The Perks of Being a Beauty (2 page)

“F-Fortescue,” Amelia finished, her eyes wide as she took in the presence of the gentleman before her. Though he’d filled out though the shoulders, and if she wasn’t mistaken he’d gained a few inches in height, there was no mistaking the dark wavy hair, or the blue of his eyes. “Lord Quentin Fortescue,” she repeated.

“You know one another?” Smithson said, his eyes wide as he looked from one to the other.

“Indeed,” Lord Quentin said, his voice just a shade deeper than she remembered it. And just a shade cooler as well. “Miss Snowe,” he said, bowing over her proffered hand. “I cannot say that I expected to see you here.”

“Nor I you,” she said, regaining some of her composure in the face of his chilly greeting. Desperate to get away from him, she grabbed at the first excuse she could think of. “Has your wife accompanied you, my lord? I know Mrs. Smithson will be eager to see her settled. In fact, I’ll just go fetch her…”

Before she could turn away, however, Lord Quentin’s words stopped her. “I’m afraid my wife died two years ago when we were in New York.”

The declaration hung in the air between them.

Amelia could not help a frisson of relief at the knowledge he was unmarried. Not that it made any difference to her. She was hardly in a position to tempt him. Even if he had forgiven her for her betrayal all those years ago. Which he clearly had not.

Even so, she had not wished death upon his wife. She’d envied the other woman. Indeed she’d wished her away dozens of times. Despite her own decision not to wed Quentin when he’d asked her. But she’d not wished her dead.

“I’m sorry, my lord,” she said, surprised that she actually did feel sorry for his loss. “I hadn’t heard.”

“It was quite sudden,” Lord Quentin said with a slight shrug. “And as we were away at the time, I am not surprised that the news didn’t circulate much here.”

“Sad business,” Smithson said with a gruff nod. “But life goes on, eh? And I’ve little doubt you’ll find another wife one of these days, what?”

Mortified at her employer’s quick dismissal of the other man’s bereavement, Amelia was somewhat relieved to see that Quentin did not take offense.

“If you gentlemen will excuse me,” she said, still in a state of shock over her childhood sweetheart’s arrival, “I must make sure that Miss Smithson has everything she needs.”

“We’ll come with you,” Mr. Smithson said, to Amelia’s disappointment. “I’d like to introduce Lord Quentin around. He’s agreed to stay with us for the house party. The more the merrier, I say.”

Though Amelia suspected his wife would not agree with him, she had little choice but to stifle her dismay and accompany the men into the drawing room. To her surprise, Lord Quentin hung back as Smithson stepped forward and offered Amelia his arm.

She knew that if she entered the drawing room on the arm of a duke’s son Mrs. Smithson would have an apoplexy, but Amelia was sorely tempted to do it anyway. But, she was no longer in a position to make decisions without regard for the consequences.

“Thank you,” she said with a polite smile. “But, I’d better not.”

He looked as if he would argue, but after a moment’s hesitation, gestured for her to precede him into the room.

Squaring her shoulders she stepped into the crowded chamber, the question beating like a heartbeat within her.

*   *   *

Lord Quentin Fortescue stared across the Smithsons’ enormous dinner table at Miss Amelia Snowe, who was engaged in conversation with a pleasant-faced young man at her left.

It had been nearly six years since he’d last seen her—since the day she refused his marriage proposal. All so that she could travel to London for the season and try her hand at someone with a “real” title. Someone richer and more important than a mere younger son.

He couldn’t suppress a certain sense of satisfaction at seeing her as yet unwed and employed in a position so far below her former expectations. He hadn’t wished her ill, but he was honest enough with himself to admit that seeing her brought low by the choice she’d made that day so many years ago was somewhat gratifying. Neither of them could have imagined that they’d meet again in these circumstances. But then no one in the first blush of youth could imagine anything untoward befalling them.

“Mr. Smithson tells me you are the youngest son of the Duke of Charingford, Lord Quentin,” said the buxom blonde—Miss Hume if he recalled correctly—who’d been seated to his left. “Your family seat is in Cornwall is it not?”

