The Daring Debutantes Series Boxed Set

by Jerrica Knight-Catania

  “I could stand. I even walked myself home from the village.”

  “Yes,” Amelia said, crossing her arms over her chest, “but then you fell flat on your face at my feet upon your arrival.” If she were tapping her foot rapidly in annoyance, she’d bear a striking resemblance to his childhood governess.

  Tom threw the iciest glare he could conjure in the direction of Miss St. George. “I believe I asked you to leave several minutes ago.”

  “Oh, don’t be rude, Thomas!” Victoria exclaimed, and then she patted the open space next to her on the sofa. “Come, sit by me and explain how you came to be here. And please do excuse my brother’s manners. He seems to have left them behind in Jamaica.”

  “Perhaps I should go fetch them then,” he replied, though no one was really listening to him.

  Miss St. George told the story of how she’d been attacked by Thomas in Covent Garden that fateful night, and ended up in their carriage—the one that brought them to Welwyn. She didn’t go into detail about her night in the stable or their many arguments—or the kiss, thank God—just that Tom had been kind enough to let her stay and even offered to drive her back to London.

  Victoria scooted forward on the settee, far too engaged in this story for Tom’s liking. “But how did you come to be in London in the first place?”

  And it was then that Miss St. George’s lips clamped together and her cheeks turned to a flaming pink.

  “Go ahead,” Tom urged her, curious to see if the imp had what it took to be on the stage. “Tell her that you ran away. Tell her your plans for becoming the toast of London theatre.”

  It was Miss St. George’s turn to glare spitefully at Tom.

  “You ran away?” Victoria repeated, her tone breathless and excited. She lived for this nonsense. “You seem to have a knack for involving yourself with runaways, don’t you, Thomas?”

  “Yes, thank you for pointing that out, sister.”

  “Well, when you’re ready to share the details, you may. But for now, you shall come back to London with us.”

  Miss St. George immediately began to protest, waving her hands frantically in front of her. “Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly.”

  “Nonsense.” Victoria grabbed the flailing hands and held them in her own. “I won’t take no for an answer. We have plenty of room, and I can introduce you into all the respectable circles.”

  “Ah, but there’s the rub,” Tom interjected rather cheerily. Could he help it if he liked to see his sister’s best-laid plans thwarted? “She doesn’t want to run in respectable circles. She wants to star at Drury Lane. We all know she can’t have both.”

  Victoria would not be deterred. “Go and collect your things, my dear,” she instructed. “We’ll leave this afternoon. Carlisle, please tell Fanny we’ll be four for luncheon.”

  Carlisle bowed and left the room. Tom rolled his eyes at his sister’s inclination to take over everything. And Miss St. George just sat there with her mouth agape, clearly unsure of what to say. She turned to Tom, who simply shrugged. He’d never been able to override his sister. Ever.

  After a moment, Victoria said, “I do hate to be rude, but we do have important family matters to discuss, Miss St. George.”

  Miss St. George finally found her tongue. “Yes, of course,” was all she managed before she left the room looking slightly bewildered. Who could blame her? Victoria had a way of doing that to people.

  Silence fell over the parlor upon Miss St. George’s exit. No one made a sound, save Lily, who cooed in her mother’s arms. It was, of course, Victoria who finally broke the silence.

  “You’ll need to come back to London, of course,” she said.

  “Of course.”

  “The funeral will be Friday morning.”

  “I suppose we have to go?”

  “Of course we do,” Victoria replied. “You had a much better relationship with him than I did, anyway.”

  “That’s not saying much.” Tom folded his arms over his chest. “How?”

  “How what?”

  “How did he die?”

  “His heart gave out, apparently.”

  “Huh,” Tom grunted. “I would have thought he’d died of a pickled liver.”

  “Yes, well, there are many ways a glutton like Father might have seen the end. You might take heed, Thomas.” Victoria stood abruptly and put the baby on her hip. “Enough of this morbid talk. We must look to the future. Hopefully that future will involve you taking a healthier path than Father did. I daresay you’re not off to a good start.”

  Tom normally would have rolled his eyes at his sister, dismissed her words and then poured himself a glass of brandy. Victoria had a point, though, damn her. He wasn’t off to a good start, and he’d meet a quicker end than Father did if he didn’t change his ways. Besides, things were different now. Strange how that could happen so quickly. In the blink of an eye, his entire world had shifted.

  Ten

  When Amelia went downstairs for luncheon, she was quite resolved to tell Mr. Barclay’s sister, “Thank you, but no, thank you.” There were several reasons she couldn’t accept the offer, much as she wanted to. For one, someone might recognize her—someone she’d gone to school with, perhaps—and word might get around to Father. It was best she continue to stay anonymous until she was established in a profession, earning her own wages, and taking care of herself. It was a tall order for a woman, but the only other option was marriage, and since she couldn’t enter the marriage mart at this time, well…there was no other way.

  The other reason she couldn’t accept the offer was simply out of not wanting to be an imposition. The countess had a new baby, and most likely a very full life of her own. Amelia refused to be a burden.

  So, with her resolve set, she walked confidently into the dining room and took her place at the open seat beside Lady Leyburn.

  “My lady—”

  “I do hope—”

  They both laughed as they stepped over one another’s words.

  “I’m sorry,” Amelia said. “You go first.”

  Lady Leyburn smiled. “Well, I was only going to say that I do hope you’re excited about coming home with us. I’ve already got great plans for you, starting with a delightful garden party on Sunday afternoon.”

  Great plans? They’d only known each other a couple of hours. “I appreciate your efforts, my lady,” Amelia said, her resolve slipping slightly. She did love a good garden party. “But I’m afraid I must decline your offer.”

  Both Mr. Barclay and Lord Leyburn grumbled under their breath.

  “I know you don’t want to impose, Miss St. George, but I promise you it would be no imposition. And as I explained before, I won’t take no for an answer.”

  The countess went back to her plate, her expression as pleasant as if nothing had happened.

  “But you must,” Amelia said after a moment.

  Lady Leyburn turned to her. “Must what, dear?”

  “You must accept no for an answer. I cannot go with you.”

  “But you can’t stay here. I’m happy to look over this indiscretion, in light of the circumstances, but allowing you to stay any longer would become downright scandalous. I’m trying to save your good name, Miss St. George.”

  Amelia closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Lady Leyburn was quite persistent, wasn’t she? There was no use arguing the fact that she didn’t have much of a name to protect, so she took another tact.

  “You may see me to London and drop me at Drury Lane. I will seek employment—”

  “And what about shelter?”

  “Oh, you needn’t worry about that,” Mr. Barclay piped up. “She’s quite resourceful at finding places to sleep.”

  Amelia shot him a scathing glare. “Yes, it’s true,” she finally said. “I will be fine, my lady.”

  “Thomas, are you going to allow this?” the countess asked of her brother, clearly frustrated that things were not going her way, if her rapidly-tapping fingers on the table were any indi
cation.

  “Allow it?” Mr. Barclay burst into laughter. “You should know better than anyone that I have no control over the women who come into my life.”

  Lady Leyburn pursed her lips. “Fine,” she said, turning to Amelia. “But you must allow me to at least give you some money.”

  “I don’t know if I’ll have anyway to pay you back, my lady.”

  The countess gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “You will consider it a gift. And this time, I truly will not take no for an answer.”

  An hour later, Fanny came to Amelia’s room to ask if she needed help with her things. There weren’t many possessions to help with, so Amelia sent Fanny on her way to let the others know she’d be down shortly.

  Only a moment after she’d left, a light knock sounded on the open door.

  “What is it, Fan— Oh!” Amelia stopped short, surprised to find her host standing in the doorway. “Mr. Barclay. I thought you were Fanny.”

  “I’ve always thought we resembled one another,” he replied, a wry grin coming to his lips.

  Amelia smiled at his attempt at humor. “Put a maid’s dress on and we won’t be able to tell you apart.”

  Mr. Barclay replied with a small chuckle, and then turned serious. “Are you going to be all right?”

  “Of course I am,” Amelia said, trying to sound sure of herself, but not feeling sure at all.

  “I suppose you haven’t heard the news?”

  “The news?”

  “My father passed away yesterday.” His tone was oddly without emotion when he said this.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, but none of you seems very sad. I never would have known.”

  “Yes, well, we weren’t terribly fond of the old man. Not the nicest person you’d ever meet.”

  You haven’t met my father yet. “Something we have in common.”

  Mr. Barclay’s eyebrows rose. “Oh?”

  “I’ve always thought some people ought to be prohibited from procreating.”

  As soon as the word was out of her mouth, Amelia felt the heat rush to her cheeks. Yet she couldn’t stop herself from glancing toward the bed. Or thinking of that kiss Mr. Barclay had given her the other night.

  She shook her head and changed the direction of her thoughts as quickly as possible. “What should I call you now?”

  “Would Tom be too intimate?”

  Good heavens. Was he being serious? And why was he staring at her like that? His green eyes were almost gray now, as if they’d turned to smoldering embers. Though the feeling in Amelia’s belly was closer to that of a roaring fire.

  She cleared her throat and looked away, trying to escape the trance he’d put her in. “Yes, I’m afraid so. Far too intimate.”

  Tom—Mr. Barclay—whatever his name was—sighed and said, “Well, then I suppose you can simply refer to me as Lord Grantham.”

  “Very well, Lord Grantham.”

  Silence fell between them. Amelia had incredibly mixed emotions at this departure. Part of her couldn’t wait to get out of there, start her new life in London, and never see this reprobate again. Yet…what could have been had she stayed around a bit longer? Would they have found common ground and perhaps even become friends?

  Would he kiss me again?

  “Well, I suppose this is goodbye.”

  Lord Grantham nodded, but he didn’t take his gaze off her. “I suppose it is.”

  “Best of luck with your new position,” she said, intentionally prolonging their goodbye. It was silly, really. Just yesterday, she couldn’t wait to get away from him. Why today, after he’d proved himself a hopeless drunk, did she suddenly feel so drawn to him? Why all of a sudden did she want to be closer to him?

  “I want you to know that I considered your request for a recommendation.”

  “Oh?” Amelia had forgotten all about that. Well, not entirely, but she’d assumed, after his cool response, that he was going to ignore the request.

  “It’s complicated, especially now, with the new title and all. I don’t think…that is to say my sister would have my head if I were to go cavorting with the woman who might be able to help.”

  “I see,” said Amelia. “An old paramour?”

  “You could say that,” the viscount replied with a dry chuckle, seeming slightly sheepish for the first time. Were his cheeks pink? “None the less, I wish you the best.”

  “Well, thank you. But I shall be fine. You needn’t worry about me, my lord.” Her voice didn’t sound convincing even to herself. She wasn’t at all sure she’d be fine, and a part of her thought that perhaps she was making a mistake by going back to London. Sure, she had a dream that she wished to fulfill, but then why had she ended up here? Was there a greater purpose for her that involved this man? And if not, why did she have a large pit in her stomach as she stood here saying goodbye to him?

  After a long moment, Lord Grantham stepped aside and gestured to the corridor. Neither of them said another word as they made their way to the drive where Lord and Lady Leyburn awaited them with the coach.

  Amelia boarded the carriage while Tom said goodbye to his relations. Minutes later they departed for London, and though she’d never been the praying kind, Amelia prayed fervently that she’d see Tom again soon.

  ~*~

  Well, damn. Tom hadn’t expected this. None of it. Becoming viscount so suddenly. Or feeling something more than frustration for the little chit who had stowed away in his carriage.

  Amazingly, the latter was even more shocking than the former. How had she done it? How in the world had she needled her way into—well, not his heart—but certainly she’d done some needling, otherwise he wouldn’t feel the way he felt right now.

