A Lady at Last (26 page)

Ahead, a huge, dark stone palace awaited them, the residence of the viscount Harrington, which he shared with his daughter, one of the greatest heiresses in the land.

The women had been chatting nonstop since they had left Mayfair. Sean was due in town any day, and Eleanor was dying, or so she claimed, as she missed him so. Tyrell had sworn he would attend the Carrington ball. Lizzie was feeling poorly and had almost stayed at Harmon House. Her fourth child was due in February. Having two boys, Lizzie was certain she was having another girl. The countess reminded her to allow the nurses to actually govern the children.

Amanda did not hear any of it.

Her first custom gown had arrived and she was suitably attired in ivory, with a pale green pelisse and a matching hat. Before she had left the house, Cliff had appeared, clasping a small strand of brilliantly glowing pearls about her throat, shocking her.

“A lady requires jewelry,” he had murmured softly.

Amanda had been so moved, tears had come to her eyes. She'd had to remind herself that they were just friends and nothing more, not ever.

Now, she could not breathe, much less cry. There were so many dos and don'ts. Do curtsy the moment Lady Harrington enters the hall and do avoid direct, bold eye contact. A demure countenance is always acceptable. If the countess extends her hand, you may kiss the air above it. Speak only when spoken to. Speak quietly and slowly—demurely! Wait to sit when offered a chair and never sit before the countess or anyone else of greater rank—which meant everyone in London. If there is no chair, simply stand and smile demurely. If there was one word to be remembered, it was that one: demure.

There were also several basically safe and acceptable topics of conversation—the weather, the gardens, clothes and shopping, plans for the summer. Amanda had been advised by Michelle to stick to those topics and those only—he had made her memorize them. But after Cliff had given her the pearls, her guardian had leaned close and smiled. “If you are yourself, she will love you.”

Amanda doubted that.

“Amanda? You are looking as ill as I was feeling earlier today,” Lizzie said, reaching over to pat her knee.

Amanda jerked. The future countess of Adare was very occupied with her children, so they had only really spoken once or twice, but Amanda had never met a more pleasant and less threatening woman. In fact, one of their conversations had occurred with the future countess's dress spotted with flour and a dab of chocolate on her nose. Apparently she enjoyed baking and had made treats for the children.

Amanda tried to smile and failed. She couldn't even speak. This was her first social call and she was certain she was going to be exposed for the impostor that she was.

“Oh dear,” Lizzie said, patting her hand this time. “Do you want to hear a story?”

The last thing Amanda wished was to be told a story, but she couldn't speak, so she could not refuse.

“I was in love with Tyrell for most of my life, even as a young child. But he was heir to the earldom and he hardly knew I existed—or so I thought.” She smiled almost wickedly. “In any case, we were quite impoverished, and although I was madly in love, I never dreamed Tyrell would one day make me his wife.”

Amanda forgot about being terrified of Lady Harrington. She sat up, leaning forward. “You were poor?”

“And far too plump for fashion.” Lizzie laughed. “Well, I am still too plump, but Tyrell seems to prefer it. In any case,” she hurried on as Eleanor jabbed her, “I will make a long story short. Tyrell was so far above me in class and economy that I might as well have been a housemaid. And he was betrothed to Lady Harrington.”

Amanda's eyes widened. “What happened?”

“True love,” Lizzie said with a sly grin, causing Eleanor to chuckle. “It was his duty to marry Blanche but he pursued me. And then Blanche kindly broke off their engagement, as for some reason, she prefers to remain unwed. And the next thing I knew, we were standing at the altar, exchanging vows.”

“And it has been happily ever after ever since,” Eleanor said. She patted Amanda's hand. “Tyrell fell in love with Lizzie long before she ever knew it. You may as well know one thing about the men—and women—in our family. A de Warenne loves once and forever.”

Amanda was smiling. “It is very romantic!”

Lizzie said, “You will be fine. Blanche is a very pleasant lady and we have remained on good terms for all of these years.”

Eleanor said, “Just smile and nod and try not to speak at all!” She grinned.

“Eleanor,” the countess objected as the coach began to slow.

Eleanor faced Amanda, her expression becoming serious. “I never speak my mind in polite company, Amanda. My opinions are too bold and I know it. But when I am at home, or with Sean, I speak and do exactly as I please. I even swear upon occasion. And if you must know, I am an avid horsewoman and I do not ride sidesaddle.”

Amanda was trying to absorb this as she stole repeated glances at the huge stone face of the three-story house. Lizzie had succeeded in distracting her, but only briefly, and her stomach was aching from her nervous anxiety. The de Warenne postilions were opening the carriage doors. “But you
are
a lady,” she objected.

“No one in the ton likes an outspoken woman, but behind closed doors, it is another matter entirely.” Eleanor smiled at her.

“Eleanor, please. Dear,” the countess said to Amanda, “there is a middle road. Smile politely and choose your words with care. But the ladies are right. You will be fine and Blanche is a dear.” The countess was stepping down from the coach as she offered her advice.

Amanda didn't know what to think now, especially as she kept recalling Cliff's last whispered words. She was the last to alight from the coach and she followed the three women up the wide stone staircase, glancing backward at the enormous fountain in the center of the driveway amidst the geometric gardens. Harrington Hall made Harmon House seem small and cozy. Her heart was racing with so much alarm that she felt faint.

They were escorted through a vast hall filled with old paintings and into a huge salon with three crystal chandeliers and too many seating arrangements to count when the countess was announced. Amanda stiffened as an extremely elegant blond woman came into the room.

