doorway.
“Oh, very well, but if this is another of your… Go away, Marigold. Now, Annie!”
“Well, he did propose to me,” said Annie defiantly. “I didn’t tell you because he said he would be writing to Papa and that he would be calling to see you tomorrow.”
Aunt Agatha sank into a chair and stared at Annie with a bewildered look on her face. “One would almost think you were telling the truth,” she said slowly.
“I am,” said Annie, “and if you don’t believe me, well, there’s an easy way to find out.”
“Which is…?”
“Why, telephone him,” said Annie, sending up a silent prayer that her aunt would react as she expected her to.
“No. I couldn’t possibly do that. It would be questioning his honor. If you are lying, then it would make a terrible fool of me. And if you are not, then he would think me extremely rude.”
“In that case,” said Annie, trying to keep her voice level, “do you not think that the best idea would be to take me with you to the Worthingtons’? Jasper said he was looking forward to dancing with me.”
“Oh, very well. I shall telephone Mrs. Worthington and tell her to expect an extra guest. I shall say nothing to Torrance unless he chooses to speak to me. But if he ignores you, if his manner proves that he has not the slightest interest in you, then you will be sent home.”
With that, Aunt Agatha left the room, leaving Annie in a misery of anxiety. To follow her aunt and apologize, to say that she had made the whole thing up, would mean that she would be sent back to Scotland anyway.
Even the sight of her new green ball gown spread out on the bed did nothing to allay her fears.
Marigold was nearly dancing about with glee before they got into the carriage that was to bear them to the Worthingtons’.
“Of all the awful lies,” she whispered. “Won’t it be fun seeing Torrance’s face when I tell him.”
“You won’t,” said Annie, hopefully. “Aunt will stop you.”
“So it
is
a lie,” hissed Marigold, as the steps to the carriage were let down.
“If you choose to think so, then that is your affair,” retorted Annie, in what she hoped was a chilling voice.
“Please let him not be there,” she prayed as the carriage bore them inexorably nearer to the Worthingtons’.
The Worthingtons lived in a large mansion in Princes Gate, so the drive, unfortunately for poor Annie, was very short.
Again the red carpet, the canopy, the police, the stairs, and the hostess. Again the gentlemen bowing and scribbling their names in her card. Again Mr. Russell with his moustache and sideburns begging her for the supper dance.
“I’m surprised you didn’t try to keep a dance for your fiancé.” Marigold tittered from behind her fan.
“I did,” said Annie defiantly. “The last. That’s the one he asked me to keep.”
(“Please, oh
please
, don’t let him come.”)
Aunt Agatha leaned across Marigold and addressed Annie in a threatening whisper, “Mind, young lady. No engagement, and back to Scotland you go. Oh, I just
know
you’re lying. Why did I ever listen to you? Why can’t you be more like your sister?”
“Who wants to be like
her
?” muttered Annie, but Miss Winter mercifully did not hear, and Annie’s partner approached to claim her for the first dance.
Of course, the marquess would have to arrive just as she was beginning to relax. Just as she was beginning to enjoy herself. Please let him not speak to Marigold or Auntie!
Then Annie stumbled and fell over her partner’s feet. “I must go,” she blurted. “I have to tell my aunt something important.” For the marquess was heading straight for Aunt Agatha.
Annie managed to get there at the same time. Under the cover of her fan, she winked and grimaced at him desperately. He raised his eyebrows slightly but turned away from Annie and bowed over Aunt Agatha’s hand.
“My dear Lord Torrance,” said Aunt Agatha, with a grim edge to her voice. “I must thank you for
Jennifer LaBrecque, Leslie Kelly