Anne Barbour

by Step in Time

  The conversation was propelled by Lianne, who imparted to her parents and the rest of the company tales of her recent stay in London.

  “Really, Papa, Lord Mumblethorpe has grown so prodigiously fat you would not recognize him, is that not so, Grandmama? And, Mama, do you remember how we used to laugh at Lady Wilburforce’s unfortunate habit of wearing every piece of jewelry she owned? Well, Lord W. must be very openhanded, for now she positively clanks when she walks, and one wonders how she can make her way across the room under all that weight.” Her musical laughter floated around the room.

  The dowager leveled a basilisk stare at her granddaughter-in-law. “In my day,” she snapped, “it was considered ill-mannered in silly young chits to pass rude remarks on their elders. Not that you’re all that young anymore.”

  Lianne flushed and Ash spoke quickly. “But, Grandmama,” he remonstrated with a laugh, “you’ve been passing rude remarks about everybody ever since I can remember.”

  Unfazed, the old lady glared back. “Young idiot! I don’t have any elders. The whole world is younger than I and has been for donkeys’ years. Besides, I’m not rude, I’m merely honest. Eh?” She swung toward Jeremiah, who had uttered an explosive sound. The dowager stiffened in her chair. “Sirrah? Are you presuming to comment on my manners?”

  Amanda turned to watch Jeremiah, and as expected his face immediately flamed in rage. Instead of swallowing his spleen, however, he took a deep breath before smiling genially. “No,” said the Brass Bridge, “I wouldn’t presume to any such thing, because you haven’t any. Manners, that is. I expect that’s why you’ve borrowed those of a fishwife.” Turning, he waved offhandedly to a hovering footman. “I wonder if I could have another portion of that excellent tripe. You are to be congratulated, Mrs. Bonner; your cook has a way with sauces.” So saying, he bent his head to address his dinner.

  The rest of the company swung toward the dowager, who spluttered in outraged astonishment for some moments before attending to her plate, completely silenced. Amanda could have sworn she detected a twinkle in the old lady’s eye as she took up her fork.

  Amanda applauded inwardly, but the incident proved the evening’s only bright spot. Lianne continued to monopolize Ash’s attention under the fond gaze of her parents, who made it evident they considered the earl very much a part of their family. Amanda found herself growing angrier as Ash responded with laughter to Lianne’s sallies, until she felt that if he did not wipe that loopy grin from his face she would be forced to do so with the back of her hand.

  Jaw clenched and fingers curled into talons, Amanda smiled and chatted inconsequentially through the rest of the meal—and conversation with ladies afterward—and more conversation when they were joined by the gentlemen later. Then there was tea and more conversation, until Amanda’s tongue fairly clove to the roof of her mouth.

  At last, it was time for the earl’s party to make their departure. They rose and drifted out into the hall to don outer garments, and with a tightening of her stomach, Amanda noticed Lianne and Ash disappearing unobtrusively into a small corridor. As the group stood chattering for some minutes and the two did not reappear, Amanda followed them. Hearing a small, choked sound emanating from a small room just off the corridor, she peered into the chamber. There, in a shaft of moonlight, stood Ash, his arms tightly enfolded about Lianne, his mouth on hers in a deep kiss.

  At Amanda’s gasp, the couple whirled, and with an embarrassed titter Lianne rushed to the door. Pushing past Amanda without a word, she ran from the room. Amanda, almost choking on the hurt and humiliation that rose in her like a bitter tide, turned to leave as well, but Ash reached her as she stumbled in her blind exit.

  “Amanda! Please—what you saw—”

  Amanda swung to face him. “What I saw was the man to whom I am betrothed—Mr. Commitment, no less—kissing another woman.”

  “It wasn’t like that. I was not actually—well, yes, I was, but—”

  If Amanda had not been in such a painful fury, she could almost have laughed at Ash’s ludicrous and unwonted loss of composure. He reached to clasp her shoulders in a convulsive grip.

