The Painted Fan Read online

  Henrietta had a new beau of her own, a steady, well mannered sort of man; indeed, Anna believed him to be a most amiable person, but he could not hold a candle to Mr. Standish. How could any woman set eyes on Mr. Standish without falling violently in love with him? She watched with jealous, suspicious eyes every woman to whom he talked or with whom he danced. But she could tell that he did not fancy any of them, and with none of them did he have that smile on his face or that look of pleasure and fun as he did when he spoke with her, chatted to her during dinner, danced with her, rode out with her on an expedition to Richmond, or sat across from her at the card table.

  He discovered her passion for riding, and they rode together in Hyde Park, properly accompanied by a bored groom. Anna, dressed in her new riding habit, knew she looked her best, her colour a little high from the exercise, her slender figure upright, her seat good. As for Mr. Standish, astride a fine bay, he was handsomer than ever in his black coat and gleaming boots. He was a keen rider to hounds, and he spoke of his enjoyment in hunting while she, who hated hunting, hung upon every word, so pleased to be with him and to listen to what he had to say; he could have recited one of Fordyce’s sermons and she would have been enthralled.

  At home, her happy mood, her joy and zest for life were evident to everyone.

  Her father commented upon it. “My word, it is amazing to see our little Anna blossom like this.”

  “Blossom nothing,” said Lady Gosforth crossly. “She has fallen in love, and it is with a man who is not worthy of her affection.”

  Lord Gosforth knew his wife had been doing her accounts, which always put her in a bad temper. “Ask Anna to go through your figures; you know how good she is with numbers. But as to her falling in love, you do not mean to tell me that she has taken up with a rake or some half-pay soldier after her fortune? How could you come to betray your maternal duty in such a way? Why have you not sent the impudent dog packing?”

  “My dear, the young man in question is not an impudent dog; he is Rowland Standish, an unexceptionable young man of good family, as you well know.”

  “Standish? Well, you are right; there is no question of Anna making him any kind of a suitable wife. It is not a matter of family or background. As you say, he is a perfectly well-bred young man, but he is destined for political career, and no one could be less suited to that than my frippery daughter. Besides, she’s too young for him.”

  “As to that, I think she would be well suited with an older husband, but not Mr. Standish. He is flirting; he enjoys the company of a pretty girl, but that is enough to break her heart when he moves on to some other fancy.”

  “You had best warn him off, ma’am. I will not have him trifling with Anna’s affections. Wasn’t there some scandalous affair attached to his name before he went abroad?”

  Anna would have been horrified if she had known what her parents were saying, for surely Mr. Standish was simply waiting for the right moment to make his proposals. Why should he not? He danced attendance upon her; he sent her posies, and Henrietta, when she could spare attention from her own courtship, warned her that she was setting tongues wagging; that if she truly believed he was going to propose, then the sooner the better. “People are talking. They say it is too bad of him, that he will drop you and you will go into a decline. My mama says that even Mr. Vere, who has no interest in gossip, has mentioned that he goes too far. Mr. Standish works for Mr. Vere, you know.”

  “Oh, what an objectionable man that Mr. Vere is. He dislikes my friendship with Mr. Standish; you should see how he looks at me when I’m dancing with him. He stands by, looking down that haughty nose of his.” Anna, dressed for a ball in a gown of pink gauze, shrugged a white shoulder. “I care nothing for that man; he may disapprove of me as much as he pleases. I love Mr. Standish, and I’m sure that he feels all the tenderest passion for me that any young woman could wish for.”

  She danced till dawn at the ball and came home in a dream, tumbling into bed with the first light of the morning, reliving that ecstatic moment when Mr. Standish had drawn her to a secluded vestibule and kissed her, his lips caressing hers in such a way that she felt overwhelmed with passion for him. Yet, she reflected when she woke much later in the day, despite that, despite his words of love, still no proposal had been made. Why was he holding back? He loved her; there could be no objection to the match on grounds of family or fortune; oh, why did he not say the words?

