Grogan bowed. “Very good, My Lord.”
He then sent a footman to have his valet pack some clothes and necessaries, then went to have a word with his steward. Troubled by the news that the Duke was ill again, he feared Amalia may have been correct in her concerns that he may die. “You better not die, you old rogue,” he muttered. “Your daughter needs you. We all do.”
His steward, Hap Boyle, rose from his desk to bow as Reggie knocked, then walked into his office. “My Lord, I have been expecting you, I have here –”
“I am afraid it will have to wait, Hap,” Reggie interrupted, his worry making him uncharacteristically rude. “Forgive me, but I must spend a few days at the Thornhill residence.”
“Is everything all right?”
“Amalia sent word that her father is ill.” Reggie paced the small room lined with shelves of books and ledgers, the desk scattered with reports. “Given what happened to Marshall, she, naturally, is a bit on edge.”
“Quite understandable. I will carry on as usual and will send a message if there is anything dire you must know about.”
Reggie nodded, relieved. “You are the best, Hap. Thank you.”
“No trouble at all. I know how fond you are of the family.”
Fond is not exactly the right word. Love is more appropriate. Leaving Hap’s office, he waited with growing impatience for his valise and his horse. Fortunately, the Duke’s mansion was less than a mile away, and at a fast clip would not take him long to get there. That Amalia had reached out and asked him to come told him more than anything how frightened she truly was.
The butler, Perkins, answered the door and bowed, then showed him into the drawing-room where Amalia sat with Patrick. Her maid was there as a chaperone, standing behind her mistress like a soldier at attention. Amalia stood and rushed toward him. “Reggie, thank you for coming so quickly.”
“How is he?” Reggie asked, acknowledging Patrick’s bow with a nod.
“He says he is feeling better after the physician bled him,” Amalia replied, gesturing toward an armchair in an invitation for him to sit. “He believes he will be able to come down for supper, even though I told him to rest.”
Reggie sat when Amalia did and accepted a glass of wine from a footman. “I would quite like to remain, even if I am no longer needed.”
Amalia laughed. “Of course, you are needed, Reggie. Yes, please stay. Father and I enjoy your company, so you may remain as long as you like.”
Oddly, Patrick’s face tightened for a moment at her words, and Reggie knew he was not meant to have seen it. Perhaps he is hoping the old man will permit him to court her after all. Reggie grinned inwardly, understanding that he had somehow turned the tables on his old friend. Last night, Patrick managed to get under his skin, now he was under Patrick’s.
“I would suggest you go pay Father a visit,” Amalia went on, obviously noticing nothing, and drank her wine. “But Patrick’s friend will be arriving at any moment, and I would like you to be here to greet him.”
“Of course.”
Without seeming to, Reggie eyed Patrick and observed him staring at the door as if eagerly anticipating the Earl’s arrival. “I say, Patrick,” Reggie said, “when will you start working for His Grace?”
Patrick grinned. “Soon. I must give my notice to Lord Bainbridge, of course, then I will set up my new office near Mr. Bannock’s.”
“Father wants him to stay here in the house,” Amalia went on, “and Patrick will be given free rein on importing wines and champagnes from France. Father knows the war over there will end soon, and he wants to be ready to sell their wines here at a considerable profit.”
“His Grace has a great deal of foresight,” Patrick added. “If his plan works, and I know it will, he will become the primary importer of these wines.”
“As I recall, you speak French fluently,” Reggie commented with a smile. “That is certainly an advantage.”
Patrick bowed his head modestly. “I knew studying the language would come in handy one day. The war interfered with my going over there to increase my knowledge of it.”
The door at the far end of the drawing-room opened, and Perkins bowed. “His Lordship, the Earl of Eastcairn, My Lady.”
He stood aside as a man in his late twenties entered. He was tall with a stocky build and close-cropped blond hair with blue eyes. As he was an Earl and Reggie a Marquess, he was forced by protocol to bow even as Patrick did the same, and Amalia curtsied. He wore a friendly open expression, and Reggie thought his tall, stocky build, close-cropped blond hair and blue eyes to be the sort that attracted ladies by the score. That in itself made him dislike the man on sight, for he feared he may also draw Amalia’s attention.
