Nicola Cornick (8 page)

This time, the heads turned as she came into the ballroom, and it was a new and entirely enjoyable experience. In a determined effort to look her best, Annabella had dug an old dress of purple taffeta out of a chest, had stripped it of all frills and furbelows, had sponged it down and made it look quite acceptable. It had originally been made for her before her marriage, and the effect had been far too sophisticated for a young girl. Now it was eminently suited to a widow, albeit one of only twenty-one. Joan, Lady St Auby’s maid, had cleverly turned one of the frills into a matching headband, and had arranged Annabella’s honeyed curls to tumble in barely restrained profusion about her heart-shaped face. Her green eyes glowed with pleasure and for the first time she thought she might be almost beautiful.

The party from Mundell had yet to arrive, but Annabella danced with Julius Oakston and several other young men who eagerly solicited her hand, and chatted to Eleanor, who was anxious to tell her about her recent visit to the spa at Bath. There was also other,
less congenial company about. When Annabella went out on to the balcony for some fresh air, she was cornered by George Jeffries.

‘The divine Annabella! Too far above my touch now, are you not, my love!’ He swayed a little, and Annabella realised with apprehension that he was already drunk. Although they were within easy call of the ballroom, it would be embarrassing in the extreme to have to summon help. Beyond the billowing curtains, she could see dancing couples circling the floor. They could have been several thousand miles away for all the help it gave her. She could smell the wine on Jeffries’s breath as he came closer, put up a hand to paw her arm. His grey eyes were narrowed with the intentness of the very inebriated. He was having enough difficulty just standing up.

‘Go home, sir,’ Annabella said wearily. ‘You are drunk and I have no wish for your company.’

‘S’ what I’m saying…’ Jeffries caught her arm as he lurched forwards, forcing his face close to hers. ‘No time for your old friends now! Out with the old and in with the new! But do they know the things I could tell them, eh? Things Francis let slip…’ The cunning expression on his thin face made Annabella feel sick.

‘Francis was forever talking in his cups, just as you are now, sir,’ she said coldly.

‘S’ true I’m a little foxed…’ Jeffries tried to smile engagingly. ‘Fra-Francis told me all about the time he—’

‘I am persuaded that the lady does not wish to hear your squalid gossip, sir!’ Sir William Weston, looking awesomely authoritative in his immaculate evening
attire, had stepped out on to the balcony and had had the presence of mind to pull the curtain to behind him. His contemptuous gaze raked Jeffries, who had staggered backwards with an oath.

‘Weston!’

‘You have the advantage of me, sir,’ Sir William said silkily. ‘I shall not, however, press for an introduction! Now, take yourself off!’

He watched without comment as Jeffries, still swearing under his breath, slipped back into the ballroom and disappeared from view. ‘Foolish young puppy,’ he said without emotion, turning back to Annabella. ‘I hope that he did not upset you, Mrs St Auby?’

‘Oh, no.’ Annabella was feeling rather foolish. First he had found her with Lady St Auby tipping dirty water over her, and now he had had to rescue her from the undignified scene with Jeffries! He was scarcely seeing her at her best!

‘Then perhaps we should step inside. Your absence from the room will be missed if you spend much more time out here.’

‘You always seem to be saving me from the consequences of my own folly, sir,’ Annabella said, as he held the curtain aside for her to re-enter the ballroom and took her arm to guide her around the set of dancers that was just forming.

‘How so?’ Weston slanted a look at her. ‘You can hardly blame yourself for the discourtesy of others, Mrs St Auby, be they your mother-in-law or that foolish young cub! But perhaps…’ a questioning note entered his voice ‘…you feel you have something with
which to reproach yourself over the unfortunate Captain Jeffries?’

Annabella laughed. ‘I am not at all sure that you should quiz me on such a matter, sir!’

‘Why? Because you have something to hide?’

‘No, indeed!’ Annabella looked indignant. ‘I only meant that such a direct question invites a snub!’

‘Ah—’ a smile curled Weston’s mouth ‘—and you have just administered one, ma’am!’

