The First Snowdrop

Chapter 9

After dinner, followed by tea and conversation in the drawing room, the duchess insisted that rehearsals resume. And the following morning was no different. As soon as the stragglers could no longer pretend that they were still eating breakfast, they were informed that the small ballroom was awaiting their use. Strangely, no one grumbled on either occasion. The visit of most of the young people to the vicarage had cheered their spirits, and all were looking forward to the return visit that the three Fitzgerald girls and Bertrand had promised for the afternoon.

Even the older people were delighted. The duchess had been prevailed upon to allow them all the afternoon free. Her daughters, Maud and Sarah, with their cousin, Fanny Raine, Claude's wife, had arranged a trip into the village to see if the milliner and the haberdasher had anything worth purchasing. Claude and his brother, Martin, had agreed to play billiards with Charles Lynwood, their cousin Sarah's husband. Stanley and Celia Stewart had promised their children a walk to a hill north of the estate from which it was possible to see three different counties on a clear day.

Anne discovered the children soon after luncheon, when she had escaped to her favorite retreat, the rose arbor. The practices were progressing much better. The outing for several of the others the day before seemed to have done them the world of good. They had somehow rehearsed their way through two whole acts the evening before, and another that morning, without too many pauses for prompting and without causing Claude a near apoplexy with their lifeless acting.

In fact, Peregrine had been downright good that morning, holding them all in stitches in the scene in which he pretended to be making love to Constance Neville for his mother, Mrs. Hardcastle's, benefit and then incurred the latter's wrath by insisting that she read aloud a letter that referred to her as "that old hag."

Aunt Maud had been good, too. One would have sworn that she was about to burst her corsets with indignation. Even Alexander seemed to have mastered his distaste of acting opposite her. When they had repeated this morning the scene that had caused so many problems the afternoon before, his manner had been almost convincingly flirtatious, and he had caught her and kissed her on the lips at the appropriate moment in the script, instead of merely grazing her cheek as he had the day before.

"Please, Kitty's ball is in the tree," a tiny voice said from beside her, and Anne looked up to see a minute girl in frilled dress and white pinafore standing before her, the large bow that held her hair at the back of her head somewhat askew.

"What's that?" Anne asked.

"Kitty's ball is in the tree," the child repeated solemnly. "Davie kicked it there after Nurse had told him to keep it on the ground. But when Kitty told him he was for it, he said a bad word. And Kitty is crying."

"Oh, dear," Anne said. "Perhaps I had better come and see if I can sort things out. Shall I?"

"Yes, please," the child said. "If Papa comes and finds out that Davie said a bad word, he won't be allowed to come to the hill with us. And it won't be such fun to go without Davie, because I should be feeling sorry for him all the time I was there."

"I see," said Anne. "Let's hurry, then, before Papa comes, shall we?"

Kitty was indeed crying with loud wails. She was a smaller replica of her sister, even down to the crooked hair ribbon. Davie, a thin lad of about ten, stood defiantly a few feet away from her, legs apart, arms folded, looking as if he might apologize if he could only be persuaded that it was not an unmanly thing to do.

"Now, where is this ball?" Anne asked cheerfully above the wails of Kitty. "Can we reach it and get it down maybe?"

Kitty paused long enough to look up at the new arrival and point to a branch above their heads, where a bright-blue ball had been trapped by the foliage. She gave her brother an accusing glare and then began to howl again.

"Now," said Anne, "if I promise to climb up for the ball, and if Davie promises to say he is sorry for putting it there, will you stop crying, Kitty?"

Kitty stopped immediately. "He said a naughty word," she said quite steadily, and the wailing resumed.

"Well, I'm sorry anyway, you stupid girl," Davie said magnanimously. "And I can climb the stupid tree."

"No, you will not," Anne said firmly. "You have been all spruced up for an outing with your parents, I gather. The last thing you need is a hole through the knee of your stocking. And would you like to inform me what could possibly be stupid about a tree? I did not know that it had any intelligence at all that could be measured." She looked inquiringly at Davie.

"That's true, Davie," the older sister said gravely, "you must admit."

"Hush up, Meggie," the boy said, but Anne noticed that he did not include her in his opinion of the intelligence of the world around him.

