Read The Perfect Bride Online

Authors: Eileen Putman

The Perfect Bride (8 page)

BOOK: The Perfect Bride
13.18Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

He
eyed her assessingly — doubtless trying to figure which of his many fighting
implements would suit her. Amanda breathed a sigh of relief when he turned
away, set the great hammer aside and picked up a flat little knife with a
quartz-encrusted handle.

"Perhaps
you would find the skean-dhu more manageable," he said. "`Tis a
Highlander's weapon, small but effective. Men customarily carried one in the
top of their stockings. Would you care to examine it?"

Without
waiting for a response, he placed the knife in her hand. Fluted brass edged its
flat pommel, made smoky by the dark quartz. It was surprisingly lightweight but
looked capable of inflicting substantial damage.

"Oh,
Amanda, it is the cutest thing!" Felicity trilled. "Would you not
adore one?"

"I
do not think so." Amanda marveled at how different the earl’s appearance
was from the wild, bare-chested warrior silhouetted in the window that night.

Today
he was all cool, remote civility, despite that flaming hair. His stiff demeanor
made him look older, but Amanda guessed he was not above thirty. She knew she
had started off on the wrong foot with Felicity's intended and would likely
stay there. A man like Lord Sommersby would have no use for a woman who opposed
war and shuddered at the sight of its implements.

But
then the earl only had to like Felicity, not her chaperon. That was fortunate,
for Amanda had never encountered a man with whom she had less in common.

To
be sure, that magnificent warrior who appeared on the balcony had had a
profound effect on her sensibilities. She had thought of little else as she lay
in bed, resting the ankle he had bandaged.

Thank
goodness her disaster with Julian and years of spinsterhood had left her beyond
the reach of a mesmerizing gaze, cleanly chiseled jawline, singularly broad
shoulders, and powerfully muscled arms. Lord Sommersby might possess an brilliant
military record and extraordinary physical assets, but he was just a man, after
all. And men could be beastly. Amid foolish daydreams, it was important to
remember that fact.

***

"You
look lonely, Papa."

Smiling,
Sir Thomas patted his daughter's arm. "It is only natural to miss one's
home, I suppose. And I cannot help but wish your mother were well enough to
help with your Season."

Felicity
sidestepped a rock in the path they were following around the edge of the
cliff. Normally she would not have seen such an impediment, which is why her
father had a tight hold on her arm. But this afternoon she felt free to wear
her spectacles, Lord Sommersby having absented himself to attend to some estate
business. Amanda had retired to her chamber to rest her leg, and Felicity did
want to see the view from Sommersby's west front.

She
was glad she did, for such beauty deserved to be appreciated. So many different
types of rocks formed the cliffs that they looked like a gateau with many
layers and frostings as the sun glinted off them. When the sun slipped lower in
the horizon, the wispy clouds took on an orange glow, almost as if some great
hand had painted them right there in the sky. A dreamy look settled over Felicity's
features.

"I
hope that my marriage is as happy as yours and Mama's."

Sir
Thomas did not reply.

"I
am determined also to have a love match," Felicity added in a quiet voice.

Sir
Thomas studied his youngest daughter. "That is a worthy goal, to be sure,"
he said carefully. "I would not have you marry where you did not wish. But
even the most blessed of unions has its moments of...disillusionment."

"Disillusionment?"
Felicity frowned.

"Love
is an ephemeral thing, daughter, as well it should be. One cannot live every
moment in a state of exalted longing for one's spouse. It is just not done.
Husbands and wives do not sit in each other's pockets."

She
smiled. "You really do miss Mama, do you not?"

"I
do not begrudge her the rest she needs."

"I
did not say anything about a grudge, Papa."

Sir
Thomas's face reddened. "No. Of course not. Your mother is well-occupied
at Mayfield. She needs her rest and her...other activities."

"Still,
I know she would love to see Sommersby Castle," Felicity replied. "I
would think she could defy Dr. Greenfield this once."

"Dr.
Greenfield is very thorough," Sir Thomas said with a little cough.

"I
think he is a nuisance. I am sure we were better off before he came to Mayfield
with all of his airs."

"Airs?"

Felicity
sighed in disgust. "Have you not noticed, Papa, how he affects the manner
of a poet? Always spouting lines from others' verse. Mama thinks it is
charming. She does not realize he almost always gets the lines wrong."

Sir
Thomas shot her a sidelong look. "He does?"

"Oh,
yes. The man does not know a sonnet from a sauce boat."

Her
father's mouth twitched. "A sauce boat, eh?"

"And
he should not wear his hair so long. It only underscores how thin it is on
top."

"Dr.
Greenfield is a widower. I do not imagine he has the benefit of a female who
will set him to rights about his appearance."

Felicity
rolled her eyes. "He would not listen, in any case. I believe he thinks he
cuts a dashing figure, though I do not suppose he is so very much younger than
you."

Sir
Thomas did not reply.

"His
eyes are nice enough, but I cannot imagine why he must look at one so...
intensely
.
Do you know that I danced with him at the Harvest Assembly last fall?"

"You
did?"

"Yes.
Immediately after the set he forced Mama into."

"Your
mother has never been forced into anything in her life."

Felicity
sighed. "It is too bad you were in London, for I declare, Dr. Greenfield
has positively haunted the house since then."

"Yes."

In
silence they watched the amber glow slide across the sky and merge at the far
horizon with the deep blue of the sea. It was a breathtaking sight.

"Like
a departing thief," Felicity said softly, "gathering his jewels to
hide in the night until dawn reclaims them.”

Sir
Thomas eyed his daughter. "Another of your poets?"

She
flushed. "Only something of mine."

"I
did not know you wrote poetry, daughter."

