Mr. Cavendish, I Presume

by Julia Quinn

  “Amelia,” he said raggedly, and he prayed she could hear all of his thoughts in that single word, because he did not think he could give voice to them.

  “It’s done,” she said softly. But then her eyes grew fierce. “And I will never regret it.”

  He tried to say something; he made some sort of noise, but it came from deep within, from some elemental spot where he had no words.

  “Shhh.” She touched her finger to his lips. “It’s done,” she said again. And then she smiled, her expression the culmination of a million years of womanly experience. “Now make it good.”

  His pulse quickened, and then her hand crept up the back of his leg until it reached the bare skin of his buttocks.

  He gasped.

  She squeezed. “Make it wonderful.”

  And he did. If the first part of his lovemaking had been all frenetic thrusts and mindless passion, now he was a man with a purpose. Every kiss was pure artistry, every touch designed to bring her to the heights of pleasure. If something made her gasp with delight, he did it again…and again.

  He whispered her name…over and over again, against her skin, into her hair, as his lips teased her breast. He would make this good for her. He would make it wonderful. He would not rest until he’d brought her to the heights of ecstasy, until she shattered in his arms.

  This was not about him. For the first time in weeks, something was not about him. It was not about his name or who he was or anything other than what he could do to bring her pleasure.

  It was for her. Amelia. It was all for her, and maybe it always would be, for the rest of his days.

  And maybe he wouldn’t mind that.

  Maybe it was a good thing. A very good thing.

  He looked down at her, his breath catching as he saw her lips part in a tiny sigh of desire. He’d never seen anything so beautiful. Nothing compared, not the most brilliant of diamonds, the most spectacular of sunsets. Nothing compared to her face in that moment.

  And then it was clear.

  He loved her.

  This girl—no, this woman—whom he’d politely ignored for years had reached inside him and stolen his heart.

  And suddenly he didn’t know how he’d ever thought he could allow her to marry Jack.

  He didn’t know how he thought he could live apart from her.

  Or how he could live just one more day without knowing that she would one day be his wife. Bear his children. Grow old with him.

  “Thomas?”

  Her whisper brought him back, and he realized he’d stopped moving. She was gazing up at him with a mix of curiosity and need, and her eyes…her expression…He couldn’t explain what it did to him, or rather how, but he was happy.

  Not content, not satisfied, not amused.

  Happy.

  Lovesick, champagne in the veins, want-to-shout-it-to-the-world happy.

  “Why are you smiling?” she asked, and then she was smiling, too, because it was infectious. It had to be. He could not keep it inside.

  “I love you,” he said, and he knew his face must belie the surprise and wonder he was feeling.

  She looked instantly cautious. “Thomas…”

  It was imperative that she understood. “I’m not saying it because you said it, and I’m not saying it because I obviously have to marry you now, I’m saying it because…because…”

  She went very still beneath him.

  He whispered the last: “I’m saying it because it is true.”

  Tears formed in her eyes, and he bent down to gently kiss them away. “I love you,” he whispered. And then he could not stop his sly smile. “But for once in my life, I’m not going to do the right thing.”

  Her eyes widened with alarm. “What do you mean?”

  He kissed her cheek, then her ear, then the graceful edge of her jaw. “The right thing, I think, would be to stop this madness right now. Not that you’re not properly ruined, but I really ought to get your father’s permission before continuing.”

  “Continuing this?” she choked out.

  He repeated his kisses on the other side of her face. “I would never be so crude. I meant the courtship. In the general sense.”

  Her mouth opened and closed a few times, then finally slid into something that wasn’t sure if it ought to be a smile.

  “But that would be cruel,” he murmured.

  “Cruel?” she echoed.

  “Mmm. Not to continue with this.” He pushed forward. Just a tiny bit, but enough to make her squeak in surprise.

  He nuzzled her neck, increasing the rhythm between them. “To start something, and not finish it—that doesn’t seem like the right thing, does it?”