  Chapter 4

  That evening she was going to a ball with both Mama and Papa, and she dressed for it with especial care. The ball at Langthorpe House would be one of the most important of the season. All her friends would be there; everyone who was anyone would be there. Most important of all, she knew Mr. Standish would be among the guests, because he had mentioned it to her.

  In her best looks, full of expectation and excitement, Anna skipped out of the house and into the carriage, where her father and mother were awaiting her. They were to dine at Langthorpe House before the ball.

  Her father pursed his lips. “Do not expect to find many of your young friends at dinner, for mostly they will be older people, of a political bent. It is civil of them to ask you to dine before the ball, and it is only because Lord Langthorpe is a connection of ours that you have been invited.”

  This slightly dampened Anna’s spirits, although Papa always put a severe gloss on everything. But when she was announced with her mother and father and went into the great drawing room, ablaze with candlelight, and looked around to see which of her particular friends were there, she was dismayed to see none of them. In fact, the only person who appeared to be anywhere near her own age was Cousin Freddie. He was a distant cousin and a young man who, although of pleasing looks and agreeable manners, was inclined to be rather more attentive to her than she cared for. However, this evening she was glad to see him as he came over to her with a smile and a graceful bow.

  She looked around her and whispered to Freddie that she hardly knew a soul there. Inwardly she said, Where is Mr. Standish?

  He was announced, he came in, her eyes flew to him, and her heart leapt in her bosom.

  “Devilish, handsome fellow, Standish,” Freddie observed, seeing where her eyes were focused. “Devil of a one with the ladies too.”

  Why did he not come over to her? Had he not seen her? Now he was standing over by one of the tall windows, in conversation with that disagreeable Mr. Vere. Both of them looked her way for a moment, but Mr. Standish didn’t smile, didn’t even acknowledge her presence, and, instead of making his way through the little throng towards her, was walking away from her to a distant corner of the room where a number of gentlemen were gathered around a young lady in grey silk, closer in age to Anna than most of the people in the room, but someone she did not know at all.

  Her eyes narrowed. Mr. Standish was bowing with great punctiliousness and exerting all his charm on that young woman. She was modishly dressed, and was, Anna had to admit, rather beautiful, if you liked that type of dark, long-necked look. She herself didn’t. Now another woman had joined the group, an older woman, and Anna certainly recognised her: it was Lady Castlereagh.

  “And that’s the Princess Lieven next to Lady C,” Freddie said in her ear. “All the coven there.”

  “Coven? What do you mean?”

  “Oh, it is my name for them, all these women who are so strong and influential in political matters. They are witches; they bewitch men, including their husbands. They aren’t content to just make discreet suggestions and listen to their husbands; no, they must thrust themselves in and feel that they must play some important role. Princess Lieven is the worst of them, and a foreigner to boot.”

  “She is one of the patronesses of Almack’s; she gave me my vouchers,” said Anna.

  “Oh, I dare say. She has a finger in every pie.”

  “And who is the younger woman, the one in the pale grey silk?”

  “So she’s in London, is she? That’s Lady Flavia Gibson. Now, I wonder why . . . then her fath
er must be here too, which means that he is back from Paris.” Freddie lapsed into a rather thoughtful silence, which annoyed Anna, who wanted to hear more about Lady Flavia.

  “What an extraordinary name. Who is she?”

  “I told you, she is Lord Gibson’s daughter. He’s been in Paris for several months, attached to our embassy there. Lady Gibson died when Lady Flavia was a child. She was an Italian countess, you know; that is why her daughter has that name, and so she has acted as his hostess practically since she came out of the schoolroom.”

  “Whatever she’s saying, all the gentlemen seem to be hanging on her every word.”

  “Well, the situation in France . . .” Freddie began, and then he stopped himself, with a wry smile. “Of course, you don’t want to talk of such things.”

