S’Truth! He had not dared admitted to himself how much he missed her. And in a week her little children, who had been initially shy, warmed to him enough to include him in their jaunts. In the middle of so good a time the guilt had returned full tilt. He had settled in the edicts of Society and hitherto missed such warmth. Never again.
When another week passed, the pressing matter of his promise to the Earl of Rochester returned to his mind with a vengeance. He had put it away in the days he frolicked with the children, but it would not be so easily dismissed when he was alone on his own estates with his own thoughts. He was honor-bound to fulfil the obligation, not to marry the chit. But he had to make an appearance at Mossford. How would he face the gel, knowing she had been right in her rash words? Even he no longer agreed with the way things were.
But the Duke of Windon was no coward and sent off a letter to announce his arrival in a few days. He made preparations and girded himself. For what? He wasn't sure. He made the trip with trepidation swelling with each mile gained. At the last town he sent an outrider to inform the estate of his imminent arrival.
When he had arrived they waited on the front step to receive him. Lord Rochester was ruddy and his daughter stiff. Windon sighed in annoyance and tugged at his cravat with irritation. The countryside was unseasonably warm. He would have liked to be in less stiff clothing and riding at a fast pace. A sentiment obviously shared by Lady Amelia. She was a sight, regally poised beside her father with her cheeks flushed in the obvious exertions of the morning. She looked absolutely fetching in her riding habit and was still ill-disposed to his person. He bowed over her fingertips but refrained from kissing them, such a gesture would even annoy her even more. He received a more jocular welcome from Lord Rochester. The trio entered the hall with the men in lead and her trailing behind, surprisingly docile. They were seemingly engrossed in their conversation concerning the architecture of the hall, sparked by an innocent remark by Lord Windon on the handsome masonry. Her father was doubly proud of Mossford, a favorite estate of his late wife. He obliged any who noted its beauty by delving into history of the building and local quartz mine used to build it.
Lady Amelia had thought them engrossed until she tried to escape, but before she could seek permission to retire her father was pressing Lord Windon ride with her. He claimed it was quite the thing, a brisk ride in the country air to alleviate the aches of the long bumpy ride in the carriage. Before she could bring a word in protest he had gotten Lord Windon to agree and embroiled her in his plans. She could not very well bow out without being impolite. His work done, Lord Rochester left them in the hallway. Perhaps for the first time since he had arrived, Lady Amelia raised her head to look boldly at Lord Windon. His gaze was just as earnest.
“If I may beg you...” he started.
“I would like very much to...” she spoke out, the words starting and stopped abruptly. After an awkward pause, he gestured for her to continue. “I must ask for your forgiveness, Your Grace, for my reprehensible manners in calling you out on your own matters.” He was her father’s guest and she had to assuage her guilt.
“Think nothing if it,” he said easily. “Shall we move to the stables then?”
It was an end of it then. After having deprived her of her sleep, the light way he treated her heartfelt apology did not earn him her favor, but she held her tongue. “And what you wished to speak of?” she prompted as she led the way.
There was enough time to raise the matter later in his stay. “It will keep, I am sure. I am most eager to gauge the manner of horseflesh in your stables.”
“I am sure you would find them worthy.” The stables were a pastime of hers and she was most eager to know his thoughts on it.
“Indeed, they will be. Lord Rochester is doesn’t seem the man to have inferior stock in his stables.” It was an easy assumption to make and she forgave him for it.
“If I may be so bold, I would like to say the stables are my domain. My father has little appreciation for horses.” He did not betray his surprise but smiled genially at her and inclined his head to look at her.
“Then I must say they shall be doubly worthy.” She flushed at the praise and they walked on with an easy air between them. The stables did not stink as many was wont to. Lord Windon approved of wide, comfortable stall boxes in which the horses were housed. When the horses were led out for his inspection he was impressed by the efficient manner of her grooms and the expert handling of the horses.
A particular stallion of Arabian origins caught his eye. He commented on its fine lines. It stood at eighteen hands with a glossy coat, strong withers, and sporting only a tuft of white in its tail. It was a magnificent creature.
She was very pleased at his reaction. “Would you like to ride him?”
When he asked for a stretch of land for a gallop to try out the new mount she quickly gave orders for the grooms to saddle two horses. Soon they were away with her in the lead.
Lord Windon was a masterful rider, with an excellent seat and a masterful handling of the spirited horse she could not help but admire. When they reached a level stretch of land he gave the horse his head. Both man and beast performed admirably. A seamless merging of motion that warmed her no end, it showed Lord Windon’s prowess to advantage. “You ride as well as Sebastian.” She beamed at him delightedly.
“I thank you for the compliment, but who is Sebastian?”
The light in her eyes dimmed. “He was my brother.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize...”
“He loved to ride. It was his dream to raise a winning race horse. After the smallpox epidemic we had so few staff that Papa started talking about selling the stable, but I couldn’t let him do that.” She pushed a strand of hair out of eyes that glistened suspiciously.
“Of course, you couldn’t. You jumped in with both feet to save your brother’s dreams.”
