The Haunted Knight 0f Lady Canterley
Page 29
Edwina laughed. “What an image. Then hold your ground, My Lady. Wait until the right man presents himself.”
“If he ever does,” Amalia complained moodily. “What if I cannot tell if he wants me for me, or for my inheritance?”
“Look for the drool.”
“And the one without it is him,” Amalia finished, laughing. “Oh, Ed, I am so glad I have you to talk to. You never fail to make me feel better.”
“Perhaps this is a good time to inquire about a raise in salary?”
Laughing, Amalia stood up and hugged her. “I will demand it from Father’s steward. Now, how about some wine and a game of cards?”
As the two young women had grown up together, even as mistress and servant, Amalia never ceased to regard Edwina as her best friend. Though she had had a few friends from the social circles, young titled ladies like herself, she felt she could confide in none of them. Edwina was an orphan abandoned on the streets of London and taken in by the Duchess Celeste, Amalia’s mother. Once she grew old enough, she became Amalia’s personal maid.
“Have you contemplated marriage, Ed?” Amalia asked, shuffling the cards for another game.
“A time or two,” Edwina replied, taking a sip from her wine. “But that can wait until after you have found that right man.”
“Have anyone in mind?” Amalia asked, her tone sly as she gazed at her friend.
Edwina smirked. “Perhaps.”
Dropping the cards on the table, Amalia leaned forward. “Who? Tell me, I must know.”
“Only because you have plied me with too much drink, and it will be your fault if your hair is a mess in the morning.”
Amalia groaned, sinking back against her chair. “Ed.”
“Oh, all right. Mr. Bannock’s son.”
Her mouth opened in a round O of surprise, Amalia stared. “He is the handsomest devil this side of –”
Coughing instead of saying the word that came to mind, Amalia spluttered and picked up the cards. “You know what I mean. And as the son of Father’s steward, he has a brilliant future ahead of him.”
“I would take him if he were a cotter’s son.”
Laughing, Amalia said, “You love him. He returns your feelings, I trust?”
Blushing to the roots of her blonde hair, Edwina glanced aside. “Yes. He does. He has already asked me to marry him. Twice.”
“You will make such a wonderful couple, Ed.” Amalia sighed dramatically. “There is no need to wait until I marry. Accept his proposal, and then I can start making wedding plans.”
Edwina shook her head firmly. “I told him not until you have married, My Lady. He has agreed to wait until then.”
Amalia folded her arms under her bosom. “Thank you for adding the pressure on me, Ed. You have no future until I have one. What if I do not get married, Ed? What then? You follow me into spinsterhood?”
Edwina set her jaw, and Amalia recognized the expression on her face. An angry and recalcitrant mule might have appeared less stubborn. Maybe. “If I must.”
Narrowing her eyes, Amalia asked, “What if I order you to get married?”
“You will not.”
“Perhaps, I will.”
Edwina grinned and twirled the stem of her wineglass in her fingers. “You will not because that would go against your personal code of conduct.”
Snatching up her own glass, Amalia glared at her. “This is why ladies of society do not become social with their servants. They know too much.” She took a long gulp and emptied her glass.
“So, dismiss me.”
“I hate you.”
“I know. More wine, My Lady?”
* * *
Blinded by a headache and the bright sunlight, Amalia squinted up as Edwina opened her bedcurtains the following morning. “Please close them,” she whispered.
“I do apologize, My Lady,” Edwina replied easily. “But I must not. Breakfast is in less than an hour, and I know you would not wish to annoy His Grace further.”
Trying to rise, she stared blearily at Edwina. “You got me drunk last night.”
“No, I must correct you, My Lady. You got yourself drunk last night. You attempted to draw me into your behavior, but I declined most graciously.”
“I still hate you.”
“If it will make you feel better, please indulge in your fancy. Meanwhile, I stand ready to assist you in washing, dressing, and I have the perfect coif in mind for your hair.”
Dragging herself from the huge bed with her head pounding, Amalia staggered to the basin and splashed cold water on her face. “At least my scandalous behavior was private,” she muttered. “Why is it men can get drunk publicly, and no one talks about it, but if I were to do it, the scandal sheets would burn?”
“Women are supposed to be silent in church, bear children, and behave as though the world were watching.”
Feeling sick to her stomach, Amalia wondered if that might excuse her from breakfast. But then, that would lead to many questions from her father as to her health, and he might even insist his physician take a look at her. Amalia decided she would rather face breakfast than that. “If women ruled instead of men….”
“That is bluestocking talk, My Lady. I can see the scandal sheets now.”
“Never mind. I do not suppose there is any wine left?”
