Sickened, he looked away and into the dark water. He knew better than to hope his father would appear and separate the lovers. Colin suspected his father was too afraid he’d drive his duchess completely away if he demanded she stop her affairs. Colin growled deep within but forced the sound to silence, though he could not control the muscles of his shoulders, which tightened considerably. He had not wanted a seventeenth birthday celebration, because he’d known it would provide the perfect opportunity for his mother to slip away and further torture his father with her continued dalliances. The only consolation, though it bothered him to think of it as so, was that his birth had left her barren and there would never be a worry of a child from one of her dalliances. Colin scrubbed a hand across his face. He should not have agreed to this party, but his father had insisted and had seemed briefly happy while planning it with Colin’s aunt.
As wood creaked and the boat rocked, Colin remembered he was not alone. He glanced across the space at Rhetford. What must he think? “I did warn you when you accepted my father’s invitation to this celebration that you needed to be prepared for anything.”
“That you did,” Rhetford echoed with a note of disbelief, his words a hushed whisper. “Is that why you didn’t want me to come? Because you were worried I might see your mother and her lover?”
“Hardly. That”―he waved his hand toward the boathouse―“is nothing. You can see my mother with a lover on any given visit to this house when there are men besides my father in residence. What concerns me is that she may try to slip away with you.”
“I’d never do such a thing,” Rhetford murmured, his face turning the same shade of red as his hair.
No. Rhetford would not, and that was one of the reasons Colin especially liked and trusted him. His friend was one of the few truly good people he knew. Bitterness clogged his throat, but he cleared it and leaned back against the wood once more to rest his head in his interlocked fingers. He looked up at the bright stars. It would be nice to recapture that fleeting moment of peace he had felt before his mother had appeared, but the prospect was doubtful at best.
“Scarsdale was the last friend I brought here, and as you well know, he departed no longer a friend.”
“I gathered there had been a falling out when you refused to speak to him at school, but when I asked him what had happened he would not say, and well, you know what happened when I asked you.”
“Sorry about that,” Colin immediately replied, remembering how Rhetford had broached the subject of Colin not speaking to their classmate. Colin had snapped and told Rhetoford that if he ever mentioned Scarsdale’s name to him again, Colin wouldn’t speak to Rhetford anymore, either. “Now that you know, I expect you to take the secret to your grave.”
“Of course,” Rhetford said. “But I think I should point out that I would never sleep with your mother. She is married for one. Your mother, for another. And most importantly, I don’t love her.”
Colin sat up, the boat swaying as he did and leaned against his knees. “By God, you are a dreamer. I wish I could be like you, but in my world, love has nothing to do with sex, or marriage for that matter, which is precisely why I’ll never bother to find it. My father is miserable because he loves my mother and she could care less about him. I’d rather be an eternal bachelor and blissfully happy.”
Rhetford snorted while plunking his booted feet on the bench between them. “My parents love each other and are incredibly happy when my mother isn’t harping. Someday I’ll marry and find a wife who loves me as much as my mother adores my father. The only difference is I’ll have plenty of blunt so I won’t have to listen to any harping.”
“Really?” Colin quirked an eyebrow. “Is your father’s land now profitable?” Rhetford had confided several months ago that bugs plagued their land. The infestation combined with too much rain had hurt their holding’s worth.
“Father has a plan. When I graduate, I’m going home to help him institute it. It’s my dream.”
“I wish you the best of luck,” Colin said, meaning it. The only dream he had was not to end up like his father, at the mercy of a wicked woman.
In the distance, Lady Farnsworth, his mother’s archenemy, and the wife of the man currently bedding his mother, appeared at the edge of the lake embankment. Even with the distance separating them, Colin could make out her green silk gown fluttering gently behind her in the summer breeze. She raised a long slender arm and waved.
Colin grasped his oar, angled it against the side, and slid it into the water where it dipped beneath the dark surface with a swoosh and a ripple. Rhetford sat up from his reclined position and grabbed his oar. “Are we headed back to the celebration now?”
“You are,” Colin said. “I have a prior engagement.” Lady Farnsworth had passed him a note after dinner tonight expressing a wish to see him in private to give him a present. He knew all about her idea of a gift. The idea of bedding Lady Farnsworth tonight did not excite him as it had the first time, however. She was out for revenge, and he was her chosen instrument. The lady was foolish to think his mother would care, but who was he to point it out again. He’d explained this already several months ago after learning what she was up to. He no longer got a bitter taste in his mouth at the memory of her confessing that she’d used him.
“What do you think you will do in the future? I mean, when we eventually graduate, that is.” Rhetford’s question captured Colin’s attention.
He hadn’t given it much thought. He had two more years at Cambridge and really, what was there for a future duke to do but dutifully learn all about his land and the people who relied on him? His father, though weak in backbone, was healthy enough in his body and no doubt had plans on exactly what he wanted Colin to do, and Colin would do everything in his power to live up to his father’s expectations and give the duke a bit of the happiness he so richly deserved. In fact, Colin had a sudden idea of how he could help his father now…
A plan formed in his mind. One that would aid his father and provide the gossipmongers more to talk about than the pathetic way his father continued to be cuckolded. He took a deep breath of the jasmine-scented air. “I do believe I shall work on becoming a notorious rake.”
