Regency Sting (3 page)

“Of course you will,” she insisted warmly, looking up at him with earnest affection. “I shall have no need of it, especially after Arthur Claybridge and I are married.”

Lady Harriet caught her breath and took a quick look at her stepdaughter's face. “Anne, you must be practical. You and Lord Claybridge …” She hesitated, wondering how to soften this additional blow to her beloved girl's prospects.

“What about Lord Claybridge, Mama?” Anne asked, arrested.

Lady Harriet pressed her feet flat on the floor and twisted her hands in her lap. With her breathing in strict control, she said firmly, “You and Lord Claybridge will never marry. I'm sorry, dearest, but it is out of the question.”

Anne jumped to her feet. “But, Mama,
why
?”

“Oh, my poor dear, don't you
know
? The Claybridges are almost as deep in the suds as
we
are! Mathilda Claybridge confided to me today that her husband's gambling debts have left their estate much encumbered. They are relying on Arthur to make an advantageous match. That tiny legacy from your mother scarcely qualifies
you
. So you see, my dear, a marriage between you and Lord Claybridge can never be.”

Anne stared at her stepmother in disbelief. “This can't be true! Arthur has told me
nothing
of this!”

“You see, dearest, until today, there was the
hope
(even if only a faint one) that Osborn would deal generously with you—with us all! But now … I hate to say this, Anne dear, but now our only hope is for you, too, to make a good match.”

Anne sank into the nearest chair. “I cannot believe that our circumstances can have altered so drastically overnight.”

“But they have,” Harriet said hollowly. “The fortune that has been keeping us secure and comfortable all these years is now in the hands of my American nephew.”

Anne and Peter exchanged troubled glances. “Yes,” Anne said thoughtfully, “I can see now that we have much to think about.”

There was a long moment of brooding silence. At last Peter's voice broke through the gloom. “We needn't fall into the dismals yet awhile,” he suggested bravely. “After all, the heir is not even here in England. At least, not yet.”

“Yes, that's right,” Anne agreed, brightening.

“Why, with the tensions between our government and America so great at this time, the fellow may not be able to come to England
at all
!” Peter pointed out hopefully.

“What tensions?” his mother asked.

“Don't you pay any attention to politics, Mama? The Americans have been hinting that they may throw their support to the French. Napoleon, you know, has been trying to entice them to cut off intercourse with us again, and it looks as if he may be succeeding. I understand he sent the American President a letter last summer—it's known as the Cadore letter, I believe—in which he promised the Americans all sorts of shipping concessions. Of course, if they take Napoleon's word for anything, they're nothing but fools. But Mr. Madison is a great lover of the French, I hear—”

“Who's Mr. Madison?” Harriet asked.

Peter threw his mother a pitying glance. “The American President, of course. As I was saying, Mr. Madison is said to favor the French, so the tensions between us and the Americans are quite strained at the moment.”

“Are you saying, Peter,” his sister asked interestedly, “that there may be another
war
with America?”

“No, I very much doubt that things will go
that
far, but there very likely will be a declaration of non-intercourse from the Americans (as there was once before) which will very severely limit American shipping to England.”

Lady Harriet's worried look lightened perceptibly as the import of Peter's words sank in. “Do you really think it is possible, then, that the new heir may not come?”

Peter shrugged, but Anne nodded eagerly. “Of course it's possible!” she exclaimed enthusiastically.

“Let's not fly into alt, my dear,” Peter cautioned sensibly. “I only suggested a possibility. A possibility is not a
probability
, you know.”

“I know, I know,” Anne assured him cavalierly, “but so long as the new heir doesn't show himself, we need not feel depressed. I see no reason to fall into the vapors because of something that may not even come to pass. Until the new Viscount manages to find his way across the ocean—if he ever does—we may go on as we always have.”

“I don't know,” Lady Harriet said dubiously. “I shall have to speak to Mr. Brindle about the details of our present financial situation. But I must remind you, Anne dear, that
you
cannot go on as you always have, no matter
what
Mr. Brindle tells me.”

