The Hope Chest

by Jacquie D'Alessandro

  Aunt Lydia regained herself and raised her brows at her butler. “Heavens, Mortimer, is something amiss? You’re practically galloping.”

  The normally sedate butler halted then extended a silver salver upon which rested a cream-colored card. “You have a caller, my lady.”

  “Hardly unusual,” Aunt Lydia murmured as she plucked the card from its highly polished perch. She glanced down and her eyebrows shot upward. “But in this case…”

  “Are you in, my lady?”

  “Oh, most definitely. Our guest may join us here, Mortimer. Please arrange for another tea setting.”

  “Yes, my lady.” Mortimer withdrew, and Amanda studied her aunt over the rim of her china cup, recognizing her expression, anticipating the inevitable next words—

  “You’ll never guess who’s come to call, my dear,” Aunt Lydia said in a breathless voice.

  Amanda pretended to ponder carefully, then teased, “Based on your reaction, I’d have to venture it’s one of your handsome gentleman acquaintances bearing flowers and an ostentatiously large piece of jewelry.”

  She’d expected her jest to float above Aunt Lydia’s head. Instead her aunt surprised her by saying with a cryptic smile, “You’re correct about the handsome gentleman, but I suspect ’tis you who prompts this visit, not I.”

  “Me?” Amanda laughed. “I sincerely doubt it as I do not know anyone in Cardiff, save you, and most certainly not any handsome gentlemen.” A sudden sinking feeling assailed her and she sat up straight. “Good heavens. Don’t tell me one of my London suitors has turned up here?”

  “No, my dear. ’Tis clear you’ve made another conquest.”

  The French windows opened and Amanda’s head snapped toward the sound. Mortimer stepped through the entrance, followed by a solemn-faced man Amanda instantly recognized as her box-purchasing nemesis, Lord Dorsey.

  What on earth was he doing here? Whatever it was, it could only have to do with Aunt Lydia as she had not so much as exchanged names with the gentleman. Their eyes met, and even from across the terrace Amanda felt the impact of his unsettling regard. She could not recall anyone ever looking at her so…intently. Her imagination fancied him seeing right into her mind, reading her thoughts. An odd tingle worked its way down her spine, and she forced herself to look away. But when she lowered her gaze, it fell upon the wrapped package he held. It was just the size of the glossy wooden box.

  Her heart leaped. Had he decided to sell it to her after all? He certainly could have found out who she was from Mr. Gibson.

  Lord Dorsey halted near the table, then made a formal bow. “Good afternoon. Thank you for seeing me, Lady Lydia.”

  “Lord Dorsey, I’m delighted you’ve called.”

  “The pleasure is mine, my lady.”

  Aunt Lydia indicated Amanda with a wave of her hand. “I believe you met my niece, Lady Amanda Pratt, at Mr. Gibson’s shop yesterday.”

  Lord Dorsey turned toward Amanda and she was once again struck by the impact of those vividly blue eyes. “Although we spoke, I’m afraid we were not properly introduced.” He made her a bow. “How do you do, Lady Amanda?”

  Something—perhaps in the speculative, intent way he looked at her, or maybe in the way he said her name, in that slightly husky tone—sent another odd tingle through Amanda. But surely the strange feeling was simply the thought of seeing the wooden box again. “Lord Dorsey,” she murmured, inclining her head.

  “Please join us,” Aunt Lydia said nodding toward the empty chair beside Amanda. “Mortimer is arranging for another setting for tea—unless you’d care for something else?”

  “Tea is fine, thank you.” He lowered himself into the ornate wrought-iron chair, then set the wrapped package on the table in front of him.

  Aunt Lydia raised her quizzing glass and unabashedly looked him up and down. “You’re looking well, Dorsey—very much the same.” Her lips twitched. “And clearly still employing the same valet as when I saw you last.”

  First surprise, then unmistakable amusement flashed in his eyes, followed by a quick grin. Amanda blinked at the transformation that smile wrought upon his stern features. In fact, his entire stiff posture appeared to relax a bit.

