by Cheryl Holt
“No, I’m not. I’m guaranteeing you receive what you’ve wanted forever.”
“How so?”
“If you can drag Lucas to the altar, Miss Hubbard, I’ll give the two of you a fine estate in Surrey as a wedding gift. You’ll be landed and settled and very wealthy. Wouldn’t it be worth a bit of effort to achieve that boon? Surely you wouldn’t surrender such a prize without a fight.”
She stared down at her hands, and he could practically hear her mind whirring as she struggled to absorb his offer of income and property. As an orphan who’d grown up in a boarding school, she would never pass up such a fabulous opportunity.
“What would I have to do?” she ultimately mumbled, and he nearly shook a fist in triumph.
“Stay for the next month—as my guest. We’ll find plenty of chances for you to socialize with Lucas. Proximity will quickly work its magic. I have no doubt.”
“I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
“You’re a very pretty girl”—he painted on a thick layer of flattery—“and you’re sweet-tempered and pleasant company. Once Lucas starts to discern your stellar attributes, there’ll be no keeping him away from you.”
She groaned with what sounded like misery. “You’re mad.”
“No, not mad. Just very determined.” He stood and gestured to the door. “Now then, hurry upstairs and pack your bag.”
“Why?”
“We’re off to London, Miss Hubbard, to open up my town house.”
She dithered and debated, then finally said, “All right, but just for a month. If I can’t win him over in thirty days, then you and I will have to come to terms, and I’ll leave.”
“You won’t be going anywhere, Miss Hubbard.”
“You’re awfully optimistic—much more optimistic than I am.”
“I’ve already accepted a dozen invitations to various balls and soirees. They are entertainments where we will run into Lucas constantly.”
“You say that as if it’s a good thing,” she muttered.
“Proximity, Miss Hubbard, remember? We’ll wear him down. Between your beauty and my resolve, Lucas won’t know what hit him.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“What am I doing?” Amelia muttered to herself, wondering if she wasn’t growing deranged.
Why had she accompanied Lord Sidwell to London? Why had she agreed to stay for a month? Why would she conspire with him against Mr. Drake?
Why, why, why...
She understood that he’d blatantly coerced her. His talk of giving her an estate in Surrey, the home she’d never had but had always craved, had proved irresistible.
It was folly for her to pursue a relationship with Mr. Drake, and even if she could seduce him into marriage, who would want him as a husband?
As his wife, she’d have to hire old crones as her housemaids so he wouldn’t dally with them. Every time he walked out the door, she’d have to worry about where he was going, who he’d be with, and if it would be a female. What woman could bear such a life? Not Amelia, that was for certain.
There were couples who staggered through such an unpalatable existence, but Amelia couldn’t carry on that way. She valued loyalty, fidelity, and respectful kindness, and she recognized her limitations. A philandering husband was far beyond the pale of what she could endure.
She’d now been in the city for three days and was at her first ball. She should have been ecstatic, but she didn’t have a dress suitable for a party, and Lord Sidwell was so obtuse it hadn’t occurred to him that she needed some clothes. She couldn’t decide how to tell him and wasn’t in any position to demand them.
The previous morning, when he’d announced the fact that she’d be attending the ball, she’d made a vague suggestion about her lack of a wardrobe, but the implication had drifted by him like water off a duck’s back.
She hadn’t raised the possibility again.
The ball was being held in a huge mansion next to Lord Sidwell’s town house. There were hundreds of people inside, the rooms a crush, so it was difficult to move or breathe. She’d wandered through the gathering, hoping she might see someone she knew or at least find someone with whom to chat. But upon noticing her pitiful gray dress, guests thought she was a servant and kept asking her to fetch their champagne.
The situation had left her so humiliated that she’d sneaked out and was hiding in the shadows on the verandah.
Like a homeless waif, she was peering in the windows at the beautiful women in their expensive gowns and jewelry. Their lives were the type she should have had. After all, her father had been an aristocrat. But she was his byblow, and on his death, she and her brother, Chase, had been cast to the four winds by his kin who’d been perfectly happy to pretend they’d never been born.