“It wasn’t that altruistic. It was a piece of him, a little piece I could hold on to. I couldn’t help him. I got sick first, and yet I lived.”
“You are still a far better sibling than I.”
She was puzzled at that. Amelia reigned in her horse to look at him in confusion.
“I find you have spoken harsh words, but they could not be truer.” He continued without quite meeting her eyes. “I wrote to my sister, begging correspondence of her life and conditions. She eagerly shared with me. When I accepted her invitation, I found her words to be true to a certain degree, but it was obvious she lives at a station beneath her. I have made certain arrangements to fatten their coffers. I find that I must also beg your forgiveness. I have been remiss in thinking that family was about duty, when it can be much more than that.”
Amelia gaped in stunned silence. He had not stopped but continued at a slow pace and she had no choice to follow "Your Grace, it is I who must beg your forgiveness.”
“No indeed.”
“It is indeed,” she protested mildly.
“Then we shall each forgive the other?” he asked with the ghost of a smile that was so rueful, she found herself smiling back.
“I must confess that I was wary of coming to your father’s lands,” he continued.
“What cause have I given you for such censure?” she asked with a smile of her own now, with amusement written on her face. “Truly, I am overjoyed that the air is clear between us.”
“It is not the countryside that has my censure. I was also invited to a house party that would be very different. It is undoubtably a large company, very boisterous, full of pranks, mischief and card games until dawn. My peers are no doubt indulging in all manners of...”
“I'm sorry, sir, that we offer little by way of diversion.” Lord Windon, no fool was instantly put on guard by her sharp tone.
“I only...” She did not give him chance to remonstrate.
“Of course, I do not want you to be bored. Perhaps you should seek to continue your journey in a trice when you are rested,” she spoke scathingly, spurring her hors
e forward.
“I did not mean to...”
“Do not offer platitudes if you are here on sufferance.” Surely, she did not think so.
“Your father invited me. I scarcely could be so impolite as to refuse.” That was the exact wrong thing to say and she stiffened. Her horse started to shy back and forth.
“You have, I must say, done your duty by us. We must not stop you from returning to more jaunty haunts.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.
“If I might get a word in edgewise, I would...” He tried to raise his voice to get her attentions.
“There is no need for excuses!” She shouted over him.
“I think you are quite mistaken...” Now his voice was raised purely in annoyance and irritation. The conversation had taken a wrong turn.
“I assure you that I am not!” Her voice maintained its domineering attempt to overpower whatever words may come from his mouth.
“Dashed deuce, you are a menace!” He regretted the words as soon as they rent the air. She gasped and paled. She sat glaring and her horse started to shy. He made an effort to collect the reins from her slack hands.
“And you are no gentleman to curse before a lady!” Her horse danced out of his reach and, with that last expletive flung in his direction, she turned her mount quickly and thundered off. Lord Windon followed at a sedate pace behind her, wracked with regrets and defeated by the interlude.
Her flight during their ride that afternoon had stayed with him. He had only been trying to pay her estates a compliment. The quiet had been enjoyable, something he was not afforded on his own estates. But she had leaped to the conclusion that he was typical of other boors in the ton. In a fashion he had begun to associate with Lord Rochester and his daughter, she had refused him to finish his words or get a word in edgewise to show her errors. He had helped the grooms restrain the lathered horses and went in search of quiet in the extensive gardens.
He wondered how his single act of atonement was not going to plan. He had hoped to help her. Upon hearing her predicament from her father, he had resolved to marry her in name alone, and give her access to her estate holdings and monies. It was little to atone for the sins of the male sex on the world of women and his implicit role in following them blindly.
He had hoped to broach the delicate issue during their ride and bring her to a kind agreement, but she had no use for him or his company. She would likely decline, and possibly abhor, his attempts to save her. He gave up then, and resolved to return to London at the earliest convenience.
But he would change his mind before the soup course was cleared off the dining table that evening.
Chapter Seven
She left the grooms to cool the lathered horse as she stomped up to her room. She quickly ordered a bath and, refusing Mary’s help, scrubbed herself until she was pink and pruny. No matter how her maid coaxed her, she would not revealed the source of her grievance. Instead she only bore her ablutions in silence and came down for an early dinner. Her father was indisposed and none of those invited guest could expect their host to keep a late hour.
They sat twelve at the table that night: Amelia, Lord Windon, her father and several neighbors. She was even tempered and allowed the easy conversation to flow around her, managing the occasional comment when a question was directed at her. She had mellowed after her outburst during the disastrous ride with Lord Windon. He sat at her father’s right hand, where he ought to as their honored guest. At the table was the florid country squire, his equally portly wife and their trio of milksop daughters.
Amelia glared at their obvious coy manners in trying to catch Robert’s attention. She was most pleased when their boldest flirtation was met with a bland smile and a prompt change of the topic of discussion. The thin smile, nothing like they shared, was a balm even if she was unwilling to admit her jealousy, even to herself. In this very moment her thoughts were much too chaotic.
The silver was polished and glinted brightly in the abundance of candlelight. There were beautiful Wedgewood crystal cups shaped like tulips and edged with swirls of gold. The handles of all the silverware were beautifully crafted with the family crest. The tablecloths were pristine white and starched to the proper amount of stiffness. Course followed course, an extravagant display of wealth that could only be rivaled by the Robert’s own table.
