A Lady at Last (25 page)

As for Mama, one day they would meet. Amanda would make it so, and when they did, Mama would see an elegant lady with a handsome husband and an estate of her own, not a pirate's daughter, and she would never guess at the hurt and pain she had caused. Because Amanda would hold her head high and smile as graciously as the countess would.

And as for Cliff? They would be friends, maybe even dear friends, and while she might love him forever, it would be from afar, the way she had admired him from a distance on the island. Eventually, she hoped, it would not hurt so much.

Eleanor was holding up a pink-striped ivory. Amanda looked at her. “Tell me what you think I should choose.”

 

L
ADY
H
ARRINGTON
, sole heiress to the huge Harrington fortune, was in her drawing room in Greenwich, their spacious London home, with two callers, her old and dear friends, Lady Bess Waverly and Lady Felicia Capshaw. She sat on a gold velvet settee, a small, dignified woman of twenty-five with porcelain skin and striking blue-green eyes. Her pale, nearly platinum-blond hair was pulled tightly back into an unfashionable chignon, but it was the no-nonsense style she preferred. Although she was very wealthy, her dark blue gown was almost severe, and she wore but two small diamond earbobs and one diamond ring with no other jewelry, as she did not like to flaunt her wealth. Her friends, however, wore frilled and flounced gowns. Bess was sporting a huge ruby necklace, the gift from her most recent lover, a visiting Russian count, while Felicia wore more emeralds than any young widow should ever wear. But her recently deceased husband had left her a small fortune and she was flashing it as she could, desperately hoping to attract her third husband.

And it seemed that she had a viable candidate in mind. Felicia had spent the past hour telling her about an elderly earl, also twice widowed, who had called four times in this past week. “What do you think, my dear?” Felicia asked eagerly. She was a voluptuous brunette.

Blanche smiled quietly at her friend. “Do you want me to tell you what you wish to hear, or what I really do think of all of this?”

Felicia sat up straighter.

Bess laughed. “She wants your approval, Blanche. God, if only we could be as indifferent to life's foibles as you!”

Blanche carefully smiled, not offended but not about to share the truth with either friend. If only she could care about life's vagaries. She sighed. When she was six years old, she had witnessed her mother's brutal murder in a rioting mob. She could not remember that event or any day prior to it, and ever since, she had calmly accepted every twist and turn life offered.

“You do not care for Lord Robert,” Felicia pouted.

Blanche patted her hand. “I care for you, my dear. Do you really need to jump into wedlock again, so quickly? Can you not carefully choose your third husband?”

Felicia appeared annoyed. “I am not like you, Blanche, with ice in my veins. It is either Lord Robert or a lover, for like Bess, I dearly miss the passion of the marriage bed.”

Blanche was not flustered. Her friends knew she was a virgin. They could not understand why she refused to marry and even if she remained unwed, why she hadn't taken a lover. She had given up trying to explain that men held no interest for her. Her life was safe and secure at Harrington Hall, taking care of her father, and she did not need anything more. No man had ever made her heart race. She wasn't inclined toward women, not at all; she was merely dead in her body, as she was dead in her soul. “I suggest you take a lover, dear, for a while, but be discreet. And choose more wisely this time.” Her second husband had been an impetuous, if handsome, young man who had been killed jumping his Thoroughbred over a dangerously high fence.

As Blanche turned toward Bess, who was deliriously in love with her Russian despite Lord Waverly and their two children, her butler appeared, carrying a silver tray. “My lady?”

Gracefully Blanche rose to her feet to take the proffered card. She was delighted to see that the woman who had almost become her mother-in-law was calling. Once, she had been betrothed to Tyrell de Warenne, but neither one of them had wanted to go forward with the union. He had been enamored of his mistress, whom he had subsequently married. Her father had not insisted upon another betrothal, finally realizing that his daughter wished to remain a spinster, much to Blanche's relief. She was warmly inclined toward the countess of Adare, and knew that Mary de Warenne liked her, as well.

“Who is it?” Bess asked, standing. “I am late. Nicholas is waiting for me at the Beverly Hotel.”

Blanche was about to tell her when she saw the countess approaching in the hall outside of the salon, a dark gentleman with her. Her heart skipped a beat, surprising her.

