eyes on her. He had known her to be gracious after ten minutes spent in her company. However, he hadn’t known her to be the most compelling woman he had had the good fortune to meet until she had come down for dinner that first night, her hair like spun gold and her eyes glowing with an inner fire that had somehow before gone unnoticed.

From that moment on, he desired nothing more than to be near her. Whether they were cataloging the roses in order to know better which bushes should be in bloom on the day of the ball, writing out place cards for seating arrangements at supper, or assisting the maids with the polishing of the silver, it was all pure contentment if he were by her side.

It required two whole days before he had enough confidence to suggest they take out the horses for a ride through the park of a morning. After three, he dared to hope Anne might accompany him into the village to shop and visit the circulating library once he had charmed the Dowager into the loan of her carriage and team. It was five days before he felt it appropriate to invite Anne to walk with him through the gardens for a spell after tea, something with which she agreed to with an alacrity that pleased him to no end.

When he considered the minutes and hours they spent together, they seemed to be filled with sunshine and laughter. However, there were long stretches of time during which he had only his thoughts to keep him company. These were sad times, indeed. Especially difficult was the day of the ball as Anne was far too busy to spend even a moment with Theo, a circumstance that felt particularly cruel as he was persuaded it would be his last at Dunsmere.

“I am so sorry, Mr. Williams,” she said at breakfast, a meal they took together each day while the Dowager had her roll and hot chocolate in her room. “I am afraid there is no time for a ride today. There is just too much to be done in preparation for tonight.”

“I am at your service, as ever, Mrs. Crenshaw. You are already fully aware that I am a dab hand at writing out invitations.”

“Yes, of course you are, and it is so very kind of you to wish to help, but all the invitations have
been written long since and all that remains is women’s work.”

“You wound me!” he said with a smile that thoroughly belied his words. “Do you mean to imply that polishing silver and writing place cards is the sole province of men?”

She laughed, a delightful sound that never failed to inspire him to consider how he might inspire more.

“You try my patience, Mr. Williams! You may rest assured that were I to embark on any task today at which you might be useful, I should most certainly request your aid.”

“In that case I shall await word from you with bated breath,” he said with another smile, this one designed to bend her to his will.

“Now, now, Mr. Williams,” she said as she rose to her feet, “I should not if I were you. I am perfectly honest when I say that you have naught to do today but wait until the ball. I assure you it shall be worth your tolerance.”

Theo rose to his feet, as well, and allowed himself the indulgence of openly observing her as she turned away and walked from the room. He thought, not for the first time, how very different Anne Crenshaw was from the other women he had met. She did not seem bent on attracting him, though she did exactly that with every word and movement, nor did she did speak ill of others in spite of sharing a roof with a veritable diamond mine of inspiration in the Dowager Duchess. Finally, despite her lowered circumstances following the death of her husband, she bore an aura of good will that could not help but lift all in her orbit.

In point of fact, she seemed the sun to which all others were drawn and circled about in perfect amity. His time in the sun required he wait until the ball, however, so he borrowed a steed from Dunsmere’s excellent stables and took himself off for the better part of the day. Upon his return, he was struck by how much he missed the warm welcome Mrs. Crenshaw offered whenever he re-entered the house. Realizing she was a woman of her word, he accepted that he should have no glimpse of her until the ball and spent the remainder of the afternoon in his room.