by Mary Balogh
Anne spent most of her days with her mother and sister and sister-in-law, and her evenings with everyone. They all appeared to be making a concerted effort to be a family together again.
It would take time, Sydnam guessed, remembering how it had taken a while for him and Kit to feel thoroughly comfortable with each other again after their lengthy estrangement following his return from the Peninsula. But it seemed to him that Anne and her family had been restored to one another and that the last of the dark shadows had been lifted from her life.
She seemed happy.
And he? Well, he could not forget one thing Anne had said to Arnold in the parlor that first afternoon-If I had married you, I would not have been able to marry Sydnam. And so I would have lost my chance for a lifetime of happiness.
How much of that was the truth and how much had been spoken entirely for the benefit of the man who had rejected her and promptly married her sister, Sydnam was not sure. But he thought he knew.
Yes, he was happy too.
They had intended to stay for a few days if they were made welcome, less if they were not. But Anne seemed in no hurry to leave now that she had found her family again, and Sydnam was content to give her time. They stayed even after Matthew and his family returned to the vicarage where they lived and Henry Arnold took his family home-bearing David with them for a couple of days.
Mrs. Jewell, who was clearly beside herself with delight to have her elder daughter at home, planned a whole series of visits to neighbors and teas and dinners for various guests. And the younger Jewells and the Arnolds were eager to entertain them in their own homes.
And so the planned few days stretched into a week.
And then on the eighth day a letter arrived for Anne. Mr. Jewell brought it to the breakfast table one morning and set it down beside her plate.
“It is from Bath,” she said, picking it up to examine it. “But it is not Claudia’s handwriting or Susanna’s. I have seen it before, though. I should know it.”
“There is one way of finding out,” her father said dryly.
She laughed and broke the seal with her thumb.
“Lady Potford,” she said, looking first to the signature. “Yes, of course, I have seen her hand before.”
“Lady Potford?” Sydnam asked.
“Joshua’s grandmother,” she explained. “She lives in Bath. I have visited her several times.”
She read the letter while her mother plied Sydnam with more toast and then watched as he chased it around his plate with the butter knife.
“Oh, Sydnam,” Anne said, looking up, “Lady Potford is quite hurt over the fact that I did not inform her of our nuptials. She would have come, she writes here, and she would have arranged a wedding breakfast for us. Is that not kind?”
“It is very obliging of her,” her mother agreed. “She must be fond of you, Anne.”
But there was more in the letter than just regrets.
“Oh,” Anne said, her eyes moving over the rest of its contents. “Joshua is expected in Bath next week. Lady Potford is quite convinced that he will be upset at missing our wedding and not even seeing us afterward. She wants us to return to Bath before going on into Wales so that she can arrange a small reception for us.”
She looked up.
It was not a great distance to Bath. However, going there would take them in the wrong direction. And really, Sydnam thought, he was longing to be home. He wanted to establish his new family at Ty Gwyn. And Anne was increasing. She ought not to be traveling more than was necessary.
But Bath had been Anne’s home for a number of years. Her friends were there. Hallmere was a relative-of David’s anyway-and had been remarkably kind to her. Without the Hallmeres he, Sydnam, would never have met her.
Her teeth sank into her lower lip.
“Do you wish to go?” he asked.
“It would be foolish,” she said. “All that way in order to have tea or perhaps dinner with Joshua and Lady Potford.”
“But do you want to go?” he asked again.
He knew the answer, though. He could see it in her eyes.
“He invited David and me to Penhallow for Christmas this year,” she said. “We will not be able to go, of course. David will probably not see him for a long time. But…” She bit her lip again. “But he is David’s cousin. I…”
He laughed. “Anne, do you wish to go?”
“Perhaps we ought,” she said. “Will you mind terribly?”
Ty Gwyn, he thought, would have to wait.
“Next week?” he said. He turned to Mrs. Jewell. “May we impose upon your hospitality for a few days longer than expected, then, ma’am?”
