Anne Barbour (13 page)

Amanda simply stared at him. How could young Amanda have preferred Cosmo Satterleigh to a man like the Earl of Ashindon? Next to Ash, Cosmo was shoddy merchandise, and seemed faintly ridiculous. Besides, she’d be willing to bet good money it wasn’t young Amanda’s
beaux yews
that had Cosmo in such a lather. The guy had fortune hunter written all over his dissolute features. Was this the only breed she was going to meet during her sojourn in Regency England?

“I don’t think so, Cosmo,” she snapped. “I have to—to return to my mother.” She started to move away and then paused. “By the way, what happened to you the other day? At Grosvenor Chapel?”

Cosmo pressed a shapely hand to his heart in a theatrical gesture. “Oh, my love, you cannot believe what I have suffered! An unforeseen circumstance forced me to be a few minutes late. My fool of a man could not find my walking stick! I arrived at the chapel just in time to witness the Earl of Ashindon bundling you into his curricle like some low woman of the streets. If your papa had not been on the scene, I should have called the wretch to account, believe me! I was devastated! And I have spent every moment of every day since endeavoring to see you. But you are watched constantly,” he concluded bitterly.

Not a very enterprising fellow, thought Amanda. She watched as he ran slender fingers through his golden locks in a studied motion.

“When can we meet?” asked Cosmo as he availed himself once more of her hand. “Can you get away tomorrow? Perhaps
we
could—?”

“No,” replied Amanda, firmly disengaging herself. “I don’t want to meet you, Cosmo, tomorrow or any other time.”

Cosmo gasped disbelievingly. “Do I hear you aright?” He groaned. “I knew it! Your mama and papa have succeeded in turning you against me!”

“It’s not that.” An urge to laugh rose in her throat, which made her feel guilty, which led her to be gentle with him, which, in turn, proved to be a tactical error. “I find, Cosmo, that I have, er... I fear I was mistaken in my affections.” Surely she had read that phrase in
Pamela,
or, perhaps,
Clarissa.
She placed her hand in his, whereupon he promptly clutched it to his bosom like the last rose of summer.

“You cannot mean this!” He was gasping again. “Please, my dearest—my angel! We can still fly away together. Do but let me—”

“I believe the lady would like her hand back, Satterleigh.” The voice cut through Cosmo’s babble, and Amanda turned with a start. Her eyes widened in surprised gratitude and her lips curved tentatively, but Ash did not return her smile, keeping his gaze fastened on the hapless Satterleigh.

“You!” cried Cosmo in accents of loathing. The next moment, he recovered himself and stiffened to his full height, which was slightly less than that of the earl. “The lady and I,” he said dismissively, “were engaged in a private conversation.”

“Not all that private, actually,” drawled Ash insultingly. “I expect half the room could hear you.”
He turned to Amanda. “Would you care for some refreshment, Miss Bridge?”

“Yes,” she replied. “Yes, I believe I—” But she was interrupted as Cosmo grasped her arm roughly. “You are just going to go with him?” he asked in a choked voice, and to Amanda it seemed as though there was a hint of desperation in his tone.

Ash stepped forward, but Cosmo, at the expression in the earl’s eyes, released Amanda’s arm immediately.

“We shall continue our conversation later, Miss Bridge,” he said loftily, and his bow as he turned to leave contained a nice blend of insolence and lover-like determination.

“Good grief, what a jerk!” exclaimed Amanda as she watched him swagger away into the crowd.

“Jerk? Mm, I believe you used the word not long ago to me, and I detected a certain censoriousness at the time. Can it be that you and Cosmo have had a falling out?”

She shot the earl a glance from beneath her lashes. “You could say that.” She smiled wryly. “Somehow, a man who can’t show up on time for his own elopement doesn’t seem a very good bet as a lifemate. Besides, at the risk of repeating myself, I don’t remember him.”

For a moment, Ash stared at her, nonplussed. From all accounts, Amanda’s passion for Satterleigh had been genuine, if misplaced. Could she truly have forgotten a man she had professed to love?

A couple jostled them on the way to the dance floor, and Ash became aware that the orchestra had swung into another country dance. He bent his head to Amanda. “Are you sure you are unable to accomplish the steps to the quadrille?”

