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Book: Lady Anne's Deception (The Changing Fortunes Series Book 4) by M. C. Beaton
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Authors: M. C. Beaton
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fetch another cup. I thought tea in the garden on a day like this would be very pleasant. I wonder if I could beg you to go ahead to the garden, Lady Torrance, while I have a little private word with Miss Hammond?”
Annie nodded and walked in the direction of the garden, which she could see through the open French windows of a long room at the end of the hall.
There was a table under an oak tree on the lawn. Out on the blue, blue ocean, white-sailed yachts darted here and there. Little, fleecy clouds curled across the deep blue of the sky. It was pleasantly cool in the shade of the tree, with only the sound of the gentle breeze moving in the leaves above her head and the hum of bees from a clump of hollyhocks beside the French windows.
All at once she was glad she had come. Somehow she had at least managed to meet a distinguished politician like Mr. Shaw-Bufford. Miss Hammond could not be quite the madwoman she seemed or the chancellor would surely have nothing to do with her.
A butler appeared with a silver tray and began to set a magnificent silver teapot, cream jug, and hot-water pot on the table. He was rather an unnerving-looking man. His livery of cutaway coat and striped waistcoat seemed to be too small for his great bulk. He had sparse strands of hair carefully combed over the top of his head. His face looked as if it had been smashed up at one time and then badly rearranged.
He did not once look at Annie or make any polite remark that one would normally expect from a butler. He disappeared and, after a few moments, reappeared with a large tray bearing plates of cucumber and salmon sandwiches, a magnificent plum cake, and a plate of hot scones oozing with butter.
Annie waited and waited after he had left. She was thirsty but did not want to pour herself a cup of tea until her host and Miss Hammond arrived.
The minutes began to drag by. A wasp hovered over the strawberry jam and she impatiently shooed it away.
Annie found herself wondering what it would be like to shed a few of her underclothes. She could feel the heat emanating from the horsehair pads on her hips and bust, the long Empire corset, and the layers of petticoats. The high, boned collar of her blouse was digging painfully into the back of her neck. Would they never come?
Just as she had given up and was reaching for the teapot, Mr. Shaw-Bufford and Miss Hammond appeared through the French windows. Miss Hammond looked… well,
strange.
Sort of elated and frightened and defiant and furtive—all at once.
“My apologies, your ladyship,” said Mr. Shaw-Bufford. “I fear we have kept you waiting. Miss Hammond, will you pour for us? I hope to hear your husband speak in the Lords when the House sits again, Lady Torrance.”
“I never thought of him even attending the House of Lords,” said Annie, startled.
“He is a powerful speaker and a great loss to the House of Commons. Were he not a titled man, then I would certainly persuade him to try to run for office.”
“I have not been married long,” said Annie. “My husband is in France at the moment.” She gave a very brittle, little laugh. “I don’t know much about him at all.”
That was surely the cue for Miss Hammond to expound her down-with-men philosophy, but she remained strangely silent. In fact the rest of the conversation did not touch on Miss Hammond’s interest at all. At one point Annie tried to turn the conversation in that direction, feeling that it was only polite to do so, but Miss Hammond only seemed to want to talk about commonplaces, just like any ordinary housewife.
As it was, Annie had only eaten one sandwich and drunk one cup of tea when a look flashed between Miss Hammond and the chancellor, and, as if on cue, both rose to their feet at once.
“We really must be rushing along,” said Miss Hammond. “The chancellor has a great deal of important papers to sign.”
“Of course,” murmured Annie. “I am sorry our meeting was so brief, Mr.
Annie nodded and walked in the direction of the garden, which she could see through the open French windows of a long room at the end of the hall.
There was a table under an oak tree on the lawn. Out on the blue, blue ocean, white-sailed yachts darted here and there. Little, fleecy clouds curled across the deep blue of the sky. It was pleasantly cool in the shade of the tree, with only the sound of the gentle breeze moving in the leaves above her head and the hum of bees from a clump of hollyhocks beside the French windows.
All at once she was glad she had come. Somehow she had at least managed to meet a distinguished politician like Mr. Shaw-Bufford. Miss Hammond could not be quite the madwoman she seemed or the chancellor would surely have nothing to do with her.
A butler appeared with a silver tray and began to set a magnificent silver teapot, cream jug, and hot-water pot on the table. He was rather an unnerving-looking man. His livery of cutaway coat and striped waistcoat seemed to be too small for his great bulk. He had sparse strands of hair carefully combed over the top of his head. His face looked as if it had been smashed up at one time and then badly rearranged.
He did not once look at Annie or make any polite remark that one would normally expect from a butler. He disappeared and, after a few moments, reappeared with a large tray bearing plates of cucumber and salmon sandwiches, a magnificent plum cake, and a plate of hot scones oozing with butter.
Annie waited and waited after he had left. She was thirsty but did not want to pour herself a cup of tea until her host and Miss Hammond arrived.
The minutes began to drag by. A wasp hovered over the strawberry jam and she impatiently shooed it away.
Annie found herself wondering what it would be like to shed a few of her underclothes. She could feel the heat emanating from the horsehair pads on her hips and bust, the long Empire corset, and the layers of petticoats. The high, boned collar of her blouse was digging painfully into the back of her neck. Would they never come?
Just as she had given up and was reaching for the teapot, Mr. Shaw-Bufford and Miss Hammond appeared through the French windows. Miss Hammond looked… well,
strange.
Sort of elated and frightened and defiant and furtive—all at once.
“My apologies, your ladyship,” said Mr. Shaw-Bufford. “I fear we have kept you waiting. Miss Hammond, will you pour for us? I hope to hear your husband speak in the Lords when the House sits again, Lady Torrance.”
“I never thought of him even attending the House of Lords,” said Annie, startled.
“He is a powerful speaker and a great loss to the House of Commons. Were he not a titled man, then I would certainly persuade him to try to run for office.”
“I have not been married long,” said Annie. “My husband is in France at the moment.” She gave a very brittle, little laugh. “I don’t know much about him at all.”
That was surely the cue for Miss Hammond to expound her down-with-men philosophy, but she remained strangely silent. In fact the rest of the conversation did not touch on Miss Hammond’s interest at all. At one point Annie tried to turn the conversation in that direction, feeling that it was only polite to do so, but Miss Hammond only seemed to want to talk about commonplaces, just like any ordinary housewife.
As it was, Annie had only eaten one sandwich and drunk one cup of tea when a look flashed between Miss Hammond and the chancellor, and, as if on cue, both rose to their feet at once.
“We really must be rushing along,” said Miss Hammond. “The chancellor has a great deal of important papers to sign.”
“Of course,” murmured Annie. “I am sorry our meeting was so brief, Mr.
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