When Emily turned on her heel and left the room, the lump in Anne’s throat miraculously dissolved. She went on tiptoe and kissed his brow. “Thank you, Father.”
As the guests were announced, Anne received so many admiring glances that her anxiety was replaced by happiness, and she assured herself that Emily was envious.
When Lady Florence Paget and her parents arrived, Anne was able to see for herself how much older the Earl of Uxbridge looked than his new countess.
As custom demanded, Earl Howe partnered his daughter in her first dance, but in deference to his sixty-eight years, the musicians had been instructed to make it short. Then the young bachelors swarmed about Anne and filled up her dance card. Since she and Frances had spent an entire afternoon studying the list of eligible nobles, she had no trouble identifying George Churchill, Marquis of Blandford; Henry Fitzmaurice, the young Earl of Kerry; and Edward Turnour, Earl of Winterton.
The Hamiltons arrived fashionably late, and Anne crossed the ballroom to greet them. “Thank you so much for coming.”
Gallant as always, the Duke of Abercorn kissed her hand. “It is our pleasure, Lady Anne.” He lowered his voice. “I never miss a chance to dance with my wife.”
Anne sighed. “Frances, your father is so romantic.”
John Claud took possession of her hand. “It runs in the family.”
“Here comes Montagu. He’s been looking for you.”
“Hello, Montagu. If you’ll partner my sister, I’ll partner yours.”
Anne laughed and took back her hand. “John Claud, your gallantry overwhelms me, but I’ve promised this dance to Spencer Cavendish.” She turned and smiled at the Marquis of Hartington, who was heir to the dukedom of Devonshire.
John Claud muttered, “Hartington’s at least twenty-eight.”
As a dutiful sister, Frances couldn’t resist taunting him. “Anne admires older men.” She smiled at Montagu and led him onto the ballroom floor.
John Claud made a mental note to stop taking Lady Anne for granted, and went in search of her father, Earl Howe, and her older brothers to curry favor.
Anne’s second dance partner was young Henry Rawdon. He had already inherited a massive fortune in the previous year, when he became the 4th Marquis of Hastings. She soon learned that his hobby was purchasing expensive racehorses. “I have someone you must meet, Henry.”
Anne took him by the hand and went in search of her brother-in-law. “Henry, meet Henry. Your Christian names aren’t the only thing you have in common,” she told the marquis. “This is my sister’s husband, Henry Fane, Earl of Westmorland. He’s the keenest judge of racehorse flesh in England.”
Hastings eagerly shook Westmorland’s hand. “Aren’t you a member of the Jockey Club, my lord?”
“Indeed I am.”
“The very chap I wanted to meet. By any chance do you suppose you could sponsor a new racehorse owner for membership?”
“Are you a betting man, Hastings?”
“Do dogs have fleas?” Henry laughed.
Anne tapped her brother-in-law on the shoulder. “Before you submerge yourselves in the dissolute sport of kings, I have a favor to ask. How about placing a bet for me in the St. Leger?”
“It would be my pleasure, sweetheart.”
“Be warned. One of these days I intend to join you at Doncaster or Newmarket.”
Fane winked, and rubbed the side of his nose to indicate her secret was safe.
• • •
The first ball of the fashionable winter Season attracted the crème de la crème of Society.
While the young people danced, their elders gathered in groups to converse. The males spoke of race meets and politics, while the females gossiped. Since the drink flowed freely, a good deal of laughter occasionally drowned out the music.
Anne’s next partner was Henry Fitzmaurice, the young Earl of Kerry. Though he wasn’t as tall as the Hamilton men, he had broad shoulders and brilliant blue eyes.
“So many gentlemen are called Henry that I think I shall call you Harry.” Anne’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Harry Kerry has such a lovely ring to it.”
“I don’t much care for Henry either—my friends call me Fitz. Would you consider an outing with me, Lady Anne?”
“I most certainly would, Fitz. What do you have in mind?”
