The Virtuous Ward (Sweet Deception Regency #5) (8 page)

"Have you any excuse for such behavior?" Max asked, his voice a thin stream of ice.

Amity peeked through her lowered lashes. Although he was still angry, the worst of his temper seemed to have been expelled. Perhaps this was not the best of times to approach the subject of her abigail but she suspected that he had given her enough of an opening that she could not afford to let it pass.

"I realize, sir, that my behavior appears unbecoming but I was on a particular errand this morning. You see, I have need of a new abigail," she ventured.

"You went out on the street to find a servant." The words were laced with sarcasm and Amity could see the muscles in his jaw tighten in returning anger.

"Oh no, milord. Honoria told me there were agencies that handled the employment of servants."

Amity did not feel that the mention of the woman's name was unfair. She did recall that they had spoken of various household problems and it was altogether possible that their discussion had included the hiring of servants. In any event, she hoped Max would not question her for specifics. She could see that the mention of the most correct Miss Waterston did much to alleviate her guardian's temper. For the first time that day, Amity felt grateful to Honoria.

"But, my girl, the butler should have applied to the agency."

Max sat down behind his desk, indicating that Amity should sit across from him. He rubbed a hand over his forehead, wondering how many other things he had failed to warn the impetuous child about. She had no concept of the dangers that lurked about the London streets. He stared into her clear blue eyes and wondered what it must be like to be so trusting of the world. On the one hand, he wanted to warn her but in the same breath he did not want to do anything to spoil her view of the world. He must protect her until he found a suitable parti, one he could entrust the girl to without fear she would come to harm.

"Now, Amity, perhaps you would be good enough to explain about the abigail."

In as few words as she could manage she outlined her need for an abigail and her success in discovering one she thought quite suitable. She tried to stick as close to the truth as she could and must have succeeded for at the end Max nodded his agreement.

"Kennicut's Employment Register is quite reputable. And this Betta came well recommended?" Max asked.

"She had been abigail to a banker's wife for several years," Amity evaded, then hurried on before he could question her further. "But more to the point, sir, the girl is well spoken and very eager to please. I liked her mightily."

"I wish you had come to me before you plunged into such a situation. However I do applaud your attempt to handle your own affairs," Max said, wishing to be fair. He was unwilling to capitulate entirely to Amity's outrageous adventure. She needed to learn that there was a proper way to do things. "My suggestion would be to try her for the week. If at the end of that time, we are both"-he stressed the word-"satisfied, she will remain."

Amity's face beamed with pleasure and she leaped up, clapping her hands in delight. Throwing a kiss to her bemused guardian, she scampered out of the room. Max remained seated, touched by the joy his ward found in such small things. He was sorry now that he had shouted at her. His hand reached inside his coat and he extracted a velvet box that he laid on the desk. His long fingers tapped on the lid and he pictured the expression on Amity's face when he presented her with the string of pearls.

He had intended she wear them on this special evening. He had toyed with the idea of making Amity's debut an occasion of double celebration by announcing his betrothal to Honoria. He had chided himself for his failure to declare his intentions to Miss Waterston but he found he was loath to commit himself. It was not that he had changed his mind. Honoria was everything he wanted in a bride. His mind had been occupied with the problem of Amity and he had not had the opportunity to settle his own affairs. Once his ward was launched he would speak to Honoria about their own relationship.

Besides, this evening should be a singular celebration for Amity. He was pleased with how well she had adapted to her new life. He could see that once he had explained the qualities that she must aspire to, the girl had striven to become more ladylike.

Dealing with his ward was no different than dealing with any other woman. One needed only to impress on the girl that things must be done, in an ordered fashion. Once she gave up her hoyden ways, she would make the perfect wife for any man. Her bursts of enthusiasm and rash behavior would soon vanish and her behavior would be a model of decorum. He scratched his chin, wondering why the picture of Amity as the soul of docility should sit so ill on his mind.

Chapter Five

"It's worse than I remember." Amity moaned and her shoulders slumped as she looked into the mirror.

