We hope you are enjoying the London Season and look forward to your return this summer.
She was uncertain what to make of her mother’s letter. In the end, she decided Mama meant to caution her to be certain for Mr. Crawford’s sake. Amy had no doubts about her decision.
The letter made her long for her parents. She had never been away from them for such a protracted length of time, and she missed them very much. She wished they had come to London after all. But she would make the most of the time she spent with Georgette. Amy suspected that her friend would marry Beaufort this summer, unless something drastic occurred. This season would likely be the last time that Amy and Georgette would spend so much time together. It made Amy a little sad, because she’d had so much fun with Georgette and Julianne the last two years in London.
Her gaze strayed to the letter. Tomorrow, she would write to her mother and father. She would confirm her decision about Mr. Crawford and reassure her parents. Then she would focus on her activities since arriving in London. Amy looked longingly at her sketchbook, but she knew it would be rude not to volunteer to help with the preparations for the card party.
Amy placed the sketchbook in her trunk for safekeeping and left her guest chamber. She didn’t look forward to Lady Boswood’s mercurial moods, but she was accustomed to keeping her thoughts from showing on her face. The remainder of the day might be trying, but she looked forward to playing whist and conversing with friends tonight.
Will took a deep breath before entering the library. He did not look forward to informing his brother about the debt, but procrastination would only make him feel worse. Will swallowed hard, knowing that his brother would rip him to shreds for gambling what he didn’t have to lose.
He would make no excuses. All he could do was promise to pay the debt with the salary he earned as land steward. He would spend years working just to pay the debt. But he’d done this to himself and must face the consequences.
Will stepped inside. Hawk set a leather case on his desk and looked up. “Will, I just returned.”
“Yes, I know, but there is something I wish to discuss with you.”
“Not now,” he said, sorting through the stack of letters on his desk. “I wish to bathe and see my wife.”
“Right,” he said. “I won’t disturb you then.”
“Meet me here tomorrow morning at ten sharp. We’ll go over your duties then.”
Will hesitated, because he didn’t want his brother to find out about his debt from someone else.
“These will have to wait until tomorrow,” Hawk mumbled as he sifted through letters.
“Lady Boswood is holding a card party tonight,” Will said. “All the family is attending.”
“I’ll check with my wife, but I’d rather not attend. I’m done up. Why don’t you escort our mother? She’ll like that.”
“Certainly,” he said. “Tomorrow, then.”
Hawk regarded him with a weary frown. “Is all well with you?”
He was anxious to get this over with as soon as possible, but Hawk was exhausted. “It can wait.” What would another day matter?
Amy smiled as she left the card table with Lord Caruthers. They had won, but now she wished only to converse with others. Several ladies had complimented her jade gown with the standing lace along the shoulders and back. She was enjoying herself far more this season than any other and was glad that she’d come to London.
Some of the gentlemen had expressed disappointment that Lady Boswood had insisted the stakes in the games must remain low. Amy wasn’t the least bit surprised. Georgette’s mother adhered to a strict moral code.
Lord Caruthers took her to the refreshment table, where they saw Sally with Mr. Portfrey. After a few minutes of small talk, the gentlemen left, and Sally went upstairs to the retiring room.
Amy finished her punch and walked about the room. Her confidence had risen in the short time since coming to London. She might not be a diamond of the first water, but others admired her for her elegant gowns and even wanted to wear her designs. She’d spent too many years feeling inferior. While she was a bit troubled that she’d not tried harder before, Amy knew she could not change the past. She would focus on tonight and her future. For now, she was happier than she could ever recall being.
She’d made a circuit of half the room when she spied Cecile, Lady Eugenia, and Bernice sitting in a row of chairs with the matrons. They were her oldest friends and had sat with her year after year on the wallflower row at balls, watching the dancing but never participating. Last year, she’d not spent as much time sitting with them, because Georgette and Julianne had taken her under their wings. This year, she’d avoided the wallflower row and thus had spent no time at all with them.
Cecile caught her eye and waved. Then she spoke to Lady Eugenia, who in turn nudged Bernice. Their smiles decided Amy. She could not ignore her friends simply because they were sitting with the dowagers. When she approached, they moved to make a place for her. Amy knew a moment of hesitation, but a chair was only a chair. And she’d not spent time with her dear friends since coming to London.
“You look beautiful,” Eugenia said.
Amy’s face heated. “I will never be beautiful, but thank you for your kind words.”
“We heard that you have become the fashion darling of the ton,” Bernice said. “We’re very proud of you.”
“I’ve done nothing special, really. I just started drawing designs for my own amusement,” she said. You should despise me because I ignored you at the previous two balls.
“You are too modest.” Cecile pushed a drooping curl off her cheek. “Amy, you are the picture of elegance. Your hair and your gown are perfect. When I look at you, I think it is possible to learn to dress in the first stare of fashion.”
“Thank you for the compliment.” Amy noted that Cecile’s bodice and puffed sleeves were too tight, making her appear plumper.
