Edith Layton (14 page)

“We all look fine as fivepence,” their mother agreed. She wore a filmy violet gown and matching violet turban. “But now we must go. Camille and I shall go with Bernard in the coach. Annabelle and Miles can take the smaller carriage. It’s warmer.”

“It’s summertime,” Miles said patiently. “We can all ride together.”

Annabelle was sorry that they did. Not because of the warmth, but because of what her mother-in-law said as they approached the squire’s house.

“You look very well, but this will be a debut,” Alyce said as they drove through the squire’s gates. “And so I caution you to not take anything you overhear to heart. People can be offhand, even cruel, with strangers.”

“I may look better than I ever have, but I’ve lived here all my life, Mama!” Camille yelped.

“Not you, dear. Our Annabelle,” Alyce said, peering out the window at the flaming torches set along the drive. “Oh. We are here.”

She was very good at saying things at moments when she couldn’t be rebutted, Annabelle thought bitterly as the coach came to a stop. Annabelle was almost sure her looks were returning, and she knew her strength and determination were coming back. Her strength because of the passage of time, proper diet, and exercise. Her determination because she was committed to proving her mother-in-law wrong. She would recover; she would be herself again one day no matter what the woman said.

It wasn’t that Alyce said anything overtly wrong, only that all her gentle, concerned inquiries were constant and badly timed. They only served to remind Annabelle, and Miles, of her recent illness, as though it were a shame she had to live down. And no matter how gentle or concerned the inquiries, Annabelle still couldn’t tell if Alyce was saying and doing what she said and did with exactly that in mind. No, she corrected herself, she did know. The truth was that for all her obvious solicitude, her new mother-in-law didn’t like her. There was no real warmth in her eyes when they met. There was nothing but plati
tudes and commonplace whenever she spoke to Annabelle.

But Annabelle didn’t know how to change her mother-in-law’s attitude. Her own mother could…No, her own mother would only get protective and angry and make matters worse. But it didn’t matter, not really, she told herself. She was almost better, so she’d be back in London soon, where she’d not only have her own mama, she’d have all London at her feet again.

The squire’s house was decked out for his daughter’s party. Local lads dressed as footmen augmented the usual staff, the ballroom was brimming with flowers, musicians had been hired, a myriad of candles burned everywhere—and not a one of them tallow, boasted the squire as he greeted his guests at the door.

“My Lord Pelham! Greetings and welcome,” the squire said as they entered his house. “And Alyce, you never looked lovelier,” he said as he took her hand and bowed over it. “Bernard, you dog!” he caroled as he saw the young man. “Look at you, dressed to the nines. No!” he gasped, pretending to fall back. “That’s not our Camille, is it? Kissed by the Fairy King, were you? You look magnificent, that’s all there is to it. Magnificent, ain’t she, Sally?” he asked his daughter.

Sally and Camille immediately fell to complimenting each other, as Alyce stood watching the
girls fondly. Bernard peered into the ballroom to see who was there. Miles and Annabelle stood where they were.

“Now where’s that beauty you married, my lord?” the squire asked as he squinted at the arriving guests. “Don’t tell me you didn’t bring your bride? Or is she home because she’s already increasing? My Martha was always sick whenever she was about to pup, couldn’t set toe out the door for the whole nine months. Fast work, my lord. But can’t blame you, I heard she was a diamond of the first water, a real stunner.”

“And here is my wife, Annabelle, Lady Pelham,” Miles said through clenched teeth.

“Oh,” the squire said, his broad face turning redder as he looked at Annabelle. “Didn’t see you there, my lady. Getting blind as a bat. I need spectacles and that’s a fact,” he muttered, as his face grew redder. He bowed to her. “Honored to meet you, and welcome to the district. I hope we’ll see more of you. The gossip was right, you are lovely. Please, come in and join our party.”

Annabelle stepped forward into the hall, glad she had her husband’s arm to hold on to, because she couldn’t feel her feet. She was numbed. Their host hadn’t seen her because he hadn’t noticed her, or if he had, hadn’t believed she was the woman Miles had married.

But then, Annabelle realized with sorrow, she wasn’t, was she?

