“All settled, then,” said Henry. He considered the wisdom of offering her the use of his carriage. It seemed most unlikely that the Dane ladies would have one of their own, but he did not wish to risk offending them.
A wink from Aunt Gladys soon settled the matter. He pressed on: “I shall send my carriage to you at seven o’clock, if that suits?”
“Oh!” Amelia’s eyes widened. “Do you think it quite proper, my lord? I’m afraid the house we have taken is in Trim Street. It was not our first choice, naturally, but circumstances being as they are…”
Henry wondered what Miss Fortescue would make of the Banfield livery being seen at a Trim Street address. “Trim Street at seven, then. I look forward to it.”
3
To arrive at the Upper Assembly Rooms in a fine landau! To arrive in the company of an earl!
What a material change from the vision Amelia had entertained of a quiet, secluded stay in Bath! She felt her head begin to spin when she considered her good fortune.
But there was very little time to dwell upon the dizzying upturn in her position. Lady Isobel had proved to be quite the socialite; she had a wide circle of lively friends and made sure that her brother introduced Amelia to them all. Amelia was accustomed to feeling her age among groups of excitable young debutantes, but fortunately Lord Banfield remained at her side to steer the conversation away from flowers and dresses, and towards meatier topics.
He was exactly as reserved and calm as he had been in Sydney Park. Amelia could not help but admire a character which held steady under the sort of provocation Henry was subject to at the hands of the flirtatious young girls at the ball. That was not to say that he did not act the gentleman; indeed, his manners were everything that was solicitous and proper. He was simply a man who did not waste time on frivolous matters. If Amelia had lacked the benefit of her maturity, she might have found him almost intimidating. As it was, she found herself relaxing in his company to the extent that once again she had to drag her attention away from the depths of his brooding dark eyes.
Her dance card filled with a rapidity she would never have expected. Clearly, the company of an earl and his sister had done wonders for her status. She felt more the belle of the ball than she had ever imagined, though the attentions paid her were nothing compared to the admiration Isobel drew.
“I hope you are not engaged for the cotillion,” said Henry, on seeing her accept an offer from an officer in his dashing red coat. “I will be most disappointed if it transpires I am too late to enjoy your company.”
“I am quite free,” said Amelia. She felt almost giddy as she wrote his name down upon her card. A stern self-reprobation was evidently in order. She was not naturally given to giddiness.
After a short while, the great press of people became too much for Amelia, who was unused to large crowds. Once the first dances were concluded and tea was served, she retired gratefully to a chair in a secluded corner of the hall to recollect her thoughts and replenish her spirits with a touch of solitude. The latter was difficult to come by, however, as no sooner had she sat down than Lady Isobel appeared before her.
Isobel stood with her face to the corner so that no one but Amelia could see the violent trembling of her lip.
“Please forgive me, Miss Dane,” she whispered, in an unhappy voice. “It is only that – that I must stand here apart a little while.”
“But my dear, you seem distressed. Tell me, are you unwell? Or has someone behaved improperly towards you?”
“It is my dress,” said Isobel, flushing red with the effort of restraining her tears, and gesturing towards the flamboyant purple gown she was wearing. Amelia was forced to confess that she could not at all understand the problem. The dress was very fine – much finer than anything Amelia had ever worn herself – and was not visibly blemished or torn.
“Miss Fortescue has explained to me that bright colours do not suit a young lady,” Isobel whispered, as though speaking of a great shame. “I would have done better to wear pastel, or better still a gauzy white creation. It is no great matter. I shall know better next time.”
“I do not think there is anything wrong with wearing purple, if purple is what you desire,” said Amelia. She searched for a way to make her point clear while remaining charitable towards Miss Fortescue. “I am sure Miss Fortescue is a great expert on fashion… but I myself have never bothered with it. I choose my clothing to please only myself.” This was not quite true. Her primary consideration was always the cost of her things. Isobel, however, had no such restriction – and it would have broken Amelia’s heart to see her prevented from enjoying her comfortable position. “I doubt a gentleman has ever been driven away by the sight of a gown in purple, crimson, or any colour you care to name. They are not concerned with such things.”
“I know that well enough,” confessed Isobel. “Poor Henry offers me very vague advice whenever I go to the dressmakers. It was different, of course, when Mama was alive…”
“You are more than old enough to make your own decisions,” Amelia told her, seeing that the conversation was taking a turn to a painful area. “I think you look very nice in purple. And why on earth should you wish to look like everybody else?”
“Do you really think so?” Isobel beamed as though she had been paid the greatest compliment she could desire. “Then Miss Fortescue was wrong?”
“Not wrong, exactly. It is only that… perhaps she has fashion at the front of her mind, whereas I have always found it is better to rely on one’s own pleasure than the opinions of others.”
“A very wise sentiment,” interjected the deep, honey-smooth voice which could only belong to Henry. The ladies were startled; he had come up behind Isobel completely unnoticed. “They are lining up for the cotillion, Miss Dane,” he continued. “Will you do me the honour?”
“Certainly.” Amelia stood up, with a quick smile for Isobel, and allowed him to lead her into the dance.
