Excerpt of False Pretences by Rosemary Morris

Chapter One

1815

"I have good news for you, Annabelle," said Miss Chalfont, the well–educated head mistress and owner of The Beeches, an exclusive school for young ladies.

Seated on a straight–backed chair opposite Miss Chalfont's walnut desk, Annabelle clasped her hands tightly on her lap. "Has my guardian told you who my parents are?" she asked in a voice quivering with excitement.

Regret flickered across Miss Chalfont's face before she shook her head. "No, I am very sorry, he has not. For your sake I wish he had. In fact, I do not know who he is. I receive instructions from a lawyer in Dover. To be honest, for no particular reason, I have always assumed your guardian's identity is that of a man, but it could be that of a woman."

Dover! Annabelle thought. The town where she had lived with her nurse before a nameless elegant lady, with a French accent, brought her to The Beeches. Time and time again she had wondered if the lady was her guardian or whether she was a stranger ordered to bring her here. She had no way of knowing, for the lady had not answered any of her questions.

Annabelle looked into Miss Chalfont's eyes. "Who is the lawyer, ma'am?"

"I do not know for he does not identify himself. He merely arranges for your...er...upkeep, and sends me your guardian's instructions."

No clue to the mystery of my own identity, Annabelle thought and gazed down to conceal her disappointment. "Has the lawyer given you permission to tell me who my guardian is?" she asked, despite her suspicion that he had not.

Miss Chalfont looked down at a letter. "No, your guardian, whom I have no doubt has your welfare at heart, still wishes to remain anonymous. But, my dear child, you are fortunate. Your guardian has arranged for you to marry Monsieur le Baron de Beauchamp."

Annabelle looked up with a mixture of astonishment, disbelief, and intense indignation at the arrangement that took no heed of her wishes. "I am to marry a man I have never met?"

With restless fingers, Miss Chalfont adjusted her frilled mobcap. "Yes, your guardian has arranged for you to marry Monsieur le Baron tomorrow."

Annabelle stared at her kind teacher as though she had turned into a monster. "Mon dieu!" she raged, reverting to the French she spoke when she was a small child. "My God! Tomorrow? My guardian expects me to marry a Frenchman tomorrow? Miss Chalfont, surely you do not approve of such haste."

"Do not take the Lord's name in vain." Miss Chalfont tapped her fingers on her desk. "My approval or disapproval is of no consequence. Your guardian wishes you to marry immediately so there is little more to be said. A special licence has been procured and the vicar has been informed." Miss Chalfont smiled at her. "You have nothing to fear. This letter informs me that Monsieur speaks English and lives in this country."

Annabelle scowled. Her hands trembled. For the first time, she defied her head mistress. "Nothing to fear? My life is to be put in the hands of a husband with the right to...beat me...or...starve me, and you say I have nothing to fear, Miss Chalfont? Please believe me when I say that nothing will persuade me to marry in such haste."

Not the least display of emotion crossed the head teacher's face. "You should not allow your imagination to agitate your sensibilities. For all you know, the monsieur is charming and will be a good, kind husband."

"On the other hand, he might be a monster," Annabelle said.

Miss Chalfont ignored the interruption and continued. "At eighteen, you are the oldest girl in the school. It is time for you to leave the nest and establish one of your own."

"Twaddle," Annabelle muttered. "My education is almost complete and I suspect you wish to be rid of me."

Miss Chalfont smoothed the skirt of her steel–grey woollen gown and looked at Annabelle with a cold expression in her eyes. "I beg your pardon? Did I hear you say twaddle? As for wishing to be rid of you child, that is not true. However, I will admit that in recent months I have worried about your guardian's future plans for you. But I need not have worried. As a happy bride, I daresay you will go to London where those pretty blue eyes and long lashes of yours will be so much admired that Monsieur le Baron will be proud of you."

At any other time Miss Chalfont's rare compliment would have pleased her. On this occasion it only served to increase the fury she tried to conceal. Losing her temper would be pointless. Before Annabelle spoke, she took a deep breath to calm herself. "It is unreasonable to order me to marry the man without allowing me time to become acquainted with him."

"Do not refer to your bridegroom as the man. I have told you his name is de Beauchamp."

Rebellion flamed in Annabelle's stomach. "What do you know of my...er...bridegroom–to–be, ma'am?"

Miss Chalfont looked down at the letter. "He is described as a handsome gentleman of mature years."

"One would think the description is of a piece of mature cheese or a bottle of vintage wine."

Miss Chalfont frowned. "Do not be impertinent, Annabelle, you are not too old to be punished."

"I beg your pardon, ma'am, but please tell me how mature he is," Annabelle said, her eyes wide open and her entire body taut with apprehension.

"Monsieur le Baron is some forty–years–old."

"How mature?" Annabelle persisted with her usual bluntness.

"He is forty–two–years–old."

Annabelle stood, bent forward, and drummed her fingers on the edge of the desk. "Please be kind enough to inform my guardian that I will not play Guinevere to an aging Arthur. I would prefer to build my nest with a young Lancelot."

Miss Chalfont's shoulders heaved as though she was trying not to laugh. "Regardless of your preference, you must marry according to your guardian's wish."

"Dear ma'am, you and your mother have always been kind to me. I cannot believe you approve of—"

"As I have already said, my approval or disapproval is of no importance. Your duty is to obey."

Annabelle's anger boiled and she felt somewhat sick in the stomach. Now that she was old enough to leave the seminary, it seemed that unless she refused to co–operate, she really would be disposed of without the slightest consideration for her personal wishes. Simultaneously afraid to obey her guardian and furious because not even Miss Chalfont seemed to care about her dilemma, Annabelle straightened up. She looked around the cosy parlour, with its thick oriental rugs, pretty figurines on the mantelpiece, and a number of gilt–framed pictures on the wall, one of which she had painted. "I will consider the marriage." Annabelle looked down again, in case rebellion revealed itself on her face. But she had not lied. She would consider the marriage proposal, but not in the manner Miss Chalfont expected, for she would find a way to reject the elderly baron.

