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Lady Amelia swallowed her disappointment and sat with a rigid back in the swaying carriage. Lord Rochester looked at his daughter and wondered what had imbalanced her humors. “Are you quite well?” Her father asked with a worried expression.
“Yes, I am, Papa.” She answered. The words were spoken softly and offered no hint as to what troubled her greatly. When they had arrived at the townhouse she had slipped off to her room where her maid waited sleepy-eyed. Mary performed her duties in between yawns. She was most eager to help her mistress out of her ball gown, several petticoats and her stays before removing the pins from the complicated coiffure. She set aside the ornaments and flowers involved in the complicated toilette and she proceeded to gently brush Amelia’s hair with a soft brush. When it laid down her back and fairly shone Mary braided it into a simple plait. She ran the warming pan over the chilly sheets and bid her lady good night.
Mary was too sleepy to note the strain in her mistress eye. Tomorrow was soon enough for gossip. She enjoyed hearing the latest on the fashions, dashing gentlemen and perhaps the hints of scandals in the making—but for now she wanted nothing more than too see the warmth of her own pallet.
Amelia held on to her composure until her friend had slipped out. Then she was overcome by a wave of despair so strong it forced tears down her cheeks. The night had been a test of her resolve. Making acquaintance of a gentleman in such a bold manner instead of with a proper introduction was frowned upon by Society at large, but Lord Windon, rather than being scandalized had matched wit with her. A merging of ideas and thoughts so seamlessly was prized. She had missed him on his brief delay in the gathering of gentlemen.
When he had returned, she found to her utmost delight that their moments had not been a fluke. She had been wary about the rare occurrence of finding a like mind in London after being the subject of a bet. It was pleasant to find one who genuinely did not sniff with disdain at her talk of horses and literature for hours on end.
Then the death knell had sounded. She had spoken out of turn and Lord Windon had no doubt taken offence of her over bold manners. Truth be told, it galled her that he had proved to be of the same ilk as several gentlemen who blindly followed the edicts of polite Society without a care for the people who were not in the upper ten thousand.
She could not, in good faith, fault him for inheriting in place of his sister. It was the law, and there was nothing he could have done to change it. The thought was bitter, nevertheless true. But she could and did detested the offhand manner in which he implied he had done his duty by his sister and was glad to be free if her. It brought her own demons too close to home.
If she did not make a good connection, her hope lay in a distantly related stranger who probably did not exist or, failing that, the estates and all the entailed wealth would revert to the Crown. She would become another saleable asset, and any funds she was able to hold on to would pass directly to a husband chosen by the monarchy. She wiped her face and slipped in between the warm sheets. It was of little import that Lord Windon was unworthy and callous. If she cried, it was understandable that the harried search for a proposal did not suit her disposition in any manner.
Chapter Five
Lord Rochester settled into bed affably, two thoughts consoled him greatly. One, that his machinations had borne fruit even if they hinged on the honor of one man, and the other? He was damned pleased to be heading for the country on the morrow. London was a necessary evil, and he was happy to leave its heavy fog and unpleasant humors in the far distance.
He waited with bated breath for what the morrow would bring. He was hard pressed to find a better match for his child. Lord Windon was ideal in his willingness to accommodate her educated mind and fierce opinions. His title was a perfect cover to make her eccentricities acceptable. He had been offended at the mention
of her dower lands, always a sign of good breeding and manners.
Amelia had had the luxury of many days to repent of her manner. She had thought on it with equal amounts of guilt and righteous anger. She was chagrined that she had lost her good manners in front of a person who could ruin her with words, notwithstanding her emotions had gotten the better of her and made her rash. But she couldn’t very well smile in the presence of so grave an injustice.
She had resolved to apologize, an easy decision to ease her guilt since she would likely never see him again, and it was forbidden for a maiden to write to a man. He had not been intentionally wicked, he deserved her forgiveness. She missed their seamless conversation and his dry wit. However all her charitable thoughts would fade into pure indignation when she was summoned to her father’s study in the morning.
Lord Rochester had a complexion ruddy with health. He was enjoying the gardens, as he had frequently since they had returned from London. The improvement in his health eased her very much, although his doctors cautioned that his lungs were not recovering, just less irritated.
Her father waved her to a chair and dismissed his steward, the first sign that the matter required delicacy.
“You will be pleased to hear that Lord Windon will be joining us for a few days. I hope you will make every effort to make his stay a pleasant one.”
“Papa!”
“You found him pleasant company before.” He looked so pleased with himself. “I only plead that you be kindly.”
“Papa, I cannot stomach these boldfaced machinations.” She turned to avoid his plea.
“Yet, you have not heeded my entreaties for your own sake.”
“Papa...”
“Hush, child. I only seek to rescue you from an unkind fate. I am not much longer for this world and I will not rest easy if I have not done my duties by you.”
“Papa, what if he does not desire this union?”
“Then I shall apologize for my bold manner but not the intent. I only ask you to cease your battles and be willing to try.” The words were spoken softly but it was also clear Lord Rochester did not believe that would happen. Angry at not having a say, she composed herself enough to acquiesce to her father’s demand. Then she clenched her teeth when he informed her that one of his outriders was already come to announce that Duke was a quarter an hour away.
She had pulled her hands down to hide the trembling but smiled at him. By then he was looking at her with something akin to remorse. Lord Rochester nearly suggested that she freshen up, but at the mutinous look on her face he restrained himself.
She was quite determined to meet Lord Windon stinking of the stables in her riding habit. And if his sensibilities were injured, that was his problem.
Now, standing on the steps waiting for Lord Windon to take her hand and give it a perfunctory kiss, she finally admitted to herself that she had been foolish. She looked hoydenish and smelled a trifle rancid. Standing in the sweltering heat with the stench of horses on her person she wished she had managed a sponge bath at least. Lord Windon did not balked at her person when presented. He kissed her wrist as airily as if she were attired for Court. The blatant apology in her father’s eye over an errant daughter galled her bitterly.
Chapter Six
The journey had started with a thousand misgivings, but the early spring was surprisingly mild and there was not even a hint of a chill on the air. The weather had remained clement, and the horses were sprightly. Robert wished to be detained by a problem. A broken spoke, or even highwaymen, but he had the devil’s own luck. He had thought more on her. Lady Amelia. It tasted sharp and sweet on the tongue, like lemon ice. He pictured her flashing eyes, her lips pursed or pouted, or even thin in anger. Her spine was as straight and strong as her convictions.