  “No,” she answered, but her voice was strained and her breaths were growing ragged.

  So he continued. He loved her with his body just as he loved her with his heart. And when he felt her shudder beneath him, he finally let go, exploding inside of her with a force that left him spent, exhausted…and complete.

  Maybe it wasn’t the right way to seduce the woman he loved, but it had certainly been good.

  Chapter 22

  In the end, Thomas did do the right thing.

  Almost.

  Amelia had expected that he would seek out her father the next day and formally ask for her hand in marriage. Instead, he asked her to deliver the note and his ring as planned, adding that he would see her in a fortnight in England.

  He loved her, he said. He loved her more than he could ever say, but he needed to return on his own.

  Amelia understood.

  And so it came to pass that she was sitting in the Burges Park drawing room almost three weeks later, in the company of her mother, all four of her sisters, and two of her father’s dogs, when the butler appeared in the doorway and announced:

  “Mr. Thomas Cavendish, my lady.”

  “Who?” was Lady Crowland’s immediate reply.

  “It’s Wyndham!” Elizabeth hissed.

  “He’s not Wyndham any longer,” Milly corrected.

  Amelia looked down at her book—some dreadful etiquette guide her mother had termed “improving”—and smiled.

  “Why on earth would he come here?” Lady Crowland asked.

  “Perhaps he is still engaged to Amelia,” Milly suggested.

  Her mother turned to her with utter horror. “Don’t we know?”

  “I don’t think we do,” Milly replied.

  Amelia kept her eyes on her book.

  “Amelia,” Lady Crowland said sharply. “What is the status of your betrothal?”

  Amelia tried to answer with a shrug and a blank look, but it became quickly apparent that this was not going to suffice, so she said, “I am not certain.”

  “How is that possible?” Milly asked.

  “I did not break it off,” Amelia said.

  “Did he?”

  “Er…” Amelia paused, unsure of where to direct her reply, as the query had come from five different sources. Her mother, she finally decided, and she turned in her direction and said, “No. Not formally.”

  “What a muddle. What a muddle.” Lady Crowland brought her hand to her head, looking much aggrieved. “You shall have to end it, then. He will not do so; he is far too much of a gentleman for that. But surely he would never expect you to marry him now.”

  Amelia bit her lip.

  “He is most likely here to provide you with the opportunity to end it. Yes, that must be it.” Lady Crowland turned to the butler and said, “Show him in, Granville. And the rest of you—” She waved a hand in the general direction of her daughters, which was not easy, as they were scattered about the room. “We shall greet him and then discreetly make our regrets and leave.”

  “A mass exodus is meant to be discreet?” Milly asked.

  Lady Crowland gave her a look, then turned to Amelia, exclaiming, “Oh! Do you think your father should be here?”

  “I do,” Amelia said, feeling remarkably serene, all things considered. “I really do.”


  “Milly,” Lady Crowland said, “go find your father.”

  Milly’s mouth fell open. “I can’t leave now.”

  Lady Crowland let out a dramatic sigh. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, was a mother ever so beleaguered?” She turned to Elizabeth.

  “Oh, no,” Elizabeth said instantly. “I don’t want to miss a thing.”

  “You two,” Lady Crowland said, waving her hand toward her two youngest. “Go find your father, and no complaining about it.” She put her hand to her head. “This is going to give me a megrim, I’m sure.” When her daughters did not move quickly enough, she added, “There is nothing to see here! Wyndham—”

  “Cavendish,” Milly corrected.

  Lady Crowland rolled her eyes. “Whoever heard of such a thing? Long-lost cousin, indeed.” And then, with remarkable verbal agility, she turned back to the two younger girls hovering near the doorway. “Go!”

  They went, but not before skidding into Thomas, who had just been shown in. He was holding a rather large, flat package, which, at Lady Crowland’s direction, he set down against the wall.

  “Lady Crowland,” he said, executing a deep bow.

