London was a mad, exciting whirl as it appeared from the window of Aunt Trudy’s carriage. Brief as their acquaintance was, Anthea felt no hesitation at letting her aunt see just how delighted she was with the metropolis. “Oh, Auntie! The Tower itself! Oh, it seems an age since I saw it!”
“An age it has been,” her aunt returned. “You were only a child when you left, and you are a young woman now.”
‘A young woman’—no one had called her that before. The term was sobering—but not for long. Everything looked so much smaller than she remembered it.
“But of course,” Aunt Trudy said, “you were somewhat smaller then, yourself.”
The enthusiasm and gaiety of the return buoyed Anthea through her introduction to the staff, and particularly Hester, her very own lady’s maid—newly promoted for the occasion, and under the constant and unrelenting scrutiny of Aunt Trudy’s Abigail.
“Don’t fret,” Anthea assured her, glad to have someone as nervous as she herself. “If you do make any mistakes, I shan’t tell.”
Neophyte or not, Hester knew the proprieties, and Anthea had a hot bath to wash off the dust of travel, and a decent dress, not too far from her own size, appropriate for dinner. She felt awkward and gauche under the severe eyes of the butler, the footman, and the maid—but Aunt Trudy put her at ease in minutes, by making quite obvious her delight in having someone to share her meals with again. Anthea hoped she was sincere. It was terrible to think, but she hoped it wasn’t mere politeness.
Then, finally, she was in her nightdress and alone in her darkened room, her chocolate cup empty beside her bed, the room shadowed by the flickering light of her candle—and the strangeness began to make itself felt. Surprising as it was, Anthea realized she was longing for Windhaven. “Oh, Sir Roderick,” she whispered, “if only I could speak with you now!”
“Why, then, do, Miss Anthea,” said the familiar old hollow voice.
Anthea started, nearly leaping out of her skin. “What ... ? Sir Roderick!”
The suit of armor gleamed in the shadows by her wardrobe.
“Why, poor child! I’ve frightened you. Forgive me—I thought that surely you would remember that I could travel to haunt the family wherever they went.”
“Of ... of course.” Anthea sat up a little straighter in bed. “Yes, how foolish of me! I should have remembered! Oh, Sir Roderick, it is so very good to see you!”
“And you, dear child. Surely you did not think I would lose your company if I could prevent it.”
“Oh, you are so good! But ... Sir Roderick, I am no longer a child.”
“Of course not, my dear.” The suit of armor came over to sit on her bed. “That is why I addressed you so. When you were a child, I called you ‘little mademoiselle’—so now, when you are grown, I feel free to call you ‘my child.’ After all, we are related.”
“And I was so grateful for the courtesy then,” Anthea laughed. “Shall I be grateful to be called ‘child’ soon?”
“Yes, and that day is not far off, I believe. Still, I’ll call you ‘Miss Anthea’ till then. May I advise, though, that you only think the words when you address me, rather than speaking aloud? I assure you, I’ll hear you just as easily, and the servants might wonder at hearing you speak with a man in your own chamber.”
“Oh yes, of course!” Anthea immediately shifted her conversation to thought only. I think I can sleep well now, knowing that you are near.
“Why, thank you, Miss Anthea. Are you sleepy, then?”
Well ... not very.
“Yes, I know—discovering my presence was a bit of a shock. Might I suggest a game of chess, then?”
The very thing! Anthea scrambled out of bed, careful to keep her nightdress down, and ran to take out the chess set she had brought with her. She scrambled back into bed and opened the board, laying out the pieces.
The candle burned down before she had him checkmated, but the glow from his armor was quite enough.
There followed a positive whirlwind of shopping, and Anthea came home in quite a giddy mood for the first three days. Aunt Trudy seemed to be enjoying herself just as much as Anthea was; she confided, over dinner, that the shops and modistes had all become new to her again, just by watching Anthea’s delight in them.
The next day, Aunt Trudy embarked on a round of visits, calling on friends with Anthea and seeing her properly introduced. She met a dozen girls of her own age or nearly, and if some of them were calculating in their assessment and attempted to patronize her, the others more than made up for it with their quick and ready warmth. Half a dozen of them came to Aunt Trudy’s to help celebrate Anthea’s birthday on the twentieth of April, just before the beginning of the Season—and the next day, the invitations began arriving. It seemed that Aunt Trudy’s friends included several of the patronesses of Almack’s, and Anthea had passed their inspection. She was about to be launched.
Her first ball was to be at Lady Fortrain’s. She spent hours with Hester, dressing and powdering and primping, and was too nervous to eat more than a few mouthfuls at dinner. Aunt Trudy was quite impossible, urging dish after dish upon her with a roguish twinkle in her eye. However, she more than made up for it by whisking her away wrapped in an ermine-trimmed cloak, into the carriage and off to the ball. Anthea felt quite like Cinderella, and had half a mind to accuse Aunt Trudy of being a fairy godmother. If she didn’t, it was half because she feared her aunt might confess to the truth of it. However, she did remember herself enough to say, “Oh, Aunt, how can I ever repay you for this!”
“You may reimburse me when your lands have begun to yield a profit again. For the present, you may gladden my heart with your own joy.”
Anthea looked stricken. “But, Aunt—to repay Papa’s debts, and undo the damage of neglect, will take eons!”
“Only decades, my dear, and I look forward to a weekend at your house, when it has been suitably restored.”
“Oh, of course, whenever you wish! But, Aunt ...”
“It is only a loan,” Aunt Trudy said firmly, “and you are not to trouble your head about it. Affairs of this sort are the privilege of ... maturity. Yours are flirting and laughing and filling a house with music. I pray you, do it well.”
Anthea gave up and flung her arms about her aunt, knowing her generosity for the charity it was, and loving her all the more for not admitting it. “But I will never, ever, be able to repay your kindness!”
“Then you will have to repay it to some other young thing who needs it.” Aunt Trudy whisked out a handkerchief and dabbed at Anthea’s cheeks. “There now, child.” And she gave her a quick peck on the cheek.
Lady Fortrain’s mansion was lit up like Guy Fawkes’ Night.
The stream of carriages passing in front of the door was in almost constant motion, each pausing for a few minutes to discharge its passengers, then moving away to find a place to wait. Coming into that line was another matter, of course—drivers cracked whips and cursed at one another as they jockeyed for position. But inside the carriage, Aunt Trudy sat serenely and calmly, while Anthea fluttered back and forth from window to aunt, exclaiming, “Oh, how lovely! So many lights! So many beautiful dresses!”