Nicola Cornick (9 page)

Both men were carrying tankards of beer, Annabella noticed, and stifled a giggle as she caught Caroline’s eye. Miss Hurst was unlikely to continue her diatribe now.

‘I had a monkey wagered on John reaching fifty before he was out,’ Sir William said cheerfully, sitting on the grass at Annabella’s feet, and giving her a grin which suggested that he had also heard Miss Hurst’s last utterance. He took a deep draught of ale.

‘This local brew is very good, isn’t it, John? I’m glad to see the villagers entering so wholeheartedly into the spirit of the occasion!’

Miss Hurst glared at him. Now that she had all but given up on the prospect of attaching Sir William, she felt quite comfortable in treating him with disapproval. Besides, there was metal more attractive in Lord Dedicoat who was equally handsome and had a title into the bargain.

‘Do tell me a little about the game, my lord,’ she gushed unbecomingly. ‘Those men standing about over there—what is their purpose?’

John Dedicoat began to explain the fielders’ positions to Miss Hurst whilst simultaneously watching Miss Mundell. Will Weston leant back on one elbow so that his head was on a level with Annabella’s knee. She resisted the surprisingly strong impulse to touch his ruffled brown hair.

‘Are you enjoying the game, Mrs St Auby?’ Weston asked softly, looking up at her with those brilliant blue eyes.

‘Yes, sir, I thank you.’ Annabella smiled. ‘I have absolutely no understanding of the rules, but that has not marred my enjoyment!’

‘I could explain them if you like,’ Weston offered, taking a bite out of a cucumber sandwich with his strong white teeth. He looked at Miss Hurst, who was insisting that Dedicoat give a running commentary of every ball bowled, and smiled.

‘Pray do not put yourself to the trouble, sir!’ Annabella said, following his gaze and scorning to behave in so foolish a fashion as Ermina Hurst. She spoke with gentle malice. ‘I have no need of such guidance!’

Weston shook his head in mock sorrow. ‘Spurning my offer, Mrs St Auby? You are very hard on a fellow’s self-esteem! Can it be that you do not wish for my company?’ There was a teasing light in his eyes, a challenge that Annabella rose to.

She was enjoying their sparring and he knew it too. There was an edge to the encounter that the presence of the others did nothing to diminish, an attraction that was instant and mutual. And dangerous.

‘For shame, sir, that you need to fish for compliments from your friends!’ Annabella spoke lightly, and caught her breath as he touched her hand fleetingly, almost accidentally.

‘Is that then how you see yourself, Mrs St Auby?’ Weston asked, dropping his voice even lower. ‘As a friend of mine?’

Annabella tore her gaze away from his compelling one. ‘Friendship is to be prized, sir…’

‘Oh, as to that, I agree with you.’ Weston selected another sandwich from the hamper. ‘True friends are indeed to be valued. But from you, Mrs St Auby, I might ask for something more…’

‘Just at the moment,’ Annabella said tartly, ‘your
friends
—’ she emphasised the word ‘—are asking something of you, sir! I believe it is your turn with the bat! Pray try to concentrate on the game!’ And, well pleased with herself for not succumbing to his flirtation, she watched Sir William lope away to take up his stance at the wicket.

Miss Hurst had exhausted the topic of field placings and Lord Dedicoat had, with some relief, moved away a little to converse in a low tone with Miss Mundell. And for the first time, Miss Hurst was watching her friend with a less than amicable expression, her brown eyes narrowed thoughtfully as she saw Dedicoat smile at Charlotte. A moment later, a shriek rent the air.

‘A beetle! Oh, Good God, a beetle has just dropped from that tree on to my lap!’ Miss Hurst leapt to her feet clutching Lord Dedicoat’s arm and leaning heavily against him. Caroline shook her head in exasperation.

‘Really, Ermina! It will do you no harm!’

‘Oh! Oh!’ Miss Hurst was drooping artistically. She allowed Lord Dedicoat to lead her gently towards his own seat with soothing words and much careful support. The beetle, Annabella observed, was nowhere to be seen. She watched, a small smile curving her lips, as Miss Hurst lowered herself slowly on to Lord Dedicoat’s seat with small gasps of distress and shock.
Poor Charlotte Mundell was quite disregarded. Annabella leant forward. She had seen a bee, drunk with pollen, lurch onto the cushion beneath Miss Hurst’s descending bottom. Annabella sighed and sat back again. She did not say a word.

