Aunt Matilda followed her into the dressing room as the modiste left with the unfinished gown.
‘I’m proud of you, dearest.’ Her aunt handed her garment after garment as Amanda put herself together. ‘Whatever happened to you on that ship has changed you for the better. I see bright confidence in your eyes and reflected in that new confidence is intelligence that you know your own mind. You’ve blossomed. Your father will be surprised and delighted when he returns.’
All of a sudden shy for the attention, Amanda fastened her last button and smiled softly. She hoped it was true and no more disruptive mishaps would mar her life or cause her embarrassment. Too many incidents of heels caught on rugs or spilled syllabub on the tablecloth marred her history. She didn’t wish to be known as a walking accident. No matter she dismissed the tongue-wags and their senseless gossip, the words hurt and rumours remained.
‘Now let’s be off to Bedford Square.’ Aunt Matilda clasped her hand and pulled her through the door of the dress shop.
‘Bedford Square?’ Amanda had no idea why they’d venture to that part of the city. ‘I thought we had more shopping to do.’
‘Our call on the kind Lord Hastings is long overdue. It would be disrespectful and completely out of character for me not to thank him sufficiently for his generous protection of my niece and use of his conveyance to deliver you home safely.’
Spoken in those terms, Amanda had no rebuttal. She climbed into Aunt Matilda’s fashionable gig and, with a crack of the whip, they set a brisk pace towards Mayfair, her mind skittering with equal momentum.
She glanced to her gown, relieved the nightmarish fear she remained dressed in soiled yellow muslin was just that. Next she pushed a few stray tendrils off her forehead and puffed a short sigh.
‘Are you quite all right, dear?’ Her aunt smiled with a sideways glance.
‘Yes, of course. I’m a little taken by surprise, that’s all.’
‘Oh, how splendid. The startle will bring a fresh blush to your cheeks.’ Overwhelmingly pleased with herself, Matilda patted Amanda’s knee. ‘Tell me more about Lord Hastings. You’ve been stingy with your description.’
‘Have I?’ She swallowed a note of trepidation. Her aunt could read emotions better than a gypsy telling fortunes at the Bartholomew Fair. The ridiculous image brought to mind the playing card Amanda kept in her reticule. A silly notion, really. Though when she held the card in the heat of her palm, it conjured all kinds of delicious memories. ‘He’s tall and handsome, but then aren’t all the lords these days?’
Her flippant quip did little to assuage her aunt’s curiosity.
‘What colour is his hair?’
She hemmed her lip thoughtfully. Should she confess to her aunt the silken texture of Crispin’s hair, the sensation of it between her fingertips, one she would never forget. ‘It’s golden, almost the colour of fresh-cut hay, and worn overlong, sometimes in a queue.’
‘Indeed.’ Aunt Matilda’s eyes took on a mischievous gleam. ‘A rather piratical and bold fashion choice.’
‘For some, I suppose.’ She didn’t dare say more. Talking about Crispin while aware they travelled to his home caused all kinds of chaotic feelings. Was she for ever condemned to motion sickness now that she’d tasted his kiss? Again, the workings of her vivid imagination caused a bubble of laughter and she couldn’t help but let it out.
‘Well, he certainly brings out the joy in your heart. The sooner we arrive, the better. I’m quite interested in this gentleman of yours.’
‘Oh, he’s not mine.’ She almost hiccupped in her speed to interject. ‘He showed me kindness, but I wouldn’t categorize him as anything other than a responsible peer.’
‘I hope that isn’t true.’ Aunt Matilda’s smile fell away, but they had no time to discuss it further as the gig rolled to a stop before a grand stretch of townhouses with flower-lined curbs and limestone steps. ‘This is an elite part of the city. You mentioned his father is a baron? I do approve.’
Gritting her teeth to keep her tongue still and the words of objection locked away, Amanda followed her aunt from the carriage to the sleek blackwood door, the brass knocker agleam in the filtered sunlight. She straightened her skirts and pressed her slippers together, a course of nervous energy ignited. The very last thing she wished to do was make a poor impression.
