“How have you fared with the enthusiastic debates of embroidery?”
“I have restrained from inflicting bodily harm on every party involved, but I must ask you a question. You see, it would put a matter that puzzles me to rest.” Windon was worried about the overly serious expression on her face. It did nothing to detract from her pretty face but it worried him nonetheless.
“I am at your service in all things.”
She turned to him with a prim air.
“I have once consigned the matters men discuss apart from us to be nothing of much import saving which horse would be most likely to win the Royal Ascot. Tell me, was I remiss in such thoughts?” Her eyes twinkled with the most impish delight. Her rapid fanning told him she was quite overcome by laughter and barely capable of restraining herself.
He looked at her with such a woebegone look that she had almost called off her jest. But then she realized he had no doubt caught the joke. He laughed, a deep uproar with his head thrown back. The milling crowds turned curious stares. Lady Amelia herself was most enamored with the strong column of his neck, once hidden by his lapels and the cravat, now half exposed to her hungry stare.
His laughter was a rich flood, a reaction she had not expected. She would have settled with the smiles that sent waves fluttering through her. The laughter tugged strongly. “Have a care, Your Grace.” She whispered urgently even as she turned a bland look to the curious crowd. “People are starting to stare.”
“Forgive me, Lady Amelia, but I am simply overcome by the circumstances.” He smiled benignly, but more than amusement was in his eyes. “I must confess that you are not far off the mark. Even, I am most ashamed to say, I am guilty of such insipid conversation. I have spent the better amount of the time in this gathering introducing a man with no more to commend him than his way with horses, his excellent seat and a discerning eye for horseflesh.”
He looked so comically apologetic that she laughed, a fluttery, soft sound behind her fan. He wished she had not bothered to hide behind the contraption of lace and wood. He would have no doubt enjoyed her joy, in much the same way he had enjoyed her many expressions. “I ask for forgiveness for my many sins.” He waited until she recovered.
“And I am graciously ready forgive you.” She conceded with a soft smile.
“Indeed you are.” He waited a moment then turned to her. “Do you ride?” She looked at him with a mixture of mock indignation and mock consternation.
“I am an accomplished horsewoman, Your Grace.” She answered with an impish smile.
“I wonder if I may call on you for a ride in the park.” He inquired softly.
“I fear we are returning to the country posthaste. The Season has nearly ended and the London air is very disagreeable to my father.” Her apology was sincere.
He turned to her fully. Despite a conversation that had spanned the night, they knew little of the other.
“Might I inquire after his health?”
“You may. It is serious, but not immediate. Our physician is of the opinion that the country air is kinder and easier on his disposition. And I am inclined to agree. He does not suffer so in the brisk country air at our estates.” She stated calmly, with the air of one who had given the matter a lot of thought.
“I must then regret the loss of opportunity to pursue our acquaintance.” He was not just saying the words, and she, if her expression was something to go by, felt the same way.
“If I may be so bold to return your sentiments. Alas, he is not at all in good health and once his Parliament duties are discharged we must return with haste. I cannot in good faith continue to have him risk his own health for my prospects.”
“I can curb my displeasure long enough to commend your acts of devotion to your father. He must be infinitely pleased to have a daughter so devoted to him.”
“There are other things I am sure would please him more.” She sighed. It was so tough, when what her father wanted most was for her to leave him, but she had so little time left with him! Lord Windon read this comment as a thinly veiled allusion to the marriage mart.
“Indeed,” he murmured assent. He was aware of the demands of familial responsibilities and how one was always called upon to act, but would inevitably not come up to snuff. He turned back to the crowd of which a good portion was playing charades. He noted no one had invited them to join in and that led him to feel a kinship with the lady. It was refreshing, much unlike the embroidery-loving girls aiming for a good connection.
“You remind me so strongly of my sister. She is also smart and loyal.”
“You have a sister? I would be delighted if you would introduce me. Is she out yet?”
“She is whatever beyond out is. Settled, that is the word.” He answered with a twitch of his lips.
“She is married then.”
“Yes, several Seasons past now. She is my elder by many years.”
“And you inherited despite the fact that she was born first.” She asked breezily, much too easily, as if she was commenting on the weather. It made him increasingly wary as if there was a trap suddenly looming beneath his feet. “To think that Queen Elizabeth was perhaps the best monarch our country will ever see, and yet men still doubt the capabilities of the female sex.”
“It is the way of things.” He returned with a puzzled expression and that was the exact wrong thing to say. She stiffened in a way that his answer was a personal affront. He hurried on, “You forget, even Queen Elizabeth inherited after a younger brother, and an older sister too, come to mention it.”
Amelia opened her mouth for a retort, but bit back her argument. The fate of queens and the rules of primogenitor would not be solved at a dinner party. She put on a blank smile. “Yes, that is so. Do you see your sister often?”
“I saw her at one of the christenings a few years ago, but I haven’t bothered to go to them all. Babies all look alike. She is well-married and my duty to her is discharged.”
The comment brought her to a stop, it was so offhand and callous. He was not the man she had hoped. Her polite mask shattered like bone china.
