Lady Cordelia favored the fashionable Egyptian mode. At the foot of the staircase stood an ebony figure of a Nubian supported by a sphinx, upholding a lamp. Opposite it were a lyre- backed chair and a small table with crocodile-feet.
The sofa in the drawing room, as well as its attendant chairs, was also reptilian. Not only did they have crocodile feet, but the brocade of their upholstery somehow suggested scales.
Lady Drumm's set admired the décor very much, and Amanda supposed she must be lacking in appreciation of modishness to feel ill-at-ease in the room, and to privately prefer the outdated pieces which had been relegated to the nursery and schoolroom, when the downstairs rooms had been renovated.
Lady Cordelia gave Amanda a nod of majestically commanding reassurance as they neared the library door. "You may repose perfect confidence in me, my dear Amanda. I have no intention of leaving you alone with this unfortunate young man."
Amanda conquered a half-hysterical urge to giggle. Did Lady Cordelia consider him unfortunate because he was gaining her as a bride? And surely she would have to leave them alone together eventually, after the wedding. Far more likely that Lady Cordelia didn't trust her not to reject his offer in a fit of maidenly panic, or ruin the matter in some way.
They found the eager bridegroom lounging at his ease, flicking through the pages of an illustrated journal, and looking quite bored.
Amanda glanced at him with shy curiosity. Had she ever before been in the same room with him? Balls and large assemblies, perhaps, to merely glimpse him across the huge hall, one of a crowd, or more often, to see him riding or driving in the park, and to hear the frequent whispered gossip about his latest exploit.
Now she could quite believe those tales, for he was undeniably attractive, with a rakish air. Of only medium height, perhaps, but his build was lean, with a natural elegance and athletic ease of movement.
He had dark hair with a crisp wave to it, and at some time his nose had been broken and had healed just a trifle crooked, adding to his adventurous air.
His eyes were greenish-hazel and could smolder or dance with reckless mischief, but at the moment they swept over her with a complete lack of interest and, perhaps, a touch of contempt for her dowdy propriety.
He was dressed in the first stare of fashion, naturally. His breeches fit like a second skin, his coat was superbly cut by a master tailor, his cravat expertly tied in a complicated style, and his boots had such a shine, his man must have polished them with champagne.
Had he been less attractive, careful mamas would have worried less about his effect upon their susceptible young daughters.
In a voice no more enthusiastic than his glance, Julian Lyndon spoke conventional words of proposal. "Miss Blackton, I hold you in the greatest of esteem. I should be greatly honored if you will gratify me by giving me your hand in marriage."
The indifference and veiled contempt of his expression might make Amanda wince, but at least he wasn't old or gross or repulsive in any other way that was outwardly apparent. It would have been all the same, had he been.
Amanda's calm, composed small voice gave no hint of her inner emotions. "Mr. Lyndon, I thank you for your flattering offer. I shall be very willing to become your wife."
And that stilted acceptance, Amanda reflected during the ensuing moments, seemed to be the last either of them had to say in the matter. Lady Cordelia briskly took command, deciding the date and manner of the marriage ceremony, with only brief assists from Sir William.
There were no inquiries at all, Amanda noted, as to where or how they were to live following the wedding, nor did Lyndon volunteer any information.
His apparel, horses, and carriages were always top quality, so obviously he had some source of income. Could his gaming be so successful?
Amanda shivered uneasily, and drew her shawl about her more tightly to excuse the shiver. Such a future was frightening. Even so, she again reminded herself that it had to be preferable to either continued life under this roof, or drudgery at Miss Fishback's.
The service, Lord and Lady Drumm decided, should take place shortly, as the family planned to leave London soon. Naturally, nothing as unimportant as this wedding should not be allowed to upset previously made plans to remove to their country home.
Lady Cordelia clucked disapprovingly. "Quite impossible to contrive a decent wedding in so short a space!"
Amanda was aware-was Lyndon?-that the Drumms had no desire to give her a lavish wedding, but there was always what people would think.
Sir William frowned impressively and made the happy contribution, "In view of Cousin Almeria's recent demise, we can hardly be expected to have other than a quiet ceremony."
"Quite true, my love." Lady Cordelia nodded with finality. "Mourning precludes any festivities."