“Freddie,” Patrick exclaimed, striding forward to shake his hand and make introductions. “Please meet my cousin, Lady Amalia Gallagher. And this is my old friend from childhood, Lord Reginald Davidson, Marquess of Lyonhall.”
Reggie shook the Earl’s hand. “I am Reggie,” he said easily, smiling. “Reginald is so formal.”
The Earl grinned. “I am Freddie under this roof. And may I pay you a compliment, Lady Gallagher? You are far more beautiful than Patrick described you.”
“Thank you, My Lord,” Amalia replied, blushing a faint pink.
“Please, will you address me as Freddie? I feel as though I have known you for years.”
Amalia hesitated, then said, “In private perhaps. But not in front of my father. He would not approve.”
Freddie glanced around, as though expecting the Duke to be hiding somewhere. “May I inquire where His Grace is? I am most eager to meet him.”
“He will greet you at supper—Freddie.”
“Please, may we sit down?” Freddie asked, smiling all around. “I would like to learn more about my friend’s friends. And his very attractive cousin.”
Reggie bristled yet maintained the mask of a socially polite façade while inwardly he seethed. The good-looking Earl was no doubt drawn to Amalia as most men were, spending more time talking to her than he did either Patrick or himself, and he suspected the man was setting himself up to court her. His jealousy rose to the surface in a wave, and then he forced it back down upon observing Amalia’s expression and mannerisms.
Used to being the object of men’s attentions, until she secluded herself from society, Amalia would respond with genuine smiles and laughter if she liked the man. However, if she did not enjoy the gentleman’s company, she tended to speak without truly answering his question and keep her face half turned from him.
Precisely as she did now.
Reggie relaxed, understanding that Amalia was not interested in returning the Earl’s regard, and would most likely reject his offer of courtship. That did not make him feel much better, however, since her father was pressuring her to find a husband. And as Patrick had commented, the Earl was a near-perfect match.
And so am I.
“So, Patrick,” Freddie said easily, “you are working for the Earl of Bainbridge still? He is a good man.”
“Not for much longer,” Patrick replied with a grin. “His Grace offered me a nice salary as well as room and board if I work for him. So, I will begin importing select French wines on his behalf from the very best wineries.”
“You were always ahead of me in our business studies,” Freddie responded with a laugh. “I should have stolen you from Bainbridge before His Grace did.”
“You might have. Save I have no desire to live in Sussex, old friend. London is where I want to be.”
“A wise decision.” Freddie eyed Reggie. “Your reputation as one of the finest horse breeders in the kingdom precedes you, Reggie. I am looking forward to perhaps conversations in that regard. I would like very much to discuss buying some of your breeding studs.”
Reggie smiled and sipped his wine. “I fear that is not possible, Freddie,” he replied. “I have a policy of selling only geldings, primarily to the Royal Army. I do not want competition setting up with my own stoc
k.”
Freddie laughed. “Touché. I suppose I understand, however, I am disappointed. I did not intend to set up in competition with you, only to breed horses for my own use on my estates. Even the Prince Regent himself rides one of your stallions.”
“How can one refuse the Prince Regent?”
“I heard that your horses continually win at Newmarket as well and have taken the wagering business by storm.”
“One does one’s best.”
Seemingly perplexed by Reggie’s non answers, Freddie eyed him sourly, then returned his attentions to Amalia. “Might I have the honor of your company at a ball in a few days, Amalia?”
Obviously uncomfortable by his use of her first name, Amalia slowly shook her head, her expression slightly stricken. “I fear I do not attend balls these days, My—Freddie. Thank you for the invitation.”
He feigned shock. “How can such a lovely lady as yourself not wish to be seen by society? I know I would be the envy of everyone present.”
“I am quite certain you will find another companion,” she replied. “One more attractive than I.”
“There are no such creatures that exist,” Freddie said, his blue eyes admiring as he gazed at her, “for you outshine them all.”
