With that decided upon, preparations for the rest of the festivities proceeded apace, with the only cloud the illness of one of Eulalia's little girls. However, that was only a minor fever and rash, nothing serious.
"Yes, but will it prove contagious?" Sally was less worried than annoyed. "Manda, love, imagine it being measles or chicken pox, and the entire gathering being held here under quarantine."
"Itching and scratching." They looked at one another, imagining a packed ballroom all twitching and rubbing, then scratching. How ridiculous such a sight would be. Particularly the dignified dowagers.
* * *
Fortunately, no such thing befell the extended family and guests, though possibly that was because the little girls were confined to their nursery and schoolroom, and few people came in contact with them. Amanda, especially, was shielded from proximity, in view of her condition.
However, her maid brought her reassuring reports. "Just one of those childish ills, ma'am." Pym's glance spoke volumes, as their eyes met in the dressing table mirror, as she arranged Amanda's dark tresses more elaborately than usual for dinner, threading strands of pearls among the locks. "Myself, I think it could be a wee bit too many goodies. Like enough, some of them didn't agree with the tyke."
"And Lady Eulalia is always very concerned whenever one is indisposed. Naturally. In light of those she lost."
Neither needed to say more. Both suspected that even at this young age, the children knew the surest way to gain and hold their mama's full attention and loving fussing was to grizzle and whine at the slightest ill or injury. They were like to grow up into hypochondriacs. Amanda resolved to treat her own children with brisk common sense, regardless of her inner emotions.
* * *
Amanda descended to the pre-banquet gathering to find she was not the only lady of the family who had chosen a dark color as a compromise between mourning and celebration. Her new deep blue taffeta was elegant, and the pearls at her throat and ears as well as twined in her hair were tastefully simple. Others had selected hunter green, burgundy, and Lady Mathilda's purple was so dark as to be virtually black. Less closely connected ladies chose the pastels that by tradition were half-mourning. Of course, guests could be as colorful as they chose, and everyone was extremely modish.
Tonight's menu was even more extensive and elaborate than any previous ones, and beyond all Amanda's imagining. This time, she knew to accept only the tiniest morsel of the dishes that the footmen offered, and not from every dish, at that.
There were toasts to Lord Devonridge, speeches in his honor, with replies from him. Indeed, this was the grandest affair Amanda had ever had the pleasure to attend, and it was a great pleasure.
So, too, was the ball. She knew how the enormous ballroom was to be decorated, but seeing it so was quite awe-inspiring. Moreover, with people pouring into it, Amanda realized why it was so huge. The orchestra had been brought from London, and she had never before heard such excellence. In a concert hall, perhaps, but not at a private party.
And the dancing! Here, Amanda was no wallflower, stiffly sitting by Lady Cordelia. She was a daughter of the family, with a husband to partner her so skillfully that various cousins and uncles and neighbors begged her hand. She did not sit out one single dance.
The supper interval seemed to arrive with surprising speed, and yet in considering, Amanda realized the dances had been numerous, and then the hall clock bonged sonorously: the hour was late.
And, in the comparative quiet as people selected from the lavish, imaginative buffet, and found seats at the numerous small tables, the screams began upstairs.
* * *
The screams were found to emanate from Eulalia, in Sir Henry's bedchamber, not the nursery.
She stood in the middle of the floor, and clutched one of the bed pillows to her, pale and sobbing hysterically.
"This-this-It was over Papa's face!" she gasped. "I was gone only a moment-he was sleeping quietly-so I slipped out to see how my little ones did, and to visit the, ahh, and I returned to find..."
She swayed, pale and seeming to be on the point of collapse, and someone put arms about her and eased her down into a chair; an aunt produced smelling salts and waved them under Eulalia's nose. She revived to wail and sob loudly.
Sir Henry was alive, but his face was scarlet, and his breathing was erratic. Lady Mathilda hovered over him, before turning to snap, "Get that screeching idiot out of here. She's doing him no good now. Where's that doctor?" If ungrateful, for Eulalia's return had undoubtedly saved his life, it was valid. Indeed, the bedchamber and corridor outside were far too full of people.
