Sir Henry Russell had been
civilised and respectable in his dealings with his wife, but nevertheless
insistent on his rights. Henry Croft was another matter entirely. It was as if
he had a new toy with which he was quite fascinated. Sir Henry had never
appeared so fascinated and he had also not talked very much apart from offering
an apology here or there. He had certainly not smiled.
Anne felt bemused by it all.
After what felt like hours she trusted he would not mind her speaking, even if
it cost her a great effort to be so impertinent as to interrupt him. "Pray
tell me, Mr. Croft, that you will not do to me what you did to my staircase,
drawing different versions of it until you find one you like best."
He seemed startled at hearing
her voice, but he was not disinclined to give her an answer. "It was a
matter of exploring possibilities."
"Well, pray do not explore
all possibilities with me." She hoped the amorous Mr. Croft was not too
similar to the artistic Mr. Croft, but she feared he was. He noticed her now,
but only because she was the object of his explorations.
"Why not?"
"I think this will suffice.
I think this is scandalous enough to begin with." She wished to bite her
tongue. To begin with! This experience was really affecting her mind.
"Yes, you are probably
right," he said without a trace of disappointment and he ceased his
activities.
His instant acquiescence was as
surprising as the time he had spent on her. She had not known men were capable
of either thing. "For how long do you think you have been busy with
me?"
"I have not kept track of
the time. A few minutes?"
"A few hours?"
Henry was surprised. "Why
did you not speak if it was too long?"
"I was taught not to speak
during these proceedings." That she had spoken eventually was because she
was so tired, she told herself as an excuse. She was not forgetting her
upbringing.
"I was taught not to
proceed at all." It followed that what one was taught did not always make
sense.
"I feel quite dizzy and I
beg you to let me rest. Sunrise is fast approaching."
Henry raised himself on one
elbow to study her. He did not think she had suffered any discomfort, but if
she said nothing he would of course never know for certain. Her tone was mild,
which fit with his other observations. "I know you are prone to fainting,
so I observed you very closely. You still have expressions on your face if your
eyes are closed."
Anne pulled the covers over her
head. Perhaps by doing so he might go away, but it did not feel as if he left.
She resurfaced. "I cannot believe you left the candles on."
He looked puzzled by that
comment. "But how was I to see anything without light?"
She gave a disbelieving gasp
upon hearing he had wanted to see something. She could have blown out the
candles as well, she supposed, but she had not thought of doing so.
"I have looked well enough
this time to manage in the darkness next time, perhaps," he said. He
understood his brother now, although why James only felt this way on Sundays
was something he did not yet understand. Perhaps Sophia did not like it. This
made him wonder again about Lady Russell. "I do apologise for my
haste."
"Haste? Which haste?"
She would call him thorough and unhurried, anything but hasty.
"Well, we are not yet
married."
"Not yet!" Marriage
had not crossed Anne's mind for a second. The mention of it astonished her now.
Marriage to Mr. Croft? She could not even imagine it. "I should die of
exhaustion if I married you!" she said to hide her embarrassment at having
got herself into this situation without having thought about anything at all.
"Should I marry someone
else after this?" He could not imagine it.
It was too difficult a matter to
think about, let alone react to immediately. "May I give you an answer
when I wake up?"
She thought she would get no
sleep at all, musing on the advantages and disadvantages of giving up the
independence of a wealthy widow, but Mr. Croft was rather good at putting her
to sleep.
In the morning Anne had still
not thought about the situation for more than a second, but a small panic took
hold of her when she did. What had she done? Although Mr. Croft seemed to be
gone, her memory was clear enough. He had been here and her embarrassment grew.
It was but a small consolation that she was an old widow and that the outside
world might never find out or care. Her own standards were higher, however, and
she had been weak.
With a start she noticed Mr.
Croft by the window. He was not looking out, but he was looking at her and
doing things with a pencil in a small notebook.
"Burn that!" cried
Anne, who instantly knew he must be sketching her. She was not fit to be seen.
"No," he replied,
closing the notebook. "I thought it was impolite to leave a lady in these
circumstances and I had some thinking to do. Would you like some help
dressing?"
That was truly the last thing
she had expected. "How could you be such a gentleman without
practice?" Perhaps she should start behaving like a lady.
"I am not sure it is very
gentlemanly to need or want a lot of practice."
"That is true." She
reached for her stays, glad that he had nothing else in mind this morning. Her
self-image was not in need of more shattering. "Yes, please help me."
"Of course, although I
disagree about your needing that contraption."
"How did we end up in this
situation?" Anne sighed.
Fastening her stays was nearly
the same as loosening her stays. Henry ran one hand up to her face, as he had
done the evening before. "Like this?" Yesterday it had been an
entirely spontaneous gesture, but he would not have continued if she had
reacted negatively. He wondered if he should remind her that she had not, but
very likely she knew that.
She felt stronger today and she
would not be as easily mesmerised. "Why did you feel the need to do
that?"
"Why did you feel the need
to accept it?" he replied, although he had thought about his behaviour.
"I wish I knew." Well,
it might have something to do with his good looks and light touch. "No,
that is not kind of me. I do know, but I am not going to share it with
you."
Henry still needed time to
consider whether he would like to share his life with such an illogical
creature as a woman, no matter how many attractive physical attributes she
might have. "I am going to my room. What is your name?"
"Anne."
His father would be devastated
to hear what his eldest son had done, his brother James would be amused and the
youngest three would be appalled. Henry yawned, but apart from that he was in
an excellent mood. He would almost completely change his mind about women. In
the solitude of his room, however, he felt a little more sober about them.
