by May Burnett
“You never said why you did it.” There was suspicion and speculation in her gaze. “You are rich and titled, and handsome for your age.” He managed not to wince at the last sentence. “Why did you not marry earlier?”
“It was not my intention to marry at all. I was going to let the name die out with me. But your father’s description of your plight moved me to intervene, on a whim, you might say.”
Her brows contracted. “You had no idea what I looked like, what kind of person I was when you offered? You did it only for my father’s sake?”
“I have liked and esteemed your father since we played together in our early boyhood, before I was sent off to Eton. But that was not the main reason. When I was younger, I once failed to save a girl in a similarly desperate situation. Her unnecessary death has haunted me ever since.”
“You had forced or seduced her?” Her eyes were big, accusing.
“No, it was someone else—but the details do not matter at this late date.” Since learning what had happened to Amaryllis, he had steered clear of seducing innocents, and he had never forced a woman in his life; there had been no need. So that was what his young bride thought of him, did she?
“I am sorry if my question offended you, but you see, I have little idea of your nature. And gossip is not kind to you.”
More indication that she had spirit. He nodded. “Gossip tends to exaggerate, though there is usually a kernel of truth. I hope we’ll rub along when we know each other better. If not, I have several estates beside the London house. Aristocratic couples often live apart.”
“Live apart?”
“Not while you are so young and in a delicate condition. I would prefer that it not come to that, but it is not an unusual arrangement.”
“Just what do you want and expect from me, my l-, I mean, Lucian? Do you not want to lie with me?”
“Not particularly.” It was only half true—she was fresh and attractive, like a tart apple plucked straight from the bough, but Amanda would need time to come to terms with her unpleasant introduction to sex. And she was practically an infant still.
“But then,” she sounded nonplussed, “what . . . why . . . don’t men have needs that need to be assuaged? That is what I have always understood.”
“We do, but I have managed to assuage them perfectly well without a wife in the past and can go on doing so. Unless you volunteer?”
She was silent as the carriage turned into his long drive.
“Think what you want to do with your life, now you are a countess. We can discuss it further over dinner.”
“Yes, I need to think—I was not expecting to have any choice over my life, after the vows I took today. I did mean them, though obedience was a hard one to swallow. If I understand you, you feel less strictly bound yourself.” There was a tinge of accusation again.
He shrugged. “We are arriving. All that can wait, Amanda.”
The carriage drew to a stop. As she descended and took his arm, Amanda’s eyes widened at the three dozen servants standing in rows to receive their new mistress. Lucian had to admire how quickly she dealt with the situation, however, and with what aplomb she acknowledged the introductions and good wishes. With a minimum of training, she would make an excellent countess. Never mind that he had never wanted to be saddled with one.
He showed her to the blue suite, hurriedly prepared by his staff since the previous day, and left her to her own maid until dinner at six. In the country he liked to keep early hours, and she would be used to them already.
Chapter 4
When Lucian fetched his bride two hours later, she had changed into a modest fawn-coloured evening dress. He could not bring himself to compliment her on it. If that gown was at all typical of her possessions, she would need a new wardrobe right away. He must also get the Rackington jewels from the bank vault once they were in town. They were no good to anyone, mouldering there since his mother’s death twenty-seven years ago. They were rather old-fashioned, of course. Would Amanda like them? No matter; a Countess needed suitable jewels. He would add a few more modern pieces that flattered Amanda’s colouring.
“Your household is very well run,” Amanda said as they tasted the asparagus soup. She swallowed and added, “And your cook is excellent. I look forward to tasting all his creations.”
“I am glad that the unpleasant experiences of the recent past have not affected your appetite. You must keep your strength up.”
A shadow crossed her face at the reminder. “I thought that maybe you wanted the child because you could not get your own.” She looked at him. “From your reaction, I gather that I was wrong? I do not want to offend you, ah, Lucian; I am just trying to get my bearings, to understand you.”
“I have never wanted children, either my own or another man’s.” He took a sip of the light white wine served with the first course. “My plan was to be the last earl of my name, and if your child is a daughter, it may yet turn out to be so.”
“That presupposes we’ll not have any others.”
“Didn’t you tell me yourself that you did not want any child?”
She shook her head impatiently. “Not now, but how am I to know how I’ll feel when I am twenty-five or thirty or forty?”
He contemplated her perfectly reasonable objection. “Let’s jump that hurdle when it arises. What are your emotions right now? You are angry at the world, I imagine, at your mother, at your uncle, and likely also at me.”
Amanda stirred the remaining soup with her spoon, staring down at its yellowish surface. “I am trying to get over that. But it was a lot to cope with so quickly. This time last week I still thought I merely had some passing stomach ailment, and none of this seems quite real. Being here with you, a countess, expecting, having my mother reject me so cruelly. That was the worst.”
That she could talk to him of her feelings was encouraging. “I always thought your mother a kind and sensible woman, if a little rigid in her notions of propriety. Was her attitude completely unexpected?”
“It hurt, that she would not believe me, that she would rather consider me a liar than her brother a, a—”
“Rapist,” he supplied harshly. “Villain. Monster. There are more of those about than virtuous, sheltered women like your mother suspect. They even prey on children of both sexes.”
“Children? Boys, too? I don’t see how that would even be possible.”
“It is not a suitable subject for your first dinner in your new home. Forgive me,” he said. “I had been planning to return to London after the weekend. You will need different clothes, suitable to your new position.”
“Not many,” she said ruefully, “if my figure is going to change soon.”
“As many as you want. We are rich, you need not stint. I shall put a notice about the marriage in the Morning Post, but I’ll leave the exact wedding date vague. We want people to think it was some weeks ago, if possible.”
“Does it really matter?”
Her lips were rosy in the candlelight. He had to remember that she was forbidden fruit for the time being, and too young. Much too young, even if she sat there with pathetic dignity and clearly had a will and desires of her own. He liked her despite the prickliness. The straight way she looked at him reminded him of Mark, though her colouring and features mostly came from Ellen.
“It will matter to your child if society considers him or her a bastard. Do you really want that? It may affect my friends’ attitude towards you as well.”
“I see. You are the expert in what society does and expects. I shall follow your advice.”
“I also need to see my solicitor, to settle a dower on you for when you are a widow. It is likely that you’ll outlive me for quite a few years.”
“Will you be annoyed if I say that I hope so? Childbirth can be dangerous. You may become a widower instead.”
The thought was disturbing. Especially that Amanda, so young and bright, might die as a result of her own uncle’s crime. “I shall do all I can to pr
event that, but as you say, life is always uncertain.” With proper care, surely odds were better than even that, a year from now, both she and the babe would be alive and well.
“As for the other thing you asked earlier,” from her blush he saw she instantly understood what he meant, “there is no hurry to decide now. We can wait until after the birth of your child before we come to any decision. Your decision, rather, for I shall never force you to submit against your will.”
“Yet it is your right, as I understand it.”
“A right I have no interest in exercising if you are going to hate me afterwards. The truth is that, right now, you are too young for me, and I am too old for you.”
“Right now? You think that will change?”
“I shall not get any younger, but you will mature and may look at things differently.”
“I suppose that is possible.” She gnawed her pink lips in deep thought. “But I am not sure I like what you said earlier, about assuaging your needs elsewhere in the meantime. What exactly does that mean? In practice?”
No, Amanda was not the typical mealy-mouthed young girl. A young lady brought up in fashionable society would never put him on the spot like that. At least the servants were outside, fetching the next dishes. This was not a conversation he wanted to share with his staff.
“There are always women who don’t mind sharing their bodies for the pleasure of the act, or sometimes for money and jewels.”
“Whores,” she said derisively.
“Not always—ladies of the highest station, who are tired of their own husbands’ philandering or simply adventurous, as well as expensive courtesans.”
“As I said, whores.” She stared at him as though disappointed.
“You seem shocked. Yet I am, myself, descended from a whore. The first Earl Rackington was a bastard of Charles II, on a woman of decidedly loose morals.”
She blinked. “A whore and a king?”
“It is hardly an unusual combination. Mind, we cannot be entirely sure the first earl was the king’s progeny, given his mother’s many lovers, but she convinced Charles, which is all that matters.”
“And your wealth, where does that come from?”
“As you might guess, the king’s favour did not extend much beyond the title and one modest estate. My predecessors have all married money, beginning with the first earl, who wed a wool merchant’s heiress. My mother was the granddaughter of a rich banker.”
“All except you,” Amanda said thoughtfully, her fork suspended in the air for a moment.
“You forget the five thousand pounds your father promised. But I have found investments can be even more lucrative than marrying money.”
She cut her meat, her brow furrowed. “I cannot like the idea of you consorting with some other lady or a who-, um, courtesan, now that we are married.”
He was startled. “My good girl, everybody does so, man or woman, married or not.”
She flushed, more with anger than embarrassment, judging by the sparkle in her eyes. “That is not the kind of life I want to lead. Unlike you, I meant the vows I spoke today.”
“Are you saying,” he found it difficult to imagine, “that you are offering to share my bed if I do not have intimate relations with anyone else? And you won’t have affairs?” She was barely eighteen, for heaven’s sake. How could she know what she wanted, what she would be like after a few years in his dissolute set?
“I thought that was what marriage meant, my lord.” Was it significant that she no longer used his given name? “It would seem that I was naïve.”
Lucian stared at her in consternation. Given her upbringing and background, he really should have expected something like that. Had he managed to make her despise him before they had been married for a day?
More importantly, she would be like a babe in the woods when exposed to the kind of society he kept. He should have realised that even if her body had been violated, her mind and spirit still retained an innocence nobody in his family had ever displayed.
This was a lot more complicated than Lucian had expected when he made his impulsive offer for the girl.
