Percy was gaping at Samuel as if he were a fool. “While you may find that a fine reason to select a wife, it is not a matter of whether or not I will have her. She is most sought after woman of the Season. Beautiful, wealthy, the daughter of the Duke of Ely I shall just step in line behind her hundred other suitors, shall I?”
Though Percy had lived a charmed life, he had never acquired the arrogance or confidence of some of his peers, to his detriment.
“Do not step in line behind them, dear brother. March to the front. Women like a little brashness.”
“How many drinks have you had, Samuel? It would do nothing but embarrass me to treat my peers rudely.”
“Damn. Why would you care what they think?”
“I am in Lords with the lot of them. I won’t make enemies without cause. No, pick another, any other,” Percy insisted. He had gone a little pale, as if the mere thought of asking Lady Amelia Atherton for anything at all horrified him.
“This is all a bit absurd, do you not think, Percival? You are a man grown. She is hardly more than a girl. The right mix of good looks and bravado would have her melting in your arms,” Samuel argued. “I cannot believe you are being unmanned by a girl of what, eight and ten?”
“Do you see the swarm of men about her? Men who have tried, and failed, to do just as you seem to think I should do with ease. Count me out, Samuel,” said Percy. “Besides, having a wife quite so beautiful is asking for a lifetime of headaches.”
Samuel had no firsthand experience with wives, but he could not imagine handling one was any more challenging than handling a ship. Spirited, willful, but under the right command, pliable and eager to serve. He told Percy as much.
“Oh really, Commander?” said Percy, brow furrowed in the way that meant he was trying to hold back laughter. “If you are so skilled at ‘taming the willful seas’ let us see you manage a single dance out of her.”
“Me?” said Samuel, poking himself in the chest. “I have no desire for a wife.”
“But if you demonstrate these skills, perhaps I can learn from you. Go on now, what are you frightened of? For a man with your looks and… what was it, bravado? She should be sweet butter in your hands.”
The challenge held little appeal for Samuel. She was pleasing to look at, but he would get nothing more from her than a dance, which was hardly worth his while. Still, if it would demonstrate to his insecure brother than confidence was the crux of the matter, it would be worth it.
“Fine,” said Samuel at last. He drained his glass and handed it off to Percy. With a hand through his already disheveled locks, he said, “Watch and learn, brother; though she will be ruined for you, once she has met me.”
“Samuel, you cannot,” Percy argued looking for a place to set down the two glasses he now held. “You are not introduced.” He took a long suffering breath as if steeling himself. “Come, I will introduce you.”
“You will not; you will ruin everything,” Samuel said as he headed straight for the woman.
~.~
Percy stood open mouthed, but watched with avid interest and not-quite-hidden horror as Samuel marched over to the Lady Amelia Atherton. She was turned away at the moment, conversing with another gentleman. Samuel stepped up beside her, a step closer than the other man, just inside the amount of space considered polite, and the other man quite naturally backed up. Her hazel eyes flashed, and Percival half-expected her to slap his brother.
“Dear God man, you are boring the woman to death; can you not see that? Now run along,” Samuel said, waving a dismissive hand at the fellow.
The man’s look of outrage and befuddlement was quite the show, and Percival could barely keep from laughing aloud. He turned away a moment to compose himself, and when he turned back, his brother was bowing over the unfathomable Lady Amelia Atherton’s hand. She had a look of bemusement on her face, her lips turned up in a slight smirk. Percival wondered just how long it would be until his brother was turned away with the same callousness that he had shown the previous man; although the next time, Percy supposed the dismissing would be done by the Lady Amelia.
~.~
Chapter Two
It was not the rudeness of the man that intrigued Lady Amelia, though that was part of it, she supposed. Nor was it his appearance, which was aggressively masculine from the strong prominence of his nose to the ferocity of his brow. She generally liked finer men, but he was amusing. If she had to pinpoint what it was about him that persuaded her to accept his offer of a dance, it was that he gave her no opportunity to say no. He seemed to assume she would say yes, and because he could imagine no reason for her refusal, she was forced to agree. It did help the man’s appeal that he had sent the doddering Lord Cornishe on his way, and his hand was very warm under his glove…warm and large, she thought.
