BRIGHT HORIZONS

~ CHAPTER 12 ~

"How luxurious do you think the coach will be, Father?"

Anne stopped short just outside the door of the morning room, struck by the odd sensation of hearing her sister's voice so early in the morning. Elizabeth never got up before noon the day after a party such as the one they had attended the night before. Anne shook her head, certain her imagination was causing her to hear things.

"I should imagine it is very luxurious, indeed."

Anne's eyes widened in amazement at the response. That had sounded remarkably like … she peered into the room … her father? And, yes, there was Elizabeth. They were perched at the windows like hawks, keeping watch on the street below them. "…brass, certainly, perhaps even gold, or gold-plated fittings. Only the best, of that I am certain," continued her father.

"It will be ever so lovely! How dashing to be seen in such a coach," crooned Elizabeth.

"We should be the talk of the Season!" Sir Walter shuddered slightly in excitement at the thought.

Anne moved to the windows to see the wondrous vehicle of which they were speaking for herself. She saw nothing but a few early morning walkers and a man speaking with the driver of a hired cab several doors down the street. "I see no coach," she offered.

"Of course not," Elizabeth snapped at her. "He has yet to arrive."

"Who?"

"Who?" Sir Walter turned incredulous eyes to his younger daughter. "Who? She asks 'who,' when it is she who has arranged his invitation!" He looked at Elizabeth, who laughed loudly, as they shared their amusement at Anne's obvious lack of intelligence.

"You speak of the Earl?"

"Well, of course, I mean the Earl," Sir Walter quipped impatiently. "Whoever else could I possibly mean?"

"And you … are expecting to accompany me this morning?" Anne asked uncertainly. She had been looking forward to a morning with her friends, free from the oppressive airs of her family.

"Accompany you?" asked Elizabeth in disbelief. She huffed. "I cannot think that an Earl would invite you without meaning the invitation to be extended to the entire family. It would be impolite for him not to expect us all to go, and horribly improper for us not to accept. It is not everyone who gets asked to a private meal with an Earl and a Countess." She sighed their titles reverently. "Father, what do you suppose they will have on the menu?"

"It is certain to be elaborate. Bacon, sausage, ham … gravies … an assortment of breads and cheeses … jellies and jams … fruit of every kind … eggs … chocolate, juice, coffee, tea … maybe even champagne!"

Elizabeth looked giddy at the prospect of such a sumptuous feast as she resumed her lookout at the window.

"Spirits for breakfast, Father?" Anne questioned, sitting at her writing desk to address the letter she had written to Mrs. Tompkins a few days earlier.

Impatiently, Sir Walter turned to his daughter. He scanned her attire with displeasure. "Anne, you are not appropriately dressed," he declared. "You must change at once. You are not fit to be seen in the company of an Earl." He made shooing motions with his hands toward the door.

Anne looked down over her simple day gown; it was a favorite of hers—serviceable, comfortable, yet pretty—made of lightweight wool, and pale brown in color. She had several ribbons she could use as sashes, each giving the dress a slightly different feel, depending on her mood. Today, she had favored deep emerald green trim. Her Spencer was made of similar fabric, though darker brown in color to match several different gowns. "I most certainly will not change. I am appropriately dressed for a private breakfast with friends."

"Must I remind you that our hosts are an Earl and a Countess?"

"An Earl and a Countess," Elizabeth emphasized in rapturous tones.

Anne rolled her eyes and began pulling on her gloves. Hopefully, John would arrive soon. If not, she would leave a note for him with the footman and begin walking to his house, not caring if the walk required her to walk clear through two counties to get there.

"Such titled people could not possibly be your friends," Elizabeth continued. "They are obviously using you for something. But I cannot imagine what as you have no money, no connections … Why would they choose you to befriend?" Elizabeth returned her attention to the scene outside the window after delivering her offhand remark.

Anne recoiled as if she had been hit in the stomach. She did not know what hurt more—her sister's hurtful words or the fact that Elizabeth obviously thought that Anne was not amiable enough to cultivate friendships with those who did not have ulterior motives.

"Let's start with she has a kind and generous nature, a heart of gold, and respect for the feelings of others, shall we?"

Startled, the room's occupants turned to see a plainly dressed man lounging against the door jamb. He wore a forest green wool coat over a muslin shirt buttoned to the neck, with no cravat. His fawn breeches were tied at the knee beneath which were serviceable, thick woolen stockings, and scuffed, though serviceable, shoes. His outfit was quite appropriate for both the time of day and the weather, and was in stark contrast to the silk, laces, and intricate cravat currently adorning the figures of two of the room's occupants.

