Mrs. Chapel pushed to the front of the crowd. “They done a count, miss, and they think everybody got out, thank the good Lord. Though if not for you and his lordship, my Tom—”
She burst into tears, and it was Amanda’s turn to soothe the woman who’d become a friend. Next thing she knew, Lord Knightford was drawing Stephen away to consult about something, and Jimmy came running up to tell her that her mother was out front looking for her.
And she was engulfed in chaos.
Chapter Eight
Several hours later, night was falling when Stephen drove back from the Chapels’ cottage to the now smoldering mill. He’d just ferried Mr. Chapel home after the lone village doctor had seen to setting the man’s leg. The poor physician had been sorely taxed all day, but fortunately, though nearly fifty workers had suffered burns and some had broken limbs from trying to escape the fire, everyone was expected to recover.
Still, as the carriage approached what had once been the main building of Hanson Cotton Works, Stephen thought again that it looked like the scene of a battle—smoke still rose from the blackened shell and twisted hunks of metal lay in the ashes.
A shudder wracked him. He and Amanda had nearly been entombed there. He prayed he never came that close to death again. They had been very, very lucky.
As he got out of the rig, he glanced about for her. The last time he’d seen her, she’d been helping the townspeople in the makeshift tents erected for those injured who couldn’t be moved until the doctor saw them. But those tents were rapidly emptying and he saw no sign of her.
So he scanned the area where Yvette’s servants were scurrying about at her command, spooning bowls of soup from vats that she’d had brought from Walton Hall. He didn’t see Amanda there, either, though he caught sight of her brother speaking to the magistrate, and Hanson being forced to answer what were probably some very pointed questions.
“If you’re looking for Miss Keane,” Warren said from behind him, “she took her mother back to Walton Hall. Mrs. Keane is still suffering the effects of her terrible cold, and the day wore sorely on her. Besides, most everyone has been taken care of, so I believe even Yvette and her husband are heading back shortly.”
Stephen released a frustrated breath. He’d tried to get Amanda alone ever since they’d escaped the cellar, but they’d all been drawn into helping the mill workers.
Glancing over at Yvette, Warren smiled ruefully. “I’m told that she invited the pauper apprentices to sleep at the hall tonight and eat Christmas dinner there tomorrow, since they have nowhere else to go. They were all housed in the mill.”
Stephen chuckled. “Does she have any idea what she’s getting herself into? I think Hanson Cotton Works has something like twenty pauper apprentices.”
“You know Yvette. She has a big heart.”
Just like Amanda. And like Mrs. Keane, judging from what he’d seen of Amanda’s mother today. Not to mention Yvette’s husband.
He frowned. Come to think of it, every single guest at Walton Hall had been at the mill, dishing up soup or allowing their carriages to be used to ferry food and servants, or sitting with those waiting in the tents for their burns to be tended. He’d even seen Blakeborough helping a little girl find her mother.
A lump clogged his throat. What had Amanda said yesterday? You don’t have to take the weight of the world on your shoulders.
She was right. He chose to take that weight, and he chose to take it here. But there were other mills, other workers. Other possibilities. And even if Yvette and Keane were more altruistic than most, he had met other good people of their rank. He just chose to dwell on the worst ones.
A half smile tipped up his lips. Just as Amanda had accused him of doing with the mills. And if he were to marry her . . .
He turned to his brother. “Why did you never consider marrying Yvette? I used to think you might, before she ended up with Keane.”
Warren shrugged. “She’s a fine woman, but I’ve always seen her as rather more of a sister than anything. I’ve known her too long, I suppose.”
Stephen nodded. He’d felt much the same about her, even though he hadn’t been as close to her and Blakeborough as Warren had been.
“What are you going to do about Miss Keane?” Warren asked.
He gazed over to where Blakeborough and Clarissa were attempting to drink wassail while they pulled a succession of small boys about on sleds. His heart thumped in his chest as he remembered something else Amanda had said: You aren’t the only person in England who cares about the children, you know. Other people care, too.