She almost regretted her choice when the dance began. The man, whom she did not know though she knew every Peer by face and name, was not a grand dancer. He was barely passable.
“Have you never danced the quadrille before?” Amelia asked. She could guess his answer.
Samuel shook his head, and his coffee-colored eyes were intense with concentration. “Not much call for dancing on a ship, quadrilles or not.”
That would explain why she did not know of him. Her memorized list of men worth knowing did not extend to military or naval officers. They were fine husbands for girls like Patience, but the daughter of a Duke had no need to marry a second son.
“You are a captain?” Amelia had no difficulty carrying on a conversation while dancing. The steps were as natural to her as were the chords on a piano.
“A commander,” said Samuel.
Lud, she thought as she moved through the steps.
“Commander Samuel Beresford,” he said. “Go ahead, laugh at my dancing, I can see that you want to. I will not take offense.”
“Truly,” she teased. “Men take offense at the slightest affront, I’ve found.”
The Lady Amelia Atherton, was dancing with a naval commander! Oh, Amelia could just imagine the talk. It would be a delicious morsel of gossip by morning but despite the man’s worst efforts, she did not mind dancing with him.
“It is dreadful, but at least you are aware of that. So many men believe themselves to be the best at something, not realizing they are making fools of themselves,” said Amelia. “But I will not mock you. At least you are trying to better yourself. You are trying, are you not?”
“I think I have got it now,” said Samuel, as he moved away from her to take the hand of Lady Pottinger and Lord Caney became Amelia’s partner.
She had danced with Lord Caney before, but decided against him as a potential suitor. He was handsome enough and wealthy, his coat was bedecked with gold buttons, but there was something about him that seemed disingenuous. His voice was too careful and cultured his hands just a bit too warm and soft. When Lord Caney spoke he made her feel she was missing some great jest at her expense.
Lady Pottinger was shooting Amelia a hateful look behind Samuel’s back that said her choice in dance partner was not appreciated.
“I will owe Lady Pottinger an apology now,” said Amelia, when Samuel once again took her hand. “And perhaps a small gift. Did you trod on her toes?”
Samuel shrugged his shoulder. There was something appealing about his uniform, with its stark lines and flashy gold accents. “Once or twice, maybe.”
“But you have not stepped on mine at all.”
“Hmm,” said Samuel concentrating.
Amelia looked at him out of the corner of her eye. It was hard to read him, between his height and the positions of the dance.
“Commander Beresford, did you step on her slippers on purpose? You scoundrel,” Amelia admonished, but she was laughing inside. Lady Pottinger was on the edge of spinsterhood and acted as if it were the fault of all the young debutantes who ousted her.
Samuel ignored the question. “What did you say to that man?” he asked, nodding toward Lord Caney. “He is starin
g at me as if I personally offended him. Though, perhaps I have, but I cannot remember how.”
“You have offended him by dancing with me. Do not pay him any mind. I have danced with him before and do not care to repeat the experience,” Amelia said.
“Was I not your first?” Samuel asked.
Amelia snapped her head up, but there was no guile on Commander Beresford’s face, neither so much as a smirk. Had she imagined the innuendo? Those were not ladylike thoughts to have. She shook her head to clear it and tried to focus on the dance again. But she could not stop herself.
“Am I yours? The first you have danced with tonight, I mean,” said Amelia, looking up at him through her lashes. Any other man would have lost his breath or blushed or something but he just looked down at her as if she were nothing more than his dance partner.
“Yes, in fact,” he said. There was not so much as a tremor in his voice.
“And how,” said Amelia, letting a bit of annoyance creep into her tone, “did I earn that honor? Your dancing is such a gift, Commander Beresford, you should not be so ungenerous with it.”
