The Headstrong Ward (4 page)

“Mariah?” asked Laurence.

“Oh, yes. I forgot to tell you. Miss Mariah Postlewaite-Debenham arrived this morning, my chaperone.”

“Did she indeed? How fortunate that she should be early.”

Anne smiled.

“Did you like her?” added Laurence, seeing her expression.

“Yes indeed.”

“But where has she gone? Why isn't she down to tea?”

“She is outside. It seems that she is fond of gardening, and she wanted to look over the park.”

“Ah. I believe Charles did say something about that.”

“I wager he did,” murmured Anne.

“What?”

She shook her head, and was spared from answering further by sounds on the staircase outside. As these increased in volume, it was apparent that several persons were approaching, and in another moment Mariah herself stalked in, followed by Fallow and a young man in coarse homespuns.

Mariah marched directly up to Laurence. “Are you my cousin Charles?” she demanded. Without waiting for an answer, she added, “I wish to tell you that
this
young man”—she pointed to the youth behind Fallow, and he cringed—“has no more idea of trenching than a sparrow. I found him filling in a border which had not been dug more than six inches!”

Laurence goggled at her.

“And if you intend to keep your park in any sort of condition, you must
do
something,” continued Mariah. “Shallow trenching is
ruinous
.”

“I, ah…” Reverend Debenham swiveled an anguished eye to Fallow.

The butler rose to the challenge. “This is not Lord Wrenley,” he said. “As I informed you, Lord Wrenley is out for the day. This is Mr. Laurence Debenham, rector of Wrenley church. Miss Postlewaite-Debenham, sir.”

Mariah heaved a sigh. “And I suppose none of you cares a farthing about trenching. Well, I shall simply have to show the boy myself, then.”

She turned as if to go away again. “Won't you have some tea first, Mariah?” asked Anne. “That can wait, surely.”

“Wait?” The other's outrage was patent.

Once again, Fallow stepped into the breach. “If I might mention, ma'am. Jack has just started in the gardens this week. He is inexperienced. I am sure Ames, the head gardener, means to educate him in the proper method of, er, trenching.”

Mariah snorted. “Head gardener! Stuff and nonsense.”

Fallow drew himself up and stared coldly over the company's heads.

“Come, Mariah, do have some tea,” coaxed Anne. “It will be dark soon in any case, and we have visitors.”

After a visible struggle with herself, the other gave in and came toward them. As she sank into an armchair, Fallow drew the unfortunate gardener's boy out of the room. Anne furnished her chaperone with tea and bread and butter and introduced their callers. “Branwell?” responded Mariah. “Family of Bishop Branwell?”

“Yes,” said Lydia eagerly. “He is my father.”

Mariah sniffed. “I am sorry for you, then. The man's views are unsound, completely unsound.”

Lydia sank back with a gasp, and Laurence stared.

“Thinks roses should be pruned twice a year,” continued Mariah. “I saw his article in
The
Horticultural
Gazette
. Never read such poppycock. A good thorough pruning in the autumn is what roses want, not some lunatic half-measure in October and another dose in November. Idiocy!”

Lydia was obviously speechless with outrage, though she was showing signs of recovering her tongue. Laurence seemed stunned, and Mrs. Branwell was shrinking back in her chair as if terrified. “Well, Mariah,” ventured Anne, “I suppose there are differences of opinion in matters of gardening, as in everything else. I know my teachers said—”

“Nonsense!” interrupted the other. “There is a right way and a wrong way, and that is that. The bishop should stick to what he knows. I don't tell him how to preach a sermon; he shouldn't try to tell me how to prune my roses.” She laughed abruptly. “Particularly since he knows nothing whatsoever about the matter.”

“My father has won prizes for his roses!” snapped Lydia. “They are considered the finest in the county.”

Mariah shook her head. “That is one of the wonders of nature. Abuse plants as you will, often as not they blossom anyway.”

Miss Branwell sprang to her feet. “I think it's time we went, Mother,” she said loftily.

Laurence hurried to her side as her mother joined her. “Lydia, you mustn't take this too seriously. After all…”

With a look that would have withered the roses in question, she turned away from him. “Good day, Lady Anne. I am so pleased to have met you. We are leaving for London in three days, but I shall see you there, of course.”

