Taming of Annabelle (10 page)

Mrs Armitage trailed languidly in, a chiffon scarf drooping from one hand, and a limp ostrich feather fan from one wrist. She was a short, slightly plump woman, so there was not really enough of
her to supply a dramatic droop. She only succeeded in looking rather round-shouldered. Minerva listened patiently while Mrs Armitage went on at length about all the gamut of emotions she had run on
hearing the news of Annabelle’s success.

At last, the vicar cut her short by jerking his head in the direction of his study and saying impatiently, ‘Come along, Minerva.’

Minerva went reluctantly. She hoped she was not going to be asked for her views on Annabelle’s engagement.

She began to relax as the vicar made no mention of it. He discussed arrangements for the wedding. Minerva and Annabelle were to go alone, Mrs Armitage feeling she could not endure a whole month
in London, and even the lure of London chemists and London physicians was not enough to encourage her to face the prospect.

The rest of the family were to arrive a week before the wedding.

‘Got quite a shock when I saw Lady Godolphin,’ said the vicar meditatively. ‘Quite a belle she was in her day. Still, she’s lost none of her old charm, quite fascinating
in a wrinkled and flabby kind of way.’

He pulled himself together with a jerk, flushed slightly, and said, ‘Is that colonel her lover?’

‘My dear papa,’ lied Minerva. ‘I do not know.’

‘I suppose he is. She told me she had become quite demin-mundane and was living a life of oddity. I assume she meant adultery.’

‘Perhaps she really meant oddity,’ suggested Minerva, anxious not to be drawn on the subject. ‘She often uses the right word.’

‘Perhaps. Well, off with you, miss. There’s still work to be done around here. Brabington has been very generous in the matter of the marriage settlement, and he don’t want no
dowry, so it looks as if we can hire some sort o’ governess for the gels.’

‘That would be wonderful,’ said Minerva. ‘Deirdre is still too young and a trifle wild to take over my duties.’ She kissed him on the cheek and turned to go.

‘Minerva!’

Minerva turned round. The vicar had risen and was standing with his back to the fire, his coat tails hitched up over his bottom. ‘Don’t worry about Bella,’ he said.

‘I am very happy for her.’

‘No, you ain’t. You’re worried sick because you feel sure she’s marrying Brabington just because she wants to be a marchioness. And you’re right. She’s got
another worse reason for doin’ it in that cockloft o’ hers. But it’ll all work out in the end. Brabington’ll school her, you’ll see.’

‘But I don’t want him to
have
to school her,’ said Minerva. ‘I want it to be a love match.’

‘Well, them sort o’ marriages is deuced rare. Women are not all as lucky as you, my puss.’

‘What is the other reason?’ asked Minerva.

‘Tell you some day,’ said the vicar. ‘Off with you!’

But as Minerva softly closed the door behind her, she thought she heard him mutter, ‘Hope you don’t find out first.’

Annabelle returned from the Hall in a pensive mood. Of course, Josephine and Emily had been wildly jealous. She had not expected anything else. But they had concealed it in an
admirable way. They had affected kindness, they had affected deep concern over poor little Annabelle’s rustic manners and dress and had told her terrible stories about ladies who were forced
to rusticate in the country forever because they had done something quite awful like crossing their legs in public. Annabelle had quickly uncrossed hers.

Was she never to achieve one little bit of the triumphs she had dreamed of?

But there was the wedding. All society would be there. All London – that was the London bounded by St James’s Square and Grosvenor Square – would be watching her.
Annabelle’s mind refused to take in the realities of marriage and what lay after the wedding. That was a vague and pleasant world of balls and parties with a complaisant Marquess somewhere in
the background, someone to take her there and bring her back while she danced with Lord Sylvester.

It was balm to her soul to find a very respectful Deirdre waiting for her. Annabelle sat down at the toilet table and unpinned her bonnet while Deirdre sat on the bed behind her.

