Page 99 of Threads that Remain

The dance moved them to other partners but as the dance progressed, they were frequently brought together again, and their conversation continued.

“Then you will understand that two can play at her sort of game. I have taken a particular liking to Mr. Merrier, a country rector. Mother disapproves of him and insists I may dance with him only once at any ball. A second dance, she says, would suggest a courtship she has not sanctioned. I have no intention of allowing her ambitions to decide my future.”

“And where do I come into this?”

Once again, they moved to other partners.

“You will dance with me twice at every ball we attend together. Mother will be delighted to see me dancing twice with one of the most eligible men in the room and will be too pleased with herself to count how often I stand up with Mr. Merrier.”

This movement brought him together with Sarah. They said very little to each other while holding eye contact to both their delight.

Coming back to Annabelle, she continued where she had left off. “You will have a convenient companion, which may discourage the mothers of unmarried daughters who have been watching you rather closely tonight.”

Henry considered the proposal as carefully as he might a question of estate business.

“You have thought this through thoroughly, Miss Annabelle.”

“I have had plenty of time, and very little else to do with it besides embroider cushion covers I do not care about. Have we a bargain?”

They parted and she had to wait for his answer until they came together again.

“We have. Two dances at every ball for the rest of the Season. And I shall endeavour to look thoroughly charmed by your company.”

“I doubt you will find that difficult.”

Her smile this time was entirely genuine.

After the set, they took lemonade beside an open window, away from the crush.

“Why Mr. Merrier?” Henry asked, “when your mother has grander ambitions for all three of her daughters.”

“Precisely why I mean to disappoint her. He is a country rector with eight hundred a year and no ambition beyond keeping his parish and his own home happy. Mother considers that beneath me. I consider him the most amusing and good-hearted man I have ever met. He makes me laugh, then says something so genuinely kind that I find myself liking him still more. I have never caught him pretending to be anything other than what he is.”

She glanced at Henry. “He reminds me of Uncle Edward, who likewise prefers quiet country living to worldly advancement. Mother has always despised that quality in him, which persuaded me early on that it must be an excellent one.”

“How did you meet him?”

“He is rector on my sister Honoria’s estate. She married this spring, much more happily than Mother’s grander schemes would have permitted. Her estate is two days’ journey from London, which Mother found disappointing and the rest of us considered an excellent arrangement.”

Annabelle lowered her voice. “My sisters and I decided years ago that we would not spend our lives being arranged like pieces on a board for Mother’s advantage. Georgiana found a man she liked who also had money, so everyone was satisfied. Honoria found hers farther away, both in miles and temperament. I intend to find mine too.”

The music started up again, and a Mr. Wilson was coming to claim Miss Ferrars.

“We will talk later,” said she quietly before leaving on the arm of her next partner.

Henry let a smile cross his face, which Lucy Ferrars, always watching, did not miss.

He danced with Annabelle again for the last set, and their conversation continued.

It was late when the ball ended and the older Brandons felt the late hour, while Henry and Anne talked about the night.

However, Henry knew his mother well enough to know that more than the hour was keeping Marianne unusually quiet.

Marianne looked out the carriage window, deep in thought. She knew with absolute certainty that, whatever Lucy might be hoping, nothing of the kind was in the least danger of occurring; Henry was utterly devoted to Sarah.

It was true enough, looked at plainly, that Henry seemed to be enjoying himself a great deal. He was laughing — twice, in the space of a single figure, at something Annabelle had said with her head tipped close to his — and giving her the whole of his attention in a manner he did not generally spare for any young lady who was not Sarah, certainly not Lucy’s daughter, of all the daughters in London.

“Mamma,” said Henry with amusement. “Please allow me to put your mind at ease. I have something most extraordinary to share with you all, as I am sure Sarah is doing with her parents.”