“A month longer if you wish, Sydnam,” that lady said, and clasped her hands to her bosom.
Mr. Jewell smirked slightly at some private thought-or as if he knew a secret no one else even suspected-and left the breakfast parlor, presumably to return to his study.
And so in the middle of the following week, well after they had originally expected to be home in Wales, Anne and Sydnam were on their way back to Bath, David sitting with his back to the horses, partly tearful at having just taken his leave of his grandparents, partly excited at the prospect of seeing Joshua again-and Miss Martin and Miss Osbourne and Mr. Keeble, the school porter who apparently used to slip him sweets from the depths of his pocket whenever no one was looking.
Anne had been a little tearful at the parting too, but her father had assured her after kissing her on both cheeks that they would all doubtless see one another again before they knew it, and her mother had hugged her and agreed with her husband.
Now Anne sat with her hand in Sydnam’s, her shoulder resting companionably against his.
Marriage was beginning to feel like a very pleasant state indeed.
They had been invited to stay at Lady Potford’s in Bath. When their carriage drew up outside the tall house on Great Pulteney Street, the door opened almost immediately and her ladyship’s butler peered out. But David’s whoop of joy as Anne descended to the pavement, her hand in Sydnam’s, alerted her to the fact that Joshua was already here. And sure enough, David dashed out and past her and up the steps to be scooped up and swung about in a circle.
“You have not grown one ounce the lighter since the summer, lad,” Joshua said. “And so your mama has got herself married, has she?”
“Yes,” David cried as if he were addressing someone half a mile away. “To my stepfather. He can ride. He can even jump hedges, though I haven’t seen him do it and Uncle Kit says that he will tie him to the nearest post and leave him there if he ever sees him try it. And he is teaching me to paint with oils. He was going to get me a teacher when we go home to Ty Gwyn, but he decided to teach me himself. He is the best teacher-much better than Mr. Upton,” he added disloyally. “I have lots of cousins where my mama used to live. Charles is nine too, but he is younger than I am and only comes up to here.” He smote himself just above the right ear. “Are Daniel and Emily here?”
“They are,” Joshua said, chuckling. “You had better put Daniel out of his misery and dash up to the nursery without pausing for another breath, if you will, lad.”
And he turned to grin at Sydnam and to catch Anne up in a bear hug that was quite undignified considering the fact that the front door was still wide open.
Lady Hallmere and the children had come to Bath too, then, Anne realized. Lady Potford’s letter had not mentioned that fact.
“Freyja and all the other Bedwyns and assorted spouses had decided that their matchmaking skills must have eluded them this past summer,” Joshua said. “But it would seem they were wrong. One can only imagine on what poor unwed mortal their collective eye will alight next. Marriage must agree with you both. I do not see a single gray hair between the two of you.”
Anne laughed. The Bedwyns really had noticed her relationship with Sydnam during the summer, then, and had even tried to promote it? How mortified she would have been if she had realized that at the time.
/>
“It agrees,” Sydnam said. “Very well indeed, in fact.”
“Come up and report to Freyja and my grandmother,” Joshua said. “Neither one of them was best pleased to learn that you had slunk off and got wed with great secrecy. They would have liked nothing better than to have given you a royal send-off.”
Anne felt a little wistful despite herself. Most people, she supposed, dreamed of a large wedding surrounded by family and friends-and she was no different from the norm. But she must not complain. She had had Claudia and Susanna with her, as well as David, and her marriage since that day had brought her far more happiness than she had expected when she sent off her letter to summon Sydnam.
Of course he had had no one of his own at their wedding.
It was only as she proceeded up the stairs on Joshua’s arm, Sydnam coming up behind them, that it occurred to her to wonder how Lady Potford had learned of their marriage-and, even more puzzling, how she had known to send her letter to Gloucestershire.
But it was something she did not feel she could ask.