“We can do whatever would give you pleasure—the museum, the Tower, or how about the boating lake in Regent’s Park?”
“They all sound wonderful, but by the width of your shoulders I warrant you enjoy rowing. If you take me to Regent’s Park, I’ll bring my sketchbook and draw some of the swans and herons.”
“Lovely. I shall call for you Sunday afternoon, if that’s convenient.”
“You have your own perch phaeton, don’t you, Fitz? Mother drives her own carriage in the park and taught me to drive last year. If you would be generous enough to let me take the reins, I would be forever in your debt.”
• • •
After two hours of dancing, Anne, Frances, and Florence withdrew to powder their noses and compare notes. “You have such lovely, long legs, Anne. I have to stand on a stool to see in the mirror,” Lady Florence complained.
“It doesn’t stop you from dancing. My brother calls you the Pocket Venus.”
“Which brother? You have eight,” Florence pointed out.
“As far as I’m concerned, Montagu is my only brother. The other seven are half brothers. They look down their aristocratic noses at me, with the exception of Leicester. He’s my youngest half brother, the only one who’s unmarried.”
“Is he the handsome devil in the dashing officer’s green uniform?” Frances asked.
“Yes, he’s an officer in the prestigious Prince Albert’s Rifle Brigade.”
“I find it hard to resist a man in a uniform,” Frances confided.
“Blandford Churchill is a good dancer. He told me he has just joined the Horse Guards, if you are looking for a man in a uniform.”
“Marlborough’s heir is the best catch in London,” Frances declared avidly.
Anne laughed. “He does remind me of a trout.”
“Aren’t you interested?”
“Not in the least.”
“Good, then I shall put him on my list along with the Marquis of Hartington. By the way, who is that beautiful woman Harty was dancing with?”
“That’s Louise, Duchess of Manchester. She used to be wardrobe mistress to the queen. The duke and my mother are distant cousins. Their family name is Montagu—that’s where my brother gets his name.” Anne gave her friend a quizzical glance. “Frances, do you really have a list?”
“Of course.”
“Who are on this list?” Anne asked with amused curiosity.
“All the nobles who are first sons.”
“Isn’t that rather mercenary?”
“Oh, it’s not the wealth, it is the title that is important. Since my sister Harry is the Countess of Lichfield, Trixy is Countess of Durham, and Jane is Countess of Dalkeith, I cannot let them outdo me.”
“Then poor Montagu doesn’t stand a chance?”
“He’s an eighth son! I don’t dare lose my heart to him.”
“How on earth can you control your heart? I’m sure I couldn’t, nor would I want to.”
“Ah, but you have a passionate nature, Anne. I am more practical. My head will rule my emotions. I shall map out a plan and follow it.”
“While I shall be swept away by a grand passion!” Anne declared dramatically. “And every woman in London will envy me.”
“I certainly shall,” Lady Florence bemoaned. “My parents are urging me to make a match with young Henry Chaplin. I won’t get to choose.”
“The viscount is heir to a fortune,” Frances pointed out.
It tugged at Anne’s heartstrings that
her friend Florence would be pushed into an arranged marriage, and she tried her best to take the sting out of it. “Yes, Viscount Chaplin will inherit a great deal of land. Some in Lincolnshire, and some in Leicestershire that runs parallel to my father’s country estate,” Anne assured her.
Florence sighed. “I shouldn’t complain. Most marriages are arranged.”
Mine won’t be arranged, Anne vowed passionately. I shall choose my own husband!
• • •
John Claud Hamilton waited impatiently for Lady Anne to return to the ballroom. She had danced continually with one eligible bachelor after another, and he decided he’d waited long enough. He crossed the floor and stopped before her. “I would like the pleasure of this dance, Lady Anne.”
“I believe I promised it to John Beresford, my lord.” Anne looked at her dance card to make sure.
“Let me see.” He captured her wrist and untied the ribbon that held her dance card. He glanced at it, pretended to read it, then tore it into pieces.