Blanche Harrington was picture-perfect. She was so beautiful, and without uttering a word, Amanda knew she was the epitome of ladylike behavior. Although conservatively dressed in emerald green, diamonds sparkled at her ears and on one hand. She moved with the grace and confidence of one born to extreme wealth and power. But she was smiling warmly and she and Mary de Warenne exchanged hugs, not curtsies.

“It is so good to see you, Mary,” Blanche Harrington said, obviously meaning it.

“And I am delighted to be here, Blanche.”

Blanche turned, smiling at Lizzie and Eleanor, her gaze taking in Amanda, as well. “It's been too long, Lizzie! And Eleanor, I have not seen you since your marriage.”

The women embraced, Lizzie explaining she was so busy with the children and Eleanor insisting the very same thing.

Amanda trembled, clasping her hands, praying she would not make a stupid mistake. Blanche smiled at her as Mary introduced them. “Blanche, this is my son's ward, Miss Amanda Carre.”

Amanda felt as if her cheeks were on fire as she sank into her first official curtsy. Panicking, she wondered if her hair was falling from its pins or if she had somehow stained her beautiful dress. When she straightened, she saw Blanche's pleasant expression had not changed.

“Welcome to Harrington Hall, my dear. So Cliff de Warenne is your guardian! You could not ask for a better champion, I think. Have you been in town long?” she asked in a friendly and interested tone.

Her heart rioting, Amanda tried to smile, but she was still too nervous to do so. “He is a wonderful guardian, my lady. And I have only been in town a week.”

“London is a wonderful city. I am sure you will be pleasantly entertained while here,” Blanche said.

Amanda nodded, realizing that Lady Harrington wished to converse with her. Was she supposed to say something? Her mind raced. She did not want to discuss the weather, as nothing would make her feel more foolish. “Your home is beautiful, my lady. I thought Harmon House grand, but this is even grander.” She was trembling. Had she addressed her correctly? “I mean, Your Grace,” Amanda whispered, becoming confused. The moment she spoke, she recalled from her previous lessons that only a duke or duchess was referred to as His or Her Grace. She flushed.

But Blanche did not seem to have heard her faux pas. “Thank you, my dear. Lord Harrington, my father, built this estate many years ago. The gardens are my favorite part of the estate.”

Amanda hesitated, amazed she hadn't been ridiculed, then asked breathlessly, “Do you have a rose garden?”

“Yes, of course. Would you like to see it?” She held out her hand.

Amanda was nearly in disbelief. “I love roses. I should love to see it,” she managed, overcome.

“Why don't we all stroll outside? It is a lovely day,” Blanche said. “Afterward, we can take tea.”

Amanda stood there, shaken and stunned, as the women walked toward the terrace doors. She inhaled hard. She didn't have to be told to know that somehow, she had passed her first test in society. She hurried after the group.

 

“C
LIFF
?” E
LEANOR TRIED
to appear innocent, but it was no easy task, as she could not wait to bait her brother now.

He was at one of the two large desks in the library, both of which were at kitty-corner at the far end of the large room. Two vast red rugs covered the floors and bookcases lined two of the four walls. He seemed engrossed in paperwork and she had to come forward, a sheet of paper in her hand, calling his name again.

He jerked, glancing up. Then he stood, smiling. “Eleanor! When did you return from Harrington Hall? How did it go?”

She kept a perfectly innocent expression on her face. God, he deserved this! “Oh, fine. Mother is resting before supper—everyone is, actually. Can I have a word?”

He scowled, coming out from behind the desk. “How is Amanda?” he demanded with vast impatience. “Was the call a success?”

She simply smiled at him.

“Do not test my patience now!”

“You have no patience,” she cried. Then she smiled genuinely at him. “It was a very good idea to call on Blanche first. The call was a success. Amanda may not realize it, but she has a calm and grace, even when she is afraid. She did make one faux pas, but we all pretended not to notice and she realized her mistake. She can hold her own in society, Cliff—she is clever and, in truth, good at conversation.”

He was smiling. “I am so pleased.”

Eleanor plucked his sleeve. “But you know society just as I do. Blanche Harrington is one of the few genuinely nice women in town. There are so many vultures out there! I hated society when I was forced to come out. I can't begin to tell you how many English ladies looked down on me because I am Irish. Worse, even though I am an earl's daughter, the rakes in the ton were conscienceless.” She made sure not to grin, although she thought her eyes probably danced.

He scowled. “I will protect Amanda from any rogue who dares give her a single glance,” he said tersely. “No one will dare pursue her with any intention other than an honorable one.”

Eleanor tried not to laugh. “You do take this guardianship very seriously,” she said, maintaining an innocent expression.

“Of course I do,” he snapped, appearing vastly annoyed. Then he nodded at the document in her hand. “Is that for me?”

Eleanor simply could not prevent a grin. “It is the list of suitors.”

Cliff looked at her as if she had spoken Chinese.

“Don't you want to see who is on it?”

He snatched the sheet from her hand and she tried not to chuckle as his brows lifted. “There are only four names here!”

“It is only the
first
four names I have thought of,” she said. “Besides, although you are providing her with a dowry, you are not making her a great heiress. We can claim an ancient Saxon family tree, but we have no proof. I am trying to find Amanda the
perfect
husband. You do want her to be very happy and to live in marital bliss, don't you?”

He gave her a dark look. “John Cunningham? Who is this?”

She became eager, smiling. “He is a widower with a title, a baronet. He has a small estate in Dorset, of little value, but he is young and handsome and apparently virile, as his first wife had two sons. He—”

“No.”

She feigned surprise, raising both brows. “I beg your pardon?”

“Who is next?”

“What is wrong with Cunningham? Truthfully, he is openly looking for a wife!”

“He is impoverished,” Cliff spat. “And he only wants a mother for his sons. Next?”