T
he guests danced. First country sets and squares, then minuets, then polkas. The squire’s guests kept moving, twirling, prancing, treading stately measures, flinging themselves about with happy abandon. Unlike London soirées, everyone took a turn dancing: old, young, even the aged and lame, chaperones and companions, and poor relatives who acted as servants. All except for the servants themselves and the infirm. And Lady Pelham and her husband.

“Are you feeling well? Do you want to go home?” Miles asked after Annabelle refused to join him in yet another dance.

They sat in chairs at the side of the room and watched the others as they’d done since they arrived.

“I’m fine,” she said firmly, “nor should we leave. Your mama’s gone off somewhere because she knows we’re here and can look after Camille.”

“That is odd,” Miles murmured, frowning as he scanned the room. “It’s not like her to gossip or play cards as so many ladies do at these country affairs. She doesn’t fraternize with the locals, just usually watches Camille like a hawk.”

“Ah, but she knows she has two eagle-eyed hawks to replace her,” Annabelle said, and won his attention back, along with a smile. “Speaking of which,” she whispered, “look over there. Your brother hasn’t taken his eyes off that pretty girl in yellow. He can’t slouch against the wall all night, so surely he’ll work up the courage to ask her to dance soon. And just look at Camille! Oh, Miles, why didn’t you tell me? She doesn’t need my help, or anyone’s. She’s the most popular girl I’ve ever seen!”

They both looked to where Camille was romping to a polka in the arms of a gangly youth. Her hair was coming down in tendrils across her flushed face, and that shiny, beaming face was very red. She hadn’t stopped dancing since she’d arrived, and there were a cluster of young men waiting for the polka to be over to take their turn partnering her.

“She’s popular,” he said. “I never said not. That’s part of the problem. She’s as amiable as she is honest, and Mama is terrified that she’ll settle for less than she can get. Mama wants her to find a
better—meaning richer and more highly placed—husband than she can hereabouts. She may, but I don’t want her spirits ruined by London cats in the process. My sister needs someone to show her how to be spirited without running the risk of being called wild or hurly-burly by jealous mamas. And they will be jealous. Men flock to my sister.”

Annabelle nodded. She’d met girls like that before, or rather, seen them, as she’d never gotten to know any. First, because she hadn’t had time for them. And secondly because they generally were only on the town one Season before they were married off. None had been incomparables. In fact, some had been downright homely. But they’d all had something indescribable that made men mad for them. Camille, with her open, easy ways, was such a female. Perhaps, Annabelle thought now, that was part of it. She’d never known a more candid, friendly, kind girl than Camille. Maybe some men valued that as much as a woman’s appearance.

Miles watched his wife’s face, taking more pleasure in doing so than he had for weeks. She was coming back. Annabelle was no longer a great beauty, that was true. She’d been like a magnificent painting before, all sumptuous colors, textures, and shapes that drew the eye. Now she could be compared to a sketch, a portrait dashed off by a master that showed only the essentials of beauty and left the rest to the imagination.

And then there were those eyes. It wasn’t just their startling color that made them unique. Now that the rest of her had been toned down, Miles could see the emotions and intelligence that made those azure eyes so fascinating.

He didn’t lust for her anymore, but felt fiercely protective instead. Her sharp edges had been blunted by her illness. She’d never been sharp or cruel to him, but she’d been perhaps brittle. He thought she’d grow more mellow in time, but this new Annabelle was tamed. He wasn’t pleased about that. Being tamed and being beaten were too closely allied for his taste—he wanted to see the proud woman he’d married. He didn’t care if she was as beautiful as she’d been; nothing remained perfect. He could be happy with less than that, but he wanted to see her happy too.

“Belle?” he asked as he rose to his feet. “Will you honor me with this dance?”

She looked up, doubt clear in those remarkable eyes.

“It’s time,” he said. “Dance or go home. Yes, I’m a tyrant, but they’re playing a waltz so you can hold on to me if you get dizzy. I’d like to dance with my wife, if you please.” He held out his hand.

She took it.

The dancers made way for the new couple who joined their ranks. Word had gotten out as to who they were. And if there were whispers about the
great beauty who’d turned out to be just a small, pale, ordinary-looking woman, the look on her husband’s face stilled those whispers, at least those within his range of hearing.