Sir Walter drew himself up to his full height and looked down his nose at the intruder—a remarkable feat as the visitor was obviously several inches taller. "Who are you and how came you to be in my home? Remove yourself at once, man, or I shall have you forcibly evicted!"

The man took his time peeling himself from the door and rising to his full height. He sauntered over to Sir Walter and looked down at him a moment before bending to look him straight in the eye. "I do believe I am expected," he ground out through clenched teeth before abruptly turning his back on the blustering Sir Walter and crossing the room to stand before Anne. He raised her hand to his lips. "Anne, dear, you look lovely this morning."

Anne smiled. "Thank you, John."

"The Earl!" Elizabeth hissed none too softly to her father in the background.

The spark in John's eyes changed from anger to amusement in a flash as he assisted Anne to her feet. "Are you ready?" he whispered.

Anne had the feeling he meant more than their imminent departure. "Yes," she whispered back.

"Your Lordship," Sir Walter almost sang, each syllable dripping with a desire to please.

John rolled his eyes at Anne before turning to address his host. "Yes?"

"Please forgive me for my abruptness just now. I offer most sincere assurances and deepest apologies that I did not recognize you."

"Did you not?" John replied. "Were you perhaps expecting other company?"

"Why, no, my lord."

"Really?" John replied in disbelief. "You were, then, planning on going out this morning?"

"No, my lord," Sir Walter protested. "Well … that is … I mean …"

"Out with it, man! Are you going out or are you not? You are dressed rather formally for the morning hours. I can only assume you have rather … ornate … plans?"

Anne hid a smile. She, too, had wondered at the wardrobe selections of her father and sister, both dressed as if headed to an afternoon soirée or high tea—more elaborate than was generally required for morning visits, but not as formal as evening attire.

"Well, there is … breakfast?" Sir Walter's voice trailed off into a question. Suddenly, he was not quite as certain of the possibility of an invitation to be driven to the Earl's home for a private breakfast as he was prior to the Earl's unexpected arrival.

"That generally is the first meal of the day," John answered Sir Walter's unintended question. "Though, I must admit that my preference is for less formal clothing so early in the day. It proves, for me, to be much more comfortable."

"Yes, well …" Sir Walter looked at Elizabeth in embarrassment. She hurried to stand beside her father.

"We are in expectation of an invitation this morning, your lordship," she explained ingratiatingly, making it quite obvious that she expected that the invitation would be issued by him.

"Ah," John acknowledged with a nod.

After a strained moment, Anne excused herself to get her reticule and the letter for Mrs. Tompkins. Sir Walter asked John something about the weather.

Elizabeth sidled over to join Anne at the desk. "Anne! Do something!" she hissed.

Anne looked at her sister in astonishment. "What would you have me do?" she inquired. "I am their guest. To ask for you and father to be invited would be as rude as you inviting yourself! I will not infringe on John's and Sylvia's hospitality in such a boorish manner!"

"Do not call them that. It is completely disrespectful!" Elizabeth ordered between clenched teeth. Like her father, she, too, was beginning to feel their morning meal would be taken in a simple Baronet's home, and not that of an Earl.

"The only way Anne could show her disrespect would be for her to not address me by my first name, as she has been explicitly instructed to do." John had apparently run out of things to say about the weather and had left Sir Walter standing alone in the middle of the room. He tucked Anne's arm under his and began guiding her in the direction of the door, stopping in front of Sir Walter. "For when one is among friends," he glanced at Anne's father and sister, "one ought to be able to address each other rather informally. Do you not agree, Sir Walter?"

Anne's father looked excessively hopeful once more. "Of course, your lordship. It would be our extreme pleasure and delight to number you among our friends." He clasped his hands together in anticipation. "May we … may we have the pleasure of calling you … John?" he ventured bravely.

The pregnant silence that followed was thick and tangible. Anne blushed at her father's audacity. Sir Walter was flushed as well, knowing he had perhaps over-stepped the established boundaries of social protocol, but he remained hopeful, nonetheless. Elizabeth tittered nervously from her position near the desk.

John gazed expressionlessly at Sir Walter for a long moment.

"No."

He led Anne out of the room without another word.


Anne waited until they were outside before expressing her mortification.

"Anne, hush," John admonished gently, pulling her to stand in front of him, with her back to the street. "There is nothing for you to be concerned about. They are nothing new to me. Indeed, nearly everyone at that dastardly ball I played host to last night is just like they are. They are one of the reasons for which I am grateful I have my title. It is as I told you: I do not have to socialize with them, and they, somehow and for reasons unknown, seem to enjoy being put in their proper place. I am certain that after we leave, they will remember more that an Earl was in their home than that they just got snubbed!"

