by Megan Bryce
“Perhaps it is that your partners fail to keep you entertained and you must focus on technique to keep from being bored. You have not tried to drag me around the floor yet; I must be entertaining enough to keep you malleable.”
He smiled slightly. “Perhaps that is the trick with you after all.”
She hadn’t yet thought of a reply before he laughed and said, “Of course, that is assuming I prefer you malleable. To which I must admit I have fond memories of a certain skirmish of ours. And I would not mind repeating it whatsoever.”
Her reply to that sounded too much like a squeak for her comfort and she cleared her throat. She opened her mouth to say something scathing but was a little relieved when he interrupted her by sighing theatrically. He had gotten the upper hand in this conversation and she felt two steps behind.
“Very well. Perhaps another dance on another night. Now, Amelia, I have a very important question to ask you. Are you drunk yet?”
Her mouth fell open. “Am I drunk? Yet? Are you awaiting this condition?”
“You told me yourself you would accept my proposal when you were drunk. I’m simply wondering if you’re ready.”
She stopped completely, forcing another couple to dance around them. “Are you serious? Are you mad? Are you asking me to marry you on a dance floor?”
Everyone who had not been looking at them turned at that. Jameson glanced around, then smiled. “Yes, I am. I do hope you’re drunk.”
She gaped at his audacity.
“A bit unorthodox, I know. But at least this way you’ll have to give me an answer. No pretending I’m not serious.”
Her eyes flashed and she stepped out of his arms. She glanced once at the crowd staring at them, then raised her chin. “You should have been more certain of my answer.”
Amelia turned, not looking anyone in the eye. Her mother stood up quietly, sparing a pitying glance for the boy she thought of as a son, then followed her daughter out. Robin managed to choke down the drink resting in his mouth.
The crowd started talking all at once. Jameson stood in the center of the dance floor watching others ignore him and wondered how many daughters he was going to have to dance with to be forgiven of this latest fiasco.
Six
Robin arrived later than usual the next day, giving his friend plenty of time to suffer from the probable bingeing of the night before. He’d expected to find Jameson still in bed, but was surprised to be informed that his lordship was in the library. He was even more surprised to find him sober and lacking the ubiquitous hangover.
Jameson was pleased to see him. “I was afraid I’d lost more than one friend last night. Not many men would forgive me for making a fool of their sister.”
Robin gave him a friendly tap on the shoulder and sat comfortably. “Ah, well. The consensus is she made a fool of you, and you of yourself. So there’s not much to forgive. I do believe her reputation has gained though. There will be even more hot-headed fools trying to win the hand of the dragon.”
Jameson’s face clouded over. He hated for her to think of him like that. He had not proposed for the challenge of it.
“Then I’m glad you’re here, Rob. I’ve been thinking all night and I’ve come to two conclusions.”
“That you’re an idiot and you don’t know how you’re going to get back into her good graces?”
Jameson smiled. “Precisely. One thing is certain, I do want to get back into her good graces. I want to marry your sister, Robin.”
Robin blinked and he couldn’t help but frown. “Why?”
“You do your sister a disservice. She may not be the most beautiful swan in the pond, but she’s deuced entertaining to be around. A man must always keep his wits about him or she’ll charge right over him. And she knows me, she’s fond of me, there are none of my sins to be glossed over. She knows me.”
“Which could be one of the reasons she turned you flat, old chap.”
“A very valid point, which is why I did not drink myself to a stupor last night. Some of my vices will have to be lessened before I am worthy of more than just brotherly fondness.”
“You’re also too flighty.”
“I did not mean for this to turn into a cataloging of all my faults, old friend.”
“What I meant was you were but recently engaged to Miss Underwood. How does Amelia know you’ll actually last until the wedding?”
“It’s true. How does an old bachelor give up his manhood without a little trepidation?”
“Perhaps you’re not ready for marriage.”
Jameson sighed. “I’m ready for it all to be over.”
The pounding headache that had plagued Amelia since last night beat a steady cadence to Miss Underwood’s voice. Could she not be left in peace? Must she be the only voice of reason in all of London?
“He proposed to you. Now everyone will think he left me for you.” Clarice held an embroidered handkerchief to her streaming eyes. Her tears were real, as was the emotion behind it. Maybe it wasn’t spurned love, but wounded pride hurt badly all the same. Amelia sighed. It wasn’t the poor girl’s fault she got entangled with Jameson. Very few escaped without damage.
“Or they’ll think he was so devastated at losing you, he rushed right out to the first girl to replace the love he lost. It all depends on how you act. Personally, I would feign sympathy for him.”
“But we know differently, don’t we.”
“My dear, I don’t pretend to know how Jameson thinks. One guess is as good as another. He humiliated you and now he’s humiliated himself. Can that not be the end of it.”
“I’m starting to believe that even if he did ask me again I would not accept.”
Amelia rolled her eyes and murmured, “Praise God.”
“He is too frivolous with my emotions.”
What about my emotions, Amelia thought, and then remembered she was the dragon. She didn’t have emotions. Jameson was simply another refusal in a vast sea of proposals. But why did it feel as if her sturdy vessel was taking on water?