  Amelia felt an elbow in her ribs. Elizabeth’s.

  “He doesn’t look devastated,” Elizabeth whispered. “Didn’t he just lose everything?”

  “Maybe not everything,” Amelia murmured. But Elizabeth did not hear; she was too busy trying not to appear as if she were gawking, which of course she was.

  Thomas turned to the three Willoughby sisters. “Lady Elizabeth,” he said politely, “Lady Amelia, Lady Millicent.”

  They all bobbed their curtsies, and he returned the gesture with an elegant tilt of his head.

  Lady Crowland cleared her throat. “What a pleasant surprise this is, your, er…”

  “Mr. Cavendish,” he said with gentle humor. “I have had a few weeks to become accustomed to it.”

  “And of course it is your name,” Milly put in.

  “Millicent!” her mother scolded.

  “No, no,” Thomas said with a wry smile. “She is correct. Thomas Cavendish has been my name since birth.”

  There was an awkward moment, then Lady Crowland said, “You appear to be in good health.”

  “Very good, my lady. And you?”

  “As well as can be expected.” She sighed, tapping her chest a few times. “Children can be so exhausting.”

  “I hope to find that out for myself someday,” Thomas said.

  Lady Crowland colored at that, stammering, “Well, of course we all hope to be blessed by children, don’t we?”

  “I can’t recall the last time she referred to me as a blessing,” Milly muttered.

  Amelia ignored her. She was far too happy just to gaze at Thomas from across the room. She’d missed him, but she hadn’t realized just how much until she could finally see him, with her own eyes. Only now she wanted to touch him. She wanted to throw her arms around him and burrow into his embrace. She wanted to kiss him, to smell him, to be near him.

  She sighed. Apparently quite loudly. Milly kicked her, and it was then that she realized everyone was looking at her.

  Amelia just grinned. She couldn’t help it.

  Her mother gave her an odd look, then turned to Thomas and said, “I expect you would like a few moments of privacy with Amelia.”

  “I would like that above all things,” he said smoothly, “although I also—”

  “Cavendish!”

  Amelia looked to the door. Her father had arrived.

  “Lord Crowland,” Thomas greeted him.

  “Was wondering when you’d return. Not that I blamed you for deserting us in Ireland. Very well, I suppose we have matters to take care of.” He glanced about the room, as if only then noticing the flock of Willoughby women standing stiffly throughout. “Hmmph. Perhaps in my office?”

  Amelia fully expected him to agree. Thomas would never make a formal proposal of marriage without first securing permission from her father. Or at least trying to. She did not know what Thomas would do if her father did not agree, but she had every faith that they would be married.

  It would just be so much easier if her family made no protest.

  But Thomas surprised her. Indeed, he surprised everyone when he said, “There is no need to retire to another room. I have nothing to say that cannot be said in front of everyone.”

  “I love when people say that,” Milly remarked.

  “Milly!” Elizabeth hissed.

  “He can’t hear me.”

  “I can, actually,” Thomas murmured.

  Amelia had to cover her mouth to stifle her laughter.

  “Are you done?” Lord Crowland demanded, giving his three eldest an annoyed glance.

  They did not reply; there was only so much insubordination one could safely demonstrate in such a setting.

  “Very well, then,” Lord Crowland said, turning to Thomas. “What is it you need to tell me?”

  “First of all,” Thomas replied, “I wish to formally dissolve the betrothal contract.”

  Elizabeth gasped, and even Milly looked aghast at this public declaration.

  Amelia just smiled. She had no idea what he had planned, but she trusted him.

  “Consider it done,” Lord Crowland said. “Although I rather thought it was already null.”

  Thomas tipped his head ever so slightly. “It’s good to make things clear, though, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Lord Crowland blinked a few times, unsure of what he was getting at.

  “I would like to make one more thing clear,” Thomas said.

  And then he turned.

  Looked Amelia in the eyes.

  Walked across the room.

  Took her hands.

