Chapter Nine

Giles’s first impulse was anger, goading him to cross the room and separate the two. Almost, he did, but the habits of the past years took over automatically. Bad enough Anne was waltzing, and with Campbell, of all people, when the waltz was considered scandalous and anyone who engaged in it, fast. The damage was already done. If Giles went to them, he would only make matters worse by drawing attention to them. Damn, he’d thought Anne had more sense.

None of his thoughts showed on his face as he leaned back against the wall, his arms crossed on his chest. This evening had buffeted him with more emotions than he had felt in the past year, and at the moment he was merely tired. Tired of having all the responsibility, tired of always having to consider other peoples’ needs and give little thought to his own. That was life, of course; one grew up and did what one had to. But, as he watched Anne twirling about the sparsely peopled dance floor in another man’s embrace, his unruly thoughts took over. She was so beautiful in that dress, and so graceful, that she made waltzing look almost like an art. He wished, suddenly, that he dared to waltz, that he was the one whirling her about the floor, looking down at those cornflower blue eyes that held in them such an expression of—

Fear. The thought made him straighten abruptly. For just a moment, as Anne had turned in his direction, he had seen something flicker in her eyes. Consternation, surprisingly; perhaps the waltz hadn’t been her idea. Annoyance, and that other elusive emotion he hardly dared believe he’d seen. Fear. But what had she to fear in a civilized ballroom in Brighton?

Casually, so as not to attract attention, Giles began to move along the wall, idly greeting acquaintances but never taking his eyes off the couple on the floor. Anne was a whirl of satin and crepe; her partner, Giles noted disdainfully, resplendent in peacock blue satin. Both seemed now to be enjoying themselves, and Giles applauded Anne mentally. No matter what her real feelings might be, she was carrying this off with style, and her head held high. That was true courage.

He didn’t stop to examine his change of opinion from censure to admiration, but instead continued his slow progress through the room. His forethought produced results; when the waltz ended and Campbell took Anne’s arm, preparatory to leading her off the floor, Giles was there.

Ian drew himself up short to avoid colliding with Giles, and for a moment an expression almost like a sneer twisted his features. “Evening, Tremont,” he said, carelessly. “Don’t tell me you’re planning on making a scene over one dance.”

Giles’s smile was pleasant, though it didn’t reach to his eyes. “Of course not. I am hardly Mrs. Templeton’s keeper. She is competent enough to make her own judgments in such matters. However.”

“Ah. There is always a ‘however’.”

“My mother requires your presence, Anne.” He looked at her past the other man as he held out his arm, and saw relief flicker in her eyes. “Shall we?”

“Certainly, Your Grace,” Anne murmured, the picture of demure propriety. “Good evening, Mr. Campbell.”

“Good evening, Anne. My thanks for the dance. It was—pleasant.”

Giles’s free hand tightened involuntarily into a fist, but he kept his smile in place. “You’ll excuse us, Campbell,” he said, and turned, leading Anne away.

Anne glanced up at him curiously as they crossed the room. She doubted very much that Julia wished to see her; this was a pretext on Giles’s part to separate her from Ian, and to prevent her from doing anything else unsuitable. She wasn’t deceived by his smile or his affable manner. Underneath, he was angry. The Duke of Tremont, usually so cool and unruffled, usually showing little of his feelings, angry? It was a fascinating thought.

“I am surprised you’re not scolding me, Your Grace,” she said.

Giles didn’t look at her. “I think I don’t need to. I suspect you’re already well aware of what you’ve done.”

“A set-down, indeed.” Anne’s voice was rueful. “You are right, of course. That was a mistake. I’ll surely know better next time.”

“Then why did you waltz with him at all?” he demanded.

“Because you so obviously didn’t want me to. Good evening, Felicity. How wonderful to see you again.”

“And you, Anne.” Felicity’s smile was wide and genuine. “You waltz so very well. Is it done in Jamaica?”

“It’s not supposed to be.” Anne returned the smile. “I expect I’ll be hearing more about it later.”

