He reached Sheridan House in Berkeley Square when it was still full light. Zach’s grooms came running from the mews, showing no great surprise at Amos’s unexpected arrival. He jumped down from the box seat, surrendered the barouche to them, and stretched to ease the aches that had settled upon him during the long drive. He entered the house through the side door, tired, dusty and in serious need of a drink. The head footman left to supervise the dwelling in the family’s absence materialised to greet Amos, taking his great coat and hat and bowing from the waist.
“Good evening, my lord,” Paddock said politely.
“Evening, Paddock,” Amos replied. “I need something to eat and drink and a change of clothes. Then I need to go out again, immediately.”
“I shall make the necessary arrangements at once, my lord.”
One hour later, fed and impeccably attired, Amos headed for Chelsea astride a sturdy hunter. It was not a district he was well acquainted with. He took two wrong turns and asked directions twice before he found the street, and then the small house Crista’s mother occupied. He tethered his horse to the gatepost, hoping he would still be there when he left the residence, ascended the steps and knocked. The door was answered by a middle-aged maid. She appeared rather awed when Amos gave her his card, sent his compliments to her mistress, and asked if she could spare him a few minutes of her time.
“Please come in, my lord. I will see if she’s at home.”
The maid showed him into a tiny dining parlour set with a table that could seat six at the very most. He glanced around, but the room offered up no clues about the residents of the establishment. Before he could decide if that was significant, he heard what had to be Mrs. Brooke’s voice quite clearly coming from the adjoining room.
“Lord Amos Sheridan. Good heavens, Amelia, I wonder what brings such a gentleman to this dwelling, and at this time of night, too.”
Amos did not hear what Crista’s sister said in response.
“Show him in at once, Meg. Do not leave his lordship waiting about. Oh, how desperate he must think us to be living in such a hovel. Does my hair look all right? Sit up straight, Amelia. Do not let his lordship catch you slouching.”
When Meg reappeared, she offered to take Amos’s outdoor garments, which he surrendered to her care.
“Please to come this way, my lord.”
Amos was curious to meet the woman who had given birth to Crista and then took little interest in her. He stepped into an equally small drawing room and was confronted by a starkly beautiful woman in her middle-years. He could immediately see a resemblance to Crista in the shape of her mouth but for all her beauty, Mrs. Brooke lacked Crista’s expressive eyes and natural grace. She was dressed in a fashionable evening gown that showed off her figure but had nothing of half-mourning about it. Mrs. Brooke could had not been expecting visitors. Even so, she ought to observe the proprieties. Amos noticed all these things in a few seconds before turning his attention to Amelia Brooke. She was also strikingly pretty, and her dove grey gown more closely reflected the recent loss of her father. Both ladies curtsied low to Amos, who offered them a slight bow in return.
“Thank you for receiving me, Mrs. Brooke.”
“You are very welcome, Lord Amos, although I am quite unable to account for the honour of seeing you here. This is my daughter, Amelia.”
Again Amos inclined his head.
“Please take a seat, my lord. You are come from Winchester?”
Amos confirmed that was the case, waiting for Mrs. Brooke to remember she had another daughter and enquire after her health. She did not do so.
“You must excuse these lodgings. They are temporary. Very temporary,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Whatever must you think of us? Will you take refreshment, my lord?”
“I did not come here to drink your wine, or concern myself with your living arrangements,” Amos said, holding on to his temper with difficulty. “I came because Miss Brooke has urgent need of you.”
“Miss Brooke.” She glanced at Amelia, looking genuinely perplexed. “But she is here, and perfectly safe. My daughter is soon to be advantageously married.” Mrs. Brooke seemed genuinely confused. “I fail to understand.”
“I was referring to the Miss Brooke. Miss Cristobel Brooke.”
“Crista.” A shadow of suspicion passed across Mrs. Brooke’s face. “I do not know how she came to be noticed by you, my lord. I do hope she has not put herself forward, or troubled you unnecessarily, but I can assure you Crista is very independently minded and constantly rejects any advice I offered her. She would never seek my help.”
