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Authors: May Burnett

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Chapter 15

 

Soon after Amanda had returned to her own rooms, an especially vigorous kick against her stomach reminded her that she carried a small passenger, one who seemed impatient to arrive in the world. No more impatient, however, than
she
was to recover her normal proportions and slim waist.

Once that ordeal was past, she would be expected to leave her pleasant but quiet retreat and face society as Lucian’s countess. Was she ready? She
could
try to remain in the countryside permanently, like a rabbit clinging to its burrow, but that would be dull and cowardly. Even there, unless she refused to meet anyone at all, she would not be able to escape gossip about Lucian’s latest
chère-amies.
Everyone would assume that he had quickly tired of Amanda and abandoned her in the country, unworthy to be presented to his fashionable friends. It would be intolerable.

Even in town, of course, Amanda would not be able to overlook his indiscretions; she might even have to chat and share meals with his past and current mistresses. The prospect chafed Amanda’s pride. Even if the match had not been her choice and Lucian had already done so much for her, did she have to put up with that? No matter how normal everyone around her might consider it, Amanda did not care to see
her
husband squiring other women around, whispering sweet nothings into some jaded matron’s ears. Was there any chance of reforming him, turning him into a loyal husband like her father? Such paragons were rare even among the gentry and middle classes. How likely was it that a man might tire of his freedom and remain content with just one woman? For a while, aye, but in the long run?

She sat down, her shoulders slumping tiredly. She was only teasing herself with such futile hopes and illusions. A tiger did not change his stripes. A libertine of thirty-eight—thirty-nine next month—would hardly change his whole life for the sake of
her
, Amanda Prendergast.

Amanda Rackington, she corrected her thought. She was married, a countess, and not plain, though no great beauty either. The only advantage she had over Lucian was her relative youth, and he was hardly likely to prize that above such qualities as sophistication, elegance, and wit. Her husband knew all about international affairs, spoke several languages, was known to the Czar of Russia and probably half a dozen other monarchs . . . what was a man like that doing with an utterly commonplace country-bred girl? She was merely a charity project, one he would eventually come to regret if she was too demanding.

There was another obstacle: if, by some miracle, she could reform Lucian and establish something approaching a normal marriage, Amanda would be expected to cater to all his manly needs, needs honed by decades of reckless indulgence. Impossible. She did not even know if she could bring herself to try lying together
once
, let alone on a regular basis.

Sooner or later it would become inevitable, so perhaps she should just get past that unpleasant duty at the earliest opportunity. It might not be that bad with an acclaimed master of the amatory techniques. Really, there was no choice. She needed to find out what that
bliss
Mattie had mentioned was all about, so as not to sound like an ignorant fool whenever somebody made a risqué remark or allusion once she returned to London and took her place in society. To blush or pretend exaggerated priggishness might have fooled Mattie, barely, but among Lucian’s friends, it would not fly.

Bliss
, though? Really? As unlikely as it sounded, Mattie was not prone to exaggeration or fancy. Amanda could certainly use some bliss in her life after those last horrid months, not to speak of what still lay ahead. When she considered it logically, the ladies with whom Lucian sported immorally must get
some
pleasure out of it, or they would not bother. Except for the courtesans and other whores, of course, who suffered it for money’s sake.

She pictured what
that
must be like, and shivered. They probably got used to it by and by, but the humiliation of the first few times . . . Had her mother had her way and thrown Amanda out, alone and penniless and with child, most likely she would have ended as one of their number. It did not bear thinking about. Amanda would try to look upon fallen women more charitably than she had done in the past when she’d unthinkingly copied her mother’s disdain and disgust.

Men who hired such women, shared their body with them, presumably felt something very different from disgust. Or did they? Could a man lie with a person he despised? Her own experience supplied the answer. If her uncle had felt the smallest respect or affection for her, he could never have acted as he had. And
she
had hated and despised him, but to no avail.

In taking a less black-and-white view of promiscuity and lechery, was Amanda allowing her values to sink towards those of the licentious class into which she had married? Would she look back on her current self as naïve and judgemental in later years? Anything was possible if a ruined gentleman’s daughter could become a wealthy, respected countess merely by a short ceremony and a few lines on paper.