  “Amanda, I swear it was only a kiss for—for old times’ sake— a kiss of friendship. Believe me—”

  “I don’t care if it was a kiss of astral harmony!” Amanda was horrified at the piercing screech she heard in her voice. “You are betrothed to me, and while that engagement stands, I do not expect you to go around mauling other women.”

  “I was not mauling her. And Lianne is not ‘other women,’ for God’s sake. She—”

  “Yes, I know. She is the great love of your life, your great tragedy, your lost passion. Well, you’ll have her back, I promise you—all in good time, but in the meanwhile, I do not think it’s too much to expect you to honor our betrothal—just as if it were the real thing.”

  “Of course, it is—the real thing. You must know—”

  But Amanda, realizing that the torrent of tears rising behind her eyes was about to burst from her in a noisy storm, wrenched herself from his grip and stumbled blindly from the room.

  “Amanda!” he called after her, but he was answered only by the sound of her slippers running along the corridor.

  Ash stood for a moment in the silence of the empty room. Of all the people in the world to witness his farewell kiss to Lianne—Oh, God.

  When, he wondered dully, had Lianne’s presence become a burden to him rather than a pleasure? How was it that he had never noticed the vacuity of her artless chatter? How could he be in love with a woman and wish to be elsewhere every time she was with him? The hardness of her features that he had noticed earlier seemed more pronounced lately. She bored him when she did not irritate him to snapping point, and her voice had taken on an unpleasant whine every time she spoke to him.

  The evening he had just spent in her company was one of the most trying he had experienced in his life. Because she was Lianne, he had been attentive and responded with tender smiles to her absurdities. He had been almost overcome with an urge to fling her hands from him when she took persistent liberties with him. When she had drawn him into this secluded chamber, he had followed, and his appalled sense of guilt at the distaste he felt had led him to kiss her. That, he admitted, and the need to prove to himself of his feeling for her—one way or another.

  He had felt nothing.

  Was it possible he really had fallen out of love? He was not a callow youth, after all, drifting from one infatuation to another. Lianne had been the only star in his firmament for all his adult life. That the star had inexplicably faded was surely a reflection on his own inadequacy, and not on Lianne.

  She had offered him the ultimate gift, her promise to become his mistress. He should feel honored—and humbled. Instead, he was aware only of the growing conviction that James had been right. Lianne’s professed love for him now seemed superficial at best, and her offer based almost solely on opportunism.

  And what of himself? He had loved her for as long as he could remember. What kind of monster was he that he could simply turn his passion off as he would a spigot. Well, no, he hadn’t consciously decided not to love Lianne, but that apparently was what had happened.

  “I do not love Lianne.” He whispered the words aloud and was aware of a strange lightening of spirit, as though he had been released from an old, powerful spell. He tried to feel suitably depressed at the metamorphosis he had just undergone. After all, the death of love must be a profoundly moving experience, but his heart persisted in thrumming lightheartedly and his thoughts kept drifting to Amanda. He enjoyed Amanda’s company more than he would have thought possible. She was intelligent, independent, and altogether fascinating. He found her sapphire gaze compelling, and even the scent of her seemed to stay with him long after they parted.

  He had, of course, made it perfectly clear, as she had to him, that their marriage was to be one of convenience and that was the way he intended to conduct their union. She had given not the slightest indicatio
n that her affection was engaged. He laughed shortly. He would be fortunate now if he could persuade Amanda to speak to him again.

  He certainly did not want Amanda’s love, for he did not love her. Right now, he felt that he had expended his entire fund of that emotion and it had left him disinclined to enter into it again. Love, he decided, was an illusion.

  On the other hand, now that he was free of his feelings for Lianne, he vowed he would do his best to make his marriage a success. Amanda deserved, if not his love, at least his total commitment to their arrangement.

