by Lauren Smith
“Yes, though I must tell you he has regarded it as a fait accompli since your father’s man of business approached him last year.”
Last year? Adam thought in sudden anger. The first he had heard of it was two scant months ago. His future had been arranged and he had had no knowledge of it. The very idea made him so furious he thought once more of rebelling, of saying no to all of it and leaving England entirely.
And do what? the demon of sensibility in his mind asked. I’m not fit for anything but being a rich man’s son.
“Poor Butterfly and Edwina are doubtless tired. This is as far as they have come in a year or more,” Lady Amelia said, stroking old Butterfly’s grey-haired nose.
“Can you mount or should I lift you?”
Her ladyship gave a pallid laugh, and for one moment there was the ghost of the blonde highwaywoman in her face. “And what kind of a horsewoman would I be if I couldn’t mount myself?”
Adam laughed obligingly, then bent and cupped his hands to substitute for a mounting block. Lady Amelia leapt lightly into the saddle, then patted the old horse’s neck. “Thank you, Mr. Ferrour.”
It was the last thing said until they reached the Abbey, where the superannuated stableman dozed quietly on the front steps.
“Stovall,” her ladyship said as Adam lifted her to the ground. She spoke gently but with enough volume to penetrate both his slumber and encroaching deafness. “Please take the horses back to the stables and give them an extra half-measure of feed. This is more exercise than they’ve had in a long time.”
The old man blearily stumbled to his feet and belatedly pulled his forelock. “Aye, your ladyship, but the bin be almost empty.”
“Do as I say,” Lady Amelia replied. “Things will work out.”
Still grumbling, Stovall took both horses’ reins and set out for the stables at a amble that almost surpassed theirs for slowness.
Somewhat to Adam’s surprise the Earl himself opened the door, his chubby face alight. “Thought it was time you two should return. Sorry about this being such humbug county for riding, nothing like around Ferrour House.”
Adam was not surprised that he knew of the new and excessive country home old Sir Emmanuel had built for himself.
The Earl went on almost without stopping for breath. “Now, Amelia my girl, I’m sure you want to rest after your ride, so why don’t you go on upstairs and let Mr. Ferrour and me talk?”
Lady Amelia obediently moved toward the staircase but paused on the bottom step, turning to face her father. “Mr. Ferrour paid me the compliment of asking for my hand in marriage, Pappa. I accepted him.”
The Earl did not look surprised at all, but his expression glowed with a rush of even more happiness. “Good, my girl. Wonderful. Now run on upstairs. As for you, my future son, what do you say to a quick game of cards?”
He must never be allowed to come to Town, Adam thought. I wonder if Father knows how bad the Earl is?
Of course he did. Sir Emmanuel Ferrour always knew everything.
“It would be delightful, sir, but I dare not sit down with you in all my dirt. Besides, I have to speak with my man.” Without waiting to give his lordship a chance to protest Adam bounded up the stairs, wondering how he was going to find John Coachman in this sprawling, mouldering pile.
Chapter 7
“Well, Miss Amelia?”
Her ladyship swept into the room, her absurdly long skirts dragging across the floor. She tossed her hat into the corner, the impact sending up a snowstorm of rotting feather fragments.
“It is done. The transaction finalized.” Her voice sounded dead.
“Wonderful, my dear, wonderful!” Her face wreathed in smiles, Martha began to undo the complicated old fastenings on the habit. “It could not be better. Will the wedding be in London? I suppose it will be. And when? When do I need to start getting your clothing ready to go south?”
Her ladyship sighed. “I have no idea, but doubtless Sir Emmanuel will inform us of what he has decided.”
“You should sound happy, child. This is a most momentous occasion.”
“Momentous? Definitely. Happy? No. Not happy at all.”
“Well, you certainly are a hard one to please.” With a grunt Martha lifted the heavy dress off her charge. Inwardly she rejoiced. Surely Mr. Ferrour would see his bride-to-be properly turned out in new clothing. It had long saddened her that her ladyship had been reduced to wearing the cast-off clothing of previous generations of Radston women. Martha had once tried to use an old dress to make something more modern for Lady Amelia, but the combination of the heavy fabric and her own lack of skill with the needle had been so infelicitous the result had been hidden away and never worn.
Lady Amelia sighed and picked up the silk dressing gown laid out for her on the bed. “I had dreamed… but we have spoken of this many times. I will try to be properly grateful for what we receive. Now I think I shall rest, as there are things I must do later.”
“No, Miss Amelia! Surely now that things are settled between you and Mr. Ferrour…!”
“Settled, but not completed, and I can’t give up my duty until it is. After all, multa cadunt inter calicem supremaque labra.”
Martha snorted. “I still think it was a mistake for the Earl to allow you to learn that heathenish tongue. It isn’t fit for a lady.”
“And do you really believe my father gave a fig for what I learned other than loo and pharaoh so I could play with him when no one else would? No, Miss Hart taught me Latin… and you cannot say she was not a lady. Anyway, it makes no difference in what language it is said, it’s very true that there is many a slip betwixt the cup and the lip.”