But no, she still felt angry and sad that such things existed at all. To accept that not all persons involved in immoral actions were irretrievably damned and intrinsically bad was merely a small adjustment. She’d try to be more tolerant of others, but she still was not going to indulge in anything wrong herself. Ever. No matter how often Lady Evencourt told her that she was a naïve little
bourgeoise
. If Amanda gave up her ideas of right and wrong, she would no longer be the same person, a person she could like and respect. But she would be careful before voicing condemnation of others without knowing all the circumstances.

Her eye fell on the little cloth-bound book she’d brought from Lady Amaryllis’s rooms. If only it really were a witch’s book, it might suggest a love potion that would solve her matrimonial problems. If one believed in that sort of superstition, which Amanda most emphatically did not.

Half an hour later she had not discovered any love potions. The remedies, written down with neat, careful letters in faded blue ink, were mostly for common ailments, fever, quinsy, spasms, boils, and the like. Some were marked as useful for animals rather than humans. Only the ingredients stood out, as the unknown author had a strange penchant for using live animals in her concoctions. Who would want to use the intestines of a freshly caught mouse in a complicated remedy against bladder infections, even if those disgusting additions were to be removed with a fine sieve before the tincture was administered orally? Amanda would vomit merely from knowing how the medicine was made.

And really, adding dust from a freshly dug grave to an oil to be rubbed into the scalp against hair loss? The author must have been insane, or maybe she’d written the thing as a laborious joke. If the book was not much older, from the style and fading of the lines, Amanda would have suspected Amaryllis of inventing the whole thing. What would Mattie make of it? She would be coming back from her visit to the tenants any moment.

Someone had annotated a remedy against the cold with the words,
Highly effective!
That ink was fresher and the letters larger and bolder.

Could those two words have come from Lady Amaryllis’s pen? Had the girl tried out the cold remedy? It was one of the less offensive mixtures, containing only a thimbleful of ants’ bodies. Amanda leafed through the remaining pages more quickly, checking for more annotations.

The next one she found gave her a jolt. ‘To Empty the Womb,’ the title of the page said. Next to an elaborate recipe containing tail hairs from a male dog and the head of a frog, amongst more conventional ingredients, she found the note,
Utterly useless!

She put the book down and pushed it away from her own body as she stared at the two words in horrified conjecture. Most likely the annotations were not from young Lady Amaryllis. Because if they were . . . at sixteen, a sheltered young lady should not know about such things as emptying the womb, a deadly sin. Yet if she did, on whom would she have tried it? An animal? A person? Good God . . . on herself?

Amanda shook her head at such outlandish suspicions and continued to scan the book. There was only one more annotation in the second person’s writing, towards the end of the book, next to a recipe against a bilious liver that ended with
Warning: do not administer more than five drops at one time, and allow no alcohol within three hours; otherwise, the patient’s manhood or female parts will permanently shrivel.
In the larger script, there were three ominous words:
Works as advertised.

Amanda stared at the page.
What
had worked? The remedy for a bilious liver or its horribly dramatic side effect? Who on earth would willingly take even one single drop of the disgusting concoction, with such danger looming? An old woman, beyond childbearing years and suffering advanced liver disease, might possibly risk it.

Unless the person administering the potion omitted to warn the patient. Learned physicians or wise women never wanted laypeople to question their authority. Probably because half their effectiveness, such as it was, depended on faith. If someone put such drops into a man’s wine glass without his
knowledge . . .

Unbidden, the image of her vile uncle Roderick appeared before Amanda’s eyes. She had been trying to think of a punishment that would not affect his family and fortune. What would more perfectly fit his crime than
that
?

It was just nonsense, Amanda reassured herself. She was not about to search for a “copper spider,” whatever that might be, an important ingredient of that particular recipe. It was all fantasy, and anyway, she was not going to dabble in occult poisons. Nor would she have a chance to administer it; her uncle would not be so foolish to take any drinks from her hand. His guilt would make him suspicious if she even gave him the time of day.

