Amberley Chronicles Boxset I: The Impostor Debutante My Last Marchioness the Sister Quest (Amberley Chronicles Boxsets Book 1)

by May Burnett

  “I just hope this doesn’t end in disaster, Bel.”

  Chapter 4

  James Ellsworthy had been summoned by his mother, and reluctantly complied. No matter how his cronies might admire him and puff up his self-esteem, his mother could still make him feel a callow youth with a single cutting remark. He loved her, of course, as any dutiful son would, but he was not eager to spend any more time in her presence than strictly necessary.

  To his relief, this time Lady Amberley refrained from criticism for his refusal to buy a commission in the Guards, or his deplorable close friendship with a cit. It appeared she wanted something from him, for a change.

  “My cousin Belinda? You want me to squire around a relative that I have never heard of? Who is she, anyway?”

  “Her mother was my younger sister Amelia. We never were close.” Lady Amberley sniffed, apparently still not in charity with her late sibling. “Amelia married unfortunately, and died some seven or eight years ago. Her husband, Sir Rudolph Yardley, carried her off to some god-forsaken manor in Yorkshire right after the wedding. After her marriage I only saw her twice more, when she came up to London. I am the girl’s godmother,” she reluctantly explained.

  “So why have we never met this cousin?”

  “As long as her father was alive, I preferred to keep my distance. He was one of the Prince Regent’s gambling cronies, a dangerous man to cross.”

  “But now he’s dead, and my cousin is an orphan? Would she not need to remain in seclusion for the mourning period?”

  “It has been longer than a year already. She must be pushing twenty-one, because I remember that you were two or three years old when Amelia wrote to ask me to be her godmother.”

  “A grown woman, in fact,” James concluded. “You really haven’t set eyes on her in all this time?”

  “Somehow it never came about,” Lady Amberley airily replied. “I did write to her on occasion.”

  “Did you invite her to George’s wedding, at least?”

  “I don’t remember.” James knew that meant no, but his mother was unlikely to admit it.

  “So, what do we know about her, then? Is she good-looking, educated, or some rustic milk-maid?”

  “It hardly signifies, as she is arriving here in any day now, and we can form our own conclusions. Whatever your cousin is like, you, James, will steer her around and protect her while I find some suitable groom for her.”

  James shrugged. “If I do anything for her, it will only be out of pity with an orphaned relative you have shamefully neglected.” He was pleased to see his mother on the defensive for once. “Your own god-daughter, too! Does George know about her?”

  “I don’t think the subject has ever come up.”

  “Well, I must admit I am curious. I will come here and meet her, but that is all I can promise for now.”

  “If she should be pretty – my sister was quite attractive, after all – mind you don’t fall in love with her yourself,” Lady Amberley warned. “She ought to be fairly well-off, unless Yardley managed to lose his fortune at cards before he broke his neck in Paris, but I have never held with marriages among first cousins.”

  “I can relieve your mind – there is no thought of marriage in my head at present. And I doubt that a rustic Yorkshire cousin will bowl me over.”

  Lady Amberley had to agree that this was unlikely. “So much the better, then. If she is too rustic, though, nobody else will come up to snuff either. We must do our best to turn her out as presentable. Come around on Thursday afternoon, you can meet Belinda and judge for yourself.”

  “The name is pretty enough,” James mused.

  “Yes, my sister liked Pope’s Rape of the Lock. I have always thought it a piece of nonsense myself.”

  As James took his leave, he felt a twinge of pity for his unsuspecting cousin from Yorkshire. To be managed and dressed and married off by his mother was not a fate to be envied – though as far as managing, and possibly even marrying off went, was he in any better case?

  No, he thought resolutely, Lady Amberley would not be allowed to direct his life, if he had anything to say about it. He might do her a favour now and then, but that was all.

  In the meantime, he had an appointment for a late lunch with his friend Jonathan Durwent, to discuss business, and after that he would do some boxing at Jackson’s saloon. There were always plenty of occupations for young men in town, even without unexpected cousins dropping in from the provinces.

  What could be the reason for his mother’s obvious dislike of her sister? His own aunt, James reflected, an aunt who had lived and died before he had ever heard of her existence. Strange, that.

  Chapter 5

  Charlotte’s arrival in Mount Street, where the Amberley town house was located, took place two days later just after nightfall.

  It had been a harrowing journey. The carriage had broken its rear axle in a ditch less than halfway on its journey, and Charlotte had been delayed for a day and a half in a noisy inn while repairs were completed by an overworked wheelwright. The maid she had taken along, for propriety, proved to snore loudly. Charlotte hardly got any rest, and had spent many hours on lumpy beds repenting her rash enterprise before it had truly begun.

  Once in London, there was another detour as the maid had to be settled at a coaching inn, from whence she would return to Yorkshire at dawn the next morning. Charlotte did not want to take her to Mount Street, even for a night, to forestall any slip of the woman’s tongue. Buying the maid’s return ticket proved time-consuming and rather more costly than Charlotte had expected.

