by May Burnett
“A few,” Lucian said briefly, remembering a particularly dangerous adventuress, who had taken him for over a thousand pounds in his callow youth, before he had seen through her. “These are the warning signs . . .”
After card games and sharks and their usual methods, Tennant and he took turns explaining some of the more common dodges employed by London’s many criminals. The weeping, lost child who distracted attention from the rest of a juvenile gang of thieves, the bill appearing out of nowhere when no corresponding merchandise had been ordered or delivered, the spurious charity appeal, the servants who opened doors to their dishonest friends while the master was out . . . Amanda listened and questioned, an attentive pupil.
“I wonder why anybody wants to live in a place where such things go on all the time. Can I trust nobody at all?”
Lucian smiled. “No, the great majority—well, at least half—are reasonably honest. It is just that wealth and privilege attract the other kind like a magnet. But we have ways and means to protect our interests, so you need not worry unduly. I simply do not want to have my wife taken in through ignorance.”
“I see.”
“No matter how well-prepared you are, there will be times when you get in trouble, Amanda. If that happens, don’t try to hide it or pay off any person to keep your secrets. That way lies ruin. Whatever it may be, just come to me, and I’ll deal with it.”
She regarded him with an expression he found hard to interpret. “I don’t expect I’ll need to, but I’ll keep your offer in mind.”
“London has many pleasant sides, too,” Tennant said with a diffident smile. “The dangers are real, but with proper precautions, they can be managed. Let me describe some of the town’s attractions to you, my lady. Are you fond of music, of the theatre?”
“I prefer listening to music to performing myself. As for plays, I have only seen two or three pantomimes from wandering companies,” Amanda admitted, “but they were entertaining enough.”
“Then you are in for a treat—London has several theatres and employs the best actors in the country. Your husband—I mean, your family keeps a permanent box at Drury Lane, though the seats are usually rented out when the owners do not attend. You can go any time you like at no extra expense.”
“Just how does that work? When do they know that the box will be unused, and who takes the money? How much does it cost when you have no box of your own?”
As Tennant explained, Lucian leaned back once again. It was getting late in the afternoon; not long until they reached the inn where they were to spend the night. Lucian had sent precise orders ahead. Amanda would have her separate room, next to his, where she could be private with her maid. If it was a real marriage, or they were of more humble status, they would be sharing a room as husband and wife. Would he ever get to do that with young Amanda?
The card games and talk about town dodges had been a good idea; she was losing her constraint and behaving more naturally with him. And with Tennant, of course, but his secretary knew better than to make cow’s eyes at his employer’s wife.
Now where had that thought come from? He could not be developing possessive or—God forbid—jealous feelings about the girl, could he? It would be totally out of character and quite ridiculous under the circumstances.
Nonetheless, while Tennant was describing his favourite plays, Lucian’s undisciplined mind teased him with vivid images of what it would feel like to introduce Amanda to sensual play and pleasures. He would lick those lovely pale breasts of hers. Were they larger now, since she was expecting, or had they always been that generous size? Was she ticklish? Would he find any freckles on her back?
What would the inside of her pink mouth taste like?
The hair covering her intimate parts would probably be the same red-brown shade as the curls on her head, though, in some women, it was much redder. Would that be the case for Amanda? What an absurd detail to excite his curiosity.
If Lucian taught her to enjoy lovemaking, as was only natural for a healthy young creature like Amanda, how many other men would benefit from the lessons over the years? It was the normal way of things in his class; why did the notion sit so uncomfortably where Amanda was concerned?
Fortunately, there was no hurry. She could continue uncorrupted for a while longer. Better for her own and his tranquillity.
A good thing they were returning to London. He was starting to wonder at himself, at these strangely uncharacteristic actions. Ever since his conversation with Mark, when he had offered to marry Amanda, he had been a little off-balance, not at all the settled and imperturbable man he knew himself to be.
In his accustomed environment, he would soon return to normal. Or as normal as possible with an innocent and pregnant young wife to take care of.
He had not expected that her presence, her existence, would make that great a difference in his life. Well, things would soon find a new equilibrium, as they always had before.
Chapter 6
The tasteful, elegant town house to which they had just been admitted was only slightly smaller than their own. Amanda forced herself to stand straight, grateful for the corset’s unobtrusive support.
“This is Amanda, my wife. My great-aunt, Lady Evencourt.”
“My lady.” Amanda knew her curtsy was too deep for a countess meeting a dowager viscountess, but she had not yet gotten the hang of those details. According to Lucian, his aunt would be able to advise her about just that sort of thing. There were hundreds of them on her mental list already. She really should write them down.
“It is a pleasure,” the old lady drawled, but there was more surprise than pleasure in her voice, and her dark eyes were sharp as they assessed Amanda. If she found her wanting, however, she was too diplomatic to say so. “Amanda, is it? You are very young and pretty. Welcome to the family.”
“Thank you.” Amanda tried to make out any resemblance between the white-haired old lady and her husband, without success. How old could his great-aunt be? Sixty at the very least, though she was still agile and thin.
