Henry went to the park a little
before the hour they had appointed for their rendez-vous. He did not want to
stray too far from one of the entrances until he discovered there was more than
one. Then he decided to begin walking. When she arrived she might do the same
and if she did not, he would pass each entrance in turn.
He walked less sedately than the
rest of the people in the park, save for some running boys. After one round he
noticed Anne. She came towards him with a rather peculiar hat on. He frowned at
it, but before he could reach her he was accosted by a pair of ladies, upon
closer inspection one older and one younger. He had never thought it
well-mannered to accost gentlemen in parks, but here they were.
"I beg your pardon, sir.
Have you seen our dog?" asked the elder.
Henry relaxed somewhat now they
were not after his person, but after a dog. Being considered eligible was still
a source of concern. "I have not been looking at dogs, I am sorry to
say."
Luckily they walked on, although
not before first giving him a description of the animal, to which he wished
very much to reply that it was not a dog, but an overgrown ball of hair. He did
not, however. He let them walk away.
"Good morning," said
Anne. "Eligible?"
"Lost dog," he said
tersely. He was not at all eligible; those ladies would have asked everyone.
"Are you certain?"
Of course he was certain. Now.
"The description of their dog did not endear them to me, so you need not
be concerned."
Anne blushed. "I did not
say --" But she stopped. She should not lie. She had seriously been
considering that they had addressed him for other reasons.
He took her arm and wondered
what to do next. All they could do here was walk or perhaps sit down. "We
are in the park. Where shall we go? What shall we do?"
"We should talk."
Henry started with something
easy. "You have a peculiar hat."
"I did not think you would
wish to discuss fashion."
"Fashion. Oh, that explains
it. I do not understand fashion. But if you had wanted to go unnoticed, was
this the best hat for the occasion?" He thought it was a little
conspicuous. People would stare, although they might stare more at her hat than
at her companion.
"Yes, it was. You are to go
home after this conversation, are you not?" Perhaps they should speak of
that and not of her hat. It was really an unremarkable hat.
"Yes, after another errand.
Have you thought about the situation?" Henry barely dared to ask her, in
case she had an unfavourable answer.
"Very little," she
confessed. "I was as distracted here as I hoped to be. I thought of the
past, not of the future," she added when her first words felt unkind.
"It is easier to think about the past."
"There are certain things
that have a certain charm, I have really come to think," Henry said,
making an effort to talk about them. He would rather settle this with as few
words as possible, but he thought that could not be done.
Anne did not have to guess, so
she said nothing. However charming these things might be, ladies did not discuss
them. Ladies might answer queries from their own gentlemen, but they did not
make other types of comments. And he was not even her husband.
"I though it most pleasant,
for instance, that you were so solicitous about my tea."
"Your tea!" she said
in surprise. "Although I also thought it pleasant to be solicitous about
your tea, I had assumed ... something else."
"My family do not care if I
drink my tea. They also do not do more things that you do and now that you have
done them, I realise they are quite pleasant." They were pleasant enough
to take a woman into the house, or to be taken into her house if she allowed
it.
"And you want more of
them," Anne deduced.
"I should not be opposed to
more of them, which is not the same as wanting them. I cannot make such demands
of you." He gave her an earnest look. "Certain things are yours to
give. I could say, for instance, that I should really like to live with you,
but you would have to invite me."
Although as usual he spoke
sense, Anne had a question nevertheless. "Live with me? Married to
me?"
"I do not always want to be
locked in Sir Henry's apartments as your unmarried friend when visitors
call," Henry said with a sort of pout. "I may have business in
another room. At least if I am legitimately married I may move about the house
freely."
"Is that the sole reason
you wish to marry me?"
"I do not want to have a
mistress."
"Mistress. I am nobody's
mistress," Anne said in some shock. She had not thought of herself like
that and it was appalling that she would have to do so, because it seemed that
it was indeed what she was.
"I think you are. In the
eyes of other people you would be, although in reality it is the reverse. I am
your mistress." He was the one in a position of dependence, kept on a
string until she would let him know her thoughts.
"Are you serious? That
cannot be, because there is not even a word for it." A decent word,
she told herself.
"Then you are mine -- and I
do not want one, so what am I to do with you? Shall I tell my father about
you?"
"You would find yourself
disowned and not married." Anne felt a little anxious because they had
reached a patch of trees and Henry had reached an uncompromising state. She
could see it in his face.
He glanced down the path in both
directions. There was no one, so he took her into the shrubbery. She protested,
but he ignored it. "Let us sit down. We cannot be seen here."
She had to accept it. "That
may be so, but it is still December and I do not know what you would like me to
sit on, but it is bound to be cold."