  By the time she arrived in Mount Street, Charlotte was very tired and hungry, and suspected that there might be bruises on an unmentionable part of her body from the days of jolting over potholes and cobblestones.

  The immensity and noise of the city were confusing, but she would be ready enough to face it after a good night’s sleep. Before she could rest, however, she would need all her wits for the crucial first meeting with Lady Amberley.

  “Aunt Millicent.” Charlotte murmured experimentally, not for the first time since her departure. She was not sure she would be able to call a woman she already disliked before their first meeting aunt. “Godmother.” Considering that Lady Amberley was not even aware of her goddaughter’s progressive blindness, she hardly seemed to deserve the title.

  A superior-looking butler ushered Charlotte into the imposing entrance hall, and from thence into a small salon, decorated in pale blue silk wallpaper and sparse pieces of walnut furniture. She looked around critically. The décor might be tasteful, but the overall effect was cold. This room likely served to keep visitors of little consequence waiting.

  Before she could indulge in further ruminations, the butler returned to lead her to a much more comfortable and larger room on the first floor. A middle-aged, elegant lady was sitting on a purple silk settee as though holding court. Charlotte noted artfully arranged chestnut ringlets peeping out under a wispy lace cap, hard brown eyes that seemed to weigh her up, a maroon silk dress that surely cost a fortune, and four large rings on the slender hands of her hostess.

  “Belinda! So you have arrived at last!” Lady Amberley languidly said. She did not rise, but indicated that her niece should kiss her cheeks. Charlotte affected to do so, not quite touching the powdered skin.

  “Thank you for the invitation, Aunt Millicent. I look forward to knowing your family and seeing something of the capital during my stay.”

  “At least you don’t have a rustic accent,” Lady Amberley grudgingly replied. “That is one worry less. And you look better than I expected, though not at all like poor Amelia.”

  “I am generally held to take after my father, Ma’am.”

  “Yes, you do have the look of him. That very blond, wavy hair was his best feature. Blond is not in fashion just now, but it is still better than mousy brown or red.”

  Seeing her tall niece still hovering above her, she impatiently gestured her towards a chair.

 
“Just how old are you now?”

  “Twenty-one and six months.”

  “Oh dear, that is dangerously close to the shelf! We really must do something about that. I daresay you never got to meet anyone eligible up there in Yorkshire.”

  “Not many people you would consider so, certainly.”

  Lady Amberley frowned. “Don’t be pert with me, girl. Debutantes are supposed to be modest and have no opinions of their own, and they never, ever contradict their elders.”

  Charlotte’s spine stiffened. She had faced down enough bullies in her life to know that giving in the first time could be fatal. “Then it may be difficult for me to play such an unaccustomed role, Ma’am. I have been sole mistress of an estate for the last several years, and am not used to mimic girlish ignorance and exaggerated deference. In any case, I have always felt that respect should be earned.” Her voice was steady, her look challenging.

  Brown eyes stared into blue, each taking the other’s measure. Lady Amberley was at a loss for words for once.

  “In any case,” Charlotte went on, “please do not think of me as a debutante. The time for that has come and gone. My purpose in accepting your kind invitation was not to find a husband, but to look into the inheritance from my late father, whose lawyer has been ignoring all my correspondence. I would be grateful for any assistance in settling my affairs. As soon as these legal problems are resolved, I will take myself back to Yorkshire for good.”

  “I don’t know anything about that sort of thing,” Lady Amberley said peevishly. “When my son Amberley returns, I am sure he will be willing to assist you, don’t bother me with the details in the meantime.”

  Clearly feeling that she had not yet properly got her own back, she went on, “And while you are staying here with me, you will dress and behave as I say, and it seems very likely that you will find an eligible suitor - if you can restrain your tendency to impertinence.”

  “Well, anything is possible,” Charlotte conceded. “When is your son Amberley expected back?”

  “Oh, not until the end of August, or even the middle of September.”

  Too long, Charlotte thought. I must find someone else.

  Chapter 6

  The next morning, Charlotte’s first meeting with Lady Minerva, in the nursery, went a great deal better. They had a long discussion about books, Yorkshire, horses, and the most important sights in London. Minerva enjoyed the sensation of being more knowledgeable on the latter subject than her older and self-assured cousin. They agreed to meet again as regularly as their respective schedules allowed.

  “Soon you’ll be so busy that your head is whirling,” Minerva told Charlotte as they parted.

  Her prediction came true almost immediately. After an exhausting expedition to Lady Amberley’s favourite dressmaker and hat shop, where an alarmingly large and costly wardrobe had been commissioned for the supposed Miss Belinda Yardley, Charlotte was enjoined to be present in the boudoir in time for tea, and a meeting with her cousin James.

  She was by no means reluctant, as the activities of the morning had given her a hearty appetite, and there had been no time for any luncheon. Dinner in town was scheduled much later than she was accustomed, and Charlotte looked forward hopefully to cake and sandwiches to tide her over.

  Nor were her expectations disappointed. She was just chewing a lemon meringue cake with a little more eagerness than proper for a fashionable young lady, when the butler announced, “The Honourable James Ellsworthy.”

