The Birthright (24 page)
Returning to family matters, Anne said,
We shall hopefully travel soon to see Cyril’s family. Some days I become so restless. I feel that John’s grandmother is missing so much of his growing up. We have already celebrated his first birthday! Uncle Charles saw to it that it was a spectacular affair. I have never seen so many toys. I think John was just as entranced by the fancy boxes in which they came as the toys themselves. It made us all laugh, Uncle Charles especially. John puts him in such good humor.
Again Catherine had to pause in her reading and clear her eyes. It was so difficult for her to be missing all of the happenings of the baby’s life. And how she ached for Anne. The house felt so forlorn and empty without her familiar presence.
Anne gave her warmest greeting to her Grandfather Price:
I wish he were here to walk with me along the hedgerows,
she wrote.
We could have such good chats as we strolled. I know he must have wonderful memories of his life as a boy growing up here in England.
The letter then drew to a close with further words of love and longing.
Catherine folded the pages tenderly, her thoughts many miles away. In all, it had been a cheery letter, despite Anne’s disclosing that she’d spent some lonely days and even lonelier nights. At least the terrible wrenching sorrow seemed to be finally lessening. Perhaps time was indeed healing the deepest of Anne’s wounds. Catherine prayed that it might be so and that God, in His mercy, would help the young woman find her way on life’s path once again.
While wiping at her eyes, Catherine rose from the chair and handed the two letters to her father. “Andrew won’t mind if you read them before he does.” Then she proceeded to the kitchen to finish preparations for their simple evening meal.
Later that evening, as soon as she finished serving the family and cleaning the kitchen, Catherine took out a sheet of paper and began a letter of her own. She had decided she would reply while her daughters’ words were still fresh in her mind and heart. Her letter would be one that would bring them joy and comfort, she thought as she raised the pen and dipped it in the inkwell. She would not write of the loneliness and pain that was in her heart. She would convey to them her love, not her sorrow. With this in mind, Catherine started her letter, writing each word on the page in carefully flowing script.
It turned out to be a folksy note. She shared the news of the villagers and made much of the ordinary things that formed her world. She wrote of weddings and new babies, of her work at the Acadian school and the acceptance they’d received within the new community. She dwelt on Andrew’s ministry and the people who were showing interest in the truths of God. Of Grandfather Price’s continued good health. Of sunny summer days and the promise of good crops in both the gardens and fields.
Nothing was written about the longing for her children or the pain caused by the absence of her grandchild. There were the usual admonitions concerning things spiritual, that they would follow the Lord’s ways and seek His guidance for all life’s decisions. She reminded them that they were prayed for morning and evening. Then came a great outpouring of words of love, and with a sigh, she signed,
Your loving mother and grandmother.
Catherine was folding the sheets that she’d filled—where she had carefully concealed her longings—when the tears gushed forth. She let them fall, as she needed to bring some release to her mother’s heart.
For Anne, the next few days held a breathless quality. There were several trips to the dressmakers on Bond Street. When Anne objected to Charles over the vast sums being spent, he expressed delight that finally Nicole was willing to have more clothes made.
While Nicole clearly took no pleasure in the activity, Anne felt guilty over the delight she found in the new clothes. The dressmakers had responded with excitement, as Anne’s delicate frame and dainty features proved ideal for the current fashions.
Nicole took her everywhere. They began at Nicole’s morning session with Lord Percy, whom Anne had met on other occasions. Gradually Percy walked Nicole through Charles’s affairs, which she clearly found hard going. Her sister, on the other hand, saw it all as very fascinating and several times was able to point out things that Nicole had simply overlooked.
Now that Anne had left her dresses of mourning behind, those she’d met before now greeted her like a newcomer. And perhaps this was the case, for certainly the world appeared different. The veil of sorrow had lifted, at least partly. It was not that she stopped missing Cyril, but that a new day had dawned. She often found herself praying silently for direction, asking the Lord to show her what was to come of her now, what service might she do, and whether it was time to return to Nova Scotia and start a new life there.
These feelings were strongest the morning a letter arrived from Catherine with an enclosure from Louise. As always, Catherine’s letter began with the words,
My dear daughters.
The two sisters read and wept and clung together for support.
Charles, however, did not seem to take in the letters at all. In fact, he took little notice of Anne’s gradual transformation. Ever since the late-night discussion with Anne, he had become increasingly self-contained. He was not normally a grim man, but his countenance had grown stern. He refused to be drawn out over what concerned him. Even the staff took to moving cautiously about the London residence.
That afternoon they attended a social gathering given by an Austrian princess at a women’s club known as Almacks, located on King Street. Anne accepted a glass of orgeat from a passing waiter and gradually stepped away from the fray. Orgeat was considered the proper afternoon drink for a woman of high society and was made of crushed almonds, barley sugar, and orange-flavored water. Anne found it far too sweet, but if she held the glass, the hovering waiters would not continue to approach. She climbed the stairs leading from the main ballroom to an elaborate balcony shaped like a quarter moon. From there Anne was able to observe the homage paid to Nicole by the other debutantes. Most of them were younger, more frivolous, and far less attractive. Anne also noticed the stiff manner in which Nicole moved and spoke. It was quite evident just how burdensome her sister found the social events. Yet Nicole managed to carry herself well, responding with decorum. The men flocked to her, young and old alike. Nicole was kind and well spoken to all but touched deeply by none of them.
