A Lady of Esteem (11 page)

“I can’t help it, my lord.”

“Anthony.” He gave her freed hands a squeeze and trailed his fingers along her wrists, feeling like the cad everyone assumed he still was.

“Anthony,” she whispered.

“As it happens, I can solve your dilemma. What you seek is in Griffith’s study. Come along.” With a clear objective in mind, Anthony
gave himself permission to take her hand. It helped him overcome her obvious reluctance at invading Griffith’s private space.

The door was ajar, and Anthony poked his head in to determine if they would be disturbing Griffith. The room was empty, so he pulled her in behind him. He directed her to a pair of wingback chairs angled in front of the fireplace with a small table in between. “He keeps it here. His habit is to read first thing in the morning.”

Amelia picked up the black leather-bound book. She sank into one of the wingback chairs and placed the book in her lap. She opened the heavy tome and lovingly riffled the pages.

“I’ve never held one,” she whispered. Her smile of reverent anticipation punched Anthony in the stomach, sending him into the other chair. Sheer joy covered her face.

“It’s wonderful to hear the parts the bishop reads in church, but I have often wondered what the rest of it says.” She ran her hand along the gold-embossed spine. “The housekeeper at Lord Stanford’s house used to tell me Bible stories.” Amelia smiled at the memory. “She always told me to remember that someone even more powerful than King George loved me.”

Anthony dredged up skills left dormant since his days of high-stakes card games and forced himself to relax and reveal nothing. Amelia had never talked about her childhood, so he didn’t want to risk distracting her from revealing this glimpse into her young life.

Amelia took a deep breath and adjusted her position in the chair. Anthony was waiting patiently for her to tell him more. Maybe he needed to know more of her background before declaring serious intentions.

“My parents didn’t want me.” Amelia winced at the abruptness of her statement, questioning her intent to share her past. It might be more than he’d come for, might even convince him to cease his attentions.

She forged on regardless. Better to know now if her past would scare him away. “They wanted a son. Father despised my uncle and he needed a son to inherit the entailed estate.”

Pride had kept them from ostracizing their daughter. She was educated, dressed according to her station, and paraded about in front of their friends as an attractive young girl who might someday
make a wonderful match and become a credit to the area. But she was never loved, never coddled or hugged or even taken for a walk.

“They weren’t bad parents,” Amelia said with a shrug. “They just didn’t love me. All their attention went to trying to conceive a boy.”

In the end, that desire had killed them. “The doctors said the benefits of sea bathing might help my mother conceive, so they planned a trip immediately, even though I’d come down with a dreadful fever. They stopped at a posting inn on the way to Brighton. There was an argument in the tavern below and a fire broke out.

“Uncle Edward arrived within days.” He’d offer to let her stay, but he had no intention of raising her as his own. Amelia’d had no desire to follow in Cinderella’s footsteps as companion and maid to his daughters. “Grandmother took me in, but it was too much of a strain on her limited finances.”

Amelia glued her gaze to her toes. How hard it was to admit that no one wanted you, particularly when sitting next to the man you hoped would want you more than anything else in the world. “The viscount took me in but left me in the care of his housekeeper.”

Memories of Mrs. Bummel had always made Amelia smile, and now was no exception. The woman had taken one look at the lost little girl and deposited her at the kitchen worktable with a plate piled high with biscuits and a large mug of hot chocolate.

“Mrs. Bummel did the best she could, but she had work to do and I was only ten,” Amelia said. “I followed her around a lot. She was nice. Even when the maids burnt food or broke something.

“The other servants talked a lot about the viscount and what a disservice he was to the title. She never did. I thought it was just because she was a higher servant, but she said Jesus wanted her to treat the viscount with respect, so she would.” The only time she’d complained about the viscount was when he decided to send Amelia to London.

“When I left for London, she said I didn’t have to go alone. That Jesus would go with me everywhere if I committed my life to Him.” Amelia shrugged. “It’s been good, knowing I wasn’t completely alone, but I know there’s more.” She ran a hand over the worn cover once more. “I never had a chance to look for myself.”

The book covered her entire lap, but the awkwardness of handling it didn’t bother her. As she flipped the pages, the words began to
swim in front of her eyes and she realized tears had formed. “Where do I even begin?”

“Griffith told me to start in John,” Anthony whispered before rising and kissing the top of Amelia’s head.

And then he was gone. Amelia felt him leave. She had poured her heart out to him, telling him things she’d never told anyone. And he was leaving. She couldn’t blame him. Who would want someone of her background?

“He’s right—John is an excellent place to start.”

Amelia turned in the direction of Griffith’s voice.

He crossed the room and knelt in front of her. “Keep this one. I can get another.”

Amelia looked down at the book. She had known for years that Jesus was with her and that He had promised to take care of her, but this was a gift she had never expected. She may have lost Anthony, but gaining a family who cared for her would mean so much more. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Griffith grinned. “And if Mrs. Bummel still works at Harmony Hall, she is going to get a large bonus.”