Perhaps it was time he let them. “I’m going to marry her, of course.”
Warren let out a long breath. “Thank God. In that case, I have a proposition for you . . .”
♦ ♦ ♦
Amanda awoke on Christmas Day feeling as if she’d been pummeled. Every inch of her hurt, and her throat still felt raw from the smoke. Thank goodness she’d been able to have a nice long bath last night.
She’d intended to join everyone for the hanging of the greens and the burning of the Yule log and the singing of carols, but she’d fallen asleep in the tub and then had crawled into bed.
Besides, she’d been afraid to see Stephen in a crowd when she didn’t yet know what he intended. He’d said he loved her, but that was when they’d both thought they were about to die. Since then, she’d had no chance to talk to him privately.
Did he still want to marry her? And if he did, would he only do it if she stayed here? Because now more than ever, she wanted to go home. She wanted to make changes in her own mills, to do more to help workers there. And she wanted him to do it with her.
Mama came into the room and frowned. “Good heavens, girl, are you still abed?”
The look of disapproval on her face was so comical, Amanda couldn’t help but laugh. “What happened to, ‘I would have died if I’d lost you’?”
“That was yesterday,” Mama said. “Today is Christmas, and Yvette has planned a big breakfast for her guests and all those children. I don’t intend to be late to anything my daughter-in-law has planned, and neither should you.”
Then Mama called for their lady’s maid, and that was that. Amanda could no longer put off seeing Stephen.
A short while later, dressed in a new gown of green silk, Amanda nervously descended the stairs with her mother. As they passed under the kissing bough, she noticed all the berries were gone. The last time she’d checked, there had been a good dozen left, so the gentlemen must have been quite busy last night.
A footman redirected them from the breakfast room to the ballroom, where several tables had been set up, including a long one for the children. Each place was set with little treats, and the apprentices were all huddled in a group in one corner, gawking at the decorations and the tables groaning with food.
Someone came up behind her to murmur, “I suspect there will be more than one pauper apprentice who finds a position in Yvette’s stables or kitchens.”
With pulse stammering, she faced Stephen. “You look well this morning.”
And oh, he did. His beautiful hair fell recklessly about his collar, and he was dressed in a suit of dark green wool that brought out the emerald lights in his eyes.
“You look beautiful.” His gaze played over her with a hunger that roused her own.
Her cheeks flamed, and she knew everyone would notice. But right now she didn’t care.
He offered her his arm. “Let me escort you to your seat, Miss Keane.”
As she let him lead her to the table, she noticed that everyone—everyone—was observing her furtively while heading for their own seats. Even the apprentices seemed to be watching and whispering as they sat down with a scraping of chairs. What the devil?
Stephen brought her to a chair and pulled it out for her. It was only after she sat that she noticed the bowl in the center of her plate.
It was filled with mistletoe berries. He must have stripped every bough in the house.
> With her blood pounding, she looked up at him as he took the seat next to her. But before she could say a word, his brother rose across the table and tapped his glass with a knife to gain everyone’s attention.
Beneath the table, Stephen clasped her hand.
“As some of you have already heard,” Lord Knightford began, “I have bought what’s left of Hanson Cotton Works.”
Amanda’s mouth dropped open. Thank goodness someone had finally taken action! Hanson could no longer torment his workers.
“Hope you got a good price for it!” Lord Blakeborough called out, and everyone laughed.
“A very good price indeed.” Lord Knightford scowled at Lord Blakeborough. “Now stop interrupting, or I’ll convince you to invest.”
That got another laugh.
Lord Knightford shifted his gaze to Stephen and Amanda. “I asked my brother to run the place since he seems to have a fondness for mills—”
Everyone laughed again, but Amanda’s stomach sank. This was what happened when you trusted a man. He did things behind your back without consulting you. Like Papa, and every man she’d ever known.