Finding himself the object of many curious gazes, Quentin took a generous drink of wine before responding. “That is correct, Miss Hume. Though my father has spent little enough time there. He prefers to make his home in London.”

“But that is true of any number of peers, is it not?” This question came from Miss Delaford, a sour-faced brunette seated across the table. “Such a shame when they neglect their estate duties. But that’s the peerage for you.”

“Well, I think it’s jolly good fun to spend time in London,” said Mr. William Leith, the fresh-faced youth seated to her left. “Much more to do in town than in the country.” Then perhaps realizing that he was slighting his hosts by stating such an opinion, he flushed and continued, “’Course it all depends on the company. So long as there are pretty ladies to keep one company, any place is good fun.”

Miss Harriet Smithson, the daughter of the house, blushed under the young fellow’s gaze. Quentin winced as it became clear the young man’s words had been meant not for Harriet but for her companion. “Do you prefer town or the country, Miss Snowe?” the young man asked, his shirt points making it difficult for him to turn his head.

But Amelia was saved from answering by Mrs. Smithson herself, who was looking displeased at Leith’s attention to her daughter’s companion. “I think Miss Snowe has had quite enough of town life, Mr. Leith. And with five seasons on the marriage mart, it’s no wonder.”

And just like that his hostess made it clear that Miss Snowe, for all that she looked and sounded like any other guest at the table, was not one of them. She was in the employ of the Smithsons, and as such, the lady of the house reminded her guests, she was not to be treated with the same courtesy as a lady of leisure.

Amelia, Quentin noticed, merely inclined her head in Mrs. Smithson’s direction.

“But Mama,” Miss Smithson protested. “Amelia says that town is wonderful. I cannot think that she is so tired of it that she’d never wish to return. Is that not so, Amelia?”

“I do enjoy town from time to time, Harriet. Thank you for asking. But just now I am content to be wherever it is that your family needs me. Whether that be here in the countryside or in town.”

Quentin felt a moment of admiration for her carefully controlled response. The Amelia of his youth would have let fly with a hotheaded remark and damn the consequences. Clearly she’d learned in the intervening years to control the temper that once got her into such trouble.

Turning the attention of the assembled company back to her daughter, Mrs. Smithson said, “That is very admirable of you, Miss Snowe. Your … er … town’s loss is our gain.”

For a moment, Quentin found himself hating the thin little woman.

But if Amelia felt the sting of her employer’s words she did not reveal as much. She simply took another bite of turbot and smiled quietly at some bon mot from the gentleman to her right. Just as self-possessed as she ever was, he noted wryly. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. If anything her years in town had probably made her even more controlled. She’d certainly been calculating enough when she threw his marriage proposal back in his face all those years ago.

The rest of the meal passed without incident, and once the gentlemen had separated from the ladies for their obligatory time with cigars and port, the guests assembled in the drawing room again for quiet conversation and after-dinner tea.

Once again, Quentin was jarred to see Amelia not at the center of things, but tucked away in a corner with a bag of darning that seemed to keep her quite occupied. It simply seemed unnatural for her to be on the fringes of things.

Excusing himself from a tedious conversation with Mr. Jonas Mayberry about the current cost of coal, he made his way toward her and sat down in the chair across from her. She swallowed but said nothing, he noticed as he stretched his legs out before him. But then, what could she do? She could hardly tell him to take himself off with her employers standing just feet away.

As she remained silent, he decided to make the first conversational volley. What he meant to say was some variation on the classic “what a surprise to see you here,” but what came out was: “Can this really be the same young lady who set Cornish society on its ear by dancing three times with me at the hunt ball?”

But if his question discomfited her, she didn’t show it. “You are a boor to remind me of it,” she said primly. “I was treated to a towering scold from Mama for that recklessness. Though if I recall correctly, you were scolded as well.”

“If you wish to call having my allowance cut off for the next fortnight a scolding,” he said with a grimace. “Your punishment was over in a quarter hour. I had to live with mine when I got back to Oxford and was unable to keep myself in the manner to which I’d become accustomed.”

“I did apologize at the time,” she reminded him, working the needle into and out of the fine linen handkerchief she was sewing. “Not that it did much good. You were always a stubborn one.”