I
t was later the same evening that they were sitting in the Blue Saloon after dinner, with Viscount Mundell and his sister engaging the Kilgarens at cards and Sir William and Annabella listening to Miss Hurst, who was exhibiting her proficiency at the piano.

Miss Hurst’s recovery from the bee sting had been remarkable. Since the injury was to a part of her anatomy that precluded discussion, she had decided to bravely ignore the incident and soldier on with only the slightest wince whenever she sat down.

As Miss Hurst played, Annabella was covertly studying Sir William’s profile. His blue eyes were distant, as though he were dwelling on matters far beyond the lamplit room and the music. The sweep of his lashes cast a shadow against the hard line of his cheek, and in repose that handsome mouth looked uncompromising, almost harsh. Though relaxed in his chair, there was something almost watchful in his stillness.

Annabella frowned slightly. What was it that caused this tension in him? She doubted that he was
such a musical purist that Miss Hurst’s rendition of Bach could offend him, although whilst technically brilliant the performance certainly lacked feeling…Suddenly, Annabella felt a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach, a conviction that she scarcely knew Sir William, and understood him even less. The passage of time in his company had given her only a superficial knowledge of his interests and dislikes, for the conversations that one could hold in a group were inevitably very general, or hampered by the presence of its other members. Annabella frowned again. She had to admit to herself that she most ardently wished to have a better understanding of Sir William Weston.

The music rippled around her, and Annabella shifted slightly, trying to find a better position on the gilt sofa, which was no doubt most fashionable but made no concessions to comfort. Her wriggling disturbed Sir William from his reverie and he turned his head and looked directly into Annabella’s eyes, and again she experienced that small tremor of shock which made it impossible for her to be indifferent to him. Worse, he then smiled, that slow, heart-shaking smile of his, and she was utterly lost.

‘Mrs St Auby!’ The music had stopped and Miss Hurst’s voice was sharp. ‘Did you not attend me? I asked if you would care to play now?’ There was an equally sharp look in her dark eyes, for she had not forgotten Annabella’s claim to play very ill. ‘I am sure,’ she added patronisingly, ‘that we can find something suited to you!’ She rifled through the sheets of music on top of the piano. ‘Scarlatti? No, too difficult, perhaps…’

Annabella tore her gaze away from the compelling
blue heat of Sir William’s, and took Miss Hurst’s place at the pianoforte.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured, ‘I shall sing, I think.’

‘As you please.’ Miss Hurst shrugged, moving across to Sir William’s side with an ostentatious swing of the hips matched by the sway of the ostrich feathers in her hair. She seated herself and arranged her skirts, looking expectant. A minute later, she had started to chat to Sir William in an undertone, much to Annabella’s annoyance.

After a few bars, Miss Hurst had fallen into chagrined silence, aware that her companion’s attention had wandered. The card-players paused in their hand to listen. Annabella had not chosen a classical piece, but an old Scottish love song, ‘The Wild White Swan’, and sang with a depth and pathos that could not help but touch the listener. The melodic cadences fell gently, sorrowfully on the ear. And as the last notes died away there was a breathless hush before everyone broke into spontaneous applause and cries for more. This time Annabella picked a saucy little song calculated to shock a little, but the purity of her exceptionally fine voice somehow robbed it of anything but innocent naughtiness. The smiles were broad as she ended.

Finally, she was prevailed upon to sing a duet with Sir William, who turned out to have a fine tenor voice, rich and a little mocking in tone, and then she begged a rest and took her glass of lemonade out on to the terrace. Dusk was falling, casting its shadows across the sentinel cypresses and turning the formal gardens into a cool and mysterious place. Annabella leant her
elbows on the parapet and looked across to the pleasure lake.

‘You have been exceptionally reticent about your musical talent.’ Sir William Weston, the same mocking tone evident in his voice as there had been in his singing, had followed her out and came to lean on the stone parapet beside her. ‘I have seldom heard such a fine voice.’