"You may sit on me if you
do not object," he offered gallantly and he sat down.
After some deliberation, Anne
followed. She rested her back against his chest and hoped they would not be
discovered. Lady Russell of Kellynch, found in such a position! She pushed such
fears away and concentrated on the conversation. "It seems to me that you
want to marry me because you want to be a decent man."
"Yes."
"But how would you explain
such a decision to others? I assume a decent man would not tell them why he
wants to be made a decent man. It would be easier if you claimed to love
me." She turned her head a little to observe him.
"Very well. I shall love
you," Henry said readily.
They had not progressed much
beyond that point when they were disturbed by something that let out
high-pitched barks. Anne gave a little yelp when it jumped onto her. "What
is that?"
"It is supposed to be a
dog. I think it is the one that went missing earlier." Henry studied it.
"It is not much of a dog, is it?"
"But it will have teeth
nonetheless," she said nervously.
"No, it simply thinks we
are doing something odd. Best get up or the women will find us here."
They had just got up when
running footsteps could be heard on the path. Anne gave Henry's posterior a
quick wipe with her glove and he was presentable again. She thought he quite
liked it, because he smiled and thanked her.
"Hector?" an anxious
female voice called out. "Where are you, darling?"
"Hector?" Henry
spluttered. "That is called Hector? That rag?" He moved out of
the shrubbery and Anne followed. Hector did too and he looked rather happy to
have found somebody.
"Oh, Hector! There you
are!" The same two ladies who had spoken to him earlier now bent over the
dog to pick it up for a cuddle.
"Why did you name a cuddly
lapdog Hector?" Henry asked brusquely.
The ladies were all
astonishment. "I beg your pardon?"
Anne observed that they would no
longer devote any thoughts to what she might have been doing in the shrubbery
with Henry. It was clever of him.
"Do you not know who Hector
was?" he inquired.
"I did not know he was
someone. It is but a name, is it not?" the eldest asked in confusion.
"I hope you know
Hector," he said to Anne as he dragged her away.
She did, fortunately. "Will
you revoke your decision to love me if I do not?" She was still not
certain how to read him precisely. Did he or did he not?
"No, I should probably make
you read some books."
"That is no hardship."
She pulled on his arm to slow him down. She had no wish to be dragged through
Bath at this pace. "Listen. This nonsense has gone on long enough. I am
all for marrying you if by that I can avoid being dragged in and out of
shrubberies."
"I suppose so," he
said very seriously. "We only meet in a park because you think it would be
scandalous to receive me at your house too often, but if we were married you
would not need to leave the house to meet me."
It was such a relief to Anne to be heading the way of decency and Henry was not as useless as he had first appeared to be. His opinions might be peculiar at times, but at least he had some and he was able to force them onto her.
Chapter Seventeen
Henry had travelled home. He had
weighed his options, obviously, but he would be in trouble whether he postponed
his announcement or not. The situation forced him to think more closely about
tactful disclosures and the possible reactions to them. Telling his relatives
he was engaged might be received slightly better than telling them he was to be
married. It was odd that the same thing could be so different.
Anne was at his disposal, she
had said, but that was not entirely true, because she had given him
instructions. He had initially been glad for them, though, not having any idea
about weddings at all.
On his way home he had inquired
into the costs of a marriage licence, because according to Anne it was the
fashionable thing to obtain, but the costs had put him off. There had been a
very friendly clerk, however, who had enlightened him about cheaper ways of
getting married. He was all for such cheaper ways and he would have to write to
Anne about it. Nevertheless, if she insisted, he would have to go back.
His relatives received him
without curiosity. A few expressed an interest in reading what he had
purchased, so he promised to leave that in the library. Since not everyone was
present, he postponed his announcement until dinner.
It took an odd form. "Would
you consider me an eligible catch, Father?" he began.
"What the devil are you
saying?"
"Am I eligible?"
"Eligible, eligible -- what
is that?" the head of the family said irritably.
Henry had not expected it to go
smoothly. He was able to remain calm. "I was considered an eligible
bachelor in Bath. I never knew."
"What happened?" His
father was suspicious.
"I heard I was eligible,
but you will be pleased to hear I avoided the ones who might be interested in
becoming the mistress of our estate."
"Rightly so!"
"What about the ones who
were not interested?" Rupert dared to inquire. Perhaps he had caught a
certain emphasis in his brother's voice.
"I did not avoid all of
them. I am engaged."
"Engaged!" said his
father and his brothers and uncles simply stared.
There had been similar appalled
astonishment when James, Uncle Philip and Rupert had become involved with
females, Henry reflected. It could not surprise him. In fact, it was good that
he had known this in advance. James had been quite hurt by the disapproval and
wariness that he had not expected, but Henry was not.