Norfolk, England
The Harthorne home
The summer of 1812
“Amelia de Vere, if you do not come down here ready to go right this instant I will insist your father not give you any pin money this month,” Amelia’s mother called shrilly from the foot of the stairs.
Reluctantly, Amelia put down the novel she had been reading. Sense and Sensibility. She was almost done, which made her sad because the story was so grand and wonderful. But what would be far more depressing than ending a great book you wished would go on and on was having her pin money withheld and not being able to buy another novel next week. No novel meant she would have to live in the real world for a while without the luxury pretending for a brief time that she was someone else.
She scrambled off the bed with one last look at her book. Not being able to purchase another one would be infinitely worse than having to survive going to town to be fitted for a new dress with her mother today. The fitting would be short, but a new book could last her several days. At least Mother had said Constance could go with them. That way Amelia did not have to suffer the seamstress’s pitying glances when Mother went on and on about how Amelia had still failed to blossom and then said dramatically―and with her hand pressed against her forehead―Maybe next year.
Amelia snorted. She’d given up on becoming a beauty and decided she was perfectly happy being plain. As far as she could tell, beautiful women were not sensible. Her mother was a perfect example. She was a Marianne, like in the novel, beautiful yet senseless, though intelligent, which made the senseless part so infuriating. And Amelia was an Elinor, sensible and witty but unremarkable in looks, except people were constantly remarking on her height. If only she were not so tall, she was quite sure she would get Charles just as Elinor had just cap
tured Edward’s love with her unwavering devotion to him. She practiced slouching, just in case she should see Charles in town today. It was embarrassing in the extreme that she could look him directly in the eye. He really did need to hurry up and grow taller.
“Amelia!” her mother shrieked, a voice she usually reserved for Philip when he was home from school and plodded through the house with muddy boots on.
“Coming,” Amelia called. As she made her way down the stairs and noted the faded carpets and peeling wallpaper, she could not help but wonder what Philip was looking at this very moment. How lucky her brother was to have been invited to the Duke and Duchess of Aversley’s country home for a birthday celebration for their son. A pang of jealousy at the beautiful artwork and gardens Philip was probably getting to see streaked through her, but then she reminded herself jealousy was not sensible and forced her mind to think of other things. Such as how her name would sound when she was one day married to Charles Stanhope, Baron Worthington.
“Lady Worthington how are you today?” Amelia asked the air with a giggle.
“Not that again,” her mother moaned from the bottom of the stairs. A small, albeit exasperated smile, played at her mother’s lips. “Amelia, if we should run into Lord Worthington in town today, please do remember not to call him Charles. It’s unseemly, and now that he’s seventeen, he’s practically a man. You really cannot call him by his given name. Do you hear me?”
Amelia blinked as her mother snapped her fingers in front of Amelia’s face.
“I hear you,” Amelia murmured and made her way out the door and toward the carriage. She’d not seen Charles since he had turned seventeen. For some reason, she had not been invited to his birthday celebration, which she only knew of because Constance had been invited, but Amelia was quite sure her lack of invitation was because of Charles’s mother and not Charles. Amelia tried not to take it too personally. If she were a mother that had a son as beautiful as Charles, she would probably hope he found a stunning girl to compliment his golden beauty so they would produce striking grandchildren. Amelia would someday give birth to smart, sensible grandchildren for the woman. The thought made her face warm.
“Amelia, do you feel unwell?” her mother asked as she sat across from Amelia in the carriage. “You’re flushed.”
Amelia pressed her hands to her cheeks. “It’s awfully hot today, that’s all. Perhaps in town I can get a glass of lemonade with Constance before my fitting?” Then she could have a moment alone with her dearest friend to learn who had been at Charles’s party, and if he had paid special attention to anyone, specifically any girls. She had to stay abreast of who her competition was.
“That seems like a good idea,” her mother agreed as the carriage started to roll down the driveway. “I can have my fitting first, which will put Mrs. Pickard in a pleasant mood before she does yours. She does so love to fit me.”
Amelia eyed her mother’s perfect figure. She had lovely womanly curves and was not tall at all. Fate must have been in a bad mood the day Amelia was born. With a sigh, she glanced out the window and watched the scenery, perking up when they arrived at Constance’s home, and Amelia saw her friend standing on the front porch waving at her.
“You must tell me every detail,” Amelia insisted not long later as she sat at the bakery with Constance and sipped her lemonade.
Constance shrugged. “There honestly is not much to tell. The celebration was rather unexciting, and I would never have gone after the way you were snubbed if my mother had not insisted I go.”
“Thank you for being my champion, Constance, but I assure you Charles did not forget me. I am positive it was his mother.”
“If you say so,” Constance said dubiously.
Amelia did not have time to quarrel over who was right. Her mother had only given them ten minutes alone to drink their lemonade. “Did he pay special attention to any of the girls?”
Constance shook her head. “No, though Lady Georgiana did try to monopolize him. I actually saw him sneak away from her!”