Amanda watched the dancers with undisguised interest. “Yes, I’m sure, but it looks like a lot of fun.” She turned to face him, and once again Ash was struck by the magical quality her eyes had assumed over the last week. “Would you teach me?” she asked.

He nodded dazedly, aware in a corner of his brain that he would have complied if she had asked him to give her lessons in animal husbandry.

“On one condition,” he added, his lips curving upward. “That you save the supper dance for me. If it is not a waltz, we shall spend the time promenading in stately fashion about the edge of the floor, nodding to acquaintances and exchanging scurrilous remarks about the other guests’ taste in clothing.”

At this, her smile positively blinded him. “That sounds like more fun than I’ve had since—”

“William!”

The voice was soft and musical, but held an unmistakable note of command. Amanda watched with some interest as Ash stiffened and the laughter fled from those disturbing gray eyes. In the next moment, he turned to greet the newcomer.

“Lianne,” he said, and Amanda thought she detected a slight tremor as he spoke the word. He bent to salute the slender hand that was lifted to him and said quietly, “Lianne, allow me to present Miss Amanda Bridge. Amanda, this is my cousin’s widow, Lady Ashindon.”

The widow was small, and, thought Amanda, as exquisite as an Augustin miniature. Was she imagining things, she wondered, or was there the merest hint of malice in the jeweled green eyes lifted to hers? The countess grasped Amanda’s hand gently in both her small ones and exclaimed prettily, “You must call me Lianne, as well, my dear. I understand that you will soon be joining our family.” She whirled to face Ash. “But you did not tell me, Will—she is quite astonishingly lovely! I am so happy for you, dearest.”

Amanda glanced swiftly into Ash’s white face. The tension between the earl and his cousin’s widow was thick and heavy, pulsating with an emotion that she found herself reluctant to contemplate.

“Have you brought her to meet Grandmama yet?” asked Lianne, her eyes bright and interested.

“The betrothal has not yet been announced,” said Ash curtly. “However, Grandmama has been made aware of my intentions, and I intend to bring Amanda to visit her within the next day or two.”

“She is such a dear old lady,” said Lianne to Amanda, her gaze mischievous. “I know she will love you. And now, my dears, I must leave you. I have promised the next dance to Reggie Smythe-Wolverton. You remember him, do you not, Wi—Ash? Do forgive me,” she added with a sad smile. “I cannot accustom myself to calling you that.”

She shook her head slightly, then said to Amanda, “Do please call on me tomorrow.” The roguish sparkle returned to her gaze. “We can have a lovely, comfortable coze. And do not bring W—Ashindon with you, for I mean to tell you all the family secrets.” She shot Ash a wicked glance from beneath her thick fringe of lashes and with a silvery laugh moved away.

Ash stared after Lianne, his features rigid and his eyes glittering darkly in his white face.

“Family secrets?” asked Amanda at last, in a tentative tone.

For a long moment he did not answer, but when he finally turned back to her, his gaze was blank. “All families have secrets,” he said with what might have been called a smile. “The Wexfords have their share, but I don’t suppose they are any worse than most. I trust you were not looking forward to a juicy exposé.”

“No,” replied Amanda tartly, “but I’m looking forward to discovering more about the Wexfords. For example, this is the first I’ve heard of Grandmama.”

Ash looked startled, and a little ashamed. “Grandmama is the Dowager Countess Ashindon and our matriarch. She is rather— eccentric, and, frankly, I saw no reason to burden you with the ordeal of meeting her until after I had formally asked for your hand.”

Good heavens, thought Amanda a little wildly. Was she one of the family secrets? One of those hopeless loonies that used to be kept locked in a garret?

Before she could answer, a gentleman approached to whom Ash turned with a marked expression of relief. “James!” he exclaimed, fairly grasping the man by the elbow. He was tall and thin and rather bookish-looking, with brown hair that fell over his forehead and brown eyes whose depths held a mocking light.

“Miss Bridge,” said Ash, “allow me to present James Wincanon, my very good friend and erstwhile comrade-in-arms. We were at Eton together, and later served in the same regiment in the Peninsula.”

Mr. Wincanon declared himself extraordinarily pleased to make Miss Bridge’s acquaintance. “For,” he added a bit stiffly, as though unaccustomed to social conversation, “you are every bit as lovely as Will has said.”

Amanda was in no danger of interpreting his words as an overture to flirtation, for they were uttered without a smile, yet with a rather unnerving glint in his gaze.

