In the Garden of Deceit (Book 4)

by Cynthia Wicklund

  ***

  CHAPTER 7

  Lonsdale was a Georgian Manor, perhaps one hundred and fifty years old. It sprawled across the landscape, massive and in ill repair, with peeling paint, missing shingles, and a general attitude of benign neglect. And yet, the house radiated warmth into the countryside, an inviting charm, as though the residents in their careless surroundings offered a loving retreat for those who came there.

  It was a genteel home, no doubt steeped in family history, the kind Amanda had often seen, but as one of the newly rich never been part of. Shabby it might be, but aristocratic privilege pervaded the structure from roof to foundation.

  As they drove up to the manor, dusk fast approaching, Amanda could imagine that she was indeed coming home. They were expected, as servants spilled from the house, lining the drive in cheerful welcome. The family had joined them, for she recognized Aunt Henrietta and Uncles Ham and Harry. The sibling trio was fairly dancing with excitement. Obvious by her absence was the dowager.

  James helped Amanda descend from the carriage into the midst of chaos, everyone talking at once, no one willing to wait his turn. This was not a household with structure, no stern reprimands for whispering servants, no stiff handshakes and chaste kisses. The Tremont clan threw their collective arms around Amanda as if she were one of them, drawing her through the crowd and into the house. Despite herself, she was disarmed.

  “I cannot tell you how happy we are that you are here, my dear,” Aunt Henry gushed.

  “Oh, yes,” Uncle Ham replied. “We thought you were coming yesterday. Then all that rain. We’ve been watching the windows for your arrival ever since.”

  Harry’s contribution was a nod of agreement, but the sweet smile he gave Amanda was touching.

  She looked to James to supply an explanation. He did so with ease, smiling and hugging his relatives unselfconsciously.

  “Perhaps all of you were up to a journey on the heels of a wedding, but I can tell you Amanda and I were not. We needed a day to recover.” He paused then, glancing around the foyer. “Where is Mother?”

  Immediately there was an uncomfortable silence. Uncle Ham opened his mouth to speak, but Aunt Henry forestalled him.

  “She remained at the dower house, James. Y-you’re mother sends her regrets. Said she will make an appearance at supper. She doesn’t like all the fuss—asked me to explain…” She trailed off, as it was apparent to everyone listening that nothing Henrietta had said so far was an acceptable explanation for the dowager having essentially snubbed her daughter-in-law’s introduction to her new home.

  Her husband’s face fell into rigid lines of disapproval. “I see.”

  He said no more on the subject, but Amanda suspected he would be saying plenty to the dowager later.

  “And Uncle Huey?” James continued.

  Uncle Huey?

  Those in the entry parted, opening a pathway in a foyer that proved to be quite large. The staircase was revealed, a carved architectural statement in dark cherry that curved artfully and quite dramatically to the landing above. On the landing sat a man. Seemingly aware that all eyes were now turned on him, he rose and slowly descended the stairs, coming to stand on the last step.

  He moved forward when James beckoned, like an insignificant eddy rippling into the sea of people. Uncle Huey was a slight man, not heavy like his siblings. His right arm, which he hugged to his side, was shriveled, and he walked with a limp, indicating a shortened right leg. He looked at Amanda through an aging face of about forty-five years, but his expression was that of a child.

  His green gaze was wide-eyed and assessing, as only a child’s can be. “You’re beautiful,” he said simply.

  An almost silent sigh filtered through the foyer, and Amanda knew that despite his handicaps Uncle Huey was a much revered person to this family. She was right about the warmth and kindness she had detected here.

  “You are most kind to say so,” Amanda returned. “It is a great pleasure to meet you, Uncle Huey.”

  He smiled then, and Amanda was startled by how beautiful his own face was when he did so. Nature may have been cruel to this man, but it had given him something back, a natural charisma both charming and infectious. She gave him a hug as she raised her eyes to her husband.

  He was watching her, his aspect serious and unreadable. As Amanda released Huey, James placed an arm around his uncle’s shoulders, squeezing him affectionately.

  Surprisingly, the servants had not trailed away to their duties as one might expect. They had stayed for the family greetings as though part of them and, in fact, Aunt Henry began introducing each and every one to their new mistress.

  It was thirty minutes more before Henrietta escorted Amanda upstairs.

  The bedchamber the older woman entered was huge, with a canopied bed dominating one wall. The room had the same shabby appearance as the rest of the house, but again, it exuded warmth and welcome.

  “I asked James to let me redecorate, my dear, but he refused,” Aunt Henry began. “Said you’d want to do that yourself. Stands to reason, but I hated for you to arrive to such threadbare circumstances. After seeing your father’s home in London,” she looked a little embarrassed, “I am much aware of how things here have gone to ruin. We’ve had a bit of a time keeping up appearances.”

  “Quite all right,” Amanda murmured. “I wasn’t expecting anything in particular.”

  Not anymore.

  Unfortunately, this line of talk brought to mind the very thing that was uppermost in Amanda’s thoughts. James had needed money. Seemed ironic to apologize for not using his new resources to make his wife more comfortable, when she was the reason his bank account was now in the black.

