“That’s more like it,” she said.
“Jeffers, have someone see to the bags,” Cornelius instructed. “I’ll show our newest residents to their rooms.”
The butler began directing the footmen wordlessly, and Cornelius held out his hand toward the staircase. “After you.”
Lila giggled and then all but skipped up the stairs, Rowan beside her. His eyes were still on the banister, no doubt mentally calculating whether or not the fun of it would be worth the scolding. As they reached the landing at the top and the hall forked in two different directions, one going to the East Wing one to the West and the broad double doors straight ahead opening onto the gallery and ballroom beyond, he caught Prim and Hyacinth’s panicked looks.
“Is everything all right?”
“You said this was not a grand house, Lord Ambrose,” Hyacinth said, her tone holding a slight reprimand. “I fear we have very different definitions of grand. We cannot possibly stay here.”
“You can and you will,” he said. “It’s all been arranged. Aunt Arabella is already here in residence and eagerly awaiting her role as chaperone and social tutor for Lila. For Rowan naturally if he wishes to learn, or I suppose it would be better to say if you wish him to learn. Left to his own devices it’d be tree climbing and brook jumping, most likely.”
“That is true enough,” Primrose agreed, “but yes, he should learn how to go about in society, at least to some degree, so that he might be somewhat more employable in the future.”
“And yet the two of you seem to be perfectly well versed in etiquette,” he mused. “How is that?” He directed them down the East Wing of the house, as far from his own chamber as possible. It seemed the wisest course of action. If he was going to hold fast to his honor and abide by the tenants of being a gentleman, limiting temptation was the only way.
“Our mother’s end might have been rather ignoble, but she was the daughter of a gentleman,” Prim answered. “They fell on hard times, and the world is unkind to women who lack both fortune and connections.”
“So it is, Miss Primrose. So it is,” he agreed. They’d reached the chambers he’d selected for them. It was a second master suite, hastily redecorated to accommodate two women. “I thought you’d prefer connecting rooms. There’s a small sitting room to be shared but you’ll each have your own chamber.”
Throwing the doors wide, he let them precede him into the sitting room. The walls were covered in a silk damask in green, the settees and armchairs covered in the same fabric. The carpet was Aubusson, in the same shade of green with bits of gold, cream and salmon woven through.
He watched them step deeper into the room, look at their surroundings and then look at one another. Cornelius leaned against the door frame and waited for their protests. He knew they’d be coming.
“Lord Ambrose, this is far too fine for us. We cannot possibly stay here! Perhaps there is something in the servants’ quarters—”
“Are you a servant then?” he asked, interrupting Hyacinth’s protests. “I’ll answer that for you. You are not servants. You are guests in this home for so long as you choose to remain. As such, you shall have chambers that are suited to being my honored guests.”
“Lord Ambrose, I do appreciate your position,” Prim countered in her sister’s stead. “While I understand that servants’ quarters would be inappropriate, surely there are slightly less grand chambers that we might occupy? Something nearer Lila’s and Rowan’s rooms perhaps where we can stay close by should they become overly rambunctious?”
“They’ll be near enough… they are directly above you both, in fact. That was part of my reason for choosing these rooms for you. You might keep a watchful eye but also privacy for yourselves for a change. If they should become too rambunctious, as you put it, you will likely hear them before anyone else does,” he offered. He knew, of course, that the real issue was their uncertainty of their place in the grand scheme of things. “These will be your rooms for the duration of your stay here. There’ll be no more talk of servants’ quarters. I’ll leave you to get settled and, no doubt, Aunt Arabella will be descending momentarily. For that, I extend my most heartfelt apologies.”
Cornelius retreated before more protests could be offered.
*
“Have we made a mistake?”
Prim had been looking out the windows at the expanse of parkland and formal gardens below. Hyacinth’s softly whispered question filled the room, echoing around them. It mirrored her own thoughts precisely.