An uncle shooed them away, so that the doctor might reach the room. How very fortunate that they had thought to ask him to spend the evening at Devonridge, hardly as a guest, for the company was too exalted for that, but in case Sir Henry or any of the guests required his services.
Eulalia was supported out of the bedchamber, and along the corridor to her own boudoir, frantically babbling her excuses and explanations for leaving him alone even briefly, and what she had seen upon her return.
"No, no, the man was gone, whoever it was. The door into the dressing room was closing as I entered the bedchamber. Then I realized, I couldn't see Papa. Only the pillow, where his head should be! Unthinkably horrid! And yet I was away the veriest moment. Only the briefest peep in at my little ones, and they were sleeping like the angels they are, so then I stopped in here the merest second, to-I needed to-" Her eyes flickered; she was unable to say, in public, that she'd had to use the chamber pot. Not with the entire family clustered in her room and in the corridor outside its door, to hear what more she could tell.
"But who would do such a dreadful thing, and why?" Sir Henry's youngest sister was appalled.
"Whoever it was, I fancy he dropped this." Gerald, grim-faced, held up a handkerchief.
Amanda stared, well able to see the monogram, and she felt near swooning, herself.
JRL. With all the love a bride could summon, she had embroidered that, with her own hands, for Julian Richard Lyndon.
* * *
Chapter Fifteen
"I didn't do it." Lyndon had been speaking those words over and over, protesting to whoever would listen. Now he said them to Amanda, in the privacy of the red bedchamber. "You know that I wouldn't, don't you, Manda? You know I didn't even leave the ballroom."
Miserably, Amanda couldn't meet his eyes. She loved him, and she did not wish to doubt him, and yet! "I was dancing. I could not see."
And as Eulalia had kept sobbing, the veriest moment!
Eulalia had been away the veriest moment, and the veriest moment was all that was required to step in and press a pillow over the face of a sleeping elderly invalid.
"But you'll say you did? For you must know I am innocent of this, Manda. My handkerchief may have been there, but I was not. I swear to you I did not. I have no idea who could have dropped it there, but I did not!"
Amanda could not meet his eyes. Biting her lip, she turned away.
"Amanda. You must know I could not do that. You must believe in me."
Barely audibly, she murmured, "My fall on the Highbriars stairs-it was no accident. I was pushed."
He stared, at first not comprehending. "You were pushed? But who would-" Then, as it sank in, "You can't imagine-Amanda-you can't think that I-?"
"Oh, I don't wish to think it. I try not to think it." Her voice was muted, hardly more than a whisper.
However, he heard, in the quiet of the room. "But Amanda, you are my wife. We are having a child. Why should I do such a thing?"
Now she did meet his eyes, searching his face, desperate to be convinced it was not so. "I- we-could be in your way."
"My way? The way of what?" He certainly seemed aghast.
If only she could be sure he was not aghast at being found out.
"Of-you and Isabella Hollingcourt are said to have been lovers and she is now widowed. Free to remarry once her mourning period is past-an
d she is so very beautiful."
He shook his head, as if shaking off her words, their meaning. "And you think me such a monster as to rid myself of you? Who else? Uncle Henry, obviously. Humphrey? Grandpapa as well, perhaps? Merely in order to have her? Isabella Hollingcourt? She is the sort of woman one wishes to have as a mistress, not a wife. Especially seeing her in our home, alongside you. The very thought of presenting her to Grandpapa, with her lack of manners! Good God, woman." His temper flared.
Amanda took a step backward, uncertain of the form his anger would take. She had never seen him more than mildly annoyed in the past. He was always lighthearted, teasing, mocking. Now he was formidable.
"But you never wished to wed me. Ours was a marriage of convenience, forced upon you. Why, you had never even met me before you offered, and never tell me that your interest was excited then."
"Well, but for you, wedding me was purely a means to escape an intolerable situation under your cousins' roof. Not that I think they would have allowed you to refuse any offer whatsoever." He glared at her. "Has it been so unpleasant for you, that you are willing to believe such things of me? I allowed myself to think that we have come to love one another. Lord. I wonder that you did not join in the denunciations of me."