“Then I seek it on her behalf.” Amos fixed Mrs. Brooke with a look of determination. “You and Miss Amelia will oblige me by returning to Winchester with me at first light.”
“First light!” Mrs. Brooke shook her head. “I am sorry, Lord Amos, but that won’t be possible. Besides, I have no idea why you would come all this way and make such an extraordinary request.”
“Then let me speak plain. Your daughter is putting herself in danger by carrying on with the work your husband started.”
Amelia gasped. “Mama!”
All colour drained from Mrs. Brooke’s face. She flapped a hand at Amelia, silencing her. When she spoke again, her voice took on a hard edge. “I cannot imagine what you mean.”
“And I don’t have time to bandy words with you.” Amos stood and paced the length of the small room, his progress impeded by an excess of furniture. “Your daughter does not need you, you are quite right about that, but if you remain in London, you could both be in danger. Miss Brooke asked me to take you to safety, and that is precisely what I plan to do.”
“My husband never should have got involved with those vulgar people,” Mrs. Brooke said savagely. “I told him so quite forcefully, but he would not listen to my advice. Thanks to him, we are reduced to living like paupers.”
“Your husband paid a very high price for his mistakes,” Amos replied in a glacial tone.
“Oh, do not imagine me unsympathetic. He only did what he did to please me. We were quite devoted you know.” She lifted a tiny square of lace-edged cambric to her face and wiped away a non-existent tear. “I gave up so much, all I was brought up to expect in life, to be with him and never had cause to regret it until…well, until−”
“Do not distress yourself, Mama. It does no good and will only bring on one of your headaches.”
Amelia Brooke laid a gentle hand on her mother’s shoulder. Neither woman had, as yet, asked what difficulties Crista had encountered that placed them both in danger. If fact, neither of them had enquired after Crista at all.
“My husband’s reputation was ruined by a false accusation, which forced him to do what he did. And now Crista is following in his footsteps.”
Amos had heard enough. “Please be ready to leave at first light.”
“Mama, what if Mr. Devonshire returns early?”
Amos fixed Amelia with a probing glance. “Devonshire is the man you are to marry?”
“Yes. He has gone to the country and we do not expect to see him for another week, but he is so devoted to Amelia, we would not be surprised if he found a reason to return early. We were just now talking about that very possibility. What will he think if he finds us not here?”
“You cannot under any circumstances tell him, or anyone else, where you have gone.” Amos quelled his anger and turned on the charm. “I feel persuaded you are both patriots.”
Mrs. Brooke blossomed beneath the devastating smile Amos bestowed upon her. “I flatter myself we both put the affairs of our country before our own concerns.”
“Then you will oblige me by writing to Devonshire, inventing a reason for a trip to…oh, I don’t know. Your relations, perhaps?”
“Alas, my family and I are not on the best of terms, Lord Amos. An unfortunate misunderstanding.”
“Then we shall think of something else. How many servants live on the premises?”
“This house is so small
that only Meg lives in. We have a cook who comes in daily.”
“Then Meg will have to come with you. Leave a note for the cook to say you have been called away, and be ready to leave at first light.”
“The duke is very generous to invite us to Winchester Park, my lord.”
Crista had been quite right about her mother. She clearly thought she would be a guest of the duke’s and was preening at the thought. Amos did not set her straight.
“You ought to assume you will be away from London for a week,” he said. “Pack sufficient clothes for that amount of time.”
“We shall set about it right away.”
Satisfied they would do so, Amos stressed upon them the importance of being ready when he arrived in the morning.
“I would like to make the journey in one day without having to stay on the road overnight.”
“Oh, I so agree,” Mrs. Brooke said. “Posting inns are shockingly uncomfortable places.”
“Until tomorrow then.”