Aunt Matilda dropped the knocker and Amanda set her reticule on the polished balustrade in an attempt to free her hands and offer her hair last-minute attention. The door swept open and she hurriedly grabbed for her purse, but the handle snagged on the ornate scrollwork which decorated a series of planters, each with a different colour peony within. The first pot teetered and she nabbed it before it toppled, but she wasn’t successful with the second or the third planter.
Embarrassed beyond belief and trying her best to ignore the crash of glazed pottery as it toppled to the cobbles, she followed her aunt inside using every bit of self-control not to glance over her shoulder and witness the result of her faux pas.
Butterflies took up flight in her stomach, or perhaps they waged war. Certainly, the intense fluttering couldn’t be the same as the delicate flutter she’d seen in nature. She forced her attention to the lantern-lit hallway. Aunt Matilda conversed with Bootler, the driver who’d delivered her from Dover, but as of yet Amanda had not muttered a single word. What if nothing came out when she attempted to speak? What if she croaked like a frog? Why was Aunt Matilda insisting on this visit anyway? Wouldn’t a kind note of gratitude suffice?
They entered a large drawing room, the furnishings of the finest calibre. Pale, silver-grey silk climbed the walls to wide woodwork moulding in a neoclassical pattern, painted stark white. A medallion of matched carving offset the crystal chandelier at the centre of the room. Beneath her slippers, the plush Axminster carpet buffeted her heels as if she walked on a cloud. Excepting the impression Crispin contrived, reputed rakehell and profligate ne’er-do-well, his taste in furnishings and home comfort exceeded her greatest expectations.
‘Lord Hastings will be with you shortly. I’ll advise the staff to prepare refreshments.’
Bootler didn’t say more though he eyed her judiciously before he exited. The curious twinkle in his eye caused her to wonder whether he’d heard the peonies plummet from the front steps. She hoped not.
‘Good heavens, this lord of yours is after my heart.’ Aunt Matilda laid her palm across her breast as if, when Crispin appeared, he would reach in and capture the organ. ‘Look at the impeccable inlaid marblework around the window seat. The embossed velvet curtains are decadent and these imported Umbertine chairs speak well of comfort and style. Lord Hastings knows his likes and dislikes, a man of discerning taste.’ She ran her hand across the fabric of a tasselled pillow and cooed with appreciation. ‘I’m tempted to ask for a tour so I might see what other treasures are hidden about.’
‘That’s not a good idea.’ Amanda cleared her throat, reached for her aunt’s arm and drew her to the overstuffed settee. ‘He’s not my lord, so please don’t refer to him as such. It makes me feel peculiar.’
‘I’d expect as much.’ Matilda scanned the room with appreciation.
‘Not in a good way,’ Amanda insisted.
‘We can’t be certain of that,’ her aunt continued, undeterred. ‘And I didn’t mean in possession, Amanda, just in conversation.’
‘Aunt Matilda…’ Her objection came out in a hiss.
‘Aah, Aunt Matilda.’ Crispin strode into the room and for a moment it was as if no air existed. Her entire body seized with awareness and sensitivity, once again in his arms and able to feel the prickle of his whiskers against her cheek, fingers on her nape, mouth upon her own. ‘I received your note and am flattered by your visit.’
He hadn’t looked at her yet and Amanda’s heart demanded he acknowledge her existence. Why didn’t he? She’d at last shucked that horrid yellow gown. She watched as he brought Aunt Matilda’s hand to his lips in polite welc
ome. Would he offer her the same greeting? Her knees threatened mutiny at the thought. How would she maintain her decorum?
‘And Lady Beasley.’
His eyes met hers and she experienced a shock. Not the familiar static which awakens the senses having rubbed one’s slippers too long on the carpeting. No. This was an intense, soul-shaking reverberation. A reminder of what they’d shared. It held her quiet too long and it wasn’t until Aunt Matilda coughed politely that Amanda managed to find her words again.
‘It’s nice to see you again, Lord Hastings.’
Chapter Thirteen
Damn it all to hell. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He’d received the pleasant note of gratitude and request for a social call from Amanda’s aunt and accepted out of indoctrinated etiquette, but this, this intense and uncomfortable longing which surged to the forefront as soon as he brought his eyes to Amanda, transformed into torture in a matter of heartbeats. Every part of his body went on alert, one part especially.
