Page 24 of Beneath the Devil's Mask
For the next time Anne entered Lucien’s house, she had to do it without Louisa’s aid. She could not have an innocent serving girl implicated in Norrie’s abduction, Abduction? No! Anne’s lips thinned at the word. It was not abduction to take back one’s own child. Norrie was rightfully hers no matter what Lucien and the law decreed.
Lost in her contemplations, Anne did not realize how far the performance had progressed. When she managed to focus on the stage, she realized the actress playing Lady Macbeth was drifting through the paces of the sleepwalking scene.
Soon the curtain would ring down for the intermission between the main bill and the farce. Anne determined to resist Lily’s efforts to drag her along to the foyer again. She could not face greeting more acquaintances, trying to keep her worries and apprehensions to herself.
She still had so many arrangements to make in the days to come. She needed to hire a coach to get her and Norrie out of London, and then find some way to gain passage out of the country, far from Lucien. Anne did not yet have the least idea how to go about such a thing.
She tensed, thinking of the difficulties ahead, her fingers moving back to fidget with her purse. Lily reached out to stop the movement with a tiny smile, an admonishing shake of the head.
That was Lily, forever playing the older sister, trying to curb Anne’s inelegant tendency to fiddle with her purses, fans, jewelry, or to nibble her nails. Often Lily’s playful reproofs irritated Anne, but tonight the gesture brought an unexpected lump to her throat. It occurred to her that if the plan she had formed succeeded, she might never see Lily again. She would have to flee without even bidding her sister farewell.
She wished she could take Lily into her confidence, but no one would be less likely to understand the rash action Anne contemplated, an action that would put her forever beyond the pale of the society Lily so cherished.
Certainly when Anne had first come to London in search of her daughter, Lily had patted Anne’s shoulder and commiserated. “It is a deal too bad of Lucien not to allow you to see the child. But I heard he has engaged for her one of the best governesses in England. Mrs. Ansley tutored the Duchess of Biltmore’s girls. Do you think that Norrie will be neglected?”
Anne could not precisely say that. In his own way, Lucien was fond of Norrie. All her sensitive, dreamy-eyed little daughter’s physical needs would be met, but Norrie required more affection than any governess could give. Norrie needed her mother.
Anne had tried to explain that to Lily, but her sister had only given her cheek an indulgent pat.
“Dear Anne. You are a lady, not a nursemaid. The child will have a legion of servants to attend to her needs. And I will tell you what I found to be true of my own girls. The older they got, the more interesting they became. When Norrie is quite grown, she may call upon you as she pleases, and you will find that you take much greater delight in her company then.”
Lily could have no notion what dismay her words had struck to Anne’s heart. She had realized then it was useless even trying to explain to Lily about such things as how warm and sweet Norrie felt being rocked at bedtime, the simple joy of coaxing tangles from curls yet baby fine, of enfolding small fingers still sticky with jam. Small stubby fingers that would all too soon grow into long elegant ones slipping out of a mother’s reach.
It would be foolish to expect the bright butterfly that was her sister to understand any of that. Not that Lily was callous or unusual. Most of the fashionable ladies in London would haveagreed with her. The rearing of children was best left to servants, and though it was sad that Anne could not see her daughter upon occasion, there were far greater tragedies. Great heavens, she might have been refused vouchers to Almacks.
Anne’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile. Perhaps having children had come all too easily to those grand ladies. They had never had to endure the heartbreak of so many miscarriages, the even greater grief of laying to rest a tiny stillborn son.
When Norrie had been placed into Anne’s arms for the first time, warm, alive, she had been like a small miracle. The babe had been at once so frail, so susceptible to every passing fever and sniffle, and yet also so bright-eyed, so quick, so eager to learn. Like a miser with a fragile treasure, Anne had hoarded her child within the secure walls of the nursery, ever fearful the jealous heavens meant to snatch Nonie away from her.
But it had taken Lucien to make that nightmare come to pass.
The clash of swords upon the stage pulled Anne out of her unhappy thoughts. Birnam Wood had come to Dunsinane and Macbeth rushed toward his end. When Kean stepped forward to take his final bow, the applause swelled around Anne, an excitement that did not touch her.
Amid the cheering crowd, she felt isolated and alone. Strangely, her gaze was drawn to the one part of the theatre she had sworn to avoid. Her eyes swept the upper tiers, seeking the box opposite.
Mandell’s seat was empty. He must have left before the final scene. She experienced a strong relief mixed with a curious sensation of disappointment. The feeling confused her and she sought to ignore it.
The applause had barely died before Lily gathered up her skirts and rose eagerly to her feet. As much as she adored any sort of performance, Lily also loved to see and be seen, to compare her gown with the other ladies’ present. It was withgreat difficulty that Anne refused her sister’s insistence upon taking another turn about the foyer.
“I find the crowd far too fatiguing,” Anne said. “But you go on ahead. I am quite content to remain here.”
Lily looked a little vexed with her. Mr. Barnhart, who obviously found Anne’s company a bore, merely stifled a yawn and offered his arm to the countess. But the gallant Lord Cecil beamed at Anne, saying, “Then I will stay behind and bear you company, Lady Fairhaven?”
“Oh, no,” Anne cried, dismayed at the prospect of having to make conversation with anyone. even the kindly Lord Cecil. “I will be fine by myself and you must be quite stiff from sitting so long.”
She stilled any further protest by leaning forward and adding in a conspiratorial whisper, “Besides, you cannot have Mr. Barnhart stealing a march upon you.”
His lordship glanced anxiously toward Mr. Barnhart, who was already escorting Lily out of the box. “Well, if you are really sure,” he said. He sketched Anne a quick bow and bolted after the others.
Anne sighed with relief, sagging back in her chair. At least for a few moments she could be alone with her hopes and fears. She did not have to keep her expression schooled into a smile, feign interest in Kean’s performance, or watch what she did with her hands.
She plucked at her purse, running her fingers over the silk and the heavy bulge of the pistol. The weapon held the most horrible fascination for her. She was beset with a constant urge to keep stealing peeks at the pistol as though if she did not keep checking, the device might explode in her lap.
With an anxious glance about her, Anne bent over the purse. Easing open the clasp, she parted the silk edges just enough to peer inside. She touched the cold ivory of the pistol’s handle andfelt for the note from Louisa Douglas to make certain it was also secure.
But at that moment she was startled by the creak of a footfall and realized someone was about to enter the box. Her pulse gave a violent leap, and in fumbling to close the reticule, she dropped it instead.
The slippery silk skidded beyond her chair out of reach. Anne bolted from her seat, scrambling on her knees to retrieve the purse. Before she could do so, she nearly collided with a pair of elegantly shod feet, muscular legs outlined to perfection by tight breeches.