No, it was something she might dream of, but not realistic, not real.

She hid the book in her travel necessaire. She would not show it to Mattie after all; it would only give her a strange notion of the Rackington family and their pastimes.

She rang for tea, and was placidly munching on a scone when Mattie returned.

“Amanda? Sorry I am late. I had to stay and talk to everyone who received a basket. The women all asked after you and sent their best wishes.”

“Good of them,” Amanda muttered.

Mattie scrutinized her with concern. “You look sad. Is anything the matter?”

“No.” Amanda forced a smile. “Just feeling a little sorry for myself.”

“We’ll soon chase those megrims away. Have you been in here by yourself all this time? You should have come with me. What does it matter if the tenants’ wives see you like that? You are not that far along, and half of them are in the same state.”

“I walked a bit, to the gallery. You remember the picture of my husband?”

“The large canvas of the young man holding a horse? You were communing with him?” Mattie sounded sceptical, and little wonder.

“Why not? He is very handsome,” Amanda said defiantly.

Her cousin frowned. “That portrait must have been fashioned ages ago. I will admit, those tight hose really show off his impressive leg muscles.”

“Pray remember that he is
my
husband,” Amanda said frostily. “His limbs are none of your concern.”

“Legs are all very well, but he did not impress me as a very pleasant young man. If the artist has rendered him truly, that youth would not give either of us a second glance, and would not stop to apologize if his horse splattered us with mud. The composition and use of light are quite splendid, however.”

Amanda scowled. Mattie’s impression of the painted young lord tallied exactly with her own. “I regret that there was not time for you to meet my husband before his departure. Lucian is still handsome, in a more mature way, but no longer so heedless and arrogant. Unless the artist saw a side of him he has never shown me.”

“I am glad to hear it,” Mattie said drily.

Chapter 16

 

Mr. Tennant paid them one of his regular visits two weeks later. Since Mattie had joined the household, Amanda could invite him to family meals without risking malicious gossip.

Mattie and the secretary were much of an age, still on the right side of thirty, and immediately struck up an easy relationship, united in their worry for Amanda. Remembering her cousin’s confession that she missed a man’s attentions, Amanda watched them over lunch and wondered if their incipient friendship had the potential to become more. Mattie was definitely interested, judging by the way she ‘accidentally’ touched his hand or shoulder on occasion, but Tennant was harder to read. Unless he was very slow, he must be aware of the young widow’s interest, but he gave no outward sign of his feelings.


Mary
is a perfectly suitable name for a girl,” he was telling Mattie, who was in favour of Olivia or possibly Cleone that week. “More to the point, I know of no reason why Lord Rackington would dislike the name.”

“So there are female names he has reason to dislike?” Amanda murmured. “I wonder why.”

Tennant did not choose to reply directly. “I am glad that all is going so prosperously here. I write to the earl regularly, but it will take several weeks for him to receive any correspondence and even longer for him to respond. The moment I have even a line from him I shall send it down here by messenger.”

“He is not in the Americas, is he?” Mattie asked curiously. “I gather from the papers that we are on the point of war again. If he has gone there, he might be stuck for a long time, perhaps even interned as a spy or prisoner of war.” Her voice did not denote any particular worry at the prospect. Amanda had to remind herself that Mattie had never met Lucian.

“Spies are hung,” Tennant said, “but no, there is no danger of that, Mrs. Smithson. Lord Rackington is not so foolhardy to risk such a fate, and I fully expect to see my employer back in England before Christmas.”

“Good. I am looking forward to meeting him, and I shall not hesitate to give him my opinion of men who leave a woman in delicate condition alone so soon after their wedding.”

“I beg you will not do so, ma’am,” Tennant said in alarm, though in Amanda’s opinion, Lucian would easily deal with Mattie. “The earl’s mission is important to the war effort. As the widow of a soldier fallen in action, you of all people will understand that duty comes before family at times of national emergency.”

Amanda sympathised with the flash of bitterness that crossed her cousin’s face.

