A soft and unsatisfyingly mild curse escaped her lips.
*
Fredrick had returned home in a temper. What the hell were Isabelle Collier’s bastards doing at Avondale? Of course, he knew that Isabelle had kept company with the elder Lord Ambrose. Had he gotten a bastard on her, as well then? Thinking of the dark-haired younger girl, it was possible. It still didn’t explain why the current Lord Ambrose had fetched all his father’s sins to the bosom of the family home.
Another and far more disquieting thought formed in Fredrick’s mind as he stalked toward his study and the brandy that awaited him there. Perhaps, it hadn’t been Ambrose’s idea to bring them there at all. Perhaps, they had inveigled their way there through their own machinations. He’d always been a stickler. Despite the gossip and that one incident where he’d shot the bounder, Randall Grantham, Cornelius Garrett had spent the entirety of his life avoiding scandal. Was that what prompted their invitation to Avondale? Were they blackmailing the man? Was he next?
“That’s it,” Fredrick muttered aloud as he poured the brandy. “That chit and her bastard siblings mean to bleed Ambrose dry and once they’ve done it, they’ll come for me next.”
He thought of the Wyverne girl and all her lovely money slipping through his fingers. Between his own siblings’ wild behavior, Harrelson’s flesh peddling, his stepmother’s blatant infidelities, having his own bastard living next door would be the nail in his proverbial coffin when it came to snagging her. Lame, with a figure that some would call ample, she represented his last hope of obtaining the necessary wealth to keep his estates afloat and avoiding the public humiliation of selling off parcels of land while bailiffs swept the house for valuables. He’d put a pistol ball in his brain before he’d suffer that indignity and since death by suicide held no allure for him, that truly wasn’t an option.
So get rid of him. The insidious whisper in his mind sounded shockingly like his late uncle-by-marriage, Lord Harrelson. It was certainly what he would have done. Harrelson had never let a little thing like murder or infanticide stand in his way when it came to getting what he wanted. He’d kill the lot of them and Ambrose, too, if he got in the way, Freddy decided.
An expression of determination, of resignation, crossed his face as he sipped the spirits and pondered the best method to murder his own flesh and blood.
Chapter Twelve
Before the dinner hour, a selection of gowns had been sent to their rooms. It was obvious from the cut of them and the color that they belonged to Lady Arabella. It was also equally obvious, that while finer than anything either Prim or Hyacinth owned, the styles were at least two decades out of fashion. Still, they donned them without complaint. If that was what Arabella wanted them to wear for dinner and if it would maintain the peace, then that is what they would do. Or so Prim thought, until she had the gown on and caught sight of her reflection.
“Good heavens. I’m spilling out everywhere. I look like an untended dairy cow!”
Hyacinth laughed. “You look lovely. Bountiful, yes, but lovely. And I’ve seen fine ladies wearing significantly less.”
“We’re not fine ladies. We’re the maids who help fine ladies don their scandalous garments,” Prim shot back. “I’ve never had so much of myself on display in the entirety of my life.”
“No doubt Lord Ambrose will be so far away at the grand table it will not matter,” Hyacinth reassured. “And poor myopic Lady Arabella will simply squint at the very lovely blur you make.”
Prim did laugh at that. Recalling how the elderly woman had peered at them through a quizzing glass she kept draped about her neck, she couldn’t help but be amused.
“All right. Let us go below and face what will surely be a humiliating evening. Perhaps our manners will be so atrocious they’ll never invite us to dine with the again.”
“Our manners are fine. Mother made certain we’d know what forks to use and how to interact at a fine table, whether we ever sat at one or not,” Hyacinth replied indignantly.
“But they don’t know that,” Prim said conspiratorially.
“I refuse to pretend to be more of a bumpkin than I am just so you may retain your hermit-like tendencies,” Hyacinth rejoined as they left their chambers and descended the stairs.
The children were dining in the nursery that night in the company of one of the maids who was, based on the peals of laughter they’d heard coming from the room, their new favorite person. It had been Lord Ambrose’s suggestion and Prim could only assume that it was because he meant to discuss the situation relating to Rowan and Lord Samford.