Less than an hour later, Amalia strode sedately down the stairs, freshly washed, clad in an attractive gown of red gold trimmed in brown, her hair pinned atop her head and her legs steady. If her head still ached and her stomach churned, her discomforts did not show on her face. She smiled demurely at Patrick, awaiting her outside the dining room.
Bowing, he kissed her hand, smiling into her face. “You look lovely this morning, cousin,” he said.
“Thank you,” she replied, offering him a warm expression she did not truly feel inside. “Has Father arrived?”
“No, actually he has not.”
Feeling a stab of concern, Amalia glanced toward the stairs, expecting to see her father descending them, breaking his own rule on tardiness. He had never once, that she knew of, ever been late for a meal. Frowning with her lips pursed, she opened the dining-room door and discovered that the Duke was not inside waiting for them. Perkins and the footmen stood ready to begin serving, and Perkins bowed at the sight of her.
“Something is wrong,” she said, her worry growing, turning back. “Even when he felt ill the other day, he came down for meals.”
“Shall I go check on him?” Patrick’s brow had furrowed, his own apprehension clear.
“I will go to his rooms and see. I presume Reggie went home last night?”
“He did.”
“I will return shortly.”
Spinning on her heel, Amalia strode rapidly across the wide entryway and climbed the steps. Her father’s vast array of rooms took up almost half of the third floor, Marshall’s former apartments spread out over a portion of the other half while her own filled the rest. Knocking on her father’s door, she waited with nervous impatience, chewing on her lower lip.
The door opened, and Charles Finley, the Duke’s valet, bowed to her. “I was going to send for you, My Lady,” he said. “I fear His Grace has taken ill.”
Real fear jolted her, and she recalled the terrible illness that had taken her brother’s life. She pushed through the open doorway and strode to the Duke’s bedchamber. No, no, it cannot be happening again. “Have you sent for his physician?” she called over her shoulder.
“I have, My Lady.”
Her father was awake and beckoned to her as she hesitated at the entrance to his most private room. “Amalia,” he said, his voice strong despite the paleness of his flesh. “Come in. I had just asked Charles to ask you to come.”
Pulling a chair nearer to the bed, Amalia sat, gazing into his waxy face and dull eyes. “What is wrong?”
He waved his hand. “The same as before, only more pronounced, I fear. I am not understanding this. I was fine yesterday.”
&nb
sp; “Your symptoms are not the same as... Marshall’s were,” Amalia asked slowly, panic choking her throat, “are they?”
“No, please do not fret, daughter. This will pass shortly. I merely wished to reassure you and ask that you become hostess for our guests.”
Amalia’s gaze sharpened on his face. “Patrick?”
“Your cousin as well as his friend, the Earl of Eastcairn.” The Duke closed his eyes and winced, as though enduring a spasm of pain. “I agreed to permit Patrick to invite him here for a visit, yet now I fear I will be unable to perform my duties as host.”
“You must get well, Father. I am sure the Earl will understand.”
“If he is a true gentleman, he will. Now go on back downstairs and prepare the household for his visit in my stead.”
“I will come back later to see you, Father.”
The Duke smiled. “I will enjoy that. Now please go. The physician is here, and I do not need you to see him cut open a vein and bleed me.”
Rising, Amalia bent and kissed his brow. “I will see you shortly.”
Leaving the room, Amalia passed the bowing doctor with his leather satchel slung over his shoulder. With a quick glance back, seeing him vanish into the depths of her father’s room, she retreated from his apartments and back into the hallway.
Patrick hovered nearby; his head lowered as he paced back and forth. He glanced up, his dark brown eyes anxious, as she closed the door quietly behind her. “How is he?” he asked, falling into step as she traversed the corridor toward the stairs.
“He believes he will be up soon,” she replied, “but asked me to play hostess when your friend arrives.”
“He is in London now, and should be arriving in a few hours.”
“I will send for Reggie,” Amalia went on, thinking. “He is close enough to the family, and his rank will enable him to take my father’s place as host.”
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Also by Patricia Haverton
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About the Author
Born the oldest of three children, Patricia Haverton grew up believing that she’d follow in her father’s footsteps and pursue a career in science. However, her worldview changed when she decided to explore her British mother’s roots. The trip to her ancestral lands solidified her conviction that she had found her true calling in the romanticism of the Era of Kings and Queens.
A hopeless romantic and a firm believer in the idea of soulmates, Patricia changed the course of her life and decided to get her degree in Creative Writing and Psychology. As she jokingly says ever so often, “she lives in the past now, where love shows the way and Dukes save the day!”
When she’s not weaving tales of love that prevails, Patricia enjoys spending time with her husband, roaming the British countryside, where they have been living in for the past decade.
Now would be the time to let yourself go and experience the true magic of the Regency Era! Let your imagination run wild, live amazing adventures through the eyes of brave heroes! Like the legendary wise wizard, Patricia will be your guide!
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