Climbing a tree in a flimsy muslin dress and thin slippers was not an easy activity, Anne soon discovered. It was quite simple to climb the branches, but the twigs and leaves caught at her dress with every movement and she had to keep stopping to disentangle herself. It took fully five minutes to reach the ball and drop it down into the waiting hands of Kitty.

"Hurrah!" yelled Davie. "Is it ever so much fun up there? I am going to come back tomorrow when I don't have to be dressed in these stupid clothes."

"Oh, do be careful," Meggie urged. "You will slip and hurt yourself if you do not watch where you are going."

"Thank you for the ball," Kitty added, all traces of her tears gone. "I like you ever so much. Do you want to come to the hill with us? Papa is going to show us a view."

"I think if I can get down from here safely, I shall consider that I have done enough climbing for one day," Anne said, and began her slow and frustrating descent.

When she reached the bottom branch and had checked to see that her clothes were free from the clinging twigs before leaping for the ground below, she became aware of a pair of masculine arms reaching up for her. She looked down, startled, into the broadly grinning face of Jack.

"Romping with the kiddies, cousin?" he said. "Have I discovered your secret vice? I must say you look most charming up there. I have not seen such trim ankles in a long time. Do allow me to help you down."

"Oh," Anne said, "I had no idea of being observed. These children had a ball stuck up in the tree, you know. I was merely lending a hand. And I would really prefer it if you stood aside. I might bowl you over if I jump when you are standing this close."

Jack continued to grin. "Do you really weigh a ton?" he asked. "I would have thought you no heavier than a feather. Come, I shall take the risk. Put your hands on my shoulders and I shall lift you to the ground."

Anne had no choice but to comply. But Jack did not play fair, she noted indignantly. He bent his elbows so that she slid the full length of his body before touching the ground, and even then she was so off balance for a few moments that she was forced to lean against him.

"I thought so," he said quietly into her ear, not bothering to explain what it was that he had thought.

Anne pushed away from him indignantly. "Thank you, Jack," she said primly.

He reached forward with both hands and carefully disentangled a leaf from her hair. His face was very close to hers. "I wish these infernal children were not so close," he said for her ears only. "I should dearly love to kiss you, Anne. You look provocatively tumbled."

"This lady climbed the tree to get Kitty's ball, Mamma," the solemn little voice of Meggie was saying.

"And Cousin Jack lifted her down from that branch," Davie added.

Anne brushed hastily at her dress to make sure that she was properly decent before looking up to smile at Celia and Stanley… and Alexander, who was with them, his face blank.

"Really, Anne, that was most kind of you," Celia said. "But you should not have risked tearing your lovely dress. It was naughty of the children to ask, as I daresay they did. I suppose Davie put the ball up there, did he?"

"Yes, Mamma," Kitty said, "and he… ouch!" This last as Meggie's foot caught her on the shin.

"Did he, indeed?" Stanley said dryly. "I think we had better start this walk and work off some energy. Come along, children. Thank you, Anne."

"You have torn the hem at the back of your dress, Anne," Merrick said quietly as the family moved away. "You will want to go to your room to change. Allow me to escort you?"

Jack was left standing under the tree, a slight smile on his face.

The Fitzgeralds arrived by foot quite early in the afternoon. The girls were looking rosy-cheeked beneath their bonnets after the two-mile walk across the park. Jack immediately appropriated Rose and led her to the drawing room, where a fire had been lit against the slight spring chill. The others all followed, Hortense arm in arm with Addie, the middle Fitzgerald girl, Constance walking shyly beside them, trying to look old enough to be of their company. Jack, Peregrine, and Prudence gathered around Bertrand, while Merrick shook his hand and greeted him. The oldest Miss Fitzgerald took firm possession of Freddie's arm and marched him close in the wake of Jack and Rose.

"Come along, Frederick," she said. "Let us go indoors where at least we will be out of this wind. And do order us some tea. It is decidedly chilly outdoors."

"But you insisted on our walking here," Rose said plaintively, looking back at her sister. "Addie and I tried to persuade you that the wind would ruin our complexions."

"Nonsense!" her sister replied. "If you had only as much fresh air as you thought you needed, Rose, you would be positively puny. You and Addie both."

"I must say," Jack said, seadng his companion on a love seat and placing himself beside her, "you look remarkably fine, Rose, with cheeks to match your name and eyes shining from the exercise."

"Oh," the girl said, immediately hiding those eyes beneath lowered lashes.