Amos took his leave but lingered in the hallway, taking his time donning his hat and gloves.
“Amelia, this is the very best of good fortune,” he heard Mrs. Brooke exclaim. “Lord Amos’s brother is the Duke of Winchester. Only imagine that! There are four brothers, all as good looking as Lord Amos, and all of them single. I could see at once Lord Amos was taken with your beauty, my dear. You must make yourself agreeable to him tomorrow. You will have an entire day in a carriage with him. Only imagine, you might finish up doing much better than Mr. Devonshire.”
“But I like Mr. Devonshire very well.”
“Ah, but surely you would like to be the next Duchess of Winchester even more?”
“Well, I suppose−”
Amos had heard quite enough. Mrs. Brooke was everything Crista had warned him to expect and worse. Tomorrow would be a long day.
***
Crista settled at her workbench at first light on the day following the party, still reeling from Lord Romsey’s revelations. She wondered if Amos had yet set out on his journey to London, and if he had spared her a passing thought. Her own mind was consumed with memories of that kiss. Amos had caused dormant feelings inside of her to spring to life, filling her with an acute longing that, even in the cold light of day, refused to subside. She blushed when she recalled how she had brazenly responded to his advances and then asked him to show her more.
Dear God, how could she have been so bold?
Whatever must he think of her? Well, she didn’t much care. Besides, it was all his fault. He was the one with all the experience. He was the one who instigated the kiss and made her forget who she was supposed to be. She blamed her unmitigated relief at being able to restore her uncle’s reputation and ease her own conscience for her temporary lapse. In fact, she placed the blame everywhere except where it belonged, which was squarely on her own shoulders. Lord Amos should not have kissed her, it was true, but she most assuredly should not have kissed him back.
Now that she was again firmly in control of her common sense, she would not repeat her request; but if he instigated the promised tuition, she would not claim a change of heart either. She was no coward, and remained as curious as she had ever been. Even more so. But she would not lose sight of the fact Lord Amos was a duke’s brother, and she was the daughter of a disgraced jeweller. The gap between their respective social situations was an unbridgeable chasm, and that was an end to the silly notions taking up residence inside her tired brain.
She had not been lost in very pleasant recollections of Lord Amos’s heady demands for more than five minutes, before the back door opened. She shuddered, knowing it would be Reece come to annoy her. He did not usually show himself at such an early hour. Presumably, the importance of the task she had been ordered to perform for his horrible masters meant she would have to endure his presence indefinitely until the commission was complete.
“Good morning,” he said.
Crista continued to work upon the repair to a delicate seed pearl necklace she was undertaking for an old lady in the village and made no reply.
“What are you doing?” he demanded to know, moving close to peer over her shoulder.
“You are in my light.”
“And you did not answer my question.”
He sounded angry and short-tempered. She glanced up at features pinched with anger. What had she done to overset him this time? Not that she especially cared. She certainly did not intend to ask.
“A repair,” she said shortly.
“You have not started the settings for the diamonds?”
“I shall commence them when this is done. Not before.”
He grasped her shoulder so hard she cried out and dropped the necklace. “Enough! You will not play games with me. You are not with your fancy friends now.”
Ah, so that what this was about, Crista thought. He had seen her at the Park yesterday sitting with the ladies, and did not approve. She was pleased to have annoyed him, but was also a little afraid of his intense anger. Not that she would ever show it.
“Remove your hand,” she said in a mordent tone. “I warned you once before, never to touch me again.”
Before she could reach for a weapon, he released her.
“You turn your pert little nose up at me, yet flaunt yourself in front of the Sheridans.” He sneered at her. “They will use you and cast you aside.”
“And you will not?”
“I have already told you. Throw your lot in with me, and we will make a killing.”
Crista tossed her head, put the finishing touches to her repair, and wearily reached for the drawings for the diamond jewellery.
“I do not like you, Mr. Reece. I do not approve of what you stand for and the people you work for. I want nothing from you, other than never to see you again.”