They found Lady Arabella in the drawing room and, much to Prim’s chagrin, Lord Ambrose was with her. They appeared to be in a rather heated conversation. Or rather, Lady Arabella appeared to be having a conversation and Lord Ambrose appeared to be having a quietly heated response to it. His expression could only be described as annoyed.
Immediately, Arabella stopped haranguing him for whatever it was and said in a lilting tone, “There you are, my dears! Heavens, those gowns look lovely on you! Naturally, they won’t do for company but for dinner at home with just the four of us, they are quite all right. I was just telling dear Cornelius here that I must get you both to Bath for fittings with a decent mantua maker. London would be better, but that would require more than a day trip and, sadly, Cornelius has turned off London altogether since the scandal!”
“What scandal is that?” Hyacinth asked softly.
“Oh, my dear! He had to shoot that awful man who had tried to murder dear Viola! You’ve met his half-brother, Nicholas Warner, of course. Well, Viola is his wife. And, of course, she was married before and has the most delightful little boy, Tristan, but her late husband was a terrible sort. So scandalous. Even my dear late nephew, poor Cornelius’ father, would have naught to do with him. And heaven knows my nephew was no stickler for morality! But I digress, Randall, the bounder’s nephew—”
“Enough!” Lord Ambrose shouted, rising to his feet. “It’s an old scandal and hardly worth repeating. I killed a man, but he was one who needed killing. That is all that need be said of it. Now, we shall go into dinner.”
There was a finality to his tone. It was clearly not a subject that he wished to address and certainly not one that he wished to have discussed in front of him. That much was obvious from his shuttered expression and the firm set of his shoulders as he stalked forward and offered Lady Arabella his arm.
Prim fell into step behind him, Hyacinth at her side. She felt a pang of sympathy for him because she had no doubt that if he had killed a man, there had been little other option for him. But it was also quite clear that the weight of it pressed heavily upon him. And Lady Arabella was the oldest and silliest goose in all of England, it seemed, for not being able to pick up on it.
“What do you suppose that’s all about?” Hyacinth whispered.
“We’re all entitled to our pasts, Hy. And our secrets,” she replied.
The dining room was beautiful, but not nearly so grand as they might have imagined. The table was small and circular, surrounded by upholstered chairs. There must have been numerous leaves for the table as there were at least eight additional chairs to match that were placed along the walls of the room. The table itself was laid with crystal and intricately-carved silverware, as well as fine porcelain. A small centerpiece of various hothouse flowers was nestled in the middle of the table. It was a low centerpiece, one that would not obscure anyone’s vision of her. As obscene as her gown was standing, it was so much worse when seated.
She would be directly across from him. Based on the rules of etiquette as she understood them, Lady Arabella would be to his right because of her rank. Hyacinth would be to his left because of her status as the eldest of the two of them. Which meant that she, Prim, would spend the evening sitting directly across from him with her bosom on display like a tavern wench. For heaven’s sake.
When they were seated, the first course was served. The soup was divine, but she hadn�
�t expected less. As she savored each bite, she felt the weight of his gaze on her. It created a pleasant warmth in her, an awareness and tension between them that surely even Arabella must have picked up on. As Hyacinth glanced from one of them to the other, Prim was well aware that her sister had detected it.
As if to break whatever spell had been cast, Hyacinth directed his attention away from Prim for the moment. “What do you intend to do about this Lord Samford, Lord Ambrose?”
“I have already written him and expressed in no uncertain terms that he is not to step foot on my lands again, for any reason. And that if, at any time, he importunes anyone who is a guest here, he will be forced to deal with me directly,” he said.
“You surely cannot mean you would challenge him to a duel?” Prim demanded.
“I can mean that, Primrose. And I will, should it prove necessary. I am hoping that for once in his miserable life, Lord Samford will choose to do the decent thing and simply let that be the end of it,” he said simply.