Anne had also risen, though Mariah kept her seat. “Yes indeed, I shall look forward to meeting again soon.”

Lydia bowed her head majestically and departed, her mother and Laurence close on her heels.

“Unpleasant girl,” said Mariah, reaching for another piece of bread and butter. “It was plain she knows nothing at all about roses.”

“Perhaps you were a little harsh, however,” suggested Anne.

Mariah fixed her with a disconcerting twinkle. “You mean rude. Well, I warned you. I told Charles I wouldn't make a proper chaperone. This is the sort of person I am, and you must make the best of it.”

Anne, returning to her seat and pouring out another cup of tea, thought that that might be more difficult than she had first thought. She also wondered whether Laurence could
really
be in love with Lydia and, uneasily, whether Bishop Branwell was accompanying his wife and daughter to London.

At dinner that evening, Lord Wrenley forever alienated his second cousin Mariah by informing her that he had no interest in trenching and did not care a fig how it was done in his park. When he referred her to the head gardener, Anne knew that all was lost, but Charles seemed blandly unaware of Mariah's outrage, as of her eccentricities, which he ignored. Anne had been curious to see how he would respond to her unconventional chaperone, but she was disappointed. Whatever his thoughts, he kept them to himself.

Near the end of the meal, he turned to her and said, “I had planned to go up to London next week, but since Miss Postlewaite-Debenham has arrived, I see no reason to delay. I suppose you are ready to go?”

“Yes indeed. I am eager.”

“Good. The season will not really get started for another two or three weeks, but you will be able to fill your time, I imagine.”

“I have several friends in town for their come-outs,” she agreed. She eyed him. “And I can call on Miss Branwell, of course.”

“I heard she had been here. By all means, call upon her.”

Anne sensed mockery, though she could see no signs of it in his face. She became even more interested in his opinion of Laurence's fiancée. “Miss Branwell seems a very
sincere
girl.”

Lord Wrenley raised one blond eyebrow, his gray eyes glinting. “How well you put it. She is, isn't she?”

Confident that he shared her doubts, Anne replied, “Do you think she and Laurence will suit? Really, I mean?”

He shrugged.

Thinking he hadn't fully understood her, Anne added, “I was wondering, that is, whether he will be truly happy with her.”

“I think it extremely unlikely,” answered the viscount in an indifferent tone.

The girl's gray-violet eyes widened. “You sound as if you didn't care.”

“It is none of my affair if Laurence chooses to saddle himself with a simpering, self-righteous wife.
I
shan't see much of her, you may be sure.”

“None of your affair? Your brother's happiness?” Anne was both astonished and outraged by this indifference. And she could not quite believe it, even of Charles. Though she had always understood that the Debenham brothers cared little for
her
, she had thought they loved each other.

Her emotion seemed to amuse Charles. “Laurence is a grown man. He is not, any longer, my responsibility. He must make of his life what he can.”

“But you are older, more experienced. You should help him!”

The viscount's mouth turned down. “How do you suggest I do so? Tell him my opinion of his fiancée? I assure you he would not listen. In fact, he would be extremely annoyed.”

“Not if you spoke to him properly.”

Lord Wrenley sighed. “You have a distorted view of brotherly exchanges, Anne. You must take my word for it, Laurence would not brook my interference. Allow that I know more of my family than you.”

This callous remark brought back all Anne's personal grievances. She pushed back her chair and rose. “You
should
,” she cried. “You were allowed to live in it!” She picked up her skirts and ran from the dining room.

Mariah, who had been placidly eating a Chantilly creme through this exchange, looked up in time to see the door slam. She shook her head and turned to gaze at Charles. He looked exasperated. “You know as little about handling young girls as you do about gardening,” she commented, rising from her place.

“No doubt,” retorted the viscount bitterly. “And I can only say I was very happy in my ignorance.”

“Indeed?” Mariah's gray eyes twinkled. “I wonder how long that will last.” And she followed Anne out of the room.

Lord Wrenley, left to himself, rang for the port and, when it came, poured it out savagely. This was just what he had expected—his peace cut up by emotional scenes, his temper roused by foolish chatter, and his pleasant routine disrupted by annoying trivialities. His predictions about Anne's arrival had been dead on the mark. The only thing to do now was get to London as soon as possible, where he could hand her over to Laurence and Edward and wash his hands of the whole dreary matter.

