Page 101 of Threads that Remain

And they both started laughing all over again.

The following week, they attended the ball given by Lord and Lady Hughes.

Once again, Henry and Sarah kept to their plan, with the addition of Annabelle factored in.

Sarah’s eyes briefly met his across the room.

His expression softened.

She smiled—only slightly.

Sarah had accepted Mr. Merrier, who had been coached to ask her, for the set, and returned her attention to her partner. She was surprised to find him a very pleasant, well-spoken man of better than average looks, who had a very respectable eight hundred a year to live on. Most mothers would have been delighted that their daughter had found such a suitor.

Henry crossed the room to claim his promised partner with every appearance of delight. By then, very little acting was needed. He had found Annabelle’s company far more entertaining than he had anticipated, and told her so as they took their places, earning an unguarded laugh that attracted precisely the sort of notice she had predicted.

When the dance ended, Lucy Ferrars hurried toward them.

“Oh, what a lovely couple you make!” Lucy said. “You look so very well together. Such a handsome pair.”

Henry summoned the necessary smile.

The Brandons’ and Ferrars’ calendars were filled with a dense round of engagements: balls at the great houses, private dinners and card parties, morning calls paid between noon and three, promenades and carriage rides through Hyde Park at the fashionable hour of five, the opera and theatre with boxes taken for the season, concerts and musical evenings, visits to exhibitions and galleries, shopping expeditions to the Bond Street modistes for the endless business of gowns and trimmings, the occasional regatta or garden party when weather allowed, and, threading through all of it, the coming-out balls.

Henry was the one to suggest they decline an invitation to Lady Stewart’s dinner party. Sarah quickly agreed. Edward and Brandon thought it a fine idea, looking forward to having two consecutive nights together at home. Ned was excited to have the others’ company, as he could not attend any of these events himself. Anne was of a different opinion.

“I am not surprised you want to stay home and have all of Sarah’s attention for yourself, Henry,” said Anne evenly. “But might I remind you all that I am also to be considered. What if the man I should have connected with is at the very dinner I miss? I may never meet him.”

Brandon opened his mouth to speak, but Marianne, knowing he was about to say something about his daughter not needing to rush to find a husband, put her hand on his arm to stop him. When he looked at her, she had an eyebrow raised and shook her head. He thought better of it and closed his mouth.

Sarah, torn between her suitor and best friend, began, “Oh, dearest, of course you must go. I did not think. I am sorry. Perhaps ….”

She was cut short by Ned, who spoke up and said, “Why not go with Aunt Margaret and Simon? I heard her say they are attending. And her friends the Wrens are going.”

The room went quiet. Anne looked to her mother imploringly.

“I think that is a fine solution,” Marianne considered. “Thank you, Ned. It is an incredibly promising idea. I shall send word to Margaret at once.”

By half past seven, Lady Stewart’s drawing-rooms glowed with reflected candlelight, gilt mirrors, silk, jewels, uniforms, and the polished voices of London society.

Anne wore a gown of pale blue silk, simple in comparison with some of the more elaborate dresses around her, but it suited her perfectly. Her fair hair, like her father’s but with her mother’s curls, was arranged with a few delicate ringlets framing her face, and a string of pearls rested at her throat.

The candles had been lit an hour before the first carriage arrived.

Anne Brandon stood happily near the fireplace, listening to a discussion of a baronet’s recently engaged daughter. She was waiting for her aunt, Margaret, and Cecilia Wren to return from seeking out an old friend of theirs. She was delighted by the evening thus far: she had on one of her new gowns, she was enjoying the music, and she had an exhilarating sense that something unexpected might happen at any moment.

She was trying not to glance toward the door when Lady Stewart entered with a gentleman Anne had not seen before.

He wore a lieutenant’s uniform, his dark coat emphasising broad shoulders and a military bearing. His complexion had been browned by the sun, and his composed manner set him apart from the younger gentlemen laughing too loudly near the card room.

Lady Stewart caught Anne’s eye.

“Miss Brandon, my dear, there is someone I should like you to meet.”

Anne turned and found the gentleman looking at her. His interest seemed genuine rather than merely admiring, which was somehow more disconcerting.

“May I present Lieutenant Matthew Wycliffe to Miss Anne Brandon. Lieutenant Wycliffe has only recently returned to England.”

Anne curtsied. “Lieutenant.”