Chapter 22

"Take it to The Spaniards Inn, Helen. You'll find him there, or leave it with the landlord. I suppose he'll be out doing something terribly important during the day," Anne said, as she watched her mother give William's invitation to dinner to her maid.

Helen looked sceptical, but she nodded, bobbing into a curtsey before the countess and leaving the drawing room. Anne clapped her hands together in delight.

"I still think it's odd to find him lodging at such a place – where do his servants sleep? It's an awful inconvenience. I couldn't imagine staying in such a place," Anne's mother said, shaking her head, but Anne was not concerned with such details.

The heroes in her stories did not concern themselves with such matters, and neither did it worry her to think of William dressing himself without a valet. She was merely excited at the thought of seeing William again, and as she sat with her governess later that morning, all she could think of was receiving William's reply.

"Anne? You're not listening, are you?" Miss Guthrie said, tutting, as Anne looked up at her in surprise.

"Oh…no… I mean, yes. I was just…thinking," Anne said, as the governess gave an exasperated sigh.

"Well, perhaps you'd like to think more about your French grammar than whatever daydream you've found yourself in," she said, shaking her head.

Anne smiled. She had been thinking about Shakespeare. It was not only the cheap and cheerful penny novels she devoured, but the plays of Shakespeare, too, were chief amongst her loves. The language, the imagery, the characters…

"The clock struck nine when I did send the nurse; In half an hour she promised to return. Perchance she cannot meet him—that's not so. O, she is lame! Love's heralds should be thoughts, Which ten times faster glides than the sun's beams, Driving back shadows over low'ring hills; Therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves draw Love, And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings…" Anne said to herself, quoting from her favourite play, Romeo and Juliet.

She felt just like Juliet, waiting for her nurse to return with Romeo's answer. Where was Helen? What was her delay? Miss Guthrie cleared her throat again.

"Aller, avoir, croire, devoir, dire…" Miss Guthrie said, encouraging Anne to join in.

But as she spoke, footsteps on the stairs caused Anne to look up, her heart skipping a beat, even as she could not prevent herself from crying out in continued quotation of the bard.

"O God, she comes! O honey nurse, what news?

Hast thou met with him?" she exclaimed, somewhat over excited, as Helen entered the room, much to Miss Guthrie's annoyance.

"Honey nurse? Are you quite all right, my Lady? But yes, I have, and he'd be delighted to join you for dinner," Helen replied, looking somewhat confused, as Anne let out a squeal of delight, all thoughts of French grammar now replaced with the happy thought of what was to come…

* * *

"But what if I make a complete fool of myself?" William said, as he struggled with an overly starched collar in front of the mirror in his room at The Spaniards Inn.

"You know how to eat with a knife and fork, don't you?" Digby said, and William laughed.

"Yes, I know how to eat. It's not that, but… I've never eaten in a grand house with an earl and countess. What if I…well, all the lies," William replied, grimacing as the starched edge cut into his neck.

It had been a surprise to receive the invitation from the Countess of Blakeley. William had been hopeful as to the favourable impression he had made at Charlton Lodge, though Lord Peter's appalling behaviour had certainly made his task easier. William had stepped into the breach, defending Anne's honour in front of her mother, and thus securing the invitation to the dinner William was now readying himself for.

"It's not an interrogation, William. These people don't talk about anything of any substance. They'll mention the names of this and that person, you'll pretend you know them, whilst mentioning people they don't know in return. Just be polite, smile, be charming – you can't fail," Digby replied, even as William felt failure was a certainty.

He had wanted to make a good impression, and thus he had. But his chivalry may, too, be his undoing, and William feared he would make a mistake, or say something he should not.

"But I… I'm worried I will," William said, glancing at himself in the mirror and seeing only a fraud in his place.

Once again, William was dressed as a gentleman. He looked the part, with his stiff collar, long tails, blue and yellow cravat, and all the other accoutrements of gentlemanly dress. But inside, William was still the son of a seamstress, raised in a cottage on the edge of a grand estate. He had always been on the periphery, and even now, he felt it was still where he belonged.

