Martha Schroeder (8 page)

“Now, Meg, it isn’t that bad. She won’t say a word about you. It’s my shameless behavior Mrs. Headley will condemn; you know that. She’s always thought you treated me too much as an equal, and this

will—”

“I know, I know,” Meg said. “That’s just the trouble, don’t you see? You are so pretty and so talented that most of the old cats around here are ready to cut you to ribbons anyway. This will be their chance! Oh, Annis! I don’t want you hurt!”

The two young women exchanged looks that conveyed much more than words could. All the affection each bore the other glowed in their eyes.

“My dear,” Annis said at last, her voice thick with emotion, “you know this doesn’t begin to repay you. Besides, after you marry, I will be gone from this neighborhood while you will remain. What can a little gossip do to me then?”

At her words, an arrested expression came to Meg, and she looked at James in a way that made him wonder if he had forgotten to shave part of his face that morning. “That’s it,” she said, a smile breaking over her features. It was like the sun coming up, and James couldn’t help but smile back.

“It? What is ‘it’?” he ventured after a moment of silence.

“Don’t you see? We must protect Annis’s reputation.”

“And yours as well, my dear,” Annis replied. “Calling the captain by his given name was really quite fast. She won’t let you soon forget it”

“She will if James and I announce our betrothal at her dance!” Meg said triumphantly. “That will silence her. Then I will be perfectly justified in calling the captain James, and you will have simply showed him the affectionate kindness you would feel toward the future husband of your former pupil and present friend!”

James stared at her, dumbstruck. Of all the cursed luck! If he let Meg announce their engagement without having told her of his irregular birth, she would have sealed her fate without full knowledge of the facts.

“But, Meg—I mean, Lady Margaret,” he began haltingly. “I don’t think that would be at all a wise thing to do.”

Meg stared at him for a moment, color flooding into her face. “I—I—Of course, Captain, I didn’t mean to force—I only thought—” She cursed herself for once again blundering in where angels wouldn’t tread and turned blindly toward the door, which Annis had tactfully closed behind her moments before.

“No, no! You misunderstand! It is not that I do not wish to marry you.” James’s heart seemed to stutter in his chest before it began to beat more strongly than ever. He turned and gathered her into his arms, where she fit as if made for him. Her golden brown curls tickled his chin.

“Oh, no, Meg. I do, I do wish it. Most sincerely. I only thought you might need time to reflect. It is such an enormous step, and the advantages are all on my side.” He bent his head and placed a soft kiss on the top of her head.

At that moment James wanted nothing so much as to marry this warm, honest, glowing woman as soon as he could. To have the right to call all that loyalty and love his own was so much more than he had ever imagined he might have.

Meg took a deep breath. She was moved and charmed by James’s tender kiss and his strong, warm arms holding her in a loose embrace.

“That’s all right, then,” she said at last with a sigh. “For a minute, I was afraid that there was something that would keep us from marrying. What do they call it in church? An impediment? Or that, upon reflection, you didn’t wish to marry me.”

“There is nothing I want so much as to marry you, Meg.” Guilt washed over him, but he did not bring up the one great impediment that he knew of and she did not.

“Good.” She pulled away far enough to look up at him, her smile bathing him in warmth. “That’s settled, then. We’ll announce it as a surprise at the Headleys’ dance, and watch Mrs. Headley swallow her tongue.”

She laughed and took his arm, and James knew he would say nothing to break this enchanted mood. He would be silent and trust to the sailor’s luck that had kept him safe through all the storms at sea and, God willing, would keep him and his promised bride safe through all the storms to come on land.

Chapter Eight

Saturday evening was unexpectedly chilly. Meg and Annis wore only light shawls over their dresses, and they shivered a little as they entered the aging coach that was Hedgemere’s only suitable vehicle. Both had dressed in their best. Meg wore a simple green silk that fell in graceful folds to reveal the tips of her green kid slippers. The gown was unadorned, lacking even a ruffle, except for a pale yellow sash at the high waistline. Annis’s dress was cream-colored muslin, with a neckline even more discreet than her employer’s. Her gown was cut using less material so that the skirt was straight, falling less gracefully than Meg’s.

