A Lady at Last

by Brenda Joyce

  Amanda grinned. “I cannot imagine you as a young lad hoisting sails!”

  He smiled back. “It was a long time ago, and the work was dangerous and difficult. But because I started at the bottom, or nearly so, I am very appreciative of every hand on my decks.”

  She nodded seriously. “Yes, I can see that. But didn’t your parents object to your leaving?”

  He hesitated. “My father understood. I discussed it with him first. He is a great man, whom I admire and respect, and as his son, I owed him that. He gave me his permission, although he asked me to wait until I was sixteen to leave. I refused.”

  “And he let you go anyway?”

  “He understood I had to go, Amanda. He is that kind of man.”

  “Papa would have beaten me if I ever tried anything like that. He would have never given me that kind of choice.”

  De Warenne said tersely, “Your father was too quick with his fists. There is no reason to beat anyone, most of the time.”

  She stared, suddenly thinking that he was right. All of those times that Papa had hit her, well, he had been in a temper and she hadn’t really needed the punishment. Amanda became uncomfortable. She had never questioned her father’s actions before. “And your stepmother, the countess?”

  “She was very upset. She wept when she thought I would not see her crying. I felt badly hurting her, but I have no regrets. I had to start somewhere, sooner rather than later. As it was, I did not have my own ship until I was eighteen, and she was only a twelve-gun schooner.”

  “You were master of your own ship at eighteen,” Amanda whispered, filled with admiration for him. “I am almost eighteen.”

  “You are a woman,” he said as if reminding her.

  “There have been women pirates.”

  He was clearly aghast. “Don’t even think it!”

  She began to smile, pleased that he remained so concerned for her. “Why not? You can see that I am a skilled seaman and a skilled swordsman. Why couldn’t I have my own ship? Then I could give up this farce of trying to be a lady.” She didn’t mean a single word.

  “You are trying to provoke me,” he said, flushed in the starlight. “I am onto your game! You could not control a crew and we both know it.”

  “I was trying to provoke you,” she admitted, “and it was very easy to do.” She glanced at him through her lashes. It had been ridiculously easy, in fact. Just as it had been so easy to get him to lust after her with a little bit of swordplay. “I do not want to control a crew. A captain cannot control his ship if he will not commit murder if he has to. Papa has murdered more than his share of mates. I am not inclined to violence and I have never murdered anyone.”

  “Thank God,” de Warenne said, his tone choked.

  “Have you ever murdered a mate?”

  His jaw was hard. “I have never had to murder one of my own crew. I have, upon occasion, and especially earlier in my career, used harsh discipline. But I have never keelhauled anyone, either. However, I am the exception, not the rule.”

  Amanda could not agree more. “Tell me about how you came to command the Fair Lady,” she said, smiling.

  He hesitated. “It is late. You have a full day of studies tomorrow—”

  “I will be studying at dawn! Please,” she said. “I have been wondering about it for some time.”

  He sighed in surrender. “It is a boring story.”

  Amanda knew that was simply impossible.

  DE WARENNE HAD BEEN RIGHT. Exactly ten days later, Amanda stood staring at the stunning sight of London as the frigate approached. She had been to Lisbon once, when she was eight years old, but she could not recall the adventure. She had been to New Orleans several times, and Charleston, too, but she had never seen a city like this one in her life. She had never seen such a crowded harbor, such a high, jumbled skyline, so many buildings, churches, spires. London was huge.

  She clung to the railing, enthralled. The past ten days had passed in a whirlwind of study. She had been immersed in her lessons from dawn to dusk, with almost no respite, the frantic schedule given upon de Warenne’s direct orders. At sunset, too exhausted to even eat, she would collapse into her berth, instantly falling asleep. However, at midnight she would awaken with no one’s help, gulp down a meal of bread and cheese and rush to join de Warenne at the helm. She simply could not miss spending the middle watch with him.

  Each and every night began almost exactly the same—he would not quite look at her, his face mask-like, yet she could feel him pulling her inexorably closer, somehow. But he never tried to take her in his arms and eventually they would converse. He always knew what she had studied that day and he never failed to ask her about the specific lessons and if she had liked them.

  And Amanda had asked him every question she could think of, wanting to know everything there was to know about Adare, Ireland and his life. He had answered her every question, and by the time each dawn broke, they were usually smiling. But every sunrise, when he left her alone at her cabin, she was so disappointed that the aching was not just in her loins, but in her heart.

  Amanda had been dreading the end of their voyage. Although she had applied herself with all the diligence she could muster to her studies, she knew she wasn’t going to fool anyone for very long as to who and what she really was. And once they reached London, she knew she would never share the middle watch with Cliff de Warenne again. Last night, realizing that, she had been moved to tears.

  But she had never expected London to be such an amazing, grand and thrilling sight.

  They had passed towers, ruins and castles as they came up the coast, and the city seemed to be filled with cathedrals and palaces, too.

  She felt him before she heard him; his presence had become so familiar now, a huge enveloping power, a cloak of manhood and heat. De Warenne appeared at her side. “Amanda? What do you think?” He smiled at her, but his gaze was searching.

  She seized his hand. “I have never seen anything as incredible!”

  He laughed, but he pulled his palm from hers. “London is an alluring sight, is she not? The truth is, I am somewhat fond of this city, far more so than Paris. She is a great lady with a complicated character, a study in contradictions—rich and poor, opulence and poverty, grace and lust, devotion and sin.”

  Amanda looked up at him. She could not smile and her eyes felt huge.

  “Shall I show you the sights?” he asked softly.

  Her heart leaped wildly. “That would be wonderful,” she cried. “Will you show me the sights today?”

  He laughed. “I am afraid it is too late, but we have perhaps three-quarters of an hour’s ride before we reach Harmon House, depending on the traffic. You will see plenty then, but I am afraid the West End is a facade of opulence and grace.”

  “I had no idea,” she gasped, staring out at the city again. She pointed at a tall, gray castle appearing on the starboard side. “Cliff, what is that?”

  He didn’t reply.

  She suddenly realized she had called him by his given name. She felt her cheeks heat. “I mean, Captain,” she floundered.

  “It’s all right. But we should not be too familiar. No one will understand the camaraderie one can develop on a ship.” He finally smiled. “That is the Tower of London, and we are almost at the Tower Bridge.”

  “And we cannot go past the London Bridge, can we?” she asked eagerly.

  His smile reached his eyes. “Have you read Ariella’s entire guidebook?”

  “As much as possible,” she admitted, returning his smile. “If you are taking me sightseeing, then I must make a list of all that I wish to see.”

  “I don’t mind,” he said. “I am happy to show you everything that you wish to see.”

  “Then you may not leave London for years,” she teased.

  He laughed. “I have never stayed in town for more than a month or so. I would die for lack of good clean air.”

  Amanda sobered, hating the fact that eventually he would leave London, and
she would be staying behind. “How long will you stay this time?” she whispered.

  His gaze was sharp. “I haven’t decided.” His regard wandered over her face. “But my stay will have to be more than a month. You’ve never been to the opera, have you? Or the theater?”

  “I’ve seen plays, but in the street,” she said, her heart racing with excitement. “Are you thinking of taking me to the theater, a real theater, and to an opera?” She was amazed.

  “If you are to become a lady, you will be asked to attend many such events. It would be my pleasure to escort you. In fact, if the expression on your face is anything like what it has been since we have reached London, I must insist.” His eyes had softened, searching hers.

  “And I accept,” she cried happily. She felt as if she was in a fairy tale with her very own Prince Charming. She had to pinch herself to remind her that he was hardly her prince. But somehow, he had become her champion.

  “We are going to make berth. We’ll be disembarking in an hour.”

  Amanda nodded, briefly watching him stride away, bellowing for shortened sails. Then she turned back to the railing, staring at the passing yachts and the horses and carriages on the wharves and the huge buildings beyond.

  THE COACH CLIFF HAD HIRED turned between high, imposing iron gates set in equally high, imposing brick walls. Amanda tensed, gripping the sill of the carriage window. The West End had been more opulent than she could have ever imagined, and they had passed so many mansions that she had lost count, each one somehow more stunning and stately than the rest. Windsong had been a palace in her mind, but it had stood alone on Harbor Street, with no more than half a dozen equally splendid homes scattered about Kingston. She knew all about society, or at least, she had thought she did, but she had been wrong. How could there be so much wealth in one place? London society made that of her island home seem pitiful in comparison.

  Immaculate green lawns filled with fanciful flowering gardens bordered the long shell driveway. Ahead, she saw a huge gray stone house set between two taller towers. She felt ill. An hour ago she had wanted to be in London, but she didn’t want to take this, her first step, into its fancy society. She wasn’t ready, dear Lord.

  “We are here,” Cliff said softly.

  She could barely tear her gaze from the house to look at him. He sat casually beside her, taking up half of the rear seat with his big body, dressed as he had been for the entire voyage, with the exception that he had donned his spurs. He must be planning to go riding, she thought dazedly, for she had seen a huge brick stable with roses creeping up the walls to the left of the house. “Is Belford House in the West End?” she somehow choked.

  “Yes.”

  She could not do this, she thought. “Is it like this?”

  He wet his lips. “It is grand, but not quite this grand—Belford isn’t as well off.”

  “Is he also an earl?”

  “No. He is a baron.”

  Mama was living in the home of a baron, Amanda thought, beyond bewilderment. She had thought her mother would be living in a modest but genteel home; not a castle, not a mansion, and not with a nobleman. “Could she be a servant?”

  He hesitated. “I don’t know.”

  The carriage had stopped. Amanda looked outside. Two liveried doormen hurried from the front door where they had been stationed, their uniforms red jackets with gold braid and white breeches, white stockings and black buckled shoes. Amanda did not move. “Please tell me that the earl and countess are in Ireland,” she whispered.

  His eyes flickered. “Amanda, I do not know where they are. But they will welcome you with open arms. Please, trust me. I have never lied to you and I never intend to.”

  She stiffened. “But this is their home.”

  “They prefer Adare. If anyone is in residence, it might be Ty, taking care of estate affairs.”

  She knew all about his entire family now. “But he would be with his wife. You said they remain besotted and are rarely apart.”

  Cliff smiled. “A fool’s paradise, but I am very happy for them. No one may be here, Amanda. Come. If a hurricane can not frighten you, then surely you can walk into my family home when you are an invited guest.”

  Amanda wished she were wearing a proper dress. But there was no avoiding leaving the coach now. She had never felt so sick.

  The postilion extended his hand. Amanda just stared. Obviously he wished to help her down, but they had forgotten to teach her that bit of decorum, hadn’t they? She heard an odd, hysterical giggle. It had come from herself.

  Did Mama have liveried doormen, too?

  “Take his hand, Amanda,” Cliff murmured.

  Amanda gave the servant her hand and found herself stepping down from the coach. Cliff leaped down beside her, turning to face the carriage containing his children, Anahid and Michelle. He swiftly opened the door, and Alexi leaped out with a wild war whoop. “Alexi,” he objected, “you will spook the horses.”

  He ignored his father, racing over to Amanda. “What do you think? The city smells!” He wrinkled his nose. “It’s not so bad here, but it was stinking at the docks. Did you see how dirty the streets are? And it’s so gray and so cold!” he added.

  Amanda realized it was very damp, with none of the warmth of the island. “It’s cold,” she somehow agreed.

  Cliff came to stand beside her, Ariella’s hand in his. “You will be pleasantly surprised,” he said. “Come.”

  But before they could move the front door opened, revealing a tall, dark man. For one moment, Amanda assumed it was the earl and she wanted to disappear. But Cliff was shouting, “Rex,” and even as he did so, she realized the man leaned on a crutch and he had lost half of his right leg.

  Smiling, the darkly handsome man swung himself down the front steps. Cliff met him halfway and they embraced.

