by May Burnett
“I am glad I ran into you,” Berringham said presently. “I was going to send you a message. We, that is to say, the government, are in urgent need of your services.”
Lucian shook his head. “Sorry, Tom. I am newly married, and have put all such ventures behind me. My wife needs me now.”
“Married!” Berringham stared. “That is the last thing I expected to hear. When a man does not marry by thirty-five one somehow does not expect him to change his stripes. When did this happen?”
“During a recent sojourn in the north.” He would keep the exact date vague, but he must put a notice in the paper right away. “Is it really so surprising?”
“Frankly, yes. You have never evinced the least desire for family life.”
“People change,” Lucian muttered. “My advice is always at your disposal, Tom, but as for travelling abroad at this time, please convey my regrets to your principals.”
To his annoyance, Tom was not willing to let it go at that. He always had been damnably persistent. “I sympathize, but Czar Alexander has specifically asked for you. I am not talking of an ambassadorship—just a quick journey. You’ll be able to get there and start back within a few weeks. This is a delicate business of vital importance if we are to thwart Napoleon in our lifetime. I cannot say more here, but Wellesley will explain if you come to see him. Please, Lucian, you know how tricky Russian court politics are after all their changes of sides. Nobody else has as good a chance of success.”
Lucian was torn. If he had not taken on the responsibility for young Amanda, he would have accepted the commission. Precious few people in England had any useful insight into imperial Russian affairs. As Tom said, it was a complicated world where the wrong word or action could easily lead to frustration and endless delay. Even if you did everything right, success was by no means guaranteed.
“I’ll think about it,” he said at last. “Although the timing is most unfortunate.”
***
At dinner, Amanda seemed thoughtful and subdued. Lucian wondered what his aunt had told her that caused that reaction.
“I have made provisions for your pin money and your widow’s jointure, should I die before you,” he told her. “The documents will be ready for my signature tomorrow, and you will have your own account at my bank.” He went on to explain how she could draw upon her funds.
“Five hundred pounds a quarter?” Amanda repeated. “That comes to two thousand a year. What am I supposed to pay with that much money?”
“Pin money is for your personal expenses only, not our general household expenses. You can also send your wardrobe bills to me, or rather to Tennant, to settle directly. But you’ll need your own money for those times when you lose at cards, give a gratuity to a servant, or contribute to some charity. If you need a larger sum, let’s say for a horse or carriage, just tell Tennant or me.”
She frowned thoughtfully. “And if I save my pin money?”
He had to smile. “That is more easily said than done, but if you want to save some of your funds that is certainly up to you.”
She nodded with a determined look on her pretty face.
“Amanda, when I was out in the afternoon, I met a friend from the Foreign Office. You may not be aware that, in younger years, I frequently travelled on missions on behalf of the Crown. They want me to undertake another such journey that they hope would benefit the war effort.”
She stared at him. “You could have an influence on the war? I had no idea.”
“My reputation as a rake is not quite all there is to me,” he said drily. “I all but turned Tom down, as I cannot leave you alone for what would likely be several months. These things always take longer than you expect at the outset.”
“Would it be dangerous?” She did not sound overly concerned.
“Not particularly. This is more a diplomatic mission, though ships can sink, and there is always a small element of risk in such ventures. But don’t worry, I am not about to accept—”
“You should go,” she interrupted him. “Do you truly think that this mission could make a difference to the war?”
“Possibly, though one never knows for sure.”
“Then it is clear where your duty lies. I would not be alone, and we hardly know each other as yet. The company of a woman with experience of childbirth would be more useful to me than your presence, Lucian.”
Her logic was impeccable, but he felt—absurdly—a small stab of hurt. “You are saying you do not need me in particular?”
“Think about it,” she said and drank a small amount of ale. This inelegant drink was only served at their table at her particular request, despite the butler’s scandalised reaction. Let nobody say that Lucian was not willing to indulge his bride.
As he was silent, she went on, “According to your Aunt Louisa, you find country life boring and might well grow to resent the sacrifice of several months. I am perfectly well able to go on without you, with so much pin money at my disposal. What of Mr. Tennant; would he go with you?”
“No, he always stays behind to hold my affairs together. But he would have to remain in London most of the time.”
“Even so, from here he’ll be able to assist me if anything important comes up. And I have been thinking about hiring a companion.”
“I see. Is there anyone in particular you had in mind?” In his experience, companions were downtrodden and put-upon creatures. Did Amanda want a domestic slave to order around?
“If it were possible, I’d prefer to invite my sister Eve, but she is too young, and I realise it would not do. There is a widowed cousin on Father’s side, with a four-year-old boy, whom I liked on those rare occasions when I saw her. She might be a good choice.”
“Does she live near your old home? I don’t remember ever meeting her.”
“No, in Liverpool. Mattie—Mrs. Smithson—is my father’s first cousin. Her own father was a clergyman who died young, and her late husband was an officer, a captain in the 71st Foot. Mattie is in her late twenties. Though her circumstances are straitened, she is perfectly respectable.”