“Oh!” Bess cried, grinning. She jabbed Felicia and lowered her voice. “It is the countess Adare and her dashing, albeit brooding, and very unwed son, Sir Rex of Land's End. There's the perfect lover for you, Felicia—I have heard he has great stamina in bed, never mind his missing leg.”

Felicia flushed. “He never smiles.”

“The serious ones make the best lovers, darling. I must be off!” Bess kissed Blanche's cheek, greeted the countess and Rex, and hurried out.

Blanche made sure she was smiling as she went forward to greet the countess, trying not to look at Rex de Warenne and refusing to heed Bess's words. She knew him, of course. They had exchanged a dozen words in the course of her brief engagement to his brother. It had always been awkward and forced. In fact, he had made her vaguely uncomfortable, which was odd, as no one really had the ability to cause her any tension. “Countess, what a delightful surprise.” She curtsied, deferring to the other woman's superior rank.

Then she glanced at Rex, her smile feeling quite fixed. As she greeted him she avoided his eyes. “Sir Rex, I am so pleased you have called.” It was impossible to avoid him entirely, as he was such a big, solid man. From the corner of her eyes, she glimpsed a muscular thigh. “Do you recall my dear friend, Lady Capshaw? She joined me all those years ago at Adare, but she was Lady Greene then.”

Introductions were made all around, while Blanche signaled to her butler for refreshments. Organizing the call made her recover the composure she had briefly lost. The countess's visit was not really a surprise, but she was caught off guard that her son had escorted her.

He was never in town. She doubted she had seen him in two years, if not more. Did he spend all of his time at his Cornish estate, she wondered. He had been awarded the estate and his title for his heroism in the war. He had not changed. He remained too big, too dark, with the shadow of some terrible burden in his eyes. But even she could admit her friends were right—he was very handsome, if one preferred the dark, brooding type.

“Sir Rex, it is a pleasure to see you again,” Felicia was saying coyly. “I certainly recall our introduction in Ireland.”

He nodded at her, unsmiling. “I take it you are well.” His dark gaze slid to Blanche and then away again.

Blanche realized Felicia was going to try to get into his bed. She reminded herself that she did not care and quickly turned to the countess. “How long have you been in town?” she asked, smiling.

“A mere two days,” the countess said. “Can we stroll on the terrace, dear?”

Blanche realized the countess had a matter she wished to discuss with her privately. Felicia was now asking Rex how long he had been in town, and although answering, he seemed impatient and annoyed. She caught him glancing at her friend's overexposed and lush bosom, but then, all men seemed inclined toward her two very socially active friends.

Blanche didn't really care to leave them together, but she looped her arm in Mary's and they strolled outside. “How considerate of Sir Rex to escort you today,” she heard herself say. One of her eyes seemed to be permanently trained on the couple inside her salon. Felicia was being amusing, because Rex was smiling, finally, albeit reluctantly.

“I was very surprised,” Mary admitted. “Of all my sons, he can be such a recluse. He is never in town, so I must make the most of it. As you surely know, he avoids society at all cost but he insists he is very occupied at Land's End. How are you, Blanche? And how is Lord Harrington?”

“Papa is well. He is in Stockholm, taking care of some business affairs. I do miss him when he travels,” she said truthfully. In fact, she had been terribly lonely until Bess and Felicia had called. Then she amended her thought. She had callers every single day and she was too gracious to refuse anyone, but no amount of conversation could ease the sense of being so utterly alone. With the passage of time, her sense of isolation was becoming worse. Sometimes she would look across her salon at the merry crowd and feel as if she stood outside of herself, watching everyone and knowing no one, not even herself. Even when Harrington returned, as happy as she would be to see him, it didn't change that feeling of being an island unto herself.

But hadn't she wanted her life to be that way? She had only to say the word and her father would arrange a marriage for her. Blanche shivered. She could think of nothing worse than having to wed a total stranger and spending a lifetime with him in pretense.

“I am glad he is well,” the countess said. “Have you heard the news? My son Cliff is in town, and he has a ward.”

Blanche started. “Cliff has a ward? How did this happen?” He was too handsome and too much of a rake to have a ward, although she would never say so.

