by May Burnett
Mattie shook her head. “Not a word. Until your letter arrived, I had no idea you were married at all. I was aware that Lord Rackington owns an estate near your family home and that your father has known him since childhood, but I was flabbergasted to learn that you were married to him. I would, of course, have sent my best wishes, had anybody thought to apprise me of the fact when it happened.” Unsurprisingly, Mattie sounded a little miffed about being kept in the dark.
“Hmm.” Amanda toyed with her wedding ring, thinking fast. How much to tell her cousin? Did she really know her as well as she had thought? It was always possible to tell more later, while an unwise confidence could never be unspoken.
“The marriage happened so quickly that I hardly had time myself to catch my breath,” she said. “I won’t go into the details now. I am with child, Mattie, and count on your support until this unfortunate period comes to its end—an event I am already fervently anticipating.”
Mattie stared at her, mouth open, for two long seconds before she caught herself and closed it again. Amanda could almost see the thoughts and suspicions racing behind her serene brow.
“Already! I suppose, with a young healthy woman like you, it is not so surprising. But, if Lord Rackington knows you are with child, why is he gone away? When is he coming back? It seems rather selfish to me to leave you all alone.” She lowered her voice. “He does know about the babe?”
“Yes, he knows, and you are unjust,” Amanda defended Lucian. “He is not selfish at all and has been most generous to me. His journey was necessary, and I, myself, urged him not to postpone it.” She would have liked to explain about his mission but remembered in time that her husband had enjoined discretion upon her.
“Come to my rooms, Mattie, where we can be more private and comfortable. I shall order tea and refreshments. You cannot know how glad I am to have company. Dining all alone is not what I can like, and though once or twice a week I dine with neighbours, it is not enough when one has always been part of a lively family.”
“I can imagine. You must miss Eve; I know how close you have always been.”
Amanda nodded; she would not speak of her beloved sister, or she might be overcome with bitterness at the memory of how her mother had rejected her. The mere recollection still drove angry tears into her eyes. She was eagerly awaiting a letter from Eve in return to the one she had sent her from London.
“I need to change,” Mattie said apologetically.
“Of course, and rest a while, you will still be fatigued from the long journey. Come to my sitting room at five for tea and a longer coze.”
As Mattie left, Amanda looked after her, lost in thought. Was she naïve to try to assemble a new family after losing her old one so suddenly? Of course it could never be the same, but she had to work with what she had at hand. Sigurd reminded her of her brothers when they were that age, though there was little physical resemblance. What had her brothers been told about her fate? For all she knew they were still in ignorance of her marriage, blithe and unaware in their boarding school. Nor would they care much or miss her during their vacations. It was normal for girls to marry and move away soon after putting up their hair.
In her own rooms, Amanda called for the maid to help her change. At home, Eve and she had helped each other.
Would she ever hear from her mother? Amanda thought of her parents and sisters every day. The events of the last weeks had fractured her trust in her mother’s love, a wound that would never completely heal. A letter telling her that she was believed, and still a member of the family, would go a long way towards allowing her to forgive. Yet it would be over-optimistic to expect it. Her mother was unbending by nature, reluctant to change her mind or admit a mistake. Even with Father’s persuasion, it might take years till Ellen Prendergast could face and accept her brother’s guilt. At least Amanda’s father had supported her, or she would have been totally undone. If Amanda ever faced such a situation with her own children, she would strive to emulate him rather than her mother.
Her own children? Would there be more than one? First she had to survive the birth of that little cuckoo. Lucian was right, the child was innocent, and perhaps, in time, she might come to forget its origins.
In later years, perhaps . . . Her husband must have been a very attractive youth when he was her age. He still was a fine figure of a man. What would children of his body look like? Darker than she and her siblings, no doubt, more like little Sigurd. That name should only be given to blonds . . .
Her thoughts were rambling aimlessly. She gave the order for tea and sat on her chaise longue, worrying once again at the rupture with her family.
By rights, her anger at her mother should be added to the fury she felt towards her treacherous uncle Roderick. If she could do anything to spite or punish him, she would do it in a heartbeat.
Until recently, Amanda had been poor and powerless. As a countess with money and servants at her disposal, could she do anything about him? Though her uncle did not deserve to live, she had no desire to cause his death. Financial ruin or public disgrace would inevitably harm her innocent aunt and cousins. Was there any way to damage a man without touching the rest of his family? She could not think of one offhand and resolved to sleep on it. Maybe inspiration would strike the next day. If not, she would consult Lucian when he came back, though it would be more satisfactory to avenge herself without his help.
“It is five already,” Mattie’s voice tore her out of her brown study. “Is all that food just for the two of us?”
“I like a proper choice. Whatever we send back will be eaten by the staff, I imagine. Here, try these seed tartlets.”
Between the two of them, they made impressive inroads upon the spread before them. Amanda drank three cups of tea, and Mattie two, though hers were stronger.
“Have you thought about names for your child?” Mattie asked.
“Not yet.”
“Has the earl expressed his wishes, if it should be a boy? Are there any traditional family names?”
