“You ought to marry that woman, Zach,” Amos said as they stood together and watched Lady St. John effortlessly organise Mrs. Brooke and her daughter. “You could do a lot worse.”
“I don’t aim to marry anyone,” Zach replied. “I shall leave the marrying and begetting of heirs to you and my other brothers.”
“Sounds like dereliction of duty to me,” Amos grunted, circling his arms to restore some feeling into them after hours of controlling four lively horses.
Zach laughed. “Very likely.”
They walked into the drawing room, where Lady St. John soon joined them.
“If I had realised quite what we were asking you to take on,” Amos told her, “I would not have allowed you to be so inconvenienced.”
Lady St. John laughed. “Don’t worry. I have met women like Mrs. Brooke before and know precisely how to handle her. Besides, having her here makes me feel useful. I dare say she is anxious to see Miss Brooke and satisfy herself that her elder daughter is in good health.”
“Actually,” Amos replied, grinding his jaw as he accepted with a nod of thanks the snifter of excellent brandy Lady St. John handed to him, “she has not once mentioned her name the entire day.”
“Given what we know about her, I suppose that shouldn’t surprise me.”
“Well, they are here now, out of harm’s way, which ought to relieve Miss Brooke’s anxiety.” Zach turned his attention to Lady St. John. “Don’t forget, your guests need to remain here on your estate. Under no circumstances can they be seen in either village. Please ensure they understand that.”
She sent Zach a teasing smile. “I am a very efficient gaoler. If I take an interest in a person, he or she does not easily escape.”
“I cannot imagine anyone being foolish enough to want to,” Zach replied, holding her gaze for longer than was strictly necessary. Amos grinned. His brother, for all his denials, was definitely interested in their lively new neighbour.
“That is because I seldom settle my interest upon anyone who is foolish.”
“I am perfectly sure you do not.” Zach laughed. “Come along, Amos. Let’s escape while we can, before the ladies come back down and detain us.”
“That is precisely what they intend to do.” Lady St. John’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “I heard Mrs. Brooke telling her daughter to change into her best gown, and to make haste about it. I am sure it is not me she hopes to impress.”
“God save us!”
Zach swallowed down his drink, Amos followed his example, and they took their leave of Lady St. John. Amos did so quickly, keen for a hot bath and a decent meal. Zach lingered over her hand for longer than politeness dictated.
“We shall call tomorrow and see how things are going,” Zach told her. “But if you have any difficulties, send word and one of us will come immediately.”
“If Mrs. Brooke remembers that she actually has another daughter,” Amos added. “Please tell her I shall bring Crista to see her tomorrow evening.”
***
I wonder if Amos has returned yet, Crista thought, leaning back from her work, massaging the small of her back and sighing with pleasure when an expansive stretch eased her aching muscles. Even if he had, she could not expect to see him that evening. He must be exhausted. If the drive had not worn him down, her mother and sister surely would have.
“Is something amiss?”
Damnation, Reece simply would not let her be. Every time she looked up, she felt the heavy weight of his gaze upon her, monitoring every move she made. As though he would know if she did something she ought not to. Even so, his presence was unnerving, and she heartily wished he would take himself off somewhere. She did not say so, nor did she reply to his question. She simply pretended he did not exist.
Crista was surprised how difficult she found it to work slowly, giving Lord Romsey the time he needed to put his part of the plan into effect. She laboured over every precise shape and dimension, frequently referring to the drawings, even though she did not need to. She had already committed the design to memory. Her uncle came and went between the workshop and the shop itself, sharing her frustration over Reece’s constant presence. They had discussed it the night before over their evening meal.
“You make him nervous,” Uncle Charles told her. “He senses your frustration with your situation and is worried you will sabotage the design in some way.”
Crista flashed an impish smile. “If only he knew.”
“Thank heavens, he does not. He is only being more vigilant than usual because of the value of the gems, and possibly because he senses some slight differences in our attitude towards him.” The sparkle had returned to Uncle Charles’s eyes now that he was on the brink of restoring his reputation. It was a joy to behold, especially since Crista could tell he was enjoying himself more than he had for years. “Fortunately, he cannot know what has caused the change, so just stay strong, my love. This will soon all be over with, and we can be ourselves again.”
Yes, Crista thought, that would be a cause for rejoicing, if she knew who she was supposed to be. Not only did she no longer recognise herself, but she also didn’t have any real idea what she planned to do with her life without her father in it to guide her. She had always assumed she would work beside him. Now, she would have to make her way alone. Uncle Charles deserved his retirement, and she would not discuss her future with him for fear he might think she was hinting at remaining in Shawford. She knew that was not possible, even if whomever he sold the business to was willing to employ her. She could not risk being where she might come upon Amos unexpectedly, or worse, see him in company with the lady he settled upon as a wife.
She sat a little straighter and let out a strangled little gasp.
“Is something wrong, my dear?” Uncle Charles asked.
“No, Uncle, nothing.”
