The Perfect Bride (30 page)

"`Even
as I discovered true love,'" Amanda continued slowly, "`I also recognized
that I was not the only one in its throes. And so, I send you both this gift —
to quote Mr. Jonson —
'Not so much honoring thee as giving it a hope that
there it could not withered be
.'"

Confused,
Amanda pondered her cousin's words. She might have known Felicity would draw
inspiration from the poets, although what "gift" she referred to was
a mystery.

Not,
apparently, to Lord Sommersby. Amanda met his gaze and noted an unsettling
light within those enigmatic depths.

Surreptitiously
eying the wine bottle, candles, and other provisions, Amanda had a horrible
thought. This was the spot Felicity had chosen for her romantic hideaway with
Mr. Frakes. Was this the "gift" of which her letter spoke? Her ruse
about the locket was intended to trap them here, together, until — until what,
exactly?

"I
do not care to read the rest." Amanda put the letter on the blanket.

The
earl immediately picked it up and held it out to her.

“My
lord,” Amanda protested, shaking her head.

"I
have always found it best to confront a crisis head-on,” he said. “Delay tends
to cause a far worse outcome."

It
was difficult to see how the outcome could be much worse, she thought. Then
again, perhaps she could skip over the difficult parts. Amanda reached for the
note, but in that very moment Lord Sommersby pulled it back. She saw, to her dismay,
that he intended to take over the reading.

"`And
so, here is my gift to you and Lord Sommersby —’" His rich baritone echoed
off the walls as he paused ominously, then read: "`a night in this
cave.'"

The
sudden galloping of Amanda's pulse robbed her of breath. As she stared at him
in horror, Lord Sommersby ruthlessly continued.

"`I
have tried to foresee everything you might need. I daresay both of you will
come to your senses quickly. At all events, you will be so thoroughly
compromised by tomorrow that you will have no choice but to marry. Please do
not think harshly of me. Remember: `
Nought venture nought have
.' Yours
is a match made in heaven. Now you have my blessing, and one night to discover
the truth.'"

Amanda
could almost hear Felicity's pleased sigh as she wrote those final words and
envisioned the romance her rash act would spark. How could her cousin do such a
thing? Did she really mean to lock them away for an entire night in each
other's company?

"I-I
do not know what to say," Amanda stammered. "I am certain my cousin
did not mean for us to..." Her voice trailed off.

"Become
lovers?" he supplied, one brow arching skyward. "On the contrary,
Miss Fitzhugh, there is little doubt that she did."

Amanda
closed her eyes, wondering how to extricate herself from this disaster. Lord
Sommersby must be filled with disgust, thinking her so desperate for a husband
that her cousin must pull an outrageous prank to secure one for her.

Yet
only a coward would sit here with her eyes closed, hoping the cave would
suddenly swallow her whole. With renewed determination, Amanda opened them. She
met his gaze.

"I
am sorry," she said. The words seemed pitifully inadequate, given the
magnitude of what they were facing.

In
response, Lord Sommersby merely extended his hand to her. "You will join
me, I assume, in trying to find another way out?"

Amanda
sighed in relief. He meant to see that they escaped from this untenable situation.
"Oh, yes! That is, er, thank you, my lord." She allowed him to help
her to her feet, hoping he did not feel insulted at her obvious desire to
escape their situation as soon as possible.

Was
that amusement in his eyes? She thought so, but then it vanished into his
customary bland mask.

"The
tunnel beyond this area must lead to the cliff face," he said. "I
have not explored the sea opening — Miss Biddle and I turned back that day when
you and Claridge did not follow us.”

He
paused for a moment, during which Amanda searched his face for any hint that he
had deliberately mentioned that day to embarrass or reproach her. But there was
nothing — no indication of any of this thoughts, reproachful or otherwise.
Instead, his gaze flicked lightly over the supplies. “We have ample candles to do
so now, however."

Thank
goodness he was such a pragmatic man, Amanda thought, brightening. She might
have known that he would not fall apart in a crisis. Indeed, she felt silly for
panicking. Of course there had to be a seaside entrance to the tunnels. They
would be back in the castle before anyone discovered their absence. Feeling the
weight of disaster lifted from her shoulders, Amanda picked up the candles and
followed him.

The
earl paused periodically to light the candles and place them on the rock slabs
jutting out from the walls. His lantern, meanwhile, illuminated the path ahead,
which meant that they had light before and behind them.

Occasionally
Amanda heard scurrying sound that might have been a small animal. Several times
there was a whooshing near her face — bats, she supposed.

Flickering
shadows danced around them as here and there a draft caught at the candles. One
or two of them went out, and Amanda found herself imagining ghostly presences
in those shadows. It was a silly notion, of course. Ghosts did not exist.

Still,
she would be happy when they were free of this place.

Lord
Sommersby lifted his lantern to illuminate a narrowing corridor.
"According to Claridge, freetraders used the caves as recently as a few
years ago. That would explain why the tunnels are in such good repair."

"Surely
Julian had not time to search all of the tunnels before he left,” she said.

“I
suppose not.”    Was it her imagination, or did those broad shoulders stiffen? Clearly,
it was not a topic he cared to discuss.

But
Amanda had wondered about Julian’s abrupt departure. There would not be a
better time to bring it up, she reasoned. “Do you know why he left the castle
before completing the search for his mother's marriage lines?"

The
earl said nothing for a moment, then: "I take it he did not make his
goodbyes to you."

Trailing
him, Amanda could not see his face, but she sensed something left unsaid. "No."

They
walked a few more feet in silence. "He did not tell you that we fought?"
he asked at last.