"I do love you." Now, though Amanda's voice was as soft, she could meet his eyes. "I could never betray you, though it might put me at risk, as well as-" Her hands spread protectively over her stomach. "But-"
"Such love!" He turned on his heel, to angrily fling out of the bedchamber.
Amanda couldn't stay, either. Oh, her emotions found release in a burst of tears, but then she bathed her face in tepid water, smoothed her hair, and stepped out into the corridor.
However, once there, she hesitated, indecisive. Where had he gone? Where should she go? Downstairs she would encounter more family. To the left lay the nurseries and schoolroom. Up a flight of stairs and well along another corridor, to be sure, but the little girls frequently scampered out, coming to peer down at the richly dressed guests, giggling.
Amanda did not wish to encounter anyone whatsoever. She turned to the right, and coming to one of the towers, she entered and ascended the spiraling staircase that she found there, her soft-soled slippers merely whispering on the ancient stone. There was, if she remembered aright, a pleasant nook near the top, a little round room off the landing, where she could be quite alone with her tumbling thoughts.
Lyndon had said he loved her. True, his tone had been furious, anything but loving. He doubtless meant only affection, not the sort of love which she felt for him. Still. He loved her.
Their first quarrel-and it had elicited from him an avowal of love. Unless...Abruptly, Amanda's spirits plummeted with doubt. Unless he merely said that he loved her. Saying a thing hardly made it true, and gentlemen were ever inclined to profess their love, when it suited their purposes.
Just as the guiltiest person would utter denials, and profess innocence.
Still, Amanda could not believe Lyndon might be a killer. In heat of anger, or during a duel, perhaps. But to cold-bloodedly kill Humphrey and make attempts upon his uncle's life?
No. Never that.
And he had said that he loved her. He had said that. Amanda hugged that fact to her. Regardless of how he said it, how he meant it, he had said it!
Her spirits ascended, even as she ascended the stairs. Here was the little nook which she remembered, off the spiral staircase landing. Oh, but others were here before her. A young couple, in ardent embrace. Amanda caught her breath, and attempted to halt, to ease away before they noticed, before she interrupted them.
But they realized, or sensed, and heads lifted, turning alertly.
Amanda stared, in amazed recognition. Why, that was Gerald. And, in his arms, Eulalia! Their embrace was anything but a man's consoling his cousin's grieving widow. True, they were on their feet, but Amanda was embarrassed by the intensity of the passion she had glimpsed, and the knowledge that they were aware of her presence. Equally amazing, this was not the Eulalia she was accustomed to seeing. True, the same clinging figure, clad in unrelieved blacks. However, the shaft of sunlight in which the couple stood turned the hitherto colorlessly fair hair to palest gold, and passion gave color to Eulalia's cheeks, reddened her lips, and put sparkle in her eyes. Without muffling scarves and shawls, she was shown to have quite a pretty figure.
From somewhere, Amanda gained memory that Eulalia had been accounted one of the reigning beauties in the season of her come-out, and had promptly been snapped up by the heir to a dukedom. Sally's gossip, like enough, back at the time of the wedding of Humphrey and Eulalia.
Not that such a thing mattered now. Except that now Amanda could credit it.
But Eulalia, and Gerald?
Now Eulalia lifted her chin, with a touch of defiance. "And so what of it, pray? We are neither of us wed to another. I have been widowed these weeks-"
Releasing her, Gerald stepped toward Amanda, his face earnestly appealing. "For convention's sake, we have preferred to be discreet, but once a proper amount of time has elapsed-"
"When you have removed to an establishment of your own in Bath?" Amanda smiled at Eulalia, understanding now. Courtship would be difficult under the jaundiced eye of Humphrey's parents, and Eulalia's own parents would hardly be more encouraging, in view of Gerald's lack of fortune and title.
Eulalia's smile back was faint. "Indeed. I must hope you will keep our secret, cousin."