“I got over it eventually,” he said, leaving unspoken the reminder that he’d proposed to her when he returned from Oxford that spring. He caught a flare of something—remorse?—in her eyes before she looked down again.

“How have you been keeping yourself, Amelia?” he asked. “I cannot say I was expecting to see you here of all places.”

She looked up then, and he was taken aback by the clear blue of her eyes as she surveyed him.

“I don’t know that I expected to find myself here either. But I am here nonetheless.”

“What happened?”

She did them both the favor of not misunderstanding the question.

“I went to London as I’d planned, but it did not turn out to be as successful a venture as I’d hoped.” Her lips twisted in self-disgust. He was surprised to find that far from feeling vindicated by the expression, he instead disliked the look intensely.

“I was a fool, Quent,” she said, invoking the childhood nickname she’d had for him. “Is that what you wished to hear from me? It is certainly how I view the matter. Of course the realization came many years too late.”

He shook his head. “I wished no such thing from you,” he said softly. “Perhaps in those first several months when the sting of rejection was still burning in my belly,” he admitted. “But we had not been separated for very long before I realized that we were both of us incredibly young.”

“And incredibly foolish,” Amelia added. “Do not forget that.”

He laughed. “No, of course, I cannot forget that. It is a wonder we were able to walk about upright and not tumble headfirst down hills every time we set foot outdoors.”

She smiled, and he was reminded of how lovely her face was when she was enjoying some bit of amusement. “I don’t think we were quite that bad. But close. Very close.”

They shared a moment of convivial silence.

“You truly could find no one in London who would suit you?” he asked. “I find that hard to believe.”

Again the rueful smile. “I think it was less about them suiting me, than me suiting them,” she admitted. “I thought it would be easy enough to find some titled gentleman who was willing to trade his title for my beauty. More fool me.”

Though he felt a certain amount of commiseration for her situation, Quentin could not help but feel a relief too that she’d not found anyone. He wasn’t quite willing to contemplate what that might mean, however.

“Enough about me,” she said, cutting into his thoughts. “What of you? I admit that I’d heard about your marriage and felt a certain sense of … disappointment.”

“A dog in the manger, eh?” he asked with a wicked twinkle in his eye.

She blushed. “A bit, I suppose. But I didn’t wish her dead, Quentin. What happened?”

At the question he was suddenly assailed by a wave of grief for his loss. He’d not been in love with Mariah. Certainly he’d not felt anything like the heady passion he’d shared with Amelia in his youth. But she’d been a gentle woman. And she’d done her best to make him happy. He’d been happy enough to contemplate a lifetime of tranquility with her at his side. But it hadn’t been possible.

“She succumbed to a fever,” he said tersely. “It was over in a matter of days. I almost didn’t make it back to her side for the last.” There had been a great deal of guilt on his part. Guilt at not having loved her as she deserved to be loved. Guilt at being away on business when she’d contracted the fever. But he’d conquered much of it simply through hard work. He’d thrown himself into his travels and into the investigation and improvements of the cotton mills he’d acquired along the way. The result was a solid collection of business investments that were run in a way he could be proud of. And if he still had a pang of remorse when he thought of Mariah and how she’d died, he was able to assuage it with the knowledge that he’d done well by the child.

Perhaps seeing how affected he was by the memories of his wife, Amelia reached out, almost as if she were going to grasp his hand in hers. But, at the very last minute, she must have remembered that they were not alone. Far from it. Dropping her hand back into her lap, she instead said, “I am so sorry, my lord. Truly.”

Wishing he could feel her hand in his, Quentin gave a small smile and hoped that his eyes conveyed what his touch could not. “Thank you. Truly.” He rubbed his hands on his thighs.

“Did you…?” she began, then swallowing, she began again, “that is, were there any children?”

“Not of ours,” he said with a shrug. “But Mariah was widowed when I married her and she brought a little girl with her into the marriage. And since she had no other relatives, I’ve retained guardianship of her.”

“Oh.” Amelia smiled. “That is kind of you. What’s the child’s name?”