“Oh, no, you made it look a most attractive dance, and not nearly so scandalous as one would think. Though I hope you won’t take it amiss if I tell you that Mr. Campbell isn’t quite the thing.”

“I’m glad you said that, Felicity, and not I,” Giles said. “Anne would cut up at me if I did.”

“Perhaps.” Anne smiled up at him. “Ian has changed, has he not? He never used to be quite so hard.”

“He delights in making mischief, and in destroying reputations,” Felicity said. “I wouldn’t allow him near my Susan.”

“I should hope not. Are you enjoying this evening?” Anne asked Susan Whitehead, whose air of assumed boredom was at odds with the brightness of her eyes.

“It will do, Mrs. Templeton,” she replied, languidly. “I didn’t expect to see such exalted society outside of London.”

Anne glanced up at Giles, to see the same mirth sparkling in his eyes that she felt. Had she ever been so young, she wondered, and concluded, ruefully, that she probably had been. And yet, Giles hadn’t seemed to mind. He had been young then, too, and more apt to forgive one’s lapses. This new Giles, more mature and settled, was a man she didn’t know. Aware of his duties, and yet surprisingly tolerant. Perhaps he hadn’t changed as much as she had thought.

After a few more moments’ conversation, Giles and Anne excused themselves and began to make their way back to where Julia sat. “It would be nice if everyone were as kind as Felicity,” Anne said.

“I could remind you that you’ve brought anything that happens upon yourself,” Giles pointed out.

“But, being a gentleman, you won’t. How is Beth enjoying the evening?”

“A great deal, I’d say. Of course my mother is watching to make certain she doesn’t dance with anyone unsuitable.”

“I know I’ve behaved badly, Giles, but you needn’t keep pinching at me so.”

“I wasn’t,” he protested, but was unable to say more. They had reached his mother’s side, and he was not about to wrangle with Anne in her presence. Besides, two of Julia’s cronies had joined her, Lady Helmsley, and the Dowager Duchess of Bainbridge. Giles didn’t relish the idea of facing three such tabbies.

“Good evening,” he said, greeting the ladies and making the introductions. They all knew Anne, of course, from years past, but, after tonight’s fiasco, their approval of her was more important than ever. After all, he told himself, Beth’s reputation might very well be touched.

Conversation was strained and desultory, becoming a bit more lively only when Beth, partnered by the Duke of Bainbridge, the dowager’s grandson and a friend of Giles’s, came over. Her face was flushed and her eyes shining, and all three of the old ladies smiled at her. “A prettily-behaved girl,” Lady Helmsley said to Julia. “You must be very proud of her.”

“I am proud of both my children,” Julia said. “They do know how to go on in society.”

By which Julia meant she didn’t, Anne thought, catching the speaking look the duchess sent her. Unlike Giles, she was not nearly so sanguine about the old ladies’ acceptance of her. She had erred, and erred badly. She was not likely to be forgiven immediately.

It was as quiet in the carriage going home as it had been going out, though the silence had a different quality. Anne, tired, and aware of what she had done, kept her head down, contemplating her fingers, while Julia contented herself with one malicious, triumphant glance. Nothing would be served in talking about the night, Giles thought. It was over, and what was needed now was something to repair the damage. It wasn’t fair; what Anne had done was in the past. That she seemed unrepentant, though, was what society would find hard to forgive. And so damned beautiful.

“Anne,” he said as they came into the house, and Anne, just starting to ascend the stairs, stopped.

“Yes?”

So damned beautiful. How had he ever let her go? “Ah, nothing. Good night.”

Anne hesitated. “Good night, Giles,” she said, finally, and made her way upstairs to bed, more than a little thoughtful. Now what had that been about?

 

In the morning, Anne watched from her bedroom window as Colonel McMahon arrived to talk with Giles. Likely he bore with him invitations to the Pavilion, presenting her with a difficult problem. After the way she had behaved last night, she couldn’t possibly go. Sending her regrets would be difficult; how did one refuse the Prince of Wales without offending him? It would be for the best, though. Neither Beth nor Giles would be helped by her presence.