She was trying not to gape, trying not to appear envious and resentful, but she was sure she looked pathetic. She was dowdy and drab and totally out of her element. Why, oh, why had she come to London?
Suddenly, a very glamorous female slipped out onto the verandah and hurried down the stairs and into the garden. Amelia couldn’t help watching her. She was attired in a bright green gown and had a voluptuous figure. Her hair was a vibrant shade of red, styled in an intricate coif complete with emeralds and feathers.
Amelia wondered what it would be like to have such fashionable clothes, to wear them with such aplomb. As she considered all that the other woman was and all that she wasn’t, she felt even more miserable.
She was venting and moping when another person crept out of the party, a man this time, and as he glided under a nearby lantern, she was disturbed to note that it was Mr. Drake.
Since she’d arrived in London, she hadn’t seen him. Lord Sidwell had insisted they’d fraternize constantly, but he wasn’t staying at his father’s home. Amelia hadn’t been apprised of his whereabouts and didn’t suppose she had the right to inquire.
He hurried down the stairs too and vanished into the dark garden. Clearly, he was following the woman who’d just passed by. Were they having an assignation? Were they lovers?
The notion that she’d finally found him only to discover him in a tryst was too excruciating to be believed. Was she the only female in the kingdom he hadn’t seduced?
Like magnet to metal, she trudged after him, when she had no idea why she would. What purpose would be served by spying? It would merely underscore all the reasons she’d been mad to accompany Lord Sidwell to the city. The finest property in the world wasn’t worth so much humiliation.
She located them easily enough. They’d barely made it past the first row of bushes. They were in the middle of the path, not caring if they were observed, so it was a simple matter to furtively assess them. Their bodies were pressed together, their hands busy with petting and caressing, as they kissed and kissed and kissed. It was a wild embrace of lengthy duration, and Amelia’s spirits sank even lower.
When he could have his pick of doxies, when he could sneak off with such a stunning creature, how would Amelia ever get him to notice her? She’d promised Lord Sidwell she’d try for a month, but wouldn’t it be better to leave immediately? Why torture herself over what could never be?
The lovers slowed their pace, and as they came up for air, they were merry, laughing.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were back, you bounder?” The woman’s voice was husky and sultry.
“I wanted to surprise you.”
“You certainly did.” The woman grinned. “How long are you staying?”
“Forever, I imagine.”
“Forever is good.”
They both laughed again.
“I’ve resigned my commission in the army,” he said.
“To do what?”
“Loaf and play.”
“My favorite sports,” she retorted.
“Mine too.” He was nibbling across her neck and shoulder. “Where is Freddie?”
“The dear old boy is in Scotland.”
“How convenient.”
“Isn’t it
though? My house is so empty with my husband away.”
“There are a few ways we could enliven it.”
The woman drew away and struck a saucy pose. “I’ll meet you there in half an hour.”
“Perfect.”
“Shall I have the butler prepare a bath for us?”
“Absolutely.”
“Can’t wait.” She kissed him on the mouth, then sauntered off.
He loitered, watching her until she climbed onto the verandah and went inside, then he tagged after her. He walked directly by the spot where Amelia was standing in the shrubbery, but he was so absorbed in studying his paramour’s shapely bottom that she might have been invisible, and she was aggravated to find herself furious and jealous. Why would she be?
He was even more dissolute than she’d supposed, being the sort who not only tumbled the housemaids, but also committed adultery with impunity. He was rushing off to...to...bathe with a married woman while her husband was out.
Amelia had never imagined such wicked goings-on. She would never possess the exotic traits that might turn his head, and she was more determined than ever to escape from the debacle.
She tiptoed after him, remaining far enough behind that he wouldn’t hear her shoes crunching on the gravel. Near the verandah, there was a bench in the grass, and she staggered over to it and plopped down.
