A Lady of Esteem (4 page)

“
En garde.”
Sunlight glinted off the thin metal as Anthony slashed his sword in Trent’s direction. Sweat rolled down his back, making his white lawn shirt stick to his skin. Finding such a well-matched fencing partner had been an unexpected benefit of befriending the Hawthorne family. Spending time with the younger man was surprisingly enjoyable.

“How goes the bridal hunt?” Trent grunted.

Even if he was an insolent pup.

Anthony blocked Trent’s sword, not about to let his opponent distract him with mere words—even though the hunt had thus far been an utter failure. “Dismal.”

Trent laughed as he danced forward, jabbing his sword toward Anthony’s belly. “No one you find appealing? What about the Laramy girl? I haven’t met her yet, but all accounts are that she is incomparably beautiful.”

“She is.” Anthony knocked Trent’s sword upward to force him backward a step. “Beauty is not the problem, but I’m beginning to think intellect is.”

Anthony’s foot slipped sideways, and he felt the blunted tip of Trent’s sword strike against his ribs. Acknowledging the hit, Anthony pulled off his mask. “If all the aristocracy is as lacking in wit as this year’s crop of marital hopefuls, our country is doomed.”

“Lady Miranda and Lady Georgina,” the butler intoned from the terrace doorway.

“Present company excluded, of course,” Trent murmured, grinning.

Miranda’s nose wrinkled as she stepped onto the terrace. “The two of you are . . . disgusting.” She gestured vaguely in the direction of their sweat-matted hair.

Anthony ran a hand through his disheveled locks, feeling awkward in only his shirtsleeves. Had he brought his coat out onto the terrace with him?

Georgina’s expression was more admiring than disgusted. “They have been exerting themselves, Miranda. It is a most gentlemanly pursuit. Did you know Trent was going to be here?”

“You see?” Trent said. “Intelligent.”

“Of course I did.” Miranda speared her sister with a look that called the young woman’s intelligence into question. “I would hardly have come here if Anthony were home alone.”

Anthony turned to put his fencing equipment away. It was best if the ladies didn’t notice him snicker at their spat. After composing his features, he turned back to them and gave a slight bow. “Ladies, please excuse me if I don’t greet you properly. I am, as you noticed, a bit disheveled.”

Trent gave a dismissive wave. “Bother that, it’s just Miranda and Georgina.” He turned to his sisters. “What are you doing here?”

Miranda turned her back on Trent, while Georgina stared daggers in his direction.

Anthony became unnerved by Miranda’s blank expression. Normally the most confident of women, she seemed a little unsure of herself.

“Whatever you were planning tonight, I am afraid you will have to send your regrets. I need you at dinner.”

Dinner? She wanted his presence at dinner? He’d expected something considerably more painful and difficult. In truth, a respite from the social whirl would be more than welcome. After enduring more tedious introductions, boring conversations, and lackluster dance partners than he would have thought possible in a short two weeks, he was inclined to disappear for another two years, with or without the wife he sought. A quiet dinner with intelligent friends sounded like Miranda was doing him a favor instead of the other way around.

“You’re inviting him to dinner?” Georgina’s despair added to Anthony’s confusion. Since when did Georgina not want him at dinner?

“Unless Griffith returned this morning, Anthony’s presence is required.” Miranda turned from her sister back to Anthony. “It is of utmost importance.”

This was obviously about more than a mere meal, but he could handle whatever it was. Miranda was as near to a sister as he had. If it was important to her, he could suffer through it. “I am, of course, at your service, my lady.”

Georgina gave a little sigh. “I wish I could be there.”

Trent left off his experimental sword swinging to join the conversation. “May I be excused as well?”

Miranda glared.

Anthony laughed, grateful God had brought this close-knit family into his life and suddenly looking forward to his evening.

Amelia stood in front of the same house, wearing the same dress, for the second time that day. Would she repeat the same blunders? Dinner was considerably more involved than tea.

A breeze rustled the leaves in the park behind her, luring her to turn and run. She could be back at her own home within fifteen minutes.

It wasn’t really a viable option. If she wanted to eat tonight she was going to have to march through that front door and dine with Lady Miranda. Mrs. Harris would refuse to feed her.

Gibson’s face appeared from behind a curtain, sealing her fate. If she ran now, every servant in London would know by morning.

She walked resolutely to the door and knocked.

Gibson answered the door, a wide smile stretched across his lean face. “Good evening, Miss. May I take your coat?”

His happiness bolstered Amelia’s spirits, and she grinned back. She handed him her redingote and bonnet, but couldn’t make her feet follow him toward the drawing room.

She was terrified.

“Hullo, there,” called a voice from the stairs.

Amelia jumped and covered her skipping heart with her hand. A man was crossing the hall. Was this the duke? She knew the duke was young and handsome, but wasn’t this man a bit too young?

Blond hair formed a neat cap against his head, skimming his ears and collar and almost brushing his eyebrows. His green eyes seemed friendly, though curious as he looked at Amelia standing three feet inside his front hall. There was little doubt that he was related to Lady Miranda.

“May I be incredibly bold and present myself? Lord Trent Hawthorne, at your service.” He picked up her limp fingers and kissed the air directly above her knuckles.

Amelia watched her hand as if it belonged to someone else. She should say something. Her brain was forming the appropriate words
to introduce herself as well, but more than her hand felt disconnected. Her mouth had forgotten the motions. Her lungs felt devoid of air.