Lady Beckham lifted her cheek for a kiss from her son and stared at Jameson. “I feel like I should banish you to your room without supper.”
“I know. You probably should.”
“How will you make this up to her? You’ve embarrassed her.”
Robin popped a bite of toast into his mouth. “I’d guess you’ve wakened the sleeping dragon and if you had any sense at all, you’d run and hide, not chase after her some more.”
“Are you chasing after my daughter, Jameson?”
“I would like to, Lady Beckham, if you have no objection.”
“I have no objections, Jameson, but permission is traditionally asked of her guardian.”
They turned toward Robin and he stared blankly at them. Then he sputtered. “Oh, I say. I’m not her guardian.”
“Yes, dear, you are.”
“But I stay out of all that. If some hot-head wants her hand, he was to win it himself. I’m not going to get in the middle of it.”
“Robin, dear, this isn’t some hot-head, this is Jameson. And he would like your permission to court Amelia.”
Robin turned pink at his mother’s words. “I say, Mother.”
“Robin, I would like permission to court your sister. I’m sure you are well aware that I can provide for her. And you know I would be too afraid to hurt her.”
Lady Beckham pressed her lips together in disapproval.
Jameson cleared his throat. “And of course I hold her in the highest esteem. In fact, I think we all agree she’s the only woman likely to keep me under control. And I may be the only man she can’t completely control.”
“Oh, all right. But for God’s sake, don’t tell her I gave you permission. Last time I gave some knot-head permission she nearly tore my head off. Amelia prefers I stay out of these matters.”
Jameson patted his friend on the back. “I hope you find a nice, sweet girl to settle down with, Rob.”
He turned back to Lady Beckha
m. “Where is Amelia? Not hiding in her room. I can’t imagine her missing a chance to scream at me.”
She shook her head. “She is out with Miss Underwood. Amelia thought it prudent to be seen together happy and carefree. They were to go shopping for hats and gloves.”
Jameson rose. “Robin, would you accompany me? I do not care to see both those women alone and unprotected.”
“Are you quite sure this is a good idea, old chap?”
“No. I’m almost certain this is a very bad idea, but it must be done. And perhaps having this out in public will be all for the better.”
Lady Beckham looked slightly alarmed. “Have you even seen Miss Underwood since the wedding was called off? And now you have proposed to another lady quite publicly?”
Robin shook his head. “Amelia is not going to like this.”
“No. But Amelia is not going to like anything I do for a while, I suppose. If you will distract Miss Underwood from any injurious intentions toward my person I will handle your sister.”
Robin stood with a sigh, pecking his mother on the cheek, and dutifully following his friend. “Lord save us both.”
Jameson and Robin toured the shops women were likely to frequent. Whispers, laughter, and starch looks followed them and Jameson was more and more grateful for his steady friend. Had he been alone on this mission he had no doubt the women would have attacked, pecking and squawking until he’d wished he’d never been born.
And then, when they finally found Amelia and Miss Underwood at the milliner’s, he wished heartily he had listened to his friend. This really had not been a good idea.
Miss Underwood gasped when she saw him.
Amelia stared at him with open hostility. “You must indeed be the stupidest man in all of England.”
She turned her ire to her brother. “And you. What were you thinking in letting him out today of all days?”
Robin manfully ignored his sister, stepping to Miss Underwood’s side and offering his arm. “May I escort you home, Miss Underwood? I fear bystanders will not be safe during this battle.”
Unthinking, she took his arm, allowing him to draw her away. Her skin was pale and Robin steered her gently.
Amelia watched them walk away with lips tightly pursed. Then she turned away from Jameson and began making her way in the opposite direction. He followed for a while, silently allowing her to ignore him as best she could. It was hard doing, as both men and women stopped jerkily when they saw who followed her. Jameson could see her shoulders stiffening and her hands clenching into tight balls before she remembered and loosened them. Judging by the startled expressions of innocent bystanders when they met her eye, he guessed he was glad she was still ignoring him.
He knew it would not last, though. Ignoring was not how Amelia dealt with problems. Slicing them in two was more her style.
The shops changed from milliners to bakers, the clientele from haute to housewives on errands. They still gasped when they saw her expression and stayed well out of her path, though recognition no longer dawned in their eyes. Jameson wondered if they were to walk all the way home, and if that was indeed her plan if he should start steering her in the right direction.
What she needed was a place she could lay into him, screaming like a fishwife until it was all out of her system and she felt in control again. Until she could see the humor of it.
They couldn’t do that at either of their homes; no servant, no matter how loyal or devoted, could keep Jameson’s coming tongue-lashing to themselves. And finding a spot sufficiently empty in London was too dangerous.
But he did know a spot that was so loud she could scream without anyone hearing her, including him. And the more he thought of it the better he liked it. He gathered the courage to pick up his pace and made his way to her side.
“I don’t think all this walking is going to help, Amelia. What you need is a good place to let it all out and I have just the ticket, but I will need to call a hansom. I promise to take you where you can scream at me all you like without anyone hearing that foul mouth of yours.”