She was amused by his audacity and when the orchestra began to play, she moved into his waiting arms. In contrast to the lively quadrilles and cotillions played earlier, waltz music now filled the air. The slow, sweeping movements of the dance made her feel languid. Anne had the sensation that she was floating and she closed her eyes, allowing the romantic music to flow about her.
Her heart began to beat in time to the music, and she imagined that she was dancing with James Hamilton. His arms tightened about her and she felt him draw her close. With her eyelids lowered, she conjured his dark image and was mesmerized by his closeness. As he bent his head toward her, she shivered with anticipation and opened her lips in invitation. When his mouth touched hers, her eyelashes fluttered, and she whispered his name with longing. “James.”
She raised her lashes and gazed into the fierce eyes of John Claud. She realized immediately what she had done, and knew she must say something.
“How dare you kiss me?”
“How dare you mistake me for my profligate brother?”
“I did no such thing. I simply said his name to punish you.”
He smiled to cover his fury. “You are a beautiful little liar!”
“What about your lies?”
“Mine?”
“You call your brother profligate with an unsavory reputation.”
He rolled his eyes. “You have no idea, my innocent.”
“What makes you think I’m innocent?”
His mouth curved. “Because that was your very first kiss.”
“Oh dear, if it was that obvious, I need more practice.”
“If you will allow me to escort you to supper, I’ll see what I can do.”
“You are a cheeky sod, John Claud.”
He grinned. “Yes, I know. Would you come riding in the park with me after church on Sunday?”
“I would love to.” She gave him an inviting glance. “If I didn’t have a previous engagement.”
“With whom?” he demanded.
Anne didn’t answer his question. “Why don’t we go tomorrow? On Saturday afternoon the park isn’t as crowded.”
• • •
After the ball, far too exhilarated to sleep, Anne sat propped up in bed, filling the pages of her journal with all the exciting details of her debut. She purposely left out any mention of Emily. The only member of her father’s first family she put in her journal was her half brother Leicester.
I’m glad Leicester was on leave. He never fails to tell me how much I look like my beautiful mother. He’s extremely dark and handsome and I’m surprised that he’s still unmarried. There is a striking family resemblance between him and Montagu.
Next, Anne wrote down the names of all the young men with whom she’d danced, gave a thumbnail sketch of each, and described how she felt about them.
I seem to be attracted to young men with Irish ancestry. No doubt it’s because I have Irish blood and it’s “like” calling to “like.” Or perhaps it gives me perverse satisfaction since the English nobility tend to look down on us Irish. I’m looking forward to my outing with Fitz Kerry. He has the boldest blue eyes.
She saved the best till last, but when she wrote down John Claud Hamilton, she lapsed into thought, wondering what to say. She realized her feelings about him were not simple; they were complex. He was the most attractive male at her ball, and he was fun to be with, but she found his proprietary behavior toward her disconcerting. Finally she wrote, He kissed me, and it was heavenly until I realized it wasn’t James.
Chapter Four
“I much preferred the training at the Grenadier camp in Ireland to the methods they use in Germany. All that cold Teutonic discipline and stiff-legged marching seems rather soulless to me.” The Prince of Wales and James Hamilton were returning to London aboard a Royal Navy ship.
“Well, at least it postponed your Cambridge studies, and you managed to leave unencumbered,” James reminded him.
“Only thanks to your warning me what my sister was up to regarding the Danish princess.”
“I thought Alexandra was rather sweet and innocent. Was there nothing about her that attracted you, Teddy?”
“What’s to attract? She isn’t a woman, she’s a girl . . . a colorless slip of a thing. She was flat as a fluke, no breasts whatsoever, and a personality to match.”
“Well, you didn’t have to put up with her on many occasions. She didn’t relentlessly pursue you. Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for your sister Vicky. I’ll be glad to be home to get some sleep.”