In the midst of the discussion in which Amanda and Lyndon were required to say no more than "Certainly, sir," and "Just so, ma'am," Lyndon's bright, disinterested gaze flicked across hers, and Amanda was sure-quite positive-that for only a second there was a gleam of sardonic amusement there, calling forth a fleeting twinkle in hers. What a ridiculous situation this was.
"There, now, I fancy all is decided," Lady Cordelia announced with satisfaction, bending an approving eye upon her spouse, who was wasting no time in writing out a notice of the engagement for the gazettes. "Lyndon, we shall doubtless see you at Lady Milvern's assembly. Amanda was just remarking upon how she looked forward to attending, were you not, my love?"
* * *
Chapter Two
Lady Cordelia's pronouncement that all is decided by no means meant that the subject was closed. The moment (which came as shortly as possible) that Lyndon made his bored bow and departed, the cross-examination and speculation began, repetitively, boding fair to last until the wedding itself.
Why had Lyndon decided to wed? Why had Lyndon offered for Amanda? For Amanda, of all people, when she had been barely visible in Society this last age, and had never been noticeable? Unless, as Lady Cordelia obviously suspected, they had been meeting surreptitiously, in which event it was fortunate that the wedding was to be soon.
Even so, Lady Cordelia had to admit that Amanda never had an unchaperoned moment and could not possibly have engaged in a clandestine romance. If she served as chaperone for Eliza and Maria, so was she therefore chaperoned by them. A young lady of good family was never alone.
Equally puzzling, assuming there was such a romance, why should a rake such as Lyndon be attracted to a penniless dowd such as Amanda? He was known for the quality of the dazzlers he fancied; in fact, the latest whisper was that Lady Isabella Hollingcourt was his mistress.
But, if attracted to Amanda, why wish to marry her, when it was well known that he was constantly in debt and could afford to wed nothing less than an heiress?
"It is, of course, your obvious duty to exert your influence to reform the young man's regrettable way of life." Lady Cordelia bent an instructive eye upon Amanda, as the ladies of the family lingered at the table in the breakfast room on the following morn.
"Yes, ma'am." However, as she spoke obediently, Amanda wondered how on earth she could influence Lyndon, when he was so obviously indifferent to her. If she were another Lady Cordelia Drumm, she could doubtless rule a spouse, but she was far from that. "Doubtless he plans to change his way of life," she suggested tentatively. "That could be why he wishes to wed."
Eliza tittered. "As well might a leopard be expected to change its spots!" Both she and Maria were bitterly disappointed to find that the offer had been for Amanda, rather than one of their own suitors coming up to scratch. "I for one certainly do not envy you, wed to one of that character."
Lady Cordelia surveyed her daughters with proud approval. "No, my dearest ones, I am confident that envy is quite foreign to your natures. And, of course, such a match would be most ineligible for either of you. I dare say we shall soon be making splendid announcements of your own betrothals."
"But, please, mama, let the date of mine be
set for after the end of mourning," Maria begged. "I vow, my heart is quite set on a truly grand wedding."
"Yours? What of mine?" Eliza was indignant. "In many families, younger daughters are not permitted to wed before their elders." She turned to her mother in appeal. "Mama, you have said I should have a wedding which will quite take the shine out of all others."
"Yes, yes, that is quite what I plan for you," Lady Cordelia assured her, sharing a thin smile between her daughters. "For each of you, my dearest ones. For Amanda, however, I believe a quiet, modest ceremony will be far more suitable, particularly as such a match as this one is hardly a thing to boast of. You are being truthful, Amanda, when you assure me-?"
Round and round it went, until Amanda felt her head was spinning, particularly as she had worries of her own concerning it. How could she marry a man she didn't know, one who was so very different from herself? Had they been bare acquaintances but aware of similar tastes and interests, but from all that she heard, it would be impossible to find two people more opposite. And why had he offered for her? Was it some fantastic joke? Or, perhaps, a mistake? A joke upon him, perhaps, with someone convincing him she was an heiress?
No, hardly that, for he'd made no attempt at courtship; his perfunctory proposal showed quite plainly that he realized her relatives considered her of little value, a poor relation to be rid of at the first opportunity.