“He knew her father, a gentleman planter in the islands, who has recently passed on. Amanda's mother died at birth and he brought her here, hoping to reunite her with her mother's family, but there is no one to reunite her with, it seems.”

“Oh, how terrible!” Blanche said, meaning it. “How can I help?”

Mary clasped her arm. “You are such a dear. We were hoping you might receive us. It will be Amanda's first call.”

Blanche did not understand.

“We are hoping to bring her out at the Carrington ball, but her father was more ruffian than gentleman, and she was raised in a very unorthodox manner. She is a sweet, beautiful young lady, but her social education has been somewhat lacking.”

Instantly Blanche comprehended. “Mary, I should love for you to bring Amanda to my home and I will make certain all goes well, no matter what. I will help launch her, too, if you would like my help.”

“Thank you,” Mary said fervently. “This is very important to Cliff, and to Miss Carre, of course. We so appreciate your help.”

“It is my pleasure,” Blanche said. She glanced into the salon again and she was surprised to see Rex standing stiffly by himself, watching them through the window. Felicia sat on the settee by herself, looking bored. Apparently Rex de Warenne was not interested in her friend as a paramour.

It wasn't her affair, yet she was somehow relieved.

C
LIFF CONTROLLED HIMSELF
, when what he wished to do was pace. The entire family was assembled in the salon, prior to going into supper, except for Amanda and his sister. He could not imagine what was keeping them, but knowing Eleanor—and Amanda—he began to worry over such a bold pairing. He had been haunted by their earlier conversation all day, and he still felt ill, deep in his chest.

I think I hate you now. I wish we had never met.

He did not know what he would do if Amanda really despised him. He couldn't stand the notion that she wished they had never met. She had become so important to him. But she hadn't meant her words, had she? She had been speaking in hurt and anger, and he didn't blame her.

The children were with them, having already taken their meals in the nursery and preparing for a quiet evening upstairs. Michael, who was Sean's stepson from a previous marriage, and Ned, Lizzie and Tyrell's eldest child, were at the terrace doors with Alexi, having a very serious and excited discussion. As Alexi was holding a slingshot, Cliff knew they needed supervision, but Anahid was nowhere to be seen. Ariella sat on the floor, reading aloud to Eleanor's son Rogan, a year-old boy with bright blond hair and the O'Neill gray eyes. Lizzie's redheaded daughter, Margery, now four, was with them. Both children were rapt, as the tale was one of dragons. Lizzie was seated with them on the floor, as casually as a housemaid, smiling happily at the group, her cheeks flushed from a day spent playing nanny to her three children. As she was with child again, she had never been prettier.

The countess was chasing after Tyrell and Lizzie's other son, Charles, fondly known as Chaz. At two, he was intent on pulling every possible item and artifact off each end table and desktop. Vaguely, Cliff saw Rex seize Chaz before he could destroy a priceless plate. The boys outside vanished, and it was almost dark. Cliff started after them when he heard his sister's breathless chatter in the hall. From the corner of his eye, as he seized the terrace doorknob, he saw a vision in pink.

He turned, shocked, one word in his mind:
Amanda.
And he tripped over his own feet, but somehow caught himself before falling.

She stood with Eleanor on the threshold in a pink silk gown, her hair pinned up, and she was so beautiful he was stunned senseless.

All he could do was stare, smitten by her beauty and her innocence, wanting her insanely.

He somehow sat down in a chair.

She was blushing, smiling shyly.

My God
, he finally thought, his heart thundering in his chest. She was so beautiful, it hurt—but hadn't he known from the start that she would be a great beauty?

La Sauvage was gone, but he couldn't seem to care, not when faced with the woman she was becoming.

He could not take his eyes off her.

“Cliff!” Eleanor shouted. She had her fists on her hips. She gave him a stern look.

He leaped to his feet and rushed forward, tripping again on the damned rug as he did so. Then he skidded to a halt before her, terribly breathless. Their eyes locked. Oddly, he couldn't think of a thing to say, when he wanted to tell her she was the most beautiful woman in all of Britain.

“Do I look foolish?” she whispered.

His heart turned over, impossibly, dangerously. “You look,” he managed, taking her hand, “beautiful…beyond words.”

Her color increased. “You don't have to be kind.”