“When did this marriage happen?” Lady Evencourt asked Lucian. Was she angry at not receiving any invitation to the wedding? Amanda shifted uneasily.
Lucian raised his hands in a noncommittal gesture. “Very recently, Aunt Louisa. Amanda’s father is one of my oldest friends. He lives close to my estate in Northumberland. We were married there, quite privately.”
“Why aren’t you on your wedding trip, then?”
“We shall be going to Racking presently, but I was hoping for your help. Amanda needs a wardrobe, introductions, and general advice. She is a country innocent.”
“Oh.” Lady Evencourt’s dark eyes stared into Amanda’s. “How unexpected of you, Lucian. A Country Wife, as in the play? Let’s hope this does not turn into The School for Scandal.”
He shrugged, unconcerned. “It probably will. Scandal is a way of life for our family, but I would prefer to shield Amanda from it for as long as possible.”
Amanda had enough of being talked about as though she were just a statue. “My own preference would be to learn how to prevent and counteract gossip. I do not flatter myself that I shall be entirely immune to scandal, no matter how circumspect my behaviour. But can it be managed?”
“A good question,” Lady Evencourt replied. “We shall see. Wealth and titles help to some extent. You will need to learn how to repel impertinence and insinuations, to deflect the probing of the curious, and minimize the damage when it occurs.”
“All that, but new clothes are most urgent at present,” Lucian said. “We shall be staying in the countryside for several months.”
“That long?” Lady Evencourt’s eyes passed over Amanda’s stomach in speculation. “Until you get a child on her—or—can it be that your bride is already expecting?”
“Keep it to yourself, please.”
“Congratulations! That is unexpected, indeed, but I am glad for you.”
Amanda forced her features into a rigid smile. La
dy Evencourt must be the only person in the world looking forward to the birth, unless she was merely mouthing the expected reaction. From the way she was beaming at Amanda, her joy at the news was real enough. Of course, if she had the least idea that the babe was no blood relative . . . she must never know.
“I am off to see my solicitor about settlements,” Lucian said, “with your permission, I shall leave Amanda here for an hour or two, so you can get better acquainted.”
“You must call me Aunt Louisa,” her hostess told Amanda. “Come into my boudoir where we can be comfortable. Would you care for tea or hot chocolate?”
“Yes, please. Tea.” It helped to have something to hold in your hands when uncomfortable.
Abandoned by her husband, Amanda braced herself for a barrage of questions about her background and the impending happy event, but for the first half-hour, Lady Evencourt kept their conversation light and general, discussing the most popular plays and novels, the shocking exploits of Lord Byron, and the various entertainments available to a young, pleasure-loving countess. When the talk turned to music, Amanda confessed that she was not overly proficient on the piano though she had endured lessons from an early age. She simply was not particularly talented, unlike her sister Eve, who could hardly be prised from the instrument.
“No matter, you won’t have to practice any more now you are married,” Lady Evencourt said. “In our circles, we are not greatly enamoured of amateur performances. We command professionals to entertain us, at least in town. That reminds me, Lucian should commission your portrait right away. You want to be immortalised as young and fresh as possible for the benefit of your descendants.”
“I am not sure I care to sit still so long.” Amanda had sometimes sat for Eve’s watercolours, but inevitably fidgeted before her sister was done.
“Sitting for the most fashionable painters is part of your new life; you had best get used to it. And it can have its compensations. Whenever I pass that picture of my youthful self in yellow in my dining room, I am reminded of the passionate affair I had with the artist while he worked on it. The poor fellow even tried to persuade me to elope with him. If you look closely, you can see hearts cut into a tree he painted in the background.”
Amanda felt her eyes widen at the casual admission. “Oh.” She wanted to ask if Lady Evencourt’s husband had still been alive at the time, but that would probably be gauche. If so, presumably he had been a complaisant husband.
“I’ll consult Lucian,” she said only. “You seemed surprised that he plans to stay in the countryside for several months. Is that not usual for him?”
“Hardly. Lucian travels a great deal, and he is not fond of rural pastures. He tends to get bored within the first two weeks.” She eyed Amanda speculatively. “It should be interesting to see how long you can hold his attention.”
“He told me he has had a great many affairs,” Amanda said tentatively. “And that it is the expected thing. Can that really be true?”
“Oh yes, of course it is.” There was a trace of pity in Lady Evencourt’s expression now. “You might as well assume that any attractive woman you meet in society will have enjoyed Lucian’s attentions at some time or another. I have heard that his finesse and technique are highly prized, but you would know all about that.”
Amanda felt a blush rise to her cheeks. How could such words apply to something brutal and simple like the act she remembered? Would she have found it less revolting had her uncle had better technique? The whole notion turned her stomach.
“I suppose having his child was the only way to bring Lucian up to scratch,” Lady Evencourt mused after offering Amanda a choice of sinfully sophisticated chocolates. The one she chose, decorated with a split almond, melted on the tongue. “Though you are hardly his usual type, and if your father is an old friend, it is surprising he attempted to seduce you. In the normal way of things, innocents are not his style at all.”
