Page 14 of The Devil’s Waltz

The obvious, polite response would have been to invite him to stay in the house, or at least proffer a dinner invitation.

As titular hostess Annelise was about to do just that, something stopped her: the unspoken tension in the room.

The usually friendly Mr. Chippie suddenly seemed a great deal less hospitable.

“Then perhaps we’ll run into you again,” Chippie said.

“Though I doubt we’ll travel in the same circles.

Hetty, I think you should have a rest before Lady Helton’s ball tonight You’ll be up all hours and you need your beauty sleep.

Hetty has a great many suitors, William, and it’s quite exhausting for the dear girl.

Miss Kempton, could I see you in the library at your convenience? ”

The dismissal was clear and abrupt, and there was nothing to be done. Even Hetty didn’t argue. She merely murmured a listless farewell to her devoted swain and left the room, followed by her father.

There was nothing Annelise could do to redeem the situation, but she at least managed to put a softer sheen on Chippie’s rudeness, forcing William to drink another cup of tea and discuss the merits of sheep versus cattie.

He was obviously longing to unburden his heart to Annelise, but she was determined that he not.

As long as she wasn’t officially privy to their clandestine affair she could feel righteous in her social choices.

Once she knew this unacceptable young man was a determined and ineligible suitor, at least to Mr. Chippie’s eyes, then she would have no choice but to keep him away.

And she was still hoping for something, anything, to save Hetty from the dire mistake of a man like Christian Montcalm.

It was probably no more than half an hour later when Annelise presented herself at Mr. Chippie’s study. If he was unhappy with her delay he failed to show it, or even to acknowledge her presence just inside the doorway as he pored over his books, leaving her to wait awkwardly.

But Annelise was not the sort to wait. She walked into the room and seated herself in one of the chairs opposite the desk and said, “You wished to see me, Mr. Chippie?”

There was no missing the astonishment in his small, dark eyes. He’d probably never had a woman fail to be cowed by him. Annelise had never been fond of bullies—when confronted they were usually full of harmless bluster, and she expected Josiah Chippie to be the same.

He slammed his book shut, leaning back in his chair.

He hadn’t risen since she’d appeared—a notable insult that was doubtless designed to express his unhappiness with her.

She would have to find a tactful way to explain to the man that manners and displeasure could coexist, but at the moment she was beginning to understand some of Hetty’s caution as far as her father was concerned.

So she sat still and held her tongue, her hands folded in her lap, waiting.

“Will Dickinson is not welcome in this house,” he said flatly.

“Indeed? I gather he’s a childhood friend of Hetty’s, and he certainly seemed quite unexceptional. I thought it might relieve some of her homesickness to spend time with an old friend.”

“She’s not homesick! This is her home now, and she loves being the center of attention.

” Annelise could scarcely dispute the latter, so she stayed silent.

“Her affection for William was simply that of a child. She knows her duty and she’s more than happy to fulfill it, as it benefits her as well as me. ”

“And what is her duty, Mr. Chippie?”

“I thought you were already clear on this, Miss Kempton. She is to marry well. A titled gentleman. His fortune is not important, but his standing will ensure that she and my descendants will be unquestioned members of society despite her working-class father. She has the face and the fortune for it, and I’m not about to be contravened at this point.

There are any number of possibilities available, and I don’t want Dickinson confusing her about who she should marry.

Women are easily distracted, and she’s not that bright to begin with.

She has the sense to do as I tell her, but I need to make certain that there’s no unfortunate temptation from her former life. ”

For a moment Annelise said nothing. Hetty was a great deal smarter than her father gave her credit for, but that was probably a lost argument. “Did Mr. Dickinson propose marriage?”

“He did indeed, the impudent boy! As if I’d let any treasure of mine go so easily. She’ll have a title or my name isn’t Josiah Chippie.”

Unfortunately, she suspected it was, indeed—no man would choose such an undignified name. And there was no argument she could come up with at this point, except...perhaps one.

“He’s at least a more respectable choice than Christian Montcalm,” Annelise offered.

Mr. Chippie scowled. “Has that fellow been sniffing around her skirts?” he demanded crudely.

“She can do better than him. I’m not saying he wouldn’t do in a pinch—man’s going to be a viscount, after all.

That’s nothing to sneeze at. He’s a bit of a scoundrel, I gather, but a wife can change all that. ”

“Perhaps you don’t quite understand the severity of the situation.

Christian Montcalm is more than a scoundrel—he’s considered persona non grata at the best houses.

His reputation is such that he is cut by some of the most influential high sticklers in society.

His behavior in the past has been so questionable that it’s unlikely to be salvaged, and marriage to your daughter wouldn’t help her any.

She’d be as ostracized as he is, perhaps more.