"It is not your duty to
provide an heir!" Mr. Croft spoke in concern, as if this fact might change
his son's mind. "James already did."
"It is not my
intention," Henry replied calmly. "My intended is too old."
This was possibly even more
shocking than the fact that there was an intended in the first place. "You
wish to marry an old woman?"
"Not old, but too old for
that." He wondered if this would allay his father's fears. If he was
correct, his father had some concerns about women and childbirth, but perhaps
less about women past childbirth.
Mr. Croft looked a little
appeased indeed. "That makes her older than you."
"That is possible. I am not
terribly concerned with her precise age."
"What was this act of
charity, engaging yourself to a grey spinster?"
"A red widow," Henry
corrected.
"Oh!" said Rupert.
"Oh!"
Henry gave him an acknowledging
nod. It was indeed who Rupert thought it was. "And it was not an act of
charity. The lady does not need my charity. She was left quite wealthy by her
late husband."
Mr. Croft was silent for a few
minutes as he ate on. Henry tried to do the same, but he could not swallow
anything. "Well then," said his father eventually. "When are we
to expect this woman to be brought into our house?"
"I may not do that at all.
I doubt she would like it." He had a thought. It felt like a very good
thought to him. Anne could not object. "I may live with her until the new
house is finished."
"Then you mean to wed her
before the house is finished."
He supposed that was true.
"Indeed. I do not know when. That hinges on her approval of the banns rather
than a licence."
"What do you know about
these matters?" Mr. Croft was a little taken aback by his eldest son's
calm confidence.
"I now know everything. I
should prefer the banns. Licences are expensive. But I shall pay for a licence
if that is what she prefers." He was not as calm and confident as he
sounded, but he had to pretend he was. He was not a little boy. "But I
shall answer no more questions until after dinner."
"I think I am glad I left
you alone there when you were drawing," Rupert said after dinner when the
boys were dismissed from the table while the older generation stayed on.
"I should not have liked to witness anything."
"It is your fault. Had you
stayed, I should not have been engaged." It was the truth. With Rupert
with him, things would have gone very differently. He would have gone back to
Kellynch Hall that first night. "Do not ever leave David and John alone
with a woman."
"Thomas and Peter are far
more likely to leave before me."
"Oh, do not call them
that!" Henry exclaimed. "Sophia is not here. Will you try to confuse my
wife as well?"
"If it is all the enjoyment
we get, yes. It works so well on Sophia! She can never remember who John Thomas
David Peter is." He laughed.
"It is awful," Henry
realised. "You would wet your trousers in fear if she spoke to you, but
you take a pathetic delight in confusing her without acknowledging her. I
really need some time away, I think. I am beginning to think that everyone here
is quite...strange."
"You get yourself a woman
and you immediately think yourself a cut above us. I never thought
that," said Rupert, referring to his brief marriage. "But then, I
never wanted to be married. Father forced me."
"You only wanted..."
"Not even that. I was
drunk. As you well know! Were you?"
"She only served me tea.
Which I did not drink most of the time." Henry looked around the room.
"The three of you are going to have to look after business while I am
away, as you have done before."
Anne had no family to enlighten,
except perhaps for her goddaughter. Telling Sir Walter, who was almost family,
was as yet an impossibility. She had no precise idea as to what he might say,
but she feared he would not congratulate her warmly. Despite her wide
acquaintance in Bath, there was nobody she would care to tell.
This was quite a sobering
thought and for a while she wondered if she had no close friends or if those
were simply likely to ask questions she would not like to answer. Some would.
Where had she met Mr. Croft and how had their courtship taken place? From their
point of view those would be logical questions. They did not know the gentleman
-- they had likely never even heard of him -- but they knew her.
Why indeed had she waited until
eight-and-forty to take such a step? She wondered about that herself. Why now?
Why him? That was another reason why Sir Walter should be told very tactfully.
He might not remember, but he had once suggested they marry. Her lip trembled,
but she did not know from what. Sir Walter!
What with the arrival of new
eligible gentlemen Mrs. Gordon had forgotten all about Henry Croft. He had not
stayed to excite her interest. Anne nevertheless felt herself a liar, when she
was merely withholding the truth.
People would be taken completely
by surprise when they heard. It made her contemplate giving them hints, which
they would still not understand but which they might later remember and then
they would berate themselves for having been so unobservant. She stopped at
contemplating it, however, for she did not feel herself to be clever enough to
give the right sort of hints.
When she thought of hints, she
thought of Admiral Croft. He would be excessively entertained for certain.