He brought her hand to his lips, but did not kiss it. He remained too shaken. “Amanda—” he swallowed, then gave in “—there is no one as lovely as you.”

Pleasure filled her eyes and she smiled up at him with more confidence.

He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed it, lingering over her flesh. He was so terribly aware of her. Worse, he had such a yearning inside, and it wasn't just physical. In fact, he could not identify or recognize it—or was afraid to do so. But he couldn't quite release her hand. He wanted to hold on to it forever. “Did you cut your hair?” he asked softly.

She shook her head. “No.”

He was relieved. “I'm glad,” he whispered. As he looked at every single perfect feature on her face, he realized nothing had changed—but then he looked at the pink silk caressing her bosom, her waist, and he inhaled, because somehow,
everything
had changed.

“Lizzie pinned my hair up. She keeps her hair long, too.”

Cliff had a stunning image of Amanda standing starkly naked, her long pale tresses spilling down her back, over her shoulders, over her full, high breasts. Last night, she had been naked, her hair down, but she had been in the throes of grief and despair, slicing her gown to ribbons with a knife. Now, he saw her smiling softly at him, her cheeks pink with desire, waiting for him to come forward and take her to his bed.

He didn't think he had ever wanted anything more. Cliff let her palm go. He cleared his throat. “I take it Madam Didier had a dress a client did not want?”

Amanda nodded. “She was kind enough to make some alterations…how could anyone reject this beautiful gown?”

“You are happy,” he breathed. “I will buy you a hundred more.”

She smiled into his eyes. “I don't need a hundred dresses. Cliff, I have come to my senses,” she said softly.

His smile faded. What the hell did that mean?

“I was hoping,” she hesitated, biting her lip, “I could ask you something, after supper.”

You could be my husband
. He was filled with tension, recalling her wish to be his wife. It had been a question, huge and poignant, one he would never forget. “You can ask me anything,” he said as softly. Their gazes held again.

Then someone coughed.

Cliff started, realizing they were not alone, and he felt his cheeks heat. He glanced around the room at his family, disliking Eleanor's sly grin, Rex's open amusement, and his mother's and Lizzie's wide stares and knowing smiles. Even Ariella was staring at him with open curiosity, as if he had done something terribly inappropriate and odd.

The countess came forward. “Amanda, dear, I agree. You are so lovely. Why don't you and Cliff have a private word now while Rex goes after the two boys? I will take the ladies into the dining room and Anahid can settle the rest of the children upstairs.”

“Thank you,” Cliff said to his stepmother. He paused to kiss her cheek. Outside, he heard the boys screaming in wicked laughter.

Mary smiled at him. “I am happy for you,” she said.

He had no clue as to what she meant. When everyone was gone, he smiled at Amanda. Even looking at her anew caused his heart to race. He began to wonder at his reaction—and to worry about it. Now that he was her official guardian, he had to get a grip on his composure. Guardians did not desire their wards, it was as simple as that. “Should I close the doors?”

She shrugged. “It doesn't matter.”

He left the doors open. “Amanda, I am sorry about this morning,” he began.

She laid her hand on his chest, making his heart leap wildly. “You mentioned a dowry—and an estate.” She dropped her hand.

Her simple touch had made him recall every moment in her bed last night. Stiff and uncomfortable, he paced for a moment to distract himself. “Yes. I realized you need a dowry, and I will provide it. An estate will be a part of the dowry. I put my agents on it this morning.”

Her eyes were huge. “So when I marry, there will be an estate? Will it belong to me? Or to my husband?”

He was oddly disturbed that she was now speaking of her marriage so dispassionately.
You could be my husband!
“The lure to such a dowry is that it would pass from you to your husband upon marriage. However, I prefer the estate to remain in your name, and to be inherited by your eldest son. A suitor would still find the prospect attractive enough, as a husband controls his wife's affairs and your son would be his son, as well.”

“You are so generous,” she cried, her eyes huge, and he saw that she was excited now.

He was very disturbed. “So you have come to the conclusion that marriage is best?”

She glanced away, blushing. “Cliff…de Warenne. I spoke recklessly this morning. I mean…I wish I hadn't said what I did…it was so silly!”