There was the fact that Lady
Russell had reacted quite strongly to the word marriage. It was quite clear
that she had not gone along with everything because she had had marriage in
mind. Precisely why she had gone along instead was a mystery. He could be brief
about his own motivations, but hers were difficult to discern. He would give
her some time to think on them.
That she was taught not to speak
was not a good reason. He had studied her closely enough to rule out boredom or
dissatisfaction. From the occasional widening of her eyes he had gathered that
perhaps he was doing things a little differently from that first husband, but
it had not looked as if she minded.
His father's warnings and his
brother's words now made more sense, although neither opinion coincided exactly
with his own. Lady Russell was of course a different sort of lady, at first
sight very strict, but he knew it was not so. And her name was Anne.
Anne was troubled by having to
get rid of trousers and a shirt that she did not want to be found in her room.
She imagined the gossip spreading through the village if a maid found such
masculine items in the room. Everybody knew her here and it would be highly interesting
to speculate about what she might have done with the owner of the clothes.
It would be easier to get rid of
the clothes if they had not belonged to someone who might want them back. Her
conscience forbade setting fire to them or throwing them out of the window, yet
not having brought a trunk she had no idea where to hide them or how to carry
them out unseen.
She muttered something about
useless men who did not think of such things and she was quite ready to toss
the clothes out of the window anyhow when Mrs. Wentworth appeared. Guiltily she
shoved them under the pillow.
"You did not come to
breakfast," Mrs. Wentworth said in concern. "Are you unwell?"
She must present a strange
picture, sitting on her bed glaring, but completely dressed and ostensibly
ready to leave. "No, I am fine."
"Are you not hungry?"
"I was very hungry, but
something prevented me from leaving."
"Is there any way I could
help?"
"I need to get rid of
these." She pulled the trousers and the shirt from under the pillow and spread
them out on the bed. Mrs. Wentworth's concern was as always persuasive.
"And I do not know how."
Mrs. Wentworth stared.
"Anne, please. Can you
think of how they might be taken out of the room rather than of how they came
in?" She hated to sound so pitiful.
"I was not yet
thinking," Mrs. Wentworth defended herself. "Are they Mr.
Croft's?"
"As there are preciously
few gentlemen in the house who are not Mr. Croft, that is very likely."
"True. But you know which
one I mean. Perhaps I should send him here so you and he can sort it out
without involving me?" She did not look as if she wanted to be involved.
"He is quite useless at
sorting things out, Anne," Anne said with a sigh. "Were I to involve
him again, I fear what will happen. I asked him something last night, a
simple request, but dear me, the trouble it got me in is unbelievable. There is
no bell in this room and so I looked out of the room to see if anybody might be
of assistance. I saw him and asked him to send me a maid and a nightgown. Yes,
you gave me one, but we do not have the same figure."
"Oh."
"Besides, even if it did
fit me, I should first have to be helped out of my underclothing."
"Oh. You should have asked
for me."
"I thought that a simple
request for a maid would suffice," Anne said morosely. She hoped she would
not be asked about her underclothing. "But it was not to be. I asked for a
maid and a nightgown and what does he bring me?"
"Neither."
"Trousers and a
shirt."
"Oh." Mrs. Wentworth
pressed her hand to her mouth and she clearly wanted to laugh. "How
helpful."
She should get back to the core
of the matter. "To summarise a very long and tedious story, I now have
trousers and a shirt to get rid of."
Mrs. Wentworth picked them up
and folded them carefully. "I shall lay them in his room. Why do you not
hurry down to breakfast before they take everything away?"
Anne was amazed at the simplicity of the solution, although she could hardly have gone there herself.
Chapter Twelve
There was a knock on Henry's
door and when he investigated, it was Mrs. Wentworth. She was not the one he
had expected, so he stared.
"These, I believe, are
yours," she said, holding out the clothes he had taken to Lady Russell the
evening before.
"Yes, thank you." He
could not say anything else; he was too busy wondering how much she knew. She
gave him a curious look, but he was determined not to say any more. It worked,
because she left.
Anne had gone down to breakfast
and found she was not too late to eat, although she was alone because everyone
else had eaten already.
Mrs. Wentworth appeared a few
minutes later. Seemingly she had not held a very long conversation with Mr.
Croft. "Done," she whispered. "He said thank you. And nothing
else."
"Good." She would not
have wanted him to say too much. "Thank you, Anne. You are the only one I
could confide in."
Mrs. Wentworth looked puzzled.
"But that was not confiding."
"It was as close to that as
possible. I have too much to think about. And I should appreciate it very much
if you did not breathe a word of this to the admiral." The admiral, she
feared, would need only a tiny bit of information to know the truth.
Henry would do nothing to her,
he had said, but that had been wrong. Perhaps he had meant that Henry would not
do anything unpleasant? He had not. He had not done anything against her will,
merely against her better judgement, perhaps.
"If you do not want him to
hear anything, you should keep Sophia out of it as well," Mrs. Wentworth
advised her. "I discovered when I was still trying to keep things from
them that they tell each other everything. Either tell neither or take it in
stride. But they mean well. Shall I distract their attention by telling them
something?"
"Which intriguing secret
could you have?" They would not be distracted by anything that was less
scandalous than what they imagined about her and young Anne, as a respectably
married woman, could not have become involved in anything scandalous.
"Well, Frederick thinks I
am expecting."