"I'll admit it doesn't do you a treat. Lud, I wish me mum were here. She was wizard with a needle." Betta circled behind her mistress, eyeing the dress from every angle. Her long nose was wrinkled as she debated what to do for the best. "I thought perhaps with your hair up in curls one wouldn't notice the dress. Ain't much of an improvement."

Amity stared wistfully at the intricate shower of ringlets and had to agree with her friend's opinion. The ornate arrangement of curls only emphasized the fussiness of the dress. They had already spent several hours trying different hairstyles but none of them had diminished the effect of the gown. She was doomed.

At the light scratching on the hall door, the girls froze and exchanged apprehensive glances. Moments later the sound was repeated with a decided impatience to the summons. Shrugging in resignation, Amity waved her hand to Betta who opened the door. Much to their surprise it was Max who stood transfixed in the doorway.

"Good Lord, Amity! What is that?"

"It's my gown for this evening." Amity raised her chin, forced by pride to defend the much-maligned dress.

"Devil, you say!" Max blurted out then clamped his mouth shut when he saw the look of misery on the girl's face. With a momentary hesitation, he closed the door and strode into the center of the room. "Turn around, Amity. I wish to be privy to the sensational features of your gown."

Cheeks flushed in embarrassment, Amity turned in a circle, coming to a stop facing him. Her head was bent because she had little desire to see the contempt in his eyes for her ludicrous costume.

Max felt as though he had taken a blow to his ribcage. How was it possible that the girl was wearing a dress that was so patently wrong for her? Honoria would never have permitted her to make such a choice. The dress was far more in Honoria's style than Amity's but he still did not understand how such a mistake could have been made. But more to the point, what on earth were they to do at this late hour?

"I'm dreadful sorry, Max," Amity said in a strained voice.

"Enough said, child. The dress is not suited to you but since our guests will be arriving in another few hours we will have to put our heads together to see how we might contrive."

The relief on Amity's upturned face sent a jolt of sensation much like a pain slicing through Max's chest. He should be angry that the girl had made such a hash of things but she looked so woebegone that he did not have the heart to lecture her. Later there would be time for recriminations, now there was work to be done if they were not all to land in the soup. Folding his arms over his chest, Max stared at the gown through narrowed eyes.

"Turn again so I may see the back." He cocked his head to the side then raised his hand to pull at his lower lip. "You. Girl," he said turning to the young abigail who was wringing her hands in her apron. "Come over here."

"Aye, sir," Betta said, her voice shaking with nervousness. She bobbed a curtsy, standing with eyes lowered in front of Lord Kampford.

Max liked the look of the neat little figure. She was of an age with his ward and her plain face and clean appearance was a far cry from the slipshod servants he had seen in other houses. Although reluctant to give full approval to Amity's selection, he was in general pleased with the girl. "Your name?"

"Betta, milord," she said, bobbing another curtsy.

"Can you sew, Betta?" he asked.

"Only the most basic stitches."

"It'll do. For a start, cut off that sash and every one of those ever-so-charming bows."

Then ignoring the girls, he stalked to the wardrobe and threw open the doors. He eyed the contents, extending a hand to finger a material, then shaking his head in rejection. Finally he extracted a dress of soft wool, nodding in approval of the blues and greens of the plaid. He remembered the night Amity had arrived at Edgeworth. She had worn the dress to dinner and he remembered how startled he had been at the transformation of the gawky child into such an exotic creature. He turned to stare at Amity and a small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Dress in hand, he picked up a dainty lilac satin side chair and moved over closer to the girls. Amity's cheeks were flushed and she sent him a wavering smile as he turned the chair around so he could sit with his arms braced across the back. The floor was littered with the bilious pink bows and he winked at his ward as the final one trembled at her shoulder than fluttered down to the carpet.

"Now,
mes enfants
, I will give you an important piece of advice," Max said, tenting his fingers and pointing at the two startled girls. "Never take half measures. Society loves the outrageous. They are jaded souls prepared to accept the most outlandish of stories."

He outlined his plan for the gown, grinning at the look of amazement on the girls' faces. Once they understood what was required they exchanged glances and then burst into laughter while Max looked on in approval.