Amanda swallowed the wrong way and coughed desperately to bring a fragment of almond back up from her larynx. At least that relieved her of having to reply. After she had drunk half a glass of water that Lady Evencourt helpfully handed her, she said, still a little hoarse, “I would prefer not to discuss the details.”
“Very good,” Lady Evencourt said approvingly. “Remember that when others ask, as many will. I’ll just use my imagination and long knowledge of your husband.”
Amanda doubted very much that Lucian’s aunt would guess the truth, no matter how well she thought she knew him.
“Even though Lucian is too civilised to cut up rough, I would wait for a year or so before taking lovers of your own,” Lady Evencourt advised. “A bit longer if your first child is a girl. And discretion is always preferable.”
“I don’t intend to have lovers at all,” Amanda said stiffly. “It is not the custom in my family. All this talk of affairs and lovers gives me a very poor idea of Lucian’s morals.”
“Ah.” Lady Evencourt regarded her thoughtfully. “Have I shocked you? But of course—you hail from the gentry, a class who believe in virtue and hard work and justice and all that nonsense. It is just as well that they do—but the aristocracy is above all that. Morals and laws are necessary for the inferior layers of society, but don’t apply to us. You will be glad of it eventually, even if you find it strange and shocking now.”
“Does that mean you look down on people who believe in fidelity and keeping their vows, who try to live a good, useful life and not harm others?”
“They are naïve, as you will come to see soon enough. Virtue merely makes it easier for others to exploit you. Its only reward is a self-righteous feeling that hardly makes up for all that self-abnegation. Do you want to be the lamb that gets eaten or the wolf who culls the herd?”
Amanda frowned. People were not animals, and there had to be other options. “Neither, thank you very much. I shall try to cling to my naïve convictions for a while longer, even if you find them ridiculous, ma’am.”
Her hostess smiled indulgently. “No, not at all, at your age and with your background, they are perfectly normal, only to be expected. You simply have not yet been exposed to alternatives. You are a pretty lamb who had the good fortune to marry into the wolf pack as Lucian’s wife. You will see that life has a great many delicious temptations to offer, pleasures that the narrow-minded bourgeoisie would hardly understand.”
There was no point in arguing further with the opinionated old lady. “Does everyone among your family and friends think like that?”
Lady Evencourt ignored the note of censure in Amanda’s voice. “Most of them. Some get religion, usually late in life when they are no longer strong enough to enjoy their favourite vices. But even they would never dream of exposing the rest of us to outsiders. What happens among us remains confidential. That is something you need to understand right away. Telling tales out of school, especially to the press, is a deadly sin you would not be forgiven; infinitely worse than a dozen blatant affairs.”
“It sounds like being a member of some secret society,” Amanda observed. “Yet I never sought to enter it in the first place.”
“You did so when you married Lucian. If we are a secret society, and there are indeed some similarities, he is a charter member and can guide you in its intricacies.”
Amanda was silent for a long minute. Every feeling and instinct revolted against what she had learned, but she could see that any further protest would only make her appear more ignorant and naïve. Perhaps Lady Evencourt was exaggerating, and there were honourable members of her rank—people were always quick to ascribe their own vices and faults to everyone else.
“You have given me much food for thought,” was all she said. “Regarding fashion, what is your advice—how many gowns, hats, pairs of slippers, and boots do I need for a long stay at Racking? Are there local seamstresses who could make up additional gowns from materials I bring with me from town?”
Lady Evencourt accepted the change of subject. “As Lady Rackington, you sh
ould not use rural talent if it can be avoided. My own style is not dashing enough for a woman your age, but I know where you’ll find what you need.”
As the conversation turned to trims and corset makers and the best milliners’ shops, Amanda was able to forget, at least for a time, her dismay at the old lady’s revelations.
Chapter 7
Lucian quickly concluded his business at the solicitors’ chambers. The settlements for Amanda’s benefit would be drawn up according to his precise instructions, ready for his signature the following afternoon. Delay in such duties could have fatal consequences for a man’s dependants. Amanda must be properly provided for, even if he fell dead the next moment—well, as of the next afternoon, at any rate.
London was safe enough. In the past, Lucian had undertaken a number of semi-official missions on behalf of the government that had put his life in danger. He had not much cared if he survived, which might have had something to do with his luck; indifference had repeatedly helped him keep his nerve in tricky situations.
This young wife of his was a new and altogether different challenge. To be similarly indifferent to her survival and future welfare would be callous. He wanted to see Amanda safely over the next year and help her find her feet in her demanding new environment.
“Lucian!”
Torn out of his reflections, he recognised an old friend from Eton. “Hello, Tom. Going to your club?”
“No, to my office, but it can wait.” Lucian remembered that Tom Berringham held some appointment in the Foreign Office since the previous change in government. “Will you join me for a drink at White’s?”
They were on St. James’s Street, only a few steps away from the famous Tory Club. “Very well, as long as it does not take too long.”
Though why hurry? Amanda would be safe enough with Aunt Louisa, even if he tarried a little.
Over a brandy, they briefly discussed the most recent political and military events—the war was tying up all attention and resources.
