Taming of Annabelle (9 page)

Perhaps if the Marquess of Brabington had not been so ill, he would have managed to see more of his fiancée before her departure to Hopeworth.

As it was, it was only after Annabelle had left that the Marquess realized they had never been alone together. Such moments as they had had were usually spent in one of the many rooms of the
Abbey while the rest of the guests sat around.

He had taxed her on her wish to be married at the same time as her sister, but Annabelle had only fixed him with an innocent blue stare and had said, ‘Peter, I
told
you, I’m
sure I did. It is certainly very rushed. Do you want to wait?’

And the Marquess, of course, did not want to wait. He was very much in love, so much in love that he forebore from pointing out that she had no time to tell him about wedding arrangements during
a ten-second proposal.

His illness had robbed him of much of his commonsense and humour, and so he was out of balance. He had been in love before, at a time when he had neither title nor money. The lady had encouraged
his affections only to turn him down in favour of an elderly lord. He had acquired his title and fortune a week before her wedding, and had been appalled when she had called at his house, saying
that she had always loved him, and begging him to rescue her from a loveless marriage. Her motives were dreadfully plain. Since then, he had thrown himself into his army career, viewing society
women from then on with a certain detached amusement.

But Annabelle had caught him at a weak moment. Certainly he had been enchanted with her from the first time he set eyes on her, but, in normal circumstances, his natural prudence would have told
him not to rush into too hasty a marriage.

He was also much influenced by the fact that his friend, Lord Sylvester, was to marry into the same family. He trusted Sylvester’s cool judgement and never paused to think that two very
different birds could come from the same family nest.

He was tired of wars and adventures and was anxious to settle down. He was prepared to resign himself to a round of London amusements first, since he considered it would be unfair to deprive his
young bride of all the pleasures he had himself begun to find wearisome.

Lord Sylvester, after lazily offering his congratulations, had spoken no more on the subject of his friend’s marriage and the Marquess took his subsequent silence for approval. He would
have been amazed had he known that Lord Sylvester was extremely worried.

In Minerva’s case, commonsense had been overridden by family loyalty, and she assured Lord Sylvester that Annabelle was deeply in love with the Marquess.

Lord Sylvester was anxious to believe Minerva. But there was one thing he could not bring himself to tell her.

He had been all too well aware of Annabelle’s infatuation for him. And although he had thought it quickly over, he could not rid himself of the impression that she was jealous of Minerva
and was marrying Peter simply in a spirit of sisterly rivalry.

The Marquess had planned to leave Haeter Abbey at the same time as Annabelle, but he had been summoned to Horseguards to give evidence in an enquiry into the sufficiency, or insufficiency, of
army rations, and was too much of a soldier to beg liberty for personal reasons.

Lord Sylvester was anxious to return to his own estates to deal with matters there, since he had promised his bride a travelling honeymoon through such countries as were left free of
Napoleon’s rule.

Annabelle had become accustomed to life at the Abbey. It was like living in a very grandly equipped village, she thought. She had explored everywhere, from the rich state apartments inside to
the granary, dairies, stables, pottery, carpenter’s shop, gardens, succession houses, and deer park on the outside. The vicarage loomed very dark, small and poky in her memory. But Minerva
had received a letter from Mrs Armitage who complained bitterly about her failing health brought about by the onerous duties of the parish.

Deirdre and Daphne were in trouble. They had dressed Farmer Baxter’s prize pig in one of Frederica’s gowns and had driven it across the village green. This had fortunately happened
when the vicar was at the Abbey and his wrath had not been quite what it might had he been present at the time.

Now the vicar was home and it was time for the girls to return as well. Annabelle had begged Minerva to extend their stay, but Minerva had pointed out that the Duchess would not appreciate their
presence a day longer, and for her part, she did not want to stay on when her fiancé was planning to leave.

And so the two sisters set out for home on a bitterly cold day. The snow which had fallen on the day that Annabelle had talked to the Marquess in the library had thawed and frozen and thawed and
frozen so that the roads were full of treacherous, hard ruts. The maid, Betty, had contracted a severe cold and was to follow later.