  The room fell away, and there was just him…and her…and joy. Amelia felt herself start to laugh—silent and giddy—with far too much happiness than she could ever keep inside.

  “Amelia,” he said, and his eyes never left hers.

  She started to nod, even though he hadn’t asked her anything. But she couldn’t help it. He had only to whisper her name and she wanted to shout. Yes! Yes!

  He dropped to one knee. “Amelia Willoughby,” he said, a little louder now, “will you do me the very great honor of becoming my wife?”

  She kept nodding. She couldn’t stop.

  “I ask you,” he continued, “because this time it is your choice.”

  “Yes,” she whispered. And then she shouted it. “Yes! Yes!”

  He slipped a ring on her shaking finger. She had not even noticed that he’d been holding one, so intent had she been on his face.

  “I love you,” he said. Right there, in front of everyone.

  “I love you, too.” Her voice shook, but the words were true.

  He stood then, still holding her hand, and turned to her father. “I do hope you will give us your blessing.”

  His tone was light, but the intention was clear. They would marry with or without it.

  “Can you provide for her?” Lord Crowland asked bluntly.

  “I have reached a settlement with the new duke. She shall want for nothing.”

  “You won’t have a title,” Lady Crowland pointed out, but not unkindly. It was more of a reminder, a gentle check that her daughter had thought things through.

  “I don’t need one,” Amelia answered. And later, when she thought about it, she supposed that all of her love for him must have been shining in her face because her mother grew misty, mumbling some sort of nonsense about dust as she dabbed at her eyes.

  “Well, then,” Lord Crowland said, looking very much as if he’d rather be out with his hounds. “I suppose it’s settled.” Then, as an afterthought: “Again.”

  “I should have married you sooner,” Thomas said to Amelia, bringing one of her hands to his lips.

  “No, you shouldn’t have done. I might not have fallen in love with you if you’d been my husband.”

  “Care to explain that?” he asked, his smile amused.


  “Not really,” she said, feeling very cheeky.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” he said quite suddenly. “I brought you a gift.”

  She grinned despite herself; she’d never been so sophisticated that she could hide her excitement for gifts.

  He strode to the opposite side of the room, past her entire family, who were still watching the tableau with some disbelief, and picked up the large flat package he’d brought in earlier.

  “Over here,” he directed, setting it down on a nearby table.

  Amelia hastened to his side, as did the rest of the Willoughbys. “What is it?” she asked, beaming up at him.

  “Open it,” he urged. “But carefully. It’s delicate.”

  She did, untying the string and then gingerly peeling off the paper.

  “What is that?” Milly demanded.

  “Do you like it?” Thomas asked.

  Amelia nodded, overwhelmed. “I love it.”

  “What is it?” Milly persisted.

  It was a map. A heart-shaped map.

  “A cordiform projection,” Thomas told her.

  She looked up at him excitedly. “It does not distort area. Look how small Greenland is.”

  He smiled. “I will confess that I purchased it more for its heart-shaped properties.”

  She turned toward her family. “Is this not the most romantic gift you have ever seen?”

  They stared at her as if she’d gone mad.

  “A map,” Lady Crowland said. “Isn’t that interesting?”

  Elizabeth cleared her throat. “May I see the ring?”

  Amelia thrust out her arm, letting her sisters ooh and ahh over her new diamond while she gazed up at her new—that was to say, her new old—fiancé.

  “Is this where I am meant to make a clever comment about your having found the map of my heart?” he asked.

  “Can you do it without making me cry?”

  He pondered that. “I don’t think so.”

  “Very well, say it, anyway.”

  He did.

  And she cried.

  “Well, that’s a love match,” Milly declared.

  They nodded. It was, indeed.

  Epilogue

  Windsor Castle

  July 1823

  Are we done?”

  The king was bored. George IV never enjoyed his meetings with the Lord Chamberlain. They were always so ill-timed. He did not know how Montrose did it, but they always seemed to interfere with a planned meal.