  Amanda turned as the footman delivered two of the many pieces of luggage that had made the journey from London. Even as the cases were piling up, she became aware that James’s belongings were being deposited with her own. Of course, the servant would assume, but didn’t her husband have a room of his own? It would be difficult enough living with the man in the close confines of a marriage, but if they were actually forced to share the same quarters, she feared for her sanity.

  As she stared fixedly at the luggage, her mind blank with uneasiness, James appeared in the doorway. She slowly lifted her gaze to him, even as his attention locked first on the cases and then on her.

  “James—”

  He shook his head, one brief jerk, silencing her.

  Henrietta, fussing with the draperies, turned to her nephew. “I was just explaining to Amanda why we have not done anything to the room.”

  “Aunt Henry, you worry too much. It’s not so bad.”

  “Spoken just like a man.” The older woman shook her head as she returned to the center of the chamber. “Well, nothing for it. What’s done is done. When you are ready to make some changes, my dear,” this to Amanda, “please come to me. I’ll help you in any way I can.” She reached for her niece-in-law’s hand. “We’re so pleased to have you in the family.”

  Amanda said a polite and sincerely felt, “Thank you.”

  Aunt Henry turned to James, pausing, as if she had something to say. But evidently she was ill at ease and having difficulty expressing herself.

  “Aunt?” James raised his brows in question.

  Her attention slipped to Amanda briefly, but without looking her in the eye. “Perhaps another time would be better,” she murmured.

  Henrietta gave her nephew a tentative smile and edged toward the door. Her departure was followed by an uncomfortable silence.

  Since the surroundings were strange and did not feel like her own yet, Amanda remained where she stood, uncertain how to proceed. James, on the other hand, looked to be filled with nervous energy, and he paced to the luggage, separating the bags into his and hers.

  “I know you are not pleased with the sleeping arrangements, Amanda,” he began, his back to her. “But when I made them, I had reason to believe you would not be averse.” He turned around to face her, his gaze direct but h
esitant. “At the time, you had not yet met Derrick.”

  “Is there no room attached to this one?” she asked faintly, swallowing over a nervous lump in her throat.

  “The master suite is down the hall.”

  “This isn’t the master suite? I don’t understand.”

  “Father slept in those rooms for more than thirty-five years. And he died there in the fall. I was not comfortable appropriating them yet.”

  That made sense but, “What are we to do?”

  “Need we do anything?” James asked, his manner now brusque. “You are in no danger from me.”

  Remembering their bargain, Amanda wasn’t quite certain she believed him. The long nights much like last night loomed ahead, promising at the very least a perennial case of insomnia. Before it was over she would perish from exhaustion.

  “I thought, under the circumstances, a little distance would give us time to…adapt.”

  “A little distance will air our dirty linen, Amanda. My family will not understand, and I don’t wish to try and make them. Moreover, the servants will be devastated.”

  “You worry what the servants will think?”

  “Let me tell you something my father once told me. Happy servants make for a happy household. We provide an example, good or bad, and they behave accordingly. If the master and his lady are at odds, it will be felt down to the scullery maid. And the dissension will come full circle, that I guarantee.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “Merely that we go on as a newly married couple, pretend for the sake of those around us until we can work through this thing.”

  “Don’t you think after the fracas we caused at the party—”

  He gave her an ironic look. “We?”

  “All right, I admit it,” she said, “the fracas I caused. But doesn’t it seem that your family may have guessed that we had a falling out?”

  “Guessing is different from knowing.”

  “True, but—”

  “And even if they assumed we had a disagreement, they can also assume that we have resolved our differences and are back to our blissful union. How good are you at pretense?”

  Amanda did not miss the irony that touched his words again, but she ignored him this time.

  “James, there is no privacy for either of us in only one room. How are we to manage that?”

  He stared at her a long time, a strangely assessing stare, his eyes narrowing, nostrils flaring. He was coming to a decision of some kind, and she had the distinct impression she wasn’t going to like it.

  He walked across the room, and Amanda found herself backing away from him. His approach was relentless, but at some point her pride came to her defense. She ceased her retreat and held her breath.

  James stopped, his face close to hers. He loomed over her, and she was aware suddenly of how tall he was, how wide were his shoulders, the magnetism he exuded out of those icy blue eyes. Amanda felt small and delicate, which was a rare occurrence for her. She released her breath on a quiver.

  “You know, wife,” he said silkily, “I find your reticence an obstacle to any progress we might achieve.”

  “I feel reticent. I can’t help it.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Y-yes. Yes, it is”

  “Then you leave me no choice.”

  There was an odd sense of satisfaction in his words, his steely gaze locking with hers, an almost wicked smile easing his mouth.

  “I don’t know what you mean, I’m sure.”

  “Don’t you?”

  Amanda stared at him mutely, waiting.

  The smile grew. “I think it’s time to test our little bargain, my dear.”

  “You promised not to press me.”