Miss Chalfont stood, walked round her desk, and patted Annabelle's shoulder before resting her hand on it. "My dear child, there is little for you to consider. I dread to think of the consequences if you disobey your guardian. You could be cast penniless from here with only the clothes on your back. After all, your guardian does have complete power over you."

Annabelle wanted to jerk away from her uncaring teacher's hand but forced herself to remain passive. She did not want the woman to suspect the nature of her rebellious thoughts and have her closely watched. Inwardly, she seethed and decided that whatever the cost, she would escape the fate in store for her. An image of her former nurse, with whom she corresponded, flashed through her mind. With it came a sense of security and purpose.

Chapter Two

Still outraged about the marriage that had been arranged for her with such high–handedness, Annabelle joined her bosom friend, Viscount Hampton's stepsister, Fanny Greenwood.

"What did Chally want?" Fanny demanded, using their soubriquet for Miss Chalfont.

Annabelle groaned and flung herself onto the well–padded sofa. "To tell me my guardian has arranged my marriage."

Fanny perched on the edge of the sofa without pausing to smooth her white muslin gown to prevent it from creasing. The omission indicated intense excitement, since Fanny never neglected her appearance. "Wonderful," Fanny breathed.

"Don't be such a goose. If your brother ordered you to marry a man you had never met, would you obey him?"

As dramatic as ever, Fanny clasped her hands against her bosom. "No, I don't think so, but I would give almost anything to escape from this dungeon."

"A remarkably comfortable dungeon," Annabelle murmured, her sense of humour coming to the fore.

"Why are you laughing, and who is your prospective bridegroom?"

"I am laughing because you are so dramatic, and to answer your other question, Monsieur le Baron de Beauchamp, is a Frenchman, many years my senior," she explained, indignation in every syllable.

"Not de Beauchamp?" Fanny gasped. "I cannot believe anyone in their right mind would expect you to marry that rakehell."

Although Annabelle was not sure of the exact meaning of the word, she knew it was a term for a dishonourable man. Rakehell! She was expected to marry a baron with a shocking reputation. Her cheeks burned with indignation.

Fanny twirled one of her fat, flaxen ringlets round the forefinger of her right hand. "It is said Monsieur le Baron kisses the maids and ogles all the unmarried girls." Fanny pressed her hands to her cheeks and looked into the shadows as though someone, who would overhear her, might be lurking there. "It is even said that he is the father of more than one unfortunate babe born out of wedlock."

Annabelle quivered with wrath from head to toe at the thought of being expected to marry a man with such wicked ways. The voice of reason sounded in her brain. Surely her guardian would not have decided on her marriage to such a man. "Fanny, are you sure about this?"

Fanny nodded vehemently. "Everyone knows it."

As usual, Annabelle refused such vagueness. "How do they know?"

"Do you never listen to the other boarders gossiping when they return from vacation?" Fanny sighed dramatically. "No, I suppose you don't. You spend most of your leisure either reading or sketching."

"Fanny do you think—" Annabelle began, her heart beating faster than normal.

"What?" Fanny looked at her curiously.

"Why should de Beauchamp agree to marry me? Do you think he knows who I am?" She looked down, yearning as ever to know who her parents and guardian were.

"I should think so, I mean, de Beauchamp would not marry you if— Well, you know what I mean," Fanny said, her embarrassment obvious, her nervous fingers toying with her handkerchief.

Yes, Annabelle did know what Fanny meant. Her friend thought she might be base born, but was too polite to say so. When they were children, they made up many stories about her unknown father and mother. They had imagined she was either a foreign princess or an orphan whose guardian stole her fortune. Or perhaps, they had speculated, she was kidnapped, and one day, her parents would receive a demand for ransom, which they would willingly pay to have their beloved daughter returned. But she and Fanny were no longer children and she must face the possibility of an unwelcome truth.

Annabelle sighed more deeply than before. Perhaps there would never be a happy outcome. Maybe, as the vulgar saying went, ‘she was born on the wrong side of the blanket.'

Oh the humiliation and misery she had suffered. Most of the well–born pupils were proud of their noble birth. They would not speak to her because she did not know anything about her family and was probably a commoner. She smiled and glanced at her friend. Dear Fanny had never ostracised her or voiced an unkind word on the subject. Not only that, Fanny always defended her from any malicious comments or unkind taunts.

Her friend patted her hand. "Perhaps there is a simple explanation to the mystery which surrounds you."

Annabelle sniffed and shrugged.

"If we are to be parted by your marriage," Fanny began, "I hope you will have happy memories of our schooldays. After all, your guardian is very generous. Your gowns rival those of any other pupil, your shoes and gloves are of the finest quality, and no other girl in the school has such generous pin money as you do. If you were not my dearest friend, I would envy you. Indeed, I am jealous of you for having your own horse and extra riding lessons as well as extra drawing and painting lessons."

Annabelle gazed absent–mindedly at Fanny and thought about the past. When she arrived at school at the age of five, Miss Chalfont had said, "My dear child, please think of The Beeches as your home. Instead of sleeping in a dormitory, you shall share a bedroom with another little girl. The two of you will also share a parlour because the greater part of your vacations will be spent at school."

Wondering about the identity of the elegantly dressed lady who brought her here and refused to answer questions, missing her nurse, who had taken care of her single–handedly for so long, and bewildered, by the change in her circumstances, Annabelle had stared at Miss Chalfont.