She had always thought that elegant dancing was the mark of a true gentleman, and the Earl did not disappoint. He moved through the steps gracefully and with a vigorous energy which belied his sanguine temper.
“I must confess that I do not care at all for this great throng of people,” he said, once they had been through the usual pleasantries about the weather, the size of the room, and the duration of each other’s stay in Bath. “But I suppose it is useless to complain – it is entirely my own fault for agreeing to visit the Assembly Rooms at all.”
“Why should you be at fault for that?”
“Well, they are always so confoundedly busy. Do you not agree?”
“I admit to being quite ignorant about their usual turnout. I have never visited the Assembly Rooms before.”
The earl was surprised. It had clearly not occurred to him that anyone could avoid the obligations of the social calendar. “This is surely not your first time in Bath?”
“It certainly is. My aunt and I do not often travel.”
“I envy you. Ever since I became the earl l I have found myself continually dragged from one part of the country to the next. My duties to the estate pull me in one direction – my duties in the House of Lords in another – and then there was all the fuss about visiting Paris in order to get Isobel properly attired for the London Season.”
“Paris!” gasped Amelia. Naturally, she had heard that fine ladies would not replenish their wardrobes anywhere else, but she had never actually met anyone who had made the journey. “I can only imagine how beautiful it must have been!”
“You think me extravagant, I suppose. I do not blame you. If it had not been Isobel’s first Season out of mourning I should never have borne the cost.”
“Now you shall be obliged to make the whole journey over again when Caroline makes her come out,” said Amelia, smiling.
“The matter has been raised,” said the earl ruefully. “Often, and in most enthusiastic terms.”
“I think it is very good of you to cater to your sisters so assiduously
.”
“I am glad that my efforts are appreciated by someone, at least!” His face remained so very serious that it took a moment for Amelia to realise that he was making a joke. “But truly, Miss Dane, I cannot imagine depriving Isobel and Caroline of anything. Their lives have been too touched by tragedy already. It is my duty to see that they are well-provided-for.”
“They are lucky to have such a caring brother.”
Lord Banfield glowed under her compliment, but seemed thoroughly unable to regather his thoughts for further conversation. They lapsed into silence for the rest of the dance – a silence which was, nonetheless, comfortable and easy. Amelia was relieved to find that Henry did not force conversation where it was not required.
It was fortunate that she had engaged so many partners for the following dances, for her new friends were continually being separated from her by the endless bustle of the room. Isobel was holding court at the centre of a gaggle of officers, watched fondly by Miss Fortescue, who had evidently been forgiven her sharp words regarding the dress. One in particular, a Lieutenant McCarthy, had the ladies in paroxysms of laughter – though Amelia suspected it was less due to his wit than his rather handsome face.
When the evening was finally over, the earl gave Amelia his hand to help her into the landau. He had managed to shake off the ladies who had earlier been so keen for his attention. Isobel stood at his side to bid their friend goodnight; they had the comfort of a second carriage, an even finer town coach, to convey them home.
“I hope you are at home tomorrow afternoon,” said Isobel. “I should like ever so much to pay you a call.”
“You would do better to stay at home awaiting your own callers,” Amelia reminded her. “There will be several young gentlemen, I imagine, who you will not wish to disappoint.”
“Of course! I had quite forgot. I am expecting Lieutenant McCarthy, Lord Gideon…” Isobel began to enumerate her suitors with enthusiastic eloquence. Amelia nodded along, grateful that the true reason behind her refusal remained unspoken.
How could the sister of an earl possibly be seen visiting Trim Street? It would not do at all.
She thought she had escaped the embarrassment when the earl interrupted Isobel’s extensive list of gentlemen. “But you will be at home, Miss Dane?”
“I will,” she said reluctantly. “But really there is no need –”
“I am glad to hear it. Good evening, Miss Dane.” He made her a bow and left before Amelia could protest further.
She sank back against the comfortable, cushioned seat of the landau as it rattled away along the starlit streets. The evening had been more pleasant than she had predicted. More pleasant than it was wise to admit.
There would not be many such evenings of glamour and filled dance cards ahead of her, she reminded herself. But she did not regret the thought.
Once had been wonderful. Once was enough.
4
The morning call paid by the earl the following day was the beginning of a firm friendship between the Miss Danes of Trim Street and the Russell family of the much more elevated Sydney Place. Amelia astonished herself with the ease with which she adjusted to her packed social calendar now that she was the dear friend of an earl’s younger sisters. Both Isobel and Caroline had developed an endearing fondness for her which meant that her attendance was required at every ball, concert, and dinner party to which they could manage to wrangle her an invitation. At first, she thought it was merely a touching gratitude for the initial service she had rendered them, but she quickly understood that both girls were sorely missing the presence of an older, trustworthy woman in their lives. Amelia found herself taking on the role of – not their mother, naturally – but a wise older sister, giving them the benefit of her experience, little as it was, and her steady character.