With great relief, Amanda welcomed the call of her friend, the dashing young Mrs. Warrenby, early in the afternoon. Lady Cordelia had cultivated Sally Warrenby's friendship when Sally was still the demure Miss Sara Blendon, in hopes that her relationship to the Duke of Devonridge would prove advantageous to Maria and Eliza. However, it had been with Amanda whom Sally became friends. But to no avail, as Lady Cordelia remarked with some bitterness at frequent intervals, as Amanda never profited in the least by any of the social advantages provided her, nor aided her cousins to do so.
"Oh, dear ma'am, do say that Amanda may go walking with me in the park," Mrs. Warrenby begged prettily, green eyes wide and sparkling. "I have been out of town, to Devonridge this past age, and I am sure we must have so much to talk of. Never do I go out of town but all manner of things happen." Sally knew the effect which any mention of her ducal grandparent would have upon Lady Cordelia, and used it deliberately.
"Oh yes, indeed things have," Amanda agreed. How wonderful it would be to escape from the house for a short time and discuss this amazing development with Sally.
She waited, almost holding her breath, for Lady Cordelia's consent. Oh, Lady Cordelia surely would, wouldn't she? Occasionally her ladyship refused, for no obvious reason than to be perverse. Not today. Please, not today.
Moreover, not only was Sally lively company, but she moved in such different circles than Lady Cordelia's set that she might even have some notion what had prompted this astonishing offer. Or, since, as she'd said, she had been out of town and away from the latest gossip, she might be able to learn.
In only moments Amanda had put on her bonnet and pelisse and the two young ladies were leaving the house. Yesterday's dark gloom had vanished as if the weather were matching Amanda's prospects, giving them a fine sunny morning for their stroll in the crocus-studded park.
"Dearest Amanda, I could hardly wait to tell you all that transpired at Devonridge. So amusing!" Sally Warrenby's eyes danced with wicked amusement. "And I'm positive you have much, too; I hear that I am to wish you happy. And I do! At last you are to escape that veritable dragon. Now do tell me all."
Amanda surveyed her friend with growing suspicion. How had Sally heard so soon? The announcements hadn't appeared in the gazettes as yet, nor had the betrothal been mentioned outside the Drumm household, so far as she was aware. True, the news grapevine that existed amongst servants spread every event of interest from house to house, thence upstairs to their masters. But was her betrothal of sufficient concern to anyone to be worthy of mention?
Her betrothal, no. Julian Lyndon's, perhaps.
"Yes, I am. But, Sally, do you...How...?" Questions bubbled up so rapidly that she was unable to frame them in words.
Halting and starting over, Amanda related with exaggerated primness, "Mr. Julian Lyndon made me an offer which, although of course ineligible for the daughters of the house, was considered most flattering for me, and the wedding is to occur within the near future, quietly, due to mourning for Cousin Almeria. Oh, Sally, you will be my attendant, won't you? The ceremony is to be so small and shabby and I simply can't bear not to have a friend with me; you know what the cousins are."
"Utter prigs; to be sure I shall, dearest," Sally said warmly. "Never fear. But-"
"Why he should offer for me, or what we are to live upon, nobody can imagine, but oh, they talk of nothing else." Amanda swept on desperately. "Sally, I can't help but wonder, and have fears, yet it is an escape, and the only one I shall ever have. But you-you knew, didn't you? How? When you've been out of London? And I'm sure no one from our house has mentioned it. Is Lyndon talking of it? The servants? Is it being talked of everywhere? Do tell me. Why should Lyndon be wishing to marry at all?"
"My poor dear Manda." Sally was overcome by giggles, although her eyes were sympathetic even when filled with tears of laughter. "If only I could have forewarned you. But it was not possible, so I have come to you as speedily as I might, to tell you all."
"Sally, you wretch! Tell me! Tell me, before I go mad and must be locked up in Cousin Cordelia's attic before I'm wed!" Joining in Sally's contagious mirth, insensibly Amanda began to feel that all was right, if Sally was aware and amused. "Although undoubtedly they would conceal my condition and marry me off, willy-nilly!"
"I nothing doubt that." Sally's look was speaking.