She took a hasty sip of water, pretending to have a bite of food lodged in her throat. But what was actually lodged there would be far harder to remove. The reason for the heavy weight dragging her down, in the vicinity of her heart, had just occurred to Crista. Dear God, what a fool she was! She was supposed to be the level-headed member of her family, but against every vestige of good sense she had fallen deeply and passionately in love with Amos.
This time it was a bitter little laugh that slipped past her guard, while tears of regret threatened to flood her eyes. Realising she had taken leaves of her senses helped strengthen her resolve. The moment this was over she would return to London. She had a little money of her own saved and she would use it to establish herself in lodgings. Then she would trawl around the jewellers she knew, find honest work for herself, lose herself in it, and soon forget her moment’s madness.
Yes, that was absolutely what she would do.
Amos must be back by now, Crista thought as she packed away her things at the end of the third day and thankfully watched Reece disappear out the back door. She took herself upstairs and changed into a gown for once, brushing her hair out before dining with Uncle Charles. He raised a brow but made no comment about the change in her routine. Crista was usually too weary to change out of her boy’s clothing. Her uncle understood and did not stand on ceremony.
“I must face Mama,” she said by way of explanation.
“Ah, of course.”
As soon as their meal was over, Crista excused herself.
“Would you like me to come with you?”
“No, Uncle, I would not inflict that torture upon you.”
Uncle Charles chuckled. “I had a feeling you might prefer to go alone.”
Blushing to the roots of her hair, Crista grabbed a shawl and almost ran to the spot where she had agreed to meet Amos. He was already there, leaning against a tree, watching for her. She took a moment to drink in the sight of him before he observed her, and felt breathless with appreciation. He was dressed casually in shirtsleeves and tight-fitting inexpressibles, shiny Hessians on his feet. He wore no hat and a soft breeze stirred his long hair, lifting it away f
rom his head. He stared off into the distance, looking severe, as though he had the weight of the world resting upon his shoulders. She blamed prolonged contact with her mother for his dire mind set.
A twig snapped beneath her foot, causing him to turn in her direction. He saw her and his severe expression gave way to a glorious smile that made Crista’s determination to treat him with detached politeness falter. She would defy any woman who was the recipient of such a riotous smile to remain immune to it. Damn the man, she would bet ten shilling he knew precisely what he was doing to her.
“There you are,” he said.
“I hope I have not kept you waiting,” she said at the same time.
She stopped just out of range of his arms, careful not to give the impression she expected anything from him.
“How was your journey?” she asked.
“It went much as you predicted.”
“Oh dear. As bad as that?”
The sound of his soft chuckle heated her blood. “Your mother and sister are now guests at Farrington House.”
“I hope Lady St. John is in possession of a strong constitution and the patience of Job.”
“I believe she is managing, but I shall take you over there now so you can judge for yourself.”
“Is it safe for us to be seen together?” She glanced at the curricle pulled up beneath a stand of trees, the bit jangling in the horse’s mouth as it cropped at the grass. “Reece has not left me alone at all throughout my work days while you have been gone. Odious man! He has driven me quite demented.”
“He is safely installed at the Crown, but he is unlikely to leave there. He has the diamonds to protect, and we have people watching him. ”
“Yes, the responsibility seems to be making his nervous.”
“Come.”
He took her hand and helped her into the curricle. She felt a searing warmth as his fingers closed around her palm. He held her gaze for a protracted moment, and Crista felt herself slowly drowning in the depths of fathomless eyes that appeared to darken as she beheld them. He opened his mouth, and she thought he was about to speak; but he abruptly snapped it closed again without doing so and walked around to the opposite side of the conveyance.
He didn’t say a word as he drove them at a smart trot towards Farrington House, avoiding the village for fear, presumably, of being seen alone with her. She sensed his glance frequently resting upon her profile, but didn’t trust herself to look at him in case her expression gave her away. If he could remain detached and not refer to the last occasion when they had been alone together so, too, could she.
“I have not told your mother the entire truth about why she needed to come to Winchester,” he said, breaking the silence as Farrington House came into view. “Nor did she ask.”
Crista rolled her eyes. “That does not surprise me.”
“I told her only that she might be in danger. Whenever I referred to the work that caused your father’s death, she changed the subject.”
“Oh, she would. Mama is very good at ignoring that which she does not wish to face.”
“Well, I have left it for you to tell her as much or as little as you think wise.”
“I am sorry my family is such a trial,” she said, turning her face up to the breeze instead of looking at him.
To her astonishment, he removed one hand from the reins and placed it on both of hers. “You could never be a trial to me, Crista. Never think that for a moment.”
“I don’t expect you to…I mean…” Stop being so considerate. It confuses me and is not helping. “Well, that is−”
“We are here now.” He stopped the curricle at the front steps, where a groom rush up to take the horse. “Are you ready for this?”
Crista grimaced. “You had to endure an entire day of my mother and sister. I dare say I shall survive a half-hour.”
Amos laughed. “You make it sound like a fate worse than death.”
“You have met my family. How would you describe it?”
He winced. “Good point.”