“You have not met James before,” said Ash, “because he cannot usually be pried from the fastness of his place in Lincolnshire. He is something of a scholar, you see, and plods about the countryside searching for Roman antiquities.”

“Really!” exclaimed Amanda in delight. “That is an interest of mine. Where are you excavating at present? Perhaps—” She stopped suddenly, aware of Ash’s openmouthed gaze. Mr. Wincanon, too, was staring in amazement. “That is ...” she continued lamely. She took a deep breath and turned in relief as another gentleman, a stranger, solicited her hand for the upcoming dance. Since
it appeared to be a waltz, she accepted with alacrity and was soon spinning away from her betrothed and his friend.

“Well, well,” said James sardonically. “You did not tell me the beautiful Miss Bridge is a bluestocking.”

“But she’s not! At least—Good God, James, I find I do not know my intended in the slightest. She is nothing like the well-brought-up miss with whom I thought I was acquainted.”

He stared after Amanda in perplexity.

Amanda had not a clue to her partner’s identity, but the gentleman apparently knew Amanda Bridge well, for his conversation was sprinkled with references to persons and events of which she had no knowledge. After one or two near-disastrous responses to his inconsequential chatter she exclaimed in desperation, “But do not let us talk, sir. I wish to lose myself in the dance, for I find the waltz most exhilarating.”

Which was not quite true. It must be that the novelty of her newfound strength and agility was wearing off, for this waltz fell far short of the magical experience of dancing with Lord Ashindon. It was pleasant, however, and when it was over she accepted her partner’s thanks with a cordial nod.

Amanda made it her priority for the rest of the evening to stay out of trouble, thus she confined her conversation to Serena and those of young Amanda’s friends who already knew of her mental fuzziness. She circulated through the Marchfords’ public rooms, each more crowded than the last, chatting with what she hoped resembled a practiced ease. It was more than an hour later that Ash approached her again.

“The supper dance is upon us,” he remarked lazily. “It appears that the orchestra is settling into a Boulanger. Shall we take a turn about the room?”

Wordlessly, Amanda placed her hand on the arm he proffered and, scooping up the train of her gown in a careless gesture that had taken her some hours to perfect, she walked at his side.

“Just what is a supper dance?” she asked at length.

“It is the dance just before supper, of course. Usually, a lady then goes to supper with the gentleman who partners her for the supper dance.” He slanted a glance at Amanda. His eyes, thought Amanda, were like a winter sea—cold, yet changeable and sometimes touched with sunlight. “You truly have no memory at all of the infinite social minutiae so critical to what we call civilization.”

Amanda laughed. “That’s one of those sentences that my stu”—she gulped—”that require dissecting before one can answer.” Good Lord, she’d almost blurted out that she was a teacher in her “real life.” But was it her real life anymore? Every rational fiber of her being screamed that she could not possibly have traveled through time to take up residence in a Mayfair town house in what was really the last gasp of the eighteenth century, but the alternative options seemed to be dwindling.

She shook herself and replied calmly, “But you are right, my lord. I truly have forgotten everything that makes Amanda Bridge who she is. I seem,” she added cautiously, “to be another person altogether.”

Since her words coincided so precisely with the earl’s reflections on the subject, he paused in their peregrinations to look directly at her, startled. She found it hard to meet his gaze and was relieved when a plump heavily jeweled matron strode up to greet the earl.

“Lady Chuffing, how are you this evening?” he responded courteously. He turned to Amanda. “Do you not remember, Miss Bridge, we spoke just a few moments ago of Lady Chuffing’s delightful garden party last week. You were saying she served the most marvelous pastries.”

“Oh yes!” cried Amanda, taking her cue. “I’m afraid I made a dreadful spectacle of myself, devouring so many.”

“Why thank you, my dear,” replied her ladyship, condescending so far as to offer her gloved hand to Amanda. “You looked lovely that afternoon, as you do this evening.” She leaned forward confidentially. “I suppose I should not mention it”—her cheeks creased in a coquettish smile—”but your mama told me we may look for an interesting announcement soon.” Her eyes darted questioningly from the earl to Amanda.

“Oh dear,” said Amanda. “I—”

“As to that, my lady,” interrupted Ash smoothly, “I’m sure Mrs. Bridge did not wish to imply something that would contribute to the rise of gossip—which I know you abhor.”