“Enter,” Giles called when she knocked on the door of the book-room, and rose as she came in, his expression inquiring. “Is something wrong?”

“No. I simply need to talk with you about something.” She settled gracefully into a chair facing him. “I saw Colonel McMahon leave just now.”

“Yes. We’ve been invited to dinner, with a musical evening afterwards.”

“Heavens. I’ve heard about Prinny’s dinners. Didn’t he once decide to show off his prowess at shooting, and make his guests join in?”

Giles’s mouth quirked back. “Yes, and from what I understand, both a musician and a footman were hit.” He grinned at her, and for a moment any strain that had been between them was gone. “God save us if that man ever becomes king.”

“Giles! You, of all people, speaking against your prince?”

“I think even I might be allowed my opinions.”

“One would never know. That you feel that way, I mean.” She shook her head. “Giles, this is difficult, but I must cry off from attending the dinner party.”

“That’s a most extraordinary thing to do. Why?”

“My being there won’t do you any good.”

Giles leaned back in his chair, looking at his fingers as they toyed with the papers on his desk. Why had she been scared of Campbell? “It will be difficult to refuse Prinny without causing offense,” he said, abruptly.

“I know. I thought of that, but I can’t see it would be any worse than my being there.”

“Crying craven, Anne?”

“No! For heaven’s sake, Giles, you know I’m no coward. Usually,” she added.

Giles eyed her. “You wouldn’t be alone, you know. I’d be there.”

“Yes, I know, and I appreciate it. I just don’t think it’s wise.”

“I don’t know. You’ve already caught Prinny’s eye.”

“God help me!”

Giles grinned. “Well, you have. You’re passably attractive, after all.”

“Thank you very much.”

“And if he does acknowledge you, as I believe he will, it will do a lot toward repairing your reputation.”

Anne opened her mouth to speak, and then closed it again. “I hadn’t thought of that. Do you think he will acknowledge me?”

“I can’t think why else he invited you.”

“Unless he thinks me a suitable candidate for an affaire.”

“Forgive me, Anne, but you’re not old enough for him. No, I don’t think crying off will do you any good. Or me, either.”

Anne looked away from the sympathy in his eyes. Of all the things Giles could feel for her, the last thing she wanted was sympathy. “I know I made a mistake,” she said in a low voice. “I should have known better than to waltz last night. I am sorry if my actions did anything to hurt you or Beth. They weren’t meant to. If anyone is to face the consequences, it should be me.”

“So it should. And I, too, for goading you into it.” Anne turned toward him, startled, and he held up his hand to forestall her protest. “Like it or not, Anne, I do have a responsibility to you, and I shirked it. Had I handled things better, none of this would have happened.”

“You take a great deal upon yourself, Giles. Have you forgotten that I am quite capable of making my own decisions?”

“No. Forgive me, I phrased that badly. Of course you can make your own decisions. I merely meant that this was your first time back in society, and you needed the support of your family. Instead, I made you face it alone. I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault. I didn’t listen to you when you did try to support me.”

Giles shook his head. “I tried to tell you what to do. There’s a difference. I thought you’d obey me without question, the way Beth does. I should have known better.” His mouth quirked back. “The truth is, I was afraid something like the waltz would happen, and when it did, I played a part in it.”

“You thought you were doing the right thing—”

“The right thing be damned. I didn’t like seeing you with Campbell.”

Anne stared at him in frank astonishment. “Giles—”

“The man is a loose screw. If I had supported you as you needed, perhaps you wouldn’t have gone with him.”

“Perhaps.” Anne’s voice was absent. She was startled by what he had just said. Heavens, was he jealous? “Perhaps I might have. I liked Ian once, and I didn’t know he’d changed. But, Giles. It’s my problem, not yours. Or do you plan to tell me again that I’m your responsibility?”

“How do you plan to handle it, Anne? By hiding away and never seeing anyone? You should remember that that does no good. Scandal needs to be outfaced.”