“What do you mean, Mama?”

“I mean that you are no longer to be permitted to enjoy the company of Lord Claybridge. I'm sorry, love, but Mathilda was quite firm on that point.”

“Oh, pooh,” Anne said with an insouciant wave of her hand which seemed to dismiss Lady Claybridge's strictures from the very air. “Who cares
what
she says. Arthur is of age and in full possession of his titles. He has no need to jump at his mother's commands.” Somehow the optimism engendered by Peter's political analysis would not be dampened, and Anne went on with her cheerful hopes for their futures. “Life is full of surprises, is it not?” she pointed out airily. “Why,
anything
may happen! The new Lord Mainwaring may not come, and we may be given the entire Mainwaring fortune! Then Peter could go to Oxford without a care, you, Mama, would be secure for life, and I should be able to marry Arthur with even his
mother's
blessing.”

“On the other hand,” Peter interjected, wishing to keep his sister from putting too many hopeful eggs into a very fragile basket, “the new Viscount may very well manage to find his way to England and make his claim to the inheritance.”

“Yes, he may. We must not blind ourselves to the possibilities,” Lady Harriet cautioned. “A fortune like the Mainwarings' is not likely to go a-begging.”

“But you know, Peter, that American ships have difficulty reaching here in these times,” Anne insisted, “even when the political climate has been
less
strained. Certainly, now, it will be close to impossible.”

“Yes, that's true.”

“There! Then there is good reason for optimism.”

“I suppose so,” Peter agreed, wishing to do his part to dispel the gloom which had enveloped them. “It is even possible that the news from Mr. Brindle about Uncle Osborn's death may never even reach the American shores.”

Anne clapped her hands in pleasure. “That's
true
! There will be the same difficulty for a British ship to reach an
American
port. See, Mama? There are
many
reasons for hope. As I've said, anything may happen! The news may never reach him … or he may not be able to book passage across the ocean … or, even if he does, why …” She smiled widely as a new possibility came into her mind. “… why, if we have any luck at all, the fellow may
drown at sea
!”

And on that happy thought, they went upstairs to dress for dinner.

Three

Anne's optimism in the drawing room did not outlast the short climb up to her bedroom door. Since she was neither devoid of sense nor given to self-delusion, she soon realized that it was extremely unlikely that the inheritance would not be claimed. A man would be insane to forego the titles and fortune of the size and importance of the Mainwarings'. She must face the facts and try to find a way out of the dilemma the heir's arrival would cause.

In the meantime, she decided to put a brave face on it. As she went about her usual daily routine, her expression and demeanor were the same as always. Even the sharpest-eyed of the London gossips could not discern a sign of anxiety in the self-assured, stylish Miss Hartley.

But it was abundantly plain to Anne's bosom-bow, Charity Laverstoke, that something was amiss. Charity, called Cherry by her intimates, was nothing if not sympathetic. Offering sympathy was what she did best in the world. To anyone who related troubles into her ear she would devote her most complete attention, her most melting gaze and her most tender feelings. She was so soft-hearted that the afflictions of passing
strangers
could bring tears to her eyes. Cherry had large, wide eyes, a heart-shaped, full-cheeked face and thick, silky-brown hair which she wore in unstylish braids wound round her head. Even the lines on her body, while not exactly plump, were comfortingly soft.

Knowing that her beloved friend was troubled, Cherry looked for an opportunity to see Anne alone. When Anne arrived one afternoon to take Cherry up for their weekly ride in Hyde Park, Cherry insisted that Anne come up to her bedroom while she finished dressing. There she urged Anne to perch on her four-poster bed with its feminine pink-and-gold draperies, and, jumping up alongside her, encouraged her friend to reveal what was on her mind.

Anne, hoping that her inner tensions would be relieved by speaking of her problems to her best friend, unhesitatingly explained the financial difficulties which had suddenly beset both her family and that of the Claybridges. It was her new awareness of Arthur's home situation which troubled her most deeply. “It may be,” she concluded despondently, “that we will
never
find a way to marry!”