She sat in the dark, contemplating Miss Peabody, speculating over how much Miss Peabody had known about Lucas Drake and his father. Had she any clue as to the catastrophe into which she’d sent Amelia?
Before her death, Miss Peabody had written a letter to Amelia, explaining her decision, how she was helping Amelia to obtain the home and family she’d always wanted. The prospect sounded grand on paper, but the reality was much more exhausting.
Amelia hoped Miss Peabody hadn’t understood the true circumstances with Lucas Drake. She would hate to think Miss Peabody had grasped the situation but had betrothed Amelia anyway. It would be too awful to accept.
Oh, she shouldn’t have come to London! Why had she let Lord Sidwell bring her? It was insanity. It was folly. She was so wretchedly unhappy!
As she fumed and moped, another woman left the party and strolled down into the garden. She was older than Amelia, although it was difficult to judge if she was forty or fifty. She was buxom, her skin smooth and creamy, her hair a striking shade of auburn.
She was fanning her face, looking overheated from the dancing and the crowd of people. She saw Amelia and boldly strutted over.
“Would you mind if I join you?” She seated herself on the bench without waiting for Amelia’s reply.
“No, I don’t mind,” Amelia mumbled, although she minded very much.
She was too weary to converse, and if she was mistaken for a servant and ordered to fetch the champagne, Amelia couldn’t predict how she’d react.
“I’m Barbara Middleton,” the woman said.
“Amelia Hubbard.”
“Very charming to meet you, and you must call me Barbara. Everyone does. I never stand on form.”
“All right.”
“Have I shocked you by being too forward?”
“No,” Amelia lied, being unnerved by the brazen familiarity.
“It’s my nature to bluster ahead. I’ve never been able to stop myself.”
Amelia had no response, so they dawdled, the music from the orchestra wafting out. It was a lively tune, dancers flitting by the windows, but Amelia was so removed from the merriment that she might have been observing from across an ocean.
“By any chance,” Barbara asked, “have you a brother named Chase Hubbard?”
Amelia was startled by the question. “Why, yes. You know Chase?”
“Yes. He’s a great friend of mine. I surround myself with younger men, and he amuses me. He’s one of my favorites.”
Chase amused her? He was a favorite? It was unfathomable.
Amelia flashed a weak smile. “Is Chase in London?”
“Yes. Why are you here? I believe he once mentioned that you were teaching in the country at some dreadfully boring girls’ school.”
“I was.”
“But...?”
“The proprietress passed away, and before she died, she arranged for me to marry. I’m...ah...here to become acquainted with my fiancé.”
“And who is the lucky fellow?”
Amelia was conflicted as to what her answer should be. She and Mr. Drake had very clearly decided they wouldn’t proceed, yet his father had insisted the engagement was still binding. Mr. Drake wasn’t aware of how his father had pressured Amelia, so he wouldn’t be too happy to have her spreading stories.
“You probably wouldn’t know him,” she ultimately said.
“Yes, I would. I know everyone in the city. Who is it?”
Barbara turned to Amelia, and her stare was so potent that it almost seemed as if Amelia was speaking to Miss Peabody—who had been an expert at ferreting out the details she sought. There’d been no evasions or half-truths with her, and Barbara Middleton was deftly able to apply the same kind of visual coercion.
“It’s...Lucas Drake,” Amelia blurted out. Stupidly, she added, “He’s Lord Sidwell’s son.”
“Lucas is your fiancé? What an...interesting conundrum.”
“What do you mean?”
“His father is always betrothing him, but he’s refused every match.”
“He’s refused me too,” Amelia admitted, and she scowled. “How many times has he been engaged?”
“A dozen? More?”
“Well,” Amelia muttered, “that certainly makes me feel special.”
“At least you’re pretty,” Barbara said. “Most of the girls Lord Sidwell has chosen have been hideous.”
“Thank you—I guess.”
“Why are you sitting out here all alone?”
Amelia sighed, her anguish impossible to conceal. She recognized that she should remain silent, but she was glad to have a confidante—even if it was a stranger. The woman was older and definitely wiser and, hopefully, she could provide some useful advice or commiseration.