‘Well, you are a most persistent man! But to answer your question, the only thing I have to reproach myself for is a certain lack of judgement, I believe! I made a mistake in choosing to marry where I did, and also in allowing Jeffries to befriend me afterwards.’ Annabella put her head on one side thoughtfully. ‘He was the one who sought to take advantage of my loneliness, and not for kindly motives!’

‘No, I can well imagine!’ Weston suppressed a smile and allowed his gaze to travel over her consideringly. What an odd mixture this girl was, half solemnity and half naïveté! It seemed to him that she was not so much lacking in judgement but lacking anyone to advise her, and that she had always been so. It gave him a strange pang to think of her so friendless in a hostile world. Her situation had been an unenviable one! But now, perhaps…He felt a sudden determination that she would not be so isolated again.

‘I see that Lady St Auby is not here tonight,’ he observed, as they reached the door of the refreshment room and Miss Hurst could be seen glaring at them across the rim of her glass of lemonade.

‘No, she had a sudden headache.’ Annabella al
lowed herself a smile. ‘She is afraid of you, sir, and of what will be said about her in the neighbourhood!’

Sir William sighed. ‘I do not seem to be making friends for myself here in Somerset! And now I see I shall have to share your company, for Mundell is coming this way!’ He pressed a kiss on her hand. ‘You will dance with me later, perhaps?’ As green eyes met blue, Annabella knew she was unlikely to refuse his request. She watched him go off to dance with Miss Mundell, then turned her attention to the Viscount. Miss Hurst was, rather improbably, dancing with Captain Jeffries. Annabella noticed this with a vague feeling of surprise, and almost immediately forgot about it. Later, she was to remember the incident and wish she had paid more attention.

It was the beginning of a golden few weeks for Annabella. The Mundell Hall house party swept her up into its activities and entertainments, and she felt as though she had unexpectedly stumbled into an extraordinary dream. There were outings and picnics, evening parties and entertainments. Under Caroline Kilgaren’s benevolent patronage, Annabella found herself overcoming her initial lack of confidence, until she was even able to deal with Ermina Hurst with equanimity. And throughout it all there was Sir William Weston, attentive, concerned, it seemed, only for Annabella’s enjoyment, to which he of course contributed in no small measure.

Miss Hurst had not been pleased with the addition to their party. At first Annabella had assumed this was because of Sir William’s attentions, but after a little while, and with a sense of surprise, she realised that
Miss Hurst’s antagonism was wider than that. She genuinely saw Annabella’s beauty as a real challenge to her own supremacy, and although she could assert breeding and fortune, it was still irksome to her to have so pretty a rival. And, as is often the case with such things, the knowledge gave Annabella’s green eyes an extra sparkle, and her complexion an extra glow, which led Miss Hurst to fume all the more.

The second day after the ball had dawned clear and sunny, and Mundell had announced casually at breakfast that he proposed to join the villagers in making up a cricket team to challenge the famous Gentlemen of Taunton to a match. Marcus Kilgaren and Will Weston readily agreed to participate, and Caroline, her blue eyes sparkling, proposed that the ladies should take a picnic along and support the contestants. Miss Hurst’s expression mirrored shocked disapproval.

‘Lud, a village cricket match!’ She saw Mundell’s quizzical gaze and added hastily, ‘I am sure I do not dispute the privilege of gentlemen to mix with the common folk in such games, but I cannot believe my mama would approve of me attending!’

Caroline shrugged, doing little to conceal her irritation. ‘As you wish, Ermina! Mrs St Auby and I shall get along very well if you and Charlotte do not care to join us!’

Surprisingly, Miss Mundell now spoke, blushing a little. ‘For my part I should enjoy the fresh air,’ she said, a little defiantly. ‘Cricket is a very gentlemanly and sportsmanlike game, dearest Ermina. I am sure your mama could find no fault!’