"I
merely scribble down thoughts that occur to me now and then." She smiled
sheepishly. "They are nothing of consequence."

"Everything
has consequence, my dear." Sir Thomas's gaze shifted to the horizon.
"Lord Sommersby has spoken to me."

Felicity's
eyes widened. "About...about me?"

Her
father nodded. "The earl did not mince words. He told me that you are
exactly what he wants in a wife and that I would honor him by looking favorably
on a match between you. He realizes that you expect a Season, and he is
prepared to accompany us to town and announce a betrothal at the Season's end.
It is a generous gesture, as I do not imagine the earl is the sort of man who
has much patience for parties and routs. I gave him permission to speak to you,
which he indicated he would do very soon."

Felicity
expelled a great breath.

Sir
Thomas studied his daughter. "Surely this cannot come as a surprise."

"Not
precisely. I knew when we accepted the invitation to Sommersby that this would
likely be the course of things. It is just that I do not know him very
well."

"That
is what this time here is for, my dear. And the entire Season, if need be. But
such decisions do not require an eternity. Sometimes they happen overnight."

"Is
that how it was with you and Mama?" Felicity asked.

"How
what was?" Sir Thomas frowned.

"Did
you fall in love overnight?"

Sir
Thomas knew precisely when he discovered he could not do without Miss Eloise
Herrity. He had persuaded her to elude her dragon of an aunt and accompany him
on an afternoon outing to Richmond in a closed carriage. The afternoon had one
unplanned consequence in the conception of his eldest daughter Elizabeth, but
had he not compromised Eloise so thoroughly, he would have married her anyway.
Her hair was not her only fiery aspect, he had discovered to his great delight.
That, of course, was quite some time ago. Things were different now.

"I
do not refer to love, daughter, but to the matter of a suitable spouse. You
must not confuse the two."

"But
you and Mama are admirably suited. That is why you miss her so. I want to get
to know Lord Sommersby as well as you did Mama before you wed."

Sir
Thomas's brows knit together at the image of his youngest daughter cavorting
with the Earl of Sommersby in a closed carriage as he and Eloise had done.
"You will know the man well enough by the end of the Season," he said
quickly.

As
he took Felicity's arm, he spared one last glance for the waning sunset and one
final, fleeting thought for the foolish hopes of the young.

***

"That
is another one who needs a push or two."

"You
cannot meddle in everyone's life, Isabella."

"Nonsense,
Mortimer. you must not begrudge me my amusements. There have been precious few
these last hundred or so years."

"I
realize the castle may have lost its appeal for you, my dear, but..."

"Why
does Edward never speak? All he does is scream. I declare, he drives me
mad."

"That
is his way, Isabella."

"He
was ever one to carry a grudge. Vain, and stubborn, bluntspoken...not an ounce
of tact in his body."

"Ah,
back to that are we? The corporeal state."

"Does
it not bother you, Mortimer? Never being able to touch each other? Or anything
else for that matter?"

"It
is the way of our world."

"But
five hundred years without the touch of flesh...it is not to be borne."

"I
suspect it is our punishment for having allowed the appetites of the flesh to
lead us astray."

"You
have regrets, then?"

"I
accept what is."

"That
is the trouble with you, Mortimer. You accept too much. At least Edward put up
a fight."

"That
he did, and I have the scars to prove it. Or did, anyway."

"I
used to love to run my fingers over those scars."

"And
I loved your caresses, Isabella."

"Oh,
Mortimer? What are we to do?"

A
sigh, lonely as a wailing wind, filled the tower.

 

CHAPTER SIX

 

 

 

 

Amanda
pulled her shawl tighter as a chilly gust swirled through the stone corridor.
Going downstairs on crutches provided adventure enough without the wind tugging
on her clothing like some mischievous spirit. The ungainly hop-skip movement
she had devised effected a steady descent — although at times her weight was
supported only by the unwieldy crutches, and her balance felt alarmingly
precarious.

Her
efforts to nap had come to naught. Sommersby Castle invaded one's peace of
mind. Perhaps it was the unsettling paintings in her room or the keening of the
wind outside. Whatever the source of her unease, it had finally driven her from
her chamber, if for no other reason but to escape her own thoughts.

No
one else seemed to find the castle oppressive. But except for that warm and
inviting parlor that was now her goal, Amanda had seen little else in this pile
of stones to like. She wondered how Lord Sommersby could spend his time in such
a place, with weapons peering at him from every wall and the wind whining at
every turn.

There
must be all of a hundred rooms. She wondered whether he had inspected all of
them. He had only come into the title after Waterloo, so perhaps he had not yet
had time. Had he seen the dungeons Mr. Thornton had mentioned? Did he mind that
people had died in this castle, doubtless unheard beyond the thick stone of
their dark cells?

How
morose, Amanda thought glumly. The oppressive atmosphere was beginning to affect
even her sensible mind. She must try to remember that while the castle might be
a bit drafty and thin of company, it was home to a man known for his courage
and battle prowess. Who could possibly feel anxious in such a setting?

"Good
afternoon, Miss Fitzhugh."

Startled,
Amanda looked up just as the crutches took her full weight on the last step.
Like an ungainly fledgling who had not yet mastered the art of flying, she
teetered briefly before her balance failed altogether.

Lord
Sommersby, standing at the foot of the stairs, regarded her with horror as she
pitched forward into his arms.

BOOK: The Perfect Bride
13.18Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Easy Day for the Dead by Howard E. Wasdin and Stephen Templin
Jolene 1 by Sarina Adem
Cry Assassin by Renard, Loki
My Sister's Keeper by Brenda Chapman
Between Then and Now by Rebecca Young
Virtue & Vanity by Astrid Jane Ray
Skin Folk by Nalo Hopkinson