“I have asked that same question every hour on the hour since we left our small cottage,” Prim admitted. She crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself for some sort of reassurance. “Whether it is a mistake for us or not, it’s the right choice for Lila and for Rowan. We just have to focus on that.”
Hyacinth sank down onto one of the upholstered chairs that flanked the fireplace. “You’re right, of course. We must think of Lila and Rowan. I do believe that Lord Ambrose is an honorable man. I do not think he brought us here with anything but the best of intentions.”
Prim believed that as well. But she also knew that even the best of intentions could fail if tested strongly enough or often enough. Her own intentions were good as well, but that hadn’t stopped her from admiring the breadth of his shoulders that owed nothing to his tailor, or the long, lean line of his legs in well-fitted breeches and riding boots. Before she could ruminate on that less than cheering thought any further there was a rapid knock upon the door. They hadn’t even called out for the person to enter when the door opened and a tiny, birdlike woman entered. Her silver hair was dressed in the old fashion, piled high atop her head in a mass that seemed simply too large for her diminutive form to carry.
“Good heavens! Cornelius was to inform me the very moment that you arrived and of course he did not. That man! What on earth is a body to do with him? He nods his head as if in agreement and then goes on to do precisely as he pleases. But, of course, that’s neither here nor there. The younger children are settled and I’ve already looked in on them. And now that I’m here, I must say, Miss Primrose and Miss Hyacinth, that those gowns simply will not do. We’ll need to outfit the both of you in a manner befitting a relative of an influential peer such as dear Cornelius! We don’t entertain, but one never knows who one will encounter and it simply would not do for the two of you to be caught out in such a state!”
When the woman finally paused to draw a breath, both Prim and Hyacinth were simply too stunned to speak. The sheer volume of words that came out of her at one time was mind boggling as was the fact that given her decrepit state she had enough breath in her body to utter them.
“Now, the both of you get yourselves freshened up and then join me in the drawing room. I’ve had fashion plates sent from the best dressmakers in Bath. It’s not nearly as good as having them from London or Paris, but that horrible Napoleon has ruined that for everyone. Of course, when one is in the country it’s very bad form to outshine one’s neighbors to such a degree. So dressmakers from Bath would likely be best after all. It wouldn’t do to be the very first stare of fashion when one is rusticating, after all. Hurry, girls! We’ve much to do!”
They were both still gaping after her when the elderly woman had turned and gone. It was Prim who managed to speak first. “I understand why Lord Ambrose only nods and then does as he pleases. It’s the only response she allows enough time for!”
“Let us hurry. If she talks that much just in greeting, I can’t imagine what an actual lecture would be like,” Hyacinth said.
Prim could feel her eyes crossing at the prospect. “Heaven preserve us!”
Chapter Nine
Fredrick Hamilton, Lord Samford, watched his younger siblings playing on the lawn with a frown. They were loud, spoiled, obnoxious, and every last one of them was a bastard. His stepmother, Lady Samford, hadn’t been faithful even a day of her marriage to Freddy’s late father and the four children she’d birthed after marrying the elder Lord Samford h
ad all been sired by a different man. In truth, Freddy’s only true sibling, Albert, had been banished in the wake of a scandal related to their stepmother’s brother, Lord Harrelson, and his nefarious methods of stuffing the family coffers. Of course, he himself had not been entirely innocent of those schemes, but Albie had paid the price for them. To spare the family the scandal of a trial, a gentleman’s agreement had seen Albie off to the East Indies where he would remain in reluctant service to his country until he died. Harrelson, ultimately, as he’d been snuffed out by one of his compatriots with a particularly nasty poison, was now gone. So was the lovely and viperous Helena, the eldest of Lady Samford’s bastard children and Albie’s lover.
But it was more than the whispered scandals that beset his family. It was the financial ruin that they were now on the cusp of that was the true source of Freddy’s worry. Without Harrelson’s contacts and skillful scheming, his blackmail and flesh peddling, Freddy was left to replenish the family fortunes the old fashioned way. He’d need to marry a walking, talking purse. But even aging spinsters with generous fortunes or horse-faced heiresses had standards, and with the family’s reputation so thoroughly besmirched, not even they would have him at present.