Anne's eyes widened.
"Expecting? And you speak of it so casually!"
"I do not know if it is so.
I could ask Sophia some questions. She will tell the admiral, who will then
concentrate on asking or teasing us about it. Do you not think he will? He will
forget you entirely."
"Anne, I think you speak of
this far too casually. I cannot let you do that." It was not something
that ought to be spoken of so carelessly.
"It might well be so.
Frederick says --"
"Anne, you cannot toy with
people's expectations. They would be happy for you and then it might all turn
out to be untrue. Or it might go wrong. How would you feel then? Whatever
Frederick thinks is something he should keep to himself for a month or three
until the greatest danger has passed."
"I see your point,"
Mrs. Wentworth said regretfully. "But I really do not know if he can keep
silent, as he strikes me as quite excited by the prospect."
"I will be very happy for
you if it is truly so," Anne said in a grave voice. "But having had
it go wrong in the first few weeks myself a few times I cannot feel comfortable
until a certain amount of time has passed."
"Really?" she
breathed. "I never knew. I am so sorry."
It was too long ago to distress
her. She concentrated on her goddaughter's possibly happy news. It might make
her a sort of grandmother. "And how far does Frederick think you are
along?"
"A few days less than we
have been married?" Mrs. Wentworth guessed.
"A week or so! Dear me,
tell the boy to calm down!" She shook her head, torn as she was between
thinking him exasperating and endearing. "I see you were right about
doubting his ability to keep silent for three months. He strikes me as a
trifle..."
"Obsessed, yes, I told him
so." Mrs. Wentworth glowed in admiration of his obsession.
"Does he ever doubt
himself? He does not appear to be much changed in that regard. Rash, eager and
confident. He will be rich and successful. He will have a child. I hope, my
dear, that this does not mean you have to suffer his rash and eager attentions
all day long until you have given him what he seems to crave." Captain
Wentworth would not be stopped as easily as Mr. Croft.
"Not all day long,"
Mrs. Wentworth assured her demurely. "I am allowed breaks to talk to
you."
Anne gasped, for Anne Elliot's
morals were most definitely in decline. As she was having this thought, she
wondered about her own.
"That was in jest."
Anne tried to put the matter
behind her. "I should be very happy for you. You would be an excellent
mother."
"And Frederick will be an
excellent father."
"He is excellence
personified," Anne said dryly, although she was pleased to see young
Anne's happiness. "I am sorry I did not see it instantly, but I can be
wrong. About men."
Mrs. Wentworth gave her an
interested gaze.
Anne deliberately ignored it.
"But Frederick would like a child then?" She had never thought he was
so domestic, but perhaps it had been a change in him rather than in her
perception. It had been eight years. He would have grown up.
"A little Anne, he
says."
"It might well be a little
Frederick," Anne pointed out, but she suspected that made little
difference. They would like that equally well and several of each even better.
"But we shall not name them
Frederick or Anne, because there are already too many of each around."
"Anne," said Henry. He
could say Lady Russell, but he did not want to and Anne was shorter. He looked
at Mrs. Wentworth in great surprise when she suddenly stuck her head above the
table. What had she been doing under it?
Anne looked mortified. "The
other Anne," she said and pushed her chair back hurriedly to join him by
the door.
Mrs. Wentworth sat staring.
Evidently she thought it very odd indeed. Henry did not know what to do about
her and perhaps Anne did not either, because she said nothing. Mrs. Wentworth
got up. As she passed them, she gave Anne a slight pat on the arm. Then she
left the room.
"What will she be thinking
now?" Anne lamented. "She left us alone."
"Thankfully. I did not know
she was under the table." He was not in the habit of checking under tables
and nobody could expect him to be, but he felt guilty anyhow.
"Had you wanted to talk to
me about something?"
He should speak to her, but
privately. In her own house that was going to be easier. "I wanted to ask
you when you were going back to the Lodge."
"After I have finished my breakfast
and I have conveyed my thanks to your brother and sister." Anne returned
to her seat. She would not need long to eat.
"I cannot go before you
go."
"You can. They will let you
in. It might be even better if you went alone," she said after a moment of
thought. "It might look less suspicious."
Henry sat on the table beside
her plate. "Should we avoid suspicion?" He thought of his father and
he would agree.
"You have not been very
friendly with any woman before. It would make people wonder if you suddenly
sought out my company." Anne ventured a glance at his face, but he was
listening with a serious look. "If they were to find you sitting on the
table beside me right now, for instance."
"I thought about that
before I sat down, but I reasoned that it I appear less committed to a
conversation if I sit here than if I sat on a chair from where I cannot get up
as easily."
She felt that such a serious
explanation warranted a smile. It had an unexpected result.
Henry felt in his pocket and
withdrew a folded piece of paper. "You wished to burn it, but I like it.
However, you may do with it as you please."
Anne unfolded it. She looked at
it for a long time. "Is this a realistic representation?"
"Not really. I could do
more justice to you with my colours. Keep it. Then you need not fear that it
will fall into the wrong hands because I am careless with it."
"And to think that your
brother asked me if you had asked me to pose as a model on my staircase,"
she mused. "He would like this even better."
"My brother," said
Henry, "quickly needs more children to keep him occupied. Two are
obviously not enough."
Henry had walked to the Lodge on
his own. Lady Russell's servants treated him as an ordinary occurrence now, as
an old family friend who had every right to come here whenever he liked. They
were not at all surprised, but they asked about their mistress.