***

The Debenham party set off for town four days later, making quite a caravan on the high road. Charles and Laurence rode. Anne and Mariah occupied the traveling chaise. And the servants and baggage took up two other vehicles behind. The viscount was irritable, and the others avoided him, but Laurence did everything in his power to make up for it by being pleasant and attentive to the ladies' wishes. He joined them for several stages in the chaise, and by the time they reached London, Anne felt she knew him fairly well, and liked him better.

They pulled up before the Debenham town house in the late afternoon. Anne had never seen it before and was curious about all its fittings. Since Charles disappeared as soon as they arrived, Laurence showed her over it, and she praised the light elegance of the furnishings until he said, “Yes, Charles has done a splendid job on the place. He has fine taste.”

“Your mother did not decorate it?”

“Years ago, yes. But she rarely came to London after Father died, you know, so Charles had the place refurbished.”

Just like him, thought Anne.

“Edward is coming over to dinner,” continued the other, “so we shall have all the family together again.”

“How touching,” replied Anne. Her tone made Laurence glance sharply at her, and she hurriedly added, “How is Edward?”

“Well.” He chuckled. “Very dashing. He is a captain in the Horse Guards, you know, and extremely pleased about it. He is well fitted for a military career.”

“As you are for the church?” Anne watched him closely.

“I hope so,” answered Laurence, surprised. “I do my best.”

“Did Charles decide what you and Edward would do?”

“Charles?” He laughed a little. “No indeed. He sent us both off to Oxford with ample allowances and obvious relief and told us to choose a profession. I have never heard him remark on the outcome.”

“He seems strangely uninterested in his family.”

“Ah, well, it was a case of too much too soon, I suppose.”

Anne frowned, not understanding, but before she could inquire further, a gong sounded below.

“We must change for dinner,” added Laurence. “That was the half hour bell. Can you find your way back to your bedchamber?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Good. I will see you in the drawing room, then.”

Anne walked slowly along the corridor to her room, thinking about Laurence. He seemed sincerely committed to the church; she had heard that in his voice, and she was glad. His kindness must make him a good clergyman. Anne frowned. But what about the influence of Miss Lydia Branwell? That would have to be investigated.

Anne changed into an evening dress of sea-green satin that was her favorite of all the dresses Mrs. Castleton's modiste had made for her. The skirt was cut in two tiers, to lessen her height, and lace softened the lines at the neck and sleeves. Crane rearranged her curls, threading a green ribbon through them, and clasped a pearl necklace around her throat. All in all, Anne was very satisfied with the reflection that looked back from the mirror when she was finished. It was, if not beautiful, extremely eye-catching.

She was the first down to the drawing room, so she walked over and lifted the cover off Augustus's cage. There had been a heated debate at Wrenley as to whether the parrot should accompany them to London. Laurence had argued against taking him with all his eloquence. But Charles had merely smiled, and Anne, who had grown unaccountably attached to the bird, had insisted he must be brought. Without support, Laurence had finally given in. But it had been agreed that Augustus's cage would be covered early each night, encouraging him to go to sleep rather than enliven the company with unsuitable comments. “How are you?” Anne asked him now. “Was the journey very uncomfortable?”

Augustus cocked his head and stared at her with one green eye.

“We shan't be traveling again for a long while,” she assured him.

“Bacon-brain!” squawked the parrot cordially. “Rattle-pate. Numbskull.”

“Good God,” replied a male voice from the doorway. “My reputation has preceded me again.”

Anne let the cage cover fall and turned to find a lanky blond Guards officer lounging against the jamb. “Edward.”

“You see. You knew right away. I declare it is too bad of Charles and Laurence. They might have allowed me to make my own impression.”

Anne laughed. “They did. Augustus is indiscriminate with his abuse, I assure you. He has said the same to Fallow.”

“Has he, by Jove?” Edward strolled toward her. “I wish I might have seen that. But who is Augustus?”

She lifted the cloth again. “My parrot.”

“Your…” Captain Debenham blinked at the bird, then stared at her. “But you can't be…that is…you are not
Anne
?”

She returned his gaze.