  His thoughts drifted back to the fishing expedition earlier in the day. For a few hours he had been relaxed and happy, able to pretend that all was well at Ashindon Park—that his home stood whole and prosperous, basking in the sun of an English summer. The morning had taken on an idyllic quality, and when he had encircled Amanda in his arms he had wanted to press his lips against the place where her golden curls met the fragile perfection of her neck. It was as though the two of them had been enclosed in a magic bubble, floating lazily under the warmth of an enchanted sky, safe and happy and protected from reality.

  He shook himself. Amanda kept saying that she was not going to marry him at all. She intended, she said, to make it possible for him to marry his true love! Did this avowal disguise a basic antipathy toward him? When he had kissed her on the night of their betrothal ball, he had felt the response that shuddered through her. She did not seem the type to feign a passion she did not feel, but events had proven that his knowledge of the female psyche was not to be trusted. At any rate, he was sure he would soon bring Amanda to the realization that their marriage was inevitable.

  Feeling profoundly weary, he left the darkened little salon to make his way to the voluble throng still congregated in the hall.

  The next day, the group departed for London. Amanda did not see Ash until he appeared at the dower house just as the carriages pulled up. In the general confusion attendant to getting baggage and passengers stowed in the vehicles, he drew Amanda aside.

  “I do not wish to speak to you right now, my lord,” she said, white and rigid.

  “No, I suppose you do not. Nor do I have any desire to stand here brangling with you in full view of your parents.” Ash, too, was pale, but had regained his usual composure. He spoke now in tones as cool as though he were requesting her hand for a dance. “I merely wish to apologize for what occurred last night, and to assure you that it will never happen again.”

  Amanda did not respond, but with a curt nod turned away from him to ascend to the dowager countess’s ancient traveling coach.

  During the first part of the journey, she gazed studiously out of the window, unable to take part in Lianne’s inane chatter or the dowager’s irascible mutterings. Her stomach still roiled in helpless rage. How dare he sneak away from a family party to steal kisses from his little tart? Could he have not waited a day or two, when he would have her all to himself in the young countess’s house in Portman Square? She drew in her breath sharply. She had not considered before that Ash might be keeping Lianne as his mistress. How could she not have thought of this? What did a Regency gentleman do when faced with the prospect of a loveless marriage? Why, set up a cozy armful for himself with all possible speed. And if the armful was a lover of long standing, why so much the better.

  She knew she was being unfair. She did not believe Ash was a common garden-variety womanizer, and if he had availed himself of an opportunity to have his cake and eat it, too, was he wholly to blame? Amanda knew she had not acquitted herself well the previous night. She had howled like a nor’easter at his perceived perfidy, giving him no opportunity to explain. On the other hand, what could he say? The point was, Ash had stolen a moment to be alone with the woman he loved, and surely he could not be faulted for that. He had, after all, made no declarations of love to her, and if she’d had the misfortune to fall in love with him, he was scarcely to blame.

  But, dammit, she didn’t want him kissing Lianne, or anybody else. She’d leave him to it soon enough, but until then, she was by God not going to stand by and watch him make love to another woman.

  She ardently wished she could depart the year 1815 tomorrow, but even if she knew how to accomplish this she could not in all conscience flee. She must remain here at least until Ashindon Park was put into repair, and until she had somehow enabled Ash to accrue enough money to get the rest of the estate back into working order. Then she could leave with a clear conscience. She had almost a year. Surely, that would be time enough and then some.

  But how was she to live that year in Ash’s constant company, watching him pine for Lianne? For that matter, she thought, twitching her skirts in annoyance, how was she to exist in the stultifying environment of Regency London for a year? She was sick to the screaming point of the constraints applied to “a gently bred female.” She couldn’t even vote, for God’s sake, let alone help to remedy the injustice of England’s swollen monarchial system with its attendant land-rich nobility.

  “What?” she asked blankly, aware that the dowager had reached over to jab her knee.

  “I said, what the devil are you maundering about over there in your corner? Do you mean to leave me with no one else to talk to except this flibbertigibbet?” She gestured autocratically to Lianne.

