Chapter 9

"OGod from whom all holy desires, all good counsels, and all just works do proceed: Give unto thy servants that peace which the world cannot give; that both our hearts may be set to obey thy commandments, and also that by thee we being defended from the fear of our enemies may pass our time in rest and quietness; through the merits of Jesus Christ our Saviour. Amen," the canon said, pronouncing the words in a deep, churchman-like voice, which echoed up into the dome of the cathedral above.

Anne yawned. She liked to hear the choir sing the psalms, but as for the rest of the service of evensong, she was inclined to find it somewhat dull. Helen had accompanied her to the cathedral that afternoon, and they had sat through an interminably long sermon on a finer exegetical point of the book of Deuteronomy.

"Thank goodness it's over. I thought he was going to fall asleep himself, never mind the rest of us," Anne said, as the organ now thundered the voluntary and the cathedral choir and clergy processed down the nave.

"Didn't the choir sing beautifully though, my Lady?" Helen said, and Anne nodded.

"It's a taste of heaven, I think," she replied, and slipping her arm into Helen's, the two of them made their way across the vast marble floor towards the open doors of the cathedral.

The clergy were standing there to greet them, and Anne nodded her thanks to the canon, who gave a gracious smile. The cathedral itself was incomparable. It was one of Anne's favourite places, where heaven and earth met together, and her dreams seemed somehow nearer. She had been reading her new book all day and had been glad to see the baron pitted against the hero in a final battle, the two of them teetering at the top of a high waterfall, whilst Matilda watched in desperation below. As to what happened, Anne had left that for later, and she was looking forward to returning home and finishing her book.

"Shall we walk along the river, my Lady? It's a beautiful day," Helen said.

Anne nodded. She was glad of Helen's company, and now the two of them made their way down the cathedral steps and through the market in the direction of the thoroughfare leading down to the river below. The bakery stall was in its usual place, and Anne blushed as they walked past, recalling her encounter with the baker and her rescue by the charming young man.

"If only more were like him," she thought to herself, sighing at the prospect of what her mother and godmother had in store.

There had been more talk of Maximilian in the previous days, though it seemed the only quality he possessed lay in the unfortunate circumstances of the expectation of his father's death – hardly an attraction.

"You can at least meet him, Anne," her mother had said, and Anne had agreed to as much.

She was willing to be surprised – there were times when the heroines in her stories were surprised by a man with a roguish reputation, though he had usually been away in some far-flung land, fighting bravely, rather than enacting his rakish ways around a northern county. Anne had a friend, Isobel, daughter of the Duke of Crawshaw, and who had spent a season in London several years ago. She lived not far from Burnley Abbey with her parents, and had written to Anne in the most disparaging terms about Maximilian.

"He is completely spoiled, and he thinks it is his right to dance with any woman he chooses, and without regards to their feelings," she had written, along with a great deal else.

With this in mind, Anne's sentiments towards the heir of the dukedom were not favourable, and she considered him to be more like the baron in her current novel than the knight in the shining armour.

"I'm thinking of writing a novel myself, Helen. What do you think?" Anne asked, as the two of them walked down the thoroughfare leading to the boulevard along the riverside.

Helen looked at her in surprise.

"I'm not sure your mother would approve, my Lady," she said, and Anne laughed.

"When does she ever approve? It just occurred to me…I read enough of these sorts of books, and my head's always spinning with ideas of romance. Why not write about it?" she said.

Anne already had an idea for a story. She would set it on an island, where a woman, washed up there as a child in a shipwreck, lived with the island's inhabitants. One day, a ship would arrive, captained by a handsome man…as for the rest, Anne felt certain it would work itself out, but she was keen to put quill to paper and begin.

"Well, if you're sure, my Lady," Helen said.

Anne was about to respond, but to her surprise, she now heard her name being called from behind, and turning, she was astonished to see the young man from the market – the one who had saved her from the embarrassment of the bread stall.

"Anne," he called out, waving to her and smiling.

Anne blushed. She had not told Helen of her encounter with the gentleman, not of her foolishness over the price of bread.

"My Lady?" Helen whispered, as the gentleman, whom Anne knew was called William, came hurrying up to her.

He was followed by an older man, whom Anne assumed to be his father or uncle. The two of them were dressed very oddly, as though for fencing, and, indeed, William was holding a sabre in his right hand.

"Oh, good day, sir. What an unexpected pleasure," Anne exclaimed, for it was a pleasure to see William again.

She had thought about him a great deal since their previous encounter in the market, though she had never expected to see him again. For a moment, they looked at one another, with the blushes of youth.

"I…I never expected to see you again," he said, visibly delighted to have done so.

"But do you know one another?" the older man said.

"Ah, forgive me, yes, this is Miss Anne Miller, and this is Mr. Digby Kirkpatrick, a good friend of mine. Miss Miller and I…met by chance in the market. I'm relieved to see you unburdened by a loaf of bread today," he said, and Anne laughed.

"No, I think I'll leave such things to my maid, from now on. This is my maid, Helen," Anne said, turning to the maid, who looked at William in surprise.