Annis had designed both dresses and had made sure that there were enough differences so that a discerning eye—that of Mrs. Headley, for example—would see that Annis was not setting herself up as her employer’s social equal. What Mrs. Headley could not know was the argument that had occurred before Meg had given in to Annis’s insistence that the difference in their status be marked, for her own peace of mind.

Meg had acquiesced but had insisted in her turn that Annis wear a pink-and-cream shawl that she had purchased for that very purpose. It was hard to get the best of Lady Margaret Enfield, Meg thought smugly as they rolled down the road toward the Headleys’ large stone house. It was set in a formal park-like lawn, with rhododendrons lining the drive. Every window gleamed with candles.

The idea of a party was always exciting—even though one knew everyone who would be there, and knew to a nicety what they would say and how they would say it. But tonight was more than an ordinary party! Tonight Meg was planning to astonish everyone and confound the gossiping Headleys by announcing her engagement. She felt a frisson of trepidation and wondered if she was doing the right thing, announcing her engagement before her solicitor arrived. Nonsense. This was going to be fun, confounding everyone! Anticipation gave her feet wings as she and Annis mounted the steps to the gleaming black front door.

As they entered, she could see Gerald standing under the chandelier in the drawing room to the right of the center hall. That meant that the captain must be nearby. She looked around as Mrs. Headley bore down upon them.

“Margaret,” she said effusively, “how lovely you look. I’ve always liked that dress. Is that a new sash you’re wearing with it?”

Tact was not Mrs. Headley’s strong suit, Meg thought ruefully, as she forced a smile and said, “Yes, Annis insisted that yellow would be just the contrast needed. I’m so glad you like it. She has exquisite taste, hasn’t she?” It had not escaped Meg’s notice that Annis’s presence had been ignored.

“Yes, so she does. Good evening, Miss Fairchild. You must excuse me.” Mrs. Headley turned away then said in an under-voice, “Margaret, I must speak to you on a subject of grave importance.”

“Good heavens, ma’am, whatever can that be? Do not tell me that Sunshine has strayed onto your land again? She is an adventurous one for a cow. I do not know what to do to keep her at home!”

“No, no, of course it has nothing to do with one of your cows, Margaret. Please, do pay attention. This is important. Meet me in the library in a quarter of an hour, and I shall tell you something that you must know.” Mrs. Headley frowned and looked as serious as if she had some state secret to impart.

“Very well, ma’am,” said Meg, with no intention of keeping that appointment. This evening was meant for joyous surprises. An interview with Mrs. Headley was not likely to be either joyous or surprising, so she would contrive not to have one.

How simple life was, she thought, if you arranged it properly.

“Meg, my dear,” Lady Mattingly said as she came up to greet the ladies from Hedgemere, “how lovely you look. And you, Miss Fairchild. That is a lovely shawl. Did you make it yourself? Or was it a gift?”

Lady Mattingly was at it again. Meg smothered a grin and moved aside, the better to search for the captain, as Annis said quietly, “It was a present from Lady Margaret, my lady.”

“She has always been such a generous girl.”

“Yes. As you know, I have more reason than most to be aware of that.” Annis’s cheeks turned a lovely shade of rose.

Lady Mattingly noticed. “My dear, I had no intention of embarrassing you. You have done quite as much for Meg as she has for you. Think what her life would have been like if her governess had been unkind or overbearing. You’ve been a godsend to her from the moment you arrived.”

The color in Annis’s cheeks grew more vivid. Her work, and indeed her pleasure, had been to see Meg grow up to be a fine young woman. And now to be noticed and praised for her part in Meg’s life, and in such a kind way, almost overset her. Particularly after Mrs. Headley had made her feel like a grasping hussy.

“Thank you so much for telling me that,” Annis murmured, her voice a little unsteady, “I shan’t make a cake of myself, but I very much needed to hear that tonight.”

Lady Mattingly gave her a kindly smile. “I can imagine. Mrs. Headley was mentioning your name to several of her cronies when we arrived. She treated Captain Sheridan to a very piercing look as well. Gerald has given me orders that I am not to question you or Meg or the captain about—about anything.” And Lady Mattingly raised her hands and chuckled. “So, you may sit by me and talk anytime you feel the need this evening, Miss Fairchild, and be assured you will be spared any questions.”