His only hope was Wyverne’s girl. Lame from a carriage accident as a child, she’d never gone out in society outside of Bath, to spare herself the cruelty of others he supposed. Wyverne himself had no reservations, he’d have thrown the girl to the wolves if it would get rid of her. But she had reservations and Freddy was left dancing to the ape-leader’s tune to reassure her that he was good enough for a match despite the family scandals. Which brought him back to the hedonistic lot on the lawn. If they didn’t learn to curb their wild ways, behave in a circumspect manner, he’d never get an heiress.
Of course, he was also rethinking his own strategies. He couldn’t convince her that he was a nice man, willing to change his ways and live a quiet life with her. She clearly was not buying into it. Instead, he’d play the cad, make her yearn for him. Women, even aging and lame spinsters, liked the chase.
In his life, Freddy had been obsessed with two women. Isabelle, the cheapside whore he’d been willing to sacrifice everything for. Of course, in his maturity, he knew well enough that it had been her particular set of skills that had muddled his thinking. Thankfully, his father had intervened on his behalf and he hadn’t debased himself so thoroughly that there was no coming back from it. The other had been Elizabeth Masters, a local beauty he’d contented himself with seducing and abandoning in favor of his last heiress. But in the wake of his many scandals, his former father-in-law had changed his will and left the bulk of his wealth to a distant relative rather than to his son-in-law. They’d thought to salvage everything by marrying Helena off to a wealthy neighbor and indulging one of Harrelson’s more elaborate schemes to claim the man’s wealth for their own. That had not worked out according to plan either.
Damn Wolverton and damn Helena for ruining all of it, he thought bitterly. Her heavy-handedness with her miraculous resurrection had created immediate suspicion. Impetuous, headstrong, driven by her own vanity and conceit, she’d paid for it with her life in the end.
Lady Samford entered the study. “There you are, Fredrick. I need to speak with you about a season for Camilla. I understand that there are financial constraints now, but she must be permitted to come out in society. If not, we’ll never find a husband for the girl.”
Fredrick pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger in an attempt to ward off the headache that always followed any conversations with his stepmother. The woman was bleeding him dry. “As we’ve no dowry for her unless I can manage to get the Wyverne girl to the altar myself, the season will have to wait.”
Lady Samford frowned at that, her mouth pinching into a thin firm line. “We need to be in society, Fredrick! The longer we are out of it, the more convinced others become that all those atrocious rumors are true. We cannot allow people to believe that we were involved in all that Harrelson did or that Albie and Helena were involved in an unnatural relationship.”
“Perhaps you should have thought of that before you indulged Helena’s every whim and she became an utter terror!” he snapped. “As for the unnatural relationship, half of London knows Helena was not father’s true daughter, and the other half suspects. You should have been more discreet as you whored your way through the ton.”
She gasped in outrage. “Do not speak ill of the dead, Fredrick! Helena was all that was grace and beauty. You’ve no right. As for your allegations against me, better to be whore than a murderer. Or should I let it slip that it wasn’t a fever that took your wife from me at all, but the pillow you held over her face?”
“You wanted my wife gone as much as I did. The pillow was your idea after all.”
His stepmother shrugged. “It was only a suggestion. You didn’t have to take it… and it’s not as if she’s missed. All she did was whine and cry about how horrible her life was here and what a terrible husband you were!”
“Well, regardless, no season for Camilla until I can bag the lame duck of an heiress,” he snapped.
“If only Wolverton’s fortunes hadn’t been snatched from us!”
“You can lay that at your dead daughter’s doorstep. If Helena had just stayed put and not allowed pettiness to get the better of her, then we could have kept Wolverton’s money instead of having to return all of it to him. You’ll forgive me if I’m feeling less than inclined to extoll her many virtues now.”
His stepmother’s expression hardened and he could see that she wanted to argue, but wisely did not. On the subject of Helena, they would simply have to agree to disagree.
“When do you see the girl again?” she demanded.
“She’s in Bath to take the waters. I foresee a chance encounter with her at the Pump Room,” he explained. “Or maybe the Assembly Rooms. I think my only option at this point is to convince her to elope.”
“What of her father? What if he decides not to release her fortune to you for an unsanctioned match?”
“The match is sanctioned. Her father wants to be rid of her and he’s readily agreed to the marriage. She’s the stumbling block. I’m dancing to her tune like a marionette at the moment. But that will end now. Being good has been ineffective in landing her, perhaps it’s time to be bad,” he said.
“More scandal,” she said with a frown. “It’s the last thing we need, but without her fortune, we’ve no chance at reclaiming our rightful place in society. See to it. I’ll reach out to some friends who might be able to arrange introductions for Camilla to eligible gentlemen.”
“By eligible you mean wealthy and with one foot in the grave?”
“Precisely,” she agreed. “Oh, we’ve received a bill from Camilla’s dancing instructor. He won’t return until he’s paid and, frankly, we can’t afford for her not to have the lessons. She’ll be a laughing stock if she does go into society in her current state.”
He wanted to hurl something at her. “Madame, do you not comprehend what it means to be impoverished? We can barely pay our servants much less afford dance instructors and the ridiculous number of new gowns that you’ve ordered for both the girls and for yourself.”
“They’re only merchants, Fredrick. It’s not as if they must be paid,” she snapped before turning on her heel to leave.
At the end of his patience and needing very much to be away from his family, if one could call the scavengers that, his only option was to ride. The relative freedom of galloping across the fields might provide some respite.
“Mathers!” he shouted.
The butler entered immediately. “Yes, my lord?”
“Have my horse saddled immediately!”
“Certainly, my lord.”
*
It was afternoon and Hyacinth had pleaded a megrim to escape Lady Arabella. Prim had taken a different route and proclaimed that after being cooped up in a carriage for nearly three days, the children would never sleep if
they didn’t get some fresh air and exercise. To that end, she was now walking along one of the many winding paths that meandered through the estate while Rowan and Lila jumped and skipped ahead of her, their laughter echoing through the trees.
“Prim!” Rowan called out. “That’s a climbing tree! Can I?”
All trees were climbing trees to Rowan, but Prim had to admit that one was a fine specimen. The branches all appeared quite sturdy and evenly spaced. “Not too high,” she said, “But yes you may.”
He whooped with excitement as Lila rolled her eyes and shook her head like someone’s stuffy maiden aunt.
“Lila, why don’t you pick some of those wildflowers? You can give them to Hyacinth. I’m certain it will make her feel better,” Prim suggested. It would be a happy task for her as Lila had been picking wildflowers for as long as she could grab hold of one.
For herself, Prim took the opportunity to simply sit and enjoy the pale afternoon sun. It was a mild day with a gentle breeze and no rain, a rarity to be sure. The chill November air was settling in and it wouldn’t be long before cold weather would be firmly upon them. Planting herself on the low stone fence that bordered the path, Prim watched her younger siblings at play. If she were to be entirely honest, she could admit that taking the children on this outing had far less to do with escaping Arabella than with avoiding Lord Ambrose. Even their brief and perfunctory meeting that morning had been charged, filled with that bizarre and undeniable connection that seemed to have existed between them from their first meeting. Prim had hoped against hope that it had been a fluke and that a second meeting with him would prove her wrong. It had not.
Keeping her eyes on Lila and one ear trained for any cries of distress from Rowan, the clattering of hooves went unnoticed until they were nearly upon her. Lila looked up and let out a piercing shriek. It was instinct more than anything else that had Prim dropping from the stone fence to the ground, flattening herself against the rocks as the horse sailed over her, its back hooves landing mere inches in front of her. She could feel the swish of its tail on her skin.
The Awakening of Lord Ambrose (The Lost Lords Book 6) Page 6