People are more tolerant of men’s bad behavior, but they’ll have no reason to welcome your daughter into their houses. ”

Mr. Chippie stopped to consider this. “How very enlightening, Miss Kempton. I’m glad to see I didn’t make a mistake in having you come join us for the season.

You understand things that are quite beyond my experience.

But if Montcalm is not accepted at the best houses then why do we keep running into him? ”

She could hardly tell him that the nouveau riche Chippies were also unwelcome in the best houses.

After all, there was only so much their sponsor, Lady Prentice, could do, and even Annelise’s unexceptional presence in their household could only elevate their social standing one small notch.

“He makes it his business to seek your daughter out. Mr. Montcalm’s quite determined to marry her, and your daughter finds him very attractive.

I’ve tried to warn him off but he pays no mind. ”

“Of course he doesn’t—why would he listen to a woman?” Chippie replied. “So clearly I’ll have to step in to make certain he receives the message that his attentions are unwelcome. Do you expect there will be a problem?”

Annelise remembered the cool mockery in Montcalm’s laughing eyes. “I don’t think he’ll give up without a fight. As you’ve said, your daughter is both beautiful and possessed of a remarkable fortune. Most men wouldn’t admit defeat lightly.”

“Then I’ll have to make sure Montcalm understands,” Chippie said. “It’s a shame, though. She did seem to fancy him, and it got her mind off young Will until the little bas—er...until he showed up again. And a viscountcy was the most promising so far—I’d hate to settle for anything less.”

Again, Annelise thought, there was the problem of not being invited to the more exclusive gatherings.

But with determination, that could change—despite Josiah’s working-class drawbacks Hetty was really quite charming, and many society matrons would overlook the smell of the shop for such a well-endowed wife for one of their sons.

“I think we need to be patient, sir,” she said carefully.

“As long as Christian Montcalm knows that he’s wasting his efforts, and if it turns out that Mr. Dickinson is truly unacceptable, then we can move forward. ”

Indeed, it grieved her that the young lovers were going to be parted. Her sentimental streak was coming forth again—Will and Hetty had looked so sweet together.

But the undoubted blessing of involving Mr. Chippie would be that Christian Montcalm would no longer be Annelise’s responsibility.

She had little doubt Chippie would make it very clear that any alliance was out of the question, and Montcalm would have no choice but to turn his attentions elsewhere, sparing Annelise from her very disordered feelings.

“Trust me, Miss Kempton. I’ll take care of Mr. Montcalm. In the meantime, you distract my daughter from any romantic memories she might harbor for Dickinson. She’s not marrying a farmer no matter how much she cries.”

Had Hetty cried for Will Dickinson? Interesting, since she’d said her father would give her anything she wanted. Unless it interfered with his own ambitions, apparently.

“Certainly, Mr. Chippie. In the meantime perhaps we might miss the ball tonight—Christian Montcalm is certain to be there, and you won’t have had time to discourage him effectively.”

“Oh, I will most definitely have enough time, Miss Kempton. I’m an efficient man, and once I decide on a course it’s as good as accomplished.

I don’t expect you’ll be seeing Montcalm at Lady Helton’s, or anywhere else for that matter.

I’ll make certain there’s no room for misunderstanding in my message. ”

She thought she detected a faintly ominous edge to Chippie’s hearty voice. Must be her wild imagination again. “In that case, perhaps I should go and have a rest before the evening’s festivities. Unless you had something else you wish to discuss?”

“Not at all, Miss Kempton,” he said, rising this time like a gentleman. “You’ve been very helpful to me. Go get your rest while I attend to business. I want you to be fresh enough to keep an eye on my daughter.”

No one was ever that fresh, Annelise thought with a trace of asperity, noting that Chippie hadn’t suggested she might benefit from a beauty sleep. Like most men he would consider it a lost cause.

But indeed, she was unaccountably weary after the stimulating day. It was the time outdoors, not the company that had exhausted her, she decided. After all, Christian Montcalm had only subjected her to his unwanted presence for a few short minutes.

Annelise’s room was still and quiet, and when she lay down on the bed, she felt the paper press against her breast. She reached inside her gown and pulled the note and handkerchief free.

The small fire was burning in the grate to ward off the evening chill, but she was too tired to climb off the bed and toss the note in.

She could accomplish that simple act eventually. There was no great rush.

She looked at the lacy handkerchief in her hand, then brought it to her face. It smelled of her scent of course, the subtle rose that she favored. But it smelled of him as well—something spicier, foreign and mysterious.

She reached under the coverlet and shoved the offending handkerchief under her pillow, along with the note, then wrapped herself in the throw at the foot of the bed.

Easy enough to dispose of later, she thought sleepily.

There was no hurry to get rid of the things.

Now that she’d managed to get rid of Montcalm himself.