“Oh, Anne, my dear!” Cherry cried, her chin quivering in heartfelt concern. “How utterly, completely
dreadful
!”

“Yes, I know,” Anne agreed brusquely, “but don't start to cry, Cherry, for tears never solved anything. They'll only redden your eyes, and we'll have to spend half-an-hour applying cold cloths and face powder to make you look presentable.”

“I d-don't intend to cry,” Cherry said bravely. “Besides, things may look dark now, but at least we can console ourselves with the knowledge that Arthur will never look at another female but you. You
do
know that, don't you?”

“I believe he loves me, but—”

“Of
course
he loves you! Anyone with half an eye can see that!”

“But he's never formally declared himself, you know, and … now it's been almost a
week
that I've not seen him …!” Anne admitted with a slight quiver in her
own
voice.

Cherry put an arm around her consolingly. “Don't be gooseish. You
know
he loves you. He's keeping away because he doesn't want to upset his mother, that's all. Before long, he won't be able to stay away—you'll see.”

“Perhaps. But even if he
does
love me, it's a fact that love does not always lead to marriage, Cherry. Especially when the family exerts pressure on one to make an advantageous match.”

“Advantageous matches!” Cherry snorted scornfully. “How I hate them!”

“Yes, but they are so often necessary,” Anne sighed. Finding that there was not much relief in going over these depressing circumstances, Anne squared her shoulders and lifted her head. “Never mind, Cherry. Let's not talk any more. My tiger cannot keep the horses standing in this weather. Do put on your bonnet and come along.”

Cherry obediently took her bonnet from a tall, pink-painted wardrobe and sat down at her dressing table to tie it on. “Has Arthur's family asked him to make such a match?” she asked, looking at her friend's reflection in her dressing-table mirror.

“Since he's forbidden to see me, I cannot be sure, but according to Mama's conversation with Lady Claybridge—”

“Arthur is too honorable to agree to make such a match!” Cherry said loyally, placing the chip-straw bonnet on her head and tying it on with a knitted scarf.

“You are
not
going to wear that ugly scarf with that light bonnet, are you?” Anne demanded with a wince.

“Don't you like it?” Cherry asked, turning her attention to the mirror. “It's the finest swansdown I could find. I paid more than—”

“I don't care
what
it cost. It's too heavy to tie properly.” She rummaged around in Cherry's drawer and pulled out a wide ribbon of green grogram. “Here, use this, and tie it in a bow under your ear.”

Cherry did as she was bid. “There, is that better?”

“Yes, it looks lovely. Or it would, if you didn't insist on those insipid braids. I do wish you would let me cut and dress your hair one day. You could look so charming—”

“Not as charming as you,” Cherry remarked admiringly. “I have no sense of style. If I didn't have you to advise me, I should look a hopeless dowd.”

Anne was stabbed with sudden guilt. How could she speak so patronizingly to her dearest friend? “Don't be so silly!” she said, giving Cherry a quick hug. “One would think you had to consult me every time you dressed! You must know that you're quite capable of turning yourself out to perfect advantage without my advice. You've done it any number of times.” Then she added bluntly, “I don't know why you always belittle yourself, Cherry.”

Cherry lowered her eyes in shamefaced agreement. “I don't know why, either. I never have had the least self-confidence.”

“But why?” Anne asked earnestly. “You are as sweet and as good and as pretty as a girl can be. And your hair is lovely. I'm an odious toad for suggesting that it needs styling.”

Cherry blushed with pleasure but shook her head. “You needn't offer me Spanish coin, you know. I know that braids are for governesses and abigails. I've just become so accustomed.… But why are we discussing this? Who cares about my hair? Perhaps if I could find a man to look at me as Arthur looks at you—!”

“You will, love,” Anne assured her with another hug. “And soon, too!”

Cherry looked at herself in the mirror in critical appraisal. “Do you really think I should cut my hair? No, don't answer. I don't want to discuss
me
. It's
your
problem we should be discussing. What will you do if Arthur cannot make you an offer?”