“I’m sure she is, but are you certain you want to saddle yourself with this woman and yet another child, Amanda? Poor relations are far harder to get rid of than employees if they are found not to suit.”
“That is unlikely to happen. Mattie has always been kind and good-natured. Having her advice and companionship would be a comfort to me.”
“Very well,” he acquiesced. “As she is already a mother, she’ll be able to advise you, and the nursery at Racking is certainly big enough for her child and a dozen more. That reminds me: I want your promise to me that you’ll keep your babe safe, and to nothing to harm him or her.”
“I would never do that!”
Likely he had misjudged her, but better to spell things out. “Perhaps not consciously, my dear, but a quick gallop, or staying out too long in the rain—there are many things that could endanger you as well as your babe at this particular time. I want your word of honour, Amanda, that you’ll take the best possible care of both of you.”
For a moment, she looked mutinous, but then she muttered, “You have it.”
Lucian swallowed some wine. Could he risk leaving Amanda with just a companion and Tennant to look after her? What if he never returned from the journey? Russians could be hot-headed, and duels were still very much en vogue over there. Even the least quarrelsome man could be drawn into one. There was also a remote chance that French agents watching the Russian Court might try to eliminate him as the simplest way to abort his efforts. While far from the most dangerous mission he had ever undertaken, it would not be as safe as he had told Amanda.
Since she could not know, and had no idea of his destination, her indifference was only natural. If Amanda was left a rich widow, she would have more options and could remarry—someone younger, better suited to her. Lucian did not think she was actively hoping for that outcome, but she had nothing to lose if he took up the challenge from the Foreign Office.
“So be it, then. I’ll accept the mission,” he decided, regretting it almost as soon as he had pronounced the words. Yet, at some level, he must have been tempted to accept the task, or he would never have mentioned the matter at all. Had he been unconsciously testing Amanda’s reaction to the notion? Trying to impress her with his past successes? Whatever the truth of it, he had been foolish, though he still was not clear why he was behaving so uncharacteristically. Well, he’d have several months to ponder the matter until his return.
“How soon will you have to depart?” Did she look the least bit anxious and worried? “Am I allowed to know where you’ll be going?”
“If I do this at all, time is of the essence. I’ll have to leave within the week. You will have to move to Racking without me, with only Tennant to introduce our retainers and tenants to you. The neighbours will call soon enough.”
“We shall manage,” she declared. “How far will you be travelling?”
“To Russia, but please keep that information to yourself. Do not speak of it to anyone but Tennant, not even Aunt Louisa.”
“Very well.”
“Would you like a sable coat and muff?”
“No,” Amanda said, “don’t weigh yourself down with bulky presents. It will be easier to return quickly if you travel light.”
He would be travelling by sea, so weight and bulk should not be an issue, but Lucian just nodded. Apparently his wife did not have any particular passion for expensive furs . . . What were her passions, if any?
“And do be careful,” she commanded. “Even if you have left me well provided for, I have no wish to be widowed so soon.”
“I’ll do my best.” He felt insensibly pleased that she cared even to such a small degree.
“In the meantime, Tennant can help me if any problem crops up. I promise to apply to him if at all necessary.”
He nodded and fought back a ridiculous urge to warn her not to get too close to young Tennant—it would be a nuisance having to replace the best assistant he had found as yet and endure Amanda’s subsequent resentment.
If he said anything to either of the young people, he would only put the idea into their heads and substantially increase the likelihood they would engage in an affair. Better to simply trust in fate and accept whatever happened. It was not as though he planned to live as a monk during his stay in Russia, though the prospect of Russian beauties did not excite him as much as in previous years when it had been novel and unfamiliar.
He had better send a message to the Foreign Office, arrange an appointment with Lord Wellesley, the foreign secretary, and find out exactly what he was supposed to negotiate with Russia under the shadow of impending war.
The home front would have to take care of itself in the meantime.
Chapter 8
Once the decision was taken, there was not a moment of rest for the remaining four days until his departure. Briefings and consultations, packing, and more visits to the solicitor kept Lucian busy at all hours. During those few intervals that he spent at home, Amanda was gone out as likely as not. Aunt Louisa came by to take her shopping several times, and Amanda was in fittings for whole afternoons.
Since the notice of their marriage had appeared in the Morning Post, dozens of people left their cards, and heaps of invitations were delivered every day. Lucian was not sorry that his impending departure gave him reason to reject them wholesale. Amanda, for her part, could hardly attend entertainments without him so soon after their marriage. Nor did she care to face society until she was properly armed with fashionable gowns and furbelows, she informed him during one of the few conversations they had during those days.
He signed the settlement papers and, in view of the uncertain journey before him, drew up a new will as well. Dawkins, his solicitor, took careful note of his instructions. “You are only covering the possibility of one child of either sex,” he pointed out when Lucian had made his wishes clear. “What if there should be younger children? It might be advisable to make provision for them now, rather than write a new will in the event.”