“My brother pointed you out as the most beautiful woman in the entire room. Or was it all of London? England? I cannot remember,” said Samuel.
Amelia had heard that before. How dull. Men were capable of no original thought when it came to women or beauty. “Your brother is too kind.”
“He is, yes, but that is not the reason I chose to dance with you,” said Samuel.
“No?” Amelia bristled at his tone, as if he had deigned to dance with her, and not the other way around.
“No,” said Samuel. “Once my brother told me your name I could not resist. It is the same name as my ship’s, you see. I wanted to see if you had anything in common with her.”
“I beg your pardon,” said Amelia, spine stiffening. “Are you comparing me to some barnacled old hunk of wood?”
“Not unfavorably, I assure you.”
Lady Amelia had the distinct feeling that she was being made a fool of. And by a nameless man no less. A commander! She pursed her lips and gave Commander Beresford a look that had sent better men than him running. He was either oblivious or fearless, for he stepped back and bowed in the customary ending of the quadrille with a smile on his face, as if he had gained some advantage. Amelia gave him a curtsy, the smallest she could manage, and turned away. Half of her wanted him to follow her and insist on a second dance. The other half was so off balance from his rudeness and, if she were honest with herself, his lack of weakness toward her, that she hoped to never see him again.
Patience and Charity were nowhere in sight. Annoyed, Amelia stalked off to find herself a refreshment. Three separate men accosted her on her way and she was about to allow the third, the least offensive of them, to fetch her a drink, but instead, Lord Caney was again at her side with a glass of punch. “Allow me to offer you refreshment, Lady Amelia,” he said, handing her the glass and expecting to speak with her. She wished she could refuse with grace, but the man was much too insistent. Some people just did not understand the meaning of no. She took the glass with a brief thanks and meant to brush by him, but he caught her arm. “That officer is beneath you,” he said.
She fluttered her eye lashes at him. “Just because one is a second son, is no need to give him the cut.”
She started to pull out of his grip, but he tightened his fingers for just a moment. “Dancing with him, will inspire the gossips,” he warned.
“Let them talk,” she said flippantly. She wished her friends would hurry back. She wanted to escape Lord Caney’s boorish conversation, and more than that, she wanted to tell her friends all about Commander Samuel Beresford and his presumptions.
They girls arrived after the next dance, pushing their way through to Amelia, giggling and red-faced, and she at last managed to escape Lord Caney to meet them.
“You two look as if you have stolen sweet cakes from under your nanny’s nose,” said Amelia, looking them over. “What has gotten into you?”
The two girls exchanged a look and burst into laughter again. Amelia rolled her fingernails against her glass, impatient and irritated.
“Patience is in love,” said Charity, followed by an unseemly snort.
“I am not!” Patience protested. “But he is good looking.”
“The man you danced with?” Amelia asked, frowning. She could not remember who she had set up with Patience. She had never been forgetful before, especially when it came to dancing and suitors.
“No,” Charity said. “Just a man she walked by! Can you believe it? Our little Patience is smitten over a man she has not even spoken a word to.”
“Oh do not tease me please,” Patience begged. “And I am not smitten. I only said that I think he is handsome.”
“And you smiled at him,” said Charity.
Amelia, whose patience had grown thin after the rudeness of Commander Beresford and the presumptions of Lord Caney, held up a hand to stop their chatter. “Please, can we have a coherent conversation? If I wanted to listen to prattle I would call my suitors back. Who is he?”
“I do not know,” said Patience, looking down at her hands. Was she on the verge of crying? “I only passed him and smiled and he smiled back at me.”
That was hardly enough to get on with. “I see.”
“He looked ill,” Charity offered. “Green as a frog and sweating besides. Not exactly a dashing figure.”
“Be nice, Charity,” Amelia warned. “I am happy for you, Patience. I will endeavor to discover the name of your mystery man.”
