The Perfect Finish

Chapter Twelve - Settling In

A letter arrived from Mr Rosewood.  Princess Anna had won at Morley Heads and Tossing Thomas was third in his race at Melton. Mount Monolith had won yet again and was to run at Ascot in four weeks time. Hey De Ho had only placed fourth at Warrenden so her father was going to try Jerry Callaghan with him at Melton in another two weeks. 

"I know you will smile when you read this," he finished.

Yes. She read the whole letter with a broad smile.  So much was happening at Henty, and here she was with nothing to say in return.

"I have attended many dances," she told him. "I have a new gown, and new shoes since the last pair has developed holes already. Mrs Cosgrove's horses are patient and long suffering. We take them to the park every few days and they amble slowly down the avenue, as if they had no desire to run at all. But I know that is not true. 

"I met a titled man this week. Lord Poulson talks ten to the dozen, as if we have known each other our whole lives. He is older - I believe in his forties. And no, I have no expectations, but it is refreshing to find someone so natural.

"And now I will leave you, Papa, for we are going out again. Lady Holloway is holding a ball."

Anna sealed the letter and left it on the hallway table for mailing.

---

Roger Withand met them in Lady Holloways' ballroom, conservatively dressed in business attire.

He was still Mrs Cosgrove's favourite - if you could apply racing terminology to a London season. She had asked around.  He owned a modest property in Essex and was not known to gamble. He was in London on business and not for the season - but they were seeing more and more of him as the weeks passed.

He came to see them two days after they met, with Mr Chedwick. He sat rather silently, watching her more than speaking, but upon leaving he held her hand for a few seconds longer than was truly necessary. And he dropped in again the very next day on his own. 

After more visits, dances and walks in the park they were on less formal terms, though he never ceased to pay her every attention. Too much attention, perhaps. It was his habit to look at her as if nobody else existed, and then realise what he was doing and pull back. And glance round to be sure that nobody else had noticed.

As if it mattered. Why should anyone care but them?

Was he her favourite?

Anna wasn't sure. Yes, he was - logically speaking. But every time the conversation became intimate he pulled back. Any time she confided in him - about her hopes, her fears, her daily pleasures - he closed up just a little. And then turned back to her, his eyes wide, searched her face and silently begged her to connect with him again. As if nobody else was in the room.

It kept a barrier between them. A barrier that broke down and leaped up again a second later. She liked him very much. She was perfectly comfortable with him.  And if he loved her and she respected him, then she could fall in love with him later. Mrs Cosgrove's advice made sense.

"Have you not concluded your business?" she asked, not caring at all how he was dressed. 

He glanced down at his coat. "Am I out of place? No, there have been complications."

Anna smiled at him. "No, you are not out of place," she lied, "and even if you were, it is good to see you."

And it was! London was growing nicer by the day. The weather had improved, she was beginning to recognize faces and her body had adjusted to late hours and long periods on her feet. And Roger Withand was so regular a visitor that he was almost like an old friend.

Anna caught herself on that thought. Surely not just a friend? He had to become more.

He smiled back at her now, relaxed by her smile, and asked her for the first dance.

Was she too forward with him? She glanced at him while they danced, trying to catch him out, but he caught her each time. 

"You are thinking about something." There was warmth in his eyes. Grey like Hey De Ho - well, perhaps a little lighter - and just now his tone was warm too. Maybe warmer than he liked; he blinked and pulled back just a little.

"I was thinking about acquaintances. And friends. Just a month ago I knew no one in London. But it is different now."

It was a safe conversation. She'd chosen instinctively, afraid he might close up completely.  

It worked, but the dance ended on a less comfortable note, at least for her.  If it were a horse before her, she would know just what to do. But Mr Withand was nothing like a horse.

Whatever was she thinking? 

Beset with giggles she daren't indulge, she looked down at the floor as if watching her steps.  One day she would tell Papa about the dance where she thought of everyone as a horse. 

And if everyone was a horse, Lord Poulson was a gangly palomino in the latter days of his prime. He was a tall man, thin and lined with large blue eyes and fair hair and he smiled as he met her for the second dance.  Twenty years ago he must have been stunningly handsome. Mrs Cosgrove warned her against him. He lived too hard. He was a man of ruinous habits.

If anyone here could appreciate her thoughts, it would be him. But she knew better than to say a word. She greeted him politely and they took the floor.

"Ferdy Holloway knows how to choose his musicians, don't you think?" he said as the dance began. "I don't think they've hit a wrong note since the ball began."

Anna hadn't given the ensemble a single thought. Lord Poulson laughed. "You hadn't noticed? Perhaps a lady has too much to do on the floor, finding conversation with each of her partners."

"Sometimes." Was he teasing her? Mrs Cosgrove chid her often for not conversing enough. "If I don't know my partners."

"It is an aspect of dance particularly in the female domain, don't you think? Men are allowed to be taciturn, but women must be sociable without seeming like a chatterbox."

And that was what made Lord Poulson a good dance partner. Not only was he an effortless conversant, but he encouraged her to think.  Yet Lord Poulson moved in elevated circles that she might never even see.

Mrs Cosgrove's words returned, from that very first morning. Was she being too particular? Looking too high? It did not matter how the upper echelons talked and thought. That world was not for her.

This was business.