The waltz played on, and Annabelle danced with Miles. She found him a wonderful partner, attuned to the music as well as her needs. She’d danced with him before. But then she’d been too busy craning her neck to see who was watching her, or pretending she didn’t notice who was watching her, to take special notice of her partner.

Now he was her anchor and her safe harbor, and she paid no attention to anyone but him. As he paid no attention to anything but his wife. They turned and spun, following the music as he smiled down at her, making her feel real and alive again.

The musicians picked up the beat, and Annabelle flung back her head and laughed aloud as they picked up their pace too. The room whirled around her, she grinned up at her husband…and almost missed her step because of the look on his face.

“I think,” he said as he began to steer her to the edge of the dance floor, “that we should stop and catch our breath.”

“But I’m feeling fine!”

“So you are, and so you should, but I believe you need time to…adjust.”

She obeyed, for she had little choice, as he was
moving quickly from the dance and out past the ring of spectators. But she was building up to a fine hot anger as he led her to the back of the room. There, far from the bright glow of the chandeliers, she finally looked up at him to give him a piece of her mind. Then she saw his expression clear.

“What?” she said in alarm, her petulance forgotten. “What is it?” She glanced around. “Something wrong with Camille? Your mama? Bernard?”

She’d surprised many expressions on his face before: dismay, worry, and pity. But never a combination of all three. “Belle,” he said gently, “your hat…or whatever you call it…has slipped. Along with your hair.”

He hands flew to her head. She felt the slippery fabric of her toque and gasped. It had slipped. Now the fringes of black curls that had been over her forehead were listing toward her right ear; the curls that had been peeping out by that ear were almost resting on her shoulder. She touched the other side of her head and felt her own tightly curled stubble of hair, and knew it could be seen. She hurriedly yanked the satin cap back into place, but it must have been too far because she stopped when she saw Miles face. He seemed to be struggling with laughter and dismay.

“You’ll have to be my looking glass,” she said tersely. “I can’t go to the ladies’ retiring room. I
will not march through a crowd with my head on backward.”

But then she saw his lips quirk, and despite her distress it suddenly all seemed too funny. “Oh Lord!” she said between gusts of laughter she tried to stifle, “It must look like my head’s coming off!”

“No. Only like your scalp is moving. Don’t worry. Half the people here once shaved their heads so they could wear wigs, so even if they saw you they’d be used to it. Now, instead of using my eyes as mirrors, which I’d enjoy but might not work, would you trust me to do the honors?”

She lowered her head. He raised his hands.

“Oh, there you are,” a voice suddenly cried.

Annabelle’s head shot up. Her mother-in-law came up to them, trailing a group of people. “Annabelle, guess what?” she trilled. “Here are some of your friends! I thought I saw you leave the dance so I brought them here.”

Five well-dressed people stood staring at Annabelle. Five people Annabelle hadn’t expected to ever see in the countryside and hadn’t seen since her wedding day. Tall, languid, elegant Drum, the Earl of Drummond, and his wife. The blond giant, Eric Ford. And Damon. Incredibly handsome Damon Ryder, and his equally striking wife. All wore matching expressions of shock, which they quickly tried to stifle. The women were having trouble not looking appalled and
sympathetic, the gentlemen were trying to school their faces to resemble mere polite welcomes.

Annabelle froze. Since she’d been sick she’d had nightmares in which she appeared in public to find people staring at her, and she’d been overjoyed, until she noticed she had no clothes on. Then the hot rush of shame and humiliation would wake her. She’d thought that was the work of fever. This was worse. She couldn’t wake up.

Damon? Her first and perhaps only love? And sardonic, clever Drum? And both their lovely, lovely wives. And handsome Eric Ford, who’d once upon a time deceived her by pretending to be attracted to her in order to save his sister’s husband from her attentions?

They were all worldly and sophisticated people, but even so they stood silent, obviously unable to know what to say to this creature who’d once been the Lady Annabelle, the most beautiful woman in London.

“We can come back later,” the Earl of Drummond said gently.

“Yes!” Gillian Ryder, the blond beauty who had married Damon, said too brightly. She turned her head, “Why, listen! They’ve struck up a polka. My favorite. Come along, Damon.”

Since the lady was enceinte and would hardly dance a polka, a shocked silence followed her hastily improvised attempt to give Annabelle some privacy. It was broken by Alyce’s cry of dismay.

