"You may be wondering," Miss Mountford began once she closed the door behind them, "why I requested your assistance."
"I admit I am a little curious."
They entered a parlour, slightly smaller than the one at Woodside, decorated in a gaudy Baroque style and containing faded furnishings that were past their best. "I believe we should begin our search for the shawl here."
Their hostess crossed the room, checking the space behind a wide, sagging sofa. "I apologise if you think I am being forward, particularly considering that our acquaintance is so newly formed. My brother told me what happened at dinner yesterday evening, and I felt compelled to offer you my support."
Anabelle was moved by Miss Mountford's unexpected thoughtfulness, and blinked to clear the moisture from her eye. "I...I thank you for your kindness, but really it is—"
"I did not wish to embarrass you by raising the subject in the drawing room; particularly in front of my sister, who retired early last night. I am sorry if you were made uncomfortable by Mr. Fielding's abrupt departure."
Speaking about the events of the previous evening was something she would have to get used to. "Your consideration is most kind, but any discomfort I suffer is no more than I deserve. The whole story will be common knowledge among our neighbours by the end of the day, and I have no one to blame except myself."
"In a village the size of Haltford gossip is their meat and ale, but you will find it is consumed soon enough, and then they will look for something else to satiate their hunger. However uncomfortable it may be, it will not last long. Mr. Fielding will not allow it."
"Mr. Fielding would probably consider my desert to be entirely just. Is he still at Blackwood? I thought..."
"You thought him gone?
"I feared he might find it impossible to remain. He was furious when he discovered what I had said of him, and he had every right to be."
"I am probably one of the few people who do not have to imagine how Mr. Fielding reacted to your news. I have seen him angry before. The cold, hard stare...the firm set of his jaw...the face like a dark thunder cloud..." Miss Mountford illustrated her description with a mock frown.
Anabelle smiled, despite herself. "Yes, he looked very much like that."
"As with any other storm you will find it blows over soon enough. Last night he gave orders to his man to pack his things, but I understand those orders were rescinded before breakfast." She glanced around the room and sighed. "I was certain the shawl would be in here."
Her stomach twisted as she considered this new intelligence. Just because Mr. Fielding had not yet left Blackwood, Anabelle could not assume his change of plans had anything to do with her. He could have had other reasons for delaying his intended departure.
They withdrew from the parlour and Anabelle followed Miss Mountford across the wide entrance hall and into the dining room. The table was set for six, but it was large enough to accommodate twice that number.
"My mother thought Sir George's dining table could seat at least twenty."
Miss Mountford's laugh was light and musical. "It may once have done so, but two of the extra leaves were stored in a damp corner of the cellar and are now rotten beyond use. Sir Henry will have to order a new table before we can entertain on any grand scale."
Anabelle looked up at the ceiling, where the intricate plaster mouldings were intact, even though the gilding and decorative paintwork was peeling in places. "The room is impressive enough, even without a larger table."
"It is a good size, I agree, but nothing to the rooms you will see at Meltham Park."
She felt the heat rising on her cheeks and turned away. "I am sure I have more chance of visiting Carlton House and dining with the Prince of Wales than receiving an invitation to visit Mr. Fielding's property."
There was a touch of humour in Miss Mountford's voice as she said, "I applaud your modesty and discretion, Miss Latimer. Yet I do not believe you can be entirely ignorant of Mr Fielding's regard."
It was impossible for Anabelle to make an adequate response. The only person she had spoken to about Mr. Fielding's marriage proposal was her father. Even Selina, her closest confidante, was unaware of the great honour she had—in her ignorance—refused, and she would not betray him by speaking of it now. The question was how did Miss Mountford know? "Why would you say that? Did he tell you—?"