This inability to express herself around these people was becoming tiresome. If she couldn’t bring her tongue and brain into communication within the next ten seconds, she was leaving.

Ten . . . Nine . . .

“Not to worry.” Lord Trent placed her hand on his arm. “I often have the effect of speechlessness on the lovelier half of the population. Mothers, of course, live in quiet fear of me attending a social gathering and rendering their daughters mute. The men, on the other hand, beg me to come so that they can enjoy some sensible conversation.”

Eight . . . Seven . . .

A giggle sputtered through Amelia’s lips. Was that enough noise to count?

Six . . . Five . . .

Finch stood at the door to the drawing room, his eyes wide. As they approached, he cut his eyes to the interior of the room and back to Amelia. Was he trying to communicate with her?

Four . . . Three . . .

“Alas, our other dinner guest has already arrived so I shall have to share your charms this evening. My sister will be down shortly. A small wardrobe issue. You know how that goes, I’m sure.”

Two . . .

Amelia’s cheeks turned bright pink. The man next to her was certainly aware that her wardrobe was inappropriate for the occasion. His blatant ignoring of that fact was both embarrassing and endearing.

One . . .

Her time was up. Amelia took a deep breath as she stepped across the threshold of the drawing room, but nothing came out as her eyes landed on an all-too-familiar sight.

Her feet comprehended what she saw first and came to a complete stop, causing Lord Trent to stumble. Then her blood understood and drained from her face, leaving her chilled and likely pale as death. The blood must have told her heart, because it began increasing in speed until a dull roar filled Amelia’s ears. Finally her voice joined the party. “Oh my,” she whispered. “You.”

It was not the stellar conversational gambit she’d intended.

“My sentiments exactly,” the marquis said.

Lord Trent looked back and forth between the two dinner guests. “You have already met?”

“Not formally. I do believe she likes to trespass on my property, though.” Lord Raebourne smiled.

“Ah,” Lord Trent gave the woman on his arm an assessing look. “Your devious duster.”

“So it would seem.” Lord Raebourne relieved Lord Trent of Amelia’s arm. “Please have a seat, my dear. You’re looking a trifle pale. I believe I introduced myself at our first meeting, but I quite understand if you have forgotten. Anthony Pendleton, Marquis of Raebourne.”

All the blood that had previously left Amelia’s face returned with reinforcements. She could feel the heat in her neck and cheeks and prayed that it was not as bright red as it felt. “Mishamtalwood.”

Lord Trent and Lord Raebourne both leaned forward. “I beg your pardon?” Lord Trent asked.

Amelia cleared her throat and straightened her spine. She focused on a delicate green vase on a table behind and between the two gentlemen. “Miss Amelia Stalwood.”

“I am
very
pleased to meet you, Miss Stalwood.” A smile accompanied the statement, making Lord Raebourne’s face engaging as well as handsome.

“And I you, my lord.” Amelia thought her blush was a deep as possible, but when Lord Raebourne kissed her hand in a repeat of Lord Trent’s earlier gesture, she positively flamed.

“I had a most splendid time at Lady Galvine’s party. Her daughter is a jewel. I am sure that she and Lord Owen will do famously together.” The corners of his mouth twitched.

Amelia’s eyes grew larger with every word he spoke. Could eyes fall out of one’s head?

“I . . . ” Amelia struggled to find her tongue.

Lady Miranda burst into the drawing room, her breath coming short and fast. Had she
run
down the stairs? “Miss Stalwood, you have arrived!”

Both men in the room quirked a brow at her. Lord Trent looked decidedly amused while Lord Raebourne seemed almost accusatory.

The arrival of Lady Miranda helped Amelia feel like herself again. Still dismayed by the unexpected connection, but herself. Taking a
deep breath, she stood, determined to make their last impression better than their first.

“Lady Miranda, I must apologize.” She swallowed. “I am afraid I have to bid you farewell. You see, I was . . . That is to say, I have met your other guest, after a fashion, and I fear my behavior at the time would not reflect well on anyone claiming an acquaintance with me.”

Amelia turned from Lady Miranda’s wide-eyed amazement to the marquis. “My lord, please do not hold this against Lady Miranda. I have done her a small good turn, and she sought to repay it. For what it’s worth, I do apologize for intruding upon your privacy. It shall not happen again.”

Amelia looked at the occupants of the room. They all appeared to have eaten something disagreeable. She was slipping past Lord Trent when all three aristocrats burst out in laughter.

“I know, Miss Stalwood.” Lady Miranda gasped for air. “Or I should say I suspected. Please, stay for dinner. No one is mad at you for dusting a library for a sick maid. Confused perhaps, but hardly angry.”

Amelia’s eyes flickered from one person to the next. They were smiling. Not polite we-don’t-want-to-be-rude type of smiles, but broad smiles, the kind born of genuine amusement.

Lord Raebourne’s grin was accompanied by conspiratorial gleam in his eyes. Was he recalling their second encounter?

It seemed her humiliation had to be complete. Amelia sighed. “It is not the dusting of which I am ashamed, my lady.” Her voice was barely audible, even to her own ears. “I returned the next day, and—there is no polite way to say it—I spied upon his lordship in a private moment and was caught by his valet. It is all dreadfully embarrassing and—”

Amelia had to stop again as Lord Trent and Lady Miranda looked at Lord Raebourne and collapsed into a new round of laughter.

The marquis kept his bemused gaze on Amelia. “It is not quite the way it sounds. I was in my garden sorting through invitations.”