“See,” Amelia said triumphantly, “Charles’s heart belongs to me. Ever since he saved me from―”
“I see your night and shining armor out the window,” Constance interrupted.
Amelia’s heart leaped, and she swiveled in her seat to glance toward the street. Charles stood by his carriage with two friends, one of whom was a rather mean boy who had started referring to Amelia as “Tree Trunk” and had convinced half the boys in town he knew to do the same. She hesitated where she sat, desperate to go out there and talk to Charles but wishing wholeheartedly he were alone.
He opened his carriage door, as if he was about to leave. Her heart thumped wildly. This was nonsense. She was sensible and brave. Rising, she glanced down at Constance.
“I’m going to talk to Charles.”
“Lord Worthington,” Constance corrected. “I’d hate to see you get into trouble again for a breach of etiquette.”
Amelia laughed at that. Breeching etiquette and getting in trouble for it seemed to be a daily problem for her. “Lord Worthington,” she agreed. “Will you come with me?”
“Of course,” Constance said, rising and then linking her arm with Amelia’s. “However, you owe me a huge favor, which I will demand repayment for sometime in the near future. I cannot abide Lord Worthington’s friend, Lord Donahue, and if it were not for you, I would not give that barbed-tongued baboon the pleasure of my presence.”
“You are a wonderful friend,” Amelia whispered in Constance’s ear as they strolled across the street toward Charles’s carriage.
At the halfway point, Amelia saw Charles starting to climb into his carriage. “Lord Worthington,” she called, desperate not to miss him.
Beside her, Constance groaned. “Really, Amelia, are you trying to get your mother to come out of the dress shop?”
Amelia bit her lip while hurrying her steps and praying her mother had not heard her. Perhaps she was making a mistake? Her step faltered, but then Charles turned and grinned at her and stepped back onto the street.
Her heart soared. He cared for her. He must!
“Lady Amelia, it’s a pleasure to see you.”
Amelia practically skipped toward the three young men, dragging Constance behind her.
Lord Donahue started to laugh and then he pointed at her. “Look at Tree Trunk run! I’d have never thought a gangly legged girl could run so fast. Would you have thought so, Barrett?” Lord Donahue asked the other boy standing beside him.
“Never,” Lord Barrett said with a whistle. “Tree Trunk, I bet you could outrun me.”
Amelia stopped skipping and pulled herself into a dignified slow walk, though she felt about as dignified as a bug.
“Tree Trunk, Tree Trunk,” the two boys began to chant.
Her steps faltered altogether, though. She wanted to march up to them and slap them both silly, but that would not solve anything and that was, therefore, quite insensible. She clung to the notion that she needed to behave practically and like a proper lady, even as she blinked away the angry tears stinging her eyes.
“Tree Trunk, Tree Trunk,” the boys kept chanting, except for dear, sweet, golden Worthington. He looked appalled. The smile of greeting had slid off his face, and he was glancing between her and Lord Donahue, but that was expected. As kindhearted as he was, he was probably stunned by his friend’s cruel display.
Constance surprised Amelia by pulling away and marching ahead to the three lords. The sound of a long, drawn-out hiss of words floated back to Amelia, but she could not distinguish what Constance had said.
Whatever it was, Charles seemed to stand taller. He threw Amelia a look as he faced Lord Donahue.
“If you call Lady Amelia Tree Trunk one more time I will plant you a facer.”
Amelia’s heart soared. He was championing her!
“Tree Tru―”
Charles raised his fist. “I’m warning you, Donahue,” he snarled.
Lord Donahue shrugged. �
��I was merely teasing her.”
“Well, don’t,” Charles growled. “Ever again.”
“Lady Worthington,” she murmured under her breath as she once again began to stroll toward Charles. The sound of her name combined with his was perfect. He was perfect. She didn’t care how long it took, she was going to capture Charles’s love and his request for her hand. Eventually, her sensible mind reminded her. She was only fourteen, after all.
Charles winked at her―he actually winked!―and then said pointedly to his friends, “I’ll see you both later.”
Guffawing, the boys took off across the street and into the bakery. This was her golden opportunity; she may never get it again. She touched Constance on the arm and prayed her friend would play along.
“You better go back to the dress shop and have your fitting. Just wave out the door when my mother is ready for me.” More like when her mother was coming for her.
Constance, brow creased, looked on the verge of disagreeing, but Amelia gave her a little shove. “Do hurry, Constance.”
Pressing her lips together in unspoken protest, Constance nodded, albeit jerkily, and fairly stomped off in the direction of the dress shop. Amelia stood by Charles and watched her best friend march away.
Charles nudged Amelia in the arm. “Lady Constance should take lessons from you in grace.”
“From me?” Amelia could not have heard correctly.
“Yes, you. Lady Constance strides like a man, but you’re graceful, especially when you ride your horse.”
Amelia’s heart tried to beat out of her chest. Had he been watching her? This was wonderful. “You’re very graceful, too,” she said and tried to make it a purr like her mother did when she wanted something from Amelia’s father. It always seemed to work for her mother, and Amelia did want something―Charles’s heart.
My Fair Duchess (A Once Upon A Rogue Novel Book 1) Page 2