by Cheryl Holt
As she sprinted through the door, the man asked, “Was there someone out there?”
“If there was,” a maid replied, “they definitely got an eyeful.”
Hilarious laughter rang out, but Amelia ignored it and kept on, dashing down the hall as if she was a madwoman.
Distractedly, she’d realized that she’d loitered too long and was late for her appointment with the earl, which was alarming.
In light of her disoriented state, how would she sit and chat? How would she pretend she was fine, that she was glad to have arrived? How would she answer questions, drink tea, and smile prettily?
The squalid scene was burned in her mind, and it seemed an ill omen. If this was her beginning, how would the rest of it go?
CHAPTER TWO
“Miss Hubbard, we meet at last.”
“Lord Sidwell.”
Amelia curtsied deeply, anxious to show sufficient deference. She’d never been in the presence of such a distinguished person and didn’t want to make any mistakes.
“Sit, sit.” He waved to a nearby chair.
“I will, thank you,” she replied as she slid onto it.
They were in his library, and he was seated behind his desk. It was an imposing swath of mahogany that underscored his position in the world.
An older man, he was probably sixty, balding with muttonchops that covered much of his face. He was short and exceedingly plump from the rich diet his fortune provided, and while his gray eyes seemed alert and keen, he didn’t project an aura of authority or power. She wondered if—beneath the wealth and pomposity—he wasn’t a bit of a bungler.
“I haven’t ordered tea,” he said. “I thought we’d confer, then have our refreshments served in the main parlor.”
“Whatever you wish is fine with me.”
She forced a smile, but could feel it quavering. She was still undone by the raucous spectacle she’d viewed upstairs, and it was difficult to pretend she was calm and composed.
“I was nervous about this betrothal,” he surprised her by admitting, “but now that I’ve seen you, I’m absolutely bowled over.”
“Bowled over?” She chuckled. “Why would you be?”
“You’re quite stunning, Miss Hubbard.”
“Stunning? My goodness. I’m flattered that you would think so.”
“Miss Peabody insisted you were fetching, but people have hedged the truth when arranging a match such as this one.”
“Why would they?”
“Well, a father might have a daughter who’s not exactly winsome, so he’d exaggerate her assets to obtain the union he sought. I’m delighted to note that Miss Peabody was straightforward in her description of you.”
“What else did she say about me?” Amelia wasn’t sure she had the right to inquire, but she was dying to know how the engagement had come about.
“She said you were striking and educated and pleasant.”
“She said all that? I’m flattered again. I always hoped she had a high opinion of me.”
“She had a very high opinion.”
“I have a question that’s been bothering me.”
“I would imagine you have many. Which one is vexing you at the moment?”
“Why did you pick me?” She gestured around the ostentatious room. “Before I arrived, I had no idea your family was so exalted. I’m just an orphan and schoolteacher. I don’t have the antecedents necessary for one of your sons.”
“Don’t be modest, Miss Hubbard,” he haughtily intoned. “Miss Peabody told me all about your parents. Your father was a French count.”
“Yes, he was.”
“And his secret marriage to your mother! I don’t condone that sort of thing, but I understand true love was involved. I’m a romantic myself, so I found the story of such devotion to be charming.”
“Oh.”
So...Miss Peabody had lied. Amelia’s parents hadn’t been wed. Her mother had been a scandalous figure who’d lured her father away from his wife. It might have been the love match Miss Peabody claimed, but it was a sordid and unsavory kind.
Amelia knew she should speak up and correct the misconception, but she was flummoxed. Apparently, Miss Peabody had betrothed her, citing falsities, and Amelia had travelled all the way to Sidwell to carry out her part of the bargain.
If she confessed, would he break the betrothal and toss her out? Then what?
Her head was spinning as she reviewed her options. She had to disclose the error, but was terrified over the ramifications of a confession.
“Have you perused the packet I sent you?” he asked, cutting off her chance to come clean.
“Yes.”
