The Lord Who Sneered and Other Tales Read online

  “Grandmama, I do believe you are most correct with regard to putting off my blacks. I should like to do as you suggest but haven’t but one or two gowns other than mourning in my trunks. Might a footman be sent for the rest of my wardrobe, as well?”

  “Don’t be a fool, Roxanne; those gowns are nearly two years out of fashion. I shall send for my mantua maker and have you measured for a new wardrobe tomorrow morning.”

  Anne might have argued. Indeed, she should have; the expense would be enormous and she was not the responsibility of her husband’s grandmama. Yet, however much she wished to resist, she knew it pointless to try. Instead, she allowed herself a moment of private glee before expressing her gratitude to the Dowager for her tremendous generosity.

  “There is no need to thank me, Roxanne. Did I not say that it was time to forge a new life for yourself?”

  “Yes, Grandmama, you did, but I had never expected…”

  “Of course you had not! Nor had you expected to be a widow at such a young age, I surmise, but here you are. Now!” she continued on despite Anne’s attempts to speak, “it is my intention to hold a ball. The one I arranged at Christmas-last served to remind me how very much I enjoy such affairs. You shall have a gown made up expressly for my first ever Harvest Ball, one of periwinkle, I think, to match the unusual shade of your eyes. I am persuaded I have never seen another pair like them. Naturally you shall wear my parure of amethysts as they will set off your eyes to perfection!”

  “But, you must not, Grandmama. They are much too fine for me.”

  “Nothing is too fine for any relation of mine. You must remember that, Roxanne,” the Dowager said as she paused in front of her chamber door and looked at her grandson’s widow for the first time during the course of their conversation. “Yes, I am persuaded I am absolutely correct about the amethysts. It isn’t as if I shall ever again have occasion to wear them.”

  “If you insist, I shall wear them, and gladly,” Anne said meekly. “And, I must agree, a ball should be lovely. It shall give me plenty to do in helping with preparations. I only wonder if perhaps the sudden commitment of our resources might not be at the expense of Mr. Williams.”

  The Dowager looked down her nose at Anne; a preposterous feat at best considering how petite the old lady was in comparison to Anne’s more than average height. “As to Mr. Williams, we shall see.”

  Anne knew this pronouncement to be her dismissal. After bobbing a curtsy, she turned down the passage towards her own room and wondered which chamber the Dowager would give Mr. Williams should she allow him to stay, then blushed at such temerity as to entertain thoughts so inappropriate. With a sigh, she entered her room and laid down on her bed to rest before dinner. However, the novelty of wearing colors again filled her once again with glee, making sleep impossible until, quite without warning, the face of her husband rose into her mind.

  Assailed by a wave of guilt, she thought perhaps it was wrong to think of giving up her formal mourning quite so soon. Resolved to speak to the Dowager about it directly after dinner, Anne slipped into slumber and dreamt of a blanket of purple crocus blooming amongst a field of snow.

  She woke refreshed and feeling more hopeful than she had in many a year. With fingers that trembled a bit with anticipation, she donned the dark blue dress but regretted that it was still so close to black as to make little difference. It was then she remembered that she had with her the peacock colored shawl given her by her husband shortly before he died and which she had never worn. She hadn’t intended on wearing it during her stay at Dunsmere but had been so delighted by its beauty when first she drew it forth from its tissue that she could not bear to leave it behind.

  Determined to begin anew, she draped the bright paisley-patterned shawl around her shoulders and opened the door to find a maid with her fist raised as if she were about to knock.

  “Oh! Beggin’ your pardon, Missus, but Her Grace has sent me to do up your hair.”

  Anne had rarely bothered to seek help in arranging her long, golden locks; her hair required little artifice or ornamentation and she was able to accomplish simple styles with ease. “That will be lovely, however, if you are needed elsewhere, I am most content to leave it be.”

  “Your hair is beautiful if you pardon me sayin’ so, Missus,” the maid said as she entered the room and shut the door behind her. “But, there’s nothing I should like better than to make it shine!”