“I was unaware that your husband’s absence was due to such an important mission,” Mattie said to Amanda. “Somehow I never thought of him in such a context.” Amanda could easily imagine how she had thought of him: as a rake who had debauched and then abandoned his young wife.

“I cannot tell you anything about the earl’s current mission except that it is, indeed, important, and that Lord Rackington was requested to undertake it as the most qualified person,” Tennant earnestly assured Mattie. “In the past, he has already distinguished himself on several similar occasions, at great personal risk and expense. He was even offered an elevation of the earldom to a marquisate at one point but declined the honour, presumably because, at the time, he was without issue. I wonder if he will feel the same once he is a father,” he added with a covert look at Amanda’s bulging stomach.

“An earldom is quite enough,” Amanda said firmly.

“I had no idea.” Mattie was shaking her head. “No wonder you bear your solitude with such exemplary composure, Amanda. I admire your devotion to duty.”

Amanda shrugged. “It’s not like I have a choice, just as you could not keep Luke away from battle.”

“Not so—it was Lady Rackington who urged the earl to undertake the mission when he was about to refuse for her sake,” Tennant told Mattie. “Disregard her modesty; her devotion to the country in these perilous times is just as admirable as you surmise.”

Amanda strove not to look guilty. At the time, she had not particularly cared if Lucian was gone, had even welcomed the prospect of a lengthy separation. The offer of the mission had come
à propos,
from her point of view, when she’d felt unsettled in her new circumstances. By removing a major source of potential conflict, she had been trying to secure a time of peace and quiet until the horrid pregnancy was done with. It had been selfish and immature of her, and Lucian must have realised it. How would
she
feel if he encouraged her to go away for several months? Hurt and rejected. It was hardly a promising beginning to their marriage, but she’d try to do better if she was given the chance.

“Has the earl ever mentioned his sister to you?” she asked the secretary. “We, or rather Mattie, are refurbishing her former suite.”

“No.” Tennant drank a little wine as he considered. “I was aware that there must have been a sister, because the portrait of the last Lady Rackington in the earl’s London study shows her with a small girl at her knee. I always assumed that child had died in infancy of some ailment.”

“Her name was Lady Amaryllis,” Mattie said, “and she was sixteen when she died by drowning in the horse pond right here at Racking. A very sad end to what should have been a long, happy life. She must have been the girl in the rose bower here in the gallery, the one with powdered hair, by Gainsborough.”

“I have inventoried that picture and admired it more than once, but had no idea it depicted my lord’s sister.”

“Is it normal, in your opinion, that he never speaks of her?” Mattie asked Tennant. “Do you suppose he still feels sad at losing his only sibling when he was only fourteen?”

“My employer is not sentimental,” Tennant said drily, “and at fourteen, he was at Eton. No doubt he regretted the tragedy, but if it has permanently embittered him, I have never noticed the slightest sign. Few boys are very close to their older sisters.”

“You don’t suppose,” Mattie speculated, “that they were swimming there together on some dare, during vacations, and he still harbours guilt that he did not notice her going under?”

“Mattie!” Amanda exclaimed. “We have not the slightest reason to suspect anything of the kind.” Really, she had to do something about Mattie’s tendency to always think the worst of Lucian.

“That is a most unlikely theory, ma’am,” Tennant said. “Take it from me, a boy of fourteen might go swimming at night with other boys, but never with his sixteen-year-old sister. And a young lady that age would not want to share her pastimes with a pesky younger brother. They tend to stand very much upon their new-found dignity.”

“No doubt, but you must admit it is strange that Lady Amaryllis’s rooms were left untouched, with all her belongings, for twenty-four years. A whole generation,” Mattie said. “That circumstance simply invites speculation and conjecture.”

“Yes, as I mentioned, I am having the rooms cleared and refurbished,” Amanda added. “There were some jewels and trinkets in a box, nothing too valuable, that I told the butler to hand to you for safekeeping.”

“I’ll simply shut them away until you ask for them again, my lady. If the rooms really were not cleared in all that time, it shows how the lack of a mistress affects even a well-run household. The earl is not very fond of Racking and has never bothered with more than routine repairs. He does not entertain here—or did not before his marriage. Now it will be up to you, my lady.”