She looked more beautiful than he remembered. He’d envisioned her in ballgowns, but had he done the same for daytime wear? The peridot gown accentuated the uncommon brilliance of her eyes and all that hair. He wanted to wrap his fists in it, see it across his bed pillows and feel it sweep across his skin. He didn’t miss how the fabric hugged her enticing figure in all the right places. He rubbed his fingertips together to squelch the desire to reach out and touch. These intrusive images became a silent litany demanding he take notice.
With impeccable timing, Bootler entered the room and served refreshments and the few minutes lent to necessities served to normalize his reaction. Aunt Matilda accepted a cup of tea but Amanda declined.
Damn if his eyes didn’t stray right back to her whenever he forced them away. He remembered her rumpled, braid tousled and pert nose in objection to most everything he said, but before him now sat a woman who could easily be one of Sophie’s friends, a lovely debutante of the ton.
‘We’ve come to offer our thanks, Lord Hastings.’
Aunt Matilda drew his attention and good thing. He needed to focus on his future, not dally with indulgent remembrance. ‘I appreciate the intention, but your note sufficed. You needn’t have inconvenienced yourselves.’ From the corner of his eye he watched Amanda’s slight smile press to a flat line. ‘Of course, it’s always pleasant to have the company of two unmatched beauties in my drawing room.’
He coughed, the remembrance of Mirella and Daniela in his bed an unbidden comparison. In a thoughtful stroke, he realized, while they offered distraction and sensual indulgence, he felt nothing but the basest satisfaction for the women who occupied his time in Venice.
And now he couldn’t afford to feel anything either. Hadn’t his past taught him emotion was better left alone? Belatedly, he noticed Amanda’s attentive concentration. She likely knew exactly what he was about. Her uncanny intuitiveness unnerved him and that was dangerous in itself.
‘Your home is impeccable. I imagine all the rooms are as finely decorated. Quite a showcase, I’d assume.’
Aunt Matilda’s bid for a tour would go without comment, though he wouldn’t mind escorting Amanda for a look about his bedchambers.
Hell, he needed to be rid of her before he said something he’d regret.
‘I won’t hold you any longer.’ Interesting choice of words. Would that he could. He gave Amanda a speaking glance in hope she wouldn’t misconstrue the underlying message. ‘I’m sure you have myriad calls to accomplish now that you’ve returned to London.’
‘Oh, no more social calls today.’ Aunt Matilda recognized it was time to depart and, after a quick sip of tea, stood as she spoke. ‘We’re just from the modiste and Amanda’s appointment. Her gown is breathtaking. She’ll need a bodyguard to keep the suitors at bay.’
Amanda shot from her seat. ‘We should go.’
‘What event would that be?’ He would cut out his tongue for continuing the conversation.
‘Only the most prestigious event of the season. A grand soiree given by Lord and Lady Frankley in celebration of Princess Charlotte’s presentation at court. Their entire estate is being remodelled and lavishly decorated especially for the gathering.’ Aunt Matilda practically trilled the details.
‘And the date?’ Why did he persist when Bootler could ferret out the same information without trouble?
‘Two weeks from tomorrow and not soon enough.’
They moved towards the hall.
‘An enviable event, no doubt.’ Crispin smiled at Aunt Matilda.
‘We’ll leave you then, Lord Hastings. Thank you for showing such prudent care on behalf of my niece. I perish to think what might have happened to her had you not proven the valiant gentleman.’
Now there was a loaded statement. They entered the hall and he noticed Amanda paled considerably.
‘I never meant to be on that ship. That much is certain,’ Amanda asserted in barely above a whisper.
‘Stop recriminating yourself for one small mistake.’ Aunt Matilda waved away the comment, though he found Amanda’s statement an unanswered question at best.
