by Amanda Scott
“You?” Cheriton’s eyes narrowed.
Brittany stared at her younger sister, unable to think of a thing to say, but Arabella was not so tongue-tied. “You sent those gifts, Alicia? What on earth were you thinking of, you idiotic girl? Making Brittany think there was some foolish lout out there watching her every move? And to send jewelry, of all things. You must have known how that would look.”
“I bought it myself,” said Alicia glumly, “because I liked it, but the violet was clearly meant to be worn by Tani, because it went so well with her eyes. Indeed, I never meant mischief. At least, I meant mostly to repay her, to make amends of some sort for all the grief she suffered because of my behavior. Mama and Papa were both vexed with her, saying she ought to have stopped me from going to Almack’s opening night. And Tony was constantly at outs with her because of me. And … and …” But here her voice trailed away as though she could not bring herself to finish the sentence.
“What else?” Brittany asked quietly.
“Yes, what?” Arabella asked more grimly. “What a thing to do, Lissa, and it is all very well to pretend that you did it to ease Tani’s distress over Papa’s displeasure, but you can scarcely say that motive prompted you to send her jewelry. You must have known how he would respond to that if it came to his ears, for heaven’s sake.”
Alicia spread her hands and turned away, clearly unwilling to explain herself further.
Cheriton put an arm around Brittany and gave her a squeeze. “Alicia,” he said gently, “I think you had better finish what you were about to say. You mentioned Faringdon. He figures in this, too, does he not?”
She turned quickly, regarding him much as she might have regarded a soothsayer who had just recited everything she had had for breakfast for a month past without error. After a long moment she said with a sigh, “You know, don’t you?”
“That you care more for him than you have led others to believe? Yes, of course we know.”
“Well, then, perhaps you will understand. I did not like what I was doing, Tani, you must believe that. Indeed, you did not seem to care. You never said you wished the gifts would cease.” She regarded her sister almost resentfully.
“No,” Brittany agreed, seeing no reason to explain why she had done nothing of the sort, “I didn’t.”
“Well, I was hoping—just a little, you know—that perhaps Tony would become annoyed over the gifts, and from time to time, he did, a little. Only I always had the feeling it was because he remembered that he ought to be vexed and so he said the words. I never really felt that he was angry with you or with the person sending the gifts.”
“Did you wish him to be angry with me, Lissa?”
“No, oh, no—well, perhaps a little, at first, but only so he would not continually be carping at me, you know. I could do nothing right, and it had become important to me by then to please him. I didn’t know why. I just knew I wanted to make him stop correcting me and to say something pleasant. Only he didn’t, of course, because that was when Pen and I attempted to call at the ambassador’s house, so that,” she went on with a guilty flush, “was when I decided to send the cloisonné flower. I already had it, and I was certain that your receiving it from your secret admirer must make Tony furious if anything would, that it would cause a rift between the pair of you at last. Only he left town that day, so he knew nothing about it until tonight when I told him myself, pretending to be distressed, you know, and—”
“Well, I like that,” declared Faringdon from the open doorway. He pushed into the room, closely followed by Carrisbrooke and Sir David Lynsted. Without so much as a glance at the others, he strode to Alicia, took both her shoulders, and began furiously to shake her. “What do you mean by it, my girl?” he demanded, giving her another hard shake. “A rift between Brittany and me? You ought to be ashamed to treat your own sister so. I might have known you were not above such mischief, but, by God, you have gone too far this time, and you will answer to me. By God, you will!”
“Oh, Tony, you are safe,” Alicia exclaimed the moment she could speak. And when he dropped his hands, startled by her reaction, she flung her arms around his neck and burst into sobs.
16
FARINGDON MADE NO ATTEMPT to disengage himself from Alicia’s grasp. Indeed, it seemed to Brittany that he responded very satisfactorily for a gentleman who only moments before had been incensed. He bent his head a little and began to murmur gently to Alicia, his arms going round her shoulders as though he would shelter her.
The others stood silently for some moments regarding the pair, and then Brittany glanced at Cheriton to discover that his dark eyes were twinkling. She smiled at him just as the door opened once more to permit Lord Toby Welshpool and the dowager Marchioness of Cheriton to enter. To no one’s particular surprise, Lord Toby went straight to Arabella, who gave a little cry of relief at having him safely restored to her.
“Your father had best hold tight to Amalie,” murmured Cheriton, moving closer to Brittany. “It appears she will soon be the only daughter left to him.” He greeted his mother then, saying, “I trust you dealt with his excellency all right and tight, ma’am.”
“Of course,” she replied, smiling at him. “A mere man, you know, like any other man, though he did seem overly puffed up in his own esteem when we first began to converse.”
“Was he very angry with Zara, ma’am?” Alicia asked, stepping self-consciously away from Faringdon, though not, Brittany noted, too far away.
“He was not pleased with her,” the dowager informed her, “but then she had not expected that he would be. She can manage him, though. I saw that much for myself before I left them. Your suggestion,” she added, turning back to her son, “was most efficacious. I had only to hint that I might let others know of the charade played out at the ambassadorial residence yesterday, and he became as tractable as anyone might wish. You dealt successfully with that fellow Fahd?”
“I did.” Cheriton glanced around the room. “I hesitate to bring an end to all this camaraderie,” he said, “but the ladies at least must return to the ballroom as soon as possible. That they have not been missed yet is well nigh miraculous. Toby, perhaps you will not mind seeing the ladies Alicia and Arabella safely restored to their mama’s side.”
“I’ll see to Alicia if it’s all the same to you,” declared Faringdon.
“No, that you’ll not. I want a word with you.”
“Do you want me to go with Toby, sir?” Brittany asked quietly.
“No, for this concerns you more than anyone, my dear. Mama, you will remain as well, if you please.”
Alicia looked mulish at first, but Faringdon spoke briefly to her and she went along with Lord Toby without a word of opposition.
Cheriton nodded approvingly. “You may have the knack of it, after all, my lad.”
Faringdon grinned at him. “I shall have to beat the chit twice a week to begin with, sure as check. But all in all, the match will be a good one, never doubt it.”
“I don’t, but first there is a hurdle or two for us to clear together, you know.”
Faringdon sobered at once. “I do know. His grace ain’t going to take this business lightly. He expects me to marry Tani, and he won’t like the notion of switching partners about as though we was partaking in a country dance.”
Cheriton looked at the marchioness. “Well, ma’am, you see the difficulty. Have you any suggestions?”
“You are making a mountain out of a pile of dust, Jordan,” she said tartly. “If that old puffguts Malmesbury gives you any grief, just refer him to me. I’ll settle him.” She looked sternly at Brittany. “You ain’t afraid of your father, are you, gel?”
“No, ma’am, not afraid of him precisely, but I detest the sort of dustup that might result from telling him that I have decided to marry your son instead of Lord Faringdon.”
“Then don’t tell him,” recommended the redoubtable old lady. “Simply arrange a double wedding with your sister and switch places at the last moment
. Can’t stop you then, can he?”
Brittany choked back laughter, not certain whether the marchioness meant her suggestion to be taken seriously or not. Then she made the mistake of looking at Cheriton. Discovering that his eyes were alight with merriment was too much for her composure, and she burst out laughing. “Oh, ma’am,” she said at last when she could speak, “I believe my father would die of apoplexy if he even knew such a course had been suggested.”
“A little apoplexy might be good for him,” said the marchioness unsympathetically. “Cater too much to him, the lot of you, of that I have no doubt. Never catered to anyone, myself. Ignored them from time to time, maybe. Didn’t cater.” Her tone altered slightly on the last words and Cheriton moved to put his arm around her shoulders. When he did, she lifted her chin resolutely. “Don’t fuss, boy, I’m fine. You tend to your own problems.”
He nodded. “I think,” he said, looking now at Faringdon, “that the best course for us to follow is to see Malmesbury together at the first opportunity.”
“Not tonight,” protested Brittany.
He smiled at her. “No, love, not tonight, but first thing tomorrow morning. If we break the news to him, he can bellow at us both all he likes. Then he won’t have so much energy left to bellow at you and Alicia.”
“Not that it bothers Alicia,” muttered Faringdon. “Water off a duck’s back, if you ask me.”
“Well, it will bother Brittany,” Cheriton said quietly, “and I don’t intend that she shall bear the brunt of it. He is unlikely to be pleased at first, but I daresay he’ll come round.”
“Well, of course he’ll come round,” declared the marchioness. “Getting a marquess for his daughter instead of an earl—begging your pardon, Faringdon, I’m sure. One of the oldest and wealthiest families in the realm to boot, for pity’s sake. Don’t be daft, boy. Malmesbury’s no fool. He’ll come round before the cat can lick her ear. Not that you’ll listen to me, of course. You’ll do precisely as you see fit, just as you always have done. I’m only an old woman. Don’t expect anyone to pay my word the slightest heed.”
“Perhaps you had better go home to bed, Mama, so decrepit as you are,” suggested her son dulcetly.
“Ha!” The marchioness strode to Faringdon and placed her hand firmly upon his forearm. “You, my good man, may take me back to the ballroom. There is nothing more to be done here, and I wish to kick up my heels a bit.”
He looked at Cheriton, who nodded, grinning. “Aye, go along. Just mind she don’t eat you on the way, and be here by nine sharp in the morning. We’ll beard the lion together in his den.”
“That last bit was from ‘Marmion,’” Brittany said sagely when they were alone together at last. “‘… Beard the lion in his den, the Douglas in his hall …’ I like Mr. Scott’s work, don’t you?”
“I do,” he replied, drawing her nearer to him and looking down into her face as though he would memorize every pore. “Do you know you’ve got freckles on your nose?”
“I do not. I have it on the authority of nearly every man I’ve ever chanced to meet that mine is a flawless complexion.”
“A dusting of the tiniest freckles, just here.” He drew a line across the bridge of her nose. “Perhaps if one were to kiss them, they would disappear.” He suited action to word, then gazed searchingly at the spot he had kissed.
She waited. “Well?”
“Didn’t work. They are still there.”
“Perhaps if you were to try again?”
“Perhaps.” He kissed the same spot, then peered at it closely. “Still there, I’m afraid, though I do believe they have faded just the tiniest bit. Clearly my work is cut out for me, but it will take years until your complexion is truly flawless, my dear.”
“Cheriton?”
“My mother, you might have noticed, calls me Jordan.”
“I am not your mother.”
“True, but somehow I had thought my wife might also call me Jordan.”
“Well, I cannot think why. My mama certainly never calls my papa Cecil.” She chuckled. “Goodness, I never even think of him as Cecil. Somehow the name doesn’t suit him at all. No wonder she calls him Malmesbury. Much more suitable.”
“Brittany, stop chattering.”
“Yes, sir.” She looked up at him expectantly. “Did you wish to say something?”
“No.” This time he pulled her rather more roughly into his arms, and for some moments thereafter she would have found it impossible to speak had she wished to do so, and when his hands began to move caressingly over her body, she thought she would swoon from the pleasure of his touch. When she could draw breath at last, she looked steadily up into his face again, her expression quite serious.
“What is it, love?” he asked after a moment of silence.
“I was just thinking how odd it was that I seemed to know your thoughts so often, yet didn’t know you loved me. And you—it was the same with you, wasn’t it?”
He nodded. “I certainly know when you are distressed or unhappy. And I know when you have been up to mischief.” She grimaced, causing him to chuckle. “It will be as well for you to remember that last bit, will it not?”
Brittany nodded, then smiled at him. “You too, sir. It will work both ways, will it not?”
It was his turn to grimace. “No birds of paradise? No mistresses?”
“None,” she said firmly.
“And no more orgeat down my collar,” he added just as firmly.
She blushed, then looked searchingly up into his face. “You do love me, don’t you, even though you know how vain I really am?”
“Sweetheart, I know you better than you know yourself, and I love everything I know.”
“And you do truly wish to marry me? You are not merely agreeing to do so in order to protect me from Papa’s displeasure when he discovers I have jilted Tony?”
He grimaced ruefully. “You are no jilt, my dear, I ought never to have said those things to you. I overreacted when I realized you thought I had sent those ridiculous gifts—told myself it was that damn-fool secret admirer you loved, not me. I had behaved badly more than once out of the frustration of knowing that you were betrothed to Faringdon and my certainty that you could do nothing to alter the fact without scandal. And then, when you so casually informed me that you had broken it off, I was persuaded you could not possibly understand what sort of reception the news would receive from the tabbies, and in trying to explain that to you in the state I was in, I only made a confusing situation worse.”
She nodded, satisfied. “I understand all that now.” She paused, then looked directly at him, her eyes atwinkle. “I don’t really have any freckles, do I?”
He grinned. “You needn’t fret, sweetheart. I have promised to kiss them all away, have I not? Being a man of my word, I assure you that I’ll attend properly to each and every freckle I find, wherever I find it.”
She blushed deeply at his suggestive tone. “Cheriton! Not before we are married, surely.”
“No, but we shall be married just as soon as I can arrange it, if I have anything to say about the matter. And with Faringdon and Toby both urging us to speed, I doubt that even your august sire would object if I were to request the banns at once. Or, perhaps, you would prefer to be married by special license.”
“Gracious, that would be ruinously expensive, would it not? Not to mention requiring the permission of the archbishop himself. I don’t think it necessary, do you? Only to save three weeks or so?”
“I see you are acquiring habits of economy,” he said with a chuckle. “But enough of this nonsense. I’ve no wish to spend what little time we have left without interruption tonight discussing details that can best be settled later. Come, kiss me, little witch.”
Eyes aglow, her whole body tingling in anticipation of delights to come, she flung herself into his arms. “With pleasure, my love.”
About the Author
A fourth-generation Californian of Scottish descent, Amanda Scott is the author
of more than fifty romantic novels, many of which appeared on the USA Today bestseller list. Her Scottish heritage and love of history (she received undergraduate and graduate degrees in history at Mills College and California State University, San Jose, respectively) inspired her to write historical fiction. Credited by Library Journal with starting the Scottish romance subgenre, Scott has also won acclaim for her sparkling Regency romances. She is the recipient of the Romance Writers of America’s RITA Award (for Lord Abberley’s Nemesis, 1986) and the RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award. She lives in central California with her husband.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Lady Brittany’s Choice
Copyright © 1988 by Lynne Scott-Drennan
The Dauntless Miss Wingrave
Copyright © 1989 by Lynne Scott-Drennan
Cover design by Mimi Bark
978-1-4804-1522-5
This edition published in 2013 by Open Road Integrated Media
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