Annabelle by MC Beaton Page A

Lady Emmeline bubbling over with the latest on-dit. The Russian Czar, Alexander, as a member of the coalition who had defeated Napoleon, was visiting London. The latest was that the great Czar fancied himself in love with Lady Jersey and now Almack’s was most definitely more fashionable than Carlton House since the Prince Regent’s unpopularity with his subjects had become a byword.
    And the bliss of it all, went on Lady Emmeline, was that no one, but no one, had.even
noticed
the cancellation of Annabelle’s engagement. They had now such a juicy piece of gossip to chew on.
    Annabelle felt unaccountably depressed. She wondered if Lord Varleigh had read his morning paper or if he, too, had been too taken up with the latest on-dit to notice it.
    T HE Haymarket Theatre was crammed to its flame-colored dome when Annabelle and Lady Emmeline took their places in their box that evening. All the other boxes were filled, row after row with women in white satin gowns and diamonds and men in orders and gold lace. Catalani, that famous singer, began to drown out the noise of both chorus and orchestra with her well-known piercing voice. It was some time, therefore, before Annabelle realised that the Captain had entered and was sitting quietly in the comer, his face shielded from the light by one of the red curtains. A very ripe aroma exuded from him which seemed to be made up of various liqueurs and vast quantities of snuff.
    Annabelle eyed him warily, but he was leaning forward now with his head resting on his hand, apparentlyabsorbed in Catalani’s caterwauling.
    Suddenly he said something. Annabelle could not quite make out what he had said but understood it to be some comment on the music.
    The Captain’s voice rose and whatever he had said before, he said louder again, but Catalani’s voice had risen also at precisely the same time.
    Annabelle turned in some irritation and raised her eyes in a manner which would have pleased Lady Emmeline’s butler.
    “I SAID, ‘I LOVE YOU!’” roared the Captain.
    The music from both orchestra and singers had unfortunately reached a lull, and the Captain’s words rang round the theater. Everyone giggled and stared and several of his cronies, recognising the Captain, sent up a cheer.
    “Please, keep your voice down,” whispered poor Annabelle.
    “I LOVE YOU!” shouted the Captain like a war cry, and his great voice echoed round the theater. How the audience roared and hooted and cheered and how the drunken Captain loved it. He had completely forgotten about Annabelle and was now performing his own interpretation of a Highland fling on the parapet of the box.
    Annabelle tried to appeal to Lady Emmeline for help, but that infuriating old eccentric was laughing until the tears streamed down her rouged cheeks. Annabelle began to think they were all mad. If a lady made the slightest indiscretion, it was all over London the next day, and the doors of Almack’s were firmly barred to her. But a gentleman, it seemed, could behave like a drunken lout and still be considered “the finished man.”
    The performers on stage were continuing as if nothing had happened.
    Suddenly there was a stir in one of the boxes alongthe row from Annabelle. Through the cavorting of the Captain’s long limbs on the edge of the box, she could see a small gentleman with a beaky profile being welcomed by his friends.
    The Captain saw the gentleman as well and the effect on him was electric. He bolted into the box like a rabbit into its burrow. Then the door at the back of the box slammed and he was gone.
    “Who is that man?” said Annabelle, pointing with her fan.
    “Oh, ’tis the Duke of Wellington,” said Lady Emmeline. “I hope he did not see Captain MacDonald, or poor Jimmy will be receiving a dressing down from his colonel in the morning.”
    Annabelle was thankful to learn that there appeared to be some law and order in the higher ranks of the British army. The aristocrats who made up most of the ranks