The entire household was on its guard to impress Lord Windon, who would most probably be their lord if gossip was to be believed. They were eager to serve and did so like a well-oiled machine with the minimum of fuss. And it was obvious they were properly trained, carrying out their duties without a single mishap and with a dedication that was exemplary. Lord Rochester was kind to his staff and his daughter in charge of the household accounts was very generous with their pay. And they did have a duke to impress.
Cook outdid herself and mouthwatering dishes were presented to the guests, who lavishly praised the culinary creations. That brought a bittersweet smile to Amelia’s lips, recollections of the last time such a thing occurred and how the evening had ended. A quick glance told her that Robert remembered too. The same smile was on his face.
She turned away from him and contemplated her cherry tartlet, appetite fading and confusion crowding in. She wondered why Lord Windon’s words had affected her until she had lost her temper and made a spectacle of herself.
So it was that she found herself among unknown guests, in the presence of a man that her father insisted she engage but whom she detested with all her heart. Even if she could not bring herself to stop stealing glances at him. The looks brought flutters to her stomach. Every time she looked she found him regarding her boldly, even when he was in the thick of conversation with others.
She glowed. Sitting regally at the opposite end of the table. She had looked fetching in her riding habit and had been exquisitely gowned at the soiree of their introduction, but that paled to the picture she was now. And she did not acknowledge him with anything more than a brief inclination of her head but she smiled at the other men invited to dinner.
He suffered, as she bestowed them with smiles and turned a blank stare to him. It seemed the whole of London would find the favor of her smile, but he was not afforded the same luxury. She had the men on either side of her hanging on her every word, sharing that excellent wit with them no doubt. He had never struggled through a meal like he had at Lord Rochester’s table. She put the trio of trilling girls to shame with her poise. Her quite grace was nothing the matron in the room could ever hope to aspire. He stared boldly. He couldn’t pull his stare away even though it bordered on impolite. He tried to rein it in but he found himself behaving like a green lad. He was lost in the conversation but the callow girls only giggled at his awkward pauses and tried their best to bat their lashes at him.
The ladies retiring to the drawing room to drink tea, leaving the gentlemen to their harder liquors. The squire filled their drinking interlude with county laws to which he could contribute to tolerably well, affording him time to better hide his distraction.
When the gentlemen joined the ladies, one of the squire’s girls offered to play on the harpsichord with another singing. The guests enjoyed a clear tenor that lent a satisfactory air to the room and was complimented by all and sundry. Lord Rochester proposed they play whist and by a machination he partnered his daughter with Lord Windon. She almost demurred and tried to offer her place to the squire’s wife but her father was not in the mood for her false modesty. She curtsied quickly and sat at his side. Lord Windon accepted the proffered cards and started to shuffle them. She was suddenly engrossed with the play of light on his wrist, hidden by a froth of lace, and motion of his deft fingers with the single ring which bore his seal. The gold glinted against the lace and she wondered how they would feel against her own unadorned hands.
As soon as the thought came she blushed heavily, something her father did not miss. She ducked to find Lord Windon looking at her with a single card clasped between two fingers. A subtle tension pervaded the sma
ll group as Lord Windon dealt the cards. Amelia made a show of assessing her card.
Lord Windon addressed his host. “I do not know the rules of your house. Do you prefer to play for stakes or forfeits?” He indicated the cards in his hands.
“I cannot abide gambling. It is the devil’s own game.” The vicar interjected from his position to the side with an apologetic but firmly stern stare.
“I confess I am averse to lining another’s pocket with my coin.” Lord Rochester himself confessed as he assessed his own cards and placed a card on the velvet covered table between them.
“Indeed. Forfeits are much more sporting.” The squire agreed in a gruff voice as the play turned to him. He squinted good naturedly at his cards and looked up.
“My lady?” Lady Amelia blinked once as the other players looked at her. Usually her opinion was not asked but Lord Windon had asked and the others graciously followed his lead. She did not think it was because she was in her own parlor.
“I believe the pleasure of the game is in the skill,” she answered diplomatically and the men nodded in agreement.
“And the company no doubt.” Her father added as a gracious afterthought, or so it would appear.
“But of course.” The rest of the table muttered while Amelia ducked her head again and played her hand. Her father was being blatantly obvious.
The squire and Lord Rochester played whist with a magical merging of wit. Although Lady Amelia barely acknowledged Lord Windon, still her presence so close wreaked havoc on his senses. He could not remember the cards.
They lost decisively, a show of skills and a fine merging of cards by their opponents. The squire was affable in his win and her father was amusing. Lord Windon drew a forfeit and looked dangerous instead of ridiculous following the instructions, ‘Lie on your back and stand up without using your hands.’ She was uncomfortably aware of the muscles in his back and torso he used to make such a fluid motion. She had seen that forfeit once before, a callow youth who had flopped on the floor like a fish before rolling over and standing like a yearling calf.
Denying The Duke (Regency Romance: Strong Women Find True Love Book 3) Page 4