“Your Grace, I am to believe you did not visit or correspond with your sister, your smart, loyal sister, after her marriage?” Her voice trembled with outrage and shock. This was not like the charming, well-read man she had assumed him to be.
“There are few matters we have to discuss I cannot direct to her husband. There is little need for correspondence.” The admission did nothing to aid his cause. It was all true but he felt a twinge of guilt at her incredulous gaze. By Jove, he liked to think he had done well by the old girl, but now he was not so sure.
Her lips pursed and her already rigid self grew even more so. He had no idea how, she was already so stiff.
“Is there no end to the indignities suffered by women?” The words were under her breath, and not meant for any ear apart from hers, but he caught them anyways.
“Beg pardon.” The words ripped from him in surprise.
“Your Grace.” Her teeth clenched and her fan trembled in her white fist. “Do you think it kind that you not only inherit what would ordinarily be hers by virtue of birth, but also abandon her after her marriage, as if your only interactions are those required by duty and not filial tenderness? The courtesy of correspondence personally addressed to her would not be remiss.”
He squirmed inside. When she put it like that he agreed wholeheartedly but being called out on the matter was galling. “It just never occurred to me. That is just the way of things.” This weak reply had her sniffing with disdain. If it had not worked earlier, he found it to be doubly ineffective now
“It is also the way of things for the Crown to seize the holdings of lords without male heirs. We have come to the crux of what ails my father.” The trembling fan still gripped in her tight fist was her only show of anger. Her voice was light and almost conversational if one missed the slight edge in her words.
“My apologies.” He knew no other words to say and these were
damningly inadequate.
She nodded stiffly. “It is apparently I who must beg pardon of all of England for not dying in place of my brother.” The words were bold but the pain was so evident in her sharp gaze. It nudged him painfully but he would not be able to offer her any comfort.
“My Lady! Surely, you don’t mean—you don’t wish...” He stumbled to a halt. She had withdrawn without moving an inch. She saw him now to be a member of the same Society that stifled her. She was so bold, mind and beauty.
Many would quail in her presence because of her bold, forthright manner and how she had little patience for coy action. It was the way of the world that rich, connected heiresses were allowed their eccentricities, but poor spinsters were given no mercy. The London which had allowed her such liberties today would also condemn her once her fortune fell.
That, more than anything, troubled him. When the Crown seized her father’s holding she would be left just enough to scrape by. He had heard tales. “A thousand apologies. Again, if I may be of comfort?” He held out a square of pressed linen, a small thing to deal with a large grief.
“I am afraid that I have been too emotional for a first meeting.” She accepted the handkerchief and hide her face briefly in its folds. It smelled slightly of warm male and pipe tobacco. “Thank you for your restraint in chastising me fully. I must relieve Lady Hammond on the harpsicord. It was a pleasure.” The dismissal stung, but that was the way of things. He had been lulled by their matched wits to think that she was willing to remain beside him, but he was as always bereft of luck. He had forgotten the monstrosity of his scars for a scant half-hour, although it seemed a lifetime.
“Indeed, thank you for your indulgence of remaining in my presence for so long.” He murmured politely as he bowed to her, lingering over her fingertips.
Lady Amelia nodded stiffly, without meeting his eyes, and walked off. Her head was held impossibly high.
Lord Windon watched her go with an ache in his chest. He had not at all predicted her shining presence at this event. And he had been most grateful for the accident that prodded her to seek a place so close to him and start talking. She was different, yet she was neither slatternly nor unusual. And she possessed a fine intellect for a woman. At the thought he flushed. She had accused men of treating women with indignity, supposing an intellect was something given to humans of the male gender. He was ashamed of himself. He complained of Society, yet he followed its edicts, albeit within the looser rules that governed the behavior of dukes, and that was the gravest of hypocrisy. If only he could take away the pain and disappointment from her. The eyes that had smiled so winningly at him now filled with thinly veiled disgust.
Lord Rochester had completely missed the less than amicable parting of his daughter and her suitor. He had cornered a good friend of his and the two of them had proceeded to reminisce on their rowdy Eton days. Their laughter was unrestrained, tongues no doubt loosened by the host’s glass of fine brandy. Lord Rochester restricted himself to port, albeit of equally high quality, and kinder to his condition.
Lord Rochester used the opportunity to inquire again about Lord Windon. The Black Corinthian he was called. His skill in all manners of sport was exceeded only by his arrogance. He was allowed his arrogance but not, his friend informed him, the sardonic eye and the bold back he turned on Society. He was, after all, a duke and such a lofty title with such solvent accounts allowed for an eccentricity or two. The boy was ignoring his social responsibilities, but that did not stop the invitations from flooding into his lap.
His friend could not quite know if he kept a mistress or not. But, if he was, then he was damned discrete about his affairs, and that was always a commendable thing in a man. Lord Rochester did not comment on that but merely nodded affably. But for all his arrogance, Windon was a good lord and his investment schemes had paid out richly, so he was not hunting for an heiress.