"But don't you want to spend the evening with Anne? Isn't being polite to her parents over dinner a small price to pay for what might come of it?" Digby asked.

William nodded. It was what he wanted, and he had already done so much to make it happen. He had money on his pocket, a burgeoning reputation, and good prospects – all of that was true, and Digby's words reminded him of why he was doing what he was doing. William was falling in love with Anne – he had fallen in love with her, and an awkward dinner was a small price to pay for an evening spent in her company.

"You're right, I'm wallowing in my own fears. I should be going if I'm not to be late," William said, glancing at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room.

He was due at the home of the earl and countess at seven o'clock. Dinner would be preceded by drinks, and as he sat in the carriage, William thought again as to what his mother would say if she could see him now. He had written to her regularly, but his correspondence had been only superficial. He had told her of life in London, his prospects for employment, and his impressions of the society he had encountered. But he had made no mention of Anne, or Digby, or anything of those things he had been involved with of which she would surely disapprove.

I can only imagine what she'd think, he thought to himself, as the carriage pulled up outside the handsome townhouse indicated on the invitation.

Taking a deep breath, William opened the carriage door, reminding himself of all he had done since arriving in London, and the gentleman he had become.

"Just hold your nerve," he told himself, as he made his way up the steps to the large, imposing, black door.

He knocked, and a moment later, the door was opened by an imperious looking man – presumably the butler.

"Good evening, sir," he said, stepping aside to indicate William was expected.

"Mr. William Baker, for dinner with the Earl and Countess," William said, stepping over the threshold, just as footsteps on the marbled floor brought with them a cry of excited exclamation.

"Oh, William you're here. How wonderful," Anne said, hurrying towards him, as William smiled at her.

She looked beautiful. Dressed in a peach coloured gown, with an ornate silk shawl around her shoulders, and sequined slippers on her feet.

"Anne… I… I'm so pleased to see you," William said, as Anne took him by the hands, and smiled.

"They're waiting for you in the drawing room. We'll have drinks first. It's this way. Did you come by carriage? Your own, I presume?" Anne said, leading William through the opulent surroundings of the house.

It reminded William of Burnley Abbey – the walls covered in paintings and portraits, hanging above ornate furnishings, the windows hung with lavish drapes, and large pot plants adding a sense of the exotic. Anne was wearing the most delightful scent, and as she walked, it was as though she was leading him through a garden of roses. She was beautiful in every way, more than his dreams could conjure, and in her company, the thought of lies, of worries and fear, melted away.

"What a wonderful house this is," William said, gazing around him in awe.

"Oh, I'm sure it's nothing you're not used to – all these pictures and paintings, fine furniture – one hardly notices it in the end," Anne replied.

William smiled, thinking back to the simple cottage in which he had been raised, where a table, chairs, and an old chest had sufficed for furnishings. Anne led him into the drawing room, its walls decorated in sumptuous wallpaper depicting scenes of peacocks, and where the earl and countess were waiting to receive him.

"Ah, Mr. Baker, how fortunate we are to have this opportunity," the earl said, stepping forward and offering William his hand.

"It's a pleasure, sir…my Lord," William replied, taking the earl's hand and affecting a curt bow.

He greeted the countess in a similar manner, and a livery clad footman now offered him a glass of sherry from a silver tray. William detested sherry. As a boy, he had once stolen a bottle from his godfather's study, drinking the contents and regretting it soon after.

"Once again, Mr. Baker, we're very grateful to you for what you did last night. We still can't quite believe Lord Peter's behaviour…. But never mind, it's in the past now," the countess said, as Anne slipped her arm into William's.

"I was ever so grateful, William," she said, looking up at him and smiling.

His heart was hers. He loved everything about her, and now he smiled, feeling embarrassed at having told so many lies to arrive at this moment. Nevertheless, his feelings towards Anne were sincere, and William knew he had acted honourably in the face of Lord Peter's appalling behaviour.