She tried to tug her hand from Stephen’s, but he wouldn’t let her.
Lord Knightford went on. “It seems he has other plans, though. So he recommended some competent people to serve as managers, and I will soon be interviewing them.”
And just like that her heart went from sore to soaring. Her gaze flew to Stephen. He was smiling softly at her, giving her hope, making her blood quicken.
“In the meantime,” his lordship said, “it appears that I have become the owner of a cotton mill.”
“Better you than me!” Jeremy cried and gave her a sly wink.
With another squeeze of her hand, Stephen rose and held up his glass. “To the new owner of Hanson Cotton Works!”
Everyone stood and toasted Lord Knightford, who was now wearing his usual world-weary expression. But after seeing how he’d fought to save her and Stephen from the fire, after watching him purchase a whole mill on his brother’s behalf, she knew it to be a facade.
As she drank from her glass, Stephen used his knife to clink his glass, and every eye turned toward him.
With an uncertain smile, he took her hand. “Miss Keane, while we were in the cellar yesterday, you said that even I have my limits. You were speaking of my rather pompous tendency to believe I can save the world single-handedly.”
She was finding it hard to breathe, hard to do anything but hope.
“While I admit that a self-righteous fervor is a particular flaw of mine, I’ve recently learned that there is one person who understands it for what it is: a fear of losing what I love most . . . a world of decency and honor . . . good people . . . and you. As it happens, what I love most of all is you. So would you possibly consider doing me the honor of becoming my wife?”
The word yes was on the tip of her tongue, but she still needed to be sure. “Before I can answer, I have to know—”
“Where we will live, yes.” He cast her a tender smile that made her throat tighten. “That’s up to you. Because I am perfectly willing to follow you to the ends of the earth.”
As tears stung her eyes, she whispered, “Even if the end of the earth is in America?”
“Especially if the end of the earth is in America. That’s where the love of my life resides, and I cannot live without her.”
There wasn’t a sound in the room as everyone waited for her answer. Normally she would hate being the center of attention like this. But normally, the only man she’d ever loved wasn’t proposing.
“In that case,” she said, “of course I will marry you. Yes.”
Cheers went up around them, and no one made a single protest as he pulled her into his arms and kissed her soundly on the lips.
When at last they broke apart, Yvette gave a signal and the servants started serving. But as Amanda sat down at her place with her cheeks on fire from all the jokes and well wishes, she caught sight of the bowl of berries.
Leaning over to Stephen, she whispered, “What were these for?”
With a grin, he plucked one from the bowl. “These were in case you refused me.” His eyes gleamed at her. “That way I could have kissed you as many times as it took to get you to accept.”
And as he kissed her again, she realized that she’d been right, after all. He did know how to have fun.
Want even more sizzling romance from New York Times bestselling author Sabrina Jeffries?
Don’t miss
The Danger of Desire,
the latest installment in her sizzling and sexy Sinful Suitors series
Available now from Pocket Books!
One
London
August 1830
When Warren Corry, Marquess of Knightford, arrived at a Venetian breakfast thrown by the Duke and Duchess of Lyons, he regretted having stayed out until the wee hours of the morning. Last night he’d just been so glad to be back among the distractions of town that he’d drunk enough brandy to pickle a barrel of herrings.
Bad idea, since the duke and duchess had decided to hold the blasted party in the blazing sun on the lawn of their lavish London mansion. His mouth was dry, his stomach churned, and his head felt like a stampeding herd of elephants.
His best friend, Edwin, had better be grateful that Warren kept his promises.
“Warren!” cried a female voice painfully close. “What are you doing here?”
It was Clarissa, his cousin, who also just happened to be Edwin’s wife—and the reason Warren had managed to drag himself from his bed at the ungodly hour of noon.
He shaded his eyes to peer at her. As usual, she had the look of a delicate fairy creature. But he knew better than to fall for that cat-in-the-cream smile. “Must you shout like that?”
