Page 13 of The Ruin of Miss Amelia Burrowes

“Celinda!” The child was impossible. Heads had turned toward them again. “Your sense of the dramatic will land you in trouble one of these days, mark my words.”

“It has stood me in good stead until now.” Smiling sweetly, she lifted her wine glass. “And you neglected to answer my question, cousin.”

“Of course I did no such thing. I wanted to marry her. If only I’d been allowed to stay in London, I would have.”

“Do you wish to do so now?” His cousin stared at him frankly, much too knowing for one of nineteen.

“The situation is more complicated, as you must know. I have no way to know if she’s trying to deceive me about the matter.” And likely never would unless they did marry. By which time, it would be too late if the worst turned out to be the truth.

“Does it truly matter so much after all these years, Nathan?” All teasing aside, Celinda looked earnestly into his face. “If she did make the mistake of which she is accused, can the behavior not be excused? I had this same conversation with Mama, who was totally unsympathetic. But really, the whole ton knows such behavior goes on and little is done to discourage it. I daresay when Lord Finley proposes we, too, shall anticipate our wedding night. I shall be disappointed if we do not. It seems almost the fashionable thing to do.”

“Celinda, your parents must be considering locking you up and having all your courtships handled expressly by post.” His cousin was totally out of control to be proposing such wild behavior. Not that she wasn’t correct in her estimation that the ton turned a blind eye to the behavior of betrothed couples. Nor in her observation that such behavior, while officially condemned, was nevertheless unexceptional.

“They may try, but I doubt they will succeed. There is a tall tree just outside my bedroom window, and I have been good at climbing ever since I was in leading strings. But, Nathan,” she sobered again, “can you honestly tell me that had you been engaged to Miss Burrowes, you would not have pressed her before the wedding night?”

Nathan sat back, his plate still untouched. He didn’t even recall it being placed before him, so the footman had likely gotten an earful of their conversation. But Celinda’s words struck very close to the bone. As he remembered that night under the cherry tree—and he remembered it very well indeed—the idea had flitted through his mind to persuade Miss Burrowes to come away with him to a nearby bower and seal their accord with the joining of their bodies. If only he had done so, much would’ve been different.

“You should also take this into consideration, cousin.” Having gotten no response, Celinda had decided to forge on with her plea. “Whether or not Miss Burrowes and Lord Carrington anticipated their wedding night would have mattered not a jot had he lived long enough to marry her. Another week, and she would’ve been his widow, and absolutely none of this would’ve mattered. She would’ve been pitied then and now rather than reviled for so long. Is the lack of that single action worth throwing away your happiness again?”

Stunned, Nathan stared at his full plate. Celinda’s arguments were persuasive, the most convincing being the last. Had Miss Burrowes been married to Carrington, no matter how briefly, she would’ve been fussed over and prayed for, would’ve been given the status of grieving widow, and no one would’ve given a second thought to what they’d done before the vows were spoken. Given all Miss Burrowes had gone through, it seemed about time she was accorded the status she should’ve been given years ago. By him if by no one else in the ton.

A footman moved in to take away his plate, but Nathan stood up, making the man dance backward.

“My abject apologies, Haversham, Lady George, Aunt, Uncle, Lady Letitia, Lady Celinda.” He smiled down at his dinner companion. Hopefully, he’d soon be able to dance at her wedding. She deserved her happiness if she’d set him on the straight path to his own. “I find I have most urgent business to attend to that will not wait.”

“What has happened, Ainsley?” Marcus rose and made as if to accompany him out.

“A revelation, Haversham. Like Paul on the road to Damascus, the scales have fallen from my eyes. Wish me luck, old chap.” He bowed to the company, who all looked at him with amazement.

“Don’t tell me it has to do with—”

“It does.” Nathan started for the doorway.

