Two days later, Cassandra Wedbury arrived in Clifford Street with the family carriage to collect Anna and the bandboxes containing all her necessities for the day—her brush and comb, her gown for the evening, her stockings and dancing slippers. “Lady Wedbury makes no mention of it, but there may be dancing,” Mama had said as she’d directed the packing. “And here are a few shillings to spend. You must have new gloves, and we don’t want Miss Wedbury to think you penniless. A pity your father is such a skinflint.”
The Soho Bazaar teemed with people. Anna and Miss Wedbury ambled through the crowd, peering and poking at bonnets and lace and baubles. Miss Wedbury introduced Anna to everyone she knew as though they were equal in status and virtue, and people responded as though it were so.
But Anna was an impostor. What sneers and cold shoulders would they have given her if they knew her secret? And if Miss Wedbury knew, I would not be here at all.
Miss Wedbury bought a fan, stockings, and two dozen of the little silk bouquets Anna found, in different colors, for trimming bonnets or putting the finishing touch on a hairstyle. Anna helped Miss Wedbury with her selections, and then Miss Wedbury asked which ones she was buying.
“I don’t need any. I’m not—”
“But they cost almost nothing,” Miss Wedbury had said. “You can wear one in your hair tonight. Here, I’ll buy some for you.”
How humiliating! Anna’s father boasted to all who would listen about the fortune he’d made in the manufacture of porcelain. Though little of it came her way, she did not need charity. She bought two.
She purchased new evening gloves to replace the pair she had dropped after Miss Wedbury’s wretched ball. And when they stopped at Mr. Gunter’s confectionery before returning to Brook Street, Anna had tea and a biscuit she did not much want. It would have seemed odd to eat nothing when her companion demolished both a biscuit and a redcurrant ice.
Two young men passing outside the window stopped to ogle them, grinning and doffing their hats. Embarrassed by their forwardness, Anna focused on her tea.
Miss Wedbury nudged her arm and giggled. “Isn’t he handsome? The one on the right?”
Anna glanced up quickly before averting her gaze. “He looks a bit like Mr. Aubrey. Mr. Lewis Aubrey, I mean.”
Cassie surveyed the man again. “Yes, give Lewis a haircut and I can see the resemblance.”
Anna liked his hair long. “Are they quite respectable, do you think? Those waistcoats…”
“Heavens no. Not at all the thing. But I don’t mind if they want to look. It’s not like I’m taking them home to Papa.”
Anna said nothing. Her own papa would punish her merely for showing off her dimples, as Miss Wedbury was doing. Though he’d change his tune fast enough if he discovered they had money.
“I have to enjoy it while I can,” Miss Wedbury continued. “I’m bound to look just like Mama when I’m older. You don’t have to worry about that. You’ve got two inches on me and such a lovely figure. And that beautiful fair hair.”
The compliments rang hollow. Miss Wedbury herself had captured all the attention at the bazaar, drawn by her assurance and gaiety.
Anna had pursued a brief flirtation with gaiety. Gideon had crushed it.
At dinner that evening, Miss Spain was seated at the corner of the table farthest from Lewis. All through the meal, his attention shuttled between her and the conversation he owed to his neighbors. He could hear Fuller, sitting beside her, but Anna’s soft voice permitted him only a word here, a phrase there, a chuckle.
What had they talked about? Bristol, probably; it was home for both of them. When Fuller and Sir John, on her far side, were otherwise occupied, she’d picked at her food, her expression far from laughter. Once, perhaps feeling his gaze upon her, she had met his gaze and smiled, but it seemed tight, forced.
When Lewis entered the salon afterward, Miss Spain stood in conversation with Cassie and a soldier from the King’s Guard. Captain Fuller was one of the privileged few who had dined in Brook Street, taking Gideon’s place on the guest list in consideration for Miss Spain.
Now was Lewis’s chance to engage her, before the newcomers arriving for the soirée diverted her attention or his. He lifted two glasses of lemonade from the serving tray and made his way across the room.
Miss Spain thanked him with a smile, genuine this time. Oh, that dimple! Surely she was made for smiling. For kissing.
Had Gideon kissed her? Had he led her on to believe… What? The thought of it made his gut churn.