Amanda preferred not to think about entertaining at all before she had delivered her child and regained her normal energy. Also, house parties in the country were notorious for all kinds of promiscuity. If Lucian wanted to carry on with other women, she preferred that it not happen there. “We can think of entertaining after the earl’s return, and London would be the best place for it.”

Tennant gave her a small bow. “Certainly the capital is more convenient for one’s guests, but the countryside also has its charms.”

“How did the previous earl and countess die? Do you know?” Amanda asked.

“It was before my time, and I have never asked, my lady. Now that you point it out, the Earl is unusually reticent about his family. Not so surprising, perhaps, since he is the last survivor, apart from his great-aunt and some distant cousins on his mother’s side. I can only suppose that it is a subject he prefers to keep private.”

“Still, as his countess, I should be in possession of the basic facts,” Amanda insisted. “I’ll ask him about his family when he returns, but some things are surely public knowledge. The servants here know more about the family history than I do.”

“I see where that is unsatisfactory, my lady. I shall make it my business to find out what I can and report to you by tomorrow, before my departure.”

“Thank you.”

After lunch, Mr. Tennant begged for her permission to return to his duties, and the cousins partook of tea and little almond cakes in Amanda’s sitting room.

“Tennant is a fine, strapping young man,” Amanda said casually. “With very fine, muscular legs. Don’t you agree?”

“Remember that you are a married lady. You should not even notice such details,” Mattie retorted. “If I did not know you were only trying to provoke me, I’d be worried. But I claim first rights on him. You know what I like best?”

“What?”

“That he is not a soldier, that he chose a useful profession that keeps him safe at home.”

“I suppose that is understandable, after losing Luke as you did,” Amanda said soberly, pouring another cup.

“We loved each other, but Luke loved the army more. Even after his last home leave—of course, we did not realise
then
that it was the last—he was eager to get back to battle. Since his early childhood, it was all he wanted.”

“I see. At least Sigurd does not show signs of army-madness so far.”

“He is only four. If he ever does, I’ll do my best to steer him in some other direction, but boys can be so stubborn. I fervently hope that by the time he’ll be old enough to buy a commission, this war will be over. It cannot go on
forever
, even if it feels like that sometimes.”

“You won’t have to worry about it for the next decade at least,” Amanda said. “As for Mr. Tennant, I have no designs upon him, but I am not certain he returns your interest. He is very guarded.”

“Indeed, but he can hardly flirt with me in your presence, can he? It would be unseemly, and he is so very correct. Amazing, really, for with a master like Lord Rackington he must have seen things we can hardly imagine.”

Amanda frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Just that it would be surprising if he’s easily shocked. If I can, I mean to seduce him and enjoy a torrid affair. You don’t mind, do you?”

“There is no reason why I should, except that I’m surprised to hear you are looking for something so impermanent.”

“He’s not likely to offer marriage, Amanda. I am poor and no more than passably pretty, nearly thirty, and have a child. He could easily find some well-dowered young lady and go into business for himself. But in the meantime, why should he not share some pleasure with me?”

It was an eminently realistic and pragmatic outlook, such as Lady Evencourt might have espoused. Amanda sighed. “You have no moral qualms?”

“No, why should I? My husband is dead and gone, the mourning period is over, and my bed is cold. As long as I’m careful not to get with child, this hurts nobody and society does not frown on it, you know, if a widow is discreet. It is only the young unmarried girls who have to be so careful. As long as you, my employer, turn a blind eye . . .”

“Good luck,” Amanda said. “My mother would be shocked, but I am trying to become less rigid in my notions.”

“You’d better, or you’ll faint three times daily when your husband returns.”

Amanda bit down harder than she had intended on her almond biscuit. If Mattie did not stop her carping against Lucian, she might yet put her foot down and prevent that hoped-for affair. Her cousin was a hypocrite, condemning Lucian while she, herself, was prepared to take her pleasure where she found it, like a female lothario without any shame.

Talking of hypocrites . . .

“Mattie, do you know, by any chance, what a copper spider looks like and how to find one?”

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