Eighteen

Anne sat on the window seat of her bedroom and watched the rain, but her thoughts were on the surprising conversation with Jason. He couldn’t have been serious when he said he intended to return to America. She could not believe that. No, she wouldn’t believe it! The thought of his leaving, she suddenly realized, was intolerable. She had become accustomed to his presence in the house; it made her feel protected and secure.

She tried to imagine the America he had described. He had spoken so lovingly of it, she almost longed to see it for herself. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine a voyage through the United States, with Jason as guide and companion. The prospect set off little bubbles of excitement in her blood. But of course it was an impossible prospect—she would be in Shropshire before long. All at once, a question occurred to her which made her very uncomfortable: why was the prospect of seeing the green hills of Virginia so much more exciting to her than that of seeing the green hills of Shropshire? Before she permitted herself to search for an answer, she banished the question from her mind.

But one thing become increasingly clear to her as her musings continued. Jason was not to be permitted to leave—for Harriet’s and Peter’s sakes, if not for her own. They needed him. She must see Jason reestablished. Once he found contentment in his new life, his homesickness would fade-of that she was certain.

Her first step in her attempt to reestablish Jason in society was to give herself ample time to accomplish her goal. To that end, she went immediately to her writing desk and penned a note to Arthur, telling him that the family crisis necessitated a brief postponement of their elopement. That done, she found her spirits amazingly lightened—so much so that her puce-colored dress seemed suddenly inappropriate, and she promptly changed into a shirred muslin creation the color of jonquils.

Arthur, who had not seen his betrothed for weeks, had been having a difficult time. He couldn’t tear from his memory the image of a heart-shaped face topped with dusky curls. In all his twenty-five years, Arthur Claybridge had been a model of manly rectitude, the pride of an evangelical mother and the despair of a dissolute father. Arthur considered himself an honorable man. An honorable man, however, did not spend his days and nights dreaming of one young lady while betrothed to another.

Arthur took stern measures to cleanse from his soul what he feared was a tendency to profligacy. He took long walks. He gave up meat. He immersed himself daily in a tub filled with cold water. He studied scripture for long hours at a time. Before he fell asleep at night, he tried to picture himself in a cottage in Shropshire, gazing contentedly across the table at a countrified Anne with a baby in her arms and a child at her knee. Somehow the vision seemed too unreal to give him comfort.

When Arthur received Anne’s note, his first reaction was one of relief. But as soon as he recognized the feeling for the unworthy thing it was, he banished it from his mind. In its place came a wave of resentment. How dared she use him in this way? Why should everyone else in her life come before him? His rancor was not a feeling he found to be worthy of a man about to take holy orders, but he could not banish it. Thrusting the note in the pocket of his coat, he rushed out of the house into the rain.

Anne was sitting in the library, engrossed in concocting schemes to reunite Jason with the Prince, when she was interrupted by Coyne, who informed her that she had a caller.

“What? In this downpour? Who is it, Coyne?” she asked.

“It’s a Miss Alexandra de Guis, Miss Anne. Shall I send her in?”

“Lexie? What on earth—? She can’t want to see me. You must have misunderstood. It’s probably his lordship she’s come to see. Just tell her he’s gone out.”

“She particularly told me it was you she wanted to see, Miss Anne,” Coyne insisted.

“Really? I wonder what—? Well, send her in, then, Coyne.”

In a moment Lexie entered the room. Anne rose to greet her, and the two touched cheeks. “What a surprise, Miss de Guis,” Anne murmured with affected politeness. “Here, let Coyne have your pelisse—it’s quite damp.”

Lexie removed her stylish cape and handed it to the butler. “What a charming room,” she said, looking about her with what Anne thought was a proprietary interest.

“Thank you,” Anne said coldly. “Coyne, bring in a tea tray, will you? Miss de Guis would not doubt like a cup after having ridden out through such a downpour.”

“No, thank you, Miss Hartley. I can only stay a moment. I’m keeping my coachman waiting at the door. Please don’t bother with tea.”