  “Randolph does the best he can with me,” Lord Dorsey said with a sheepish expression, “but I fear I’m not the best subject. I’m grateful—and astounded—he’s remained with me all these years, although he does his fair amount of grumbling, I assure you.”

  “Yes, I’m certain he does,” Aunt Lydia said with a twinkling smile as she lowered her eyepiece. “Yet somehow those rumples suit you. Always have. Make you appear, well, scholarly, which as everyone knows, you are. As I recall, astronomy was your particular favorite area of study. Is it still?”

  “Yes. I’ve always found the sky fascinating. So full of mystery. Silent with secrets just waiting to be discovered.”

  “Well, given your dedication, I’m certain that if anyone can find those secrets, it is you, Dorsey.”

  He again appeared surprised by her words, as if he was not accustomed to people complimenting him, and, Amanda realized, he most likely was not, a realization that unexpectedly tugged on her heart.

  “Thank you, Lady Lydia,” he said. There was no mistaking the sincerity and gratitude in his voice. “And though it is unforgivably late in coming, I hope you will accept my thanks for the kind note you sent me after…my brother’s death. Although my silence might indicate otherwise, it was very much appreciated.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m sorry for the hardships you’ve endured. People can be very unkind. And foolish.” She nodded toward the package. “Now, are you going to tell us what you have brought, or are we to expire from curiosity?”

  “I must confess that this package is the main reason I called.” He turned toward Amanda. “It’s the box from Gibson’s shop. In an attempt to locate you, I called upon Mr. Gibson before coming here. He informed me you were Lady Lydia’s niece and staying with her.”

  Amanda’s heart jumped. He did intend to sell her the box! Aunt Lydia shot her a smug “I told you so” look, then said, “Ah, so you’ve come to call upon my niece.”

  Amanda offered up a silent prayer of thanks that any significance Lord Dorsey might have attached to that statement clearly sailed over his head.

  “Yes,” he said, sounding almost relieved. He leaned closer to Amanda, and she instantly recognized the same masculine scent she’d smelled yesterday—sandalwood and fresh linen. “I spent all of last night and all of this morning trying to figure it out, but I could not,” he said, his voice taking on an urgent tone. “I couldn’t sleep. The entire puzzle has rendered me utterly frustrated and confounded.”

  Amanda stared, unsettled by the thought that her sudden befuddlement was due as much to his nearness as to his cryptic words. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. Figure what out?”

  “How you opened it.” He unwrapped the box, then slid it closer to her. “In spite of all my efforts, I have been unable to do so. Will you show me what you did?”

  Amanda stared at the box, then lifted her gaze to his, as understanding dawned, bringing with it acute disappointment along with a healthy dose of annoyance. “So you didn’t bring the box here to accept my offer to buy it?”

  His brows raised. “No. As I told you yesterday, I’ve no wish to sell it.”

  “You merely brought the box here so I could show you how to open it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Because, in spite of hours of trying, you couldn’t figure it out for yourself?” she couldn’t help but add, a twinge of smugness filtering into her voice.

  Irritation flashed in his eyes. “Correct.”

  Silence stretched between them for several long seconds while Amanda’s annoyance simmered.

  Finally he jerked his head toward the box. “Well? Will you show me how you opened it?”

  “Are you always so abrupt, my lord?”

  He blinked. “Abrupt?”

  “You do not preface your request
with even the hint of polite conversation—questions regarding the weather, my state of health, whether I’m enjoying my visit, that sort of thing. Since you were equally terse in the shop yesterday, I was merely wondering if you were always so abrupt, or if it was just me who brought it out in you.”

  For several seconds he looked completely nonplussed. Then he raked a hand through his hair. “Forgive me. I’ve not had occasion to spend much time recently in polite society. Apparently my manners have suffered as a result. In my own defense, I can only say that it did not occur to me that you’d wish to partake of small talk with me.”

  Those words, which sounded so…lonely, spoken in that quiet, straightforward way, squeezed the area surrounding Amanda’s heart. They stared at each other for several seconds, then he cleared his throat, and a whiff of mischief flashed in his eyes. “The, er, weather is particularly fine today, is it not?”

