Lady Pamela

by Amy Lake

  And Lady Pamela's wishes? Benjamin had once thought she loved him, and even last night he had believed he could convince her, this time, of marriage. But perhaps that was no more than a foolish dream. And if Lady Pamela had truly left him no chance to win her hand, then what did it matter to whom he was married? To beat endlessly against a locked door was only to beat yourself senseless.

  And until he could give up Lady Pamela, he lived in fantasy.

  If he could not give her up, release her once and for all, then he could not bear to continue seeing her, even as a friend. The duke did not think he would survive that circumstance. To live in London, knowing she slept only streets away, and dare not so much as to pay her a call.

  Wiltshire would be too near for such misery, let alone Audley Square. He might as well return to Virginia, if he was to be forced to give up the least glimpse of her.

  Lady Pamela was worth everything to him. She was worth the renouncement of his own love for her, if that is what it took to keep friendship alive, to be able hear her voice every now and again.

  A renouncement of love, and a betrothal to Lady Millicent.

  Under other circumstances he would not marry immediately, of course. But the situation demanded a decision, and Lord Torrance began to think there was no reason to put it off. He did not love Lady Millicent Chambers, but he had seen enough in her to believe he could hold her in reasonable esteem as a wife. He was haunted by the memory of her being held on the grass by Lord Castlereaugh, and by the terror in her voice as she cried, “I will not marry him!"

  Haunted by the plea in her wide, brown eyes as she promised him she would make him happy.

  The earl knew that ‘twas not the duke who had walked out into the gardens with Lady Millicent. But the ton did not understand, and Lord Chambers was in no hurry to explain, and even the truth might serve the girl no better.

  Someone, thought Benjamin, must marry her.

  Himself. Or Lord Castlereaugh.

  * * * *

  'Twas a glorious day, thought Lady Pamela. The skies were cloudy and grey, perhaps, and the winter rains had set in early this year. But glorious nevertheless.

  Her day of rest and respite was over, and another night's peaceful sleep had left her near to bouncing in anticipation. All thoughts of waltzes and stupid arguments had been banished from her mind, and she expected to hear from the duke at almost any moment, expected to find him standing in the doorway to her morning salon, smiling down at her as if the past few months had never happened. As if it was once again the morning after the wedding ball, and she was lying content in his embrace.

  And if he did not come, it hardly mattered, for she would visit Marchers herself, her pretext an inspection of the new furniture in the duchess's suite. As if she really needed any excuse! A moment's time alone with Lord Torrance was all Lady Pamela asked. She had no doubt that she could persuade him of her true affections, and that this day would end with her engagement to the Duke of Grentham.

  'Tis the beginning, thought Pam. The beginning of happily ever after.

  But the rose garden comes first, she reminded herself, having decided on this activity to occupy her mind. The gallica roses needed attention if they were to survive a hard frost, and she had promised herself that this coming winter they would not be abandoned to the first snow. She pulled on a pair of gardening boots, and went in search of a clean pair of leather gloves.

  Her love for the Duke of Grentham, and his love for her, could wait a few hours more.

  * * * *

  Lord Torrance returned to the Earl of Banbridge's London townhome that next morning.

  The conversation between the two men was short and to the point. The earl was dissatisfied with Benjamin's proposed settlements, claiming that Lord Castlereaugh had offered much more. But the duke was not biting, and did not care.

  "Be happy with what I offer,” he told Lord Chambers. “Make it enough."

  The earl's face became alarmingly red. “To be paid immediately, then,” he told Benjamin. “This very afternoon."

  The duke laughed. “Pah. To be paid upon my marriage to Lady Millicent."

  "What! Impossible.” Lord Chambers glared at him. “The girl can marry Lord Castlereaugh if that is to be your answer."

  The duke leaned over the desk as he had the day before, his face once again level with that of Millicent's father. The earl's eyes darted nervously this way and that, refusing to meet Benjamin's own. He's bluffing, thought the duke. Perhaps Castlereaugh is not such a sure thing after all.

  "As you wish,” said Lord Torrance.

  "Oh, but—” sputtered Lord Chambers. “Let's not be hasty—"

  "No more quibbling,” Benjamin told him. “Unless you would choose nothing at all."