"Yes, she will be along
shortly," he replied. "But she was still at breakfast."
"We assumed she was asked
to stay at the Hall because of the weather," the footman said a little
nervously. "Were we correct? We thought of sending the carriage, but we
thought the admiral had a carriage as well, so..."
"And the admiral had a
spare room," he assured them and they were all much relieved. He went to
the library where he had last been working. It seemed so long ago, after the
events of the preceding evening and early morning.
To have ended up in such a situation with a woman who did not want to marry him! He could never have predicted that. Yet here he was, in her library, so perhaps the lady was not quite as opposed to him as she might think.
Chapter Thirteen
Anne had expressed her gratitude
to Mrs. Croft, who would be less perceptive due to her care for her twins. She
had indeed not seemed to be aware of anything and her warm assurance that Anne
was always welcome had been most innocent. This had relieved Anne somewhat, but
one of the gentlemen might yet ruin her day.
When she arrived home, however,
only one gentleman remained who had that ability: Mr. Henry Croft. She was told
he was in the library and after a short deliberation, she went there. He was
seated at one of the tables, but he did not appear to have done much so far.
"Oh dear, you have drunk
your tea!" she observed. She was surprised he had already been served, but
even more so by his having drunk it already.
"I was thinking, not
sketching," he replied. "I would rather let it happen again than talk
about it, but I suppose you would prefer the latter."
Anne could not suppress a yawn.
She was a little taken aback by his directness. "I should prefer to nap
first. It was a short night."
"Yes, I am sorry I gave in
to temptation, but you are very tempting."
She had never before been called
tempting and she blushed. It was amazing that both were still possible at her
age. "You cannot be serious," she said softly, but she feared he was.
Insincere flattery was not his strong point.
He got to his feet. "I
am."
"Wait. It is not good to be
tempting. Women should not be tempting."
He had thought about that matter
and he had realised why women had to be tempting. The reply came quickly.
"The world must be populated. If the likes of you did not tempt the likes
of me, why should we bother?"
She placed her hands against his
chest to keep him at a distance. "I am too old. You were not populating
the world; you were enjoying yourself."
"Our being humans means we
can take advantage of the situation in which nature has placed us. It is not
always a good thing," he reflected. "Especially where one party does
not love the other."
Anne was a little confused by
that remark. She was not sure she loved him, so he must mean he did, but how
could he? "One party does not love the other? Which one of us loves
and which one of us does not?"
Henry rested his hands on her
waist. The contraption was back in place, as he could have known. He had helped
her into it himself. He could nevertheless pull her closer. "It is a sad
state of affairs that at present I care very little whether you love me, as
long as you -- precisely why my father objects to these matters so strongly, I
suppose."
"Your father would object
even if we were married." She had heard him object to such a thing
herself.
He was no longer so certain.
"My father has a strange set of opinions. I never connected them to
childbirth, but Sophia did. Perhaps if you are in no danger of producing a
daughter you may do with me whatever you wish."
"Whatever you wish,
surely."
"You will take this off for
your nap?" he asked, tapping her stays. "I beg you to leave it off
afterwards. Please?"
It was certainly more pleasant
to be embraced without, but that begged the question of whether she was going
to embraced later. "What are your plans, Mr. Croft?"
"I think you should call me
Henry, considering that you know me intimately."
"You know me intimately,"
she corrected with a blush. "But considering that we hardly talked, is it
my character you know?"
"I tend not to do this with
ladies whose characters I do not know, so I suppose I must know enough about
yours." He could sketch her on paper, but not in words and he hoped she
would not ask him to do so. To prevent her, he leant towards her for a kiss.
In the middle of the kiss -- for
he had no intentions of stopping yet -- Henry suddenly pulled away to scream.
Something or someone was pouring very cold water over the back of his head. It
ran down his neck onto his back and it was very uncomfortable.
"Clara!" cried Anne
when she perceived the culprit.
The young maid stood smugly
holding a jug. "There! I rescued you, my lady."
"Rescued me?" her
mistress spluttered.
"He must not do such things
to you, my lady. I am sure you think it vastly unpleasant. If it was not Mr.
Croft, I would have hit him with the jug. But I like Mr. Croft. But I like you
better. So I poured water into his neck so he would let you go."
"Clara." Anne was too
taken aback to say more. The absurdity of the situation had rendered her quite
speechless.
"When I came into service I
was told not to mark any strange things you did, unless you were being
harmed." The girl opened her eyes wide to plead for understanding.
"And you were."
Rather a lot hinged on her
answer, Anne noticed. Both Clara and Mr. Croft -- Henry -- were looking at her
expectantly. Clara wished to hear she had done well and Henry wished to hear
she had not been harmed. "Clara, did I look as if I was being
harmed?"
"I could not see your face,
my lady. I could only see Mr. Croft's back. And I was sure gentlemen do not
hold ladies like that. Sir Walter never does."
"Sir Walter!" she
exclaimed. She would want him to be hit with the jug if he did. Preferably
after he had water running down his spine.
"But did I do right?"
Clara's eyes were beginning to tear up because they reacted so strangely.
She was forced to admit it now,
although she could still not do so outright. "You were right to interfere,
because you did not know I was not being harmed. Should you see it again,
however, you need not interfere, but you need to go away and close the
door." She spoke gently, because Clara was not to blame.
There was confusion on the
girl's face now. "I do not understand. Do you mean you liked it?"
"Yes, Clara." She did
not look at anyone.
Clara gasped and burst into
tears. "And now I made Mr. Croft all wet."