Anne laughed nervously. "You are probably right, John. But I still want to—"

"No," John said for the second time that morning. "You have done nothing for which an apology is necessary. I am quite capable of separating you from your family." He stepped back and looked quizzically at her. "What I am not capable of is figuring out how you came to be the wondrous soul that you are while growing up among that lot."

Anne blushed. "John, that is too much," she protested. "After all, you do not really know my true nature. We did only just meet for the first time last night."

"True," John acceded. "But, do not forget my Sylvia. I have never met anyone more astute in judging a person's character as she. And she has known you for quite some time. If I could not trust my own wife's judgment, I would not be a very good husband.

"Now," his voice lowed conspiratorially, "let us do something to really get their tongues wagging at the eccentricities of the upper set!"

"Whatever do you mean?"

John waggled his brows over a mischievous grin. "Are they watching us?"

Anne looked up. Sure enough, her father and sister were almost pressed against the glass looking down at the street. Anne nodded.

"No doubt waiting for the grand coach of the Earl!" He raised his hand and a hired cab approached. "Your chariot, my lady," he intoned comically as he opened the door and lifted a hand to help her into the coach.

"You!" she laughed.

"Me?"

"You are the man I saw earlier, getting out of this very cab! I recognize the brown patch on the horse's neck." She arranged herself on the narrow seat inside. John joined her after telling the driver where to go.

"Guilty as charged," John confirmed as he settled in beside her. "I knew they would be looking for the pomp and circumstance, so I came as myself. People like that forget that behind the title and wealth lies a mere person."

"If my father were to be made an Earl tomorrow, he would be all pomp and double circumstance," Anne assured him.

He laughed heartily. "No doubt about that, dear Anne. But you would not, would you?"

Anne shook her head emphatically.

"And that, my dear, is precisely why we are on a first-name basis even though, as you so observantly pointed out, we have only just met."

Anne tilted her head and gazed at him for a long moment. "I cannot say that I understand it, but I can accept it. I, too, feel a comfort and familiarity with you and Sylvia that I have felt only three—um, twice before … with my mother. She was able to see beyond what a person was to who they were." Anne smiled sadly, remembering her mother's gentle, loving ways. "I suppose I am more like her."

John smiled sympathetically. "It is my guess that you are a great deal like your mother," he agreed softly.

"I hope so," Anne sighed wistfully. "I miss her greatly."

"I can see that you do," John agreed softly. "Who is the second person?"

Anne, lost in reminiscences of times with her mother, looked in his direction, but did not immediately comprehend the meaning of the question. "What?"

"The other person," John clarified. "You said you had only felt kinship with two or three others. I was wondering who they might be."

"Oh," Anne blinked, working to get her mind back to the present. "Yes. The other is our housekeeper at Kellynch Hall."

"The housekeeper?" John's eyebrows lifted in question.

"Yes. She is very dear to me, though it has not always been so. I have never disliked her and have always held her in highest regards, but she has proved invaluable to me this past year, and I will never be able to forget the generosity and kindness she showed me when she did not have to."

"I sense quite a story behind your words."

"Yes." Anne looked down at the bag in her lap and withdrew the letter to Mrs. Tompkins.

"Is that for her?"

"Yes."

"May I be so bold as to ask how Mrs. Tompkins served you in such a way as to earn your personal regard?"

Anne took a deep and somewhat shaky breath. "I experienced a … well, it was not pleasant, … and I had a difficult time overcoming it. Mrs. Tompkins's guidance and advice assisted me in learning to cope with the tumultuous emotions I was feeling." Anne looked up at John. "Indeed, she behaved almost as I feel my own mother might have," her shoulders slumped, "though I truly believe that, had my mother been with us, the entire situation might have been resolved much more favorably than that which actually occurred."

"I am very sorry that you should have experienced such unhappiness," John responded softly. "I would like very much to help erase the sorrow I see in your eyes. If there is ever anything I can do to assist you, please do not hesitate to let me know. I will do what is in my power to help you in any way."

"Thank you, John. I do not know that there is any remedy for my circumstance other than to allow time to take its course. But I sincerely thank you for your offer and your kind words."

"Think nothing of it, my dear. It will be my pleasure to help." He looked through the window as the carriage slowed. "Are you ready? My Sylvia is on pins and needles waiting for her beloved friend to arrive."

Anne smiled. "Yes. I am always ready to spend time with my friends."