  "This is an outrage!"

  "Enough. Matters will be arranged exactly as I have said."

  * * * *

  And so it was done, and the Duke of Grentham became engaged to Lady Millicent Chambers, only child and daughter of the Earl of Banbridge.

  An eminently suitable match, arranged with the earl's blessing, after which the prospective groom managed a few words in the hallway with his bride.

  She had waited in the same doorway, her eyes as wide and troubled as before.

  "Lady Millicent,” he said, bowing. “Your father and I have ... have come to an agreement."

  Good grief, didn't that sound romantic? Benjamin groaned inwardly, but he did not think Millicent a fool, and, as they were barely acquainted, she surely had no expectation of pretty words.

  "I am so sorry, your ... your grace,” she whispered.

  The duke could find no answer. “We are to be married Friday next,” he said finally.

  Her mouth opened in a silent gasp. “Ten ... ten days?"

  "Indeed,” said Benjamin. “Now, I'm sure you have much to do, but I will call on you tomorrow, for a drive. Let us endeavor to make ... “-the best of it, he had almost said-"a fine afternoon of it, and get to know one another a little better."

  "Yes ... of course."

  "Good afternoon to you, Lady Millicent.” He bowed quickly, and retreated down the hallway.

  * * * *

  A major ball was always good for gossip. Lady Detweiler, who had been plagued by a annoying tendency to wake before noon ever since the business at Marchers House began, decided it would be a fine day to visit Lady Marthwaite. Patience would be able to fill her in on anything Amanda might have missed.

  Lord Bainsborough had gotten drunk, so she had heard, and relieved himself in full sight of several of the older ladies, and been beaten soundly about the head by the dowager Marchioness of Skeltie, who always carried a parasol. Then there was young Miss Fisher-Smythe, who had been discovered in the library with a footman-someone was always being discovered in the library with a footman-but Amanda was sure she had not heard the end of that story, for the young woman's father was rich, and had intended his daughter to marry up, and it was difficult to say what effect the incident might have on the girl's prospects.

  Peregrine Carroll, as expected, was a book of gossip unto himself. Lady Detweiler had worried to see Pamela accepting a waltz with the man, but that had been the end of it. And then Amanda had spoken to Lord Torrance, giving him as much of a push as she dared. It seemed to have worked, for Pam and the duke had waltzed, and then both of them had gone missing from the ballroom for some time, which was always a good sign.

  And when the evening was finished and they were all bundled back into the carriage for the ride home, Lady Pamela had said nothing of the Duke of Grentham, but she had seemed happier and more at her ease than she had been for months.

  And that was a very good sign, indeed.

  "Oh, Lady Detweiler! Oh, my goodness, you cannot credit what I have just now heard!"

  Patience was alone for the moment, and so delighted to see Amanda, so desperate to share the latest on dit, that she gripped Lady Detweiler by the arm and pulled her down onto the couch.

  "The duke! Oh, my de
ar, you have no idea! No idea at all! The duke! Engaged, my dear, engaged!"

  * * * *

  Lady Pamela, humming cheerfully, was pruning a few last autumn blooms from the gallicas when Lady Detweiler came to call.

  "Good heavens,” said Pam, looking at Amanda's feet. “'Tis dirt right there, you know. Under your shoes."

  "Dearest,” said Lady Detweiler, “I must talk with you."

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The next day was warmer, and Lady Detweiler and Maximilian visited Hillsleigh in the early afternoon, insisting that Lady Pamela accompany them for a drive. She acceded to the request, knowing that Amanda would bully her into consent anyway, and lacking the energy for an argument.

  Both Detweiler cousins were unusually quiet, with no hint of their accustomed teasing, and Lady Pamela was not sure that she liked the change. She wasn't sure she liked much of anything today, however.

  It didn't help that she understood what had happened in the Lincolnshires’ garden. Understood it completely, as no other person in the haut ton was in position to, save Lady Millicent, her father, and the duke himself. It didn't even help that she agreed with what Lord Torrance had done and was, in fact, both touched and obscurely gratified by the selflessness of his actions.

  "The duke is engaged to Lady Millicent Chambers,” Amanda had told her yesterday, without preamble. Lady Detweiler stood among the fragrant blooms of the gallica roses, paying no mind to the dirt beneath her feet.