“You’re marrying my second son, Lucas.”
“Yes, I was wondering when I’ll meet him.”
“He’s due to arrive shortly.”
“Marvelous.”
Her pulse raced. Up until this very instant, the entire affair had seemed like a dream. The notion of her having a fiancé might have been a philosophical matter to dither and debate. But he was about to arrive! There was no longer anything imaginary about any of it.
“He’s your same age of twenty-five.”
“I read that in the file you provided.”
“He’s been in the army for the past decade and enjoyed a...ah... distinguished career.”
For the first time, his gaze slid away, and his cheeks flushed, giving her the distinct impression that Lucas Drake’s army career probably hadn’t been distinguished at all.
She swallowed down a sigh. What had Lucas Drake done? Had he been booted out of the army? Had he resigned rather than be punished for an infraction?
It occurred to her that—in dealing with Lord Sidwell—she was far out of her league. She had no idea how to probe for information about Lucas Drake. She couldn’t even decide what questions she should be asking. In fact, she didn’t know if she was allowed to ask questions.
At that moment, if Miss Peabody had been sitting with them, Amelia would have vented her outrage. How dare Miss Peabody put Amelia in such an untenable position! How dare Miss Peabody immerse Amelia in chaos!
Lord Sidwell tried to muster his aplomb as he said, “There are some details I need to explain.”
“What are they?” Amelia braced, convinced she was about to hear very bad tidings.
But the butler hurried in to interrupt. He bent down and murmured in the earl’s ear. They exchanged several remarks that had the earl raising his brows in shock, then he nodded and the butler slipped out.
“Good news, Miss Hubbard,” he mumbled.
“What is it?”
“Lucas is here. He’s in the parlor, helping himself to our tea and cakes. Shall we join him before he gobbles up all our victuals?”
“Certainly.” If her pulse had been racing previously, it was utterly galloping now.
Suddenly, she was overcome by a thousand panicked thoughts. She wanted to rush up to her bedchamber, to check her hair and clothes. She wished she had a different dress, a pretty gown in a flattering shade that would complement her coloring and figure.
Instead, she would be introduced to Mr. Drake looking to be exactly what she was: a poverty-stricken, spinster schoolteacher. How could he have agreed to such a match? Why would he have had to stoop so low to find a bride?
Lord Sidwell stood and walked out, gesturing for her to accompany him. The butler was loitering, and he hustled on ahead, winding them through the deserted halls to the front of the mansion. He stepped into the parlor and announced them as if they were entering a London ballroom.
“Master Lucas,” he said, “may I present your father, Lord Sidwell?”
“By all means, Mr. Greaves,” Lucas Drake grumbled. “Bring his exalted self inside. I can’t wait.”
“And may I also present his houseguest, Miss Amelia Hubbard?”
“Let me guess, Mr. Greaves, am I meeting another possible bride?”
“I wouldn’t know, Master Lucas,” the butler judiciously replied.
Amelia was hideously embarrassed. In her lengthy journey to Sidwell, she’d had plenty of time to ponder what Mr. Drake would be like. Now, with his first words being spoken, he sounded grouchy and unhappy and even a tad cruel.
What sort of man would blithely insult a woman when she was standing a few feet away? What sort of man would insult his fiancée when she was standing a few feet away?
How many other bridal candidates had there been? Had he refused them all? Would he refuse Amelia? She’d traveled on the promise of a marriage. What if there would be no marriage?
“Let’s go in, Miss Hubbard,” the earl said.
“Yes, let’s do.”
He leaned in and whispered, “Don’t mind him. His bark is worse than his bite.”
“I’m sure it is.”
Forcing her widest, merriest grin, she straightened her spine and waltzed into the room. The earl stomped in behind. She wouldn’t be intimidated or made to feel unworthy. She was the daughter of a French count and had been taught by Miss Peabody how to carry on in even the most trying of situations. If it killed her, she would get through the awkward moment.