“Do give me your opinion, Mr. Aubrey,” she said, angling away from the others and speaking to him alone. “The girls will all be asked to perform later. I can sing, but I’m afraid it’s a poor display beside the rest. Could I simply recite, do you think? I know plenty of poetry.”
A blush tinged her cheeks. “I’ve even written some, but I wouldn’t dare share that. I have in mind something by Mr. Wordsworth.”
“I think it would be lovely, Miss Spain. I’m no arbiter of what’s proper, however. Did you ask Cassie?”
“She likes the idea, but she is enthusiastic about everything. I’m not sure I trust her judgment. I thought because it’s such a small gathering it might be all right.”
“Do it,” Lewis said. “It’ll be a bit unusual, but no hanging offense, after all.”
“I hope not!” she said, her eyes wide in mock horror. “I will, then. Would you stand where I can see you while I speak? You give me courage.”
Her hand came to rest on his sleeve as she made her unprecedented appeal. He hardly felt its weight, yet the warmth of her good opinion flowed clear up his arm and into his chest. “I… I’d be honored.”
By the time Miss Spain’s turn came, Lewis was possibly as nervous as she. Had he guided her astray? Every other chit had played the pianoforte or harp, some joining their voice to the instrument’s. Surely there were some besides himself who were ready for a change of pace?
An angel in white, she stood solitary and composed, her hands clasped at her waist. The light caught her hair and spun it into gold thread. He couldn’t tell that she was nervous, but she startled a bit when Lady Wedbury spoke from the side.
“Do you need an accompanist, Miss Spain?”
“No, ma’am. No, thank you.” She flicked a glance at Lewis and produced a smile for her audience.
Her voice trembled through the opening lines of Lucy Gray. But a murmur of pleasure rose as the guests recognized and approved the selection, and she warmed to her oration. Smart of her to go with something familiar, something that must always be welcome.
Smart, too, to avoid anything too dreadfully melancholy. The poem was sad, to be sure, and she rendered it beautifully, the occasional quaver in her voice only adding to the drama of a child lost in the snows of a Yorkshire winter. He had worried she might choose a lamentation about heartbreak and unrequited love, but there was nothing personal in Lucy Gray, nothing to remind listeners of recent rumors.
A small group gathered round her as she vacated the impromptu stage for the next performer. Satisfied with her smiles and blushes, Lewis left her to bask in their attentions and wandered over to join Cassie and Miss Landrum—and Captain Fuller again. Had he left Cassie’s side all evening?
“Well, I thought it pretentious,” Miss Landrum said in response to something Lewis had missed, setting stiff dark curls a-jiggle as she tossed her head. “Though one can hardly blame her. Poor Miss Spain. She hasn’t a jot of musical talent. Have you heard her sing, Mr. Aubrey?”
“I haven’t had that pleasure,” he replied, his jaw tight. “But I hope to, sometime soon.”
“I suppose it’s true then,” the mannerless chit said. “Your brother says you’re mad for her, taking her part against him, believing all her lies.”
An impossibility, since Miss Spain had told him nothing. “I know only what I’ve seen. His behavior damns him quite thoroughly.”
“Bah,” she said. “How disloyal you are, all of you. The Wedburys, his lifelong friends, didn’t even invite him here tonight, because of a nobody like Anna Spain.”
“So that’s it,” said Cassie, bold enough to say what Lewis was thinking. “You’re angry because you don’t get to hang on his sleeve, showing off your conquest.”
Miss Landrum’s dainty hands clenched into fists. “You know nothing, Miss Wedbury. Perhaps you’re jealous because he shows no preference for you.”
“Hardly!” Cassie laughed, and Miss Landrum stalked off with another flounce of her curls.
“Whew.” Captain Fuller made a show of wiping his brow. “I never imagined this little affair would become a battlefield.”
“Don’t be silly.” Cassie tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow.
“Say, Cassie,” Lewis said. “I asked Miss Spain, and she is eager to make that excursion to Richmond Park. How about tomorrow? Perhaps Captain Fuller can join us?”
If, as it seemed, Miss Spain was warming to him, he should take the earliest opportunity to further her interest. Assuming he really wanted it.