Chapter 18

Anne was bored. She had arrived at Carshalton Lodge to find the ball already busy, and the first dance taking place. It was one of the highlights of the season, and whilst it seemed those around her were enjoying themselves, Anne had only one thought in mind.

"Stop craning you neck, Anne. Who are you looking for?" her mother hissed, as Anne looked around her for any sign of William.

"I was…looking for Lord Peter," Anne replied, knowing her words would placate her mother, which they did.

"Well…yes, just don't be so obvious about it. I'm sure he'll be here, and he'll ne only too delighted to make himself known to you. Keep your dance card unmarked – he'll want the first," the countess said.

Anne knew she would have no choice but to dance with Lord Peter, though she hoped it would not be to the detriment of William's impression of her. She glanced around, trying to make out the object of her intentions amongst the mass of swirling silks and frock coats. But there was no sign of William anywhere, and now the musicians struck up the second dance of the evening.

"Lady Blakeley, how glad I am to see you," a voice to Anne's right said, and she turned to find her mother being greeted by an elderly lady in a flowing green dress, dripping with pearls.

"Duchess Leopold, a pleasure, indeed," Anne's mother replied, and Anne was caught up in conversation with the ailing aristocrat, of whom she knew nothing at all.

"And your dear daughter – is she to marry this season?" the duchess asked, turning to Anne, who was forced to smile and nod.

"I…hope so, yes," she said, and the duchess gushed in approval.

"It's Lord Peter Ulverston, he and Gerald have some business dealings, the match seems a fine one. He'll be here this evening, I believe," Anne's mother said, and the duchess clapped her hands together in delight.

"Oh, Lord Peter – my godson, though I hardly see him these days. One forgets how many godchildren one has," she said, and again, Anne smiled and nodded, even as she felt entirely ill at ease with the whole intention of the match with Lord Peter.

He was nowhere to be seen, but Anne she could not dance until she had danced with him – preferably several times. Again, she glanced around, in the hope of catching sight of William. But still, he was nowhere to be seen, and now she wondered if he would even be there at all. The finery of Carshalton Lodge had made little impression on her, and neither had the guests, all of whom she found interminably dull, grateful when the duchess moved on to her next port of call.

"I wish you'd make more of an effort when you speak to people, Anne. You're still looking around you like a rabbit in a field, standing on its hind-legs. The duchess was interested in you, and I didn't realize she was Lord Peter's godmother. Make a good impression and it'll serve you well," Anne's mother said, tutting and shaking her head.

But Anne was not interested in making a good impression on anyone. Indeed, she would be glad if the duchess thought her rude and told Lord Peter as much – perhaps it would put him off. She was about to suggest they partook in a glass of punch, when her own godmother, Lady Flintshire, came bustling over. Anne opened her fan, raising it to her face for fear of bursting into giggles, for she knew just what her Godmother was about to say.

"I can't believe it, Jemima – I don't know what you're thinking of," she exclaimed, pointing her finger angrily at Anne's mother.

"Really, Muriel, it's not the place for such things," the countess hissed, but it seemed Anne's godmother was determined to make her point.

"All the letters I wrote, the encouragement I gave, the lengths I went to make the match. It hasn't been easy, you know – and now I discover you've gone behind my back and promised Anne to Lord Peter Ulverston," she exclaimed.

Anne turned away, trying hard not to laugh at the look of incredulity on her godmother's face. But it was true, Lady Flintshire had gone to considerable lengths to secure a match with Maximilian, son of the Duke of Lancaster. Anne's father had dismissed the match – though not in any formal terms – and made his intentions clear regarding Lord Peter.

It was all a dreadful mess, though one Anne was only too pleased to find herself in the middle of. If her parents and godmother were arguing, it would mean they were less inclined to notice her intended rejection of both sides. Anne had no intention of marrying either Maximilian or Lord Peter, and whilst there was yet no sign of William at the ball, she still had hope in the possibility of what he represented – escape from expectation.