Eugenia leaned forward. “Would you give us fashion advice?”
“Surely your dressmaker is better suited to assist you,” Amy said.
“I dare not trust mine again.” Bernice touched the high ruff collar at her neck. “This is a perfect example. The modiste said it was very fashionable, but I have to hold my chin up. It makes my neck ache.”
The collar, in the latest Gothic fashion, did not flatter Bernice’s round face and short neck at all. “It is difficult to look your best when you are uncomfortable,” Amy said. “I learned that lesson the hard way.”
“Would you call on me next week?” Eugenia said. “Cecile and Bernice will attend. We would very much appreciate your advice.”
“I’m not an expert,” she said.
“Please say you’ll come,” Eugenia said. “We’ve missed you and hope you can advise us.”
She’d missed them, too. “Very well. I’ll share with you what I learned from friends and fashion plates.”
Bernice clasped her hands. “I knew you had not forgotten us.”
Amy maintained her smile, but Bernice’s words struck her heart. She promised to call soon and then excused herself. As she walked away, she fanned her heated face. Bernice’s words echoed in her mind again and again.
I knew you had not forgotten us.
Her chest burned with shame. She had ignored her friends, because she didn’t want anyone to associate her with the wallflowers. Tonight, when they had offered her a chair, she had not wanted to take it. How could she be so selfish and inconsiderate? How would she feel if Julianne and Georgette treated her in such a shabby manner? She knew what it was to be ignored and shunned.
Something hot rushed up her throat and through her cheekbones. She mustn’t humiliate herself and create a scene. As she walked through the crowd, Amy kept drawing in air in an effort to maintain her composure. She was perilously close to tears, but she didn’t want to go to the retiring room where others would notice her discomposure. Once free of the doors, she brushed past the crowd on the landing and hurried down the stairs.
Amy pressed her hand to her aching chest. When she had slighted her friends, they had been nice to her. They ought to have called her a two-faced friend or ignored her, but they had welcomed and complimented her. While she’d never meant to hurt them, she’d done so all the same. She’d only thought about herself and her determination to break free of her wallflower label. Outwardly, she’d transformed into the fashion darling of the ton, but inwardly, she’d allowed something ugly to sprout, and she was ashamed.
Pots banged and laughter rang out from the kitchen. Then a voice sounded close to the kitchen door. Her heartbeat drummed in her ears. Realizing that someone might come out and find her, Amy turned left and tried the door to the wine cellar. It was open. She stepped inside, closed the door, and released a relieved breath. It was rather cool inside, but at least she was safe from prying eyes.
Footsteps clipped on the floor.
She held her breath and flattened her back against the cold wall. Her legs trembled. Oh, God, who was it? She squinted in the darkness. Should she make a mad dash for the door? Or should she wait to see if the other person would leave? She inched along the wall, and then a candle flame wavered.
The footsteps clipped closer and closer. Her heart pounded. Please, please, please go away.
“Who goes there?”
The voice startled her. No, it couldn’t be. She must be having a nightmare. But she knew that voice all too well. Drat it all. What was the devil doing here?
He drew closer. In the dark cellar, the single candle cast flickering shadows over his face. “Miss Hardwick, did you follow me?”
“I did not,” she said, sniffing. “What are you doing here?”
“Admiring Boswood’s excellent wine collection,” he said. “I saw the butler accidentally leave the door open and came to investigate. But you still haven’t answered my question.”
“Leave me be.” She sniffed again.
“Are you weeping?”
“N-no.” Her face burned. Of all the people to witness her cry, it would have to be him. The devil. The man who had tried to trick her into going in a dark room alone.
She heard the whisper of cloth, and then he handed her a handkerchief. “Dry your eyes.”
Amy blotted her face and handed it back to him.
“I’ll find another candle; those stairs are dark. Don’t move,” he said.
The minute he stepped away, she turned round to escape, but she bumped her hip into a stack of crates and hissed in her breath. He came to her side in a few long strides. “You’re injured.”
“It’s only a bruise,” she said. In truth, it hurt. She knew her hip would be purple and tender for some time. Lizzy would see it when she helped her undress tonight.
“There’s a candle branch, but you’ll arouse suspicion if you carry that. Stay still until I can locate a second candle,” he said. “You don’t want to fall and hurt yourself. You’ll have difficulty trying to explain how it happened.”
Of course it was the sensible thing to do. She worried her hands, wishing he would hurry with that candle. His features were indistinct in the darkness, but she could make out his movements as he walked about. She had no idea how much time passed, but she grew increasingly anxious.
“Found it,” he said.
Thank goodness. She meant to leave as soon as he lit the candle.
He used the flame from the first candle to light the second one.
As he moved around, she saw bottles nestled in diamond-shaped cabinets. There was a long table just beneath. There were more bottles than she’d ever glimpsed in all her life. Lord Boswood’s collection must add up to a tidy fortune.
Mr. Darcett walked toward her. “I’ll escort you to the door. You go upstairs first. I’ll wait for a few minutes before coming upstairs.”