His attempt at humor was perhaps a tad too early. But despite a reddening in her face and a worrisome tightening of her fists, she nodded.
He called the first hansom he could find, not caring that the condition was exceedingly poor nor that the driver was more than a little inebriated, and ushered her in.
The stench hit him like a fist and he wordlessly handed her his handkerchief as he settled in the opposite seat. He breathed shallowly through his mouth and watched Amelia as she held the cloth to her face. Her green eyes shot daggers at him.
She took a breath to begin her tirade but she coughed and gagged into the handkerchief.
He said, “My dear, I am sorry for the stench. I would recommend waiting until we have reached our destination.”
He did not think it prudent, and wouldn’t Amelia be so proud of his judicious use of that word, to mention the stench was likely to be far worse where they were headed.
They arrived and Jameson escorted her down, the slap of shouting men, bellowing animals, and putrid air made her stumble and he kept hold of her arm. Even he, who had been expecting the chaos and stench of the cattle market, was taken aback.
He looked for a spot they would be safe from being trampled, from either man or beast, and kept a tight grip on Amelia. Ladies did not come to this hell-hole; gentleman very rarely. They weren’t likely to be seen by anyone that mattered, and keeping them safe was his first priority.
He would have grinned if he’d dared open his mouth. Quite obviously his first priority was not keeping them safe or he would never have brought her here.
When he found as safe a spot as he could, he smiled at her, opening his arms wide and inviting her to begin.
Her eyes showed incomprehension for a moment and then light dawned. A slight smile began to shine in her eyes, the only part of her face not covered by his handkerchief, and he couldn’t help but answer it with his own.
And then the laughter died in her eyes and she began screaming at him.
The sound of the market was indeed deafening and he was grateful he couldn’t hear her. Her angry, one-handed gestures were words enough. The angry timbre to her voice was all he could hear through the handkerchief, and then only sometimes. He had been right; this place was exactly what she’d needed. He would enjoy it while it lasted since he doubted he would ever get her here again.
He watched her in admiration. Never could he imagine any other woman with such fire in her, such passion. If she didn’t look as if she wanted to kill him with her bare hands he would kiss her until all that passion was funneled into a different outlet entirely.
She lasted far longer than he’d expected with this stench. Her grievances must have been great indeed; it had been a trying few weeks for her, after all. But she eventually wound down and they stood there staring at each other. Her eyes had lost that diabolical madness and her fists no longer clenched. All in all, a worthwhile outing.
They had been mostly ignored during her diatribe, but one man had stood there watching them nearly the whole time. He sidled up to Jameson and shouted, “I’ll give you ₤25 for her.”
They both turned to look at him and Jameson nearly laughed aloud. “I couldn’t possibly let her go for less than ₤100.”
“She’s fancy, I’ll give you that, but looks to me she’s got a temper on her.”
Amelia looked at him with all the contempt she could muster, which was not inconsiderable, and turned away, making her way back to the street and a hopefully waiting hansom.
Jameson followed her, waving the man off when he shouted, “What, you’re not selling her then?”
Their hansom was still there, waiting for them. Jameson had little doubt the driver had slept through the stench and din and none had bothered to wake him, he and the carriage were in that bad of condition. Amelia balked when she saw him heading toward it.
“I will not get back in that hansom.”
Her v
oice was rough and he wondered if tomorrow she would have any voice at all. “It is better than staying here, isn’t it? I believe we will leave it worse than we found it, and that is quite an accomplishment.”
She sighed but entered the hateful hansom. “I hate you, Jameson. Truly, and with just cause, hate you.”
“Yes, my dear. But you must admit my valet will hate me more once he sees what I’ve done to these togs.”
She eyed his trousers and smiled. “Yes. He will.”
The next morning, Amelia awoke with her throat on fire and her voice a croak. She sent for tea and remained in bed.
Yesterday, when Jameson had taken her to the cattle market, she had nearly laughed aloud at the proud look on his face. As if he had brought her the greatest treasure in all the world. And perhaps he had. She had needed that release; she felt quite a bit more cheerful this morning.
She would not think of the dress or the shoes it had cost her; she had ordered them thrown away and not to be brought inside under any circumstance. Nor would she recall the indignity of having to undress down to her unmentionables right outside the servant’s entrance behind a hastily erected screen. She had entered the servants’ quarters only a handful of times and did not think her slinking through it smelling so ripe was the best way of keeping anybody happy. Herself included.
But she couldn’t for the life of her wish their little adventure undone. Despite the smell, despite the damage done to both her clothing and standing with the servants, despite her aching throat, she could not but smile at the memory.
She was trying to maintain her anger at the rapscallion; he had proposed to her on a dance floor. But he made it deuced hard to. She couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped her whenever she thought of their adventure.
She remembered Jameson had said that she knew him, that she would have no hopes dashed as any other woman who dared to marry him. She knew his faults only too well, although he could on occasion surprise even her. She knew when he needed reigning in and when he needed to make an ass of himself.