With the ladies on their way and Ferris taking a nap before dinner, Crispin returned to his study to collect his thoughts concerning Sophie. At least his parents could cease their investigation efforts and find peace in his return. His failure not to notify them was unforgivable, an act that went on far too long. At the time, were he to have breeched the chasm of unresolved emotion, he would have faltered, possibly returned and reunited with his family when he hadn’t purged himself of anger and recrimination, to prove his faults beyond a doubt. Bootler informed him Sophie was home alone, his parents one day out of return to England. He would visit this evening, bring everything to right and then continue on to the Underworld. Ferris was impatient for amusement and Crispin’s visit to the gaming hell was long overdue.
Amanda packed her travelling valise and returned to the foyer where Aunt Matilda waited. Father and Raelyn, Enid too, were due home in another day or so, but even twenty-four hours was too long for Amanda to stay home with no servants. She’d learned to be self-reliant, but she yearned for a hot bath, ample meal and quality conversation. Father had released the staff in anticipation of a much longer holiday and everything subsequent had altered as soon as she’d stepped aboard the wrong ship. As much as she yearned to be home in her own bed, spending time with her aunt always proved enjoyable and it made little sense to remain alone, when she’d despaired about the very same condition at sea.
Now she’d keep her aunt company and together they would while away the time. In truth, since their visit to Bedford Square, she hadn’t managed a thought that didn’t include Crispin. Why was her aunt making presumptions and evoking false hope? It was foolish, of course, to wish for something one could not have. She understood Raelyn’s broken heart with a touch more empathy, Amanda’s conflicted emotions a persistent reminder.
Her travel aboard the galleon could have all ended on much worse terms. The horrific remembrance of the crewman’s intended assault caused her to clench her eyes tight. If Crispin had not returned to speak to her… the thought was too terrifying to conjure. With a shudder, she regained composure, picked up her valise and hurried downstairs.
‘That didn’t take long at all, dearest. Is there anything else we should do before we leave?’ Aunt Matilda placed a finger to her cheek and scanned the foyer in thought.
‘I’ll jot a note to Father. The servants aren’t here and, if he doesn’t come to your residence straightaway upon his return, I’d like him to find a note written in my hand in wait for him.’ Amanda gathered the necessary items.
‘A well-thought-out plan.’ Matilda nodded in agreement. ‘I’ve noticed an affirmed sense of confidence in you. I suppose Raelyn will need my ministrations most of all once you and Lord Hastings get on with it.’
Amanda nearly dropped the nib and inkwell at her aunt’s absurd suggestion. ‘What are you talking about? That’s a rath
er far-fetched expectation.’ But her aunt misunderstood.
‘No, Raelyn’s heart is truly broken from that cad of a fiancé. What kind of gaming establishment allows a young gentleman to squander his entire fortune without recompense? Thus, causing him to lose respectability and security. What type of scoundrel watches without intervention when someone ruins their future on the turn of a card or roll of the dice?’
Amanda eyed her aunt, unsure if she was meant to answer. ‘I suppose…’ She paused to seal the note to her father. ‘…The same someone who claims propriety of a gaming hell. Indeed, the place is called the Underworld.’
‘Clever. I’ll give them that.’ Aunt Matilda moved towards the door. ‘Though I have it in mind to go there and give the owner a well-deserved piece of advice.’
Amanda didn’t have the fortitude to pursue what that might be and followed her aunt out through the door.
Crispin and Ferris arrived at Daventry House at half past eight that same evening. Through Bootler, Crispin secured Sophie had no social invitations and, with a brightly wrapped package under his arm, he slid his key into the lock rather than knocking. Ferris stood beside him with a colourful bouquet of flowers. Despite Crispin’s new address and recent unpleasant behaviour, he held no doubt he would always be welcome in his parents’ residence.
‘Hello. I’m home.’ He chuckled at the words, long overdue and with multiple meaning. Ferris followed as they crossed the threshold and walked further into the foyer. Curious as to why no footman rushed forward in greeting, he noted most everything appeared the same as when he’d left nearly a year before.
‘Crispin?’
His sister’s shriek of astonishment scattered his thoughts and a lump of unexpected sentiment caused him to clear his throat in a hurry. He raised his eyes to the upper landing as Sophie flew to the stairs and down, accomplishing the treads in a rush of silk and ruffles. At the bottom, she launched herself into his embrace and he folded his arms around her to keep them both from toppling over.
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