The Steward of Blackwood Hall

Chapter twenty-seven - The autumn ball

Anabelle reached the top of the staircase just as the musicians began to tune their instruments. She cast her eyes around the ballroom, recognising many of her neighbours among the guests, but although she craned her neck and stood on tip-toe there was no sign of Mr. Fielding, or the party from Blackwood Hall.

Mr. Latimer studied his surroundings with a marked lack of enthusiasm. "Well, is this not delightful?"

Selina smiled at her father's wry tone. "It is not too late to ask John to take you home, if you are too tired."

"Certainly not. I have been stuck in the house long enough. I may not be able to dance but I can pass a few hours with my neighbours. They will be more tolerable for having played least-in-sight these past weeks. I can rest in that chair over there, next to Mrs Orton and Mrs Fisher."

As Mr. Latimer hobbled towards the chaperones Selina grabbed Anabelle's hand and lowered her voice. "Why would papa choose to sit with Aunt Orton? He can barely tolerate her."

"Perhaps he has been starved of company while his leg mended. Did we neglect him during his convalescence, do you think?"

"I thought not but see him now, conversing so comfortably with Mrs Fisher." Selina gave her a sideways glance. "I suspect he is telling them of your engagement."

Anabelle did not doubt it. Everyone in Woodside had heard about her betrothal before she had reached her chamber that morning. Selina had been the least surprised of them all—except, perhaps, for their father—for she'd had some inkling about the direction of her sister's thoughts of late. 

Mrs Latimer had wasted no time since their arrival, and was already half way around the room, chatting with her neighbours and sharing their news. As she mingled Anabelle marked her step-mother's progress by observing the gold-tipped ostrich feather that erupted almost a foot above her crape evening cap. The feather seemed to be dancing to a tune only it could hear as Mrs Latimer nodded and curtsied, acknowledging friends and whispering secrets in the most deserving ears. 

A familiar voice sounded behind her. "My dear Anabelle, why are you not dancing?" 

She turned to greet her friend. "Charlotte! I am pleased to see you safely returned in time for the ball. Did you find your aunt well?"

"Yes, she is much improved. I—"

Anabelle reached for her hand. "I have something I must tell you."

"The news is true, then?"

The odd tone in her voice made Anabelle pause. "Well, I suppose that all depends on what you have heard."

"Your mother told mine, not moments ago, that Mr. Fielding is not a steward as you told us, but a gentleman. I never imagined you to be so deceitful, Belle. I thought we were friends!"

"We are friends, and I did not purposely mislead anyone. I honestly believed it was so at the time. I only recently learned of my error."

"If we had known he was a man of means, mother would have extended him an invitation to dine, and she would never have taken me to Dunstable. I feel awful thinking that he spent all that time at Blackwood on his own."

"Being alone did not appear to bother him."

"Still, Mr. Fielding must have thought us all very rag-mannered to ignore him while Sir Henry was away in London."

Anabelle suddenly found herself propelled forwards, almost colliding with Charlotte. She assumed the press of bodies had caused her to be accidentally jostled by one of those participating in the dancing, until a cold voice behind her said: