She dared not think of the evening, when she might have the choice of her own cozily furnished chamber or his. She must not be so shallow as to think of such carnal matters! But Stephen made it very hard, when he was so damnably handsome and persisted in wearing unmentionables that seemed to emphasize every muscle of his lean body.
But no! It was his smile, so heart-stopping, and the sudden blaze in those hypnotic eyes of his.... She would not think of it, she must not! All her resolve seemed to melt to custard, which was very foolish of her. But it was not just those intimate nights she was thinking of . . . indeed, it was not.
She wished even more for the pleasures of the day, for laughter shared and humor understood in sudden flashes of quizzical glances across the heads of other more sober individuals. She wanted to ride with Stephen, and read with him, she wanted to be part of his life, involved in his decisions. She wanted to be able to tease him, to not feel shy or anxious . . . to have his baby with joy and pride.... Oh, she was asking for the moon! She pulled her horse up short.
“’Rilla!” It was the children. Their high voices could be heard a mile away, and she smiled at their unconscious nickname for her. She slid off her mount and handed the reigns to her groom.
“Where are you?” She put her hands to her mouth to call. It was unladylike, but she felt unladylike with her disheveled hair and the wind at her back
“Up in the gardens by the gazebo. Come help us! There is a cat stuck up a tree!”
Amaryllis smiled as she covered the distance quickly. Doubtless the poor creature had run up there to escape Clem’s fond attentions. In this she was more right than she knew, for Clem had taken the notion into her head that the cat was cold and was doing her level best to dress it in a jacket from the charades box.
“It won’t come down.”
“Nor would I, if I were forced to wear that hideous garment!”
The girls laughed.
“Can you get her?”
“She will come down if we leave her.”
“What if she can’t? What if she is frightened? She is only a snip of a thing, you know. “
“Oh, very well, give me a leg up, will you, and don’t—I repeat—don’t—tell your governess I have been teaching you such tricks!” The girls laughed.
Amaryllis was faster up the tree than her gentle upbringing ought to have allowed. Very soon, she was cradling the kitten, who gave her a very satisfactory purr before snuggling into the side of her face. The only snag was that looking down, Amaryllis suddenly felt dizzy.
This sensation was compounded by the fact that she now had one hand, not two, at her disposal. The kitten could not be expected to cling on unaided. She could place it in her pocket, but she was not sure it would stay there while she was looking for suitable footholds.
Amaryllis remained calm, for there were worse things, after all, than being stuck up a pear tree with a kitten nibbling at one’s ear. If she remained perfectly still, there was no danger of falling. She refused to be beaten by a wave of silly dizziness.
“Girls, I’m afraid you are going to be shocked,” she called without looking down.
“What is it? Is it safe? Is it shivering? Is it . . . is it sick?”
“None of those things. The problem, I am afraid, lies entirely with me. Would you think me very shimble-shambled if I tell you I am stuck?”
“You are stuck?”
The girls, some way below, did not look worried at all. If Amaryllis did not know better, she would have thought they looked gleeful. On second thought, they were gleeful. Cheeky little devils! But they had a point. It was not often one could boast of a live grown-up ignominiously stuck up a pear tree. Worse, one that was swathed in skirts and billowing petticoats that seemed to tangle into every wretched twig.
“I am afraid so!” Amaryllis was almost cheerful, for the kitten was sweeter than she expected, and softer. It felt good—immensely good—to have something to feel tender about, no matter how absurd one’s current condition. For a letting moment she thought of motherhood then smiled mistily.
“Call Rivers. Ask him to bring a ladder.”
“Yes, but the kitten . . .”
“See, she is safe. If I had a ladder I could tuck her in my pocket and make a smooth descent. As it is, I cannot! What is she called?”
“She hasn’t got a name! We were just deciding.”
“How about we call her . . .” Amaryllis blushed. Fortunately, the children could not see her face, for it was obscured by branches.
“Well, how about we call her Stephanie, after your uncle?”
The children agreed doubtfully, unaware that their uncle himself was now interestedly watching the spectacle. He had been thinking of Amaryllis all day, and had responded immediately when he heard his nieces call
As interested as the children, he’d watched as a tiny scrap of a thing was held aloft for inspection. It was, he thought, with a sudden lifting of his spirits, a singularly unworthy specimen for his namesake. It mewed.
“May we keep it?”
“I daresay you might, if I ever manage to climb down this tree. It is a shocking thing, is it not, that I have forgotten how to do so? My spirits are quite overset! Now do me a favor, Vicky, fetch Rivers before we both fall out.”
But neither Victoria nor Clementine ever got to fetch Rivers. Instead, they turned about and squealed with delight at the sight of their uncle, who was not nearly so stuffy as he liked everyone to think.
Amaryllis, her heart beating wildly—as it always did when she caught sight of her husband, a most annoying trait, she did pray it would pass—gasped a little in surprise.
The kitten wriggled. Amaryllis, caught off guard, threw her weight forward to catch it. She lost her grip on the topmost branch and the one just beneath it cracked from the sudden weight. Or something like that—Amaryllis could never perfectly remember the exact order of the proceedings.
Suffice it to say she did not land on the hard, root-riddled land as she had feared. Instead, she found herself being caught, gallantly, by the very person she’d been trying her level best to rid from her mind.
Never, never, had she wanted to be kissed more. She turned her face away so that Stephen would not understand the yearning in her eyes and be embarrassed by her stupid longing.