Chapter 5
The journey to London took over a week. Lucian usually shared his carriage with Tennant but left it up to Amanda if the secretary should ride with them or in the servants’ carriage lumbering behind their own more elegant vehicle.
To his relief, she raised no objection to sharing with the young man. Lucian liked to strategize business ventures during their inevitable days on the road, but it took a while until Tennant could overcome his constraint in a lady’s presence and was able to bring his excellent mind to bear on finance and intrigue.
Amanda listened with interest, and occasionally asked a question when she did not understand.
“Do you miss your family, my lady?” Tennant asked when they were finished with business for the time being and Lucian closed his eyes for a few minutes. If one could doze, the tedious hours of travel passed a little faster.
“Yes, especially my sister Eve.”
“How many brothers and sisters do you have?”
“I am the eldest of five. Eve comes next; she is nearly seventeen. Jacob is fifteen, Tibur thirteen—the boys are at school—and Ursula is only eleven. Eve is not only my sister but my dearest friend in the world, and I hope to invite her for a visit . . . later,” her voice trailed off uncertainly. She was probably wondering how much Tennant knew about her unusual and scandalous circumstances.
“You can introduce your sister to London society, give her a Season,” Tennant suggested. “Is she as pretty as you? I did not see her at your wedding.”
“No,” Amanda’s voice was morose, “she was not there. Eve is far prettier than I, or so everyone always said.”
“You can make up for it by attending your sister Eve’s wedding, when the time comes,” the young man said consolingly.
They seemed to get on very well with each other . . . of course they were much closer in age. Tennant was twenty-seven, right in the middle between Amanda’s and Lucian’s age.
He should have asked her about her brothers and sisters. Lucian had known there were five siblings altogether, but not the ages or names, and it was news to him that Amanda and Eve were so close. Just as well that Eve’s coming-out was not yet imminent. By then, Amanda would hopefully have delivered her child, reconciled with her mother, and found her feet amongst fashionable society. It was not easy, and a great responsibility, to steer a country innocent through the manifold temptations and dangers of the capital. The very same task he had blithely assumed himself . . . what had he been thinking? But, listening to Amanda’s conversation with Tennant, he could not regret his impulsive decision. To allow that vivacious, bright spirit to be quenched by tragedy and ostracism would be a crime.
She might still find trouble enough as Lady Rackington and, in her innocence, might fall headlong into any number of traps. He should prepare her instead of resting.
“Amanda,” Lucian said, “what do you know of card games?”
“We play lotto in my family, and various round games, but never for money. We use buttons or beans instead.”
“Ah,” he nodded at Tennant, “will you find a deck? Amanda, as a rich young lady, a great many greedy persons will be only too eager to relieve you of your wealth. Winning against you at cards, sometimes by swindling, is by far the easiest and safest method.”
She looked offended. “I usually end up with more buttons or beans than the other players.”
“That confidence only makes you more vulnerable, my lady,” Tennant interposed. “You can have no notion of the skill and trickery employed by professional card-sharps. The only safety lies in not playing against them in the first place. But there are many skilled whist players in the highest society, and card games are hard to avoid, especially during house parties.”
“Allow me to demonstrate,” Lucian murmured as Tennant handed him a cardboard box of playing cards. “Have you ever played whist?”
“No.”
“It can become addictive,” he warned as he shuffled the pack. “Let’s hope you are not susceptible. Families even richer than ours have been ruined at the gaming tables, and a husband is responsible for his wife’s debts.”
Now she frowned. “What do you take me for?”
That prickliness again . . . “Don’t be offended, Amanda; I believe in your good sense and prudence, but this is a matter of experience. I am merely trying to arm you against a very real and imminent danger. We’ll teach you the game as it should be played, if you agree, and how to recognize the most common dodges, like marked cards. Trust me—this knowledge will prove useful in the near future. Since we are only three, we cannot do it right, but you will get an idea at least.”
“Very well,” she acquiesced. “Do you play a great deal yourself, um, Lucian?”
“Now and then. I enjoy an occasional game with worthy but honest opponents.”
“So do I,” Tennant admitted, “though I try to avoid high stakes.”
Lucian was not surprised that Amanda quickly understood the principles and odds involved. She would be a fair player in no time at all, but that merely increased the danger if she fell in with the wrong set. “Have you heard the expression, to keep an ace up one’s sleeve?”
Amanda grimaced. “Does anyone really do that? Surely they would be found out sooner or later. What then?”
“It depends on who it is,” Lucian explained. “If it is one of us, he’s excluded from his clubs and all respectable society and usually puts a bullet in his head, though some cowards have preferred to emigrate. If it’s just the ordinary kind of swindler, often some Irish adventurer, they tend to leave for a time and change their name but usually carry on with their old tricks. To a professional swindler, everyone is a potential mark. They feel no shame or guilt, only annoyance when they are found out.”
“Are there women like that, too?” Amanda asked.