"Mr. Fielding has never once mentioned your name in my hearing. Indeed he has been inordinately careful not to do so. When we arrived at Blackwood two days ago I could tell there was something different in his manner. Then I spoke to him last night, and observed a range of emotions he refused to explain. My brother's later description of your unfortunate misunderstanding, and particularly Mr. Fielding's reaction to it, only served to confirm what I had begun to suspect. To react the way he did, Anthony Fielding must be in love with you."
Those words might have given her comfort, had Anabelle not seen for herself the wrathful look in his eyes before she left the dining room. "If he ever held any regard for me, that must now be at an end. What I did was unforgivable."
"You take too much responsibility upon yourself, Miss Latimer. Any other man might have seen the humour in being mistaken for a steward. My brother certainly would have laughed it off. Alas, Mr. Fielding measures his own worth by the respect he believes is due to his rank and his family name. A conceited notion, to be sure, but it is a part of who he is. He is proud of his lineage and his standing in the community. He cannot imagine anyone believing him worthy of respect if they do not also know his status and connections. He fears your neighbours must think considerably less of him as a steward than they would if they knew him to be the Master of Meltham Park."
Anabelle spun to face her hostess. "Why would he think that? Mr. Fielding is an excellent man in his own right, through his own actions and behaviours. He does not need the weight of his family name or position in society to engender anyone's esteem."
Miss Mountford smiled. "I am pleased to hear you say so. In that thought we are entirely in agreement, but you know what men are like."
"Alas I know very little of them. This whole experience has only served to illuminate my shocking ignorance."
"You have no brothers?"
"I have two, but they are far too young to be of use to me in this situation."
"Trust me, Miss Latimer, there is nothing like a brother to teach you the fragility of male pride. Now we should continue looking for the shawl before Mrs Latimer wonders what has become of us. Perhaps we shall find what we seek in the library."
Leaving the dining room, they re-entered the hall and passed down a short corridor to the left of the main staircase. When they arrived at a pair of doors Miss Mountford pushed them open. The dark panelling on the walls cast a pall over the room, despite the three tall windows, while most of the shelves visible from the doorway were empty. Only two or three held any books at all, and those present were a mismatched collection of titles cowering in dark corners.
It had a rather depressing air about it, and was the complete opposite of her father's overflowing book room.
At the far end an assortment of chairs were haphazardly arranged in front of a carved marble fireplace. A folded newspaper, abandoned on a table, and a half-filled glass containing an odd opaque green liquid hinted that the room had recently been occupied.
"I thought I might find you in here," Miss Mountford said, addressing nobody in particular.
Anabelle was startled as Mr. Fielding's world-weary voice floated from one of the chairs facing the fire. "Ah, Sally, you have always had that happy knack of discovering that which one would prefer to remain hidden."
"Have you seen my shawl? We have been looking everywhere for it, have we not, Miss Latimer?"
Suddenly, in the spot where she had previously heard only Mr. Fielding's voice, appeared the man himself. Or at least one who bore a striking similarity to him.
Mr. Fielding gripped the high back of the arm chair as his familiar dark eyes met hers; his jaw shadowed, morning coat unbuttoned and white shirt open at the neck. In the subdued light from the shaded windows, he appeared like a romantic hero straight from the pages of Diana's favourite novels.
As he ran his fingers through unkempt hair, Anabelle thought Mr. Fielding had never looked less like a gentleman...or more handsome.
~<>~@~<>~
Any remaining desire Fielding might have had to quit Blackwood had vanished with the early morning mist. He knew he could not leave without at least attempting to meet Anabelle, and see if there was a way he could convince her to forgive him for his misplaced anger.
He had spent the dawn hours devising a plan, which involved calling upon young Joseph's aid to arrange an impromptu rendezvous with Miss Latimer. The only circumstance that had stopped him from embarking upon this course had been the relentless throbbing in his head, induced by his maudlin over-indulgence throughout the night.
A blissful hour sheltered within the silent precincts of Blackwood's library, and a glass of Parkes' unappetising restorative, had gone some way to bringing him back to his senses, but at the moment providence chose to provide the wished-for opportunity to address Miss Latimer, Fielding was still exhausted, woolly-headed and not entirely sober.