“My sister and the young Danish princesses have absolutely opposite personalities. Why on earth do you suppose Vicky and Frederick are so thick with the family?”
James turned up his collar against the bitter cold wind of the North Sea, and reminded himself that Teddy was not a deep thinker with an analytical mind. “I’m afraid that Crown Prince Frederick and Princess Victoria have English views that clash with the authoritarian rule of President Bismarck. I would go as far as to say they loathe Germans. It is quite evident that they wish to align with Denmark as a buttress against Germany; hence their friendship with the Danish royal family.”
“You explain it all so well, James. Ulterior motives and political maneuvering never occur to me.”
Grosvenor Square, London
“It’s all right, Jenkins, I’ll get the door.” Anne waited until the butler left before she opened it. “Frances, you’re late. Florence is already here.” Anne hung up her friend’s cloak on the hall stand and led the way upstairs to the drawing room.
“I had to bide my time until John Claud went out. If he had known I was coming to Grosvenor Square, he would have insisted on joining me.”
“I know I invited you to tea, but I believe something stronger is required to banish our inhibitions for this strategy session.” She poured them each a glass of sherry. “We need a bold plan, if we are to make our Season count for anything. None of us want just any husband, or one our family chooses for us. We must each narrow it down to one man. If we don’t pursue our dreams relentlessly, we will never achieve our goals.”
Florence Paget took a tentative sip of her sherry. “But my family has already chosen a husband for me.”
“Then we will have to thwart them,” Anne declared firmly. “Bottoms up, Florence.” She swallowed her sherry in one gulp and refilled her glass. “I warrant your family has chosen Viscount Henry Chaplin? Tell us truly, Florence, who is your heart’s desire?”
“I have lost my heart to the Marquis of Hastings. But it’s a secret. No one knows; this is the first time I’ve ever whispered his name.”
“Henry Rawdon? Well, I must admit he is rather dashing. He asked my brother-in-law Westmorland to nominate him for the Jockey Club.”
“He’s filthy rich as well as being a marquis,” Frances added. “Very good choice, Florence.
I’ll make sure he gets an invitation to my parents’ annual ball.”
“But Henry Chaplin will be escorting me.” Florence sighed unhappily.
“That’s a perfect cover,” Frances pointed out. “Anne will confide to Hastings that you find him attractive; then when he asks you to dance, it will give you the opportunity to secretly flirt with him. Your parents and Viscount Chaplin won’t suspect a thing.”
Florence drained her sherry. “I’ll do it!” she vowed recklessly.
Anne looked expectantly at Frances Hamilton. “I know you have made a long list of eligible men, but whose name is at the very top?”
“The greatest title in England is the dukedom of Marlborough, so the name at the top of my list is the heir, Blandford Churchill.”
“That’s rather ambitious,” Florence remarked faintly.
“That’s the reason the three of us must form an alliance and swear an oath to succeed. Instead of merely wishful thinking, we decide here and now whom we shall marry, and from this day forward we will do everything in our power to make our choices reality,” Anne declared passionately.
“A triple-threat alliance. One for all and all for one, like the Three Musketeers.” Frances was eager for the plan. “What shall we call ourselves? The Fearless Debutantes?”
Anne laughed in derision. “The bloody Brass Monkeys if we want to be ridiculous. Next you’ll be suggesting we sign the pact in blood.”
“Well, when you put it that way, it does sound a bit childish, like something my sister Maud would come up with,” Frances admitted.
“Anne, you haven’t named your future husband,” Florence pointed out.
“I’m going to marry Frances Hamilton’s brother, of course.”
“James isn’t the marrying kind.” Frances thought fleetingly of their maid Jenny, who was ripe with child. The girl had mysteriously disappeared from Hampden House and was now employed by her sister Harriet. It had happened when James came home from Ireland and Frances had put two and two together. “However, John Claud shouldn’t prove difficult. He already worships at your feet, and he told me in confidence that your father as well as your older brothers think him the right husband for you.”