  Amanda sighed. It was going to be a very long twelve months.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Neither Ash nor Amanda referred to the incident in the little salon again. Upon returning to the city, they plunged into what was left of the social season, though London in the middle of June was growing thin of company. In addition, Ash capitulated, not without protest, to Amanda’s requests to be taken sight-seeing in the city and its environs.

  Of Lianne, little was seen. She seemed to have retired from the haunts of the ton, at least temporarily, for she did not attend Lady Danton’s musicale, or the soiree given by Lord and Lady Hammerford, or any of the other functions still dotting the social landscape.

  The threat of Napoleon’s plans for the reconquest of Europe scarcely caused a ripple in the lives of the beau monde, but from time to time word of his activities drifted in from the Continent to cloud the horizon. The news, apparently, was not good. Jeremiah spent an increasing amount of time closeted in his study with various men of business. When not thus occupied, he made hasty trips into the City, returning tight-lipped and grim.

  Amanda, of course, received the scraps of information that filtered down to her female ears with complete equanimity.

  One afternoon Ash arrived at the Bridge home for a proposed visit to Gloucester House to visit the Grecian marbles brought recently to England by Lord Elgin. As Ash handed his fiancée into his curricle, Jeremiah pulled up in his small, closed carriage and, disembarking hastily, he called out, “My lord! Ashindon! I must speak with you!” Ignoring his daughter, he grasped Ash’s arm. Amanda caught the words, “Boney,” and “Quatre Bras” as Jeremiah pulled Ash bodily into the house. More than an hour passed before they emerged from Jeremiah’s study, at which time Ash apologized to Amanda before once more assisting her into the curricle.

  “What on earth was that all about?” asked Amanda as they swung into North Audley Street.

  “Nothing,” replied Ash, his face impassive. “Merely a business matter.”

  “But what was he saying about Napoleon?” persisted Amanda.

  Ash turned to her with a smile. “I keep forgetting I am betrothed to a bluestocking. You used not to be interested in any but the most inconsequential matters.”

  Amanda bristled. “If choosing to use my brain for something beyond my embroidery and the latest gossip makes me a bluestocking, so be it.”

  Ash laughed. “Very well, then. Apparently, Napoleon left Paris a few days ago and is headed for Belgium. He is rumored to have over a hundred thousand men, and more arriving daily to swell his ranks. Wellington seems to be doing nothing, and the allies are still miles away from the projected battle area.”

  “Yes, but—” Aman
da halted.

  “The feeling is growing in the City that the allied forces are going to be very badly defeated.”

  “Oh, no,” said Amanda quickly. “Napoleon’s renewed dreams of glory are doomed to failure.”

  “I must say I, too, am more sanguine of Wellington’s chances. However, your father is greatly concerned about the effect of a British defeat on my financial status. You see, when Napoleon escaped from Elba, there was a slight dip in the Consols—government stocks,” Ash explained.

  Amanda nodded impatiently. “Yes, I know. But what—?”

  “Your father advised me to buy up some of the stock—in moderation. I took his advice, for it coincided with my own inclination, but I invested rather more heavily than he thought prudent. In doing so, I depleted my already meager supply of available cash, and now your father is advising me to sell.”

  “Oh, you mustn’t!” Amanda began, but she stopped suddenly, her jaw dropping. A great light had just burst over her—and about time, she thought with a grimace. Good Lord, how could she have been so stupid? She had been racking her brains for a get-rich-quick investment scheme and it had been waiting for her all along in her memory. Quickly, she rummaged in her mind for every bit of information she possessed on one of the greatest battles in English history. Wasn’t it Rothschild, the financier, who had made a killing at the time? All she had to do was to convince Ash to sink every penny he could get his hands on in the funds.

  Hmmm. This might not be so easy. She would be asking him to fly in the face of prevailing counsel, all on the advice of a mere female. Ash, she thought, seemed a trifle more enlightened on the subject of women in general—at least, he seemed to regard her as a real person and not a prospective piece of property. However, advice of this magnitude might very well be received with a pat on the head and the suggestion that she not worry her pretty head over matters of which she could not possibly have any comprehension.