The Perfect Bride (14 page)

This
comment produced a frown from her father. "I will not have my wife taking
orders from the neighborhood quack."

Felicity
turned to Amanda, a guilty look on her delicate features. "Perhaps we
ought to return home so that Dr. Greenfield can look at your ankle, Amanda. I
did not think of that. How selfish I have been to wish to remain here merely
because the earl possesses a singular library."

"I
have more faith in Jeffers’s skills than I do in Dr. Greenfield’s," Amanda
said quickly. "And Mr. Thornton has kindly offered to provide any
assistance I may need."

Amanda
hoped her voice sounded calm, but in truth she felt anything but. Since Mr.
Thornton's arrival last night, she had felt positively giddy at the knowledge
that she was free to enjoy his company without questioning — as she did with
the earl — the propriety of doing so. His presence was a relief after the
unsettling undercurrents between her and Lord Sommersby.

If
only Mr. Thornton did not look so very much like the earl, if only that grey hair
of his did not make her wonder whether it had once been the same brilliant
shade of red as the earl’s. If only his changeable eyes did not resemble so
precisely Lord Sommersby's that Amanda was put in mind of him each time she met
Mr. Thornton's gaze.

What
was wrong with her? She was acting like a green miss who dreamt about every man
who crossed her path. Mr. Thornton was precisely the steady, calm influence she
needed to recover her sanity for this visit. Though they had seen him only
briefly at dinner last night, he had inquired after her health and offered to
give her a tour of the castle to take her mind off her injury. Amanda had
accepted, though it meant gentle taunts later from Felicity about her
"suitor."

The
notion that Mr. Thornton had formed an attachment for her was ridiculous. He
was old enough to be her father, after all. Despite Felicity's teasing, Amanda
suspected that his attention to her stemmed more from the earl's instructions
to keep her occupied than from any genuine interest of his own. It would be
just like Lord Sommersby to try to keep an eye on her in his absence. As it
happened, Amanda planned to be considerably more active today. She had been
able to put most of her weight on her ankle this morning, with the result that
she happily exchanged the loathed crutches for the cane Jeffers provided.

Meeting
Mr. Thornton at breakfast, Amanda was aware of a strange thrill as those keen
eyes noted the cane, then studied her carefully as if to determine whether she
had discarded the crutches prematurely. Amanda had forgotten how penetrating
that gaze could be, how it stood at odds with that disheveled mop of grey hair,
and how perfectly it fit the subtle air of command that worn suit did not
diminish. Fortunately, he did not dwell on her appearance and quickly returned
his attention to his breakfast.

For
the first time, Amanda knew a tiny moment of regret over her spinster's life.
Perhaps with this gentleman she could find more than simply pleasant company.
Dare she to think it? Why, after all these years alone, were her thoughts
running in such a direction?

Bemused
and a little ashamed, Amanda surreptitiously regarded Mr. Thornton over her
coffee cup. The prospect that she and the earl's cousin could be more than mere
acquaintances made her uneasy. Amanda had long ceased to think of herself as
innocent, but now she realized how little understanding she had of the strange
currents at work between the sexes.

Suddenly
Mr. Thornton looked up from his plate and caught her staring. Awareness leapt to
his eyes, and Amanda watched as they transformed from cool blue to a warmer
green. Just as quickly, however, his gaze grew shuttered. An air of remoteness
replaced the sudden electricity that leapt between them across the table. Then
he frowned.

"I
am not certain you ought to undertake something as ambitious as touring the
castle, Miss Fitzhugh."

Was
he trying to find an excuse to avoid spending the afternoon with her? Amanda
wondered. Or was he genuinely concerned for her welfare?

"I
can manage, sir. Indeed, I would welcome an opportunity to learn more about the
castle's history." She hesitated, feeling uncharacteristically shy.
"If you wish to reconsider, however, please do not feel any obligation to
see to my entertainment. Felicity and I planned a shopping trip to the village
for this morning, and we can easily extend it into the afternoon."

"I
do not wish to reconsider. We shall begin in the courtyard at three
o'clock." He rose. "If that is convenient, of course." Not
waiting for her response, he left the room.

Amanda
sighed. How like the men in this family to frame an invitation in the form of a
command. Still, it was not so much irritation as anticipation that filled her —
to her great annoyance.

She
set her cup down with a clatter and tossed her napkin onto the table. Then gave
herself a mental shake. She would not make a fool of herself again. There was
nothing special about Mr. Thornton. He was just a man, like any other. And she
was just a woman who had better sense than to let her mind wander into fanciful
directions.

Nothing
would happen between her and Mr. Thornton. Nothing at all.

CHAPTER TEN

Simon
checked his reflection in the mirror one last time. He felt an odd sense of
freedom. Strange how being someone other than himself for a time could loosen
the ties that bound a man to duty. He had not found it so during the war — if
anything the strictures of disguise required more discipline. Today was
different.

In
the military or out of it, Simon had always known and done his duty. Even as a boy,
he had done what he could to protect his mother and give her a better life.
That he had failed then only strengthened his resolve never to fail again. As
earl, his obligations lay with his lineage and his title. Miss Biddle was the
perfect bride to help him fulfill his duty. He did not shun the future he had
set in stone.

But
he welcomed this respite, this small window of freedom during which he could
become a man who had not the pressure of wealth and position to dictate his
actions. For now, he was only Thornton, Miss Fitzhugh's threadbare protector.
If their castle tour took hours, all the better, for it would keep her away
from Julian that much longer.

Protecting
Miss Fitzhugh was his duty, but it also felt like a pleasure — albeit a guilty
one. Simon could not remember the last time he had done anything for the pure
pleasure of it.