“I am not shouting.” She cocked her head. “And you look ill. So you must have had a grand time at St. George’s club last night. Either that, or in the stews early this morning.”
“I always have a grand time.” Or at least he kept the night at bay, which was the purpose of staying out until all hours.
“I know, which is why it’s really unlike you to be here. Especially when Edwin isn’t.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Wait a minute—Edwin sent you here, didn’t he? Because he couldn’t be in town for it.”
“What? No.” He bent to kiss her cheek. “Can’t a fellow just come to a breakfast to see his favorite cousin?”
“He can. But he generally doesn’t.”
Warren snagged a glass of champagne off a passing tray. “Well, he did today. Wait, who are we talking about again?”
“Very amusing.” Taking the glass from him, she frowned. “You do not need this. You’re clearly cropsick.”
He snatched it back and downed it. “Which is precisely why I require some hair of the dog.”
“You’re avoiding the subject. Did Edwin send you here to spy on me or not?”
“Don’t be absurd. He merely wanted me to look in on you, make sure everything was all right. You know your husband—he hates having to be at the estate with Niall while you’re in town.” He glanced at her thickening waist. “Especially when you’re . . . well . . . like that.”
“Oh, Lord, not you, too. Bad enough to have him and my brother hovering over me all the time, worried about my getting hurt somehow, but if he’s sent you to start doing that—”
“No, I swear. He only asked that I come by if I were attending this. I had to be in town anyway, so I figured why not pop in to Lyons’ affair?” He waved his empty glass. “The duke always orders excellent champagne. But now that I’ve had some, I’ll just be on my way.”
She took him by the arm. “No, indeed. I so rarely get to see you anymore. Stay awhile. They’re about to start the dancing.”
“Just what I need—to dance with a lot of simpering misses who think a coronet the ideal prize.”
“Then dance with me. I can still dance, you know.”
No doubt. Clari
ssa had always been a lively sort, who wouldn’t be slowed by something as inconsequential as bearing the heir to the reserved and rather eccentric Earl of Blakeborough.
Clarissa and Edwin were so different that sometimes Warren wondered what the two of them saw in each other. But whenever he witnessed their obvious affection for each other, he realized there must be something deeper cementing their marriage. It made him envious.
He scowled. That was absurd. He didn’t intend to marry for a very long while. At least not until he found a lusty widow who could endure his . . . idiosyncrasies.
Clarissa stared off into the crowd. “As long as you’re here, I . . . um . . . do need a favor.”
Uh-oh. “What kind of favor?”
“Edwin would do it if he didn’t have to be in Hertfordshire helping my brother settle the family estate, you know,” she babbled. “And Niall—”
“What’s the favor?” he persisted.
“Do you know Miss Trevor?”
Miss Trevor? This had better not be another of Clarissa’s schemes to get him married off. “Fortunately, I do not. I assume she’s one of those debutantes you’ve taken under your wing.”
“Not exactly. Although she was just brought out this past season, she’s actually my age . . . and a friend. Her brother, Reynold Trevor, died last year in some horrible shooting accident, and she and her sister-in-law, Mrs. Trevor, have been left without anything but a debt-ridden estate to support. So Miss Trevor’s aunt, Lady Pensworth, brought the two of them to London for the Season.”
“To find them husbands, no doubt.”
“Exactly, although I think Lady Pensworth is more concerned about Miss Trevor, since the late Mr. Trevor’s wife has already borne him a child who will inherit the estate, such as it is. To make Miss Trevor more eligible, Lady Pensworth has bestowed a five-hundred-pound dowry on her, which ought to tempt a number of eligible gentlemen.”
“Not me.”
She looked startled. “I wasn’t thinking of you, for heaven’s sake. I was thinking of someone less wealthy, with fewer connections. And decidedly younger. She’s only twenty-four, after all.”
The Heiress and the Hothead Page 8