"Yes." Anne studied
him. He was wriggling in his clothes. "His clothes will need to dry. You
must light the dressing room fire in Sir Henry's apartments, Clara. Mr. Croft
will remain in Sir Henry's apartments until his clothes are dry."
"Yes, my lady. Will you not
tell the others? They will be horrible to me for weeks if they knew."
"I will certainly not tell
the others." It was more than enough to have one servant who knew. Clara,
in spite of only being thirteen, had shown admirable loyalty to her employer.
She would not talk.
"Will you forgive me, Mr.
Croft?" Clara asked Henry.
"I will." The poor
girl must have been in a terrible quandary. She had said she liked him, but she
had nonetheless seen him subject her mistress to a heinous act. He was nearly
amused. No, he was definitely amused.
After Clara had skipped away in
relief to light the fire, Anne looked at Henry. She wondered what he thought of
her plan, but his expression gave nothing away.
"What am I to do in those
apartments without clothes?" he asked, but as he spoke some ideas came to
him.
She could see a certain
something creep into his face and she spoke in a stern voice.
"Sleep?"
"And where will you
be?"
"No, Henry, no." She
was certainly not going to be in that room with him. She needed her rest. He
was not going to deprive her of that twice.
He beamed. "You said
Henry."
"I said no. And it is not
such a remarkable thing that I called you Henry, considering that I was married
to one once." She hardly remembered him now, but it was a strange
coincidence that both men had the same name.
"But you called him Sir
Henry."
"Not to his face. Did you
think so?" She was not as distant as that. It was simply a polite way of
referring to the man -- who, by the way, had not been referred to as often in
the preceding years as he had these last few days.
"Well, Sir Henry, Sir
Walter, Mr. Croft. You stand upon ceremony. Even your daughter calls you Lady
Russell." He had seen them interact and he did not understand the
formality of the address.
Her eyes blinked rapidly.
"She does not have to. And she is not my daughter. Go upstairs. I shall
join you." That ought to end the discussion, even if she had not planned
on joining him at all. However, concessions had to be made sometimes.
"I did not mean to suggest
that you and Sir Walter -- I meant that you are fond of each other. You and
Anne. Not you and Sir Walter." Henry looked flustered by possibly having
given her the wrong idea.
"Henry, go upstairs. Get out of these clothes and hang them by the fire. Now."
Chapter Fourteen
Anne first saw to some household
matters before she was ready to go upstairs. Jenny helped her undress and after
she had dismissed Jenny and asked not to be disturbed, she could look in on
Henry. She had promised to join him, although she had not yet decided on what
she might do.
She found he had hung his
clothes by the fire. Clara had been effective and everything had got wet, so he
sat wrapped in a blanket. Anne was glad for his thoughtfulness, although she
realised he might have been cold rather than considerate. It was December,
after all, and the fire was in the dressing room rather than the bedroom.
"How do you manage to
--" he stopped.
She was curious, not in the
least because of his expression. "What do I manage?"
"How do you manage always
to look so tempting?" he asked in bashful admiration.
Anne was nonplussed. She was not
aware of looking tempting. "It might be that you simply do not know what
other women look like. I assure you that I neither look nor feel
tempting."
"Allow me to disagree. The
hair, the gown..." His eyes travelled up and down.
"Nightgown. This is what
they look like, nightgowns," she lectured.
Henry's eyes had brightened even
more. "And you are clearly not wearing that thing underneath. And you came
here."
"Because I promised
it," she mumbled, feeling a little exposed without her thing.
"It is cold here." Suddenly the blanket in which he was wrapped
looked very appealing. She moved closer and found herself kissed before she
could wrap herself in the blanket as well. "Henry, you are dreadfully eager."
"I know," he replied.
"It surprises me, but you are to blame and you will not even marry me and
make me a decent man."
"You must understand what I
should be giving up if I married," Anne said cautiously. She had never
considered remarrying. Never before she had she even come close to being
tempted.
"Indecency and
loneliness," he said with a ready grin.
"I am glad you are
recovering your wit in the proximity of a female, but I was thinking in terms
of independence and money and this house." There were advantages,
probably, but those were of an improper nature and should not be considered.
"I cannot visit here every
time I visit my brother," Henry said with a frown. "Such an
arrangement simply will not do. Or do you propose that we part ways after this
and never see each other again? Leaving you to take up with the footman?"
"The footman!" she
spluttered, although she knew he was not speaking in earnest. He could not be.
It was too ridiculous for words. "You insult me."
"Do I? Such things happen.
My youngest brother, Rupert, was briefly married to a maid once. One of our
upstairs maids." He spoke of it so easily, as if the subject was not
usually avoided among his family.
"Why and why briefly?"
"Briefly because she passed
away. As for why he had to marry her in the first place -- he did what I did
and my father did not like it." Rupert, he believed, now knew better than
to do it ever again. He did not feel the same way, but his father had not yet
heard of this.
"Is it not customary to get
rid of such maids rather than promote them to mistress of the house?" Anne
wondered at old Mr. Croft. She had heard of such cases, naturally, but they
were usually dealt with in a different manner. The maids were not rewarded.
"My father may have odd
notions, but he is not ... unfeeling."
The entire family had odd
notions and were not unfeeling, Anne thought, yet their oddities were what was
apparent first. She leant back and contemplated her situation more thoroughly.
"Would your father insist that you marry me if he found out?"