Anne moved toward a side table from where she could take in the whole sweeping affair of chiffon and clamor. Yet as she was seating herself, she heard a woman directly behind her ask, “Have you observed the Viscountess Harrow there?”
Anne shifted a fraction, just far enough to see the two dowagers looking down their noses at the swirling colors and people. She turned away as the other woman sniffed, “She’s not titled yet. Lord Charles has shown the sense not to formally present the inheritance decree.”
The first dowager had the rich, throaty tones of one to whom all had been given, and more. “You’ve heard the stories of her upbringing, I suppose.”
“Simply scandalous,” the other agreed.
Anne bit back on her sudden anger. That such ladies would speak with casual viciousness about her beloved sister left her almost choking with rage. But nothing would have been gained by speaking up, so she kept her back to them.
One of them demanded, “Who is that tall gentleman fawning about her now?”
“Surely you know Lord Harwick.”
“Is that who it is? I thought he was on the Continent somewhere.”
“Vienna. Acting as the Crown’s agent on some matter. Look at the way he bandies about with the strumpet.”
“It would be shameful for a man half his age,” the dowager said.
“It is such utter infamy, how the men fawn over the likes of that colonial upstart,” the other snorted.
“You are here with your niece, I believe.”
“Yes, Amelia is there in the yellow.”
Anne spotted an anemic-looking twig flittering nervously across the ballroom. The color and cut of her dress only accented her awkwardness.
“How lovely,” simpered the other lady behind Anne. “And my Leslie, see her in the lavender?”
The girl chose that moment to bray like a barnyard animal, causing one of the members of the string quartet playing in the far corner almost to drop his bow.
“A ravishing young thing,” the other dowager offered. “Why those addle-headed gentlemen insist on making fools of themselves about that backwoods ruffian in silk is utterly beyond me.”
Then the gentleman speaking with Nicole bowed and took a step back. Nicole turned and searched the gathering, clearly looking for Anne. Gratefully Anne used this as an excuse to rise from the chair.
Behind her one lady said, “But the young woman there is nothing near as bad as what Lord Charles himself is up to these days.”
“You don’t mean to say he’s a nonconformist, then?”
“Worse. A Whig in all but name. I understand he’s going to speak on the Revolutionaries’ behalf.”
“In public?” The woman’s tone sounded horrified. “You cannot be serious!”
As Anne moved stiffly toward the ballroom floor, she heard the dowager respond, “Indeed I am. His poor father must be rolling in his grave.”
Nicole watched as Lord Reginald Harwick cut his way through the crowd like a great ship parting the waves. He ignored the younger debutantes who fluttered their fans and sought to catch his eye. His gaze remained fixed on Nicole. He planted himself before her and gave her a rigidly formal bow. “An honor to see you again, Miss Nicole.”
She curtsied with practiced grace. “Greetings to you, Lord Harwick.”
He glanced around the gathering with distaste. “Once again I find myself attending a rather annoying event in order to seek you out. Did you receive my letters?”
As with the dozen or so other times they had met, Nicole found herself mysteriously drawn to the man’s magnetic personality. Yet there also remained a foretaste of something more, and today it came out more clearly than ever before. “I did not.”
“I feared as much. War has the spiteful habit of interrupting the natural flow of things.” He nodded distractedly to an older woman and continued, “I’ve been on the Continent. Vienna, actually. Perhaps you know it.”
Nicole found herself flashing back to another man, a handsome rogue of the bayous, a man she loved so that it tore her apart to leave him. Yet leave is what she had to do, for she knew there could be no future with someone who disregarded God’s commands. Here again she felt attracted to a man of power, intrigued also by the challenge of taming him and molding him through her strong will. But this time she found the temptation far weaker than the warnings she sensed in her heart.
She realized the man was waiting for her reply. “I’ve never traveled anywhere other than here, sir.”
“Ah yes. Of course.” He paused, studying her face and form. “With your elegance and accent, I forget the fables of your mysterious upbringing.”
“You are too kind, but they are not fables.”
“I am many things, Miss Nicole. Blunt, impatient with many of the world’s ways, too forceful for my own good. But certainly not overly kind. Kindness is a virtue I would hope to reap from an alliance with one fairer and more benevolent than myself.”
Then Lord Harwick waited as if expecting some form of invitation. But Nicole had learned from her many contacts with other suitors that, on such occasions, silence was always the wiser recourse. So she snapped open her fan and waved it idly while looking up at him and saying nothing.
Her poise clearly rattled the older gentleman, and his expression tightened somewhat. “I’ve spent the previous months acting as the king’s own emissary, Miss Nicole. He trusts me. That should speak for something.”
Again she felt the battering of his power, but now she felt more certain of herself and of her direction. “Indeed it does, sir. Yet we are speaking of matters where the king holds no place.”
“Does he not? Does he not indeed?” His face tensed further. “Do you perhaps remember what I said to you earlier, about how I am in a position to offer great aid to my allies?”