“And why couldn’t you have said that in the beginning instead of prattling on in that foreign language? No man wants a chattering bluestocking for a wife,” the old woman grumbled. “And surely you’re not going to…”
“I am, Martha. I have obligations and duties I cannot ignore.”
“But with Mr. Ferrour…”
“There are things that cannot wait. Now leave me. I wish to rest.”
Muttering steadily beneath her breath Martha picked up the huge mound of fabric and walked out of the room, shutting the door none too gently behind her.
Lady Amelia did not lie down immediately. Instead she walked to the window and looked out over the ruined garden. She could barely remember when it had been a beautiful knot garden with orderly beds and tended walkways. A tiny child at the time, she didn’t remember the pattern so much as the overwhelming number of flowers, the heavy, sweet scents and the brilliant colors.
Then her mother had died and life had changed forever. Her father had always been a gamester, but her mother had been able to rein in the worst of his excesses. After her death, though, everything had dissolved into chaos with outstanding rapidity. He gambled deeply, buying her wonderous things that would vanish just as soon as they had come. She had even had to give Miss Hart some pieces of her mother’s jewelry – carefully hoarded by Martha and kept secret from the Earl – to keep her from starving until she could find new employment. If Lady Amelia had not taken control of the housekeeping before reaching her twelfth birthday they might have starved as well.
Now the end of the bad time seemed to be coming to a close. Adam Ferrour seemed a nice enough young man, and his father’s money seemed to be nice, too, but she had learned in a hard school not to expect anything.
But in her secret heart of hearts she had hoped – hoped to have the kind of love and affection Miss Hart had talked about, the kind she herself had had before her young man had been killed early in the war against the French. At least Miss Hart had known love, however roughly it had been ripped away from her; Lady Amelia had never known any kind of love save from Miss Hart and Martha. Perhaps her mother had loved her; if so, she had been too young to remember it. As for her father – the Earl had been talking about arranging an advantageous marriage to a wealthy man for her since her fourteenth year, which was – to her ladyship’
s mind – hardly proof of love, any more than selling a horse to a wealthy racing stable.
And now his lordship had succeeded and for good or evil her fate was sealed. She couldn’t relax, though; there really was many a slip between the cup and the lip. Adam Ferrour – or perhaps more accurately Sir Emmanuel Ferrour – could change his mind at any time, leaving her, her father and Clereston Castle high and dry. Until the marriage actually occurred she had responsibilities. There were things she had to see to.
Sighing, Lady Amelia lay back on her bed and tried to relax.
Luck favored Adam, for his erstwhile valet was in his room, brushing his evening suit.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Ferrour,” said John Coachman, who immediately put the suit aside and went to assist his master with the removal of his riding habit.
Adam brushed him away. He had made a decision; if he could not offer his affianced bride affection, he could at least offer her kindness.
“John, you are to go down and see the coach harnessed…”
The older man’s face blazed with pleasure. “The coach, sir? You mean we are leaving?”
“No. You are to take the coach and go buy some feed. Better get some molasses, too, in case the older horses are unable to eat good grain. The stableman can tell you where to go. Also order a wagonload or so – no, make it two – delivered. I want every animal in that stable well fed.”
John Coachman’s face had solidified into frozen servility. “I can make the trip faster by horseback, sir. One of the job horses is trained to carry a postillion, so I am sure he will carry a saddle.”
“No, it might take a day or two for those wagons to be delivered. You are to take the coach and bring back as many bags of feed as it will hold. And go quickly.”
“Feed? Sacks of feed? In your father’s new coach?” His horrified voice soared to girlish heights. “Surely you jest, sir.”
Adam was not accustomed to anything but instant obedience, so he spoke more sharply than he ever had to a servant. “No, I do not! Now go, and go quickly, because I want you back as soon as possible.”
John Coachman turned and walked with affronted dignity from the room. Adam realized he had made a mistake; he should have let the man help him out of his riding habit before sending him off. It took a few minutes to struggle out of his jacket, then twice as long to fight his way out of his boots. Figuring that his lordship would be more interested in a game than in the sartorial correctness of his future son-in-law, Adam left the rest of his costume untouched, only stepping into his slippers before going out to meet his fate.
Chapter 8
Dinner was a repetition of the night before. Adam apologized for appearing in his riding costume, saying since he had sent his man on an errand he dared not try to put on his evening suit without aid. As the Earl was still wearing the same clothes he had when Adam had arrived (including the addition of the evidence of a few recent meals) he didn’t think there would be any objection from him. Adam only hoped that Lady Amelia would not object, but she merely sat quietly in her chair, picking at her food and not looking at anyone. She had given the meal more respect than it deserved, eyes downcast and wearing another elaborate dress that was at least two generations out of date.
“So it’s all settled,” Radston said as gleefully as he had several times before, rubbing his hands together. “Good! No need to stand on ceremony – eat!” He dug into his plate with every evidence of pleasure.
Adam approached his plate with justifiable trepidation; the food served at Clereston Castle was not the worst he had ever had – that honor belonged to a hedgerow tavern when Buchephalus had thrown a shoe – but it was very close to it.