Annis smiled and thanked her. Indeed, Lady Mattingly was more than kind even when her curiosity and desire to set the world to rights got the better of her tact. She had a warmth and charm that set everyone at their ease, even hired companions. Annis couldn’t help but wonder if Gerald’s mother would be so friendly if she knew of Annis’s feelings for her son.

Although a country parsonage is not a worldly place to grow up, Annis knew quite well that the answer was no. Like most mothers, Gerald’s mama hoped he would make an advantageous match, one that would bring him money or political connections to help his diplomatic career.

“My dear Miss Fairchild,” the object of her secret affections said from behind her, “you are looking much too serious for a ball—or even a country dance as our hostess persists in calling it.”

She turned and forced a smile. “Sir Gerald,” she said, her voice quiet and friendly as always. “How nice to see you again.”

“Are you on your way to the ballroom? Do let me escort you.” He extended his arm.

Annis looked around, afraid that Mrs. Headley would see them and start another rumor about the encroaching ways of Miss Fairchild. Fortunately her hostess was occupied elsewhere, and she determined to take a chance. “I would be delighted, Sir Gerald,” she said.

As they strolled the length of the hall, Gerald said, “I wonder if you would honor me with the supper dance, Miss Fairchild. I feel the need to confer with you.”

“I should be honored, Sir Gerald, but do you think it would be wise? I am sure there are many eligible young ladies who would be annoyed to find that I had snared you for the supper dance.”

Gerald stopped walking and turned to face her. “What sort of social idiocy is this, Miss Fairchild? I would not have believed that my friend, who will discuss politics and social reform and give no quarter, should recoil from the strictures of a few old cats.”

“You don’t understand, Sir Gerald.” How could he? How could any man truly comprehend the price to be paid by an unmarried, undowered woman who publicly flouted even the least convention. “I am going to be looking for another situation soon, and I do not wish to outrage anyone in this neighborhood. Reputations travel, and I cannot afford to sully mine. It is a simple matter of economics.”

Gerald stood, stunned. How could he be such a cloth head? Of course reputations mattered, and of course a poor but genteel woman had a harder time than any other. She could neither pay her own way and flout convention, nor turn her hand to any kind of work that paid. Annis Fairchild was severely limited as to what she, a clergyman’s daughter, could do to earn her bread.

He liked her so much, enjoyed their discussions of what went on in the world of politics and diplomacy, found her so intelligent and stimulating that her social or financial problems had seemed unimportant.
But they are very important to her,
he told himself scathingly. He was not usually so thick.

“I am sorry, Miss Fairchild. I enjoy our friendship so much that I forgot the unkind gossip that you might have to face. In any event, perhaps I should tell you now. I have heard vague rumors this evening. Something about you and Captain Sheridan. Of course, I know there’s nothing to it but...”

He looked up to see Annis’s usually calm blue eyes darken with what could only be anger. “And you want to know if I am guilty of such unbecoming behavior? Have I tried to cut Meg out with the captain, so that I can snare his money for myself?”

Even to hear it upset him. “No, no, I just—”

You just what, Gerald?
he jeered to himself.
You just wanted her to deny it, even though you knew it wasn’t true?

“I refuse to justify my behavior to you or anyone. Meg and the captain know the truth of the story. That is all that matters to me.” She swung away from him and proceeded down the hall to the ballroom, while Gerald stood and cursed himself for a fool. If he didn’t know better, he would think he had acted from jealousy. But that idea was absurd. He valued Annis Fairchild as a friend. He enjoyed her company and the way her mind stimulated his own. That was all it was. Jealousy had no part in their intellectual friendship. No part at all.

“Why, Sir Gerald.” Mrs. Headley’s voice shattered his introspective mood. “What in the world are you doing standing in the hall? You must come along and dance. We do not have enough excellent dancers among the gentlemen, and so we cannot spare you.”

“Why, thank you for the compliment, Mrs. Headley,” Gerald managed to say. “I was indeed on my way to the ballroom. Did I mention how very grown-up Mellie and Sukie looked this evening?” he said, the diplomatic gift of a disarming compliment coming to his aid.