  The duke is engaged....

  And Pam had known, known immediately what had happened, and why. It was, for once, more than Amanda could boast.

  "'Twas Castlereaugh,” she told Lady Detweiler, when she was able to speak. “In the gardens."

  "Castlereaugh? Whatever are you talking about? Lady Millicent is engaged to the duke."

  And Lady Pamela explained all of it then, from beginning to end. Her argument with Lord Torrance during their waltz-Oh, for heaven's sake, said Amanda-her flight into the gardens, and getting lost, and being nearly knocked off her feet by an injured Enoch Castlereaugh.

  Then, coming upon Lady Millicent and the duke, the Earl of Banbridge, Lady Harkins—

  "Beatrice Harkins!” expostulated Lady Detweiler, at this point. “Of all the ill luck."

  "Luck? I thought so as well, at first. But now—"

  "Oh. Oh, of course,” said Amanda, comprehending Pamela's logic at once. “How convenient. Drag the inimitable Lady Harkins into the gardens and surprise your poor daughter being molested by a very rich man."

  "Beatrice may have surprised the earl, instead,” said Lady Pamela, with a hint of a smile. “I didn't get the impression she was overly fond of Lord Castlereaugh."

  "Good for Lady Harkins. ‘Twill be the one sensible idea she has until Michaelmas.” Amanda frowned suddenly and added, “Do we know for certain that Lady Millicent was being molested? Perhaps she was a willing participant."

  "Amanda."

  "No, I suppose not. She didn't look very happy, did she, that day in the park?"

  "Like a lamb to the slaughter."

  "And you say the duke descended upon Lord Castlereaugh and gave him a good thrashing?” Lady Detweiler grinned. “How I would have loved to have been there...."

  "Only to be discovered comforting Lady Millicent moments later."

  "Lord Chambers cuts his scheming rather fine. A short delay, and he and Beatrice would have found nothing."

  "Lady Millicent's dress was torn,” replied Pam. “I suspect that Lord Castlereaugh had planned a rather lengthier interlude."

  "How revolting."

  "Castlereaugh was terrified,” said Pam, with some satisfaction. “I dare say he won't be frequenting society for some time, not if there's any chance of meeting the duke.” That she and Lady Detweiler would also cut him went without saying, and as all their friends and relations would follow suit, Enoch Castlereaugh would soon find that there was little welcome to be found in all of London.

  "He will accost young women wherever he goes,” said Lady Detweiler, an assessment that was, sadly, true.

  "Perhaps the next father will not be as worthless as Lord Chambers."

  "Yes. I suppose we can always hope he'll be shot.” Amanda frowned at a sudden thought. “By the way, what was Lord Torrance doing in the Lincolnshires’ gardens?” she asked Pam. Then—

  "Ahhh. I see."

  The question had never occurred to Lady Pamela, but she immediately realized its answer. The duke was in the gardens looking for her. Pam sighed, made more miserable by this knowledge than almost anything else.

  Stupid argument. Stupid, stupid pride.

  * * * *

  And now ‘twas already the day following, and Lady Pamela had no memory of how she had spent the previous evening, or if she had slept that night. Maximilian was commenting on the weather, having said nothing, for once, about his boots, his cape, or the newest style in neckcloths.

  "Umm,” replied Lady Pamela. She had not noticed, herself, whether it was sunny or cloudy, or whether it looked to be coming on rain. She tried to fix a smile on her face, and to wave cheerily at their acquaintances as the carriages passed by, but ‘twas hard work, and she was becoming weary. Even the Earl of Carnath's hearty hello and doff of the hat was not enough to raise her spirits.

  At least she would not suffer the humiliation of being a scorned woman. No-one besides Lady Detweiler and her own brother, the Marquess of Luton-and Maximilian, of course-knew of her association with the Duke of Grentham. She could carry on in society as before. As if nothing whatsoever had happened to the beautiful and captivating Lady Pamela Sinclair.

  A large high-perch phaeton entered the Row several horse-lengths in front of their own carriage and advanced in their direction. Lady Pamela first noticed the woman-a young woman with shining long, brown hair-before she saw the tall blond-haired man sitting at her side.