However, what would he be thinking after his amusement had worn off? He might
actually be favourably disposed towards the alliance, because he had never
interfered. Some people would not do so out of malicious pleasure, but that
would not apply to him.
Mrs. Croft had also helped her
very kindly, as she had helped Anne Elliot. Her neighbours would become related
to her through this marriage. Anne tried to imagine how she would become a sort
of sister to her own goddaughter. That was strange.
Perhaps she was forgetting to
consider how it was to be married to Henry. She had no idea how it would be to
live with him all day, but at least he was capable of keeping himself busy.
That was good; they would not be forced to spend the entire day together. She
knew he could be good company if he chose. She should not forget they had held
an interesting conversation once before he became fascinated with her. He might
return to that state.
But as long as she was in Bath she would not have to tell anybody. She might cut her visit short, but that depended on how Henry arranged his business. He had not been able to tell her how long it would take. It was fine. She was not in a great hurry, although it was a pity he had gone away. Things happened when he was around. It was perpetual excitement and it was somehow intriguing.
Chapter Eighteen
Anne had received Henry's letter
about the banns and she had replied that she would rather give him money than
suffer such mortification. Of course she had phrased this in nicer terms, for
her initial thoughts did not reflect well on a bride to be, even if they had
nothing to do with her husband but with the general public.
He had replied again and agreed
with her. He had even suggested a tiny parish with a minimal number of
parishioners -- his family's own. While Anne liked the idea behind this
suggestion, the prospect of having to travel to the Crofts for her wedding was
daunting. She would have to stay in their house and become acquainted with all
their oddities, yet she would rather have that for a day or two than three
weeks of being the centre of gossip at home. There might still be gossip when
she returned married, but then at least she would be allowed to meet her
husband wherever she liked.
Henry's plan to live with her
had also met with her approval. Although she wondered what he could have to
keep himself busy, it would be a great deal better than living in his father's
house. By the time the new house was ready she would either have reconciled
herself to it or persuaded him to remain at Kellynch. This did not worry her
yet.
Very little worried her so far,
she realised. She was very complacent and she simply let everything happen, as
if she had complete trust in her future. That was not the case, of course, but
she did not think his character would surprise her negatively. It could only
improve. He wanted only some exposure to women and the fashionable world,
though not too much.
But he wrote well and sensibly
and he was prepared to do quite a lot to have her. Such musings had prepared
her very well for his return to Bath. She greeted him with something that was
almost pleasure and she did not mind at all that he kissed her cheek in front
of Christopher, who stood waiting to take his coat. It was time Christopher
knew, if he did not know already.
Still, she took Henry to her
private sitting room where they would not be disturbed. There he embraced her
more thoroughly.
"What did your father
say?" asked Anne when the most pressing needs for affection had been
satisfied. "You did tell him?"
"Interestingly enough he
did not say very much. After my first announcement I tried to gauge his
opinion, but he would not give it. He seemed resigned."
"Resigned." She would
not have expected that, based on what she had been told about the man.
"Strange, because I still
got a scolding a few months ago when it came out that I had always allowed James
to spend the night with his wife."
"When you should have been
commended for your kindness."
"It was not entirely
kindness," he said honestly. "James also gave me no choice. I could
not yet place myself in his position. But now I can. It would be very pleasant
to have you with me all night."
"Would it be pleasant to
have me with you all day? By the time we are too old for the nights you should
find something else about me that appeals to you."
Henry grinned at her.
"Which you seem to think is in a year or two."
"And you do not."
Actually, she was not certain she still held that opinion herself. Would she
change this much in a year or two? She did not think so, given how little she
had changed since a year or two before. She might behave differently, but in
essence she was the same.
"No. But I think there
might be more," he said cautiously.
"More years?"
"More that appeals to
me." He looked a little bit shy now. "You are very kind. You know
what is right. It has very little to do with what you were taught, just as it
has little to do with what I was taught."
"I suppose," she said
in a hoarse voice, "that you mean that what we did was good."
"It was. I have begun to
see so many things differently and I think that is so much for the better.
Certain things have begun to make much more sense as well. It is all because of
you."
Anne was sure she was not as
important as he believed. "A little bit, perhaps. I think -- what is
that?" she asked of a piece of paper that was being shoved under the door
after a soft knock.
Henry went to pick it up.
"It is from your staff, I assume."
"What is in it?" she
asked, but he did not read it. He merely gave it to her. She read it and her
expression first softened and then hardened. "They could not disturb me
because I asked them not to, but Sir Walter is here."
"I suppose you will want me
to stay here," Henry said with remarkable insight. "Or is he used to
coming into your boudoir and will he find me here, dishevelled?" He tidied
his appearance in front of the mirror.
"What do I do?"