"I shall sit in the wing chair next to the fire, Frederick," Miss Fitzgerald announced, ignoring his offer of a more elegant French chair close to the door. "Come and sit next to me and tell me all about London. What you have to say may not always make the most sense in the world, but I would infinitely prefer it to the silly chatter that we are likely to hear from the others."

"Well," Freddie said, "I had to have Silvester make my new yellow waistcoat. Weston refused. Said the color made him feel bilious. Said it would be no advertisement for his skills. Don't know why, though. Everybody always notices the waistcoat. So bright, y' know."

"Well," Miss Fitzgerald said, "I daresay it is not in the best of good taste, Frederick, but I am pleased that you insisted on having it made. You must always stand up for yourself, you know, even if you do not have quite as much in the upper works as most people."

"I will always do so," Freddie agreed eagerly. "Very good of you to say so, Ruby. Mama says I look like an overgrown canary in the waistcoat."

Miss Fitzgerald patted his hand. "You must wear it one day for me to see," she said, "and I shall give you my opinion. But even if I do not like it, Frederick, you must continue to wear it if you do."

Freddie gazed worshipfully at his new champion, and the conversation resumed.

"Where is Anne?" Prudence asked of no one in particular. "I wanted you to meet her, Fitz. She is very nice and very pretty, though I should not say so. She makes me feel quite the beanpole, all arms and legs. Why could I not have been petite like her?"

"Well, you are quite elegant, you know," Bertrand said diplomatically. "It's hard for a female to be elegant, Prue, when she is little."

"And she is such a good actress," Prudence continued, flashing him a smile. "You would never believe it, Fitz, but she has never even seen a play before. And she is easily our best player. She puts all the rest of us in the shade, except perhaps Perry, who is so funny. I thought my sides would burst from laughing this morning. Where is she, anyway? Do you know, Alex?"

"She tore the hem of her dress earlier while climbing a tree," Merrick said. "I escorted her to her room ten minutes or so ago to change."

"Climbing a tree!" Miss Fitzgerald exclaimed in a strident voice, pulling her attention free of Freddie.

"One of Stanley's children kicked a ball up into it," Jack explained, "and Anne was brought to the rescue." He grinned at the serious figure of Merrick, seated beside Prudence.

Anne had changed already and had sent Bella away to mend the hem of the damaged dress. She now wore a thin woollen dress of pale blue, one of her favorites. It fell straight from a high waistline and had a high round neckline. Its long sleeves were close-fitting. It was a very plain dress, and it accentuated her slimness. It was warm, at least. She had felt thoroughly chilled outside, dressed only in the flimsy muslin, without even a shawl to keep her arms warm.

She should go down. Through her open window she had heard loud voices and laughter. The visitors had obviously arrived. But she hated making a grand entrance. It had sounded as if they had all come inside. They were probably in the drawing room, and there was no way she could enter without attracting the attention of all of them. She sighed. How awful it was to have been born with such a large share of self-consciousness. It would not be so bad, perhaps, if Jack would not be there. But one could not expect Jack to miss such a large and boisterous social gathering. He was proving to be quite troublesome. Could he not see that she was not interested in his flirtation? Probably not. He was a handsome man, almost as good-looking as Alexander, in fact. She doubted that many women had rejected his advances in the past.

And if only Alexander would not be there… But, of course, he would be. These visitors had been the playmates of his childhood. Anne brushed furiously at the wool skirt of her dress, removing imaginary pieces of lint. Nine days still to go before she could be at peace from him again. If only she could avoid seeing him in that time. It was a ridiculous wish, of course. Even if she could avoid him in the ordinary course of a day, she would have to see him at mealtimes. And she had to look at him, talk to him, touch him, even kiss him during the very frequent rehearsals.

And there were always the nights. She could not avoid him then if he chose to come to her. She had no right to lock her door against him. And he had come each night-even last night, after their harsh words during the afternoon. He had been very late. She had been tossing and turning in bed for hours, it had seemed, before he had come. He had not had a candle with him, or lit one when he arrived. He had not said a word, either, but had merely undressed beside the bed, undressed her, and made love to her slowly and silently. She had reached new heights of ecstasy with him, and he must have felt her last cry of release coming; he had absorbed the sound into his open mouth, which had stayed on hers until they had both utterly relaxed. As had become usual with her, she had burrowed her head into the warmth of his shoulder and slept.