"Nothing's set in stone, Muriel," the countess replied, but Anne's godmother dismissed her with an angry wave of her hand.

"Nonsense. If Gerald wants it, it'll happen. I'll be a laughingstock, and I can only imagine what the Duke's going to say – never mind, the Duchess," she said, raising her hand to her forehead in a mock display of distress.

"I'm sure I don't mind either way," Anne said, and her godmother scowled at her.

"You'll mind when you discover what sort of man you're marrying, Anne," she said, and in this, at least, they could find common ground.

Whilst Maximilian was something of an unknown entity, Lord Peter's reputation preceded him. He was well known in London circles, and whilst there were those who sang his praises, there were many who did the exact opposite.

"But Lord Peter's not…" Anne's mother replied, but Lady Flintshire had heard enough.

"I wash my hands of the affair, Jemima. Let her marry who she wants for all I care. I was only trying to do my duty as her godmother," she said, and before Anne's mother could reply, Lady Flintshire had disappeared into the crowd.

Anne's mother sighed and shook her head.

"It was only ever a suggestion. She does rather like to take over, doesn't she? And she's so easily offended. I'm sure the Duchess of Lancaster won't be offended at a change in arrangements. The two of you hadn't even met. It was just a vague suggestion," she said, and Anne lowered her fan, trying hard to keep her composure, even as she had found the sight of her mother and godmother bickering highly amusing.

They were always falling out over this or that, but would be the greatest of friends by the following week – it was always the same.

"Well… I didn't like the thought of moving to Lancashire," Anne replied, and her mother nodded.

"I didn't like the thought of it, either, Anne. You're my only daughter. I want what's best for you," the countess said, putting her hand on Anne's arm and smiling.

Now was not the time to tell her mother what the best truly was, but Anne was glad to think her mother did want her to be happy, even as she had not yet realized what that happiness would consist of. Glancing around, Anne now caught sight of Lord Peter. He was standing with a group of men by the refreshment table, laughing at some joke or other, and now, he caught Anne's eye, excusing himself before coming over.

"Lady Miller, I was expecting to see you here," he said, as Anne's mother stepped back to allow the two of them to talk in private, though still with the chaperone's eye on them both.

"I'm sure it's a pleasure," Anne said, lowering her gaze.

She felt embarrassed in his presence – he surely realized she had little liking for him, even as he persisted in his intentions.

"We should dance. They'll be starting up a waltz shortly," he said, offering Anne his hand.

There was no choice but to take it, and now the musicians struck up on their instruments, and the ballroom was filled with twirling skirts and flapping tails. Anne was a good dancer – her governess had instructed her in her youth, and she had often been present at balls given by her father and mother at their country estate in Hampshire. But it was not so much the dancing she disliked, but with whom she found herself engaged in it. Lord Peter was not a good dancer, and he kept treading on Anne's toes as they waltzed amidst the throng.

"We've been fortunate with the weather," Anne said, failing to think of anything meaningful to say.

"Yes, but one expects it at this time of year," Lord Peter replied.

"Will you remain long in London?" Anne asked, hoping he might announce an intention to travel or do business elsewhere.

"As long as it takes, I suppose," he said, and she looked up at him in surprise.

"As long as what takes?" she asked, and he laughed.

"For us to marry, of course. Isn't that the intention?" he said, and Anne nodded.

"Yes… I… I think so," she said.

This was not the romance of one of her penny novels – she was not swept off her feet, seduced by a handsome stranger, or spirited away to marry in secret. In the eyes of Lord Peter, Anne was a proposition, a business investment, like any other. It was hardly romantic, even if she had felt anything vaguely heart filled towards him.

"You don't sound convinced," he said, and Anne sighed.

"I'm sorry… I'm rather tired tonight," she said, feeling disappointed at having come to Charlton Lodge, only for the object of her intentions not to be there.

Anne had imagined a furtive liaison, the clasping of hands, the exchange of longing gazes – desire and danger. That was what happened in the stories she read. But instead, William was nowhere to be seen, and now she wondered if he was even going to appear at all.