Mr. Drake was over by the sideboard, pouring himself a hefty brandy. He downed the liquor in a long swallow, then spun to face them, and if Amelia had been a swooning type of female, she’d have fainted on the spot.
“Oh, my Lord,” she muttered.
It was the roué from the suite upstairs, the one who’d been tumbling the housemaids. When she’d been spying on him, she’d predicted him to be a laborer or tradesman who’d bra zenly sneaked in. But he wasn’t common or ordinary. He was Lucas Drake, second son to George Drake, Lord Sidwell, and Amelia wanted to cry out with offense, but she didn’t.
She was at a loss for words. What was she supposed to say? What was she supposed to think? What was she supposed to do?
The earl had taken her arm and was guiding her across the floor, continuing on until they were directly in front of Mr. Drake.
“Lucas, welcome home.” The earl spoke in a stilted, cold way.
“Your lordship.” Mr. Drake nodded, his tone just as stilted—and a tad snotty and disrespectful.
“This is Miss Hubbard,” the earl pointed out as if it wasn’t already clear.
Mr. Drake insolently studied her, his cheeky gaze resting on the top of her head, then meandering down in a completely improper manner. Once his assessment was finished, he smirked.
“She’s prettier than the other ones.”
“The other whats?” the earl said.
“The other candidates you found. I’m not getting married.”
“Miss Hubbard isn’t here to...marry you,” the earl fibbed. “She’s visiting. That’s all.”
“Visiting, really?” Mr. Drake sneered.
“Yes, her father was an old friend of mine. She recently returned from...France.” The earl shot a glare at Amelia, warning her not to contradict him. “She needed a few quiet weeks to settle in before she jumps into the hustle and bustle of London.”
“A likely story,” Mr. Drake scoffed, and he glowered derisively at Amelia. “I don’t care what Lord Sidwell has promised you. I don’t care what he paid you or what gifts he offered. I’m not interested in marrying, and I’m most particularly not interested in marrying you.”
Amelia glowered too, deciding she’d been correct in her initial appraisal. He was the most handsome man she’d ever seen, tall, blond, blue-eyed, wide-shouldered, tan and fit. His face could have been painted on an angel on a church ceiling. His body could have been used as a model for an artist to sculpt the perfect marble statue.
He was imperious and jaded, cynicism rolling off him in waves, and no doubt he’d had dozens of lovers, perhaps hundreds or thousands. He was extremely magnetic, brooding and mysterious, the kind who would have women throwing themselves at him, the kind who would tumble the maids in a deserted bedchamber because the maids couldn’t resist.
This man was to be her husband? This man was the one Miss Peabody had chosen?
Amelia had never been especially close to Miss Peabody, but the stern, older woman had been a maternal figure to Amelia, the nearest thing Amelia could claim to having a mother. Amelia had thought Miss Peabody liked her, but now, with this debacle looming, she could only assume that Miss Peabody hadn’t liked her at all.
Was this some sort of cosmic trick? Amelia had lived a stellar life, had tried to be a decent person, had obeyed moral strictures and practiced good deeds. What sin could she have committed that would have required this horrid punishment?
From the moment she’d entered the room, she’d been frozen with shock, rendered mute by mortification. But she wasn’t a weak or frail creature, and she wasn’t afraid of Lucas Drake. Nor was she impressed.
“You don’t wish to marry me?” she haughtily inquired in her most severe schoolteacher’s voice.
“No, I don’t. Not if you were the last woman on Earth.”
She scoffed. “Funny that.”
“What?” He frowned, his confusion obvious.
“I wouldn’t marry you either. Not if you were the last man on Earth.” She turned her furious gaze to the earl. “I’m sorry, Lord Sidwell, but there’s been a mistake.”
“No, no, don’t be hasty,” the earl said.
“I’m not being hasty. Your son is a wastrel and libertine, and while I may currently have few options as to my future, I shouldn’t have to settle for such a wretch.”
“Wretch!” Mr. Drake sputtered.
