The Perfect Bride (27 page)

What
was it that drew her? To be sure, Lord Sommersby cut an imposing figure in his fine
kerseymere and burnished Hussars — but even in Thornton's poorly-cut dimity, grey
hair, and drooping mustache, he had fairly taken her breath away.

Perhaps
it was his reserve and restraint — remarkable in a man of his achievements, incongruous
in a man of such wealth and fame. Doubtless even in battle, he retained his
poise. Amanda could not envision him charging wildly into the fray, hacking at
the enemy with a crazed cry. He would be cool, assessing, and deadly.

Did
the man never lose control? Did he never fall prey to the passions that
besieged lesser mortals? A kiss did not truly count; to him it was surely a
trifling. Amanda sighed. She would never find out, not while she still possessed
a shred of honor.

And
yet, she yearned to shake his iron discipline, to push beyond his steely
control and touch something in the man that would respond to the woman in her.

She
would write to Lady Biddle and tell her she could not accompany Felicity to
London. Her aunt would be displeased, but Amanda had no other choice. She did
not have Lord Sommersby's self-restraint. She had become a woman out of
control.

With
a heavy heart, she began to compose the letter to her aunt.

***

"Edward
looks miserable."

"He
always does, Isabella."

"This
is different. It is because Claridge has left, I am sure of it. It is only a
matter of time before Edward hies after him and we will be free at last!"

"Free
to do what, do you imagine?"

"Free
to wander England with abandon, choosing comely humans to inhabit and savor the
delights of the flesh that have been denied us for so long."

"You
will pardon me if I retain some skepticism, my dear. I cannot think that it
will be that simple."

"Pah!
With Edward gone, there will be nothing to chain us to this miserable castle.
But before we go, we will finish the business with our tenant and the chaperon."

"How?
Our tenant seems unable to shake his resolve."

"He
is suffering, Mortimer. That is what is important."

"The
man is a soldier, Isabella. He can endure a little suffering."

"You
have not taken the chaperon into account."

"But
she means to leave."

"Does
she? We shall see about that."

"What
are you planning, Isabella?"

"Mortimer,
dear, happiness will soon be ours."

***

Felicity
did not usually nap during the day, but today's ordeal had been too much.
Huddling under the bed covers, she closed her eyes against the devastating
discoveries she had made.

Stephen
did not love her — otherwise, he would have stayed to face Lord Sommersby and
her father. That revelation was bad enough, but Felicity had discovered
something almost as shocking.

Amanda
was in love with Lord Sommersby.

How
else to explain her cousin's strange behavior today? How else to account for
her confession about offering herself to Lord Sommersby? How else to explain
the way Amanda looked at the earl and — wonder of wonders — the way he looked
at her?

Felicity
had held out hopes for a match between that nice Mr. Thornton and Amanda, but
it seemed her cousin’s heart was not inclined in that direction — though the
two men had much in common, as far as Felicity could tell. They were both rather
remote men of few words. Then again, she did not really know the earl. She
would never have predicted, for instance, that he would have remained in the
parlor today to hear about Stephen, and that he would have done so with such
kindness.

He
had even renewed his promise of marriage, saying that her brief infatuation
with Stephen had not altered his commitment. Felicity suspected that honor, not
affection, lay behind his decision to remain bound to her. And although the
earl had been very kind, she felt no more for him than she would a kindly
stranger. And that was the rub. Her notion of marriage went beyond that of mere
companionship.

Would
affection between her and the earl come with time? Felicity longed to talk with
her mother about these things. For despite what her father had said, Felicity
believed that love ought to be the reason for marriage and the foundation for
its continuance.

And
it was Amanda who loved Lord Sommersby, Amanda who deserved her chance at
happiness after so many years of spinsterhood. But she would never take it as
long as Felicity and the earl were betrothed.

Yet
ending her betrothal by would not, by itself, bring Amanda and the earl
together, Felicity realized. Amanda viewed her own behavior as reprehensible. Thus,
she would almost certainly do what she had done eight years ago — don the hair
shirt of guilt and flee to her solitary spinster’s existence in the country,
where the only suitors were widowed farmers with untamed broods to raise.

Felicity's
head ached from trying to think of a solution. Perhaps if she slept for a
while, the answer would come to her. Wearily, she closed her eyes and allowed
the soothing darkness to overtake her.

Ghostly
images flitted through her dreams. A strangely dressed couple in ancient
clothing began to act out a scene in which two lovers consummated their undying
passion.

It
was a rather scandalous dream, but when Felicity awoke, she had a smile on her
face. Now she knew precisely what to do.

***

"What
do you mean she is missing?" Lady Biddle stared incredulously at Amanda.

"She
had retired to her room to rest," Amanda explained unhappily. "When I
went to fetch her for dinner, she was gone."

Sir
Thomas frowned. "`Tis a rather large place, this castle. Can you be
certain that she is not here?"

"No."
Lord Sommersby looked grim, and Amanda could not blame him. They had only had
time to search the floor on which Amanda and Felicity had their rooms when Sir
Thomas and Lady Biddle had unexpectedly arrived. If Felicity had taken it upon
herself to explore the further reaches of the castle, who knew where she might
be? Perhaps one of the crumbling stone walls had fallen on her. Now night was almost
upon them and something had to be done.

Sir
Thomas evidently had the same thought. "This is your castle, Sommersby,
and I judge that you have the best chance at finding her within these walls. I
will ride out and search the countryside."

"Jeffers
goes with you," the earl said quickly, doubtless as aware as Amanda of
what could happen to an unescorted young woman on the roads at night.