"Not Miss Miller, my Lady," she whispered, and Anne blushed.

She had not introduced herself in formal terms at the market. It had not seemed quite proper to do so, even as there was no shame in her title or position. She was the daughter of an earl, a member of high society, and now William looked at her in embarrassment, as though he felt foolish for not having realized.

"Oh, forgive me, I didn't realize," William said.

Anne had no intention of making him feel embarrassed. There were times when she herself felt embarrassed as to the privileges of her rank and class. Their moment of encounter in the market had been a liberating experience, without airs or graces, even as Anne had known her parents would not approve. A lady was chaperoned, and without a chaperone, Anne should not have made the acquaintance of the man standing before her. But in William, Anne had sensed no rakish intention – he was a delight, and she was glad to meet him again.

"Oh, it's quite all right. You weren't to know. I shouldn't have been there on my own," Anne replied, glancing at Helen, who raised her eyebrows.

"Well, my Lady, we shouldn't dawdle idly in the street," Helen said.

Anne felt torn – she wanted to know more about William, and now a sudden thought occurred to her.

"Oh, yes…we can't take up anymore of your valuable time, Mr. Baker. But I wonder…will you be attending the ball at Charlton Lodge next Friday evening?" Anne asked.

She knew it was not the done thing to do – a woman did not enquire as to whether a man was attending a ball. But their meeting again had been fortuitous, and Anne was keen to ensure it would not be their last. She liked William – though she could not say why, for they barely knew one another. But in the previous days, since their encounter at the market, her thoughts had dwelled on him, even as she had thought herself foolish for hoping to see him again. William looked at her in surprise, as though he had no idea what she was talking about.

"I…" he began, but it was his companion who interrupted him.

"He'll certainly be there, my Lady. We both will," he replied, much to Anne's delight.

* * *

William was somewhat taken aback. He had never heard of Charlton Lodge, nor of any ball due to take place there. Despite his aristocratic connections, William really knew very little of such events, and he had certainly never attended such a formal occasion.

"I…well…" he stammered, even as Anne clapped her hands together in delight.

"Oh, that's wonderful. I've been looking forward to it for so long. I don't normally enjoy such occasions, but it's different at Charlton Lodge – the sweeping views across the river, the delightful gardens, and the music…oh, it's quite sublime. We'll dance," she exclaimed.

William did not have the heart to disabuse her. He had never danced in his life – except for the exuberant country dances at Christmas in the village, and the May Day celebrations, where a fiddler would play a tune on an old instrument, and the young men and women would dance around the maypole on the village green. But as for formal dances – in rows and squares, following set and strict patterns – William knew nothing. He did not even have something to wear – if he had known what to wear, that is. But Digby's answer had been emphatic, and the look on Anne's face was enough for William to know she would be terribly disappointed if he now refused.

"Well…yes, I'm sure," he said, smiling at Anne, even as his heart sank.

He could not bring himself to tell her the truth, though he felt certain she would soon know if it. In aristocratic circles, there was a hierarchy, and everyone knew everyone else. It would take only a brief glance in the pages of The New Peerage to ascertain there was no entry concerning the connections of a William Baker. William was the godson of a duke, but that counted for nothing when it came to noble birth right. The daughter of an earl was different – she could not just fraternize with a commoner, despite her obvious intentions to do so.

"Better to tell the truth now," William thought to himself, and reluctantly, he was about to admit his lowly credentials – for fear of being found out later – when Digby interrupted.

"We're honoured by your invitation, Lady Miller, and we'll be only too delighted to join you at the ball at Charlton Lodge. It's William's first time in London. He's the son of a prominent and wealthy man, come to the capital to finish his education as a gentleman," Digby said.

William's eyes grew wide and fearful – it was not true, he was the son of nobody. His father had been a soldier, killed in Corsica when his mother was carrying him, just a few months before William's birth. He had been raised by his mother in a cottage in the woods. If it were not for his godfather, William would have nothing, and he could not expect to keep up such a pretence at falsity. But the look on Anne's face was one of rapture and delight, and the thought of spoiling her thoughts of him was too dreadful to contemplate.

"Goodness me, how I admire you. All I do is…well, not a great deal," Anne said, and William feared his friend had embarrassed her.

"Oh…but it's not like that…" he stammered.

"The boy's only being modest, my Lady. He's already got interest from several firms – brokers, lawyers. He may even enter politics. Imagine it – you could be speaking to the next prime minister," Digby said.

William blushed. He was none of those things, and now he began to wonder if he ever would be. Digby was certainly generous with the facts – all of these things were a possibility, but William did not like to think of gaining Anne's interest under false pretences. The letter of recommendation, the clothes, the lodgings, the allowance – all of it gave an impression of something he was not. At heart, William was the son of a seamstress and former maid. He was not a gentleman, even as he was trying so hard to be so. It felt wrong to lie to Anne, but her smile and the look of admiration on her face were enough to make William hold back from telling her the truth.