"Well… I'm sure you'll wake up a little as the evening goes by," Lord Peter replied.

The waltz came to an end, and Anne was only too glad to step back, her toes hurting from the number of times Lord Peter had stepped on her feet.

"I'm sure I'd be delighted," Anne said, as Lord Peter insisted on marking her dance card for the rest of the night.

He bowed to her, before disappearing off to join his friends by the refreshment table. Anne looked around her in the vague hope of seeing William – and then she saw him. He was standing on the far side of the ballroom, alone, looking somewhat out of place amidst the throng of revellers. Her heart skipped a beat. He was dressed in the purple waistcoat, black breeches, a white shirt, frock coat, and cravat, looking every bit the handsome gentlemen.

"Oh, but what do I say to him? I can't very well approach him myself," Anne thought to herself.

It had been easy in the street and in the arcade. They had come across one another quite by accident, renewing the acquaintance of the market. But this was different. A woman at a ball did not simply stroll up to a gentleman and make small talk. There were rules to follow, and Anne could only imagine what her mother would say.

"She'd be horrified," Anne told herself, trying to catch William's eye in the hope he might come over to her.

That was the done thing, and she wondered why he was not looking around for her, as she had been for him. It seemed odd to see him standing alone. Surely, he knew others at the ball. A gentleman like William was bound to have associates. His father had been an important man, and William, too, had surely gained a reputation since his arrival in the capital.

Oh, come along, William, notice me, Anne thought to herself, even as her mother now came hurrying across to her.

"What are you doing, Anne? Lord's Peter's just over there. Why are you straining your neck again? Who are you trying to see?" the countess said, taking Anne by the arm and pulling her back behind a large palm frond next to a marbled column.

"I… I was just looking for…a friend," Anne replied.

Her mother's eyes narrowed.

"What friend?" she asked, as Anne tried to look over her mother's shoulder.

She had lost sight of William, now, for he had disappeared, Anne feared he might leave in disappointment if she did not make her presence known.

"Lady…Anstruther," she said, and her mother's eyes narrowed.

"I've never heard of her, and I've certainly never heard you speak of her. Who is she? How do you know her?" the countess demanded.

"Oh, Mother… I feel…a little faint. I need to go to the powder room," Anne said, and pulling away from her mother, she hurried across the ballroom in the direction of the powder room.

She knew her behaviour was erratic, but she wanted desperately to speak to William. It was the reason she had come to the ball, the reason she had bought a new dress and made an effort with her hair and makeup. Anne knew how foolish she must have seemed, but she had never felt such a strong attraction to another person before. The strength of her feelings towards William had surprised her. He represented something different, something other than the men her mother and father favoured.

I've got to find him, I've got to speak to him, Anne resolved, even as she looked around her desperately for any sign of the itinerant gentleman.

But as she rounded one of the marbled columns, Anne was surprised to find herself face to face with William's friend, Digby Kirkpatrick. He was deep in conversation with another man, whom Anne vaguely recognized as the son of Sir Michael Strathan, a man of dubious reputation. At the sight of Anne, Digby straightened up, bowing curtly to her and smiling.

"Lady Miller, what a pleasure. Are you looking for William?" he asked, and Anne nodded, even as she knew she should not be.

"Yes, I feared he might've left," she said, but Digby shook his head.

"No, my Lady. You'll find him in the anteroom, I believe. He's been looking for you, too," Digby replied.

Anne blushed. She was flattered, even as she felt embarrassed at the thought of William seeing her with Lord Peter.

"I've been…" she said, her words trailing off, as Digby nodded.

"Dancing with your betrothed. Yes, I saw you, my Lady. But I'm sure William's eager to find you," he said, nodding to Anne, who blushed an even deeper shade of red.

"He's not my betrothed, he's…my parents, well…it's complicated. But it's William I'm eager to find," Anne replied, and turning away from William's friend, she hurried towards the anteroom, all thoughts of proper behaviour and decorum now gone.