Anne glanced away. So it did. It required standing up to people, and behaving as if nothing had happened. If one showed the slightest sign of fear or apology, people would strike, and strike hard. Her ostracism would be complete. If, however, she went to the Pavilion with Giles, who would dare say anything against her? The only trouble was, she wasn’t certain she had the courage for it.

“When I came here I truly thought I didn’t need any help,” she said, softly. “I thought I knew how to handle myself. But I forgot what English society is like. I forgot how much people delight in seeing one make a misstep.” She looked up at him, her eyes wide with appeal. “Giles, will you help me?”

“Of course I will,” he said easily, giving no sign that he knew how difficult it had been for her to ask that question. “We’ll face them all together and tell them to be damned.”

Anne laughed, startled. “You sound as if you relish the prospect.”

“I do. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a good fight.”

“How uncivilized of you,” she teased.

Giles grinned at her. “I? The Duke of Tremont? Never think such a thing.” He rose, and she did, too, aware that this interview was at an end. “We’ll come about, Anne, never fear,” he said, laying his hand on her shoulder.

Anne looked up at him, and for a moment all thought fled. His hand was warm on her, so warm, and strong. Comforting, reliable, and large. Too large. A man’s hand. Abruptly she pulled away. “Thank you, Giles. If you’ll excuse me, Jamie will be needing his lessons,” she said, and whisked away, out the door.

Giles stared after her, wondering about her sudden reaction to his touch. What confused him more, though, was his own reaction. Why had he needed, so much, to touch her?

 

What do we do with a drunken sailor, what do we do with a drunken sailor...

Anne stirred drowsily in her bed, a smile curving her lips. She’d had absurd dreams before, but surely this was one of the silliest. Such a song to be dreaming about. What did one do with a drunken sailor, anyway? she wondered, and opened her eyes. It took her a moment to realize that, though she was awake, the singing hadn’t stopped. One of the servants must have got into the wine, though the song had a curious disembodied quality that floated through the room. Almost like a ghost—

She sat bolt upright in bed, heart pounding. Jamie! Flinging the covers off, she jumped from the bed and sprinted across the room, not stopping for shawl or wrapper or candle. She had to be certain that her son was safe. Though the house was still unfamiliar to her, she found her way with the unerring instinct peculiar to mothers, and opened the door to Jamie’s room just as the song trailed off. Early in the morning...

The silence in the wake of the singing was uncanny. Anne shuddered as she ran across the room, wincing as her bare feet stepped on sharp little pieces of metal. Giles’s, and Jamie’s, toy soldiers. She’d told him to put them away, but she wouldn’t scold him, if only he were all right. “Jamie,” she whispered, her voice harsh, and drew a deep breath of relief. Jamie’s breathing was deep and even, and her seeking hands found him tangled in the bedclothes, one hand to his face. Gently she prised his thumb away from his mouth and tucked him under the covers, thanking God he was unhurt.

Toora, toora, toora loo, you look like a monkey in a zoo. And if I had a face like you I’d join the British Army.

Startled, Anne jumped up. The singing again, sounding as eerie and as loud as in her own room. Good God, was the house really haunted? A chill skittered down her spine at the thought, even though she knew it was nonsense. The stories about the house and Obadiah’s dire warnings aside, she didn’t believe in such things. That meant that someone human was behind this.

Anne was suddenly furiously angry. Of all the ridiculous things she had had to endure since returning to England, snubbings, scandal, Julia’s superciliousness and Giles’s new arrogance, this was by far the worst. She was going to find out who was doing this, and give him a piece of her mind.

An unearthly glow filled the hall just as she ran out of Jamie’s room. Anne pulled herself up short, that chill shaking her again at the sight of a figure floating toward her. Too late. Her momentum carried her into the hall and right up against the figure. Whoever it was grunted in surprise. She realized, with quite unnecessary relief, that it was no ghost, but Giles, carrying a candle. Hard upon that thought, though, came the realization that she was in a different kind of danger. She was in Giles’s arms.