“If so, he has not mentioned them.”
“It should not be hard to find out. Is there a family Bible with the names of all his forebears?”
“I am not sure that I would want a typical name from this family.” After all, her child would not be related to any of those other Lord Rackingtons. “There is no family Bible to my knowledge, though we can ask Tennant, my husband’s secretary. He left just yesterday, but will be back for the first week of next month. Ah, and of course, there is the portrait gallery. I did not have time yet to study it properly.”
“A portrait gallery? Even better than a Bible! Let’s go there tomorrow morning. It is your duty to know all there is to know about your new family, and I am curious.”
“I suppose,” Amanda muttered. Her husband had been remarkably reticent on that subject, she realised, and so had Aunt Louisa. Had he been an only child? How old had he been when he came into the title? They had talked about various subjects, but his family history had never come up. His intention to let the title die out indicated that he felt no affection or obligation towards his ancestors, as she had always assumed was the norm among distinguished families. She had a hunch that Lucian, too, would prefer that she avoid any traditional Rackington names.
Chapter 11
A week later, one morning Amanda met Mattie at the stables before breakfast and walked back to the main building with her. “How was your ride?”
“Oh, wonderful. Whatever one might say about your husband, the earl, he keeps the best stable I could wish for. Every single one of the horses I have tried over the last week moves like a dream. They are extremely well-trained.”
“I am glad to hear it.” Amanda kicked at a straw on the ground. It rankled that she was precluded from those early morning rides Mattie loved, so as not to endanger that unwanted passenger in her body; but a promise was a promise. She had considered a sedate, slow ride, but that would be more frustrating than not riding at all.
Amand
a had already picked out her future mount, a half-Arabian mare called Muffin, and visited her daily with bribes of apples and carrots. On her orders, the grooms were training Muffin to the side saddle, but it would be months yet till Amanda could experience her gallop.
“I already checked on Sigurd this morning,” Mattie went on, oblivious to Amanda’s envy. “He slept like an angel, Nurse assures me, and ate his breakfast very neatly. It is amazing how well he minds her, better than me.”
“That is normal. You are his mama, and he presumes on your natural affection while Nurse is all authority. Mine was like that, too.” Was it natural to feel affection towards one’s children in every case? Well, she would soon see for herself.
“I want to take Sigurd out into the gardens later in the day.”
Was that Mattie’s oblique way of asking permission? It was not as though she were Amanda’s slave. “By all means. Children need fresh air and sunshine.”
“I have found out who that doll belonged to,” Mattie said as they entered by the French door that gave onto the western terrace. “The one you ordered put away.”
“Oh?” Amanda had forgotten all about the toy.
“Yes, it seems she belonged to Lady Amaryllis, the earl’s older sister.”
“I was not aware of her existence.” Amanda frowned. “She would be my sister-in-law.”
“Except that she died long ago, before you were even born, when she was just sixteen. She drowned here on the estate in that little pond where the horses are bathed.”
Amanda stared at Mattie. “Are you sure of your facts?”
“Yes, I had it from the cook; she has worked here for over three decades. Amaryllis must be the young girl on that picture we could not identify in the gallery, the pretty one with the shepherdess costume and powdered hair.”
“I suppose that would be the right period,” Amanda agreed, putting the picture and name together in her mind. “How strange that Lucian never mentioned a sister to me.”
“Not all that strange; it was long ago and must be a sad memory. He was only fourteen when she died. And having seen that shallow pond, it does not strike me as likely that anyone would die there accidentally.”
“You mean she might have killed herself?” Amanda shook her head. “A pretty young earl’s daughter? Why on earth would she do that?”
“I don’t suppose anyone will ever know. It was twenty-four years ago, after all.”
“And, yet, her doll still sits in the nursery, almost like new,” Amanda murmured. “Tell Nurse to put it in the attic. I have a feeling it may bring bad luck.”
“Now that is arrant nonsense, mere superstition.”
“Probably, but humour me.”
Mattie nodded as she poured more tea. Amanda was surprised at her own vehemence. Was she worried only about Sigurd, or had she begun to care about the welfare of her own child? If she was to risk her life by giving birth in a few months’ time, it only made sense to want the resulting infant to live; otherwise, her effort would be wasted. Her daughter, if she had one—as she secretly preferred—should not drown in any minuscule ponds. It was the kind of thing girls in desperate circumstances did—if Amanda’s father had agreed with her mother and thrown her out, she, herself, might have ended like that, though she rather thought not. Suicide seemed so weak, so cowardly. Yet who knew how far anyone could be driven by desperation? She shivered.
Lucian had mentioned during their first meeting that, to his regret, he had been unable to save a girl in similar circumstances as hers. Her mind had immediately conjured some innocent he had debauched, but could he possibly have meant his sister? Hardly. Whatever tragedy had befallen Lady Amaryllis, nobody would expect a fourteen-year-old to save her. Lucian had probably been away at school when it happened.
Still, it was an intriguing story. If she ever achieved easy familiarity with Lucian, she might ask him for the particulars, unless the subject was still too painful.