"You are not a maid. He is
therefore less likely to find out and less capable of forcing you. I am likely
to suffer most. I am aware of being dreadfully eager," he said in
reference to her comment. "But it is not my usual manner and so I cannot
foresee how I shall feel in a week from now. There is a chance that we may yet
be happier remaining apart."
Although a part of Anne believed
that they would, another part of her was eager to enjoy these attentions every
day.
Henry was having difficulties of
his own. He could not imagine bringing Anne home to live with him. It would not
suit her and he realised that well. Nevertheless, he was the heir to his
father's estate and he was responsible for running it.
She had nothing to do there and
he had nothing to do here. It was not far away and he contemplated running his
business from here. It could not be so very different from all those gentlemen
who spent most of the year in London. It might be a possibility.
"I expect you have a wide
acquaintance," he said after their nap, although anyone with a few friends
had a wide acquaintance in his book.
"In whom you have little to
no interest," she deduced.
"Little," he agreed.
He would not like meeting too many of them. Perhaps that could be avoided.
"But you could always go and visit them alone. Or do they visit you as
well?"
"Some of them enjoy
that."
Henry imagined them descending
upon his father's house, notably if there were females among them. It might
even be worse than a pregnant Sophia who had brought a friend. "Are many
of them ladies?"
"Yes. Would you think it
very odd if not all of them were gentlemen?" she wondered. "Most are
not, unless they are married to a lady. It is not very proper to have single
gentlemen as friends."
They had agreed that Henry would
go home with his father and brothers. Such a separation would give them time to
think. The few days until he left were spent in the same manner -- he came over
and made sketches, and he usually spent some time with Anne.
She told herself not to regret
his departure and in a sense she was glad for a return to decency. It would
remain an exciting memory, one that was a guilty pleasure to recollect.
She was nearly off to Bath. That
would place her among friends who might make her forget. The entertainments
there would furthermore serve to keep her too busy to think of what she had
been doing here. Yes, she was looking forward to Bath. Such a change of scenery
was very welcome.
Henry had ample time for
reflection as he rode home beside the carriage containing his father and
brothers. He was more troubled by the separation, if only because he began to
realise that his conduct had not been admirable. His behaviour towards Lady
Russell might have passed muster had they been married, he supposed. But they
were not and as such he had taken more liberties with her than he ought. That
she had not minded was some consolation. It was a reflection on her character
and not on his.
Their parting had been quite
cool. Although he did not receive the impression that she was relieved he went
away, she had not pulled him back by his coattails either. She had almost been
indifferent.
They had not agreed on a
particular period during which they were supposed to think, but he trusted she
would not make it a year.
The ladies of Kellynch Hall --
all four of them -- called on Anne after the Croft gentlemen had left. Mrs.
Croft's activity had raised a few eyebrows in the neighbourhood, but Anne did
not want to inform her of that. The surgeon or the midwife should drop a
cautionary hint if they felt any were required, but so far Mrs. Croft gave the
impression of not needing any.
"We have the house to
ourselves again," said Mrs. Croft. "And so do you, Lady Russell. Did
Henry ever finish his drawings?"
She did not flinch. "He
did, although I was certain he would grow bored at some point. But he did
not." Such perseverance and the ability to finish a task were points in
his favour. She had been too dazzled to think very much of his character -- his
actions had given her more food for thought -- while it was all going on, but
she saw this clearly now.
"It was very tiring to have
family staying with us and two babies to look after, and I am glad they are
gone," said Mrs. Croft. "Even if the old man began to warm to his
granddaughters eventually."
"They are very
adorable," Anne agreed.
Even the level-headed Mrs. Croft
was susceptible to flattery. She beamed. "I knew he could not keep up his
silly notions about women in the face of such sweetness."
Since she had been involved with
the man's son, Anne felt a slight interest in those silly notions, but it would
look suspicious to ask about them. "They are very sweet," she said
instead. It seemed they were indeed sweet, for she hardly ever heard them.
Fortunately the Croft streak of
not being distracted from one's purpose had rubbed off on Mrs. Croft, for she
simply continued speaking of the same matter. "I think he blames himself
for the death of his wife."
"The old man? What did he
do?" Anne asked in spite of considering that gossiping. Exchanging news
was fine, but this was hardly necessary information.
"According to Henry, if his
father had curbed his selfish urges, he would still have had a wife. Odd that
Henry did not say mother -- he must not agree with this reasoning," Mrs.
Croft mused.
Anne knew that Henry could in
all fairness not agree with curbing selfish urges, so it was very likely that
he had not agreed. She kept her face blank.
Mrs. Wentworth was not as
familiar with gossip about selfish urges, being only recently married, or
perhaps she feigned innocence in front of her godmother. "But what do
those have to do with her death?"
"I am assuming she died in
childbirth and that the child was a girl. A double curse upon us."
"Well, that curse makes no
sense," Mrs. Wentworth said readily. "She could have died delivering
a boy as well."
"Indeed, but I suppose he
believes he should have left her alone after Henry and James. I insist that
having James was a good choice."
"But we are so glad for the
sparkling company of the youngest three!" Anne heard herself say
mockingly. She surprised herself as well as the two other ladies, although they
laughed.
"You are very sly with your
good manners," said Mrs. Croft with a chuckle.
Anne thought she was likely very
sly indeed, but she was sly enough not to reveal all of her secrets. "I am
going to Bath soon. Is there anything either of you would like me to bring from
Bath or any letters I should take there?"
"We have just been..."
said Mrs. Wentworth with a frown. "I cannot think of anything to write to
my father already."
