by Brenda Hiatt
But it wasn’t her fault that the Redwycks had brought their estate to such a pass!
An hour later, after Polly had helped her into an evening gown and tucked her hair into yet another lace cap, Juliana followed her maid toward the drawing room where the party assembled before dinner. She saw that Mrs. Redwyck and the servants had been busy. In the brief time since her arrival, the bleak, empty rooms had undergone almost a magical transformation. Branches of candles adorned the few, ancient pieces of furniture, and each surface held simple earthenware bowls of varied heights and sizes filled with a artful mix of both garden and wildflowers: narcissus, tulips and bluebells, pale yellow primroses. It was as if an ancient castle had been abandoned by its human dwellers and taken over by fairies for their revels.
Juliana mentally shook herself. Goodness! She was becoming fanciful. This was all just part of the Redwycks’ scheme to beguile her into becoming one of them.
As they came to the threshold of the drawing room, she thanked Polly for her guidance, then entered. Grandpapa and Mrs. Frisby had not yet come down, but Lord Amberley, his mother and a young lady who must be his sister all looked up as she entered. Amberley, in an elegant black coat, and his mother, in violet satin, both arose as she entered, but the other young lady remained seated, opening a book in front of her with an air of total absorption.
“Good evening, Miss Hutton,” said Amberley, coming forward to meet her.
“What a delightful gown, my dear,” said Mrs. Redwyck. “Blue becomes you.”
Juliana thanked her, uncomfortably aware of Amberley’s warm gaze upon her. If only she owned at least one dress suitable for evening wear that was cut as modestly as her morning dresses! Unfortunately, the one that Polly had laid out for this evening had a fashionably low, square neckline. It only reminded her of how Amberley had seen her much more scandalously attired.
“May I introduce my sister to you,” he murmured, then frowned as he realized his sister hid behind her book. “Lucy, come and meet Miss Hutton.”
The tall, dark-haired girl set down her book and got up to survey Juliana with a sullen expression.
“May I present my sister, Lucinda,” said Amberley, with a look of brotherly warning in his eyes.
“How do you do,” said the girl, in a voice that would have been pleasant had it not been laced with hostility. Apparently, she did not consider Juliana worthy of her brother, but Juliana was more amused than hurt. What did it matter if Amberley’s sister liked her or not?
Very well, thank you,” she replied. “I am delighted to meet you. I see you are quite an accomplished lady.”
“Oh?” said the girl, looking blank.
“Well, I see that you are adept at reading upside-down, which is truly an amazing feat,” she said with a smile.
Miss Redwyck’s face darkened, but after a moment, she recovered. “No doubt you are highly trained in all of the feminine accomplishments, Miss Hutton. I suppose you embroider beautifully, speak sixteen languages and can perform any number of airs on the pianoforte.”
“In truth, I embroider abominably, I speak a little French and Italian, and I have no particular aptitude for music.”
“Do you ride?”
She shook her head. “I have never had the pleasure of learning.”
The girl raised her eyebrows contemptuously, then returned to her seat and her book. Both Amberley and his mother looked embarrassed and apologetic. At that moment both Grandpapa and Mrs. Frisby arrived, and so the awkward moment passed in the following exchange of pleasantries.
Soon after, they all went into dinner. Polly had told Juliana that that Amberley had brought his French chef from London, and that there was currently a state of warfare in the kitchens between that individual and the old-fashioned cook who had been employed at the Hall for decades. However, the meal was delicious and showed no sign of the strife belowstairs.
She was seated beside Lord Amberley, but took little part in the conversation. Grandpapa took the lead, asking many questions about Redwyck Hall, the surrounding neighborhood, and local society. Juliana ached with embarrassment at his questions, which were clearly designed to discover just what sort of position awaited her as the next Countess of Amberley. Mrs. Redwyck gamely answered Grandpapa’s probing questions, and Mrs. Frisby struggled to help maintain a flow of polite small talk, to help cover for the fact that neither Juliana nor Miss Redwyck had much to say. Lord Amberley seemed rather subdued as well.