"I
do not understand," Lady Biddle said, bewildered. "Why would Felicity
have run away?"

Amanda
exchanged glances with Lord Sommersby. Perhaps this was not the time to tell
Felicity's parents about Stephen Frakes. On the other hand, it was probably the
only explanation that made sense. Amanda knew that he was leaving the decision
up to her. She could see little choice except to tell the Biddles everything.

"Felicity
suffered a disappointment today," she began. "I am not certain she
would wish to have the matter discussed like this, but I think unhappiness must
be at the heart of her disappearance."

Lady
Biddle eyed her in confusion. "Disappointment? Unhappiness? Amanda,
whatever are you saying?" Her eyes widened suddenly. "Never say that
monster Claridge insinuated himself with Felicity!" She rounded on her
husband. "This is precisely what I feared when you left so rashly, Thomas.
I do not see how you could have done such a foolish —"

"Claridge
left early this morning," Lord Sommersby interjected. "He had nothing
to do with Miss Biddle's state."

"`State'?"
Sir Thomas frowned. "Just exactly what has been going on here? Sommersby?
Amanda?"

Amanda
sighed. "Felicity formed an attachment for a young man in the earl's
employ."

Lady
Biddle gasped. "A
servant
?"

"Mr.
Frakes is a young scholar I hired to catalog my library and weapons
collection," Lord Sommersby explained.

Inadvertently,
Lady Biddle's gaze wandered to the lethal-looking devices that hung from the
walls of the Great Hall. "I see," was her tight-lipped response.

"I
assume responsibility for being less than diligent in my chaperon duties,"
Amanda said quickly. "I was so intent on keeping Felicity and the earl
company that I paid no heed to the occasions when she took herself off
alone."

Sorrowfully,
she eyed her aunt and uncle. "I gather she spent a great deal of time in
the library with Mr. Frakes. I have no reason to believe that anything untoward
occurred. Nevertheless, I was remiss in my duties."

Sir
Thomas's frown deepened into a scowl. "Did this reprobate go off with my
daughter?" he demanded.

"No,"
Lord Sommersby replied. "Jeffers said Mr. Frakes departed on his own."

"My
poor baby," Lady Biddle murmured, shaking her head. "To have her eyes
opened to the nature of men so soon."

Sir
Thomas glowered at his wife, then spoke to the earl. "You say she was
distraught?"

When
Lord Sommersby hesitated, Amanda touched her uncle's hand. "It seemed so,
sir, but I pray that when she has had time to consider, things will not seem so
dire. Lord Sommersby was quite understanding about the entire, er,
matter."

The
baronet's countenance darkened. "A man ought not be `understanding' when
another poaches on his territory."

"Thomas!"
his wife said reprovingly. "There is no sense taking Lord Sommersby to
task. None of this was his doing."

"No,
indeed," Amanda agreed unhappily. "I take full responsibility."

"I
bear the blame," the earl put in. "I fear I was insufficiently
attentive."

Sir
Thomas threw his hands up in disgust. "Who the devil were you attending
to, if not my daughter?"

Lord
Sommersby opened his mouth to speak, but Sir Thomas cut him off. "Never
mind. Time is wasting. Felicity could be anywhere. Sommersby, you and Amanda
will take torches and search the castle. Your man and I will be off
immediately."

"What
about me, Thomas?" Lady Biddle pleaded. "Surely there is something I
can do?"

Her
husband shot her a black look. "You can contemplate how to instruct your
daughter as to the `nature of men' — since it appears that you have become
something of an expert."

Lady
Biddle's lips thinned, but she did not say a word. Amanda eyed her uncle in
surprise. She had never heard him speak harshly to or about his wife.

Looking
decidedly grim, Lord Sommersby caught her elbow none too gently. Wordlessly,
Amanda allowed him to escort her into the bowels of the castle.

***

"I
do not think Felicity would have come up here." Miss Fitzhugh eyed the
forbidding tower.

With
an impatient shrug, Simon pushed open the door. It did not give easily, leading
him to doubt that Miss Biddle would have opened it. Still, it was worth a
search. Except for the part of the castle that was closed off, they had looked
almost everywhere in a very long, dark and uncomfortably silent evening of
searching.

"You
will not persuade me you put any stock in those old stories," he said,
when she hesitated.

"What
stories?"

Simon
held up the lantern to illuminate the chamber.  "`Tis rumored to be
haunted by the ghosts of Edward II and his queen, Isabella of France."

She
gave him a speaking look. They had mostly avoided eye contact, but that had not
stemmed the discomfort of spending such a prolonged period in one another’s
company. “Ghosts do not worry me, my lord. It’s the real people one must watch
out for.”

"Yes,”
he agreed.

A
prolonged silence followed, during which Simon decided that a haunted death
chamber held vastly more appeal than the strained stillness between them.

“Her
lover, Roger Mortimer, is supposed to reside here as well," Simon said, trying
for  a more neutral topic.

"Yes,
I recall,” she said. “Mr. Thornton — er, you mentioned him earlier."

So
much for neutrality. Ignoring the reference to his ill-fated masquerade, Simon held
the lantern aloft, illuminating a cobwebbed ceiling and rotting beams that
looked to be an ideal perch for the bats who doubtless hung from them during
the day. An ornately carved chair, its cushions long gone to dust, served as
the only furniture.

"Edward
died in this very tower," he offered.

She
did not respond.

Damnation,
Simon thought. Couldn’t she at least pretend to be interested in the tale? God knows
there was little else they could safely discuss.

"A
heated iron spit was thrust into him,” he said ruthlessly. “The dying king's
screams were heard throughout the castle for hours."