"I shall write you a pile,
Lady Russell," Mrs. Croft assured her. "We saw so many acquaintances
in Bath and some were settled there for the entire winter. I got Henry to
sketch the twins. Although I think they look exactly like all other babies,
James wishes to show this sketch to our friends. I shall enclose it in one of
my letters. You will not have to carry it around with you to show to everyone
who has the appearance of being in the Navy."
Seeking out captains and
admirals! Anne looked a little taken aback. "I am glad."
"Yes, you do not share our
fondness for naval gentlemen."
Mrs. Croft and she shared a
fondness for gentlemen with another characteristic, she suspected, but she was
too wise and too surprised at her own thought to say so.
Having been absent from the
estate for a while, there was business to take care of and Henry was glad to
have an excuse not to go back directly. He could postpone making a decision for
another while as well, although he knew for a fact that he missed having a
woman to take care of him, even if it had only been a few moments in the day.
His father and brothers would neither care nor notice if he drank his tea. They
would not notice what he wore or did not wear. They would not touch him and
pretend they were not doing so.
He wanted all that, but he did not know how much and how often.
Chapter Fifteen
Anne was so eager to get to Bath
that she let out a sigh of relief as soon as her carriage rolled into town. She
had no friend to convey anywhere this time, so she went directly to her
lodgings. She had had the same for years, arriving always during the same
period of the year and she knew she would find the other creatures of habit
exactly where and when she was used to finding them. Such predictability was a
comfort.
The next day she called on Sir
Walter and Elizabeth, bringing them a very short letter from Anne and a longer
one from Mary. She had had to visit Uppercross to obtain it, but she had stayed
only briefly because Mary had been quite put out by her negligence in not
having visited more often. The name of her excuse could not be given and she
could think of nothing else that would satisfy Mary.
The letters were laid aside and
she doubted they would be read with any attentiveness, but at least there was
more attention for her person. Sir Walter observed her with some astonishment.
She did not have to ask him why, because he was happy to tell her.
"You have been using the
cream," said he. "And what a difference it makes! You look to be in
your forties now."
Anne was a little surprised by
this observation. "I am in my forties, Sir Walter." She had
been a year younger than the late Lady Elliot, who, as he might remember, had
been a few years younger than her husband.
"Well, that proves only how
much you needed it, my dear Lady Russell! I am very glad of its effect. Very,
very glad." He smiled and patted her arm. "I must recommend the cream
to my acquaintance and point to you as example."
She wondered what was worse --
to risk further astonishment by saying she had not used it, or to have all her
acquaintances look oddly at her. She chose the former. "I have not used
the cream. I do not even know which cream you mean."
Perhaps he recollected that he
had not given it to her personally but to her maid, for he looked undecided.
Elizabeth seized the chance to inform Anne that their cousin Mr. Elliot was in
town. He was not only there, but he had sought a reconciliation.
Anne had already heard this from
the other Anne, but she listened to Elizabeth with interest. As a recently
widowed future baronet he might well fix upon Elizabeth, the only daughter of
Sir Walter's who remained unmarried. Elizabeth certainly had a higher opinion
of him than Admiral Croft did, which was natural if she had been personally
flattered.
Fortunately nobody asked her too
many questions about Kellynch, certainly none that referred to how she had been
conducting herself. There were some inquiries about the Crofts, but she would
rather not be questioned about anyone bearing that last name and thus her
replies were brief. Perhaps she ought to be pleased that her conduct never gave
rise to any questions, but their shock would be so great if they ever found
out.
When she had been in Bath for
about a week with nothing unremarkable or out of the ordinary happening, her
acquaintance Mrs. Gordon pointed out a gentleman in the Pump Room. "That
is the elder brother of your new neighbour. Many eyes are upon him now, because
he is the unmarried heir to a modestly-sized estate."
Anne had never thought of him
like that and she studied him with curiosity. What was he doing here, among the
rich and fashionable? He looked a little out of place, something the
matchmaking mamas probably did not notice in their desire to become acquainted.
It was ridiculous for them to be focusing on Henry. On Henry! She could hardly
believe it. It was this news and not his appearance that had her all unsettled.
"Seriously?"
Mrs. Gordon nodded. "An old
schoolfellow of his spoke to him yesterday and told us all about it. The news
spread and I have since then noticed a marked interest in him. Estates always
do well."
"Surely there are better
catches to be had here?" She did not quite see why Mrs. Gordon had to
promote Henry.
"Yes, but for the great
majority of the public here they are quite out of reach, if they are honest
with themselves. Someone like Mr. Croft is approachable."
"Approachable!" She
would almost laugh, but she had become too busy wondering why he was here. Did
he have business here or had he come for her? She panicked, because she had no
answer for him yet. Bath had worked well to distract her.
"Are you acquainted?"
"Yes." She saw he
noticed her, but he also noticed Mrs. Gordon and he settled for a bow.
Mrs. Gordon was interested.
"Oh, bring him hither."
That would be pointless. He
would not want to meet another lady and he had made that clear. "You do
not know him," Anne said cautiously.
"Exactly. That is why I
asked you to bring him here."
Anne sighed, for explaining why
he would rather not was bound to reveal a too close acquaintance, and wound her
way to the crowd of people. There was another polite bow when she reached him,
but also a glimpse of panic. "My companion Mrs. Gordon asked me to bring you
over for an introduction."
He looked even more panicked
now. "Why?"
"Nothing to do with
me," she said in a low voice. "But it seems you have sparked off
quite an interest among mothers of marriageable daughters."