She believed – at least, she told herself that she believed – that it was the Russell sisters who were the chief force behind the friendship, rather than their brother the earl. Henry was ever-present on their visits and outings, to be sure, but that was only natural considering the depth of responsibility he felt towards the girls. He had a face that was too often set in sternness to be considered truly approachable, and Amelia made sure that her private observations about the strong line of his jaw or the width of his muscular shoulders remained completely secret.
She had not received the faintest hint of any special preference for herself on Henry’s part until one interesting morning which saw a party of Isobel’s friends taking a walk through a pretty spot of woodland on the outskirts of Bath.
Summer was now at its height. The trees were burdened so heavily with rustling green leaves that small, sharp shards of sunlight were all that made it to the ground. The air, so much fresher here than the putrid river-scent she was accustomed to in Trim Street, had the lilt of wildflowers and fresh-crushed greenery to it. Amelia had never heard so many birds singing all at once, even in the countryside around Chapton. She was so enraptured by the natural beauties around her that she very nearly forgot she was obliged to make conversation with her companions.
Isobel and her younger friends were dashing about from one patch of sunlight to the other, admiring this wildflower and that scrap of a view between the trees. Very quickly, Amelia found that her more sedate pace had brought her into step with the earl, a little way behind the others. How his long legs had not managed to outpace her, she could not understand.
“Moments like this make me long to retire to the countryside,” he remarked. She sensed a peculiar strain behind his voice, as though he had been searching about for something to say.
“I am very blessed to call Chapton my home,” she answered. “We have an abundance of lovely walks. But for all that, I must admit I have come to appreciate the busyness of Bath.”
“You have not spent a Season in London, I think,” said Henry. It was not a question. She searched his words for a hint of judgement of her station, but found nothing. “No. I would have noticed you, Miss Dane.”
“There was a time when I wanted to go, but… circumstances have never permitted it.”
“I have often wondered what would have become of me if it were not for my family fortune. In the days following my parents’ death I must admit to being quite reckless. I was ashamed to find myself, then a man of eight and twenty, completely incapable of managing my own affairs. Worse still was my ineptitude when it came to the care of my two sisters.” He held out his hand to help Amelia over a fallen log. “It still concerns me very deeply that they do not have a mother to guide them. I am afraid my own efforts can never make up for the loss of a parent.”
“Do not judge yourself so harshly. Lady Isobel and Lady Caroline are both charming girls. Their manners leave nothing wanting. They have shown such kindness to my aunt and myself.” Seeing that his thoughts remained dark, she ventured to share a little of her own past. “I too was raised without a mother. I cannot remember my parents, and I cannot speak to the grief you must all feel. But I can assure you that I did very well growing up in my aunt’s care, as I am sure your sisters will do in yours.” She laughed, startling Henry from his seriousness. “As I said, anyone who treats two old spinsters with such generosity cannot have gone entirely astray.”
“Spinsters!” It was Henry’s turn to laugh. “Forgive my impertinence, but you cannot seriously be consigning yourself to spinsterhood at such a young age.”
“Oh, I am not at all miserable for it. I am merely being realistic. It becomes more and more difficult for a woman to attract a husband every year past one and twenty. And I do not flatter myself that I am any great catch.”
“But you have so many fine qualities. Innumerable. You are good, you are kind, you have a sharp mind –”
“If only there were more eligible gentlemen searching for a sharp-minded woman! No, my lord – youth and beauty are the order of the day.”
Henry stopped walking. Amelia thought for a moment that he had stumbled, or seen some danger in the path ahead, but she
found that his eyes were fixed upon her face. The intensity of that gaze spoke to something deep inside of her, some part of her which had long lain hidden and which now, for the first time, stirred like the buds of spring.
“You must allow me to remind you that you are young,” said Henry. “You are young and you are beautiful.”
“I was not looking for a compliment, my lord –
“That only makes me the more pleased to say it. I do not speak lightly, Miss Dane.” He took a step towards her. Amelia, fearing to stumble on the uneven ground, could not move away.
Henry’s hand went up impulsively to her cheek. She flinched away from his touch, but it was with surprise rather than fear. Afterwards, she wished she had been brave enough to hold still.
“If only I could think of a way to show you the depth of my esteem, Miss Dane,” Henry murmured. Amelia hardly dared breathe. The dappled sunlight around them, the scent of damp leaves, the dust motes hanging golden in the air, all seemed to grow suddenly still. They were surrounded by a deep and impenetrable silence.
Henry’s eyes softened and he leaned towards her in the first hesitant movement of a kiss. He came so close to it that Amelia felt the warmth of his breath upon her face.
She did not know what to do. She did not know whether she wanted to kiss him or not. She did not understand why he was trying to kiss her.
She only knew that every part of her was holding its breath in anticipation of his lips.
A shadow crossed Henry’s face and, as quickly as he had moved towards her, he pulled away. Amelia was left with a hand hovering partway to her lips, confused and overflowing with emotions she had never dreamed of experiencing.
Of course he had not intended to kiss her. Whatever impulse of the moment had carried him away must have been crushed by the recollection of her status, her poverty, her age.
The Duke, the Earl and the Captain Page 14