Many things had not changed, but Anne had. Something had happened to her as she sat on the floor of the ballroom the day before, clasping her knees and staring at her husband's back as he sat across the room from her studying his part. People do not generally change all in a rush, but something had snapped in Anne as she sat there. Did she really love this man who was her husband but who was in all essential ways a stranger to her? Did he have the right to make of her an abject, cringing creature, who was beginning yet again to doubt her own worth? Was she going to allow him completely to dominate her life? Was he worthy of her love?

Ten minutes can be a long time when one has nothing to do but sit and examine the state of one's life. Anne had come to the conclusion that her love for Alexander was a purely physical thing. She liked his appearance. In fact, she could not name one imperfection in either his face or physique. He was every woman's dream of a perfect man. She had no one with whom to compare him as a lover, but she was quite convinced that the world could not provide her with a man who could give her greater satisfaction. She admitted that her love for him had really dated from their wedding night and that the last few nights had been the happiest of her life. She dared not think of what the nights would be like when she returned alone to Redlands.

But having admitted as much to herself, she had tried to think of any other way in which she loved her husband. There was nothing. He had never shown her any kindness but had, in fact, often been unnecessarily cruel. He had been deliberately and brutally insulting the morning after their wedding and had left her for more than a year in a home that he obviously disliked himself. He had refused to allow her to visit Sonia or to come here for the two weeks with his grandparents. He had not spoken a kind word to her since his arrival. Yet he did not even have the integrity to leave her entirely alone, but must come to her each night, to degrade her, she supposed.

No, Alexander certainly did not deserve her love. And he did not deserve her respect. Her decision had been made during those ten minutes. He was her husband. She could not disobey him. She could not deny him whatever he demanded of her. But she was not going to allow him to destroy the very fragile sense of worth that she had built so painfully in the year and few months since he had abandoned her. He could use her, he could insult her, but she would not allow him to break her.

In future, he would not find her so docile and so inclined to be teary-eyed before him. She would live out the nine days. She would enjoy looking at Alexander while she acted with him, and she would enjoy making love with him at night-she was not going to try to pretend to herself that she found his attentions distasteful. And when the nine days were over, she would go back to Redlands and concentrate on making the inside of the house as beautiful and as tasteful as she had made the gardens. She would make it her home and live contented with the respect of the servants and the admiration of the neighbors. She would be known as Anne Stewart of Redlands, Viscountess Merrick. And she would not in any way be in her husband's shadow. He was almost unknown there.

Anne raised her chin and looked at herself in the mirror. Yes, she decided, she even felt like a great lady already. She did not need Alexander; she did not even like him. And she certainly did not have to feel self-conscious about walking into a room where he happened to be. She swept resolutely from her bedchamber and down to the drawing room to join the guests.

"Do be a sport, Anne," Jack was saying later that evening after rehearsals were over for the day. "It is a beautiful evening, far too lovely to waste indoors. And you cannot accuse me of trying to seduce you, you know. Stanley and Celia, Freddie and Connie are coming too. But, you see, when there are three males and two females, one of those males has to walk alone. And I fear that fate will be mine if you refuse to save me from the ignominy."

Anne sighed. "You do make it sound as if it is my duty as a humane person, Jack," she said, "but I would far rather be lazy and relax in a stuffy drawing room."

"I perceive that you are weakening," he said. "Now, you cannot expect me to let the matter rest, Anne. Let me send your maid upstairs for a shawl."

"It is utter madness to go walking in the darkness," she protested.

"Nonsense," Jack replied cheerfully. "There is a near-full moon, and you must remember that four of us almost grew up here. We could find our way to the bridge blindfolded."

"Is that where you are all planning to go?" Anne asked. "The bridge across the swamp?"

"Grandmamma's claim to immortality," Jack said with a grin. "She insisted, you know, when she was a young bride that Grandpapa spend half his fortune having it built, though he protested that the bridge would be merely an expensive ornament. It really serves no useful function, you know. There is a much more convenient way around the marsh by road or footpath."

"But I agree with Grandmamma that it is a work of art," Anne said. '.'Very well, Jack, I shall come."