His lordship, suddenly suffering no such qualms, turned it right back. What he read in those eyes removed all the last vestiges of his waning doubts. She loved him, of a certainty she did. There was no longer any question about what he felt either, or whether it was right or appropriate or proper. It was the most perfect thing in the world, and he would be damned if he would fight against it another minute of his life!
He teased her with the softest of feather-light kisses. Just one, as naturally he had to endure the hoots and shouts and good-natured teasing of his nieces. He set Amaryllis down and frowned upon the truant duo. He ruined his effect, however, for the kitten found her courage and sprung down, to land helter-skelter upon his head.
His smart town beaver was almost entirely squashed, but since his arms now crept about Amaryllis’s waist, he did not appear to mind. It must have been her christening the cat Stephanie that had removed his last doubts. Or perhaps it had been a day spent in contemplation, regret, remorse, musing, remembering.... Whatever it was, the nagging doubts seemed to have evaporated like dew on a spring morning.
The children, sensing something intriguing and exciting afoot, were inclined to stay, but they were sent packing by Stephen himself in the lordliest of terms.
“And take this . . . this creature with you. I cannot think Stephanie a good name for it. It is far too scrawny. Ask Nurse Rowlings to fatten her up, will you? And don’t come back till after tea. The countess and I have some . . . well, we have some talking to do.”
At which, when they were safely out of harm’s way, the naughty young scamps resumed their improper giggles....
The earl and his lady were reconciled, at last, to their marriage. Under that fateful pear
tree they discovered that it was no longer a matter of convenience, or pity or kindness.
Amaryllis, conscious, from the start, of the latter two, was at pains to discover what it was that had changed Stephen’s outlook.
He was silent for a moment, unable to say anything, except that love had crept up on him, that Amaryllis’s freshness was a welcome change from the cloying affectations he had become accustomed to.
Studied beauty compared poorly with her speaking eyes and the joy that emanated from her heart rather than from the painted red lips he was more familiar with. Her question was difficult to answer, but he gave it the thought that was its due. Plainly—for he resolved always to be plain with her—he told her that he had come to celebrate the very qualities he once pitied her for.
“Generosity and openness of spirit, kindness, calmness . . . subtle beauty over overt sensuality . . . But I am a fool! Your subtle beauty is inspiring me with prodigious lust! Come, spare your blushes, young lady! You are a siren, Amaryllis, and you shall suffer the forfeit!”
Amaryllis did not seem to mind in the least. A few teasing kisses and Stephen was convinced that an heir for Devonport was now a priority of the highest order.
He said as much, whispering that he did not know how he might possibly tolerate another year without the promised delights of fatherhood.
“I promised no such thing!”
“Indeed you did when you consented to marry me! I told you specifically that I needed an heir.”
“Yes, but you said not necessarily immediately.”
“I’ve changed my mind. I want one at once.”
“What if we have a girl?”
“I would be delighted. Now do stop talking and let me begin the business forthwith.”
But for once, Amaryllis was firm. She set Stephen aside and asked, with a rather more serious note to her tone, “Do you really want to be a father?”
“Indeed I do! That is why I went to all the trouble of marrying you, after all.”
Amaryllis smiled. “Too bad I had to be part of the bargain.”
“Nonsense! I couldn’t imagine a nicer way to become a parent. Amaryllis, loving you has been my first and most vital lesson in fatherhood. I was selfish and arrogant before, not good qualities, I am afraid, in a father. I hope to do better with our son—or, yes, with our daughter! Now do stop talking and allow me to kiss you or we shall never have this paragon . . .”
Amaryllis shyly informed him there was no such need. She was with child, but he was neither to fuss nor to forbid her to climb trees.
His lordship stared. Then a slow, unequivocal smile of delight crossed his features so that Amaryllis was left in no doubt whatsoever about his feelings.
“Minx! When did you know?”
“The knowledge has just crept up on me and I saw Dr. Adams yesterday morning.”
“And you had to entertain that . . . that . . . creature today! Oh, Amaryllis, I am so sorry!”
Amaryllis smiled through sudden tears. “No need, Stephen, you have made me happier than you will ever know.”
“Have I? Then I shall have to rectify that at once. I forbid you to climb trees!”
“I will not be cosseted!”
His lordship, arguing the point, kissed her nose.
Then, of course, he progressed to her belly, for he could not exclude his heir in such amiable matters. Then, feeling that the pear tree, though a delightful refuge, was not quite so cozy as his bed, he took Amaryllis up in his arms and strode with her into the house.
Two housemaids and a gardener giggled, but the earl did not care in the least. Neither did Amaryllis, for she was shedding her shyness with each increasing second.
By the time his lordship had kicked his door closed—a shocking way of treating such costly wood—he was more than reconciled to the astonishing notions of becoming a father and loving his wife.
Amaryllis, content with his next masterful series of actions, was similarly reconciled, though the heir to Devonport was not. Snug in his womb, Amaryllis could have sworn he kicked in indignation. The countess smiled and blithely ignored his protests. For once, she had other matters upon her mind....
eKENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2004 Hayley Ann Solomon
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
eKENSINGTON is a trademark of the Kensington Publishing Corp.
KENSINGTON and the k logo are Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-1-6018-3054-8
First electronic edition: November 2012
An Imperfect Proposal Page 7