“Amanda,” he began. “You are not silly—”

“No, wait! I know you would never marry me. Of course I know it! I don't know why I said what I did. I mean, I did think we would be lovers after what happened last night, but you did say a hundred times you only wish to protect me.” Her color was high. “I understand. I am not angry. I don't…. hate you. I could never hate you.”

He went to the doors and closed them, relieved no one was lurking in the hall. “I am very glad for that. Amanda, you do understand, don't you? I'm never going to marry anyone.”

She grimaced. “One day you will marry a great lady. She will probably be a princess—I am sure of it.”

He sighed, realizing there would be no convincing her. “Is this what you wanted to say? That you regret your impulsiveness earlier?”

“That, but more importantly, I wanted to understand what this estate means for me.”

He reached out unthinkingly, his fingers grazing her cheek, then he jammed his hands in his trouser pockets. “The estate will be yours. In fact, this afternoon one of my agents found an interesting prospect. A manor house on quite a bit of land with three tenant farms.” He saw her eyes widen so he continued. “The price is oddly low. The manor is south of town, about a half day's carriage ride from here.”

She bit her lip, her eyes filled with excitement.

“What is it, Amanda?”

“You are giving me a home of my own!” she cried. “The British took Belle Mer and the
Amanda C
. I have nothing to my name, but you are giving me an estate—my very own estate. Can't you see what this means to me?”

He hadn't, but now he did. “I begin to understand. Have no fear. The estate will be yours, not your husband's.” He hesitated. “And does the prospect of marriage now excite you, as well?”

Her smile faltered. “I know you will find a suitable match. I know you will never force me into a union with someone despicable.”

“Of course not,” he said slowly.

“It is a small price to pay for such a life, don't you think so?”

He was very uncomfortable now, and awed by her stoicism. “It is what women must do. They must find husbands to provide for them. Even if they are great heiresses, they still must marry for security and heirs.”

“I know.” She walked away, wringing her hands. His breath caught as he watched her without her being aware of it. How difficult would it really be to find Amanda a husband? He no longer considered the modest but necessary dowry; some gent was going to take one look at her and fall head over heels in love. And he was almost jealous at the thought.

Amanda faced him, a great distance separating them. “What kind of husband,” she asked slowly, “do you plan to find me? Will he be someone like my father? Not a pirate, of course, but someone strong and fearless?”

He felt his eyes widen in horror. There was no way to respond truthfully, as the last thing he would ever do was foist a savage brute like Carre on her. But he began to suspect that Amanda felt a brute like Carre was her due. “I am going to find you a gentleman, Amanda, someone generous and kind, someone who will never lay a hand on you except in affection.”

She started in surprise. “You mean…a gentleman? A real gentleman…like you?”

He felt his cheeks turn red. “That is exactly what I mean.” He walked away, her earlier words echoing again, damn it.
You could be my husband
. He whirled. She was staring, brows raised, so he managed a smile. “Would you like to inspect Ashford Hall together?” he asked.

And as he had hoped, she was distracted. She beamed. “You mean, we will go see the estate you plan to provide for my dowry? Together?”

“It isn't far,” he mused, very much liking the idea. “We could take the children—they have yet to see the countryside—and Monsieur Michelle, as you must not miss a lesson.” He sent her a smile he knew was dazzling. “I had planned to take a look myself at some point in the near future. We can make it a family outing, instead.”

Amanda jumped up. Before he could react, she threw her arms around him and hugged him, hard. “I am glad you are my guardian,” she whispered, her lips against his cheek.

Absolutely rigid, wanting to kiss her senseless, he took her shoulders, pushed her back, and forced a smile.

Somehow, this was not quite going as planned.

 

A
MANDA STARED
out of the carriage, filled with tension as it entered a wide white crushed-stone driveway, passing immaculately trimmed lawns and hedges as it did so. The six-in-hand was the countess's conveyance and the six horses pulling the vehicle were perfectly matched blacks, each with a white star, the bridles and harnesses gilded leather. The de Warenne coat of arms was emblazoned on the lacquered ebony doors—a gold wolf snarling on a black shield, against a field of red set with gold fleur de lis. The seats were sapphire velvet. Amanda sat next to Eleanor in the backward-facing seat. Apparently the front-facing seat was reserved for rank, so the countess sat there with Lizzie.