help her out of her gown and into her nightdress.
Her tiredness was not physical tiredness, but a deeper weariness. She lay back on the pillows, thinking about weariness, and then the word became wariness, and as images of Mr. Standish and that woman slipped in and out of her half-asleep mind, she thought that wary was what she should have been, and hadn't.
What an innocent, to think that you set your fancy on a man, and then your heart followed, and it was all intoxicatingly easy. Whereas, wariness would have been a far better course to follow. How much did she know of Mr. Standish's character? Very little. He had proved himself as fickle as a man could be, and she had to acknowledge that she had had a lucky escape. If Papa had been a little more influential, or her fortune a little larger, perhaps...
She drifted into sleep, disturbed images of Mr. Vere, astride his horse, galloping after Mr. Standish, commanding him to stop, and brandishing a folded paper above his head. Her dream dissolved and re-formed and there was Mrs. Fortescue, half-naked, fluttering her fan and looking over it with devilish eyes. Mocking eyes, mocking laughter.
By the time her maid came in with her morning chocolate, Anna was glad to be woken, the light streaming in through the windows chasing away the phantasms of the night.
Mama had sent a message up by her maid, to remind her that she was due at the dressmaker's that morning for a fitting for her new ball dress. Memories of the night, those fleeting images of Mrs. Fortescue, tugged at her mind, but she resolutely dismissed them.
She missed the sensuous pleasure that she had formerly felt when she had wakened and indulged in rapturous thoughts of Mr. Standish, imagining herself in his arms, responding to his embraces. She shuddered, amazed at how such strength of feeling could turn so quickly from adoration to repulsion.
Mama's mind was full of various things. She had received a letter from Sarah, with a happy account of her honeymoon, and she was much involved with attending to some new hangings for the house where Sarah would live with her husband. They had sent the wrong colour, such a nuisance; she would have to go to the warehouse herself and put matters right, such a disappointment for dear Sarah.
Absorbed in these thoughts, she didn't take any particular notice of Anna's thoughtfulness, and Anna sat back against the squabs, looking out at the streets, finding London grey under heavy skies. The black clouds exactly suited her mood, but caused Mama to exclaim at how hot and close the weather was.
It was as though they had stepped back a week, for, exactly as had happened at their last visit, Madame Girot was attending to another customer. Once again, she greeted them, and, flowery with apologies, begged Lady Gosforth and Miss Gosforth to wait, to let her assistant attend to them, and then she would be with them shortly.
And once again the other customer was Mrs. Fortescue. She gave a cool glance at the Gosforths, and a brief nod of acknowledgement, which Mama returned with an equally slight bow.
Anna's eyes were drawn to Mrs. Fortescue, who did not appear to be having a fitting, but was deep in conversation with Madame Girot. She held a fan, not as pretty as the one she was carrying last night, but still a charming one, with a pastoral scene painted on it. But as Mrs. Fortescue opened and shut it, Anna noticed that the other side was almost plain, indeed, it appeared to be some kind of parchment, with words inscribed on it; Anna had never seen such a design, and she wondered about it for a moment before being distracted by her mama's request that she attend to a detail of the trimming on her new gown.
Mrs. Fortescue closed her fan and put it down, then rose from her seat and went over to the other side of the room to admire some lace. She returned to her seat, picked up her fan, and waved it in front of her face, just it as she had done last night and in Anna's dreams. She made
Her tiredness was not physical tiredness, but a deeper weariness. She lay back on the pillows, thinking about weariness, and then the word became wariness, and as images of Mr. Standish and that woman slipped in and out of her half-asleep mind, she thought that wary was what she should have been, and hadn't.
What an innocent, to think that you set your fancy on a man, and then your heart followed, and it was all intoxicatingly easy. Whereas, wariness would have been a far better course to follow. How much did she know of Mr. Standish's character? Very little. He had proved himself as fickle as a man could be, and she had to acknowledge that she had had a lucky escape. If Papa had been a little more influential, or her fortune a little larger, perhaps...
She drifted into sleep, disturbed images of Mr. Vere, astride his horse, galloping after Mr. Standish, commanding him to stop, and brandishing a folded paper above his head. Her dream dissolved and re-formed and there was Mrs. Fortescue, half-naked, fluttering her fan and looking over it with devilish eyes. Mocking eyes, mocking laughter.
By the time her maid came in with her morning chocolate, Anna was glad to be woken, the light streaming in through the windows chasing away the phantasms of the night.
Mama had sent a message up by her maid, to remind her that she was due at the dressmaker's that morning for a fitting for her new ball dress. Memories of the night, those fleeting images of Mrs. Fortescue, tugged at her mind, but she resolutely dismissed them.
She missed the sensuous pleasure that she had formerly felt when she had wakened and indulged in rapturous thoughts of Mr. Standish, imagining herself in his arms, responding to his embraces. She shuddered, amazed at how such strength of feeling could turn so quickly from adoration to repulsion.
Mama's mind was full of various things. She had received a letter from Sarah, with a happy account of her honeymoon, and she was much involved with attending to some new hangings for the house where Sarah would live with her husband. They had sent the wrong colour, such a nuisance; she would have to go to the warehouse herself and put matters right, such a disappointment for dear Sarah.
Absorbed in these thoughts, she didn't take any particular notice of Anna's thoughtfulness, and Anna sat back against the squabs, looking out at the streets, finding London grey under heavy skies. The black clouds exactly suited her mood, but caused Mama to exclaim at how hot and close the weather was.
It was as though they had stepped back a week, for, exactly as had happened at their last visit, Madame Girot was attending to another customer. Once again, she greeted them, and, flowery with apologies, begged Lady Gosforth and Miss Gosforth to wait, to let her assistant attend to them, and then she would be with them shortly.
And once again the other customer was Mrs. Fortescue. She gave a cool glance at the Gosforths, and a brief nod of acknowledgement, which Mama returned with an equally slight bow.
Anna's eyes were drawn to Mrs. Fortescue, who did not appear to be having a fitting, but was deep in conversation with Madame Girot. She held a fan, not as pretty as the one she was carrying last night, but still a charming one, with a pastoral scene painted on it. But as Mrs. Fortescue opened and shut it, Anna noticed that the other side was almost plain, indeed, it appeared to be some kind of parchment, with words inscribed on it; Anna had never seen such a design, and she wondered about it for a moment before being distracted by her mama's request that she attend to a detail of the trimming on her new gown.
Mrs. Fortescue closed her fan and put it down, then rose from her seat and went over to the other side of the room to admire some lace. She returned to her seat, picked up her fan, and waved it in front of her face, just it as she had done last night and in Anna's dreams. She made
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