Over the next two weeks, Anthony gave up any pretense of avoiding Amelia in public. He kept as much distance as he could, wanting to give her the chance to enjoy society she’d never had, but he was never far away.

His reward was that her smiles came more frequently, her blushes lessened. Confidence grew until she had no problem meeting his eyes. The ribbons she’d added to her dresses to accommodate her nervous habit had swung freely as she danced.

Until tonight. Anthony frowned as he watched her wind her fingers tightly in the ribbons. Her normal wide-eyed fascination had become subdued and withdrawn.

Something was definitely wrong. People had been talking all evening, their stares becoming more open with every passing minute. Old gossip couldn’t be that interesting. He racked his brain for anything he could have done recently to inspire such avid talk.

Whatever the news, if his name was part of it, his past was surely part of it as well. Amelia would hear of it.

And then she’d have nothing to do with him.

Anthony hid himself in an alcove behind the refreshment table, unfit company for anyone but unwilling to leave. Despite the covering of potted plants, Griffith found him.

“We have a problem.”

If Griffith thought there was a problem, it was already very bad. And personal. Nothing set up Griffith’s bristles except problems directed at his family. Anthony took the offered glass of lemonade and leaned a shoulder against the wall, trying to appear casual.

“It would seem some people are questioning whether or not Amelia is truly my ward.”

Anthony took another sip, focusing his eyes on the whirling couples as the blood rushed through his head. Possibilities swam through his head, but he took a deep breath to clear them. There was no use in jumping to conclusions. “Nonsense. Who else would she be?”

“Lord Howard implied she could be my father’s by-blow.”

Anthony froze with the glass an inch from his lips. That scenario had never run through his mind. “No one of any intelligence would believe your father had an affair, much less an illegitimate child from it. Your parents were quite famously devoted to each other. Even I have heard the stories.”

“Nevertheless . . . ” Griffith said. He looked as if he didn’t know quite what to say next. He didn’t have a chance to figure it out before Lord Geoffrey Chester stumbled into the alcove, nearly ripping a tied-back curtain away from the wall.

If the fumes emanating from his laughing mouth were anything to go by, Lord Geoffrey was already deep in his cups. Anthony turned his head in search of cleaner air.

“I commend you, my man.” Lord Geoffrey waved a finger in Anthony’s direction. “I thought you’d gone soft in the country, but this is masterful. A mistress in the London ballrooms!”

Anthony saw Griffith’s eyes dart in his direction. He didn’t dare meet them. If he saw censure or belief in his friend’s gaze . . . No, it was better to remain directed at the pompous windbag threatening Anthony’s attempt to rebuild his reputation.

He’d been so careful. How could anyone think he harbored a mistress?

Anthony considered punching Lord Geoffrey, but it would likely leave him passed out on the floor and that wouldn’t get Anthony more information. Instead he raised his glass and took a small sip of lemonade. “Of what are you speaking?”

Lord Geoffrey turned toward Griffith and laughed. “Must say I never figured you for playing into one of his rakish schemes, though.”

Anthony could almost taste the whiskey on the other man’s breath as he leaned closer.

“Tell me, man, did your skirt really cry at the opera? Got you a softhearted one?” Lord Geoffrey reached out and took a swig of Anthony’s lemonade.

He coughed loudly and frowned before slamming the glass back into Anthony’s hands. “Are you buffle-headed, Raebourne? Don’t you know the good brandy is in the card room?”

Anthony set his cup on a nearby ledge, trying to find the right words. He’d been to the opera but once since returning to London. Yes, Amelia had cried, but that had been weeks ago, before anyone in this room knew of her existence.

Lord Geoffrey clapped a hand on Anthony’s shoulder before stumbling away, talking over his shoulder. “Not sure what you mean to accomplish but it’s right entertaining for the rest of us.”

Anthony turned his back to the crowded room. “Who could have started such a rumor? It certainly did not originate from a man who cannot tell the difference between brandy and lemonade.”

“We need to get out of this alcove.” Griffith straightened the sleeves of his coat and ran a finger beneath his cravat. “Hiding behind these plants won’t gain us any information.”

Amelia went through the dance by rote, her mind occupied, as it often was, with Anthony. He seemed out of spirits this evening. Her partner mentioned something about the weather. Why was it always the weather? Did other ladies find the temperature and amount of cloud cover fascinating? She certainly didn’t.

The whole evening had been strange. Most people had accepted her warmly or been indifferent to her presence the past few weeks, but tonight most of their greetings were cold. The unmarried ladies had given her the cut direct.

Even her hostess, Lady Mulberry, had looked unsure when Amelia arrived. Had she not been on Griffith’s arm, Amelia might have found herself escorted from the house.

After the final curtsy of the dance, she pled the beginnings of a headache and took herself off to the retiring room, hoping to find Miranda along the way.

It took her an hour to cross the ballroom, with the number of people who refused to step out of her way or scowled at her until she decided to change directions.

How fickle the world she’d thought she wanted was. In a single evening Amelia became all but ostracized. She considered spending the rest of the ball in the kitchens. At least the servants still liked her.

Amelia held her head high even as she trembled. Behaving as if everyone weren’t dragging her name through the mud was harder than she’d imagined it would be.

Whispers followed her everywhere. Even from people she hadn’t met. Some were shocked that she dared to show her face. Others questioned their hostess’s taste in letting her in the door.

Just as she found Miranda, a bold slur to Amelia’s honor was hissed from within a passing group. Miranda’s fingers curled into a fist. “The next so-called lady who dares to open her mouth against you will feel my wrath.”

Amelia appreciated the desire to defend her, but what could Miranda do? “Do you intend to engage her in fisticuffs?”

Miranda shrugged. “I could pull her hair out. That would send a message.”

When the next derogatory whisper came their way, Amelia pulled Miranda from the ballroom before her vow could be tested.

“Where are we going? That vile woman deserved a good dressing down. You are the ward of a duke. You don’t malign someone under the protection of a duke.” Miranda stumbled after Amelia as they walked down the hall.

“I need somewhere to breathe.” Amelia pulled Miranda into the ladies’ retiring room, where two young women were working to clean a pale pink slipper.

“Champagne! All over my shoes. They are completely ruined.”

The other girl looked up from the soiled shoe. “How did this happen? It’s soaked through.”

“I was taking a glass from the tray and suddenly it tipped. The footman caught all of the glasses, but the contents of half a tray of champagne spilled down my front.” The girl pouted as she held her skirts away from her body.

“It’s quite fortunate you can’t see it on your skirt. You would have had to go home.”

The two girls looked up at Amelia and Miranda standing in the doorway. The girl in pink, who had earlier told Amelia that she had seen through her disguise of innocent niceness from the beginning, grabbed her sodden shoe and stomped out of the room. The other girl hastened after her.

With the retiring room empty, Amelia and Miranda took some time to pray and breathe. The Lord answered by keeping the room empty a full twenty minutes and calming their spirits.

“We could leave,” Miranda said.

Amelia shook her head. “No. I didn’t need them before, and I don’t need them now, but I refuse to hide. I finally feel I know who I am and won’t let them take that from me.”

Miranda nodded, and they returned to the ballroom arm in arm.

The dance floor was far less crowded than normal. With such a luscious piece of gossip to chew on, everyone gathered in groups around the edge of the dancing area.

Amelia didn’t know what to do now, so she stood near the doorway, clinging to the notion that she hadn’t let them chase her away.

One bitter spinster who’d called Amelia a bit o’ muslin passed by them wailing about huge globs of melted candle wax in her hair. No one in her party could figure out how it happened.

Amelia looked around. Had anyone thought to ask the little maid smiling in the corner as she affixed fresh candles in the sconces? She probably knew.

“We could still leave,” Miranda whispered.

Amelia swallowed hard. “Perhaps that would be best.”

“Did you really teach her to dance?” Griffith leaned a shoulder against the wall as he and Anthony reconvened in the alcove.

Anthony grunted. “It was a brilliant idea at the time. I spent nearly two uninterrupted hours in her company.”

“Two inappropriate hours you mean.” Griffith grinned. “I should call for pistols.”

“You’d make Lord Howard a good bit of money.”

Anthony looked around the ballroom. An entire evening of questions and they’d come no closer to fixing the problem. Around the ballroom, groups of London’s elite bent their heads close to each other, no doubt discussing him or Amelia.

He took a few steps to the refreshment table and snagged an éclair before stepping back to the wall. It gave him a reason to stand around. Griffith selected a glass of lemonade.

Trent approached them with both eyebrows raised. His hands were clasped behind his back as he strolled, seemingly without purpose but managing to cover the distance in mere moments. “What are we contemplating as we scowl across the ballroom?”

Anthony knew him well enough to feel the tension behind the joviality. “I am trying to figure out who despises me enough to have me watched.”

Griffith started visibly. “What makes you say that?”

“People are mentioning things they shouldn’t know about. One pup had the audacity to ask me if I often had my mistresses clean my house. How could anyone know that?”

“I’ve had no luck determining where the rumors started.” Griffith raised his glass to his lips only to realize it was empty.

Anthony hid a grin as Griffith tried to pass off the blunder by placing the glass on a passing servant’s tray. “Nobody will say, but an inordinate number of people heard things from Lady Helena.”

“It’s not her,” Trent said confidently. “At least, not the initial information source. If she had known the day Anthony arrived back in town, she would have come up with some reason to see him.”

Griffith nodded. “She’s made no secret of her desire to marry you. It’s why she turned down Lord Henry last year. She might have known about the opera, but she wasn’t watching your house when you arrived.”