“Have you considered redecorating your suite or the whole house?” Mattie asked. “I understood that was the normal pastime of bored young society wives.”
“I don’t think of myself as a society wife,” Amada objected. “Though we are to dine with the vicar tonight and play whist afterwards. Take care; Mrs. Dellham is very keen and will take your last penny. Fortunately, the stakes at their entertainments are very moderate.”
“Dining with the vicar is not unlike the society your parents keep in Northumberland,” Mattie said. “What of other noble families in the area?”
“The closest of those would be Viscount Mebberling, and the family is not in residence at present.” From the gossip she had gleaned, Amanda was not looking forward to making those particular neighbours’ acquaintance. Lady Mebberling was said to be as sour as a prune steeped in lemon juice, even on a good day, and her husband rarely deigned to speak to anyone below his own rank.
“Your private sitting room could do with new curtains at a minimum,” Mattie insisted. “If you find this sort of thing tedious, I would not mind undertaking it, always minding your taste and preferences. I feel guilty that I do nothing useful for my salary.”
“Just keeping me company is quite enough,” Amanda assured her. “When I cannot go out much during the last few months, it will be even more important to have someone sympathetic to talk to. How did you manage when you were expecting Sigurd?”
“It was hard,” Mattie admitted. “Luke was in Spain, and the worry over him made everything worse. At least he saw Sigurd during his last leave. I had to rely on the assistance of Luke’s mother, old Mrs. Smithson, more than I could like. She is a good woman in her way but narrow-minded and very religious. She brought me the bible to read, which did not distract me from the discomfort as a good novel might have done.”
Amanda stirred her tea. “Was there a great deal of discomfort?”
“The last few weeks were difficult. I had to use the chamber pot all the time, and yet, just getting up was difficult. I prayed for the child to be born, so I could go back to a more normal body. My feet were swollen. Afterwards, the skin on my belly retained permanent marks. My waist never reverted to what it was in my girlhood, though a good corset helps.”
“I see.” Amanda felt an impulse to break something, but the delicate bone china service was too pretty to be sacrificed to a childish whim.
The butler’s entrance saved her from temptation; he presented a letter on a silver salver.
“Thank you, Rinner,” she dismissed him and sliced the folded paper open with a clean knife. Mattie looked on curiously.
“From Eve,” she said with a broad smile, recognizing the familiar handwriting.
Quickly her eyes moved down the lines. It was private; she would tell Mattie later what she desired her to know.
My dear Amanda,
Words cannot express my relief at knowing you are safe, and married!
After those painful scenes at our home, that I hope we shall eventually be able to put behind us, you may still feel angry. I would in your place.
You know that I never wanted to abandon you. Our days with Aunt Mary were horrid. Mother would not even mention your name or permit any discussion of the matter. She told our aunt that you were ill, to explain why you were not with us. Ursula was told even less of the full particulars than I, but she understood that something was very wrong and was upset for several days, asking how you were and what had happened. I have no idea what Aunt Mary made of our sudden, unannounced visit and strange behaviour.
The astounding news that you were married and a countess arrived before I quite despaired of your fate. Strangely, Mother did not seem altogether pleased by this intelligence. Aunt Mary’s hearty congratulations on such a brilliant match only exacerbated her irritation. We stayed with our aunt two extra days afterwards.
I am disappointed, I admit—I always expected to be your bridesmaid, and here you married in my absence. But I understand the reasons and beg you to write back that you are well and happy. Until I see this
assurance from you, in your own hand, I cannot be completely easy. And even if you should be the happiest of mortals, which would be surprising under the circumstances, I miss you all the time.
I shall give this letter to Father to send and suggest that you enclose your answer in a letter addressed to him, as I am not sure Mother would give it to me otherwise. If (or when) she relents, I shall not fail to inform you.
Please take care of my favourite sister for me.
Your worried and affectionate,
Eve
Amanda was silent for so long that Mattie said, “I hope it is not bad news?”
“No, not at all. Eve is well and merely anxious to hear from me. She is worried and misses me even as I miss her.”
“I can imagine. Why don’t you invite her for a visit?”
“Mother is not happy at my match. I doubt she would allow Eve to visit me here.”
“Understandable,” Mattie said, to Amanda’s irritation. “The earl’s reputation is hardly pristine, and Eve is an innocent young girl.”
“Lucian would never hurt my sister.” Amanda glared at Mattie. “Must I remind you that he is my husband? I will not hear him spoken of with disrespect.” Considering all the vicious gossip she had heard about him since her early childhood—‘Lord Rake’ indeed!—besides what Lucian and his aunt had told her, it felt strange to defend him like that. But he would never behave like her uncle had done. He was not the kind to prey on innocents, not the servants, and not her sister if she was ever allowed to visit.
“Oh,” Mattie said, “I beg your pardon, Amanda. I shall try not to speak ill of him; after all, I only have hearsay to go on. And who knows but that marriage to you will reform him, and he’ll be hailed as a model husband soon?”