  “Well, then,” Anne replied as she sat herself at the dressing table, “I shall enjoy watching you.” In the end, Anne was absolutely fascinated with the efforts of the maid who divided a simple twisted bun into a convoluted style of curls, braids and tendrils of gold that took Anne’s breath away. As she gazed at her reflection in the mirror, she felt as if her new life had well and truly begun.

  Chapter Two

  After a week as a guest at Dunsmere, Mr. Theodore Williams was beginning to feel a bit like Scheherazade. Each evening, as he had bid the ladies good night, he had been awarded the gift of another twenty-four hour stay by the formidable Dowager Duchess. He would have long ago taken himself off through one means or another if it weren’t for the lovely and gracious Mrs. Anne Crenshaw. He had known her to be lovely the moment he first laid eyes on her. He had known her to be gracious after ten minutes spent in her company. However, he hadn’t known her to be the most compelling woman he had had the good fortune to meet until she had come down for dinner that first night, her hair like spun gold and her eyes glowing with an inner fire that had somehow before gone unnoticed.

  From that moment on, he desired nothing more than to be near her. Whether they were cataloging the roses in order to know better which bushes should be in bloom on the day of the ball, writing out place cards for seating arrangements at supper, or assisting the maids with the polishing of the silver, it was all pure contentment if he were by her side.

  It required two whole days before he had enough confidence to suggest they take out the horses for a ride through the park of a morning. After three, he dared to hope Anne might accompany him into the village to shop and visit the circulating library once he had charmed the Dowager into the loan of her carriage and team. It was five days before he felt it appropriate to invite Anne to walk with him through the gardens for a spell after tea, something with which she agreed to with an alacrity that pleased him to no end.

  When he considered the minutes and hours they spent together, they seemed to be filled with sunshine and laughter. However, there were long stretches of time during which he had only his thoughts to keep him company. These were sad times, indeed. Especially difficult was the day of the ball as Anne was far too busy to spend even a moment with Theo, a circumstance that felt particularly cruel as he was persuaded it would be his last at Dunsmere.

  “I am so sorry, Mr. Williams,” she said at breakfast, a meal they took together each day while the Dowager had her roll and hot chocolate in her room. “I am afraid there is no time for a ride today. There is just too much to be done in preparation for tonight.”

  “I am at your service, as ever, Mrs. Crenshaw. You are already fully aware that I am a dab hand at writing out invitations.”

  “Yes, of course you are, and it is so very kind of you to wish to help, but all the invitations have been written long since and all that remains is women’s work.”

  “You wound me!” he said with a smile that thoroughly belied his words. “Do you mean to imply that polishing silver and writing place cards is the sole province of men?”

  She laughed, a delightful sound that never failed to inspire him to consider how he might inspire more.

  “You try my patience, Mr. Williams! You may rest assured that were I to embark on any task today at which you might be useful, I should most certainly request your aid.”

  “In that case I shall await word from you with bated breath,” he said with another smile, this one designed to bend her to his will.

  “Now, now, Mr. Williams,” she said as she rose to her feet, “I sh
ould not if I were you. I am perfectly honest when I say that you have naught to do today but wait until the ball. I assure you it shall be worth your tolerance.”

  Theo rose to his feet, as well, and allowed himself the indulgence of openly observing her as she turned away and walked from the room. He thought, not for the first time, how very different Anne Crenshaw was from the other women he had met. She did not seem bent on attracting him, though she did exactly that with every word and movement, nor did she did speak ill of others in spite of sharing a roof with a veritable diamond mine of inspiration in the Dowager Duchess. Finally, despite her lowered circumstances following the death of her husband, she bore an aura of good will that could not help but lift all in her orbit.