“What?”
Stunned, Amanda tried to imagine the two men in hand-to-hand combat. “Over
what, pray?"

Any
response was lost as he disappeared around a sudden turn. Amanda hurried after
him, but he turned abruptly and she crashed into that rock-solid chest.
Instantly, his free arm went around her for support.

When
she regained her balance, he released her and started down the tunnel again.
But Amanda managed to catch his sleeve. “Lord Sommersby, please. You must
explain.”

He
turned. “Must I?” The words came out a growl.

Their
gazes held. After a moment, he shrugged.

“You
told me once that no one called Claridge to account for that night in Vauxhall."

"No,"
she replied, puzzled. "I did not wish it."

"Well,
now the thing has been done." With that he turned away and resumed his
pace.

She
scrambled after him. "Do you mean to say, my lord, that you fought with
Julian over
me
?"

"It
was not a battle to the death, Miss Fitzhugh," he said dryly, "only a
rather spirited fencing bout."

"I
do not understand."

"Nor
did I at the time. It is only now that certain things are becoming clearer."

And
with that cryptic statement, Amanda supposed, she would have to make do, for he
was already pressing ahead. One further thought made her hurry to catch up.

"Was
anyone hurt?" she demanded. "I warn you, sir — I do not hold with
bloodshed."

"Fencing
is a very civilized sport, Miss Fitzhugh," came the response from
somewhere ahead of her. "Occasional wounds are unusual and, in any case,
largely insignificant."

"You
did not answer the question," Amanda persisted. "Nor have you told me
how this duel came about."

"It
was not a duel."

The
man was exasperating. "What would you call it?" she demanded.

But
he had stopped suddenly, and Amanda almost crashed into him again. "I
prefer not to discuss this further," he said.

"And
I would prefer not to be hurrying after you in this tunnel as if it were a race."

He
sighed. "My dear Miss Fitzhugh, it
is
a race. And if I do not miss
my guess, we are within moments of discovering whether we have won or
lost."

With
that, he moved quickly ahead. As Amanda followed, she noticed that the rocky
walls had become smoother. She detected  a salty taste in the air. There was
even a bit of breeze. Then she heard the thunderous crashing of waves. They
were almost free.

Thank
goodness, she thought. “It is the sea!"

Oddly,
Lord Sommersby did not share her elation. "The sea is near," he
confirmed. "Rather
too
near."

Squinting
at the faint outline of the tunnel opening ahead, Amanda saw with dawning
dismay what he must have suspected all along. His lantern illuminated angry
seawater swirling at the entrance, creeping toward them like giant fingers.
Frothy foam lent the encroaching ocean a restless agitation, as if it meant to
gobble everything in its path.

"The
tide," she said slowly, "is coming in."

"Yes."

Water
had already started to pool in some of the fissures near their feet. He held
the lantern up to inspect the walls.

"The
high water line is here." He pointed to a spot about waist-high.

Amanda
absorbed that. "How far inside will the water reach?"

"Far
enough.”

What
did that mean? she wondered. The man was maddening. She crossed her arms and
glared at him. “Please speak plainly, sir.”

He
studied her. “Miss Fitzhugh, has anyone ever told you how very demanding you can
be?”

“Certainly
not. Most people are polite enough to keep such thoughts, if they have them, to
themselves. Pray tell me what it is you have discerned about our course of
action.”

“What
it means, madam, is that we will have to return to the cavern,” he said. “We
cannot get out this way until low tide."

Something
wet hit her feet. Amanda looked down to see frothy tentacles lapping at her
toes. "Will the water reach as far as the cave?"

"I
doubt it. The smugglers likely used that chamber for storage. Their goods would
have been safe there.”

“I
see.”

“However,
as to the other dangers facing us as the result of Miss Biddle's plan, I cannot
say."

Amanda
frowned in confusion.

His
gaze locked with hers. "It seems that we are destined to spend the night
in your cousin's romantic bower after all."

***

It
was well after midnight when Sir Thomas opened the door to his wife's chamber,
weariness and defeat etched in the lines of his face. He and Jeffers had
searched every inch of the countryside around the castle and every public place
in the village itself. No one had seen a young lady meeting Felicity's
description. On a desperate whim, he had returned to the castle in hopes that
Lord Sommersby and Amanda had discovered his daughter, but the earl and his
niece were nowhere to be found.

All
in all, it had been a discouraging night. Worry sat heavily on his shoulders,
along with the inescapable knowledge that he had been neither an adequate
father nor husband. When Eloise greeted him with word that Felicity was
sleeping safely in her chamber, he nearly collapsed from relief.

"Thank
God!" He sank onto the featherbed beside her.

"Apparently
Felicity took herself off somewhere in the castle to think things out a
bit," Lady Biddle said. "I believe that young man touched her more
deeply than we imagined. She declares herself in love with him."

Sir
Thomas glowered. "A penniless librarian who cannot stay to face her
father? `Tis a poor candidate for love. It is best that he fled. She will get
over him eventually."

"I
would not be too sure of that," she murmured. "Love is a very
powerful force."

Sir
Thomas shot her a sidelong glance. Instantly his mind summoned the image of Dr.
Richard Greenfield as he had looked caressing her foot not two days ago.
"And sometimes love is but an illusion," he growled.

"I
have no illusion about the fact that I have never been in love with anyone but
you, Thomas," she said quietly.

Startled,
Sir Thomas studied his wife anew. There was a vulnerability about her features
he had not seen before. As much as he tried to suppress it, a faint hope surged
within him.