"I presume…well, you won't see him again," William said, and Anne shook her head, glancing at her parents as she spoke.

"No, not again," she said, and William smiled.

A gong now sounded in the hallway, and the butler appeared to announce dinner in the dining room. William walked with Anne, following the earl and countess into a lavishly decorated room, where the table was set with the finest crockery and silverware. A delicious smell was coming from the sideboard, where half a dozen dishes stood waiting to be served. William sat down opposite Anne, with the earl and countess at either end of the table.

"So, William, Anne tells me you're busy searching for gainful employment. You mentioned exports and imports last night. What business specifically do you intend to settle on?" the earl asked, as the footmen served the first dish – a soup with the scent of herbs.

William was momentarily disarmed. Digby had assured him there would be no talk of such things – merely societal intrigues and gossip.

"Well…you see… I'm rather hoping to…do something different," William said, for he really knew nothing about imports and exports, and certainly not enough to discuss the matter meaningfully with the earl.

"Ah, how interesting. Which firms have you approached? Brokers? Lawyers? Or do you intend to try for the commons? I hardly ever go to the lords. It's so dull," the earl said.

William was relieved – he could at least talk meaningfully of his attempts to secure employment. He had his letter of recommendation from his godfather, and now he took it out proudly.

"I wouldn't want to enter politics, not at such a young age. One needs experience first. But I'm fortunate to have a letter of recommendation from my godfather. I've approached several firms since arriving in London – brokers and lawyers, mainly – and I've got all manner of offers. It's just a case of choosing the right one," William replied.

The earl looked at him with an impressed expression on his face.

"Your godfather must be an important man. Do I know him?" he asked.

William smiled. The name of the Duke of Lancaster had already opened many doors for him, and whilst he knew he should be wary of using it now, the temptation was too great. With a flourish, he handed the duke his godfather's letter.

"My godfather's the Duke of Lancaster," he replied.

The reaction to these words was not entirely as he had expected. Anne dropped her soup spoon into her bowl of soup, splattering her dress, as she let out an exclamation of astonishment.

"Goodness, I didn't know that," she said, as her mother stared at William in surprise.

"What a small world we live in," she said, as Anne dabbed at her dress with a napkin.

William was worried he had said the wrong thing, realizing the aristocratic world was smaller than he had assumed as the earl laughed.

"We know the Duke of Lancaster well. His son and…well, it doesn't matter, does it? But yes, dear Ralph – our families are old friends. We've a long history since the restoration," the earl replied.

At these words, William's heart skipped a beat, as he realized the implications of what he had done. In his naivety, William had assumed the earl, whose estate was in Hampshire could not possibly know the Duke of Lancaster – how wrong he had been.

"Oh…then you know Burnley Abbey, and…the Duchess?" William said, glancing at the countess, who nodded.

"Miriam's a dear thing – I've known her many years. Well…it's really my friend, Lady Flintshire, who knows her. She's Anne's godmother," the countess said.

William glanced at Anne, who had now recovered her composure. She smiled at him, laughing off her surprise, even as her dress remained stained by the soup.

"What a surprise – I suppose it's inevitable to find such connections. But you never mentioned it before," Anne said, and William felt embarrassed.

"No… I suppose I didn't," he replied, fearing what might happen now the connection was known.

"As it happens, I'll be writing to the Duke in the coming days. I've a business proposition for him. I'll be sure to mention you, William. You've certainly got an excellent connection in the Duke. I'm sure it's opened many doors for you," the earl said, and William could feel nothing but despair at the inevitability of discovery the earl's words would bring.

Later, after he had said goodnight and left the house, excusing himself as quickly as possible, even as he knew Anne would think his behaviour odd, William felt certain he would not be invited back again.

They're bound to find out the truth, he thought to himself, fearful of what his godfather would say about his behaviour, and what it would mean for his future prospects, too.