The butler left, and Anne motioned Lexie to a chair. Lexie settled back gracefully and watched while Anne took a chair facing her, her almond-shaped eyes searching Anne’s face and her lips curled in a slightly sardonic smile. “You don’t like me very much, do you, Miss Hartley?” she asked abruptly. “Don’t bother to deny it—most women don’t like me. I attribute their dislike to simple jealousy, but in your case, I admit to being puzzled. You are quite lovely enough not to have to be jealous of anyone. And you’ve already won your heart’s desire, have you not? Lord Claybridge is quite besotted over you, they say.”

Anne, very uncomfortable under Lexie’s direct gaze, tried to avoid an answer. “I suppose you’ve come to call on Lord Mainwaring,” she said irrelevantly, trying to change the subject. “I’m sorry, but he’s gone out.”

“I know that. It’s his afternoon for the boxing saloon. Amazing, isn’t it, how many otherwise sensible gentlemen are addicted to that barbarous sport? But never mind that. I came purposely to see you, my dear, and I particularly did not want Jason to know.”

Lexie’s words indicated a degree of intimacy with Jason which irritated Anne in the extreme. “Is that so?” she inquired cooly.

“Yes. You see, it’s because of him that I’ve come to see you.”

“Because of Lord Mainwaring?”

Lexie raised an eyebrow. “Lord Mainwaring? Dear me, how formal you are. Come now, Miss Hartley, may we not speak comfortably with each other? I’ve come merely as a friend of the family. I believe you all have need of a friend at this time.”

“I wasn’t aware, Miss de Guis, that we are short of friends.”

“My, my. We are at sword’s point, aren’t we?” Lexie murmured, half to herself. “May I ask, Miss Hartley, what it is about me that sets up your bristles? I have never done you a disservice that I’m aware of, have I?”

“No, of course not,” Anne answered hastily, Lexie’s bluntness making her decidedly uncomfortable.

“Then what is it that stands between us? Is it my reputation? I assure you that any gossip you may have heard regarding my being ‘fast’ is nothing by nonsense. Why, the worst thing that may honestly be claimed against my character is that I damp my dresses. But I venture to guess that there have been times when you have done so.”

Anne had to smile. “More than once, I must admit. Although I caught the most dreadful chill the last time I tried it, and so I’ve given up the practice.”

“There! You see? So why does my doing it set all the tongues wagging? It is because Mama was so imprudent as to run off with a French emigré? And how long must I be blamed for my mother’s headstrong behavior?”

Anne tried to remember when and for what cause she had first believed that Lexie was “fast.” Could she have been misjudging Miss de Guis all these years? She looked with dawning compassion across the room at the lovely creature sitting opposite her. “No one blames your mother in the least, as far as I know,” she assured the girl. “Why should they? The Compte de Guis is a most respected gentleman. You must not imagine that your parents are the subjects of malicious gossip. I assure you they are not.”

“Then why am I the subject of malicious gossip?” Lexie asked in sincere perplexity.

Anne looked down at her hands in shame. “Perhaps you were right in your first suggestion—that we are all jealous cats when we see so beautiful a creature as you in our midst.”

“No, it’s utter nonsense! Charlotte Firbanke is more beautiful by far, and no one says a word about her!”

“But Charlotte is such a good little mouse …” Anne began.

Lexie drew herself up indignantly. “And what makes you think that I am not?”

Anne couldn’t help giggling. “Really, Lexie, you’re not comparing your behavior with Charlotte Firbanke’s, are you? Why, Charlotte never opens her mouth unless her mama prompts her.”

Lexie’s lips quivered and a reluctant laugh popped out. “I suppose my behavior cannot be described as quite so discreet as all that,” she admitted with a guilty smile.

“Well, you must own, Lexie, that you are frank to a fault,” Anne said, feeling a sudden warmth for the young woman opposite.

“That’s true,” Lexie nodded ruefully. “My wretched tongue. Mama always cautions me about it. But I can’t seem to control myself. If a thought leaps into my mind, I blurt it out at once. But it hasn’t been such a bad thing today—I’m glad I’ve been so frank with you, Anne. (I may call you Anne, may I not? You called me Lexie a moment ago.) At least it’s broken the ice between us.”

Anne looked at the girl before her with new eyes. She had never realized that the beautiful Miss de Guis could be so vulnerable. Remembering all the unkind thoughts she’d harbored against the girl made her quite ashamed. “I’m glad, too, Lexie. Frankness is a quality I very much admire.”