If Lady Potford had intended to host her small reception at home, it appeared that she had changed her mind. Indeed, there was no further mention of an actual reception. Instead, she announced that she had booked a table at the Upper Assembly Rooms for tea the following afternoon. It would be a nice treat for all of them, she said, now that the weather had turned wintry and prevented much outdoor exercise. They must all get dressed up in their finest attire as if they were attending a wedding.
The children must come too, she added-she would arrange for Daniel and Emily’s nurse to look after them there.
“I hope you do not mind this too terribly much,” Anne said to Sydnam the next day, meeting his eye in the mirror of the dressing table after the maid Lady Potford had insisted upon sending up to her had left and he had come out of the adjoining dressing room, all ready to go. “Oh.” She swiveled about on the stool. “You look exceedingly handsome.”
He was wearing a black-tailed coat with ivory silk breeches and embroidered waistcoat and very white linen.
He looked nothing short of gorgeous, in fact.
“And you,” he said, “are looking quite exquisite.”
She was wearing her rose pink muslin dress, the prettiest of all her new ones, with its flounced, scalloped hem and soft folds falling from the high waistline, its short, puffed sleeves and modestly scooped neck. Lady Potford’s maid had done something very elaborate but very becoming with her hair. She was wearing her diamond pendant and earrings.
“Thank you, sir,” she said, smiling and getting to her feet. “But we are merely going to the Upper Assembly Rooms for tea, Sydnam. Whatever will the other people there think of us? We look far too grand for afternoon.”
Of course, she had always dreamed of taking tea and even dancing at the Upper Rooms and could remember how envious she had been more than two years ago when Frances had been invited to an assembly there.
“Well,” he said, “they will probably take one look at me and scream and run long before they can notice how grand we look.”
“Oh, Sydnam!” she exclaimed, but he was grinning at her in his lopsided way, and she ended up laughing with him.
“There is just this afternoon to live through,” she said as they were leaving the room together, “and a brief visit to the school tomorrow if you do not mind-I did send off a note to Claudia this morning to tell her we were here-and then we may go home. You will be so glad.”
“And you?” he said, offering his arm.
“Oh, yes,” she said, taking his arm and squeezing it. “I can hardly wait.”
But first there was to be tea in the Upper Rooms, and Anne looked forward to it. She and Sydnam traveled in Lady Potford’s carriage while Joshua and Lady Hallmere came behind and the children came behind them in a carriage with the nurse.
“You look very lovely, my dear,” Lady Potford said to Anne as they descended to the small courtyard outside the Upper Rooms.
“You also look half frightened to death. Let me set your mind at rest. I have reserved the whole of the tearoom for our use and so you will not be confronted by curious strangers. I have reserved the ballroom too. I thought a little music might be pleasant while we eat, and the extra space will give the children somewhere to run about without disturbing us.”
What? Anne exchanged a startled look with Sydnam. They were to have the whole of the tearoom to themselves, just the five of them plus the three children and the nurse? And the ballroom too? And there was to be music?
“I perceive, ma’am,” Sydnam said, “that you have arranged a small reception for us after all-small in number but large in space. We are delighted, are we not, Anne?”
“And overwhelmed.” Anne laughed and looked at Joshua, who had just handed Lady Hallmere down from their carriage. “Did you know about this, Joshua?”
“About what?” He raised his eyebrows, all innocence.
“About this reception for five adults and three children and the whole of the tearoom and ballroom in which to celebrate,” she said.
“Oh, that?” he said. “Yes. My grandmother is something of an eccentric. Had you not realized?”
They entered the building and made their way down a long, wide hallway. It was indeed devoid of people and noise. But Sydnam had been quite right-this was delightful.
Joshua paused when they arrived outside the door that must lead into the tearoom. A smartly clad servant stood waiting to open it.
“Grandmama? Freyja?” Joshua said, offering an arm to each of them. “We will lead the way in. Sydnam, you may bring Anne in after us.”
Anne turned her head to exchange a smile of amusement with Sydnam. She could hear the children coming along the hallway behind them.