But what about her mystery man? Nonsense. She shook her head. Samuel Beresford was a nobody. He was not worth thinking about. No matter that he was good looking, plenty of men were that, nor that he had made her feel… what was it that feeling? Excited. Giddy, even. As if they had shared a sort of secret.
“Truly? Thank you, Amelia,” said Patience, looking as if she might hug her. Amelia took a half step back.
“But what about that officer you were dancing with?” Charity asked. “I do not recall ever seeing him before. He was handsome was he not? In a brutish sort of way.”
Patience giggled.
“He was nobody,” said Amelia. “I have already forgotten his name.”
It was a lie and she knew it, but no one else needed to.
~.~
Samuel watched Lady Amelia stalk away. It was not an unbecoming gesture from her, the way her hips and hair swayed back and forth with each step. She seemed quite furious with him. And why should he care? He stuffed his hands into his pockets and took the long way around the room back to his brother, after locating two glasses of brandy. Though he intended to give one to Percy when he found him, he found one glass was empty by the time he located his brother.
“Well then, I have won the bet,” said Samuel. “Are you quite all right? You look ready to cast up your accounts.”
Percy was a pale shade that bordered on green, and there was a sheen of sweat across his brow, but he waved away his brother’s concern. “Did you…did you offend Lady Amelia Atherton? Please tell me it was not what it looked like.”
“I think she was rather charmed by me. Infatuated, even,” said Samuel.
“Samuel, I might be rubbish with women but even I know that making one stomp off the dance floor without a backwards glance is not a good sign. She looked as if she wished to stab you. What did you do?” Percy asked with a grimace.
“She is a spoiled, haughty girl,” said Samuel. “I told her the truth and she acted as if she had never heard it in her life. She probably has not. It was good for her, Percy, do not fret over it. My actions do not reflect upon you. She doesn’t even know you are my brother.”
Percival rarely acted like an older brother, but he seemed determined to put in a good showing now. He drew himself up in a fair imitation of their father before a lecture. Samuel prepared to tune him out.
“And you, brother, are a spoiled, haughty boy. I know you have nothing but disdain
for the world I live in, but to take out your ire on an innocent woman seems a new level of cruelty for you.”
“And how am I haughty and spoiled? I have hardly lived the charmed life I have worked on a ship since I was—“
“Yes, yes,” said Percy, and though his face was still sickly pale, splotches of red bloomed on his cheeks. “Since you were twelve years old, I know. You are a hard worker, and so brave, and so very righteous. You look down your nose at everyone who is not on a ship and never cease complaining about the drudgeries of dry land. One doth protest too much, I think.”
“Are you implying that I am jealous?” Samuel’s voice dropped lower, and he stepped in close to Percy. “That I wish I had your life? Full of parties and gossip and whatever else men with too much time on their hands do?”
Percy deflated under Samuel’s glare. It both pleased and saddened Samuel. Yes, he had always enjoyed holding some power over his older brother, but he never wished to see Percy cowed so easily.
Percy rubbed a hand over his face. He could not meet Samuel’s eye. “No, no, I did not mean that. I… I do not know what I meant. Forget it, Samuel. I am feeling quite out of sorts. I believe I may have eaten something that does not agree with me.”
Samuel wanted to have it out with Percival, in words or, better yet, with fists, but Percy always diffused this sort of thing and he did look ill. It was the Lords, Samuel thought. All those old men were sucking the life right out of his brother.
“Fine. Any excuse to leave.” Samuel said downing his last finger of brandy while glancing around the room. There she was. The Lady Amelia Atherton. She was surrounded by men again, all with foolishly open faces, enthralled by her looks and charm. Her expression was a polite interest, but he could see, despite the space between them, the boredom in her eyes. Eyes which had sparked with fire when he had teased her.
“I have to give my excuses to the hostess,” said Percy. He looked about to keel over.
“Really? The fool hostess has fed you something foul and you will thank her for it?”
The Duke’s Daughter - Lady Amelia Atherton: A Regency Romance Novel (Heart of a Gentleman Book 3) Page 2