He smiled and left the room in search of Bella and her shawl. Anne was rather enjoying the situation. Alexander had sat down to play a hand of cards with the duke and Maud and Sarah a few minutes before, but he was obviously very much aware of the situation developing behind his back. He had stiffened and his head had turned to one side, as if he were listening. She was not deliberately setting out to provoke him or to make him jealous, but the new Anne was reveling in the freedom of making up her own mind about what she wished to do. She was no longer treading carefully, afraid of angering a stern husband. She had no particular wish to go walking with Jack-or with anyone else, for that matter-but she would do so just to show Alexander that she did not fear him. There was, after all, no impropriety in her acceptance. It was a family group that was going walking, and she was part of the family.

If Jack intended to monopolize Anne's attention, he was certainly to be thwarted during the walk down the long, sloping lawns and along the bank of the stream until it widened into a marshy lake that was spanned by an elegant triple-arched stone bridge.

Freddie immediately approached her and held out his arm. "Hold on to me, Anne," he said. 'Might be some stones in the way. Wouldn't see them in the darkness. Don't be afraid of falling. I never stumble. Don't have too many brains, y' know-not like Alex- but always could see in th' dark. Cats' eyes, Mamma used to say. I don't make much conversation, mind. Not very intelligent, y' see. Nothing very important to say. But I like listening. You talk to me, and I'll try to learn. Trouble is, don't have a good memory. You'll be safe with me, though."

Jack, finding it impossible to step in between his large cousin and Anne and equally impossible to interrupt Freddie's humble monologue, helped Celia adjust her shawl and took her arm. Stanley took Constance's arm through his and patted her hand in fatherly fashion.

"What did y' think of Ruby?" Freddie asked. "Very pleasant sort of girl, I think. She don't mind that I'm stupid. She likes me."

"Oh, Freddie," Anne said, giving his arm a little squeeze, "you aren't stupid. Maybe you cannot learn or remember things as well as your cousin, but that does not make you worthless, you know. You are sweet and kind, and I believe that one might depend upon you. I am proud that you are my cousin by marriage. And you have learned the part of Diggory in the play very well."

Freddie beamed. "Damme, but you're right," he said eagerly. "Didn't make one mistake this afternoon. Jack had to be prompted three times, and Martin didn't know one scene all through."

"You see?" Anne said. "In some things you can do better than the rest of your family, Freddie."

Freddie, his self-esteem bolstered for the second time that day, picked his way along the bank of the stream with exaggerated care so that his charge would not stub her slippered toe against an unexpected stone.

"Oh, it is lovely!" Anne exclaimed as they came upon the bridge around a bend in the stream. "I have not seen it this close before."

"You have to stand exactly above the second arch to know why Grandmamma wanted the bridge built just there," Jack said, expertly maneuvering so that the six of them came up together and changed partners without anyone's seeming to realize that it had happened. Anne found herself being led onto the bridge by him. The others did not follow but continued to stroll along the footpath that would eventually circle around and take them back to the house again.

"There, you see?" Jack said triumphantly, and Anne could see in the moonlight the marsh, which looked more like a lake from this vantage point, the elm trees, and beyond them the upper lawn and the house spread out in all its majesty.

"Oh, it is perfect," she said. "How did Grandmamma know that that magnificent view of the house could be got from just this spot?" She turned inquiringly to Jack, who bent and kissed her squarely on the lips.

"I think she had it made because she thought this was a romantic spot," he said quietly. "She and Grandpapa have always been almost indecently in love, you know."

Anne moved back a step and glared. "Jack, you must stop that," she said. "I have not given you permission to take such liberties."

He leaned one elbow on the stone parapet of the bridge and smiled at her. "Can you blame me for trying, Anne?" he asked. "You are a lovely and an intriguing woman. You are such a delightful mixture of shyness and reserve on the one hand, and firmness and fire on the other. Would not a mild flirtation brighten up your time here as it would mine?"

“No," she said, "it most certainly would not."

"A pity," he said. "It's old Alex, I suppose. I never could quite see what he had that I do not, but he always had a great deal more success with the ladies than I ever had. You love him, I suppose?"

"He is my husband," she said.

He looked at her long and levelly before straightening up and offering her his arm again. "We had better catch up to the others," he said. "I would not mind the glares of Grandmamma and the glowers of Alex if I really had achieved some success with you, but it seems such a waste to be in everybody's bad books when I have merely tasted your lips and been soundly set down for doing so."

They arrived at the house arm in arm but in company with the other four. Merrick was still playing cards when they all entered the drawing room and crossed to the tea tray at which the duchess presided.