Amanda nodded, but dubiously. Something about it disturbed her.
"I see I must take you into our confidence." Gerald spoke seriously, persuasively. "Ours is no recent fancy. In point of fact, we met at Eulalia's very first ball in London and it was love the moment our eyes met. But she was only seventeen, and I was scarce older, just a lad dependent upon my father, with no chance at any title. When Humphrey offered..." The memory obviously pained him, even now. "But Humphrey never loved her, never valued her, as I have."
"I was never more than a brood mare," Eulalia said bitterly. "And not even a successful one, and so my value sank accordingly. The things he said-and not only when he was drunk. He hardly cared for our darling little daughters."
Amanda nodded, understanding and sympathizing. Hadn't she suspected as much about that marriage? And so now, with Eulalia freed to remarry where she pleased, especially with that first love still alive. Gerald might never have a title, but he had a handsome competence, and Amanda understood that his home was snugly comfortable. Eulalia would never lack the niceties of life.
Still, Amanda had an uneasy feeling that there was more to this than had been disclosed. Gerald's lack of prospects. And Eulalia had seemed more distressed by her loss of all chance of becoming a duchess than by losing Humphrey himself. And for ten years or more, Eulalia had been confident that one day she would be a duchess, commanding this huge mansion and vast estates. That would be recompense for all her slights and suffering, for giving up her true love to marry a man who failed to engage her affections. However, now she never would become a duchess.
Unless...
Had not Amanda and Lyndon joked together that should the Drumms catch Gerald for Eliza, they would promptly set to removing Lyndon from the path of Gerald inheriting the dukedom?
Lyndon-and his unborn child?
She caught her breath, and her face paled.
That shot which had just missed him. She had been pushed down the stairs; only by the grace of God, in the person of Mr. Wickes, had she been saved from injury, from possible death or miscarriage.
And Sir Henry?
Even Humphrey, himself?
"You know, don't you?" Eulalia's voice was emotionless as ever. "Gerald, she's guessed."
He divided his usual pleasant smile between them. "Never fear, Eulalia, my dearest love. It doesn't matter."
Amanda wished she could credit that he meant it did not matter because they believed they could trust her, or that they liked her too well to do her harm.
She would
be well advised to make excuses and a quick retreat back down those stairs, to seek out the protection of company.
But instead she stayed. "It was you, wasn't it? You, who took advantage of the confusion of that wild set's visit to push me down the stairs?"
"Took advantage of it? Dearest cousin, 'twas I who gave them the inspiration to come." He spoke with pride, as lightly affectionate as ever. "I felt certain it would provide opportunity for some such thing. I hoped it might even rid us of Julian, as well."
"And you did not even miscarry." Eulalia looked and sounded peevish. "I'm sure I don't know why. I have, with far less cause than that."
Gerald showed annoyance, as well. "I calculated that, at the very least, Julian would be back in Grandfather's black books, but no such thing. His luck is outside of enough."
"Yes, but..." Desperately, Amanda calculated, did she have any means of saving herself? Hardly, when against two people, who had at least attempted to kill before, and one of them a strong man in his prime.
Except, confident of their power, they seemed willing to talk, even boast. Could she lure them to continue? Perhaps other people would come, hear, or at least, she might think of something more.
"But Humphrey? You shot him?" That was the best Amanda could do. Indeed, she had long wondered whether his death had been accident, suicide-or murder.
"You think either of us killed Humphrey? Cousin. You know he shot himself, accidentally or intentionally." Gerald was archly reproachful. However, the glance that he and Eulalia exchanged was an admission of guilt, though not shame.
"But you did make attempts upon Uncle Henry." Her voice was a mere thread. "Last night, who-?" Perhaps Gerald had, while Eulalia checked upon her children?
"I did, of course." Eulalia spoke quite matter-of-factly. "Had he died, and Julian been convicted, why then, Gerald would have inherited. It was quite easy." She frowned, dissatisfied. "Except I quite thought he was dead, but before I could ascertain as much, I heard someone coming, so I had to begin screaming."
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