  “What is this? A circus troop or a band of gypsies?” Rex said, his eyes dancing. He quickly left his brother to tower over a wide-eyed Alexi. “A gypsy prince, I think. Hmm, gypsies are outlawed in Mayfair.”

  “I’m not a gypsy or a prince. But my mother is a princess and you know who I am. You’re my uncle, the knight, Sir Rex.” Alexi was very serious.

  “And you must be Tom?”

  Alexi shook his head, appearing annoyed and arrogantly so. “I am Alexander de Warenne.”

  Rex clasped his shoulder. “I know exactly who you are, my boy, and welcome to Harmon House.” His gaze settled on Ariella, who was shyly staring at him.

  Cliff gestured. “Ariella, your uncle, Rex. If you are ever in need, and I am not present, you can turn to him as you would turn to me.”

  Ariella nodded, uncharacteristically speechless, moving closer to Anahid. Amanda wanted to move toward them, too.

  But it was too late. Rex had espied her, and his gaze widened, moving from the top of her head to the tips of her boots. Cliff was saying, “The children’s governess, Anahid, and their tutor, Monsieur Michelle.”

  Rex smiled vaguely, and as he stared again, Amanda felt herself turn red.

  “Anahid, please take the children inside. Alexi, you may explore the house and property but you may not take one step outside of the front gates.” As the group began to disperse, Cliff faced her, his eyes filled with such softness her breath caught. “I’d like you to meet my brother.”

  Amanda went forward, dragging her feet.

  “Rex, this is Miss Amanda Carre. She is from the islands and I have escorted her to London, as she was in dire need of transport.”

  Rex looked at Cliff, both dark brows raised. “Really.” Then he turned and bowed slightly, managing the gesture very adroitly and elegantly in spite of his crutch. “It is a pleasure, Miss Carre, and, as I take it you are a houseguest, welcome.”

  Amanda bit her lip. It crossed her mind that she should curtsy, but she wasn’t going to do so in a pair of pants. “Thank you,” she mumbled. She stepped closer to Cliff. She felt him touch her arm; Rex’s dark eyes veered directly to her elbow and his hand.


  “A servant will show you to your room, Amanda,” Cliff said, speaking to her as if they were alone. “I know you are indefatigable, but perhaps you wish an hour or so to rest?”

  She inhaled, wishing she were anywhere but there. “I am very tired,” she lied. “Exhausted, in fact.” She glanced at Rex to see if he might believe her. His gaze was too scrutinizing for comfort. “And I have such a pounding in my head. My stomach hurts, too.”

  “Perhaps you should call the physician,” Rex murmured, apparently to Cliff.

  Cliff took her arm and led her past Rex, their hips bumping. He leaned close. “Have no fear. If you wish to remain in your room tonight, you need not come down to dine. I’ll make your excuses.”

  Once again he was saving her from a fate worse than death. Amanda had never been more relieved or more grateful. She gazed up at him, seeking and finding the reassurance she needed in his eyes. “I think I should stay in my room tonight.”

  “That’s fine.” He touched the small of her back and she turned toward the house. A very dignified manservant stood there. “This is the butler, Harrison. He will see you upstairs. He will see to all of your needs, as well.”

  Amanda nodded.

  Cliff watched her go, wishing he could somehow take away her anxiety. He turned to smile at his brother. Rex was two years his senior and although as different as night and day, they were close. But he had not seen him in well over a year and a half. He was about to ask him if he was ready for a drink, but Rex was staring so intently that he felt his smile vanish. “What does that look mean?”

  Rex hopped over. “Oh, I don’t know. You appear here with a ragged, young waif in breeches who is in dire need and stand here in front of the house embracing her, very publicly. I must wonder, are you mad?”

  He stiffened. “I was not embracing her.”

  Rex blinked. “I beg your pardon. The two of you share looks as if you are lovers, you walk so closely you appear affixed to one another and just now, while you were whispering and staring into her eyes, she was very much in your arms. Are you my brother or are you an impostor? And if so, where the hell is my brother and what has happened to him?”