  Now Mr. Vere had gone over to the group, bowing over Lady Flavia’s hand, smiling and saying something that appeared to amuse her. Her calm beauty grew in animation as she spoke. Another woman and some more of the gentlemen joined the group. Anna watched them, disliking them for being so at ease with one another; for being—yes—so grown up. It wasn’t merely a question of her age, however; she instinctively knew these people inhabited a different world from hers.

  Mrs. Rufforth was among the company, and her sharp eyes had noticed Anna looking over to the cluster of people in the corner of the room. “You are admiring Lady Flavia, I dare say. Such a beautiful creature, and such poise.”

  Anna flushed. “I was thinking what an elegant gown that young lady is wearing.”

  Mrs. Rufforth looked amused. “Yes, Lady Flavia is always elegant, and of course her gown was made in Paris.”

  Anna longed to ask how old Lady Flavia was but didn’t have to, as her aunt went on, “Dear girl, she must be quite two or three and twenty now. Time for her to be looking around for a husband. They say that her father may be going to marry again, and that would put her nose out of joint.”

  Good, Anna thought. She looked as though she could do with a setback; how smug she was.

  “She will find herself a husband within the political world. She was born to be a political hostess.”

  “The gentlemen seem to be hanging on her every word,” Anna said. She knew she sounded peeved; she must watch her tongue.

  “They are bound to, for she is newly back from Paris, and everyone is agog for news of what is happening there,” Mrs. Rufforth said.

  No, they aren’t, Anna thought to herself. I’m not agog to know what is happening in Paris. If Mr. Standish would not come to her, she would go to him, and she had just thought of a reason to join his group.

  For a moment she hovered outside the circle, feeling excluded, an outsider. But her chin went up; she was not going to be daunted by the phalanx of men in well-fitting broadcloth who surrounded Lady Flavia.

  A smile, a touch on an arm, a polite request, a gap appeared in the phalanx, and there she was beside Mr. Standish. He made a slight bow and smiled at her, but there was none of the warmth and none of the eagerness that she was used to. Why was he so serious, so severe? Had she offended him in some way?

  But here she was, and she needed to explain her arrival in this group, since the men were eyeing her with what might be admiration or could be surprise. She addressed Lady Flavia directly: “Forgive my intrusion, for we do not know one another. I am Anna Gosforth. My aunt just told me that you are recently back from Paris, and I have a cousin who is there at present, Miss Harriet Fenton. I wonder if you chanced to have news of her. She promised to write, but she is not a regular correspondent, and I have heard nothing from her recently.”

  “It is difficult with the posts at the moment. The authorities in France open and read all correspondence for England. I hope your cousin—what did you say her name was?”

  “Miss Harriet Fenton.”

  “No, I’m afraid I’ve never met her. I know no one of that name. What is she doing in Paris? I hope she has been discreet in her letters.”

  Anna’s honesty forced her to say, “She is there as a companion to a Mrs. Cartmel.”

  The dread word “companion” dropped into the group, and a couple of the men looked amused.

  “Mrs. Cartmel? Oh indeed, yes, I am slightly acquainted with Mrs. Cartmel. Miss Fenton, yes; I do believe I have seen a young woman with her, but I can tell you no more than that.” With that she gave Anna a polite, distant smile and turned back to the others. “As I was saying . . .”

  Anna felt the snub, and smarted at what she heard as contempt in Lady Flavia’s reply. And why was Mr. Standish not coming to the rescue? Why was he turning back to listen to that odious woman?

  She didn’t know what to do with herself. She faced a wide expanse of carpet. People were looking at her; they had noticed the interruption, the little scene, and she would have to walk conspicuously across to the other side of the room to Freddie and Mrs. Rufforth, who were looking at her, amused.

