The Gentleman's Promise (Daughters of Amhurst)

by Fowlkes, Frances

  “Is the suspicion warranted?”

  “No,” Sarah exclaimed. Perhaps a bit more intensely than necessary. Her face burned hotter. She glanced up at the nearest portrait. A man with a crooked nose and a rather disbelieving expression glared down at her. “The crook has definitely softened throughout the years. Lord Vincent wears it much better than the first marquess.”

  “That he does.” Olivia eyed Sarah with open suspicion. “Did Jonathon say something harsh?”

  “What? No.” She strode toward her friend and hooked her arm through hers. “He simply had a few concerns.”

  “Such as?”

  “My continual self-ruination. I seem to fall short of the standards expected of me.”

  “Or Society falls short of your ideals.”

  What an odd thing to say. “You know as well as I do it does not matter what I think.”

  “And yet, you continue to give your opinions.” Olivia gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “You see a wrong and you fix it. You are the only person I know who would use her intelligence, a trait we all know is strongly discouraged by those of great importance, to bolster her sister’s chances at securing a husband. You put others before yourself. And that, my dear, makes you incredibly unique.”

  “I suppose it does. It also makes me unmarriageable.”

  Olivia opened her mouth, to undoubtedly voice her opinion on the matter, when Jonathon opened the sitting room door.

  His gaze immediately sought hers. Her heart took flight, thumping loud and fast in its skeletal cage. Did his eyes reflect desire? Or…regret? Disappointment? Confusion?

  Unable to say anything, she stood breathless.

  He glanced about the hall. “I heard voices.”

  “We were just conversing,” Olivia said. “On the matter of Sarah’s selfless character.”

  “And how it renders me husbandless,” she cut in.

  His gaze darkened. “Most men are idiots.”

  Olivia nudged her. “He said it, not I.”

  “And once all the tarnish is removed and your name repaired,” he continued, “you shall have your choice of them. Your happiness will be guaranteed and your future secured.” His words were friendly, but his voice was the very opposite, almost severe in its delivery. His green eyes flashed.

  Did he think, after kissing him, she sought another’s touch? Had she not shown her appreciation and enjoyment of his intimacy? A dead, heavy weight settled over her chest as fear chilled the fire he had ignited. He didn’t believe he could reverse the effects of her reputation. And as such, could not offer for her. Could not consider her for a wife as she had considered him for a husband.

  Sarah swallowed and did her best to speak in even, unaffected tones. “Is this why you refused your assistance in my search for a spouse? Because you think my selection to be made up of dolts and imbeciles? Or is it because you mock my ideals and think I am trite for wanting happiness?”

  Ever so slightly, his expression softened. “I told you before, you will not find contentment in another. Your prosperity comes from within. And once you are happy—”

  She held up a hand. “Stop. Even if I choose to be joyful, I will never be so with the offers I receive. They will be made out of greed and self-advancement.”

  His jaw clenched.

  “But, Sarah,” Olivia whispered. “You wanted a husband. You said as much, at Covenan.”

  “Oh, I do. If your brother is able to clear my name, I shall find a husband, or rather they will find my fortune. And I shall agree to their proposal, if only to further clear my name and prevent more shame to my sisters and their children.”

  His nostrils flared. “Your altruism overrules your initial goal.”

  “My initial goal was selfish. And as you both stated, I am selfless. It is one of my better qualities.”

  Olivia rolled her eyes. “You are being ridiculous. We have only just arrived, Sarah, we have not yet—”

  “You have seen my reception. The sooner we accept the obvious, the quicker we can assume our duties as Society has deemed them.”

  “And men like De la Pole, who languish in pain?” Jonathon asked. “You cannot help them with a husband who does not support you, who will admonish you for your disabuse of decorum. You just admitted to being unable to keep quiet on such matters. What will you do when your mouth earns you scorn and disfavor or who knows whatever abuse your husband will unleash to silence you? What then?” His voice had hardened, as had his eyes, shifting from a soft forest green to a brilliant emerald.

  “I pray he will be forgiving and fair in his punishment. I cannot change who I am—”

  “Precisely,” Jonathon ground out.

  This was their impasse. And her future. She would proceed as she deemed necessary with or without his assistance—though it would be far easier should he swallow his disfavor.

  But then, that would mean admitting he held her in regard. And she could not have him loving her at the sacrifice of so many others who needed his help. She was selfless, after all.

  “I think it best if I get some rest before dinner.”

  She tore her gaze from her friend’s disappointed one and turned down the hallway.

  …

  Jonathon did not understand women.

  He was beginning to doubt he ever would. After twenty years of living with his sister, Olivia still made him question his authority. Sarah, hell, she made him doubt he knew anything about the opposite sex at all. She had walked away from him. In sullen defiance.

  Damn it.

  This wasn’t what he had envisioned when he stepped out of the room, his arms cold from her absence and aching for her touch. He had only wanted to imbue in her a little restraint, a bit of healthy fear to remind her of his precarious position in this house. He was a mere mister, after all, not even a full viscount while his father was alive, and he bloody well was not a duke with the privileges and respect she required to save the tatters of her reputation.

  He wanted her. He needed her high spirit and altruism to flush the demons of insecurity and the guilt of his past from his mind. Only she imbued in him a sense of bravado, a confidence he merely displayed but never truly felt.

  He’d never been prouder of her than when she had asserted her intelligence and offered her assistance to Mr. De la Pole. And he’d never been more frightened and uncertain of his future.

  Or hers.

  His promise to fulfill his word to her was slipping through his damn fingers faster than water through a sieve. He would not fail. He could not fail. Not again. Not as he had Elizabeth. Stabbing a hand through his hair, he let out a groan.

  “Mr. Annesley.”

  He closed his eyes as the low, gravelly baritone of Lord Vincent rumbled down the corridor. The man who needed to see Jonathon at his best was now witness to his worst. How was it possible the day had deteriorated so rapidly?

  His sister’s skirts rustled as she lowered in an expected curtsy. “My lord,” said Olivia. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your presence?”

  Jonathon snapped open his eyes. He had no doubts as to why the marquess was standing in the portrait gallery. Not after Sarah’s behavior and open confession in the card room.

  Certain enough, the marquess fixed Jonathon with a hard glare. “A word, Mr. Annesley. Alone. If you please.”

  He could please all he wished. Jonathon had no choice but to do as the marquess asked, if he wanted to secure the man’s support. “Of course, my lord.”

  “I was on my way to my room,” Olivia offered in polite dismissal. “Please excuse me.” With a quick apprehensive glance, she nodded at Jonathon and started in the same direction Sarah had departed.

  The marquess nodded as he held out his arm toward the very room Jonathon had departed only moments before. There was no sense in delaying the inevitable. He made his way into the room. Peering out the window, Jonathon awaited the marquess as the elder man shut the door behind them.

  Slow, marked footsteps sounded over the wooden and unca
rpeted floor. Jonathon couldn’t help but think how this room that had harbored so much heated passion only a few minutes prior was now filled with a foreboding that pricked his flesh and frayed his nerves.

  “You are a smart man, Mr. Annesley, which is why you know my reasons for seeking you out.”

  He turned toward the silver-haired marquess. With sharp eyes, a thin mouth, and a crooked nose, the man cut a striking and somewhat terrifying figure, which was precisely why Jonathon needed him. Men respected the marquess.

  “I can only hope you’ve decided to offer your support and lend your voice to my platform,” said Jonathon.

  The man’s lips lifted upward, but there was no warmth in the smile. “I want to give you my vote. But I must confess, I have some doubts. Specifically regarding your judgment.”

  Widening his stance, Jonathon placed his hands behind his back. “I can assure you I have acted with nothing but sound logic and thought in concern with my campaign.”

  “Was it rational to extend an invitation to a societal pariah, the likes of Lady Sarah, when you seek support from the Society elite?”

  Suppressing a tic in his jaw, he countered, “She is a family friend and wishes to regain her standing amongst her peers. I believed your run to be a potential opportunity for her to redeem herself.”

  “But did you consider how she would be received? Or how her connection affects your position?” the marquess asked, his voice hard.

  “I had not believed her infraction to be one deserving of the damning consequences.”

  Lord Vincent let out a snort. “The girl poisoned her sister, man. I cannot revoke her actions.”

  “No, but you can forgive them, as I’m asking Society to do with the penitents. We are all deserving of a second chance, are we not?”

  The elder man’s nose flared. “You cannot compare a lady to a whore. They are held to different standards, and as Lady Sarah is the daughter of an earl, she must act as one.”

  Jonathon was testing the man’s patience, but he could not restrain himself from her defense. “Lady Sarah is nothing but genteel, sir, and has been a most gracious guest.”

  “Yet she continues, as displayed this afternoon, to push against the boundaries of acceptable behavior. A lady does not make wine, Mr. Annesley. Nor does she offer medicinal advice gained through an unhealthy inclination toward reading.” He took a step toward the window and leveled his glare at him. “You must distance yourself from the Amhursts, especially Lady Sarah, if you wish to give yourself the credibility you seek. You are a smart man with a promising future. All, however, could be jeopardized with the company you keep.”

  Lord Satterfield had similar concerns. Had the two been discussing their alliance to his cause? And if they had, how many others wavered in their stance? “Have you decided to withhold your support?”

  The marquess sighed. “I have not yet decided.”

  Jonathon’s gut clenched. He needed Lord Vincent as an ally, not only for his vote, but also for his influence. Should he decide to withhold his support, the school would be lost and no future secured for women like his cousin, who had been wronged and cheated—and found too late for him to assist.

  “I may have underestimated the ton’s reaction to Lady Sarah’s past, but I assure you, my arguments for the school are grounded and resolute.” His voice was firm, but desperation hinted at the outer edges. Had the marquess noticed?

  “I have no doubt your arguments are sound. But from where does this passion for fallen women stem, Mr. Annesley?”

  “A promise made to my mother.”

  The marquess lifted a brow. “Go on.”

  Jonathon let out a breath. “My mother’s sister was a rector’s wife. She bore a daughter, my cousin Elizabeth, who lived quite happily. Until she had the misfortune of becoming involved with a soldier who was not intent on keeping his promises. Elizabeth came upon hard times and prostituted herself for money. When my mother became aware of Elizabeth’s situation, she was too feeble to help her, and asked me to fill the duty.”

  “So you wish to start a school to assist your cousin?”

  “To assist women like her. My cousin is no longer with us. She died shortly after I found her in Whitechapel.”

  “I am sorry you didn’t find her sooner.”

  “As am I.” Guilt at his inadequacy loomed over him. He was well aware, had he not taken the time to see to his own needs first, he could have found Elizabeth before she perished. But he hadn’t. Instead, he had made certain he sated his lust and drunk his fill of fine brandy while his cousin prostituted herself to his peers. Had he seen past his follies and selfishness, he could have saved her. He was certain of it.

  So now he did what he had not been able to do in his debauchery, and followed through on his promise to his mother by ensuring no other girl had to suffer Elizabeth’s fate.

  “Your position is a precarious one, Mr. Annesley,” said Lord Vincent. “Should I lend my support and convince others to do the same, it is not guaranteed their wives will agree. Women are much more condemning than men. Why, you need only see their treatment of Lady Sarah to see their rigid expectations. A man may pledge his assistance, but his wife may make him reconsider.”

  “You believe my association to Lady Sarah impedes my campaign,” Jonathon stated.

  “Yes.” The marquess cleared his throat. “I am told there is much interest in your politics. You’ve made quite the name for yourself. It would be a shame to see your success fail…because of a woman.”

  The warning echoed in the near empty expanse of the room, but it rang loud and clear in Jonathon’s ears.

  The gauntlet had been thrown, and it was up to him to decide whether or not to accept the challenge. He could continue to pursue Sarah, her passion, and enjoy her obvious physical response to his touch…but in doing so, he condemned the hundreds of women who might benefit from his school. Not to mention the end of his career in Parliament and the taint her name would bleed onto his, and therefore Olivia. While he did not wish to see his sister married now, a match was inevitable—and marriage to Sarah would greatly diminish his sister’s offers—at least according to Lord Vincent, and Lord Satterfield, and God knew how many other of his peers.

  “I need some reassurance,” Lord Vincent said, interrupting his thoughts, “before fully committing to your stance. I want to support you, but your actions have given me enough cause to doubt you.” He strode forward and clasped Jonathon’s arm. “I’ll leave you to think on my words.”

  “Yes,” Jonathon muttered. He had a lot of thinking to do.

  …

  Jonathon stood at the outer edges of Lady Vincent’s formal sitting room, the after-dinner conversation doing little to disprove the marquess’s warnings. The gossip was rampant, the cuts toward Sarah direct, and yet, despite it all, he could not keep his eyes from her.

  She didn’t appear at all as happy as she naively believed she would be, were she only to adhere to societal dictates. Her stiff posture as she sat across the crowded room from him suggested as much. Throughout dinner, she had been quiet, adhering to every bit of decorum as able, avoiding conversation and staring mutely ahead, as though detached from her surroundings and adrift in a world of her own making. Much as she appeared now with her tea in hand and her back rigid against Lady Vincent’s wooden sitting room chair. Her lovely eyes were glazed, without the familiar warmth behind them, locked on an indefinite point somewhere in the distance. She looked as though in a trance—and absolutely miserable.

  Jonathon sipped at his tea, the steaming liquid near blanching his throat. With a careful swallow, he took a glance about the room. Both sexes had joined for the obligatory after-dinner tea and coffee before bed, each of the women exchanging conversation, save for Sarah. Olivia, who could generally coax her into a spot of laughter, attempted to engage her, but Sarah’s lips remained set in a thin line, unyielding to her friend’s good humor.

  She must have felt his gaze on her, for she blinked and nodded in his di
rection.

  “Have a care, Annesley.” Satterfield chuckled, his voice low as he lifted his cup of coffee to his mouth. “The direction of your gaze betrays your thoughts.”

  Jonathon slid his focus to the marquess. The steel-eyed man had a twinkle of merriment in his eye, but his speech seemed unaffected and his posture steady enough to make Jonathon believe the man was in full possession of his wit. “And what precisely does my gaze convey, Satterfield?”

  The marquess’s smile deepened. “That you have more than friendship on your mind.”

  Jonathon took a sip of his tea. “Do you know of a man who thinks otherwise when looking upon someone beyond fair?”

  “No, good man. I do not.” The marquess set his cup onto his saucer and eyed Sarah.

  Her dress for the evening was of the lightest lilac, a becoming shade that highlighted the delicate porcelain color of her complexion and brought out the light yellow-brown of her eyes. A ribbon of deeper violet wrapped around her chest, just beneath her bosom, affecting a striking silhouette. She was beautiful. A vision he could not stop admiring…and neither, did it seem, could the marquess. His gaze lingered on her for far longer than Jonathon thought necessary for a simple perusal or appreciative glance.

  “She possesses the Amhurst beauty,” the marquess said. “Though she is not quite as pleasing as her sisters.”

  He manufactured a cough to cover his snort. Not quite as pleasing? The marquess’s vision was obviously impaired. “Oh, I don’t know. I think she is far more alluring. Both in appearance and in wit.” Her sisters may be fair, but they did not have the intelligence that came so readily to Sarah.

  “It is her wit that diminishes her beauty,” the marquess countered. “Were that she was simple, a man could overlook the sins of her past. As it is, she is unsuitable for a wife.”

  Jonathon set down his tea, the flavor of the leaves having gone stale on his tongue. “I think you have it wrong, Satterfield. Her mind is her most admirable trait. I do not wish to have a wife who does not share her opinion.”

  “And I do not want one who does not respect mine.”