Anne was at a loss.
"How well does he know you?
You could don a dressing gown and plead the headache and return to me."
She was still thinking. "He
will not come in here. Perhaps, since you are good-looking, you should come
with me." Henry looked well today and that might be of significance when
she broke the news to Sir Walter.
Henry did not understand.
"How will my looks affect his reception of me?"
"Rank and beauty."
Anne tried to straighten her gown, but her hair was in an even more dreadful
tangle. She settled for hiding it under a cap.
Rank and beauty made Henry
remember something. "Should I bring up my grandfather the baron?"
"Oh, let us not invent
people," she said hurriedly, casting an inspecting glance over his
appearance. "He will find you out."
"I am not inventing anyone.
My mother's father was a baron. Truly. But he had no sons and the title passed
into the hands of a distant cousin who cared nothing for distant cousins such
as my mother. Had my mother been a boy, however, I should have been the baron.
But I am glad I am not." He suspected that barons had many social
obligations he would not care for.
"I should have expected Sir
Walter to find out that the admiral's grandfather was a baron when the admiral
first met him about the lease," Anne said doubtingly.
"If James had cared for the
fact, I am sure Sir Walter would have known. But neither of us care in the
least. I hope you will now not be in a hurry to marry me because of a dead
baron, even if I do want you to be in somewhat of a hurry."
She gave him no answer, but led
the way downstairs. The man was full of surprises.
"Sir Walter,
Elizabeth," Anne said with a curtsey. "How kind of you to call on
me."
"Lady Russell." They
eyed Henry with some curiosity and suspicion.
She had not yet decided what she
would do with him, although having taken him downstairs, something ought to be
done with him. "May I introduce Mr. Croft to you? I was showing him around
upstairs."
Henry, feeling incredibly
insincere, professed that he was delighted to meet them. After this travesty he
fell silent instantly.
"Mr. Croft?" asked Sir
Walter. "Are you the younger brother of Admiral Croft, my tenant?"
"The elder."
"The elder!" Sir
Walter exclaimed, but since even he knew that Mr. Croft would know his
brother's age best, he did not try to dispute the fact. He settled for
incredulous looks.
"Mr. Croft and I are
engaged," Anne said when there was a long pause. She had to tell him at
some point and suddenly she felt she had best do it straightaway.
"Engaged!" Elizabeth
and her father were astonished.
"My father said the
same," Henry remarked. He had not thought he would speak, but he felt less
embarrassed than he had expected.
"But then you will no
longer be Lady Russell!" Sir Walter observed uncomprehendingly.
"No," Anne agreed.
"However, I was not Lady Russell before I married either, so I am sure I
shall be able to suffer the switch."
"Has everyone at Kellynch
gone mad?" Sir Walter wondered. "Anne got married, I heard Mrs. Croft
had children en now you want to be married as well!"
"Yes," she said
simply. "We have all gone mad."
Anne let out a deep sigh when
Sir Walter and Elizabeth had left, still incredulous and amazed.
"Congratulations on your impending marriage," she muttered, something
they had failed to say.
"You need some
comforting," Henry decided.
"Again?" she said, but
she did not object to his embrace.
"There can never been
enough comforting. Even more so because you have not yet told me when you will
join me on the coast. I have some persuading to do."
"The lease of this
house..." Anne said breathlessly.
"Write to my brother that
he may stay in this house if he wishes and come with me."
"I could hardly write -- though it might be preferable to telling them in person. They would surely laugh."
Chapter Nineteen
Anne travelled to the coast in
her own carriage. Her servants had been but a little surprised at her decision.
They had caught some hints here and there, she supposed. Henry had left before
her, purchasing a licence on the way. He would make sure to warn his family
about her arrival. If she arrived unannounced they might react very strangely.
Due to an unforeseen delay he
was there only just in time. He had barely finished informing his clergyman
brother of his upcoming duty when Lady Russell was announced. They had all met
her before, but all social tasks fell to him. His father looked especially
disinclined to be welcoming, but Henry was not discouraged.
"I shall show you your
room," he said after she had had something to drink in near silence.
"And have Mrs. Granger prepare it."
The housekeeper immediately set
a pair of maids to work -- she would not risk her master's displeasure by not
having a room ready for a lady and thus driving said lady into one of the boys'
rooms.
"What shall we do after we
are married?" Anne asked when they walked away. She could not yet do
anything in the room. It had to be swept and dusted, and the bed had not yet
been made. "When are we to be married?"
"I have asked my brother to
do it very soon. Tomorrow?"
Perhaps there was something
useful about having so many brothers at hand. "That is fine. Are we to go
to Kellynch soon after?"
"I hope so. Would you care
for a walk?"