  How formal, Charlotte thought, to announce her son to his own mother! She swallowed the last piece of the cake, and looked up to find a young man’s ironic gaze upon her.

  James Ellsworthy was the most striking young man she had seen in a long time, but in her experience very good looks in men usually meant overweening conceit. She met his grey eyes in silent challenge, and slightly raised her chin. That this son of the house was much more elegant and better bred than she, was no reason to let him intimidate her.

  “Don’t just stand there, James, come in and meet your cousin,” Lady Amberley commanded.

  James came closer and dutifully greeted both his mother and the new cousin, to whom he was formally presented. He bowed over her hand.

  It was no hardship – this new cousin was a lovely young lady, every inch the high-bred aristocrat. Moreover, her obvious intelligence and character indicated that his pity might have been misplaced. Belinda was no helpless rustic girl, but a handsome woman in full command of herself and the situation. She might even, God help her, be a match for his mother. James felt like grinning, but was too well trained to let his feelings show.

  It was too early to tell if he would like her as a person, but Belinda was certainly easy on the eyes. Gold-blond, wavy hair, deep blue eyes and regular features added up to a very attractive whole, not to mention the elegantly curved silhouette and slightly husky voice. James’ neck-tie suddenly seemed a little tight, and had the room always been so warm?

  She’s my cousin! James reminded himself. Belinda was a well-born virgin, off-limits to all but her eventual husband, until she had borne the usual heir and spare. That was the rule of their world.

  “Welcome to London, Cousin Belinda,” he said, using his most effective smile and watching carefully for a reaction. She only blinked briefly, then smiled back, not visibly impressed.

  “I am looking forward to seeing some of the famous sights while I am here, Cousin James,” their young guest said demurely. “So far I have merely seen a number of shops, as it seems I am not yet elegant enough to go anywhere else.”

  “If you need an escort to see something of the town, I am at your service,” James heard himself say.

  “That is most kind of you.” Her smile widened almost imperceptibly.

  “Nonsense, only the bourgeoisie is interested in sight-seeing,” Lady Amberley objected. “We will need you for balls and walks in the park, James, not squiring Belinda around crowded places where no fashionable people ever show their faces.”

  “I must have deplorably low-class taste, then,” her young guest said, “as I feel a distinct desire to see St. Paul’s Cathedral, the Tower, and even Parliament.”

  “Well, you are new to the city, after all,” James said in a deliberately patronizing manner. “We will soon have you cured of these strange urges.”

  He was rewarded by a flash of blue eyes; her firm chin rose a fraction further. He could have watched her all day.

  “It will take some time for your new clothes to be delivered, I imagine?” James asked. “If you are agreeable, in the interval – tomorrow, if you like – I could escort you to see St. Paul’s. Can you be ready at one o’clock?”

  She did not appear overly gratified. “Are you sure your consequence can stand squiring me around in my frumpy Yorkshire fashions?”

  “I doubt we will meet many of my acquaintances there, but even if we do, I can face the prospect with equanimity.”

  “Then I gratefully accept your invitation.”

  She looked questioningly at Lady Amberley, who seemed of two minds about the proposed outing, but finally said, “I suppose it is as well if you get to know each other. You will be spending a good deal of time together in the next few weeks.”

  “It will be my pleasure,” James said gallantly.

  The new cousin looked at him quizzically, but said nothing in return. What was she thinking and even more importantly, feeling? James would have given a great deal to know. Just his luck, that his infallible touch with females completely deserted him for once, and he had not made any particular impression. Well, there would be time and occasion enough to work on that.

  Why did that suddenly seem so important? It was not as though he had any serious intentions towards Belinda, anyway. James was not an introspective young man, and finding no clear answer to that question, did his best to put the whole issue out of his mind, as he took his leave under his mother’s – for once – approving eyes.

  Chapter 7

  As he drew
up before the Mount Street residence the next afternoon, James told himself that surely his cousin was not as remarkable as he had at first thought. The afternoon’s outing would prove her to be a mortal with flaws, like everybody else, and he could stop thinking about her so much. For an experienced man-about-town, mooning after a girl - no matter how attractive - was simply not done.

  To her credit, she did not keep him or his nervous greys waiting. The light blue dress and matching pelisse she wore were perfectly suitable, if not cut quite as well as London fashions.

  After a short greeting, she easily climbed into the high-perched vehicle without betraying the slightest alarm at the distance from the ground. Not every lady could do so, James had reason to know.

  “These horses look able to take us all the way to Oxford, at least,” she remarked as they set off. “Is it not a waste to use them here in the city traffic?”

  “Well, it would be even more of a waste to just let them stand around in the stables,” he pointed out. ”They only get to travel further afield when I do so myself.”

  “And is that often?”

  “It depends on the season. When summer arrives, about the end of June, I go to Amberley Park, or visit friends, and sometimes I stay at my own estate in Devon. I haven’t made fixed plans yet for this year. Because of George’s wedding, everything else could wait…. But I daresay we will all soon remove to Amberley for a few weeks at least.”