Presently, Juliana went with the other ladies back to the drawing room, leaving Grandpapa to continue to discuss the Redwyck estate with Lord Amberley over port. Miss Redwyck announced she had a headache, and excused herself from remaining with them. Soon after, Juliana saw Mrs. Frisby press a hand to her temple, and knew her companion’s pain was not feigned. Mrs. Frisby was not a good traveler, and no doubt the journey had taxed her limited energies. It took only a little coaxing to convince Mrs. Frisby to retire to her room, and Juliana found herself alone with Amberley’s mother.
“I trust your companion will soon recover,” said Mrs. Redwyck, taking a seat beside Juliana. “But I cannot regret that we have this opportunity to chat. I have been wishing to speak with you, Miss Hutton. May I call you Juliana?”
Reluctantly, Juliana nodded. It was no part of her plan to become close to the Redwycks. She did not desire Mrs. Redwyck’s kindness, and distrusted the motherly warmth in the woman’s voice. But it would be rude to refuse.
“I know this all seems very sudden to you, and it is quite natural you should question my son’s motives in courting you. We can make no secret of the matter that your grandpapa’s assistance is greatly needed here. But you must believe that my son’s feelings have nothing to do with that. Marcus has conceived a very real and lasting passion for you, my dear.”
Juliana said nothing, merely looking back at Mrs. Redwyck skeptically.
Mrs. Redwyck sighed. “I suppose it is too early to expect you to believe it. I just hope you will try to listen to what he has to say to you. There are many advantages to marriage with a Redwyck, you know.”
Her words seemed to refer to the privileges of marrying into an ancient and honored family, but the tone of her voice and the expression in her eyes were soft and dreamy, and even a trifle melancholy.
“You look puzzled, dear,” said Mrs. Redwyck. “What I meant to say was that the Redwyck men are famous for being the most charming lovers and husbands.”
She concluded her speech with a knowing smile that brought the blush back to Juliana’s cheeks. She reminded herself that Mrs. Redwyck was only trying to assist her son in his scheme to win her over.
Moments later, Grandpapa and Lord Amberley joined them. Juliana wondered what they had been discussing. Grandpapa looked to be in excellent spirits, which was disquieting in itself.
“Marcus, you must show Juliana the portrait gallery,” said Mrs. Redwyck.
Juliana swiftly looked back at Amberley, to see how he would react to this obvious attempt to throw them together.
“Only if she wishes it. Perhaps you would like to see it as well?” he said, directing his question at Grandpapa.
“No, I find I am a trifle fatigued, and would rather sit here by the fire for a bit,” said Grandpapa. “But you should certainly go, child.”
Juliana bit her lip. She should have known that her chaperones would abandon their posts at the first opportunity! Tempted as she was to imitate Miss Redwyck, she decided against pleading a headache. If she did, Grandpapa would say she had not given his lordship a fair opportunity to prove himself to her.
“Very well, my lord. I will accept your kind offer,” she said formally, and arose to leave the room with him.
To Juliana’s surprise, Amberley made no attempt to take her arm. Instead, he picked up a branch of candles, and quietly led her back toward the entrance hall. There he stopped, set the candles down on a carved Jacobean table, then turned to look at her.
“A bit awkward, is it not, how everyone is trying to thro
w us together?” he asked. “If you would prefer to retire to your room, I will make your excuses to your grandfather.”
“No, I do not wish to retire,” she said, and wondered at the impulse that led her to go with him.
“I am glad,” he replied. “I had hoped we would have an opportunity to speak alone.”
He led her down a dark hallway leading down the opposite wing of the house. It was very quiet, and she realized how far they were from Grandpapa. Even the servants were two floors above them. Yet somehow she did not feel afraid. Much as she suspected Amberley of being a rogue, she also felt certain his methods involved seduction, not coercion. She had merely to show him how indifferent she was to his charms, and that would be an end of it.