“But you can’t—”

“Oh, yes, I can, and I do, and I will.” With that somewhat cryptic statement, which Marcus likely understood perfectly, he hurried from the room in search of his hat and stick. After consulting his pocket watch, he was inclined to believe he might just interrupt Mr. Burrowes’s dinner, but he cared for that not at all. He had a message to deliver, and the devil himself wouldn’t be able to stop him tonight.

* * * *

Dinner had wound down, thank goodness, and Amelia looked forward to her mother rising to retire to the drawing room without the gentlemen. Her father and Mr. Burke had talked incessantly about fox hunting, which seemed to be a most popular sport in Derbyshire. Amelia rode tolerably well, of course, but she could not hunt, and so the topic held little interest for her. Her time at dinner had been spent listening to the sighings of her mother because Lord Ainsley had not put in an appearance since he’d escorted her home after their ride two days ago.

She’d tried to tell Mama that they would be seeing no more of the viscount, but the woman was obsessed with the belief that he wished to renew his attentions to Amelia. Perhaps once she and Mr. Burke had signed the register, Mama would accept that she was not going to marry Lord Ainsley. From the looks of things, that would be in a little over two weeks. She’d not formally accepted Mr. Burke yet, but that would likely occur in the next day or so, in enough time for the banns to begin this Sunday. Mama had insisted that she be married after the banns and not by special license. Under no circumstances should it look like they were rushing to the altar.

The door opened, and the butler entered. “Mr. Burrowes, there is a gentleman to see you. I tried to tell him the family was at dinner, but he was most insistent. I have put him in the front receiving room.”

“Who the devil would call at this time of night?” Annoyance filled her father’s face, his scowl sweeping around the table as if looking to them for the answer.

“Lord Ainsley, sir.” Meyers’s straight-faced answer left everyone’s jaws agape.

The chair on which Amelia sat seemed to waver, or perhaps the room itself dimmed for a moment. She blinked rapidly several times then turned to her mother to find the woman clasping her hands to her chest, cheeks red, eyes two wide blue pools of joy. “Come, Amelia. Let us retire this instant with Mr. Burke. We will await your father’s report in the drawing room.”

Amelia shot to her feet, her ears roaring so she had to grab the back of her mother’s chair to steady herself as she left the room. What did this mean? Why had Lord Ainsley come? There was truly only one explanation, though she refused to believe it. Not until she heard the words from his lordship himself. Speeding behind her mother down the corridor toward the back of the townhouse, Amelia prayed as she had not for many years. Not since Lord Ainsley had gone away so long ago.

She and her mother entered the room, in silence still, and Mama dropped into her favorite high-backed chair. “Ring for tea, please, Amelia.”

In the process of going back to the bell pull beside the doorway, Amelia was brought up short when Mr. Burke arrived. They came face to face, his grim visage thinly veiling his outrage. Apparently, he also thought he understood what Lord Ainsley’s presence at this time of night meant. Lord, but the evening had turned into quite an explosive affair.

After giving the bell a sharp pull, Amelia skittered away from him, seating herself on the chaise next to her mother’s chair, imploring the Almighty to direct Mr. Burke to the chair opposite them and not beside her. Either God had heard her or her face had warned the gentleman to stay away, for he paced instead, muttering to himself.

“Beastly inconsiderate of the man to interrupt a family dinner at this hour of the night. Gentlemen with a title believe themselves free to do whatever they please, without thinking of the inconvenience to anyone else. Ought to speak a word to him about common decency.” As his agitation increased, his strides became faster, more erratic, until Amelia’s head spun with the whirlwind motion.

She dropped her head into her hands to steady herself. The door creaked open. Thank goodness. Nothing would soothe her better at this moment than a cup of hot tea. Raising her head, she stared into Lord Ainsley’s gray-eyed gaze, trained directly on her. Amelia gave a squeak and sat up straight on the chaise, transfixed as a mouse caught in the steely stare of a hungry cat.

“Good evening, Mrs. Burrowes, Mr. Burke.” Lord Ainsley nodded to the others but came forward and bowed to her. “Miss Burrowes, I know it is late, but at long last, I have come to speak to your father.”