"How extraordinary – to have come all the way from Lancashire to London. I have some connections…well, it doesn't matter, does it? I've never been to Lancashire. I've never really been out of London, except to visit our estate in Hampshire. It's so very brave of you. And how marvellous to have a mentor in you, Mr. Kirkpatrick. Are you a man of business yourself? But you must be," Anne said, and Digby nodded.

"I am, my Lady. I've tutored many young men in the art of gentlemanly ways. Tell me, do you know Lancashire at all?" Digby asked.

A sudden look of discomfort came over Anne's face, and she shook her head, pulling out her handkerchief, as though to cover her expression.

"Forgive me, I thought I was going to sneeze. No…I don't, not particularly – not at all, in fact. But I'm sure it's a delightful place. Is the society much to speak of?" she asked.

William's eyes grew wide and fearful. He knew nothing of Lancashire society, save for the sight of his godfather receiving grand ladies at the Abbey, or walking with imperious looking gentlemen in the grounds.

"Well…there's Burnley Abbey, of course. The Duke and Duchess," William replied.

"Ah, yes…they have a son, don't they?" Anne replied.

William nodded, though he had no wish to extol the non-existent virtues of Maximilian.

"That's right, yes – Maximilian," William replied, glad to have given an answer to the question, even as he knew nothing of any other society in the county.

"And the Millers at Derwent Howe. Lady Catherine came to London last year for the season. She was very pleasant. And perhaps you'll know my friend, Isobel, too – the daughter of the Duke of Crawshaw," Anne said.

William nodded, praying there would be no further questions asked. He had heard these name, but he knew nothing of the people attached to them. The aristocracy was a different world from the one he inhabited, and no amount of tailoring could alter the fact of William's lowly birth.

"Yes…fine company," he said, glancing at Digby, who nodded.

"Well, I'm sure we can't take up any more of Lady Miller's valuable time," Digby said, and he nodded to Anne, whose maid also offered a similar sentiment.

"We don't want to be late home, my Lady," she said, and Anne nodded.

"Yes, well…it's been a delight to encounter you again, Mr. Baker. I do look forward, very much, to seeing you at Charlton Lodge at the ball," she said.

William smiled at her. She was different from other aristocratic ladies – though, in truth, he did not know many aristocratic ladies. Those he had observed had appeared distant and aloof, riding in their carriages with haughty expressions on their faces. William had certainly not observed any bartering for bread in the marketplace, and that was perhaps why he had felt such an affinity to Anne – she was just like him.

"As do I," William replied, suddenly realizing how ridiculous he must look in his fencing garbs.

"Well, good day to you," Anne said, and William bowed.

"We were fencing – I won't be dressed like this at the ball," he stammered, and Anne smiled.

"I'm sure not, Mr. Baker," she replied, and nodding to him, she turned with her maid, the two of them making their way sedately down the lane towards the river.

William watched them, go, mesmerized by the sight of such beauty and charm. She was a remarkable woman, and how grateful William was for having had the chance to meet her again. He could not take his eyes off her retreating figure, and it was only when Digby cleared his throat, William was brought back to his senses.

"What a charming young lady," he said, and William nodded.

"Isn't she just, but…why did you say those things to her? About my father, I mean," William said.

Digby had presumably meant his words to be of benefit, but William feared they would have the opposite effect when the truth was known. He was not yet a gentleman, not yet employed, not yet independent – he was nothing, though clothed in an illusion.

"Because the details don't matter, William. If you like her, get to know her. It's simple enough," Digby replied.

He had not quite answered the question, though William was grateful to his new advisor for having stepped in his moment of uncertainty. But the tale was now told – there could be no reneging on the deceit, even as William felt somewhat embarrassed as to what he had done in the name of an introduction.

"But she thinks of me as something I'm not," William replied.

Digby gave him a sympathetic look and smiled.

"But who's to say who your father is – you told me yourself he's dead, God rest his soul. When the time comes, she'll merely think she misheard. And as for your being a gentleman, well, you've already received offers, haven't you? Your godfather gives you an allowance, and you live accordingly. By the time she knows different, you'll already be in employment – you'll be just what you described," Digby replied.

When put like that, it seemed reasonable, and William nodded, still feeling somewhat out of his depth.

"But I know nothing about dancing, or balls, or how to behave," he said, beginning to doubt himself.

"And these are things you can learn, William. Didn't I promise to help you?" Digby said.

William nodded. Digby had helped him a great deal, and there was no doubt the ball would be an excellent introduction to London society. It was just what he had wanted, except William was uncertain as to how he had been portrayed. Would Anne now introduce him as a wealthy prospector, come to London with the backing of power and reputation? In his mind, William was nothing but the son of a seamstress, and whilst he was proud of his roots, he did not believe the rest of London society would be as sympathetic to him as Anne had been.

"You did, yes, and I'm ever so grateful to you for that. But I fear… I fear I'll make a fool of myself," he said, but Digby shook his head.

"Nonsense, William. You've already made an excellent first impression. Come, now, we'll return to our fencing, and then perhaps…a lesson in dancing," he said, and putting his hand on William's shoulder, he led him back into the yard behind the inn, a comforting reassurance, even as William remained doubtful as to what was to come.