Annabella smiled. ‘Thank you, sir. I’ll allow that on the occasion I was quizzed on the subject I saw no need to make my questioner free with the information! But,’ she added seriously, ‘you should not criticise in others a trait which serves you well!’

‘You mean to imply that I give little of myself away?’ It was becoming too dark to see his face, but Annabella thought that he was smiling slightly. ‘Well, in the main I’ll concede the truth of that! But I have no sinister motive, I assure you! It is simply that on board ship, living in each other’s pockets, one becomes accustomed to keeping one’s own counsel in order to avoid unnecessary disputes. It is a habit which has served me well on occasions such as this houseparty, which requires much the same approach!’

Annabella laughed despite herself. ‘Surely you exaggerate, sir! I have been among you a few days only, but I see no sign of disputation!’

‘You would be surprised, Mrs St Auby,’ Sir William murmured. ‘Why, only yesterday there was a heated debate between Miss Hurst and Miss Mundell over which had most recently used Miss Hurst’s silver thimble, and Lord Kilgaren was called upon to arbitrate! I kept quite out of the matter, I assure you!’

‘You are absurd, sir!’ Annabella smiled. ‘I suspect
that you really keep your silence just to appear more mysterious!’

‘Acquit me!’ Sir William said, humorously. ‘Though,’ he added with sincerity, ‘I should be flattered to think that you would wish to learn more of me, Mrs St Auby. On what may I enlighten you?’

‘Oh…’ Annabella turned away to look out across the darkening garden. She essayed a light tone. ‘Simple things only, sir! Of your family, your home…’

‘Well…’ Sir William spoke easily ‘…my father died a few years ago when I was away at sea, and my mother a year later. I have two elder sisters and I had a younger brother, who married the daughter of a Charleston plantation owner and lived abroad. He died last year.’ He brushed aside her words of condolence as though it still hurt him to speak of it. ‘And as for my home…’ Sir William’s voice changed, took on a deeper quality. ‘There is a house on the Berkshire Downs, just north of the little village of Lambourn…In the winter the wind whistles down from the chalk hills and across the wide valley below with the snow on its edge, but in the summer the countryside drowses in a verdant, green peace. There is an ancient track which cuts its way across the hills, bone dry in the sun, and butterflies drift through the poppy fields.’ His voice changed, became brisk. ‘But it is a long time since I have been there. Are you cold, Mrs St Auby?’

Annabella had shivered suddenly as a stray breath of wind touched the back of her neck and trickled down her spine. She was aware of a vague feeling of disquiet, but she knew not why. She allowed Sir William to take her arm and steer her back into the lighted
room, where the card-players had just concluded their game.

Caroline Kilgaren came across to sit by Annabella as Sir William moved away and was almost immediately pounced on by Miss Hurst, who demanded his opinion on a letter she had just received from her mother:

‘For it says, dear Sir William, that Lady Frankland has inherited an estate of fifty thousand pounds from her uncle, Mr Cobbett, and yet I positively thought that she was cousin only to the Cobbetts, and surely the Drysdales are his closer relations…’

Caroline smiled ruefully as Miss Hurst bore Sir William away to a corner of the room to continue the discussion. ‘Now my dear, there is a matter I wanted to broach with you. It is about the ball on Friday.’ She hesitated. ‘Tell me to mind my own business if you wish, but I could not help wondering…I have a dress, you see, a very pretty confection in silver and gold, which would be just the thing for you if you do not have something you prefer to wear.’ She considered Annabella thoughtfully and smiled. ‘We may have to add a flounce, for you are somewhat taller than I, but that should not be beyond the skill of Ellie, my maid. She is a most talented sempstress.’

Annabella could have hugged her for her tact and kindness. The ball had been on her mind, for although Miss Mundell had referred to it as a small gathering for friends, Annabella had the feeling that the small gathering could be both exclusive and very smart, a far cry from the Taunton assemblies. She had wanted desperately to go, but had almost cried off through a
lack of appropriate clothing. But now, perhaps, that problem might be solved.

‘You are very kind to me, ma’am,’ she said, gratefully. ‘I do not mind admitting that I was wondering how I might go on.’

