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closer and a black form took shape through the mist. In a moment, it became a large
bird and in another heartbeat, a raven had landed on the weathered boards at her feet,
collapsing as though it had barely life left in its body. She held her breath, willing the
bird to rise and it did so, though slowly. She looked into its face and instead of cold
avian orbs, she gazed into familiar brown-black eyes. He had come home. So had she.
70
Match Made by Moonlight
Chapter Ten
This would not do, not at all. Two more weeks had passed and invitations had
poured in, thanks to the rounds Lady Harriet had made. Anna had acquired a small
following of gentlemen, drawn more to her inheritance than her person. But she had
resolved to have a good time, dancing and enjoying conversation more varied than that
available in a small country village. Once it was known that she would rather discuss
Milton and Dante rather than fashion or gossip, the ranks of admiring men had thinned
somewhat. Unfortunately they still included one Mr. John Bington.
She had tried to tell herself that Mr. Bington was simply being kind to her as a
friend of Isabella s but soon his attentions became obviously focused on herself. Truly,
Mr. Bington seemed almost frightened to talk to Isabella or anyone else for that matter.
She had to admit that things were looking glum. Isabella had increasingly become
sullen as well as shy and barely spoke to anyone, much less to Anna. Lady Horatia was
livid and whispers were starting to circle Isabella with regards to her inability to
function in society.
Anna clacked her ivory fan open in a fit of pique and surveyed the overly warm
ballroom at the Fenton s estate in Richmond. Anna thought it would be pleasant to get
out of the heavy, coal-filled air of the city and out into the countryside. But in truth,
except for the lavish gardens waiting out in the cold of late March, the routine was
exactly the same. The night would be filled mostly with empty-headed chatter, too-rich
food that was only to be pecked at by a proper young miss and a stifling, overcrowded
ballroom.
At the moment, she was sitting out two sets and she had managed to maneuver Mr.
Bington into dancing with Miss Hermione Fenton, the rather plain but immensely
wealthy daughter of their hostess for the evening. The dear, sweet girl was besieged by
impoverished fortune hunters at every turn and her mother insisted on dressing her in
the most unbecoming shades of pale yellow and puce, which clashed horribly with her
olive-toned skin. If she couldn t help Isabella, at least she could help somebody given
her apparent powers of persuasion over Mr. Bington.
If only she could turn the constant glances that Mr. Bington sent toward Isabella
when he thought no one was looking into concrete action! Get Bington to talk to Isabella
as he talked to her, then there might be some progress! Instead, Mr. Bington danced
attendance on her and every effort to get Isabella and Mr. Bington to talk, much less to
get some time alone, resulted in nothing but a lot of stammering and blushing. It was
enough to drive a woman to distraction.
Her eyes wandered around the ballroom to where Isabella sat with her mother
among the gossiping matrons. Her friend s mood could only be described as forlorn,
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Elaine Lowe
with a touch of righteous jealousy. Anna s gaze roamed along the ranks of the
assembled ladies and the so-called gentlemen. Men who attended in the hopes of
capturing the hand of the ridiculously wealthy Miss Fenton and who didn t mind the
stench of trade that accompanied her.
As she watched, a late arrival walked into the room and paused at the doorway as if
to assure that his arrival was noted. Every inch the nabob, in a gold dress coat and
brilliant red paisley waistcoat, the man quite captured the eye. Who else could he be but
her cousin, Herbert Dalrymple, Lord Liston.
Soon after he struck his dramatic pose and sauntered into the room, Anna could
practically see the wave of whispers sweep through the packed room. She wondered
how such an annoying little man, peer of the realm though he was, could cause such a
ruckus. Had he been involved in a decorating disaster? Was his coat too loose or too
tight? Had the padding on his calves sagged to his stick-like ankles? She had observed
no such criminal act on his part, other than his usual staged buffoonery.
He crossed the room, holding his quizzing glass at various chits who passed too
near. He did look quite ridiculous among the Corinthians and the followers of
Brummel s dictates on manly fashion, a garish robin in a sea of blackbirds. He joined up
with a fast crowd of gentlemen who mingled at the entrance to the card room and
struck another studied attitude in order to survey the room. His gaze settled on Miss
Fenton and as the set drew to a close, he was making his way toward her with
uncharacteristic directness. Apparently, Anna was not the only one who had followed
his progress through the room and his beeline was halted bodily by Mr. Fenton, Miss
Fenton s astute father. Mr. Fenton had a hushed but intense word with Lord Liston in
the middle of the floor and Herbert paled noticeably and gave a funny little half bow,
before retreating somewhat and taking up a new pose of blasé indifference against one
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