  Good heavens, the effect of just that bit of deviltry was nothing short of…dazzling. “Very fine indeed,” Amanda replied, forcing herself to answer in her most prim voice.

  “And your health, Lady Amanda? It is good?”

  “Very well, thank you.”

  “No dyspepsia or vapors or anything unpleasant I trust?”

  “I am blessed with a most robust constitution.”

  “Excellent.” He leaned back in his chair, folded his arms over his chest—his very broad chest, she noted—and looked at her with such exaggerated earnestness, she was hard pressed to decide if she was more annoyed or amused. “And your journey to Cardiff went well, Lady Amanda?”

  “Exceedingly.”

  “No difficulties with brigands or highwaymen or anyone of that ilk?”

  “None.”

  “Brilliant.” He again leaned forward, pinning her with his gaze. “Now, will you please show me how to open the box?” he asked in a very polite, somber voice.

  A sound that distinctly resembled a smothered laugh that was quickly turned into a cough came from Aunt Lydia, and although she should have been outraged, Amanda couldn’t deny her own amusement, which she firmly tamped down. Not to mention her curiosity, which she allowed free rein. Why hadn’t he been able to open the box?

  “If I show you how to open it, will you permit me to examine the inside, or will you scurry away as you did yesterday?”

  “Did I scurry?”

  “Like a sand crab along the shore.”

  Instead of taking offense, his lips twitched with clear amusement. “Egad. Not the most flattering comparison. Are you always so blunt, Lady Amanda, or is it just me who brings it out in you?”

  “I always endeavor to be honest.”

  “Hmm. Well, I cannot deny that’s an admirable trait. Still, I believe your simile was inaccurate as crabs scurry sideways, and I distinctly recall moving forward.”

  “Very well. Then you scurried like a rabbit—”

  “Not to put too fine a point on it, but I believe rabbits hop.”

  She pressed her lips together to contain the smile that threatened to break through. Why on earth was she finding this exchange exhilarating rather than aggravating? When she remained silent, he raised a single dark brow in a gesture Amanda interpreted as a clear challenge—something she’d never been able to resist.

  She cocked her brow right back at him. “In truth Lord Dorsey, you scurried away like a thief who knew he was in danger of being coshed by the woman he’d just stolen from.”

  “Surely a woman would swoon rather than cosh.”

  “I sincerely doubt it. Especially a woman who possesses a most robust constitution.”

  After studying her for several seconds, he inclined his head. “I see. In that case, I can only reply that it was not my intention to scurry. Although if I’d actually suspected I stood in danger of being coshed, I’m certain scurrying would have ensued. I meant only to hurry as I was anxious to return home.”

  “With your treasure,” she said.

  “Yes. But I’d also had enough…shopping for one day.”

  His words and dry tone left no doubt that his venture into the village hadn’t been entirely pleasant, and her conscience slapped her for baiting him. “Do I have your word that after I’ve shown you how to open the box you’ll allow me to examine the inside?”

  “You’ll accept my word, Lady Amanda?”

  His softly spoken question, accompanied by his steady gaze gave Amanda the distinct impression that he was asking about more than the box, and that her answer was important to him. She barely knew this man, and although he’d irritated her, he’d also managed to arouse both her curiosity and sympathy. She’d always considered herself a good judge of character and her every instinct told her he was honorable. Certainly not capable of the horrible act about which the villagers gossiped.

  “Yes, Lord Dorsey. I’ll accept your word.”

  There was no mistaking the surprise and gratitude that flickered in his eyes. During the heartbeats of silence that followed her statement, Amanda swore something passed between them—an unspoken camaraderie, but also something else she couldn’t name. She only knew that it caused an unprecedented warmth to seep through her.

  With an effort, she looked away from him, only to notice Aunt Lydia. Aunt Lydia whom she’d forgotten all about. Aunt Lydia who’d remained uncharacteristically silent during Amanda’s exchange with Lord Dorsey. Aunt Lydia whose avid gaze bounced between them with a very speculative gleam in her eye. Oh, dear.