Lord Rochester nodded at that nugget of information. When he asked if Lord Windon was angling for anyone, his friend laughed again and confided that Lord Windon paid slight, if any attention, to the chits. He barely honored any invitations and would only stay a bare three-quarters of an hour at each party. Come to think of it, this was the most Windon had stayed at any such events.
Lord Rochester nodded sagely and turned to quiet introspection. His friend spied another and walked off, leaving him to his devices. As he was quietly contemplating, a sudden passing shadow roused him. It was the Duke of Windon, in the flesh.
He seized the opportunity given him by Providence with both hands. “My good man, if I may press upon you for a moment." Lord Windon turned and relaxed his face but not before Lord Rochester caught sight of the scowl like thunder on his face.
“I am the Earl of Rochester.” At the raised brow, he continued. “I believe you have been introduced to my daughter, Lady Amelia. I could not help but notice that you were having a rapt conversation for an extended time.” He indicated with a languid wave in the general direction of the women.
For a minute, fear fluttered through Lord Windon. He wondered if one could be honor-bound to marry a woman whom he had only had a conversation with, albeit a long and scintillating one. There were times he had unintentionally tread on societal rules, lacking the gentle guidance of a mother.
“Your servant, My Lord.” He bowed slightly, a mere inclination of his head. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. I believe the lady and I were rather absorbed with which topics one should debate strongly." Precisely, even if they had veered to other matters.
“I believe the topic has merit with her, but may I ask if that was all you found to discuss?” Lord Rochester was hoping, and ever so slightly entrapping. His smile was one of tolerance but one looking closely would see he was quite proud of his daughter and her educated mind.
Lord Windon almost sighed at the hopeful look. It was not only ambitious mothers that schemed. Fathers were known to do so also, but with more directness. “We diverted to matters of traditional inheritance on a whim.”
Lord Rochester pursed his lips. That dashed daughter of his did not know what was good for her. “A thousand pardons, Your Grace, if she was direct in speaking on such matters.”
Looking at Lord Rochester it was obvious he was wearied of his daughter’s eccentricities but bore them proudly too. Lord Windon confided in him. “We were rubbing along splendidly, until I confessed that I had inherited in spite of my elder sister. She rightly pointed out that while my duty ended with my sister’s marriage our filial relationship should have continued, a fault that is all mine. The crux of the matter blew to a head when I admitted we do not share correspondence at all, addressing all matters to her husband.”
“Might I ask for your indulgence on her behalf?” The look on Windon’s face suggested he was deeply hurt. Lord Rochester tried to heal the breech quickly.
“You may not.” Lord Windon replied curtly.
Lord Rochester raised one grey brow and waited. Lord Windon remained silent, with eyes that contained darkness. “I feel not a little amount of guilt at what she called my offhand manner and the indignity I had inflicted on my sister.”
“I see, Your Grace,” he returned, but Lord Windon was lost in his own thought.
“I fear I am remiss in my actions. Many a time I told her it was the way of things, hoping to exonerate my actions. But I fear I have earned her complete disdain.” The tone was rueful but with an undertone of bitterness
Lord Rochester regarded Lord Windon and came to a quick decision. “Your Grace, might I invite you to my estates? I shall be honored if you would attend a small house party when we are retired to the countryside.”
“I am afraid, sir that it would be too much an inconvenience to visit, noting the state of your health and...” but Lord Rochester would not hear a word more of his excuses.
“Nonsense, my good man. It is only the London air filled with muck that ails me. In but a moment in the clear country air I am ready to ride a horse into the ground.” He pressed, e
mbellishing in his haste.
“If you insist then.” He was hard pressed and could not do the grave dishonor of rejecting his invitation out of hand.
“Indeed, I do. And I have another request to make if you, kind sir, would be willing to indulge me.” No time like the present and Lord Rochester was much too aware of the fragility of time.
“But of course.” Now Lord Rochester smiled, a sly show of pleasure that put Lord Windon on his guard much too late.
“I am full of years and despite the best of care will not tarry long in this world.” By then Lord Windon had a clear gist of what was coming. But did the man have to lay it on so thick? The guilt was hot pellets sliding down his throat. He tugged his cravat sharply to afford himself more air, but the guilt filled him and he had no idea why.
“My lord, if I may....” Once again Lord Rochester cut him off mid-word.
“I find I cannot rest if I do not find a suitable husband for my daughter.” The man was direct! His sincere gaze provoked even more guilt in him. He could not but be prodded to offer his help. Now he was honor-bound.
“My lord...” he paused. Lord Rochester looked at him with a look that said he knew he was already victorious. “I shall of course offer my services to aid you in any way possible.”
“I am beholden to you.” Lord Rochester returned with much more enthusiasm, clearly triumphant. "I am sure you have met my Amelia. She is comely and well behaved.” Lord Windon, who was of the same opinion, simply grunted. “And is entirely of a sweet disposition if matters of inheritance are not broached." A twitch of his lips was the only answer to that statement.
“She is indeed a paragon.”
“She will make, I believe, an excellent wife.” That was where all the well worded conversation was leading.
Regency Romance Omnibus 2018: Dominate Dukes & Tenacious Women Page 46