The door opened.
For the first bewildered moment Anne felt embarrassed for Lady Potford. Obviously something must have gone terribly wrong with her plans-a mistaken day, perhaps. The tearoom, large and high-ceilinged and lovely, was actually filled with people. And they were all getting to their feet and looking toward the door and-
And then she and Sydnam were being rained upon by-by rose petals of all things in November.
And then there was noise to replace the unnatural quiet that had preceded it-voices and laughter and the scraping of chairs on the polished wood floor.
And finally, only moments after the doors had opened, she realized that wherever she looked the faces of the people were familiar.
“What the devil?” Sydnam said, clamping her hand harder to his side. And then he began to laugh.
“Sitting ducks,” Lord Alleyne Bedwyn said from close beside him. “You will be sorry you wore black, Syd.”
“But the petals look good in Anne’s hair,” the Earl of Rosthorn said.
“Oh,” Anne said. “Oh.”
She had spotted her mother and father across the room, her father looking austere and pleased with himself, her mother beaming but holding a handkerchief close to her face too. Sarah and Susan were on one side of them, Matthew and Henry on the other.
And then she saw Frances and the Earl of Edgecombe, and then Miss Thompson-and beside her the Duchess of Bewcastle and Lady Alleyne, and then Sydnam’s parents with Kit and Lauren, and then Susanna and Claudia and Lord Aidan Bedwyn with the Duke of Bewcastle.
But it was all a flashing impression. There was too much to see and too much to comprehend all at once. There were numerous other people present.
The Duchess of Bewcastle clapped her hands, and a silence of sorts descended on the gathering. Anne and Sydnam were still standing just inside the doorway in a pool of deep red rose petals.
“Well, Mr. and Mrs. Butler,” she said, bright and animated and smiling warmly, “you may have thought yourselves very clever indeed when you married in great secrecy a few weeks ago. But your relatives and friends have caught up with you after all. Welcome to your wedding breakfast.”
Looking back afterward on what turned out to be one of the ha
ppiest days of her life, Anne found it hard to remember the exact sequence of events after that first moment. She certainly had no recollection of eating anything, though she supposed she must have done so since she certainly was not hungry for the rest of the day.
But she did remember the noise and the laughter and the wonderful, heady sensation of being the focus of loving attention with Sydnam. She remembered being hugged and kissed and exclaimed over again and again. She even had a few clear memories.
She remembered Joshua bringing forward a pretty, guilelessly smiling young lady, whose free hand was flapping with excitement at her side and realizing that she was Prue Moore-now Prue Turner. She remembered Prue hugging her as if to break every bone in her body.
“Miss Jewell, Miss Jewell,” she cried in her sweet, childish voice, “I love you. I do love you. And now you are Mrs. Butler. I like Mr. Butler even if he does have to wear a black patch on his eye. And I am David’s aunt. Joshua says so and Constance says so, and I am glad about it. Are you?”
And then she turned to hug Sydnam with just as much enthusiasm.
Anne remembered being hugged by Constance too-the former Lady Constance Moore-and realizing that they must have come all the way from Cornwall just for this occasion.
She remembered Frances shedding tears over her.
She remembered Lauren’s happy smile and the young man she introduced-Viscount Whitleaf, her cousin, a young man who had her lovely violet eyes. He had come to Alvesley to visit the week after Anne and Sydnam left.
She remembered what Claudia said to her when they hugged.
“Anne,” she said severely, “I hope you realize just how much I love you. I have actually consented for your sake to be in the same room with that woman and that man. I feel as sorry for the Duchess of Bewcastle as I feel for the Marquess of Hallmere. She is remarkably sweet-but one wonders for how long under his influence.”
Anne remembered that Claudia and Miss Thompson sat together talking through much of the afternoon.
She remembered her father laughing and telling her what a splendid joke it had been to keep secret the fact that he had received a letter from Lady Potford on the same morning that Anne’s had arrived.