The wedding was to be held in St George’s, Hanover Square, in London, with full pomp and circumstance. Annabelle knew that the Duchess could hardly be expected to furnish a wedding dress
for
her
and was fretting over the idea that she would be outshone by Minerva who would be wearing several thousands of guineas’ worth of Brussels lace.

As the carriage jolted along, she cast a sideways glance at her sister’s pensive face. ‘Glad to be going home, Merva?’ she asked.

‘Yes, particularly as Sylvester is leaving as well,’ said Minerva calmly. ‘It will not be long until we are both married, Bella. I wish it were not going to be such a grand
wedding. I wanted to be married by papa in the church at home, but her grace insisted on a big London wedding, and Sylvester pointed out that it does not matter where we are married so long as we
are
married.’

‘Church weddings are not at all fashionable,’ sniffed Annabelle. ‘We could both have been married at the Abbey.’

‘We could hardly do that when father is a minister of God,’ pointed out Minerva.

‘Oh, it’s easy for you to be so calm about it all,’ snapped Annabelle. ‘You will be very fine in that grand gown the Duchess is giving you. What am I to wear? Something
from the village dressmaker?’

‘But I thought Peter would have told you . . .’ began Minerva.

‘Lord Brabington to you,’ said Annabelle in order to get revenge for the time Minerva had corrected
her
when she had called Lord Sylvester Comfrey,
‘Sylvester’.

‘As I was saying,’ said Minerva severely, ‘I am amazed Lord Brabington did not explain to you how matters stood. I had discussed the wedding arrangements with him and explained
my own gown was to be very fine, and I was worried about providing you with something which would at least look as good. He promptly said he would write to Madame Verné in London – she
is the
best
dressmaker you know – and ask her to send sketches to Hopeworth. We are to travel to London, a month before the wedding, and stay with Lady Godolphin so that your gown may
be made very quickly.’

‘I am not a child!’ exclaimed Annabelle. ‘Why were such arrangements made behind my back? And I have hardly had any occasion to speak to my fiancé in private since we
announced our engagement,’ she added, her voice beginning to rise with temper, forgetting that she had carefully avoided being alone with the Marquess. ‘How did
you
come to be so
intimate with him!’

‘I merely went to see him to discuss the arrangements.’

‘Where? Where did this discussion take place?’

‘In his bedchamber.’

‘WHAT!’

‘Annabelle, do not be so missish. I am the eldest of the family and you know I have long been accustomed to organizing things for us. It was natural I should go to see Lord Brabington.
Since he was convalescing, I could not very well have an audience with him anywhere else.’

‘I,’ said Annabelle passionately, ‘was
warned
by that
bat
of a Duchess that I must not go
near
Peter’s room because it was not
comme il faut
– or comma fault as that stupid, gross travesty of a woman, Lady Godolphin, called it . . .’

‘That is quite enough,’ interrupted Minerva in glacial tones.

‘Don’t come Miss Prunes and Prisms with
me
!’ howled Annabelle. ‘I, at least, can
wait
till my wedding night.’

The old Minerva would have blushed from the soles of her feet to the top of her head, but the new Minerva had an uncomfortably shrewd look in her eye.

‘And what gave you the idea, miss, that I was beforehand in my behaviour?’

‘One has only got to look at you,’ said Annabelle sulkily.

‘I am surprised that you have so much time to worry about my morals,’ said Minerva. ‘Look at me, Annabelle! Are you in love with Lord Brabington?’

‘Of course I am, you widgeon. I’m marrying him, aren’t I?’

‘Yes,’ said Minerva, half to herself. ‘But if you are so very much in love, then why is your wedding gown so important to you?’

‘Having already got a very beautiful one yourself, you can have a mind above such petty matters,’ sneered Annabelle.

‘I have, perhaps, become too accustomed to speak to you as if you were a child,’ said Minerva slowly. ‘I do worry about you, Annabelle. Mama’s frequent illness, imagined
or no, had put certain responsibilities on me. I still look on you as a child in my charge. Seventeen is not so very old after all.’

‘Old enough to resent your perpetual lecturing and moralizing.’

‘Do I?’ said Minerva sadly. ‘I suppose I do. Sylvester tells me I am the real preacher of the Armitage family.’