She nodded.
When he offered his escort, she took it. The faint scent of sandalwood soap clung to him. Her mouth dried as they neared the door. All she wanted was to escape unobserved. Hopefully, the redness had left her nose and cheeks by now. All that mattered was leaving quickly and undetected. As they neared the door, footsteps clipped on the other side.
Her heart stampeded. She held her breath, terrified they would be discovered.
Mr. Darcett beckoned her and turned round. He led her farther back into the cellar, where they hid behind a stack of crates and blew out the candles. Her nerves jangled. Mr. Darcett was so close, she could hear his breathing. Please, please, please don’t let anyone discover us.
A key scraped inside the lock and turned over.
Amy covered her mouth.
The footsteps retreated.
“Bloody hell,” the devil muttered. “We’re locked in.”
“I wish we could find a private place,” Beau said.
Georgette sat on the window seat with him and adopted a demure expression. “My mother would notice if we left.”
“You know my intentions,” he said. “If you would let me, I would propose tomorrow.”
“Not yet. I don’t want Amy to be uncomfortable,” Georgette said. “She might feel that she must leave.”
“I’m frustrated,” he said.
She knew what he meant. At the park, she’d felt the long, hard ridge of his sex against her stomach, but she needed more than his desire.
“Do you know how much I want you?” he whispered.
Georgette lowered her eyes. “I know, but there has to be more. I have to make this decision. If I don’t insist upon it, you and our mothers will continue to assume you know what is best for me and make plans, without even consulting me.”
“You know what I feel for you,” he whispered. “Once we’re married, our families won’t interfere.”
She gave him a dubious look.
“If you do not mean to let me propose this season, then be honest,” he said. “I cannot go on without some reassurance. We can be engaged while Miss Hardwick resides with you. At least then, we’ll be allowed some privacy.”
“Please, just give me a few more weeks. Amy needs me, too.”
“I think she’s doing very well this season,” Beau said. “I’ll agree to wait for three weeks.”
“No, Beau, that’s too—”
“Three weeks,” he said. “No more.”
“You’re making demands,” she said.
“There must be a time frame. I know you’ll put it off if I don’t insist upon it.”
“That is quite enough.” When she rose, he stood and caught her arm.
“No, Georgette. I’m tired of the diversions and excuses.”
“Then you are free to court someone else,” she said.
His jaw tightened. “Very well. I wish you all the best.”
Panic beat in her chest. “No, I didn’t mean it. I just feel rushed.”
“Make up your mind. I can’t live with your indecision forever.” He looked out at the card tables. “Smile. Your mother is coming this way.”
She lifted the corners of her lips to hide her turmoil. He was pushing her to make a decision, when marriage lasted a lifetime. She was supposed to be ready to take this step, but she didn’t feel ready at all. She didn’t want everyone telling her when to be ready; she wanted to feel ready.
Her mother arrived. “Lord Beaufort, do you mind if I have a private word with my daughter?”
“Not at all.” He bowed and strode away.
Georgette feared her mother had noticed them quarreling and held her breath.
“Have you seen Miss Hardwick?” her mother asked. “Lady Wallingham reported seeing her leave the card room in a distressed manner a half hour ago.”
“Perhaps she is in the retiring room now,” Georgette said. “I’ll have a look.”
/>
A few minutes later, Georgette walked into the retiring room, where she found Eugenia. “Have you seen Amy?”
“The last time I saw her she was leaving the card room, but that was some time ago,” Eugenia said.
“Thank you. Perhaps she’s not feeling well and decided to rest,” Georgette said. Afterward, she checked Amy’s room, but it was empty, and Lizzy had not seen her. Georgette thought it odd that Amy had disappeared, but perhaps she had already returned to the card party.
After entering the drawing room, Georgette walked about but did not see Amy. She stopped to speak to the Dowager Countess of Hawkfield and her daughters. “I missed seeing Julianne. I hope she is well.”
“Oh, yes,” Patience said. “Hawk just returned home today, and they wanted to spend a quiet evening together.”
“Provided little Emma cooperates,” the dowager countess said. “By the way, have you by any chance seen my son William?”
“No, I have not,” Georgette said. She thought it a coincidence that Mr. Darcett and Amy were both missing, but she couldn’t forget what Amy had told her about her last encounter with him.
“More than half an hour has passed since he left the room,” Hope said.
“Perhaps he had another engagement.”
The dowager countess fanned her face. “He escorted us this evening and would not leave us.”
“I’m sure he’ll return soon.” She curtsied and walked round the ballroom until she reached Beau, who was speaking to Mr. Osgood and Mr. Portfrey. “Beau, may I have a word with you?”
He regarded her warily as he took her aside. “What is it?”
She bit her lip and blamed herself for making him unhappy. “Have you seen Mr. Darcett?”
“Briefly when I arrived. Why do you ask?”
“The Dowager Countess of Hawkfield asked me if I’d seen him, so I thought perhaps you knew if he had left.”
Beau shrugged.
How to Ravish a Rake Page 10