  In point of fact, she seemed the sun to which all others were drawn and circled about in perfect amity. His time in the sun required he wait until the ball, however, so he borrowed a steed from Dunsmere’s excellent stables and took himself off for the better part of the day. Upon his return, he was struck by how much he missed the warm welcome Mrs. Crenshaw offered whenever he re-entered the house. Realizing she was a woman of her word, he accepted that he should have no glimpse of her until the ball and spent the remainder of the afternoon in his room.

  When the gong rang for dinner, he emerged dressed in his best black formal evening suit and the most natty neck cloth arrangement at his command only to find the dining room deserted and a single place set at table. Though he was quite accustomed to being his butler’s sole responsibility at many a meal, the absence of the women of the household proved to feel more solitary than when he dined alone at home. With a sigh, he picked up his fork and made his way through the meal, followed by his removal to the drawing room before there came any sign that he was not, save the servants, the sole occupant of the house.

  His wait was well rewarded, however, when Mrs. Crenshaw entered the drawing room, and he was once again warmed in the glow of her shining presence. She had confided in him that she had only recently cast off her mourning, but her bright lavender ball gown was a stunning departure from the subdued, lighter-hued gowns she had been wearing the past week. It was cut to perfection from sumptuous satin, the tiny puffed sleeves and bodice overlaid with white lace of a most intricate pattern and brought together at the high waist by a silver ribbon. She wore another in her hair, which was piled high on her head in a labyrinth of gold, and her feet were adorned with silver dancing slippers.

  Most eye-catching, after the glow of her face, was the white curve of her neck, graced by a triple pendant of large amethysts. Their brilliance was echoed in the jeweled pins in her hair, as well as the earrings and the cuff of jewels she wore on her wrist. Nevertheless, once he dared look into her eyes, these were all pale shadows in comparison.

  “Mrs. Crenshaw,” he breathed even as he prayed his jaw had not, indeed, fallen open upon sight of her. “I am persuaded I have never seen anything or anyone more welcome.”

  “I thank you, Mr. Williams,” she replied demurely, her eyes downcast. “Grandmama has requested that you escort me to the ballroom.”

  He held out his hand to her, and she looked up long enough to allow him yet another dazzling view of her eyes. “I should be devastated should I not have been allowed to provide such a service,” he said as she took his arm and they walked from the room. Having such a creature on his arm, one whose exquisite appearance was eclipsed only by the goodness of her heart, was celestial glory, indeed. As they approached the large, double doors to the ballroom, he felt they were the pearly gates and heaven lay on the other side.

  A footman played the role of Peter and pushed open the doors to reveal a room blazing with all the colors of the sun. Enormous arrangements of red and yellow roses paired with sprigs of autumn leaves, as well as clusters of late heliotrope and dry lavender, were placed on tables and pillars all about the room. Baskets of melons and squash in the same hues placed in drifts of orange and yellow leaves brightened the corners of the room where the light of the chandeliers, groaning under the weight of scores of blazing candles, did not quite touch.

  On a long table, winking in the glow of the candles, as well as the two massive fireplaces, one at either end of the room, was a row of sterling silver punch bowls, each more elegant than the last, interspersed with platters of punch cups and crystal champagne goblets.

  “It would seem the Dowager considers dancing thirsty work,” he remarked.

  “No, it is I!” she insisted. “That is to say, I expect our guests to feel quite thirsty. I don’t intend on dancing enough to require much in the way of punch.”

  “Why ever not, Mrs. Crenshaw? I am persuaded you shall be asked to dance every set.” She most assuredly would if he were free to claim each one.

  “Oh, no, I think not. I am so recently out of mourning and my family will be present. I am already in the Duke’s black books, and he would not be best pleased to see me enjoying myself overly much.”

  He bent to better look into her face. “But you enjoy dancing, do you not?”

  “Oh, indeed, yes!” she said as her cheeks turned a delightful shade of pink. “That is to say, should I be asked, I would most certainly enjoy dancing a set or two.”

  “Then let me be the first to claim one. Would it be precipitous of me to ask for the first?” It seemed an eternity before her reply and his heart hammered so in his chest that he felt sure she could hear it as well as he.