“Oh my!” Alyce gasped, her hand fluttering to her lips, “Poor Annabelle. Your hair! Or rather what happened to your pretty toque. Oh what a shame, for it disguised everything so well.” She raised her eyes to her son. “I didn’t know why you two went off alone. But I so wanted to surprise Annabelle with her friends, so I followed. I knew the earl’s estate was nearby and could only hope that he’d come to the squire’s party tonight. I was delighted to see him, and then to find his houseguests also knew her! I was so elated I couldn’t wait. I ought to have, I see it now! Annabelle surely didn’t want to be seen in such a state. Can you forgive me, my dear?”

“It’s all right, Mama,” Miles said patiently, because his mother was now wringing her hands.

“No, it isn’t,” she declared, “We must give Annabelle time to restore herself. We’ll just go now.”

“No,” Annabelle said, taking in a deep breath. “Good evening,” she said calmly, dipping a short curtsy to the new arrivals. When she rose, Miles put his arm around her shoulders, and stood close. She knew he was the only one who could feel her trembling, so she faced the others with as bright a smile as she could muster.

“Yes, as you see,” she told them, “you’ve caught me at a bit of a disadvantage. But there’s no need to run away. I’ve been ill, and the devil is in it, but when I was at my worst, they cropped
my hair to fight the fever.” She put a hand to her errant cap. “Now look at me! Or rather, don’t! I’m not exactly bald as a newborn babe but it’s not attractive, unless you fancy the look of shorn sheep.” She slid a glance at Miles and added, “Some do, but it isn’t quite the style.” Then she turned back to the company. “Whatever was done to my hair, they didn’t cut my tongue, and I haven’t seen any of you since my wedding. So please don’t rush away. How are you?”

Miles looked down at her with a proud and tender smile.

Damon’s wife, Gilly, beamed. “Bravo!” she cried, “You’ve got bottom, my lady. But, you know, you wear that cap so well I thought you’d shaved the lot off to start a new rage. Damme if you couldn’t do it too!”

The others laughed. “Gilly!” her husband said, shaking his head, ‘You’re the only female I know who could cause a scandal trying to scotch one. But she’s right, Annabelle. That blue cap looks very well on you.”

“Even crooked?” Annabelle asked. She still smiled, but her jaw ached because her facial muscles were so tight.

“Especially crooked,” the earl said. “Trust Lady Annabelle to start a new fad,” he told his wife.

Annabelle’s eyes slued to his countess. She had once vied with the woman for the earl, and lost, in what seemed so long ago as to have been another
life. But after all, Annabelle realized, trying to subdue a hysterical laugh, she’d tried for each of these men and made a fool of herself each time, hadn’t she? That made this hideous moment simple by comparison.

But it wasn’t that hideous, after all.

“The headdress isn’t meant to be crooked,” Miles explained, “I set it askew with my enthusiastic waltzing. Once I saw my mistake I led my bride away to a nice dark corner so we could adjust it. I’d hoped it would look like we were trying to be alone,” he said with a glance at his mother. “We are newly wed, you know. Well, actually, I was going to try to take advantage of that too,” he added in mock complaint to make them laugh again. “But I was finally trying to straighten it when you came along. As you can see, I’m ham-handed and made it worse.”

Drum’s lady tipped her head to the side and looked at Annabelle, “Your own hair is lovely and curly, if short, my lady. I think you could dispense with that toque in a few weeks. In the meanwhile, would you like me to set it straight?”

“A good idea,” Gilly declared. “I’ll help. Eric, if you stand in front of us, no one will see.”

“If he stands in front,” the earl remarked dryly, “no one will see if we build a barn.”

His lady exchanged a merry look with him as the others laughed.

“Absolutely,” Eric said, bowing. “I’m delighted
to be of service. I always wished to be of service to you,” he told Annabelle sincerely. “So, if you’ll pardon my back? I’ll just turn around so I can divert the curious while I’m using myself to best effect. You always did want to see the back of me, didn’t you?”

Annabelle nodded, trying to smile as the others were doing, fighting back the damnably easy tears she’d been plagued with since her illness. These people had seen her at her worst and were being kindness itself. But what was making her want to weep was the sudden realization that though they had indeed seen her at her worst, and not only once, this moment was not one of those times, after all.