“That’s what Jason says, too. And that brings us back to the reason I’ve come. Jason’s situation with the Regent is the outside of enough, and I’ve come to enlist your help in putting an end to it.”

Lexie’s proprietary tone when she spoke of Jason was enough to cool Anne’s feeling of warmth toward her. Nevertheless, her interest was piqued. “Have you some plan in mind which would end the situation?” she asked curiously.

“Yes, I have. If we could bring Prinny and Jason together at a party small enough to cause them to come face-to-face with each other, I feel sure that Jason could charm the Prince out of the sullens. However, my father and mother are not important enough to entice the Prince to attend one of their soirées.”

“I don’t see how I can help you there. The Prince is hardly likely to accept one of our invitations either.”

“No, I’ve solved that problem myself. My maternal grandmother, Lady Lychett, sits high with Lady Hertford, and they’ve already, between them, arranged a dinner party for the Prince in two weeks’ time. The problem is that Jason refuses to attend. He says he has no desire to ingratiate himself with the Prince. I need your help in persuading him to go.”

Anne shook her head. “If you were unable to persuade him, I don’t see how I can do it,” she admitted honestly.

“Do you suppose Lady Harriet might succeed? Perhaps, between the two of you, you might contrive.”

“All I can promise, Lexie, is that we’ll try. But Jason is a rather stubborn fellow, I’m afraid.”

Lexie sighed and rose to leave. “Yes, I’ve noticed that. He keeps insisting that he intends to return to America. I’ve begun to believe that he really means it.” She started for the door. “Not that I blame him—he makes his homeland sound very inviting.”

Her words smote Anne like a blow. “Oh, has Jason told you … much about America …?” she asked in a small voice.

“Good heavens, yes,” Lexie answered lightly. “He talks about it all the time. Well, good-bye, my dear. I’m so glad we had this chance to become better acquainted.”

Anne accompanied Lexie to the door and said her good-byes with proper politeness, but her mind was in a whirl. She walked back to the library in a daze. Jason’s conversation about America that morning had seemed to Anne to be meant for her alone. It had been a moment of shared intimacy. It had made her feel so close to him. Now that feeling was completely destroyed. He had evidently shared many such moments with Lexie. Perhaps the relationship between them had developed much further than Anne had suspected. Perhaps—and the thought filled Anne with agony—they were in love!

Anne stood at the library window and watched the rain with unseeing eyes. Lexie and Jason. She remembered them whirling around the floor at the Dabney ball, a spectacularly striking pair. Perhaps they would make a well-matched couple. Lexie was not the detestable girl that Anne had thought. Why, then, was the prospect of a marriage between them so painful to her?

But Anne knew the answer to that question. She had known it for weeks. This thing inside her had been growing since the first day she’d seen Jason looming in the doorway of the upstairs sitting room. She loved him. If she did not want Lexie to have him, it was only because she wanted him for herself! What a fool she’d been. She’d bullied him and criticized him and underestimated him and offended him until he couldn’t help but hold her in dislike. And all the while, Lexie had frankly and openly admired him. Who could blame the man for choosing Lexie to wed?

Besides, she had no right to think about Jason in this way. She was promised to Arthur. Arthur was so good, so true and loyal—she couldn’t hurt him. There was nothing for her but to wish Jason well, go off with Arthur to Shropshire and begin the demanding task of accepting her fate with good grace. She had no other choice.

Arthur, meanwhile, looking like a sodden and abstracted ghost, appeared on the doorstep of the Laverstoke house on Half-Moon Street just as Cpatain Edward Wray was emerging. The Captain’s face wore a self-satisfied smile, and Arthur could immediately discern that the Captain had immensely enjoyed his call on Cherry. He glared at Captain Wray with smoldering animosity as he brushed by him on the steps and reached for the door-knocker. The Captain did not understand why he’d been glared at and cut by the disheveled Lord Claybridge, but the matter was of no concern to him. He jumped into his waiting carriage and drove off.