  Amanda hastily pulled the box closer to her, then took a moment to admire the glossy surface she hadn’t thought she’d ever see again. “In truth, I’m not certain precisely what I did to open it other than run my finger over the image of the woman then gently press here…” She dragged her finger downward, then exerted a bit of pressure when she reached the edge of the box. Just as it had yesterday, a faint click sounded, and the lid rose an inch.

  “Astounding,” Lord Dorsey said. Reaching out, he pressed the box closed. “Again, if you please. Slowly, so I can see exactly what you do.”

  Amanda repeated the action and again the box opened.

  “I see now,” he said. He closed the box and mimicked what Amanda had done. Nothing happened. He tried again. And again. With no luck.

  “You seem to be pressing the right place,” Amanda said, as confused as he. “Here.” She touched the edge of the box and it opened instantly. Lord Dorsey tried again to no avail.

  “Maybe I’m not exerting enough pressure—or perhaps too much,” he said, his voice tinged with confusion and frustration. “Perhaps if you pressed my finger to the spot.” He rose and moved to stand next to her. Placing his left hand on the back of her chair, he leaned forward and held out his right hand. “Would you mind?”

  Amanda was instantly inundated with warmth and the heady, masculine scent emanating from him. He seemed to surround her body like a blanket. She shifted, and her shoulder brushed his hip, his nearness firing heat through her, much as it had yesterday. Not willing to risk turning her head to find her nose inches from his body, she fastened her gaze on his extended hand. His large, strong hand, poised directly in front of her. It looked fascinating, and she was hit with the unsettling realization that she wanted very much to touch him.

  “Lady Amanda?” he said softly.

  Amanda jerked her chin upward and found him looking down at her with an undecipherable expression. Whatever was reflected in her own expression prompted him to say, “In spite of what you may have heard to the contrary, I do not bite. Or worse.”

  Amanda’s face flamed. Obviously he referred to the rumors surrounding him, and she was piqued with both annoyance and shame that he clearly thought her to be the believer of idle gossip. “Nor, obviously, are you clairvoyant, my lord, as I was not thinking anything of the kind.”

  “Indeed? I’m well aware of what is said about me, Lady Amanda.” His features remained impassive while he spoke, but there was no mistaking the shadows of pain and hurt in his eyes. He slowly lowered his hand and straightened, and a se
nse of loss she could not explain hit Amanda.

  Looking him directly in the eye, she said, “I am not in the habit of indulging in, or giving credence to, idle gossip, Lord Dorsey, especially when the subject is someone else’s character. I much prefer to form my own opinions. Now, do you wish for me to assist you? If so, I shall need your hand. And I hope you do, for I am as mystified as you that you cannot open the box.”

  A furrow formed between his brows, and his gaze searched her face. Then, with a nod, he again extended his arm. Reaching out, she clasped his broad hand in hers, and was immediately taken by how small and pale her hand looked in comparison. His skin was firm and warm, his fingers long and strong. A scar cut diagonally across the length of his index finger and she wondered what had caused the injury.

  Curling her fingers around his, she led his hand to the box. Settling her index finger over his, she pressed it to the exact spot she’d touched, using the same amount of pressure. Nothing happened. She tried several more times before he slowly slipped his finger from beneath hers. Her finger landed on the spot and the box clicked open.

  “How extraordinary,” Aunt Lydia murmured. “May I try?”

  Amanda felt Lord Dorsey’s start of surprise at her aunt’s voice, and she wondered if he had forgotten her presence as Amanda had.

  After a dozen unsuccessful attempts, Aunt Lydia admitted defeat. Mortimer arrived with the tea, and when asked, he attempted to open the box, but was also unable to do so. Several footmen were summoned as well, yet all were unsuccessful.

  “It appears that Lady Amanda is the only one who can open it,” Lord Dorsey said after the servants had all been dismissed. “’Tis a phenomenon for which I can offer no explanation.”

  “It seems a simple enough explanation, my lord,” Aunt Lydia said, eyeing him over the rim of her teacup.

  “And what is that?”

  “Clearly my niece has the magic touch.”

  He frowned. “I meant a logical, scientific explanation.”

  “My dear Lord Dorsey, some things simply defy logic, science and explanation. They just…are.”