That was a highly unlikely eventuality, as Lucian always was careful. He did not want children of his father’s line. But Amanda was young and perhaps impetuous; she might not be equally prudent. He allowed the will to provide for the possibility of multiple sons and daughters, mostly to avoid awkward speculations on his solicitor’s part.
“Who is to be named as your children’s guardian during their minority, my lord?”
Lucian was nonplussed for a moment; he really should have foreseen the question, since Amanda was too young and might remarry.
“My wife’s father, Mr. Mark Prendergast, together with Lady Rackington,” he decided after thinking it over. Mark had proved that he had his descendants’ welfare at heart, though it was to be hoped that he would not seek refuge in drink again if other tragedies occurred in the family. Amanda, herself, would soon be old and experienced enough to see to the duty, but she already disliked the babe she carried . . .
“Is your father-in-law also to be the trustee for your heirs’ property during their minority?” Dawkins enquired.
Lucian hesitated. Much as he liked Mark, his friend was not familiar with the cutthroat business world or might find himself overburdened with the administration of several estates. “Together with Mr. John Tennant,” he decided, though not without misgivings. It was so easy to envisage Tennant as trustee, regularly conferring with Amanda, and from there . . . but Lucian would be dead, wouldn’t he? What could it matter to him? Nothing at all. He did not believe in an afterlife from which he could watch in sour disapproval.
He would return from Russia and change the will again as and when required. He had urgent business for the Crown to worry about, so those provisions would just have to do.
On the morning of his departure he sent word to his wife requesting her to remain at home for the afternoon so he could say good-bye. They met in the library at the appointed hour. Amanda ordered tea and poured for him. Lucian did not object to the domestic ritual, the last time they would sit together for several months.
“Tennant tells me, that all is ready for your departure to Racking early tomorrow morning. It is a two-day journey, but the Acorn Lamb in Basingstoke is a safe and respectable inn.”
“So Tennant has assured me. I am not the least worried about myself, and the staff at Racking has been advised of my arrival, so let’s not talk about that. You have hardly been at home these last few days, not even for dinner. Until I received your message, Lucian, I almost thought you were already gone without taking leave of me.”
“I would never be that discourteous,” Lucian assured her. Her hair looked different—it had been cut and was arranged in a most attractive, playful fashion that invited a man to run his fingers through the strands, to ascertain if they felt as soft and silky as they looked. “We have both accomplished a great deal in a prodigiously short time, from what Tennant tells me and the evidence of my own eyes. This pale green gown you are wearing enhances your youth and loveliness in the way it clings and yet is in perfectly good taste.”
“It is pleasant to pick out the newest styles and order so many dresses at once, not to mention hats and shoes and fans,” she admitted. “Though I would have preferred a little more leisure, but I suppose I’ll have more than enough of that soon.”
“Racking is not unattractive, though I rarely stay there for long. It holds sad memories for me, though I hope never for you. I have issued written orders to ensure that your commands are followed as though coming from myself. Always remember that you are the mistress, Amanda.”
“I could hardly forget with the way everyone keeps calling me ‘my lady’.”
“No, I suppose not. Fortunately you are not the meek kind of bride who is in danger of being bullied and intimidated by her staff—it does happen sometimes, I assure you, and I cannot feel easy at sending you to my home by yourself. You have written to your cousin, Mattie?”
“Yes, thoug
h it is too early to hear from her. If she is agreeable, and it would greatly surprise me if she were not, she will travel directly from Liverpool to Hampshire. In another week or two, I should see her at Racking.”
“Very well.” He explained the provisions of his will to her.
“I see the necessity,” she said, “and I am glad you did not saddle me with some guardian or trustee other than Father. But I prefer to believe that this is merely a precaution, that you will return safely. If not, I would feel very guilty for having persuaded you to undertake the journey against your own inclinations.”
Was she having second thoughts?
“No need for that. Whatever happens, I am responsible for my own decisions. Your life is in greater danger than mine over the coming months, I do believe. Promise me you’ll avoid strenuous exercise, eat healthy fare, and consult the local midwife in good time.”
“Ah, is there a midwife near Racking? I shall do so in my own interest. I have no intention of dying in childbed. What a dismal conversation we are having!”
Lucian reflected that no woman intended it, but it still happened all too often. If Amanda died because of the child, he would avenge her and not rest until the cad responsible was dead or ruined.
“We have not returned any of the calls here in town,” Amanda was clearly intent on changing the subject. She added a lump of sugar to her cup. “What is your advice regarding the society around Racking? I have no wish to be known as a recluse, and people will inevitably talk when I arrive all alone. What am I to tell those who ask where my husband is?”
“I was called away to undertake an urgent mission on behalf of the government. No need to say anything more. If people persist, just look down your nose at them, as though you wondered at their lack of breeding and discretion.”
“Like this?” She essayed a supercilious expression that looked so incongruous on her youthful face that he chuckled. “More or less. Of course, you can and should mix with the local gentry. It is my hope that you’ll find some friends among them. As for visitors from town, use your discretion. Some like to turn up merely to nose out scandal and later dine out on it in town. As you are getting closer to your confinement, there is little reason to bother with such fribbles.”