“Yes, wretch,” Amelia repeated. “Now then, if you’ll excuse me, I don’t care for the company in this room. I must pack my bag.”
“Miss Hubbard!” the earl snapped. “You’ve only just arrived. You can’t leave.”
“Yes, I can. You’ve brought me here under false pretenses. Please make the appropriate arrangements so I can depart at the earliest opportunity.”
“I won’t,” the earl huffed.
“Then I shall go on my own.” She flashed her most condescending smirk at Mr. Drake. “Good luck in your bridal search. I hope you get the girl you absolutely deserve.”
“Just a darned minute, you little—” Mr. Drake started.
“We have naught more to say to one another,” she replied, and she swept out, regal as any queen.
* * * *
“Nothing ever changes around here.”
“You’re correct. You’re as obstinate and unreasonable as ever.”
Lucas glared at his father, and his father glared right back. Lucas would have laughed if it wasn’t all so exasperating.
His father—George Drake, Lord Sidwell—was a pompous, condescending ass. He assumed himself to be powerful and commanding, but in reality, he was pathetic and ridiculous.
His rank of earl was just a generation old, a pittance in the history of the ancient, landed British families. Lucas’s grandfather had won the title after performing a service for the king that had been so important, but so secretive that no one knew what it was.
George was new to his station, new to his role, and he was ceaselessly vexed by the fact that he didn’t receive the respect he felt was his due. His peers treated him like an interloper, and it was ludicrous for him to put on airs. Yet he always did.
“I haven’t been in the house an hour,” Lucas chided, “and you’re already throwing a bride in my face.”
“I told you she’s not a bridal candidate,” George insisted. “Why can’t you ever listen?”
“Not a candidate? You seriously expect me to believe you?”
“Yes.”
George puffed himself up, appearing even more absurd, and not for the first time, Lucas wondered if George was actually his father.
Lucas’s mother had died when he was a toddler, and he didn’t remember her, but there was constant gossip that she’d been loose with her favors. If the stories were true, Lucas couldn’t blame her. After all, the poor
woman had been wed to George. Who wouldn’t take lovers?
With George being so short and plump, and Lucas so tall and fit, they didn’t resemble each other in even the smallest way. It was definitely possible that they shared no common blood and would explain why he and George loathed each other and always had.
“Her father is a friend,” George claimed, but he was fiddling with his lapel, a blatant sign that he was lying.
“A friend you’ve never previously mentioned.”
“You don’t know all of my acquaintances.”
“Thank God,” Lucas muttered.
“We went to school together.” The fiddling increased. “I told him I’d welcome his children if they wished to visit.”
“His children? How many does he have?”
“Ah...” George hesitated for an eternity. He was slow on his feet, and it was another good indication that he and Lucas weren’t related.
Lucas could lie like a drunken sailor.
“Give over, my lord,” Lucas scoffed. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”
Still, George persisted. “She’s staying for a month or two, and I’ve promised to help her gain entry into the best circles.”
“Well, that will certainly ruin her chances.”
“I expect you to be courteous and cordial.”
“Shall I dance attendance on her? Shall I escort her about the neighborhood and introduce her to the neighbors.”
“Why, yes, that would be very kind of you.”
“And while I’m escorting her, I’ll just happen to grow enamored. Is that what you’re hoping?”
“It wouldn’t kill you to attach yourself to such a fetching girl.”
Lucas rolled his eyes. “Get it through your thick head, Father. I’m not marrying, and I’m most especially not marrying some trembling ninny you’ve selected. Stop playing all these games. Please!”
“She’s not a trembling ninny!” George’s temper was spiking, his volume rising, as he wagged an angry finger at Lucas. “She’s a beautiful, educated, well-mannered gentlewoman of good birth and good reputation. You’re lucky she’d show her face in this house. You should be flattered!”
“Flattered? Really?”
“Have you any idea how difficult it is to find a female who would lower herself to have you?”