  “Yes, of course, Mr. Williams, I should be delighted.” There was nothing out of the ordinary in her answering smile; the same warm smile she had graced him with every day since his arrival and that, to his great disappointment, offered no indication as to how she felt about giving away her first dance to plain Mr. Williams.

  Before long the Dowager entered the room, and the other guests began to arrive. The orchestra struck the music for the first set, a lively contra dance, which did not allow for much conversation. Instead, whenever Theo could drag his attention away from Mrs. Crenshaw’s graceful form, he considered her reluctance to dance and how he might contrive a means to stay by her side once the set had commenced. However, they were only a few minutes into the set before his thoughts were checked by a commotion at the entrance to the ballroom.

  “I will not remain calm!” came a voice Theo thought he knew only too well. “I am a countess, and I shall be as unruly as I please!” This overly-loud pronouncement was followed by, first, a profound hush, then a mumbled speech from person unknown and, finally, a cacophonous wail from an infant, one who was unaccountably, and without a doubt, present in the room.

  “Mr. Williams, I do believe your cousins, Lord and Lady Avery, have arrived,” Mrs. Crenshaw pointed out. “I can hardly credit it, but it would seem she has brought along her baby! What shall we do? I fear Grandmama will have an apoplexy.”

  Theo hadn’t an idea as to what was happening, but it was a chance to remain by Mrs. Crenshaw’s side, so he took her arm and they followed the sound of Lady Avery’s voice.

  “I do not throw tantrums over trifles, Sir, I can assure you! I saw a ghost in the graveyard next to the church we passed on our way up the drive, and if I say there was a ghost, you may rest assured there was a ghost!” Another shriek from the baby followed, one more resounding, if possible, than the last. Theo took a cup of punch from the table as they passed by and held it out to Lady Avery, whilst Mrs. Crenshaw attempted to take the baby from its mother.

  “Lady Avery, you must have had quite a turn. See here, your cousin Willy has some refreshment for you. Might I take your darling baby so that you might have a drink?”

  Lady Avery turned to look on them with suspicion but relaxed when she saw the deference in their manners. “Why, yes, you may. His name is Herbert but do not say so aloud; for some reason he cries when he hears it.”

  “I prefer to call him Harry, myself,” Lord Avery said in a voice not meant for his wife’s ears. “Isn’t he a capital little man?” he asked with the air of a man whose confidence had been bolstered by one too m
any post-dinner brandies.

  “Yes, indeed, he is the very picture!” Mrs. Crenshaw said as she took in the sad, little infant dressed in a miniature evening suit rather than the long batiste gown worn by every other infant in the realm.

  Theo handed Lady Avery the cup of punch which she drained almost instantly. “I should like another!”

  “I shall acquire one for you, my flower!” Lord Avery said and he lost no time in making his escape.

  “So this is little Herbert!” said a lovely woman with dark hair who approached on the arm of the most dashingly dressed man in the room. “Anne, do allow me a turn at holding him if you tire.”

  Mrs. Crenshaw laughed. “You have enough of holding babies with your own little boy.”

  “Yes, but I am persuaded he is much happier without such tight-fitting clothing. Poor darling!” the dark-haired lady said as she leaned over to peer into the red face of the infant Anne held in her arms.

  “Mr. Williams,” Mrs. Crenshaw said, “may I make known Her Grace’s grandson, Sir Anthony, and his wife, Lady Crenshaw?”

  “Yes, of course,” Theo said as he took the lady’s hand and bowed over it. “And, Sir Anthony,” he added with a shake of his hand. “I have oft’ heard the name fall from Her Grace’s lips.”

  Sir Anthony smiled. “I fear my wife and I have proved a sad disappointment to dearest Grandmama. However, I am to understand you and Roxanne are compensating for our absence to admiration.”

  “You must find the means to keep baby Herbert at Dunsmere,” Lady Crenshaw said with a fond look for her husband, “and only then shall Her Grace be satisfied enough to forgive you.”