It would be better than to sit
with the family, so she agreed. Anne had never walked with him before except in
Bath, which had been a most eventful occasion. She wondered what would happen
to them now. The first part of their walk passed normally. They walked past the
new house and Henry talked sensibly of its development. The structure stood and
they could walk through it.
Then, just when she was feeling
reassured, they went down to the beach. At first they only walked and Anne
enjoyed the scenery, but then Henry began to feel edgy. He relinquished her arm
and uttered some very strange words. "I am dying for a dive."
"A dive?" Belatedly
she remembered that he had told her he swam often, but whatever he had said,
surely that was only on nice days? Today was not a particularly nice day.
"Today? In January?"
"Why not?" He began to
take off his coat.
"Oh Henry, you will die of
something," she said in concern.
"If I do not go in I
shall," he agreed.
"But it is cold!"
He was not above impressing his
lady with his manly bravery. "It will not hurt me, though I wish it were
warmer, because then I could teach you how to swim as we once taught
Sophia." He would like to have his own lady to teach something, provided
she was an interested pupil.
Perhaps she should be glad it
was cold. "Did she undress too?"
"Oh, no," he assured
her. "Not completely. Besides, Sophia has not your figure."
"Is that of
importance?" She struggled to keep her composure. There was a time and
place for comments about her figure, although she had previously never known
there might be. Henry, however, always regarded her figure admiringly.
"Have you looked at it? At hers?"
"No," he said quite
calmly. "Until I saw you I realised why I had never looked at it very
well. She was always a sort of boy with limitations, until she came here with
her figure completely altered."
Anne supposed he must be
referring to when Sophia had still been carrying the twins. Her figure had been
altered then, but she could not imagine Sophia had once looked like a boy.
"I see. But what does this mean for me? That you will not be able to teach
me?"
Henry was instantly alert.
"Are you willing?"
She had overlooked that part of
the matter. "I do not know yet. At any rate, not today." Her hands
stretched out involuntarily to cover him up with something. He had to be cold.
He misunderstood her gesture and
gave her his pile of clothes. "I shall not be long."
She watched him run to the water
where he threw himself into a wave and disappeared. She gasped, because she had
only ever seen polite sea bathing before. Nobody ever disappeared. Nobody would
ever think of going in if there were such waves.
Luckily Henry resurfaced, all
wet. "Henry!" she shouted at him, a little disconcerted by her
feelings of panic. "Will you not do that again?" Either he had
not heard her or he did not care, for he took another dive. He swam a bit and
she could see his head whenever the waves allowed her a glimpse. It was an
agonising time until he came out, shivering and with purple lips.
"Henry," Anne said in
dismay when she realised something. "How will you dry yourself?"
Seemingly he had either thought
of it beforehand or he was quick to see a solution. "Your scarf?"
She gave it to him, naturally,
but she still thought it a very irresponsible venture to have gone swimming
without a proper towel. Her scarf, however, worked perfectly, although
afterwards she could not wear it anymore. "We need to get you to a fire.
Your lips remain purple," she said in concern.
He knew what to do and she
backed away. "What is it?" he asked, a little hurt.
"Cold!"
"I was trying to warm up.
Ah!" His eyes brightened. "I know how I can warm up."
As soon as she spoke Anne knew
she should not have complained about getting cold as a result of warming him
up. This rather prolonged the interlude and she was very thankful they had not
been disturbed. "Shall I see whether my room is ready?" she asked
when every hair and garment was back in place. They were still travelling
garments and needed to be changed for dinner, however.
"I suppose it is,"
Henry answered. "How much time do you need?"
"Half an hour."
She went to the room that had
been prepared for her and met a sour Jenny there. "What is wrong? Is the
room not to your liking?" Anne asked. Perhaps there was no water or proper
dressing table, although a quick look showed her they would not lack for much.
"This room is,"
her maid replied. "But am I a housemaid, madam?"
"Oh dear," Anne said
with a sigh. She began to suspect the problem. "Where have they put
you?"
Jenny's face was indignant.
"In a small garret with a few other maids. This is all very well for Mary,
but I am not used to it. Have they never had any real ladies staying here? I
thought these were gentlemen, but none of them have a valet except the old
gentleman and that is a frightfully stiff old bore."
"The old gentleman or his
valet?"
"His valet."
"Jenny, how could the
presence or character of a valet be of importance to you? What do you do with
them usually?" Anne had never wondered.
"Nothing of importance,
madam, but even the stiff old bore did not speak up on my behalf."
"What do you propose I do
about it?" She had no idea whether there was any room at all for ladies'
maids.
"Nothing, madam, but I
shall be quite put out until we leave."