“You will change your tune once your rich lover tires of you and passes you over.”
Crista spread the drawings over her bench, completely ignoring Reece.
“Do you need the diamonds yet?” he asked.
“No. I shall not need them for several days. I must make the settings first and have no wish to handle those ostentatious stones before it’s absolutely necessary.”
“Don’t let me prevent you from starting work on the settings.” He settled himself on a bench by the window and crossed his arms over his chest.
“You are preventing me by sitting there blocking the light. Go and find something else to do and leave me in peace. I can’t concentrate with you looming over me.”
“I am perfectly comfortable here, thank you. I don’t trust you, Miss Brooke, and intend to keep a close eye on you until this commission is finished.”
“Just so long as I don’t have to see you again once it is, then I suppose I shall have to make the best of things.”
Chapter Sixteen
Amos was heartily relieved he had chosen to drive the barouche himself, making it impossible for Mrs. Brooke and her ambitious daughter to plague him with questions and flattery while they were on the road. The moment they stopped at posting inns to change horses that situation altered. When driving up to London alone, he felt no necessity to linger at these establishments. With two ladies in his care, he was obliged to offer them refreshment at each stop, and they always accepted. That necessitated hiring a private room, which took time he could ill-afford to waste.
“Are all of your brothers at Winchester Park, Lord Amos?” Mrs. Brooke asked during their final stop.
Amos confirmed that they were.
“Do you entertain much?” Amelia asked.
“We just had a large party to celebrate the duchess’s birthday. We have no further entertainments planned at present. We live quietly when in the country.”
“Ah, so we will become a part of your family circle.” Mrs. Brooke’s eyes gleamed at the prospect. “That will give us all an opportunity to become better acquainted.”
“I regret to disappoint you, but you and Miss Brooke will not be staying at the Par
k.”
Mrs. Brooke looked horrified. “I hope you do not expect us to stay with Mr. Chesney. He and I do not see eye to eye.”
Amos wasn’t surprised. “Alternative arrangements have been made for you, madam. You will be quite comfortable.”
“What arrangements, Lord Amos?”
“Come, the horses are ready,” Amos replied. Glancing through the window he was pleased to see the team he had left at this inn the previous day again harnessed to the barouche, stamping their feet, impatient to be off. Amos empathised. “I don’t want them to get cold.”
The sun was low in the sky when Amos drove the carriage to the door of Farrington House. He wasn’t surprised to see Zach emerge from the house at Lady St. John’s side, laughing at something she had just said to him. Zach was very tight-lipped about his amorous ambitions, even with his brothers. He was especially careful not to put himself into situations that could be misinterpreted−such as this one, and that gave Amos pause. Lady St. John was a widow, so he supposed that put a different complexion upon matters, but even so.
Amos raised a hand in greeting, which Zach acknowledged in similar fashion. He halted his team, jumped down from the box seat, and helped his passengers to alight. Mrs. Brooke looked up at the honey-coloured façade of the pretty manor house, shown to its best advantage by the backdrop of the lowering sun. It was a fraction of the size of Winchester Park but a great deal finer than her previous lodgings in Chelsea. Even so, Amos was sure he noticed her wrinkle her nose in disappointment.
“Come,” Amos said. “Let me introduce you to your hostess.”
“Is that gentleman his grace?” Mrs. Brooke asked, reviving at the sight of Zach.
“Yes, indeed it is.”
“Oh my goodness, we are honoured. Stand up straight, Amelia, and prepare to meet a duke.”
With the introductions made, Lady St. John fell effortlessly into the role of charming hostess.
“You must be exhausted, Mrs. Brooke,” she said sympathetically. “Travelling these days quite takes it out of one. However, I am so very glad you were able to accept my invitation. Now come inside, I will have you shown to your rooms, and when you have revived yourselves, we shall have a light supper.”
Ducal Encounters 01 - At the Duke's Discretion Page 17