‘It is a very fine thing to be marrying a marquess,’ said Deirdre with a flattering tinge of awe in her voice. ‘You know, I s’pose you really
are
quite pretty,
Annabelle.’

‘Beautiful is the word,’ laughed Annabelle. ‘And Madame Verné is to make my bride gown, Deirdre; she is the best in London. I think I shall have a very long train and
the twins can be my pages. A little seed pearl embroidery, I think. I wonder whether the Prince Regent will come.’

‘Tell me about it,’ urged Deirdre, sitting in a half crouch.

‘I am, amn’t I?’ said Annabelle crossly. ‘Did the sketches arrive yet from Madame Verné? Oh, and will she be making the bridesmaids’ gowns as well? Pink
would be pretty. But you have got such an unfortunate colour of hair that pink would not suit
at all.
’

‘That’s not what I wanted to hear,’ said Deirdre scornfully. ‘I want to hear about
love.
’

‘Oh, that,’ said Annabelle carelessly, patting her blonde curls. ‘You are too young.’

‘Not I. Perhaps it is you who are too young, Bella. You are like a child with a glittering toy. What will you do with your Marquess once the novelty has worn off? You can’t very well
put him away in the attic.’

‘Get out of here!’ screamed Annabelle, in sudden rage. ‘Out! Out!
Out!
’

Deirdre stuck out her tongue and scampered to the door.

Annabelle sat breathing heavily for a few moments after she had left. She felt a sudden stab of unease, and then shrugged. The Marquess had said nothing about selling his commission. The war was
still going on. With any luck he would soon be back on the high sierras of Spain.

The few weeks before their departure to London were exhausting. The parish rounds had to be performed as if the two girls were not just about to marry into the nobility.
Bundles of blankets and food had to be collected for the poor and distributed at the parish hall. The poor had to be visited, cordials and medicine and calves’ foot jelly carried in a heavy
basket.

Lady Wentwater had gone off on some mysterious visit so at least she didn’t have to be read to.

Sketches had arrived, not only for the bride’s gown but for the bridesmaids’ dresses. Annabelle had gone into
alt
, demanding that the girls would wear what she chose.

The vicar put an end to the row by gathering up the precious sketches and departing with them to his study. To Annabelle’s horror, she found out that he had chosen the gowns himself and
had sent them off post-haste to London. To all her rage, he had merely replied calmly that if she persisted in behaving like a child, then she would be treated like one.

He then punished her by making her exercise his hounds, adding that he had a good mind to give her a beating instead.

Annabelle felt very ill-used. The budding conscience about tricking the Marquess which was beginning to nag her was quickly nipped by her fury at her father’s treatment of her. Now more
than ever did she wish to be married and become her own mistress.

The Marquess’s face grew fainter in her mind, and soon she dreamt only of Lord Sylvester, perpetual dreamlike ballrooms sailing through her head, endless routs and parties where they would
exchange passionate, meaningful looks across the room.

It was a blustery day at the end of February when she and Minerva at last set out. A great roaring wind was whipping the branches of the trees and tearing the clouds to rags. The village pond
had turned into a miniature Atlantic and one of the tall chimneys of the Hall had fallen through the roof of the East Wing, injuring no one and causing the vicar a deal of quiet satisfaction, since
his brother, Sir Edwin, had been pontificating only the week before about how he could not supply money to repair the roof of the church and pointing out how
he
always kept his property in
order.

The two sisters were very quiet. Minerva was sad at saying farewell to her little sisters. Annabelle was feeling uneasy. Now that she had left the vicarage, it seemed a warm refuge, and the
prospect of the future a terrifying unknown.

A pale shaft of sunshine gilded the thatch of the cottages around the pond. Annabelle looked out at the village as if she would never see it again. Every stone, every blade of grass seemed
sharply etched.