"Really, Jenny," Anne
said, feeling some annoyance at being confronted with this unexpected problem.
"It is perfectly possible for me to do without you. If you do not behave
yourself I shall leave you at home next time."
Jenny looked unconvinced. She
was certain she was indispensable.
"Truly. I can ask Mr. Croft
for his assistance as well."
"Mr. Croft!" Jenny
gasped. "With your clothes? With your baths?"
"He is very helpful."
The maid believed that well
enough to work hard in stunned silence. She made her mistress look as pretty as
possible.
Henry, at least, was impressed
with her efforts. Anne agreed that he could probably not achieve the same
results if he tried, but she did not say so. After her initial complaints Jenny
had been quiet, so Anne felt it just to reward her. Henry, she believed, might
have plans and her room might not even be used. "Jenny, you can sleep in
my room."
Henry was a good listener.
"Where will you sleep?" he asked when they had left Jenny behind.
"There. Or not. Even if the
novelty of doing things with me might have worn off by now, you have entered
the dangerous phase of provoking your father." She did not doubt there
would be at least one confrontation before they left, although their respective
ages might make it rather civilised.
"Worn off! I think
not." He supposed that would change if she was near him every day.
"Oh dear. You will exhaust
me. You must accept that I am getting on in years and that I tire easily."
She could hear she sounded very unconvincing indeed and he would not believe
her, but she was beginning to feel tired much sooner.
"To me you always seem
brightened up by the exercise," He replied with a devilish grin.
"Perhaps you should see me
when I wake up indeed," Anne suggested. "It might give you a trifle
more compassion. Brightened by the exercise. That cannot be so." She
wished it was not so. That would be scandalous.
"I shall not argue with
you, even if I believe your insight in me is far better than your insight in
yourself. Provoking my father does indeed sound like a good idea."
"Leave the provoking to
me," Anne decided.
"Gladly, but I doubt you
would be very good at it."
"Why not?"
Surprisingly she felt indignant, although it was of course a very good thing. A
decent woman would be proud of not being good at provoking.
"You are not very
provocative." He glanced sideways. No, he did not think so. She did not
speak her mind very well, not on scandalous matters, and precisely that would
be required for a provocation, he thought. Something subtle might miss its
mark.
"I am not provocative because I am not provocative?" She raised her eyebrows.
Chapter Twenty
Being faced with a bunch of
shy-looking gentlemen, Anne suddenly doubted whether she would have come to
know Henry at all had their meetings solely taken place in drawing rooms. He
would have remained one of them in that case. It made her wonder which good
qualities were hidden behind his brothers' bashful and wary manners. She was
still the intruder in their midst, but perhaps that would never change.
Henry had proved to have a few
good qualities. He evidently had enough of them for her to marry him. She had
been reluctant to dwell too much on that issue, fearful perhaps that her
rational mind could not explain it.
It might qualify as a good
quality that his family got along. They formed a front against the intruder.
She could feel the closing of the ranks. With such unity was it any wonder that
all of them still lived here? The admiral had traded these family friendships
for that of his wife's, but only something as strong as that could pull them
away from here. Mrs. Croft was as strong a loyal front on her own as these
brothers put together, no doubt.
Anne did not know if she could
be the same. She felt Henry's hand on her back. Either she was in the way or he
supported her. He walked past her, pulling her along a little. By removing some
cushions he freed some space on the sofa for them.
The silence that followed was
uncomfortable. The head of the family broke it. "Tomorrow then, Henry
Alexander."
"Yes," Henry replied
cautiously. "David says it is possible."
David looked reluctant to say
anything at all and Anne wondered how he fared in his profession. Talking once
a week was perhaps just manageable, but she could not see him marry any couple
with sincere good wishes for the happiness. Of course it could be that entering
the state of matrimony was laudable for anyone but a Croft, although there did
not appear to be many others residing in this parish. There might only be
deaths to take care of.
"And you will stay
on?" old Mr. Croft asked.
"Until John has drawn up
the settlements."
Seemingly it could all be
handled within the family. They were perhaps perfectly normal gentlemen if one
disregarded the women issue, which could to a large extent be blamed on their
father. Anne was resolved not to be daunted by their shyness. The younger ones
could still improve with some kindness and consideration. The older ones --
uncles? -- were of course beyond improvement.
"And what do you like about
Henry, Lady Russell?" the old man inquired.
She did not appreciate the
question, notably because she had not yet decided precisely what she liked
about him. "You ought to know," she said with a polite smile.
"It would not be kind of me to leave something out of a list. We may even
have different lists. What do you like about Henry?"
He looked astonished.