Very uncharacteristically, Edward flushed. “That is…of course, you must be. I should have seen it at once. But you look so… I thought you must be someone else…but then, the parrot… Anne
would
have…I mean…”

Anne fought a smile. “Talking of reputations preceding one, it seems I have the same problem.”

With an engaging grin, Edward spread his hands. “I shan't try to redeem myself. I have never in my life made such a shocking blunder. But you have changed a good deal, you know.” He surveyed her with more care and obvious approval. “You look splendid, in fact.”

Something in his tone made Anne answer sweetly, “That must be a great relief to you.”

“Yes, it… No, dash it, nothing of the kind.”

Unable to restrain herself any longer, the girl burst into peals of laughter.

Edward grinned with relief. “I remember that laugh, at least. You may look different, but the old Anne is still there.” He lifted the cage cover and peered in. “This bird is evidence of that.”

“Bacon-brain!” screeched Augustus again.

“Very perceptive,” agreed Lord Wrenley from the doorway. “The creature has more taste than I realized.”

“He called
you
a heathen,” Anne pointed out.

“No, did he really?” asked Edward. “And what did Charles do?” He dropped the cloth and joined the others in walking toward the fireplace.

“I very wisely ignored it,” responded his brother, “realizing that a parrot can mean nothing when it speaks.”

“That is not what Miss Branwell thinks.” Anne grinned mischievously.

“Lord, have you met the Branwell already?” exclaimed Edward.

“I passed Laurence on the stairs,” said Lord Wrenley, and in the next moment, the third Debenham brother indeed joined them. Anne flushed slightly. She hoped Laurence had not overheard her remark; its content had been inoffensive, but the tone was not.

“Well, here we all are,” declared Edward.

“All but Cousin Mariah,” agreed the viscount. “I wonder what can be keeping her.”

“Cousin…? Oh, Anne's chaperone, eh? She here already?” Edward looked vaguely toward the door.

“In the house, yes,” replied Charles caustically. “In the drawing room, obviously not.”

His tone seemed exaggeratedly harsh to Anne. She looked from one to the other of the brothers, but none seemed surprised by the exchange.

In the next moment, Mariah joined them. “I am sorry to be late,” she said as she walked in. “I was looking over the back parlor, the one you have given me for my plants, Charles, and I lost track of the time.”

The viscount inclined his head briefly, then introduced Edward.

“Oh, yes,” answered Mariah, holding out her hand. “You are the last of them. How do you do?”

Looking bemused, Captain Debenham shook her hand. “Very well, thank you.”

She nodded absently and turned back to their host. “Are you certain that is the sunniest room in the house, Charles? The windows are not overlarge.”

“No, the sunniest is the dining room, but you cannot have that.”

Mariah's eyes narrowed, but then she shook her head regretfully. “No, I suppose that would be inconvenient.”

“Very,” agreed the viscount.

“Well, the parlor will have to do, then, but I shall have trouble with my borders.”

“Your…borders?” echoed Edward, fascinated.

But just then, Fallow came in to announce dinner, and the subject was lost in the general exodus.

Anne found the meal a little strange. Her only real experience of family gatherings had been at the Castletons', and that noisy happy group was quite unlike the one around the Debenham table. Edward did laugh and joke, and Laurence kept up a stream of pleasant conversation, but the overall feeling of the occasion never matched the Castletons' warmth. Mariah remained distracted; she had brought a sheet of paper and a pencil to the table and was drawing arcane diagrams throughout dinner. And it seemed to Anne that Charles missed no opportunity to blight the others' efforts at conviviality. His smiles were all thin sarcastic ones and his remarks chilling. His presence seemed to cast a pall over both Edward and Laurence, in different ways. Laurence became more solemn than usual, and Edward more impudent and extravagant. By the time the ladies rose from the table, Anne felt she had a great deal to think over.

Since returning home, her ideas on a number of subjects had undergone revision. She still resented the way Charles had treated her, but she now realized that it had not been a personal vendetta. He was the same with his own brothers. And the whole family was shadowed by it. Something, decided Anne, ought to be done. But she did not know precisely what, or even where to begin finding out. Only one thing was clear to her: her own view had been narrow. She must observe and ponder before she would truly understand the Debenhams, or her own position among them.