Was his blonde highwaywoman even now hiding in such a low place? What was she eating? Who was she with? Was she safe? Did she intend to go out robbing again tonight? Far too many travelers were now carrying pistols and arming their servants for him not to worry. What if she were shot? What if she were killed and he never saw her again?
Adam’s stomach clenched and it had nothing to do with the meal. For all his domineering ways Sir Emmanuel was not stingy; he gave Adam a generous allowance that allowed him to move in the circles Sir Emmanuel wished him to. There was still a large amount remaining of his quarter-money and Adam realized there would be even more once the marriage was a fait accompli. He had no idea what knights of the road earned, but surely it couldn’t be much. If he settled a decent sum on his blonde highwaywoman she could give up her dangerous occupation and live safely.
And he could see her occasionally…
Adam had always had the greatest contempt for men who married a woman then violated their marriage vows by keeping a woman on the side; now he was seriously considering becoming one. If only the two women were reversed, and his highwaywoman was the Earl’s legitimate daughter and Lady Amelia were… No, even in the most extreme flight of fancy could he imagine her quiet, colorless ladyship as a highwaywoman.
“Now when is the wedding to be? We’ll need to get the chapel here fixed up and ready…”
“My father is making all the arrangements, I believe. The last I heard he was hoping to have it at St. George’s in Hanover Square.”
The Earl’s face lit up. “Ah, in London! Of course. Much more fitting. Doubtless we’ll be staying a while so things can be attended to…?”
“I’m sure my father will have everything well in hand,” Adam said dampeningly. “Now that Lady Amelia and I are in agreement, I am to go back to London. I should know more then.”
“Don’t let it be too long, my boy. Don’t want to leave a fair flower like my Amelia alone too long for fear she will be snapped up by someone else…”
Adam smiled as he was supposed to, inwardly wondering who else might ‘snap up’ her ladyship, especially if they knew her father’s situation.
“Do not be foolish, Pappa,” she murmured in a voice so low it was almost inaudible. “I will be quite safe here until Sir Emmanuel is content to pick up his purchase.”
The Earl brindled at that, but conversely Adam smiled with the same vague kindness he felt toward puppies and untrained young horses. “I shall always take care to be sure you are safe, Lady Amelia.”
He waited for her to make some pointed remark about protecting his property, but her ladyship only gave him a tiny smile and nodded her head. The Earl, by contrast, grinned and rubbed his hands together.
“Capital! Capital! Glad to see you two growing together!”
For all as if we were two trees forcibly grafted into one, Adam thought with a sudden rush of petulance, then took a deep breath as he realized that was exactly what was happening. Yet again it was brought painfully home that he was permitting himself to be manipulated by his father. Each time the idea became more and more repellent.
The evening ended as before; the Earl dismissed his daughter and, his face alight with anticipation, all but demanded that Adam join him for a game of cards. “The girl is all right enough, I suppose, but her heart’s just not in it. I know ladies in London like a turn at the cards, but women just aren’t capable of a good game like men are, don’t you know?”
Tomorrow, thought Adam with longing. Tomorrow I will start back to London. Tomorrow… Which means, he realized, that if I am going to talk to my blonde hellion again, it must be tonight.
Still, he had his obligations, as much as he might dislike them. He had managed to huddle in his room for most of the afternoon, telling an importunate Bentick that he had a headache and could not play cards, but such a poor excuse would not hold a gazetted gamester like Radston off for long. He could not imagine the Earl crying off, not when the old man believed he might be returned to London, but it was a possibility. Forcing a grin, he said, “We can play for a little while, but as I’m returning to London tomorrow to ready things for Lady Amelia, it can’t be for long.”
His gay smile dimmed as his lordship realized he had a chance only for a few games this evening, but brightened again when it clearly struck him that such a lam
entable lack would take him even closer to his triumphant return to Town.
“Excellent news, my boy. The sooner you and my girl are leg-shackled the quicker we can get on to important things. I say, are you a member of White’s?”
Adam shook his head as he watched the Earl clumsily manipulate the cards. He was indeed a member of that august organization, as well as two others, but knew if he told his future father in law of it the old man would never cease to pester him about putting him up for membership. “I am afraid not, sir. Clubs aren’t really my line…”
Cards splattered over the table as Radston stared in total disbelief. “Not your line? What on earth do you do?”
“Oh, I go to the theatre, and once in a while there is an improving lecture at some society or another…”
Earl Radston’s expression became even more astonished. “Lectures, d’you say? Improving lectures?” He made it sound unwholesomely suspect.
“Yes,” Adam went on, fully aware that he was teasing the old man, “just before I left there was a most interesting one on the habits of sea monsters…”
The Earl had been scooping the cards together again, but paused to shake an admonishing finger in Adam’s face. “Now look here – I find it dashed alarming that you let a headache this afternoon keep you from the table just like an unfledged miss and instead of doing something manly and normal, you prefer girlish things like lectures and the theatre – ” He stopped suddenly, and something that made Adam very uncomfortable flashed in the old man’s eyes. “Looking to find yourself a dolly-bird, were you? Well, that’s all well and good, but just make sure my girl isn’t hurt by it.”