  Rescue was at hand, and from a most unexpected quarter. Mr. Vere of all people detached himself from Lady Flavia’s court and strolled up to her. “Good evening, Miss Gosforth. We met at Mrs. Rufforth’s, if you recall. Are you still enjoying your London season?”

  To which the answer was at this moment, “No, not at all.” But she couldn’t say that, so she pinned a smile to her lips and said, “Yes, it was very agreeable, and I am looking forward to the ball.”

  “All you young ladies love to dance.”

  “I am sure you dance too, Mr. Vere. I have seen you do so.”

  “Indeed, I do, and I hope you will honour me with a dance this evening.”

  He moved away, but his good deed had been done. Dinner was announced; people began drifting towards the doors; no one was looking at Anna any more.

  Keeping well away from Lady Flavia and her little party, Anna found a seat at the centre of the table. She would have liked to have sat next to Mr. Standish, but he was with that horrid woman, far away at the end of the long mahogany table.

  Freddie slid into a seat beside her; well, she would have someone she knew to talk to. Footmen moved softly about. The polished table reflected the light from the numerous candles set in silver candelabra along the length of the big table. Crystal sparkled, silver gleamed; the scent of flowers tumbling from silver cups filled the air with a sweet fragrance. Anna made herself look and not think; she must clear her mind, breathe carefully, put on a good face to hide her hurt and troubled feelings.

  Chapter 5

  Vere, seated on the other side of the table, watched her from under hooded lids. Poor Miss Gosforth; she clearly had lost her heart to Standish, which was unfortunate and a complete waste of her affections.

  Standish, with a promising political career ahead of him, had to marry a woman not only of fortune and breeding but someone who would further his ambitions. He would inherit a comfortable estate, yet must marry well if he were to make his mark in government. Especially so if it were true, as Vere had heard, that he was losing money at the gaming tables. He must make some inquiries about that.

  It would be good for him to marry; it might settle him. But he would need the right kind of wife, and pretty Anna Gosforth was definitely not the right kind of wife. No, she wouldn’t do. But he felt sorry for her, trying to keep her countenance calm but clearly disappointed by Standish’s sudden indifference. Damn the man; couldn’t he behave better than that? There was that young puppy beside her, clearly more than half in love with her, but she had no eyes for him. Well, he could understand that.

  Anna didn’t have the heart to flirt with Freddie; it wouldn’t be kind. He was rather keener on her than she wanted, and she wasn’t going to encourage him. She might be a flirt, but she wasn’t cruel. And besides, Freddie had once more grown serious after she had remarked that all the conversation was about nothing but France. She had heard enough about France to last a lifetime; she had never been at such a tedious dinner.

  Freddie said, “It is inevitable at this moment that France will be on everyone’s lips. It is a subject at
the forefront of all our minds.”

  “Why? We are at peace with France; the war is over. Why should people want to talk about France all the time?”

  “I don’t know so much about it, but from what m’ father says and from what I hear in the clubs it seems that the peace won’t last, and we shall shortly be at war again.”

  Anna said with a sigh, “Oh, that again. It is all boring stuff, Freddie. Tell me something to amuse me and lift my spirits. I don’t want to hear about horrid old wars.”

  So Freddie began instead to talk about art, and although Anna was happy to go to an exhibition and look at whatever her mama said she should and liked pictures well enough, she found it hard to express any real interest, and so Freddie’s conversation was a mere monologue. He could talk to the woman on his left. That lady seemed interested in what he had to say, so Anna had better make the effort and talk to the gentleman on her other side.

  Oh Lord, the man next to her was a clergyman. How had she not noticed that before? It was because he was so well-dressed, and with his long nose and humorous eye, she couldn’t imagine him preaching a sermon. Nonetheless, he was a clergyman, and he was inevitably going to be even duller than Freddie.

  It turned out he was no such thing; she had no idea that a witty clergyman could exist, but here was one beside her. He seemed to know everyone, and, even in her present unhappy mood, she couldn’t help laughing at his clever observations.