They entered a long, narrow room which appeared to span half the length of the house. Tall, pointed windows along one long side streaked paths of pale moonlight across the stone floor.
Amberley led her toward the far end of the room, and she wondered when he would try to take her in his arms.
“This is the earliest surviving portrait of my ancestors,” said Amberley, lifting the branch of candles to illuminate the portrait of a gentleman in Elizabethan garb. “It depicts Harold, first Baron Redwyck.”
She turned her gaze from him to the portrait, and found herself fascinated by the uncanny resemblance between the subject of the painting and her companion. Both had the same high forehead, the aquiline nose, the determined set of chin and jaw. The painted eyes even held the same look she had seen in Amberley’s eyes the night he had tried to seduce her.
“Harold was one of Queen Elizabeth’s privateers, and won his title and fortune by plundering any number of Spanish galleons. Or so the story goes,” said Amberley. “By all accounts, my ancestor was something of a rogue.”
“There is quite a resemblance between you,” she said tartly.
“I shall take that as a compliment.”
She stifled an unexpected chuckle at Amberley’s dry tone.
They continued down the gallery, and Amberley pointed out various ancestors and provided her with interesting tidbits of their history. Although he did not boast, it was clear he cared about his family heritage, and wished to preserve it. Even knowing herself to be the instrument of that preservation, Juliana still could not help being fascinated by the Redwycks. After meeting the first Baron, she was better prepared to see that all the subsequent lords shared the same aristocratic cast of countenance, and the same bold expression. Although it might have been the artists’ flattery, the women were lovely as well, attired in rich fabrics and adorned with costly jewelry.
“And this is the first Earl, and his countess, both painted by Sir Peter Lely,” said Amberley, pointing to a sumptuously attired gentleman with the long, luxuriant curls popular during the reign of Charles II. Beside the first Earl hung a portrait of a beautiful lady with dark ringlets, lavish lace draped about her elbows, and a blue silk gown that flowed about her body and fell off her curving white shoulders. She smiled a secret smile, and Juliana was grateful for the darkness that hid her blushes from Amberley. She had seen such portraits before, but now she understood just what could bring such a glow to a lady’s face.
As Amberley introduced more rakish gentlemen and smiling ladies, she felt as if she were being offered a seductive glimpse of the life being prepared for her. She lifted her chin defiantly. Perhaps the Redwycks’ brides had been happy with their lot, but she had no desire to submit to a husband’s will, no matter how pleasurable her servitude. Besides, who knew if those husbands had remained attentive after being presented with the requisite heirs?
Amberley lifted the candles to illuminate a small, more modern portrait.
“And this is my uncle Harold,” he said.
She studied the portrait curiously. Amberley’s uncle had the typical Redwyck looks, but his expression was more languid, less bold, than any of his relations. She had no difficulty imagining him carelessly dissipating a fortune.
They had reached the end of the portraits, and Amberley turned to face her. The branch of candles he held clearly illuminated his face. She could see desire shining from his eyes, and reminded herself it was one of his tricks. Her heart began to pound painfully in her breast as she realized the moment she had been waiting for was at hand.
“Miss Hutton,” he said, surprising her with his formality. “I know you were very angry—and rightfully so—on being thrust into this awkward situation. But I hope you’ve spent some time thinking over what I said to you when we talked at your grandfather’s house.”
She nodded, feeling somehow deflated. Was he going to try to make love to her, or not?
“Do you believe me now when I say I had no idea of your identity?” he continued. “That I am not the sort of villain who would try to seduce an innocent, for money or any other reason?”
His words were delivered forcefully, earnestly, and she found herself almost wanting to believe him.
“I do not know, my lord. I do know that you came to London with the cold-blooded intention to win the hand of an heiress. Can you deny it?”
“I cannot deny it, but I did not make such a plan on my own account. There are many who depend on me. Perhaps you do not understand. You have lived in the lap of luxury all your life; you’ve no notion what it is to be without proper shelter, or sustenance.”