Amalia half smiled and gazed down at her lap, flushing pink. Reggie happened to glance at Edwina, her maid, who gazed straight forward with her lips pressed tightly together. He is embarrassing Amalia, and her maid does not like him at all. Interesting. “You flatter me unnecessarily, My Lord,” Amalia said without looking up.
“I never flatter without necessity.”
Amalia smiled without humor. “Gentlemen, it is time to change for supper. I will see you all soon.”
Standing, Reggie watched as she curtsied to Freddie, then said, “May I escort you into supper, Amalia?”
For the first time since Freddie’s arrival, Amalia’s upwardly curving lips appeared genuine. “You may, My Lord Lyonhall.”
In a gesture she seldom offered, she bent a knee to him as well, then, with Edwina in tow, left the drawing-room.
Chapter 6
“I do not like him,” Edwina stated firmly. “He is as slippery as an eel. Watch yourself, My Lady.”
Amalia half shrugged as she unbuttoned her bodice. “He clearly wants to court me, so naturally he will have an ulterior motive and will appear heinous to you.”
“Heinous is as heinous does,” Edwina replied, her tone dark. “Please take care while you are around him. I do not like the way he looks at you.”
Amalia lifted her face. “How does he look at me?”
“As a pirate might gaze at a chest of gold. The way Lord Lyonhall looks at you, well, that I can approve of.”
“And how does he look at me, oh oracle of London?”
Edwina grinned. “The way you should be stared at. Now, how about the red gown?”
“No. Far too racy and might give the wrong impression. Not white either. How about brown?”
“Far too drab and makes you appear pale, like a phantom. How about this pale-yellow dress? It will make your hair stand out, and your eyes pop.”
Amalia tilted her head, considering. “Yes. It sends the proper message, as well.”
“What message is that?”
“Leave me alone.”
“It will accent both your hair and your skin, and no man will leave you alone upon seeing you in it.”
“They have no choice. I want to be left alone to care for Father. Eastcairn best get used to the idea quickly.”
Edwina helped her out of her gown. “You think he wishes to court you?”
“I am getting that impression, yes. I also have a feeling the word ‘no’ is not in his vocabulary.”
“I hope His Grace receives the same bad sensations from him that I am and sends him packing.”
“Have you ever considered that you might be slightly overprotective of me?”
Edwina paused and pondered for a moment. “No. I am not overprotective, because you are far too careless in your judgment of people. You think good of everyone.”
Amalia stared at her reflection in the looking glass. “I want to believe that people are inherently good, Ed. I want that very much.”
“I do hope and pray you find that to be true.”
Her father, the Duke, greeted Freddie warmly in the dining room, shook his hand, and gestured for him to sit at his right at the table. Reggie took the seat next to him, then Amalia across and Patrick next to her. With Edwina’s warnings echoing in her head, Amalia tried watching Freddie with the same cynicism her maid had, yet found nothing at all wrong in Freddie’s demeanor.
He was friendly, outgoing, quite handsome, charming, and reputed to be quite wealthy. She had also heard very few women refused his invitations to parties and balls, and no scandal had touched his name.
“I met your father once, Lord Eastcairn,” the Duke said, picking up his wineglass. “We did not exactly share the same opinions in Parliament, but he was not a lesser man for it.”
Only the slight tremor in his hand indicated he was not fully well, but his voice was hearty and his flesh a healthy hue. Still, Amalia exchanged a concerned glance with Reggie, who shook his head slightly upon meeting her gaze. Try not to worry, his eyes said.
Freddie nodded, smiling. “He was a good man indeed, Your Grace. And I wish to extend my condolences on the loss of your son.”
“Thank you.” The Duke bowed his head for a moment. “His loss has been difficult.”
“I can certainly understand that. Had I a son and I lost him—well, I suppose I would be beside myself.”
Amalia felt the Earl’s gaze on her as he spoke and instantly recognized the intent behind them. He fully intended to court her, perhaps even persuade her father to let them marry. Before Marshall’s death, she might once have welcomed his advances and encouraged them. Now, Ed’s words returned to her, and her chin lifted stubbornly.