Hearing her name had been enough to propel him from his comfortable chair in front of the fire, yet he had paid the price for that ill-advised movement with a sharp pain in his temple.
He ran shaking fingers through his hair, knowing that he must present an odd appearance. Earlier he had waved away Parkes' irritating efforts to make him look presentable, but now he was regretting that decision.
Anabelle, on the other hand, had never looked lovelier.
His fingers fumbled to fasten his coat buttons as he carefully inclined his head. "Miss Latimer."
"Mr. Fielding." There was a cautious look in her eyes as she offered him a precise curtsy.
Sally's lips quirked into a self-satisfied smile. "Miss Latimer, perhaps you will search this end of the room, while I focus my attention on the other end. My shawl cannot be far away." Suiting her actions to her words she turned towards the far corner to peruse the spaces between the library shelves, allowing them a modicum of privacy.
Fielding could not decide whether he wanted to thank Sally for facilitating a reunion, or strangle her for putting him in such an awkward situation.
Anabelle broke the silence with a speech she had probably been practicing for hours. "You must allow me a moment of your time to apologise for the events of yesterday evening; indeed for the entirety of our acquaintance. I could not leave this place without acknowledging how mortified I am over my mistake."
The tremor in her voice almost broke his heart, and he forced his lips into what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Which mistake would that be? Assuming I was a steward? Rejecting my proposal? Forcing me to beg for your father's approval?" Fielding could not decide which had eviscerated his pride the most, but it had taken a severe battering over the last few days.
She lowered her head, her attention now fixed upon the worn rug beneath her feet. "All of those things, But you must know I never intended to embarrass you."
Regardless of all that had happened he could not be angry with her, not when he loved her so much. He crossed the space between them and raised her chin with the tip of his finger until she once again met his eyes. "I too must apologise, Miss Latimer. A rational, thinking man would never have allowed his anger to rise for the sake of a simple misunderstanding."
Anabelle's eyes widened. "Oh, no! You have nothing to reproach yourself for. The error was mine alone, and I deserve—"
He silenced her by the simple expedient of laying a finger briefly against her lips. "We do not have much time and I have no desire to argue over who deserves the largest portion of the blame. There are other things of greater importance to discuss."
"No one would fault you if you chose never to speak to me again."
"On the contrary, you and I have a great deal to say to one another. I would like to put matters straight so there are no more misunderstandings between us. To begin, you must allow me to introduce myself properly. Anthony Fielding, your humble servant." He offered her as much of a bow as his delicate equilibrium would allow.
Anabelle smiled and she seemed to stand straighter, as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. "I might argue with humble, but that was a definite improvement on your first attempt, when I thought I would have to drag your name out of you."
"You did not find me in the best of moods on that first day we met."
"Are you always so taciturn when in a bad mood?"
"It has been known," he said with a shrug. Just then they heard Mrs Latimer's voice in the hallway, querulously wondering where her step-daughter had got to, and Fielding knew their stolen moment could not last much longer.
That thought was confirmed when Sally's voice echoed from the opposite corner. "Ah, here is my shawl. I must have left it in here after breakfast."
Fielding lowered his head, his voice pitched for Anabelle's ears only. "I would like to continue our discussion, if you are willing. Will you meet me tomorrow morning, by the old barn?"
"The ball is tomorrow evening, and our preparations will take up most of the day. I am not sure it would be possible for me to get away."
"Then it will have to be early. I will be there an hour after dawn. If you do not come I will know your sentiments remain unchanged and will trouble you no further."
He turned away, but stopped when Anabelle wrapped her fingers around his arm. As he looked back her eyes locked with his. "I promise I will be there, Mr. Fielding."
Peeling her hand away he brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss upon her fingers. "And I will hold you to that promise, Miss Latimer."