"Are ye up to the challenge, me hearties?"

"Aye, sir," Amity answered while Betta nodded in agreement.

"Then I shall up anchor, leaving you to the drudge work."

Without a backwards glance, Max crossed to the door, leaving behind him a flurry of activity. He smiled as he listened to the soft voices, shrill with excitement and shared laughter. He sauntered down the hall to his rooms hoping that the sheer audacity of their project might be rewarded.

"You look quite elegant this evening, cousin," Max said, bowing to cover a grin as Lady Grassmere edged into the main salon.

Cousin Hester was as usual in grey, the dress varying not a whit in style from the others in her wardrobe. The only addition, to indicate the importance of the occasion, was the necklace of diamonds which glittered at her neck. She whispered a greeting then sank onto the settee, folding her hands in her lap.

Max tried not to fidget but was filled with a restlessness as the hour for the guests’ arrival drew near. He had done what he could to salvage the situation and now he must rely on Amity for the rest. His shoulders tensed at the sound of footsteps crossing the marble hall. The doors swung open on well-oiled hinges and his eyes widened as his ward entered the room, stopping just inside the doorway.

Amity resembled the ancient warrior goddess he had pictured the night she arrived at Edgeworth. It was difficult to recall the appalling gown in the face of its transformation. The sleeves were still puffed but the material swathing her arms had been removed, replaced by long white gloves. The stiff pleated ruffle had been torn from the bottom of the overskirt and the muslin remaining was frayed like the tatters on a pauper. Now that all of the bright pink bows were gone, the pink underskirt seemed softer, closer to peach in tone. The plaid material had been cut and resewn as a long sash, falling from one shoulder to cross her bosom where it was attached at the waist with a round, filigreed silver ornament. Without all the ruffles and bows, the simple style of the gown was well suited to the tall, red-haired girl.

Raising his eyes to her face, Max felt a tightening in his chest at the look of pride on his ward's face. Her clear blue eyes shimmered like the water in a Scottish loch. Her hair had been combed out and was brushed to a burnished ripple of curls that hung down her back to her waist. She wore no jewelry, only a circle of small, white flowers crowned her head.

"Oh my word, child," cousin Hester cried, so unsettled that her voice rose to a shrill screech. "What sort of May game are you playing at?"

"Fustian, cousin," Max said, stepping forward to take Amity's hand and draw her further into the room. "Surely you have seen the traditional regalia for a Scottish maiden."

"Scottish?" Hester's eyes goggled as they swung between her cousin and his ward.

"It was demmed clever of Amity to remind us of her illustrious heritage on such an occasion."

Amity's mouth trembled with the effort it took not to laugh at Max's drawled tone. Entering into the affair, she pursed her mouth and commented in injured tones. "Everything is near perfect, Lady Grassmere, except that Max would not permit me to wear the knife at my belt."

"Knife?" Hester squeaked, groping in her reticule for her ever-present bottle of salts.

"Naughty, puss," Max hissed, then raised his voice to a bright, chivvying tone. "Never say, Cousin Hester, that you have forgotten the traditions of the Frasers of Scotland. Amity does well to bring honor to her ancestors." Knowing he was striking at one of his cousin's pet animadversions, he added, "Young girls nowadays ignore the past and are more interested in the fashions and etiquette of a more modern world."

Like a fish, Hester leaped at the bait. "Our Amity is not light-minded like most young girls," she whispered.

Amity bit the inside of her cheek so as not to go off in whoops since Lady Grassmere had been chiding her continually for her impetuous behavior which she considered quite shatterbrained. She lowered her eyes, knowing that if her gaze crossed Max's she would ruin herself in the eyes of her chaperone.

"How perceptive you are, cousin," Max said. His voice had a choked quality but after clearing his throat he was able to continue. "Perhaps I might remind you of the significance of Amity's costume in the event some of our guests should not be
epris
of Scottish traditions. The sash is the tartan of her family's clan. As my ward mentioned, owing to the sensibilities of some of our gently reared ladies, the ancestral dagger has been replaced by a broach of heraldic design."