Think of me as a chest of gold, will you? You better get used to the idea that I am not a prize to be won.
“I have been seeking a suitable bride,” Eastcairn went on, returning his attention to the Duke. “Part of the reason I came to London. I cannot see myself marrying a Scottish heiress. While I do like the Scots, I could not bear having that brogue speaking to me in my own home.” He grinned, chuckling.
An awkward silence fell on the Earl’s attempt at humor, and Amalia’s irritation rose. “I happen to think the Scottish people have a delightful accent,” she said tartly. “I could listen to it for hours on end.”
“Then once you marry me,” Eastcairn replied easily, “you will hear it daily, Lady Gallagher.”
Holding back her gasp of shock at his forwardness, Amalia took a sip of her wine, then set her glass carefully down. “I do not recall agreeing to any proposal of marriage, My Lord, nor has my father.”
Amalia shot a quick glance at the Duke and found he merely watched her with a lifted brow, yet no other expression lined his face. Patrick laughed lightly.
“I happen to think you would make a lovely couple,” he said. “Do you not agree, Reggie?”
“What I think is that His Lordship is presumptuous to the extreme,” Reggie answered without heat. “And that he should apologize to Lady Gallagher.”
Amalia observed Eastcairn’s tightened mouth and the lines of annoyance around it before he smoothed his expression and bowed his head. “I do apologize, Lady Gallagher, but my excuse is that your stunning beauty has indeed bewitched me, and I lost my head for a moment.”
“Your apology is accepted, My Lord.”
Finding it odd that her father said nothing through this exchange, Amalia shot him another glance and found him smiling slightly. As though he found the entire conversation amusing rather than shocking. “I do wish for Lady Gallagher to marry, Eastcairn,” he said quietly. “I also wish for her happiness in the man she so chooses to wed. She has asked that I not pressure her at this time, and I will respect her wishes.”
Then
the Duke’s eyes rested upon her. “For the time being.”
Feeling the relief and a flood of love for him course through her, Amalia smiled at him. “Thank you, Father.”
“Then I shall endeavor to make myself the most suitable candidate for your hand, Lady Gallagher,” Eastcairn announced, his voice slightly louder than necessary. “Do I have your permission to court you?”
She met his blue eyes squarely. “My father’s recent spells of illnesses require all of my attentions, My Lord. It would be unseemly and uncouth to allow myself such a luxury at this time.”
Oddly, Amalia caught Reggie’s smothered grin and wondered why her words would generate such a response. It is not as if Reggie wants to marry me. I am just a friend to him, Marshall’s younger sister. Patrick’s expression appeared mortified as though she had said something terrible while Eastcairn himself eyed her with determination.
“Then once His Grace has recovered his health,” he said swiftly, “then I fully expect to court you, Lady Amalia.”
By then, I will have engineered another excuse. She smiled sweetly and did not reply otherwise.
Chapter 7
Striding from his suite of rooms he had been given, Reggie headed for the stairs to descend them for breakfast. He had no sooner reached them when a soft cry and the sound of something heavy tumbling down the steps came to him. “What the—” he began.
When the sharp cry, “Father!” came from Amalia down below, he charged headlong down the staircase.
The Duke lay at the bottom, limp and perhaps unconscious. Amalia knelt beside him even as footmen rushed to his aid. “What happened?” Reggie demanded, reaching them.
“I do not know,” Amalia cried, her fingers on the Duke’s brow. “He was coming down the stairs then collapsed before he got all the way down.”
Evidently summoned by the commotion, Eastcairn and Patrick ran across the foyer toward them. “Is he all right?” Eastcairn asked. “Did he fall?”
Ignoring the Earl for the moment, Reggie bent over the Duke to determine if the fall had injured him in any way. A bruise grew from his brow, and he was clearly unconscious, yet none of his bones appeared broken. He glanced at the footmen.
The Last Lady of Thornhill Manor Page 3