Amos jumped down and came round to help her to the ground. He placed her hand on his sleeve and led her to the front door, which opened before they reached it.
“Good evening, my lord.” The butler inclined his head to Amos and then to her. “Lady St. John and her guests are in the drawing room. Please follow me.”
“Ah, Lord Amos,” Lady St. John stood when they entered the room. “And Miss Brooke. How delightful to see you again.”
“Lady St. John.”
Crista curtsied and was astonished when Lady St. John waved the gesture aside and enveloped Crista in a fierce hug instead.
“I have been taking good care of your relations, as you can see.”
“Thank you.” Crista took a deep breath and then turned to her mother and sister. They had watched her walk in on Amos’s arm, and then be embraced by Lady St. John, with identical expressions of shock. “Mama, Amelia. How are you both?”
“You look well, my dear,” Mama said, recovering her composure. “How have you been?”
“Lady St. John,” Amos said. “I apologise for my attire. I am not fit to be seen in your drawing room. Shall we take a turn in the gardens and leave Miss Brooke to become reacquainted with her family.”
“By all means, Lord Amos.”
“Oh, there is no occasion for you to leave,” Mama said breezily. “We do not in the least mind that you are not formally attired, Lord Amos. Goodness, Crista is not fit to be seen either. She did not even trouble to put on a bonnet.”
“Nor would I have her do so,” Amos replied, his voice tight with controlled anger. “Not if it meant covering all that glorious hair.”
“Oh, well no, I suppose things are different in the country,” Mama said, looking totally perplexed by anyone finding anything to admire about Crista.
“Please excuse us.”
Amos sent Crista a warm smile and left with Lady St. John. It was very quiet in the room once Amos quit it. Crista was too angry at her mother’s callous attack on her appearance to trust herself to speak. Amelia looked oddly discomposed and kept giving Crista accusatory glances.
“What on earth is going on here, Crista?” Mama demanded to know.
“I apologise if sending for you has caused you inconvenience.”
“Remember to whom you are speaking and keep a civil tongue in your head.”
Crista swallowed and did her level best to calm down. Her mother, for all her many faults, was still her mother and deserved a modicum of respect.
“I apologise, Mama.” Crista took a seat beside Amelia. “I came here because the people Papa was working for needed me to continue with that work.”
“Then you ought to have refused,” Mama replied briskly.
“Do you not imagine I would have done so if I could? It was you who encouraged Papa to take the business in the first place.”
“I did not know it would end so badly. I cannot take responsibility.”
When do you ever? “They threatened to destroy what was left of Papa’s reputation if I did not work for them.” Crista cleared her throat. “Failing that, they threatened the two of you.”
“Mama!” Amelia clutched her throat. “Are we safe? Are we to be murdered in our beds? What would Mr. Devonshire say if he knew?”
“That is another reason why I agreed to help them, Amelia. I did not wish to destroy your happiness. But now, the duke and his brothers have found out about the deception.”
Mama made a strangled noise and looked as though she was about to feint. “And yet you seem to be intimate with Lord Amos.”
“He and his associates are planning to trap the rogues. Lord Romsey works for the government and wants to catch the man behind the scheme, which is why we brought you two to safety.”
“And so the Sheridan family do not think ill of you?” Mama sounded pathetically hopeful. “They realise you were coerced.”
“They know I was. I have told them the complete truth.” Crista fixed
her mother with a determined gaze. “They know why Papa did what he did and who persuaded him to do so.”
Mama’s body stiffened. “I suppose you told them it was my doing, when it was no such thing.”
“What is done is done, Mama,” Crista said with a weary sigh. “This all will be over in a day or two, and it will be safe for you to return to London. I shall find work somewhere or other and we need never see one another again.”
“Don’t be so hasty, Crista.” Mama straightened her spine. “Your father did not leave us well provided for and my own Papa is still being incredibly stubborn. He continues to refuse to see me, even though your papa is dead and that chapter of my life has come to an end. I shall…er−” She glanced at her hands, swallowed twice and then looked up at Crista. “I shall need your help to survive.”
“I am sure Amelia and Mr. Devonshire will provide you with a home. You will be more comfortable with your favourite daughter. I cannot keep you in the style to which you would like to become accustomed.”
“Ungrateful child! After all I have done for you.”
Crista sighed. To her precise recollection, her mother had never done anything except complain about her conduct. They had not been together for more than five minutes and already the atmosphere was rife with tension and accusation. She thought of Winchester Hall and how the family there interacted with such casual affection towards one another. Money did not create that sort of ambience. She knew that very well since her maternal grandfather had never laid eyes on her, holding on to a grudge for all these years because his favourite child, his only daughter, had married against his wishes.
“Tell us about Winchester Hall,” Amelia said, her eyes coming alight with interest. “Mama says all four brothers are as handsome as the duke and Lord Amos. It is quite shocking that none of them are married. I should very much like to meet all of them.”
“You are engaged to Mr. Devonshire,” Crista reminded her sister.
Ducal Encounters 01 - At the Duke's Discretion Page 18