“What in the world is all of this about?” Lady Arabella demanded. “I feel as if the lot of you are speaking in riddles.”
“It was nothing, Aunt Arabella,” Lord Ambrose lied. “Just a minor misunderstanding with Lord Samford today. He’s forgotten how to mind his manners and speak to ladies. It’s taken care of.”
Prim knew instinctively that he didn’t wish to say anything to Arabella because Arabella was patently incapable of keeping a secret. The woman prattled on incessantly about everything.
Peeking from under her lashes, she stared back at him, at his chiseled features and the sweep of his dark hair over his forehead. It made her heart flutter uncomfortably. Picking up her glass, she made to sip her wine and then immediately thought better of it. Attributing her reaction to the large quantities of wine that flowed freely with the meal, while patently untrue, offered her a respite from the dreaded truth of her attraction to him. Prim put her glass down decisively.
“Is the wine not to your liking?” he asked.
No. It isn’t. I might become a drunkard and throw myself at your feet. “The wine is delicious, my lord. But neither my sister nor I are used to imbibing quite so freely. I think it best to proceed with a bit of caution.”
“Oh, my goodness. Yes. Yes, indeed!” Arabella gushed. “I must say, Miss Primrose, both you and your elder sister show remarkable good sense. So very unlike many of the young women of my acquaintance. A bunch of silly gooses. Geese? Oh, dear. I can’t think of which is correct! Do you know?”
“I think it hardly warrants conversation,” Lord Ambrose said as he beckoned to the footman. “Have a pot of tea fetched for the Misses Collier.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Prim said stiffly, once more feeling out of sorts at his thoughtfulness. It reminded her of her earlier conversation with Hyacinth about the true nature of the man and how much she wronged him by treating his every word and gesture as if it were suspect.
“We are very nearly family. I find it preposterous that we should stand on such formality here. You must call me Cornelius, or Ambrose if you prefer it,” he said.
Ambrose. She would not call him by his given name. That was too intimate by far.
“And you must call us by our given names, my lord—Ambrose,” Hyacinth interjected. “It would be much more convenient than constantly wondering which Miss Collier was being addressed.”
“That is all well and good,” Arabella began, “But it cannot be entertained in company. If we were to have guests, they would think it most irregular. I cannot even imagine what sort of household they would presume us to be!”
“We are very unlikely to have guests, so I daresay it will not matter,” Ambrose replied. “As to being in company and also seeing to your wardrobes, I have made arrangements to see you all to Bath the day after tomorrow. Nicholas will be joining us there so that he might offer advice on procuring an appropriate pair of spectacles for you, Hyacinth. With the correct lenses, we may be able to avoid future spells such as the one you suffered at the inn.”
“Oh, no! That’s too much, my lord. Really! Since I’ve not been doing all the sewing like I was, I haven’t had another one—”
“Thank you, Ambrose,” Prim interjected, cutting Hyacinth’s protests short. Of all the things he’d paid for and of all the things that he was willing to be so generous about, that was the one that she desired above all things. “It will be lovely to see Hyacinth in her new spectacles and to know that my sister’s health is finally being attended to in a proper fashion.”
*
Cornelius was relieved that it wouldn’t be a battle to see to the elder Miss Collier’s vision issues. Had the need been reversed and if it was Primrose who required spectacles, he doubted that her response would have been to acquiesce so easily. They would order clothing for all of them, get books and toys for the children, and while there, he would pay a visit to the Vale townhouse. His neighbor, a man who had his own axe to grind with the Samford, Lord Wolverton had married Vale’s adopted sister and they were currently all in town together. While he and Wolverton had not always seen eye to eye, under the circumstances, he was fairly certain he could count on the other man’s assistance.
It was an odd thing to look forward to going into society. He was so used to being gossiped about, to stares and whispers, that he had avoided such things for himself. But he found himself eager to spoil the Colliers a bit. Not just Rowan and Lila, though having heard their laughter echoing through the halls earlier, their exuberance for life was infectious. To see Primrose and her sister in gowns that were made specifically for them, likely something they’d never experienced in their lives, was terribly appealing.