  “I also said I would take it a day at a time, that I reserved the right to change my mind. I’m informing you now that I have done so.” His warm gaze dropped to her mouth, and the smile widened further.

  “It’s hardly been any time at all.”

  He shrugged.

  Why, he was enjoying himself! “I warn you, James, you won’t find much satisfaction in bullying me.”

  For the first time his teasing attitude slipped, his eyes narrowing again. “I hardly think you can call it bullying, Amanda. After all, these are your terms.”

  No they’re not, she thought in desperation. Or were they? What had they agreed to?

  “No hysterics, no reneging, remember?” he continued.

  “And no participation,” she spat.

  “No participation…on your part.” James slipped his hand into her hair, cupping the back of her head. “I, on the other hand, am not so burdened. I can participate to my heart’s content.”

  “Oh—!”

  Her protest was cut off as his mouth descended on hers. It was not, however, a harsh kiss, but a gentle, beguiling pressure that raised the downy hairs all over her body. Her lips parted without her being aware, until she felt the invasion of his tongue. Her mind willed her to break the contact, but when she reached to push him away, she realized she was clinging with both fists to the lapels of his coat.

  James pulled back, and she expected him to look self-satisfied. But there was no room for satisfaction in an expression so darkly lustful, so tense from unleashed passion.

  “Let me go,” she whispered, tears beginning to burn the backs of her eyes.

  His grip tightened. “Oh, no. That’s not the bargain. If you don’t cooperate then you are interfering with my participation.”

  “Do you expect me to simply waltz over to that bed and let you have your way with me?”

  “Overdramatic, Amanda, and again you presume. I’ve not asked that of you. Yet. However, yes, when the time comes, I will expect that very thing.”

  “What is it you expect now?” she asked in a small voice.

  “First and foremost, I do not want you to disclose the difficulties we are having to my family. What is between us stays in this room.”

  Amanda nodded. “Of course.”

  “Second, you promised to be a willing wife. If you cannot keep that promise, I want to know now.”

  His face was still close to hers, his hand still in her hair, and though she wished more than anything to look away from him, neither his demeanor nor his compelling stare would allow her to do so. Rather than answer him, she began to struggle but he held her fast.

  And the oddest thing, despite his pique she knew he was aroused. His member was pressed against her hip, as hard and demanding as his gaze, and he did nothing to hide his condition. Rather, she sensed he was flaunting it, forcing her to acknowledge the violent emotions that simmered between them.

  “I want you to answer me,” James ground out. “I want to know I can trust you on this.”

  “As I can trust you?” Even as she spoke she regretted the words, but she was on the verge of tears now and desperate to be free.

  James stepped away from her as though she had slapped him. Almost as quickly as the shock appeared, however, it was gone to be replaced by a shadowed, moody look. He straightened his coat, making an extra show of hand-pressing the wrinkles from his ruined lapels.

  “You’ve purchased a few extra hours, Amanda. But tonight I expect an answer. And be forewarned, I have no intention of living in an armed camp.” James stalked across the room stopping at the door. “You can choose to forgive me or not, but believe me, you have as much to lose as I do.”

  His anger was palpable, an explosive mixture of lust and outrage, and he emphasized that anger more clearly with the gentle way he clicked the door into place than if he had slammed it shut.

  Amanda went limp. She walked with as much dignity as she could muster—and she wondered why it mattered since she was alone—to a chair by the bed and sat down. She was weak with expended emotion, the tears that had threatened receding quickly, leaving her eyes arid and tender. There was a throbbing in her right temple, and she pressed her fingers to the ache, surprised by how badly her hand shook.

  James was ri
ght, of course. And how easy it would be to simply give in. But Amanda wanted him to love her—needed him to love her. She hadn’t waited until an age when most young women had been married a long time, only to have made such a disastrous mistake. She had waited for the right man. She thought she had found him.

  If she put the lie behind her without coming to terms with it, they could go on, have a comfortable if indifferent marriage. And indifference was the only way she could survive it because that lie would always be there, waiting to sneak up on her, to pain her when she least expected it.

  Every time he was late, every innocent explanation that didn’t quite ring true, she would wonder. She would slowly shrivel, the confidence that had driven her young life evaporating into a suspicious old age. She owed not only herself, but James also, to find a way to forgive. Truly forgive.

  She hoped she had the courage to try.

  ***

  James descended the stairs in a rush, his mood foul. Fortunately, he saw no one as dinner was soon to be served, and the family members were in their respective rooms getting ready. That served him perfectly. He must speak to his mother. Might as well do it while he was angry enough to say what needed to be said.

  He swung through the front door and onto the walk outside. The first shadows of night were creeping over the landscape, and in the distance he could see the dower house, the fading sun striking its stone surface as a final farewell to the day. He bolted across the lawn rather than taking the path, long strides fueled by indignation.

  The dower house was the original home of his forbears—and thus several centuries old—until one particularly affluent ancestor had erected the manor house. As he understood it, that was the last of his relations to actually have an abundance of wealth, each generation growing successively poorer until the Tremonts had found themselves near penury.

  He supposed that situation was rectified now. He winced at the thought.