  What was that feeling, anyway? Emptiness? Sadness? Loneliness?

  Normally he’d cure such feelings by losing himself in a bottle of something potent, but that wasn’t an option for two very good reasons. First of all, he was still sick from last night, and the mere thought of more booze turned his stomach, and secondly, everything was different now. He couldn’t run around like an irresponsible bachelor, much as he wanted too, now that Father was dead. Damn him. I’m not ready for this! Looking after their lands, taking his seat in the House of Lords—all he wanted was to return to Jamaica and bask in the hot sun.

  His thoughts wandered again to Miss St. George. At least Victoria would give her some money to get her by, but then what would she do? Without a job, funds would run out quickly. And what if she couldn’t find a job? What if she was turned away again? It wasn’t as if she had gained any qualifications for working in theater over the last couple of days. She was the same little imp, trying to run from home, or whatever it was she wished to get away from, with nothing and no one to recommend her.

  What had she said? They had something in common. Their fathers? Tom scratched his head, trying to puzzle everything out. If she had run away from her father, wouldn’t he be looking for her? And wouldn’t he be in an even worse temper now? Of course, this assumed Tom pieced the puzzle together in the proper way. Who knew what the girl’s story was. She’d done a good enough job of keeping her secrets, even her real name.

  Damn it all to Hell! It wasn’t good enough. Victoria merely handing her a wad of bills wouldn’t ease his mind, no matter what vitriol he’d spewed at the obstinate chit in the previous days. The fact of the matter was that ever since she’d left earlier that afternoon, he’d been unable to think of anything else.

  “Carlisle!” he called, reigniting his beer-induced headache.

  Carlisle appeared in the doorway of the parlor a moment later. “My lord?”

  Tom sighed and shook his head. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but…pack my things and ready the horses. I’m leaving for London as soon as possible.”

  Eleven

  “It was so kind of your cousin to put us up, Ms. Denby,” Meg said to her headmistress as they settled into their assigned chamber at the Viscount Hastings’ London townhome. It was a well-appointed room, with two smal
l beds, separated by a fine, cherry wood nightstand. “I hope you don’t mind having to share a room with me. Amelia says I snore quite loudly.”

  “Lucky for you,” Ms. Denby replied as she hung her dresses in the armoire, “I’m a very sound sleeper. We shall do fine together, Meg.”

  “When will we start searching for Amelia? I’m awfully worried for her.”

  The headmistresses stopped in front of her valise and took a deep breath. “As am I. But we will find her, Meg. I just pray it’s before her father finds her.”

  A knock sounded on the door and a maid entered at their command. She gave a little curtsy. “I’m Katie. I’ll be seeing to your room and anything you need while you’re here.”

  “Wonderful,” said Ms. Denby.

  “Will you be needing anything just now, ma’am?”

  “I don’t think so, Katie, but we’ll be sure to call as soon as we do.”

  Katie bowed her head, and said, “Her ladyship would like to invite you to tea at three o’clock.”

  “Tell her we will most certainly be there.”

  With a final curtsy, Katie ducked out of the room.

  “You know,” Ms. Denby said, “I’m a bit nervous all of a sudden.”

  “Nervous? To see your cousin?” The headmistress had always been so unflappable, unless of course she was faced with Mr. Harding. Still, Meg rather liked seeing the woman so unnerved. It made her feel slightly less nervous about her come-out next Season.

  Ms. Denby gave a little laugh. “Silly, isn’t it? But it’s been so long. Lady Hastings has a rather complicated story, which kept us apart for many, many years. This is the first time I’ll see her since she became Lady Hastings several years ago.”

  After a rest and a change of clothes, Meg followed her headmistress down the stairs to the first floor parlor where Lady Hastings was waiting for them. She was a lovely woman, with honey-blonde hair and one of the most pleasant smiles Meg had ever seen. She was the slightest bit plump, and her cheeks were so rosy, like a sweet cherub. Meg knew immediately that there was nothing for Ms. Denby to be nervous about.