When Arthur was admitted by the butler, Cherry was just about to climb the stairs to her room. However, after taking one look at Arthur’s tempestuous expression, she flew to his side, quickly drew him into the drawing room and closed the door in the butler’s disapproving face. “Arthur, you really must cease this running about in the rain,” she scolded. “You will surely contract an inflammation of the lungs if you are not more careful.”

“Never mind that,” he burst out angrily. “What was Wray doing here?” Then, taking note of Cherry’s startled expression, he immediately became contrite. “No, don’t answer. I’ve no right …! I don’t know what I’m saying.” He dropped into a chair and stared at Cherry miserably. “Here, read this.” And he thrust Anne’s note into her hand.

Cherry scanned it quickly. “Oh, Arthur,” she murmured in her most consolatory tone, “how disappointing! A postponement, when the date of your departure was so near!”

“It is not the postponement which troubles me, I assure you. It is the tone of that note. Is that the letter of a lady who is in love and eager to be married?”

Cherry looked at him in perplexity. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Is there a single ‘dearest’ in the entire epistle? Is there a ‘my love’ to be found anywhere? Is there a ‘sincere regret’ expressed either within or between the lines? Is there, Cherry?”

“Well, I …”

“Don’t be afraid to speak honestly to me, my dear. Too much has passed between us to hold back now. Is this the sort of letter you would write if you had to postpone our wedding?”

Cherry’s eyes filled with tears, and she turned away. “I don’t think it’s fair to ask me that, Arthur,” she said quietly. “Perhaps this letter is a bit … hasty. But Anne has a great deal on her mind these days, you know.”

“Don’t try to defend her to me. She may have a great deal on her mind, but I venture to guess that I do not figure prominently in her thoughts!”

Cherry turned back to him, dismayed. “Are you trying to suggest that Anne doesn’t love you?”

“Yes, that’s just what I’m suggesting. And I want your advice on what to do about it.”

Cherry dropped down on the sofa aghast. “You can’t believe what you’re saying! She has been completely devoted to you for years! I am her very best friend, and she’s never given me any indication of a decline in her love for you. You cannot let yourself forget your feelings for her merely because of a hasty note.”

“Let us not speak of my feelings for her,” Arthur said bitterly, turning his face away from the earnest eyes staring at him. “You, at least, should have guessed that my feelings have undergone a change.”

“Arthur, you mustn’t—!”

He wheeled about, crossed the room and confronted her. “Don’t you think I know I mustn’t? I’ve wrestled with myself for days and days. I am quite prepared to sacrifice myself … I am quite prepared to give you up …! Don’t look at me so, Cherry. I love you! Let me say it just this once!” He sat down beside her on the sofa and grasped her hands. “I love you! But I know that a gentleman can never go back on his word. I am ready to honor my obligations to Anne. But I begin to suspect that her wishes to go through with our plans are no stronger than mine.”

Cherry’s full lips trembled pathetically. “That’s not true. She most truly loves you. I know it. You are … I hate to say this, Arthur, but I must!… you are letting your own wishes interfere with your judgment, I fear.”

He lowered his head. “Is that what you think? That I’m clutching at straws?”

“I … I’m very much afraid so, my dear,” she said tenderly.

He sighed deeply. “What am I to do, my love? I’m at my wit’s end over this affair.”

“There’s nothing you can do but wait until Anne is ready and proceed with your plans. She will be ready soon, I’m sure.”

“Yes, you’re right, of course.” They gazed at each other sadly. “I can see no hope. No hope at all.”

“Don’t say that, Arthur. You will be happy. I know you will.”

“Are you going to be happy married to Captain Wray?”

Cherry smiled wanly. “I’m not going to marry Captain Wray.”

“Oh, Cherry,” Arthur sighed, much moved, “is it because … of me?”

She nodded her head.

“Will you tell me, just once, that you love me? Just once … before I go?”

She lifted his hand, still holding hers, to her face and rubbed her cheek against it. “I love you, Arthur,” she whispered tearfully, “and always will.”

They sat for a moment in silence. Then Arthur rose abruptly and ran to the door. “Arthur,” she cried, “wait, just a moment. I must not … you must not … ever …”

“I know,” he muttered in a choked voice. “I must not ever come here again.” And he ran out into the unfeeling rain.