"If you knew. Here I have had Maria and Eliza, full of sour grapes because they had thought it was one of their beaux to offer for one of them. Meanwhile, Cousin Cordelia suspects I have been engaged in a clandestine romance. Oh, it has been utterly fantastic."
"Yes, and at Devonridge it has been just as fantastic and ridiculous," Sally assured her. "Here, dearest, let us sit down-Is that bench clean? And dry?-and talk. I was inspired, Manda, positively inspired."
Staring in consternation, Amanda sank down onto the bench. "But how-what-you, Sally?"
Mrs. Warrenby gave a pleased little nod. "First, my love, I must explain to you that Julian Lyndon is by way of being a distant cousin of mine, the sort of black sheep which every family does seem to have and try to hide. Why, I do just wonder, are they always so much more likable than the respectable cousins? We were playfellows when we were children, and he was quite my favorite; there was no end to the adventures he could plan."
"That, I daresay, still holds true." Amanda spoke drily, her gaze pensive upon a purple crocus.
"Oh, quite true, I assure you!" Sally giggled deliciously. "Manda, you can have no notion of the family conferences which he has occasioned, and considering how stuffy Grandpapa and Uncle Henry are-positively gothic!-well. Time out of mind they have paid his debts and bought him out of scrapes, and last time Grandpapa vowed it was the very last time indeed, that if Julian ran into one more scrape, he would be shipped off to the West Indies as a remittance man. Except, as my dear Warrenby said, odds were that Julian would be back soon enough, with a black wife and brood of black children."
"Yes, the most scandalous thing he could contrive," Amanda assented wholeheartedly. In an age when nearly any behavior was allowable providing no scandal resulted, Julian Lyndon had a flair for causing scandal; Amanda tried not to think of how that would affect her own life. Except, "Sally, you don't mean, will the Indies be my new home?"
She tried to recall what she knew of the Indies. Tropical. Exotic flora and fauna. Well, that could be of considerable interest. Life there had its attractions, particularly after the just-past unusually cold, wet winter. Moreover, it was a very long way from the entire Drumm family.
Sally was still giggling. "Oh, dear, no. No, not in the least. We were all q
uite at a loss when Grandpapa commanded us all to come, for I had not heard the slightest breath of gossip about Lyndon. Well, there is his connection with Isabella Hollingcourt; I daresay you are aware of that? But that is nothing new, after all, and Warrenby swore to me that he'd heard nothing new of Lyndon. Now, I did just wonder if this time it was so scandalous that Warrenby wouldn't repeat it even to me, but he swore that it was not."
"And what was it?" Amanda prompted, deeply curious yet feeling strangely detached; it seemed quite impossible that this titillating gossip could have any bearing upon her own life.
Sally was enjoying herself too hugely to be hurried. "Why, would you believe, Lyndon hadn't done anything at all? That is what makes this so ridiculous, and, love, you had best not tell your dragon-cousin, or she might decide to wed one of her frumpy girls to him after all."
"She might? To Lyndon? But why? How-?" Amanda broke off, shaking her head in bewilderment, and feeling a strange flash of possessiveness. Not to Lyndon. He was her fiancé. "Sally, have mercy upon me. I don't comprehend any of this, and it is driving me mad."
Sally's eyes danced. "Why, dearest, Lyndon has acquired prospects, and my, how furious Grandpapa and Uncle Henry, and Cousin Humphrey, are. You must know, in strictest confidence, dearest, that Uncle Henry, who is of course Grandpapa's heir to the title and estates, is too old for fatherhood, or more properly, it is Aunt Mathilda who is past motherhood."
Amanda nodded, if blankly. "Yes. I understand, and so?" But what on earth did this family history have to do with her? With Lyndon?
Mrs. Warrenby nodded back at her. "And Uncle Henry's only surviving son, who is a pompous bore, but poor thing, one must now be sorry for him, has suffered an unfortunate accident which quite puts an end to further additions to his family. As he has only daughters, it means that it is Lyndon who is next in line. Not that he will inherit," Sally added reflectively. "It is most unlikely that he will live longer than Humphrey, particularly if he does not improve his manner of life; how he has escaped breaking his neck or a fatal duel, I certainly do not know. But, Lyndon's son will become Humphrey's heir-"
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