***

Strolling
through Sommersby Castle was like stepping back in time. Amanda could envision
the stone structure teeming with a king's army and peasants aplenty to do his
bidding. And though she did not believe in ghosts, fanciful images of watchful
but unseen presences plagued her as Mr. Thornton guided them deeper into the
castle. One wing of the castle was in disrepair and therefore closed off until
renovations could be done.  But there was much to see nevertheless.

The
oldest part of the castle was a sixty-foot keep on the north side that joined
the old and new sections. It was surprisingly passable, although when Amanda
stumbled on some crumbled stones, Mr. Thornton eyed her doubtfully.

"Perhaps
we should defer this tour until another time."

Amanda
was not about to miss enjoying a carefree exploration without Lord Sommersby's disturbing
presence. She smiled. "My ankle barely pains me. Indeed, I believe I could
walk fifty miles today."

No
answering smile made its way across Mr. Thornton's  features, but Amanda did
not mind. The earl's cousin was a sober sort, not given to levity. He had made
no effort to be witty or engaging or provocative, or any of the things another
man might have done upon finding himself alone with an unmarried female. That
was quite all right, she decided. If Mr. Thornton thought of her in any way
other than as Felicity's chaperon, he would make it known in his own time. That
was the way of things at his age and at hers. One did not get carried away.

Yet
he did not seem to find the task of touring the castle with her unwelcome. For
all his somberness, his expression had lightened over the course of the
afternoon, as if he had regained a bit of his youth in their trek back through
history. She was relieved when he did not pursue the matter of her ankle
further.

"This
part of the castle was built about the middle of the twelfth century," he
said, when they resumed their inspection of the keep. "King Stephen
granted Robert Thornton the property in appreciation for his services during
the civil wars."

"He
fought on behalf of the king?"

Mr.
Thornton nodded. "The Thorntons were warriors, and it was said that
whoever commanded their loyalty could claim the crown."

Amanda
eyed him consideringly. "You know a great deal about the castle."

"The
castle's history is well known, since it was the site of Edward of Caernarvon's
murder," he replied. "My personal knowledge is not extensive,
however. I came to the castle only a few months ago, when the earl
inherited."

"How
is it that you are related to the earl?"

Was
that a flush on his face? Unlike many men, Mr. Thornton obviously did not like
speaking about himself. Still, Amanda knew a small regret at his reserve. It was
almost as if he did not wish to trust her with even so small a fact.

"It
is a complicated connection," he replied vaguely. "I will not bore
you with the details."

With
a small, inward sigh, Amanda forced her attention back to the keep. She found
herself staring at a red sandstone tower, and the stairway that led up to it. "Is
that where the notorious Edward met his doom?"

"Yes.
Rather painfully and indelicately. Generations of Thorntons have claimed to
hear his ghostly screams ringing through the castle at night."

"You
will not persuade me that you believe in ghosts, sir," Amanda teased.

"Nor
do I, Miss Fitzhugh," he replied. "I expect that the legend stems
from popular disgust at the particularly inhumane manner of Edward's death.
Reports of his ghastly suffering turned opinion against his queen, Isabella,
who earned the epithet `she-wolf of France' for deposing her husband, having
him murdered, and flaunting her affair with her lover, Roger Mortimer. With
such a reputation, I imagine she was fortunate to survive into old age."

Studying
the ancient turret, a feeling of unease passed over her. Amanda tried to shake
it off. "And what of those dungeons you once spoke of?" she prodded.
"Have they seen their share of ghostly wailing?"

"I
know little about them," he said. "Legend has it that Isabella
dispatched one of Edward's admirers to the dungeons when her husband refused to
pay for her lavish birthday party. I believe the admirer escaped through one of
the tunnels, as did some of the others who spent time in the cells over the
centuries."

"Tunnels?"
A thrill of excitement shot through her. "I should love to see them."

Mr.
Thornton hesitated. "I would be reluctant to take you there. I am not certain
they are safe."

"Are
you worried on my behalf, Mr. Thornton, or yours?" Amanda challenged.

Far
from producing a smile, this sally brought a grim expression. "I
understand that the Duke of Claridge is much occupied these days with searching
the tunnels."

"I
see.” Irritation filled her, though she tried to tamp it down, with little
success. “The earl has obviously researched the matter of my tarnished past. It
appears that the two of you quite thoroughly discussed the matter.”

Thornton
looked alarmed. “Not at all, Miss Fitzhugh. It is just that he —
we
—
would not wish Claridge’s presence to cause you discomfort. In truth, I am
inclined to ask the man to leave.”

“But
he is the earl’s guest, is he not?” she pointed out. “Doubtless Lord Sommersby should
have a say in the matter.”

Mr.
Thornton said nothing for a moment, then: “The earl has charged me with your
welfare, madam, even if it means Claridge’s departure.”

“Let
me assure you, Mr. Thornton, that the duke causes me no discomfort. We are both
civilized members of polite society, are we not?”

“Claridge’s
reputation would seem to exclude the descriptions ‘polite’ or ‘civilized’,” he
said carefully.

“Let
us have done, Mr. Thornton.” Amanda abandoned any attempt to hide her
irritation. “I do not regard the duke’s reputation. Indeed, to do so would be
to acknowledge an acquaintance with matters that ladies are not supposed to
take note of, would it not? Would you have me put myself beyond the pale, sir?”

“I
assure you, Miss Fitzhugh, I did not intend —”

“I
suppose I should be grateful that the earl has an interest in his preserving
the reputation of his betrothed’s chaperon, and that he has charged you with
that duty, but truthfully, Mr. Thornton, it is entirely unnecessary and quite
impossible at all events.”

“I
beg your pardon?”