“I can see for myself that your family is not living in luxury, but I do not think you are starving.”
“I am not speaking of my family,” he said curtly, “although I do wish I could provide better for them. I am speaking of the people that live and work on my estates—my tenants, the shepherds, the farm laborers, and their families. They are not precisely starving—yet—but times have been hard. When Bonaparte was defeated I rejoiced like any good Englishman, but since the war prices have fallen, and so have wages. My uncle has dissipated what funds I might have used to institute more efficient farming practices, and foreclosure is imminent. What choice do I have but to try to improve matters by any means available to me?”
She looked down, not wanting to hear about any more souls who would suffer if she did not marry Amberley.
“I am sorry,” he said unexpectedly. “My problems are none of your making, and I have no right to expect you to solve them. I only wished to explain myself. I never had any desire but to be perfectly honest with you, and to promise that I would do everything in my power to make you happy. That offer still stands.”
He took a step forward, and his voice softened and warmed as he concluded his little speech.
“Oh, do not pretend you are in love with me,” she said, stiffening.
“Very well,” he said, stopping. “I will not pretend.”
His words were meek, and yet he hinted at something quite different.
“Your words are noble indeed,” she said, “but while in London you were every inch the fashionable buck. How can I know that you are not seeking a fortune so that you may follow in your uncle’s footsteps?”
“A fashionable buck? I?” He looked torn between anger and amusement. “Hasn’t your grandfather told you that I’ve spent the last eight years acting as my uncle’s land steward, riding about the estates, collecting rents, studying crop rotation and sheep breeding? I’ve had no time to be fashionable, as you say.”
She raised her eyebrows while taking in his impeccably tailored evening attire.
“You speak of these clothes?” he asked, lifting his arms slightly. “This was all Pridwell’s—my uncle Harold’s valet’s—doing.”
She did not know how to reply, acutely aware of the breadth of his chest, of his well-muscled limbs encased in tight pantaloons. Even more acutely embarrassed to have made him aware of her interest. Before she could think of a reply, he laughed.
“I should not be so angry,” he said. “After all, you do not know me very well. Perhaps instead of telling you about myself, I could show you around the estates, so you can judge for yourself. What do you think?”
Sh
e pulled herself together and considered his suggestion. If she did not go along with it, Grandpapa would say she had not given Amberley the chance he deserved. Moreover, she wanted to know the truth, for her own peace of mind.
“It sounds like a sensible plan,” she replied.
“Good,” he said, smiling. “We can start tomorrow morning. Your grandfather has asked to go over my affairs with me, but we can very well do that later in the day. You are welcome to join us for that discussion as well.”
She blinked, not having expected such an invitation. Grandpapa had always tried to keep her in ignorance of matters of business.
“Thank you,” was all she could say.
He gave a slight sigh of relief, then asked her if she wished to return to the drawing room. She agreed, and followed him back out of the gallery.
“By the way, I must apologize for the rude reception Lucy has given you,” he said. “She is too young to realize that one should not judge a person’s worth solely by whether or not he or she loves horses.”
“I have not had the opportunity to discover whether or not I would like horses,” she said, a bit defensively. “Grandpapa thought it too dangerous for me to learn to ride.”
“Would you like me to teach you?”
Surprise rendered her temporarily speechless.
“You would do that?” she asked.
“Yes, if your grandfather does not object.”
Grandpapa would allow anything that would further Amberley’s suit. She had always wished to learn to ride, and if she ever gained her independence, it would be a useful skill. But how could she allow herself be so beholden to a man she was determined not to trust?
“I have long since sold the hunters, and all the carriage horses except for a cob that draws our gig, but we still have a few riding horses,” he continued. “Mama’s mare is gentle and should be an excellent first mount.”
“I do not wish to inconvenience your mother.”
“Mama will be more than happy to loan you her mare. Sonnet gets little enough exercise as it is.”