"Why?"
"It seems you are
eligible." She raised her eyebrows as she spoke. She had never thought of
him as such, but of course he was -- on the surface.
Henry looked horrified at being
considered eligible. "And that woman there?"
She understood his question.
"Is long married and so are her daughters. She simply makes it her
business to know everything and everyone." She paused a few seconds.
"You have spoken too long to me now to be able to slight Mrs. Gordon. You
obviously have no one with you and no one you urgently need to see."
"Make it quick."
"Follow me home at a
discreet distance later," she whispered before she turned. She was
unbelievable, saying that in the middle of the Pump Room.
Whether Mrs. Gordon was pleased
with Henry remained to be seen, although Anne thought he had conducted himself
tolerably well. He had stuttered only once and had inquired very politely of
Anne whether his brother, sister and his nieces were all doing well.
He had managed to follow her
home where they had sat down in the more private sitting room. She did not
worry about her staff, but her neighbours might talk. They should not meet here
too often.
He had already told Mrs. Gordon
why he was in town -- for the latest publications on farming -- though it might
well be an excuse to see Anne. She did not want to ask directly and he behaved
too shyly to be able to tell outright. She tried to find out nevertheless.
"How fortunate that you live near Bath as well. If you had lived in the
north we could never have met here by accident."
"I did have real business
here," he said. "Although I thought you might be here as well."
"Hence your foray into the
Pump Room," she guessed. It had been clear from his attitude that he was
not at ease there. He would not have gone there if it had not been for her.
"I had never been
there," he gave as his excuse. He knew he must have appeared lost, because
he had felt rather lost among the fashionable crowds of people who either all
seemed to know each other or who were eager to become acquainted with everyone.
He did not have that desire at all.
"But when you went, you
were immediately branded as an eligible bachelor."
Henry looked surprised. "Is
that so?"
"You are unmarried and you
stand to inherit property. That equals eligibility." Furthermore, she
would say, he was not a bad-looking boy, as Mrs. Croft had put it. He should
have been noticed long before. "Where do you usually go if you are in
town?"
"Not to places of
fashion," he said predictably. "But to bookshops, stationery shops,
lectures..."
"That explains why your eligibility
has gone unnoticed for twenty years, I suppose."
"Are you telling me I have
been eligible for twenty years?" Henry was amazed. "That is rich --
and yet you do not know whether you wish to marry me."
Her brow creased. "Well, I
am not a girl of twenty who needs to secure her future."
"I have no desire to secure
the future of a girl of twenty," he replied promptly. "I would rather
have someone who would take me without needing the material rewards."
"Why?"
"Could I be sure that the
girl of twenty loved me? Or would she love her future? I cannot tell whether
ladies are sincere. They may well have tricks I am not refined enough to
understand." Despite being intimately acquainted with one now, he still
believed they were mysterious and incomprehensible creatures. "I would
rather have a lady of forty."
"Then I am not for
you," Anne had to say, although she liked what he was saying.
"Are you not forty?"
He was sure she was something like that, perhaps a little older.
"I was forty once, but
--"
He moved towards her. "Stop
teasing me!"
His father and brothers had not
noticed any change in him, he believed. They tended not to ask how anyone felt
and as long as someone went about his usual business without complaints, they
assumed everything was right. Henry had not done anything out of the ordinary,
he knew, and his bouts of distraction had occurred mainly when he was out of
the house.
So far. He was well aware that
he might be found out if he began to take too many trips when he had never done
so before. Still, he would most certainly found out if he married. He did not
know which was worse.
After just having spent so much
time at Kellynch, Henry had not been able to justify a very long trip to Bath.
Two nights were all he had planned and he was rather proud of himself that he
had located Lady Russell after the first night, not having any knowledge of
fashionable places. She had taken him to her house. He had become rather good
at hearing what she chose not to say and he was inclined to think she was
pleased to see him.
He did not care for her
acquaintances and even less for being an eligible bachelor, so he would not go
to the Pump Room again. They had agreed to meet in a park tomorrow, which he
did not mind. In a park they could only talk and perhaps they needed to do more
of that. Yesterday they had made a start and he had liked it quite well. There
was always a point, however, when he did not know what to say anymore, only
what to do. Yet the lady, fearful perhaps of having to say yes or no to a
proposal of marriage, had not minded.
As long as he could avoid having
go to the Pump Room, the Assembly Rooms and other places where people gathered,
he would not mind marrying Anne. She could go alone if she wished. He would be
content to go about his own business and she seemed to know what he would not
like. She had been quite accommodating in the Pump Room, speaking whenever
there was a silence.
Why she did not want to think of
marrying him he did not know. Surely she would not care what the likes of Mrs.
Gordon would think of her then? That woman seemed to think that half the young
women in Bath would want to marry him, so he did not quite see why she would
not approve of an older lady wanting to do so. Besides, who was she? Who were
any of these fashionable people? He did not care for them.
He cared for his relatives, yet
most of those would not applaud him either. James would. He did not think James
would tell him to marry a woman young enough to give him an heir. What his
father thought of heirs was unclear. Perhaps he had been content to let the
estate pass to a distant cousin when the last one of them was gone. Now,
however, one of the twins would inherit. It was quite odd that girls would be
allowed, given how his father thought of females in general. But beggars could
not be choosers because nobody was bringing grandsons into the world.
It was with such thoughts that Henry went to his chosen lecture, but once there he was soon more captivated by the topic under discussion.
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