  Of course. Recognition came a half-moment later, and she turned away just in time to see Amanda lean toward Maximilian, her hand on his sleeve. Max tugged hard on the reins.

  "Whoa!"

  "Oh, bother it all,” said Lady Pamela. “I won't be able to avoid them forever, you know."

  "Mmm,” said Maximilian, who was craning his neck, looking for an opening to make the turn.

  But the Row was crowded at that time of the afternoon, even on a cool autumn's day, and the possibilities for escape were limited. The phaeton approached inexorably closer, and Lady Pamela clasped and unclasped her hands, looking left and right and anywhere to avoid the greeting.

  Too late. Their own carriage was virtually at a standstill when the duke and Lady Millicent came alongside, and she heard Lord Torrance mutter a quick instruction to his animals.

  "Lady Detweiler,” said the duke, with a nod. “Lord Detweiler."

  Lady Pamela's eyes met his.

  "Lady Pamela,” said the Duke of Grentham.

  * * * *

  The carriages parted, leaving Lady Millicent half-panicked and deep in thought. She had woken this morning determined to make a pleasant beginning with the duke, her husband-to-be. Milly didn't think this should be difficult. Lord Torrance was the handsomest man she had ever seen, more handsome, even, than Clarence Peabody. And he was a duke, of course, and what girl had not dreamed of being a duchess?

  But now everything had changed.

  If only she had been able to talk to Annabelle. But her father had kept her cooped inside the house ever since the ball, and this evening, at Lady Tate's musicale, would be the first chance for the two girls to talk. Millicent was not a devotee of musicales, which too often featured screeching sopranos or a mediocre tenor, but tonight she was glad of the opportunity. She and Annabelle would find some quiet corner for conversation. Annabelle would know what to do.

  She had dressed with particular care that afternoon, and smiled at Lord Torrance at every opportunity, and asked him a few questions about himself from time to time. ‘Twas Milly's experience that males enjoyed that subject as no other.


  Still, she had not chattered, for she knew that gentlemen disliked chatter, and she had tried to pay earnest attention to the duke's mood, so that she might keep quiet when he seemed minded to be silent, and make a cheerful comment about the weather, perhaps, if silence turned awkward.

  Lady Millicent did not forget, at any moment, that their marriage was being forced upon the Duke of Grentham. But ‘twas the gentlemen themselves who had decided upon the rules, thought Milly, the fine and precious rules that had led to this denouement. And besides, what could she do about it? She had attempted to resist Lord Castlereaugh, and it had done her no good whatsoever, for Millicent was aware that, had the duke not chanced upon them in the Lincolnshires’ garden, her fate would now be settled quite differently.

  She was grateful to Lord Torrance, and he was so kind and gentle with her, albeit-perhaps-a trifle reserved. She wanted to make him happy, and was determined to devote her life to that task, to the man who had saved her from ... that other person.

  Lady Millicent did not want to think about Castlereaugh, or the scene in the garden, ever again. The Duke of Grentham would be her hero for the rest of her days, and she would make him happy.

  Millicent, although not vain, had a reasonable appreciation of her own looks. She was pretty enough to gratify most men, she thought, and she was not stupid, whatever her father might think. She would discover what the duke's interests were, and make them her own interests as well. She would live in the country if he wished, even though she knew little of that life, or remain here in London, where she would never, ever do anything to bring dishonour upon her new name.

  She could make him happy. She could. And nothing that transpired during their carriage ride in Hyde Park had made Millicent doubt her resolve, or had suggested to her that pleasing the Duke of Grentham would be impossible.

  Nothing, that was, until they had come upon another carriage, a fine barouche with two ladies and a young gentleman who had danced with Lady Millicent that same evening, and whose name-to Milly's embarrassment-she could not now remember.

  Oh, yes. Lord Maximilian Detweiler.

  The ladies were dressed in the first stare and they were both striking, one with hair as black as Lord Detweiler's and large, silver-grey eyes, the other fair, with white-gold hair and a porcelain complexion. Lady Millicent was normally no more envious than she was vain, but next to this woman she felt self-conscious, felt herself, in comparison, to be a brown mouse.