‘Upon my word!’ Miss Hurst stared at her friend,
amazed Miss Mundell should speak out. Annabella also looked at her with renewed interest. She had dismissed Miss Mundell as a shy mouse in the shadow of her opinionated friend, but now she realised that some powerful feeling must be prompting the girl to speak thus. Charlotte Mundell’s face was flushed and her eyes bright, and for once she looked almost pretty. She was very like her brother in appearance, but whilst the hawkish features and piercing grey eyes were handsome in a man, they were not very appealing in a woman. Yet now, Charlotte was animated, with a curious expression of excitement tinged with apprehension, almost as though, Annabella thought shrewdly, she were in love…

‘Well!’ Miss Hurst said crossly. ‘If you
insist
upon going, Charlotte, I suppose I must join you! Though why you should wish to watch so tediously dull a game, I cannot imagine—’

Sir William Weston rustled the pages of
The Times
loudly and Annabella caught the tail-end of an ironic smile he exchanged with Marcus Kilgaren. Yes, clearly there was something going on here which might well become more plain during the course of the day.

The match was being held on the village green, and Caroline, Annabella and the other ladies arranged themselves comfortably under the spreading branches of a huge oak, in dappled sun and shade. It was a shame, Annabella thought, that Miss Hurst had insisted on accompanying them. She complained about everything. There were twigs and insects dropping off the tree and her flimsy parasol could do nothing to
ward them off, more insects had crept into her sandwiches, the seats were uncomfortable and the rules of the game unintelligible.

Annabella secretly found the match rather entertaining. The Gentlemen players, in their white top hats with black bands, were far more elegantly attired than the motley selection of villagers who were, nevertheless, determined to win against their illustrious opponents. The village side were batting, Mundell and the local blacksmith building up a creditable score of runs. Across the pitch, Annabella could see money exchanging hands as bets were taken on the outcome of the match. There was also some heavy drinking, but the day was hot and the thirst of the players in particular was acute. As the beer was downed, the support became more voluble and the language unbridled. Miss Hurst looked pained at being exposed to such crass company.

Mundell eventually fell to a fast ball that hit his middle stump so cleanly it knocked it out of the ground. He walked off to a sympathetic round of applause and his place was taken by a tall young man, loose-knit and ambling with a kind of gawkiness which was rather attractive. Miss Hurst, who had been in the middle of a peevish complaint about the slowness of the roads in the westcountry, broke off in the middle of her sentence, staring hard.

‘Good God, surely that cannot be John Dedicoat! At a village cricket match?’

Annabella hid a smile. She was reminded of Lady St Auby’s astonishment that Mundell should have chosen to patronise a country assembly. She had no idea who the newcomer was, but now she observed
that Miss Mundell had sat up a little straighter and that her pale complexion was once again a becoming rose, her grey eyes brilliant. Miss Hurst, by comparison, was both unobservant and completely self-centred.

‘Well!’ She was preening herself with a satisfied smirk. ‘Perhaps he is here because he knew I should attend! You must have seen, dear Lady Kilgaren, how Lord Dedicoat singled me out last night!’

Caroline’s expression was hidden by the lid of the picnic hamper as she rummaged inside for something she had apparently mislaid. Her voice was muffled and Annabella wondered whether she had mistaken the note of amusement she thought she had detected.

‘I am persuaded that Lord Dedicoat is here because he enjoys the game of cricket, Ermina, although…’ Caroline shot Miss Mundell’s rapt face a quick glance ‘…he
may
have another motive for attending!’

Miss Hurst smirked again. ‘I knew it! Does he not cut a handsome figure! This is very pleasant entertainment!’

There at least, Annabella thought, Miss Mundell could be in full agreement with her friend, for the girl’s eyes never left the tall figure at the crease. And Lord Dedicoat played with flair and grace until a wickedly spinning ball caught him off guard and he was out. He took his dismissal with the same good-natured ease that had characterised his innings and was succeeded by the village doctor.

‘Lud, these vulgar people!’ Miss Hurst said, with a sudden return to peevishness. ‘Drinking and gambling on the village green! Why—’ She stopped abruptly and blushed bright red. John Dedicoat, accompanied
by Will Weston, had come upon them suddenly, both men looking rather dashing in their cricket whites. At close quarters, Lord Dedicoat was indeed a pleasing young man, but Annabella had eyes only for Sir William, whose athletic physique was peculiarly suited to the elegance of his attire.