Out on the Hopeminster Road there were already signs of spring. Rooks were building nests in the tall trees which bordered the brown ploughed fields. The branches of the pussy willows were
tipped with little white balls, like balls of cotton wool, and in the grass verges beside the road clumps of snowdrops shone whitely through melting patches of ice.

The wind roared across the fields and sang in the trees.

If only, thought Annabelle, I could stop the carriage, and open the door and run away across the fields before the wind, and never return until everyone had forgotten about this marriage of
mine.

But reality soon crowded back. The shame of returning the presents, the explanations, and above all, Lord Sylvester would never forgive her for jilting his best friend.

The fact that Lord Sylvester, disenchanted with Minerva or not, would, by the same token, hardly enter into a liaison with his wife’s sister and the wife of his best friend did not appear
to trouble her thoughts.

Annabelle could not imagine the great love she held for Lord Sylvester never being reciprocated. And like most people deeply in love with the wrong person, she was convinced it was
right
somehow. All must be sacrified at the altar flame of this pure passion. Lesser mortals did not feel as she, nor were they capable of the same intensity of feeling.

In other words, Minerva wouldn’t mind very much . . .

The Armitage sisters had been resident in London for some two weeks. Annabelle was shakily beginning to find her feet. The Marquess was at Portsmouth on military business, Lord
Sylvester had not returned from the country, London was thin of company, but what she had so far met was terrifying enough.

She was quickly to find out that beauty without fortune, and beauty already engaged, was of little interest to the London
ton.
Her frequent attempts to attract the attention of the
company to herself were frowned upon. It was irritating, too, to note that Minerva did not seem to suffer from the snubs she herself had to endure. Furthermore the Pinks of the Ton did not wish to
listen to a young miss from the country with views of her own and Annabelle was quickly abandoned for some plain young girl who knew how to flirt with a fan and simper to a nicety.

Annabelle was unaware that during the height of the Season, she would be considered a reigning belle; that only the hardened bachelors who were more interested in their clothes than the ladies
were to be found in the saloons of London at present.

Her vanity deserted her, and when the boys had leave from school, she cheerfully volunteered to cancel her social engagements so that she could take them to see the wild animals on ’Change
and to Westminster Abbey and Astley’s Amphitheatre.

Still very much of a schoolgirl, Annabelle enjoyed these unsophisticated delights to the hilt.

On her return to Lady Godolphin’s mansion in Hanover Square she was informed by Mice, her ladyship’s butler, that the Marquess of Brabington was awaiting her in the Green Saloon and
that my lady and Miss Armitage were absent from the house.

Annabelle tripped lightly into the Green Saloon to find the Marquess standing in front of the. fireplace. She had enjoyed her day, her vanity had been crushed with the lack of attention she had
received in London, and these two factors combined to make her very glad to see the Marquess indeed.

She hugged him unaffectedly, her face glowing from the cold, and the Marquess felt all his worries ebb away. He had begun to have niggling doubts about the warmth of his love’s affections.
She had replied to none of his letters. But when he felt her arms go about him in the most natural way in the world, his heart leapt, and he kissed her lightly on the cheek, and led her to a sofa
where he drew her down beside him.

‘I have missed you,’ he said warmly. ‘Where have you been today?’

‘Taking my two small brothers to see the sights,’ said Annabelle. ‘In truth I enjoyed it more than any of the grand balls or parties I have attended.’

This was very much to the Marquess’s way of thinking. He took her hand in his and smiled down at her. ‘I called on Sylvester on the way back and he sends his love.’

Annabelle’s face shone with an almost religious radiance. He had sent his
love.
Ambition, vanity, love and longing came crowding back into her brain. Oh, if only this Marquess did
not mean to sell out of the army.

‘When may we expect Lord Sylvester back in Town?’ asked Annabelle, wondering if she could draw her hand away without offending him.

‘Tomorrow,’ he said. He was about to go on to tell Annabelle how anxious Lord Sylvester was to see Minerva again, but Annabelle suddenly said, ‘We have not discussed what you
will do after we are married.’