"I told you," Anne
breathed to Henry. She could provoke, apparently, although her tone was not
sharp. Old Mr. Croft remained silent. "Nothing, sir?" she asked.
"In which case you must be very glad indeed that I am taking him
away."
Again he said nothing.
She leant towards Henry and
whispered. In this company whispering might not be frowned upon, she felt. If
it was, it might not be a greater offence than that of being female. "I
would not embarrass you by only listing trivialities."
"Could you list something
that is not a triviality?"
Indeed. The danger of saying
something was often that it was the opposite of what one did not yet want to
say. She gazed into his eyes. They were as always clear, but perhaps held a
little uncertainty. "Yes, but there are things I could not list in
public."
The old man's eyes were sharply
fixed upon them.
In spite of that close scrutiny,
Anne wanted to reassure Henry. She had never imagined she would be discussing
this matter in such a setting, but the occasion called for it. "You are
very handsome," she said in a low voice, starting out easy.
Henry gave her a little scowl.
Apparently being handsome meant nothing to him, or he wished for more and more
detailed praise.
"And very kind," she
added. "Sweet. Honest. Clever. And you can draw very well."
"One does not marry a man
because he can draw very well. Are you sure you are not marrying me so you can
have something to look after?"
Anne looked thoughtful. With
Anne Elliot married, Elizabeth Elliot off to Bath and even Sir Walter out of
the way, remarkably few people remained for her in whom to display a greater
interest than that of a friendly neighbour's. "Perhaps, but you need less
looking after already. Perhaps it is better to look after the ones who do not
really need it."
"I do not need less looking
after," Henry said with an amused look. "Perhaps I did not need it in
the first place."
She disagreed. "You
did."
If she referred to his not
drinking his tea, he would still not agree with her. He had often managed to
remember it himself and no harm was done when he did not. "I was fine,
truly."
"Fine is but fine. There
are things superior to fine."
Henry had dwelled on what might
be superior to fine during dinner. Perhaps that involved having a kind lady to
make sure he lacked for nothing -- a very kind and elegant lady. He enjoyed
watching how she ate, so very gracefully and elegantly. It was fine to eat with
his brothers, but superior indeed to eat with Anne.
What had she called him? Kind.
Sweet. Honest. Clever. He might have some objections to being sweet, as it
sounded very feminine, but if she meant it as a compliment he would accept it.
Sweet was the same as kind, perhaps.
He had not at all been convinced
of her feeling anything for him. Although she was kind when she was not nervous
about breaking the rules of propriety, she was never completely unrestrained.
However, she seemed ready to defend him and that pointed to her liking him at
least.
After dinner, his father
dismissed his sons as usual so he could have a glass or two with his brothers,
but he called Henry back. Henry did not want to let Anne leave the room with
his brothers, but she said she was fine. He sat down again and wondered what
business it was of his uncles, whatever his father wished to say. Nevertheless,
he would wait until his father spoke and then decide whether he wanted to walk
out.
"Henry, there is a danger
in marrying an older woman," Mr. Croft began. "They are not demure
and modest girls and it may therefore be very difficult to silence them."
"Why should I want
to?" Henry asked rebelliously. "She may have something of interest to
say."
The rest of the table looked
shocked at the idea that a woman might have something interesting to say, but
it was not up to his uncles to say this openly. "Well," said his
father. "If you do not object, Henry Alexander, we should let you find out
how troublesome it can be."
"Perhaps you will find out
it is not so very troublesome after all, when we move into the new house along
with you." He took some evil delight in saying that. "But perhaps we
could invite James for a visit then, so Anne could have Sophia to converse with
about politics and the state of the world. In that way they need not bother us
with their intelligence."
Anne was forced to spend a few
minutes alone with the boys, as she called them. They looked to be in their
thirties and thus they were mere boys to her. She was not afraid of them. They
would be her brothers. "What a great number of brothers to acquire at
once," she remarked.
Predictably, they said nothing.
"My first husband only had
one and they did not get along." Not having had any children, she had lost
practically all contact with the Russells. Because she did not depend on them
and she had nothing to offer, they rarely wrote. She did not regret the loss.
Her acquaintance was wide, in Bath especially.
"Do you have any
children?" one of them ventured.
"No, I do not." The
young man declared himself very sorry and she stared at him in incredulity
until she remembered that she ought to feel glad he was conversing like a
normal human being.
"Will you have any?"
"No, there is no need to
refer to that part tomorrow." She guessed he was David. None of the others
could have any reason to ask. They did not seem fond of small-talk.
He looked relieved. The less to
say, the better. "Although I am still very sorry," he added hastily.
Surprisingly that made her laugh. "Do not be. I am not sorry anymore. And I shall have Henry."
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