‘Come upstairs now,’ Caroline urged her, ‘and you may try it on. I’ll call Ellie, my maid, and she can help us with any adjustments.’

Lord and Lady Kilgaren were occupying a well-appointed suite of rooms in the east wing of Mundell Hall, with charming views over the flower gardens and the deer park beyond. Caroline went across to the wardrobe, which seemed to Annabella’s dazzled eye to be absolutely packed with dresses of all styles and materials. With a cry of triumph, she pulled out something from the back.

‘Here it is! Now, what do you think?’

Annabella thought she was imagining things. The dreamy, ethereal creation draped over Caroline’s arm could surely not be intended for her! When she tried it on, its softly flowing lines seemed to caress her body in the most seductive way, and she stood back in amazement to consider her reflection in the long mirror. The low bodice was cunningly cut to cross over in a V shape rather than the less sophisticated square or round necklines she was accustomed to, and she looked impossibly slender and elegant. Behind her in the glass, she could see both Caroline and the maid smiling.

‘Perfect!’ Caroline declared. ‘It lacks length, of course, but with a ruffle of silver taffeta, Ellie…’ the maid nodded in silent agreement ‘…if the dressmakers of Taunton can run to that…’ She swooped on a
bandbox at the back of the wardrobe, ‘And here is the silver circlet which is intended to match.’ She placed it on Annabella’s honey-coloured curls and stood back to admire. ‘Oh, my dear, you will look divine!’ Then, as Annabella remained silent, she said anxiously, ‘What is the matter? Do you not care for it?’

Annabella shook her head slowly, a lump in her throat. ‘It is the most beautiful thing…I cannot believe that I am really going to wear it!’

Caroline smiled, reassured, and Ellie, her mouth full of pins, instructed Annabella to turn around slowly so that she could see the rest of the fit. A tweak here and a tuck there, and the maid nodded her satisfaction.

‘You will be the belle of the ball, my dear,’ Caroline predicted, ‘and I’ll warrant Sir William will think so too!’

Annabella smiled, still dazzled by the subtle, shifting patterns of silver and gold. Her eyes were like stars as she turned before the mirror. ‘Oh, do you really think so, ma’am?’ She sounded quite wistful and very young. To Caroline she looked suddenly so like her sister that she too felt a lump in her throat.

‘If Sir William tells you of something—’ she began, stopped then started again. ‘You must never think that Sir William is interested in you other than for yourself, my dear.’

Annabella’s wide, uncomprehending green eyes turned on her in puzzlement.

‘I do so hope that you are right in thinking he likes me, ma’am.’

Caroline gave up. It was not her story to tell, anyway, and she had already told Will Weston in the
most forcible tones possible that the sooner he told Annabella the truth, the better. Will had argued that he had wanted the chance for them to get to know each other properly first, before this matter interfered to muddy the waters. Caroline thought he was a fool, but knew she could not sway him. She sighed. There was such a clear, innocent light in Annabella’s eyes as she stood, rapt in wonder at her own appearance, that Caroline hoped she would never suffer disillusionment. Like Will Weston before her, she contemplated the curious mix of characteristics that was Annabella St Auby. Sometimes so collected, so sophisticated, and at others so young and lacking in confidence. And she was, after all, only twenty-one, with no one to show her how to go on or help her form sound judgement. Caroline thought it was extraordinary that she had turned out as well as she had.

When Annabella came down the stair at Mundell Hall on the night of the ball, she was delighted to see that William Weston, who was waiting with Marcus Kilgaren, actually stopped talking when he saw her. There was uncomplicated admiration blazing in his blue eyes and a more complex, and far more exciting, emotion which set Annabella’s pulse racing. As Weston moved forward to take her hand, Marcus Kilgaren crossed to Caroline’s side.

‘You seem to have played the fairy godmother rather successfully, my love,’ he murmured to his wife, with a grin. ‘Little Mrs St Auby looks quite ravishing tonight. Certainly, Will looks as though he would like to ravish her!’

Caroline dug him reprovingly in the ribs. ‘Marcus!
She’s a sweet girl, and she deserves to enjoy herself. But—’ a tiny frown marred her brow ‘—Will still hasn’t told her about Larkswood! I worry that if she finds out some other way, it may all go wrong…’