The meal continued, each course served and cleared as they continued to converse about all the things that would need to be done for the children. Rowan’s love of horses made him a prime candidate for riding lessons. Lila would need to learn as well though it was clear that her heart wasn’t truly in it. A governess would be hired but he had not wanted to do that without the input of the elder sisters. He’d stepped on their toes enough already.
As the last course was cleared, Arabella rose. “We will adjourn to the drawing room for dessert and leave Cornelius to his brandy and cheroots.”
He didn’t want them to. The urge to countermand Arabella’s edict and join them was just strong enough to give him pause. It wasn’t just that he was enjoying the company, or the conversation. It was her.
For the entirety of the meal, he hadn’t been able to tear his gaze from her. They were both beautiful. But there was something about Primrose Collier that drew him, that called to something inside him. Indulging his attraction to her, even in such a harmless way as extending his opportunity to look upon her in a purely platonic setting, was imprudent at best. At worst, it would only weaken his resolve to resist the temptation of her. Of course, it might have been the height of conceit to think she would welcome any advances from him or that she might be equally tempted. He’d made the decision that, at some point in the future, she would be his wife, but not before she was ready to be. He didn’t want to do anything that would force her hand and make her resent him.
Cornelius had prided himself on being the kind of man who would never force himself on an unwilling woman or seducing an innocent who might not fully understand what was happening. He knew any number of men who called themselves gentlemen who would not hesitate to indulge in such practices, but that was not him. Still, there was something in Primrose’s reaction to him that made him think, perhaps, she might not be unaffected by him. She was cautious with him, aware of him in much the same way he was aware of her.
“Unless, of course, you’d care to join us, Cornelius,” Arabella offered.
There was something in his aunt’s tone that alerted him. Even more curious, she’d actually paused to allow him to respond. He met her gaze and noted that, while she still squinted, there was a smug and knowing tilt to her wrinkled lips. The old woman, blind as a bat and silly as a goose, had
figured him out.
“No, Aunt Arabella,” he declined. “While I have no interest in cheroots, as you well know, I do have some things to attend to and a brandy sounds wonderful.”
He rose as the women did and bowed his head in their directions. “Good evening, Hyacinth, Primrose.”
They walked out and his eyes followed them. It was going to be difficult maintaining any semblance of indifference, but he had no choice. If he allowed himself to slip, even once, and think of her as his, he’d never have the strength to let her go. And despite his determination to have her, it was obvious to him that Primrose was equally determined not to be had.
Chapter Thirteen
It was the wee hours of the morning and Prim couldn’t sleep. The bed was comfortable, spacious, and warm. Three things she’d never experienced simultaneously. Yet she’d tossed and turned from the moment she had laid down. Was it the strangeness of having a bed to herself for the first time in her life? Their new and unusually luxurious surroundings? Or was it Lord Ambrose, lying in his own bed under the same roof?
Prim, despite the small untruths she’d clung to at dinner, by her nature, was honest with herself and with others. It was the latter. She’d been aware of his gaze upon her all during dinner. She’d been equally aware that the warm feelings that had flooded her had only a little to do with the wine she’d imbibed. He was too attractive by far, and it was clear that his interest in her was rather marked. If she were to be entirely honest, she would admit that she’d been unaccountably drawn to him from the first moment he’d entered their small cottage.
He was not the first handsome man she’d ever encountered, to be sure, nor the first to express interest in her. But she found him compelling in a way that unsettled her, because it seemed to be somehow beyond her control. Frustrated, she tossed and turned for a few moments more before giving up entirely.
Pushing back the bedclothes, Prim rose and reached for the wrapper draped across the foot of the bed. Shrugging into it, she belted it tightly as she slid her feet into her worn slippers. She didn’t wake Hyacinth. The last thing she wanted was to face her sister’s curious expressions and answer any questions about what might be happening between her and Lord Ambrose.
The Awakening of Lord Ambrose (The Lost Lords Book 6) Page 8