“I have no idea why I’m at this ball. I don’t even have a suitable gown. I tried mingling, but people assume I’m a servant, and they kept telling me to bring them champagne. I was too humiliated to stay inside.”
Barbara laughed, deeming Amelia’s confession to be hilarious, and Amelia’s shoulders sagged with defeat.
“Didn’t that idiot George Drake buy you any clothes?”
“No.”
“I suppose you didn’t think you could ask him for any.”
“No.”
“You poor thing.”
Barbara patted Amelia’s knee, and the gesture was so unexpected and so kind that tears swarmed into Amelia’s eyes. In light of her upbringing, there had been few occasions for someone to demonstrate overt kindness, and it was so rare that she was terribly undone by it.
“Could I ask you a question?” Amelia said.
“Of course. Anything.”
“I’m in desperate need of advice.”
“I will give it if I can, although I must warn you that my son—Lord Penworth—as well as most every person in London would insist I shouldn’t be allowed to counsel anyone on any topic.”
Amelia studied Barbara, and she seemed worldly and experienced, and Amelia suspected she’d also be very astute. Besides, who else was there? Lord Sidwell? Amelia already knew his view of the situation.
“Miss Peabody’s school where I worked has been closed, so I can’t return there. And I have no family or funds. Mr. Drake and I are completely incompatible, and we’ve both agreed that the engagement shouldn’t be honored, but his father begged me to try anyway.”
“To try how?”
“Well, to ingratiate myself with Mr. Drake. To see if I can change his mind.”
“In that dress?”
Barbara snorted with mirth, and this time, Amelia joined in. The entire farce was too preposterous to be believed.
>
“Yes, in this dress. I have two others exactly like it and that’s it.”
“This tale of woe grows more pitiful by the moment.”
“If you were me, what would you do? I’d like to leave, but I have nowhere to go, and Mr. Drake has a paramour around every corner. He was out here in the garden with—”
“Nanette,” Barbara chimed in. “Yes, they just snuck back inside.”
“Nanette? You know her?”
“Nanette Nipton, notorious opera dancer and mercenary trollop. Their names have been linked for years.”
“Wonderful,” Amelia grumbled. “She’s married?”
“To a very elderly, very deaf fool, but he’s a very rich, elderly fool. It’s the only sort of man who intrigues Nanette—the rich ones—so I never understood why she bothers with Lucas. Then again, he is charming when he wants to be.”
“Apparently, her husband is out of town,” Amelia whispered, feeling scandalous to mention it, “and they were on their way to her home to...bathe.”
Amelia had anticipated astonishment, but Barbara grinned and exclaimed, “That rascal!”
“You don’t find such behavior appalling?”
“Not at all. Not for a rogue like Lucas, and with Nanette’s glorious body, how could he resist the chance to see it naked? She flaunts it, and most every man in the city has dallied with her. Why not Lucas?”
Barbara’s blithe acceptance of such salacious conduct was shocking and disturbing. Previously, Amelia had worried about the prurient antics of which she’d been unaware. Obviously, there was a different standard for some people. Or perhaps customs were more relaxed among wealthy elites.
“I couldn’t imagine marrying him,” Amelia said. “Not when he’s so loose with his morals and beliefs.”
“Nonsense, Miss Hubbard. Didn’t you know? A libertine can be the very best husband.”
“Why would he be?”
“Because a libertine is fun and impetuous and open to all manner of amusement. He’d never be some stuffy, fussy oaf who complains and constantly nags.” She leaned nearer and murmured, “And a libertine is wild in the bedchamber. You’d never regret your more intimate marital duties as some poor girls do.”
At the lewd intimation, Amelia’s cheeks flushed bright red, and she was glad it was dark so Barbara wouldn’t notice. Compared to sophisticated adults such as Barbara and Mr. Drake, Amelia was immature, unrefined, and clueless. How could she ever hope to fit in in such a degenerate society?