‘Does he, indeed,’ said Annabelle, brightening. ‘Tell me, Minerva, do many of the fashionable ladies have affairs?’

‘I am afraid they do,’ said Minerva in a low voice. ‘You should see them, Bella. They are poor things; restless, hungry. It is as well for us that we shall never have to
contemplate such a life. Why on earth did you ask such a question?’

‘Because,’ said Annabelle, leaning across the carriage and giving her sister a warm hug, ‘I wanted to change the conversation. I am such a bear and you must forgive me. I am
frightened of all the fuss, Merva, and that is what makes me such a crosspatch.’

‘Oh, Bella, so am I,’ said Minerva with relief as she hugged her sister back. ‘Never mind, at least we shall be together.’

Annabelle settled back in her corner of the carriage, her thoughts busy. Lord Sylvester would soon tire of Minerva. And perhaps he would be glad to flirt a little with such a delicious young
matron as the new Marchioness of Brabington. Almost she could hear him saying, ‘You bore me, Minerva. I wish I had married your sister instead!’

She was just settling down to enjoy this rosy fantasy when she realized with irritation that Minerva was speaking again.

‘And you should not be so harsh about Lady Godolphin,’ Minerva was saying. ‘It is extremely kind of her to invite us to London.’

‘And who is footing the bill, pray?’

‘Well, as a matter of fact, Sylvester said he would pay her for any expense incurred on our behalf, but she does not
need
to invite us.’

Annabelle sniffed. ‘I suppose she can be amusing. She is a sort of walking parlour game. It became quite fun seeing which one of us could guess what she meant by one of her terrible
Malapropisms. But no one guessed the last one. What did she mean when she said that the portrait at the end of the Long Gallery, just above the Meissen figures, was “catter
chintzy”? No one could guess and Mr Frampton was offering a prize of five guineas to anyone who found the right answer.’

Minerva smiled. ‘My lady meant
quattrocento.
Lord Sylvester was the winner.’

‘Well, I was glad papa did not stay overlong. He was making quite a cake of himself over Lady Godolphin. Colonel Brian was not amused.’

‘Papa was merely being gallant,’ said Minerva. ‘I do wish Colonel Brian and Lady Godolphin would legalize their arrangement.’

‘Legalize? You mean
marry
? You mean he . . . she . . . oh, tish, Minerva. They are too old.’

‘It seems some of us never outgrow our passions,’ sighed Minerva. ‘But what worries me is . . . you must promise not to tell a soul, Bella, not even Peter.’

‘I promise,’ said Annabelle eagerly, delighted to find her prim sister was not above gossip.

‘It is all very scandalous, you see, but rather sad in a way, for Colonel Brian was married and his wife was an invalid. But Lady Godolphin does not expect Colonel Brian to propose
marriage because . . . because she does not know his wife died last summer. Of course, he should observe at least a year’s mourning, but Sylvester tells me Lady Godolphin has been kept in
ignorance of Mrs Brian’s death, the Colonel going so far as to keep the intelligence of it from the newspapers.’

‘Dear, dear,’ said Annabelle, her blue eyes sparkling. ‘Wouldn’t the fur and feathers fly if she ever found out!’

‘Lady Godolphin will not find out unless the Colonel himself tells her.

‘Sylvester came upon the truth of the matter by accident.
He
would never dream of telling her anything so cruel, nor would I, and you certainly must not. Don’t look so . . .
malicious
, Annabelle. I wish I had not told you.’

‘I? I have no interest in what she does,’ shrugged Annabelle. ‘At her age, it is disgusting.’

Minerva looked at her sister but did not reply. Annabelle fell back into her fantasy of luring Lord Sylvester away from Minerva, and Minerva fought down strange new feelings that were welling up
inside her. She was appalled to find that she was almost beginning to
dislike
Annabelle.

The thought was so painful, so treacherous, that she immediately fought it down and turned her attention to the passing countryside.

After a long and weary journey, they arrived at the vicarage. Annabelle did not even stay to put off her bonnet but immediately ran off to the Hall to tell her triumph to
Josephine and Emily.

Minerva was surrounded by her younger sisters. She answered their questions automatically, looking through the vicarage window at Annabelle’s flying figure, a little crease of worry
between her brows.