A Priceless Gift: A Regency Romance

by May Burnett

  “I was very lucky,” Amanda said. And so she was, thanks to Lucian; the previous year could so easily have been the end of her.

  Inwardly, she was trying to remember the ingredients for that salve against freckles. The cook could make it up for her; she only had to give the order. But no, that one called for a macerated bat’s wing. Though Amanda was not fond of the ghostly little creatures, she would not be responsible for such barbarity.

  “We have some news for you,” Mattie began, a trifle nervously, recalling Amanda’s attention to the present and her company.

  The pronoun already told the tale, but she pretended ignorance. “Good news, I hope?”

  “The very best,” Tennant said. “Mattie has done me the very great honour to accept my proposal. We plan to be married in May.”

  “Oh, excellent, congratulations!” Amanda did her best to feign surprise. “I am sure you’ll be very happy together.”

  “We already are.” Mattie sent Tennant a smile that told Amanda she had also embarked on the affair she had been planning and was more than satisfied with his attentions. Now that Amanda was a well-pleasured, experienced married woman, she recognized the symptoms.

  “Good for you,” she said heartily. “This is a season for bliss, after all.”

  Mattie grinned and nodded, but poor Tennant blushed and nearly swallowed his tea the wrong way.

  “Don’t mind us,” Amanda told him kindly. “Be glad if you can find mutual pleasure. I understand that not all couples can.”

  “I thought you strongly disapproved of discussing such subjects at the table, Amanda,” Mattie reminded her.

  “Under my husband’s influence, I find myself becoming more broad-minded and tolerant by the day. Seriously, now, I am very happy for both of you. Have you told Sigurd yet?”

  “Yes,” Mattie said, “early this morning. He is overjoyed that he’ll soon have a papa of his own, since of course he does not remember poor Luke at all.”

  “We shall look for a suitable residence in London, not too far from your house,” Tennant explained. “For the time being I shall continue in my position, but I have been hankering after a political career, and the earl has promised to support me. Are you aware that he has two seats in the lower House in his gift, Lady Rackington? One of the incumbents will retire soon, and I am to have his place.”

  “So you’ll be a member of parliament? You are doing very well for yourself, Mattie.”

  “So I think,” Mattie said with a warm smile at her fiancé.

  “Indeed, it was your husband’s generosity that emboldened me to ask for Mattie’s hand,” Tennant declared. “He guessed I was worried about supporting her in proper style and proposed this solution of his own accord. I had been hoping, but would not have ventured to put myself forth as a candidate.”

  “As a politician, you’ll have to overcome such reticence and bashfulness,” Amanda said. “Tell yourself you are doing it for Mattie and your children when you need to put yourself forward in future.”

  “I could leap mountains with such a motive, indeed, or take on giants.” Tennant’s expression was so devout that Amanda had trouble remaining serious. His next words chased away her inward hilarity. “A man in love will dare anything for his beloved.”

  So there were men who did not hesitate to openly declare their feelings, their love. For a moment, Amanda felt absurdly envious.

  But what she and Lucian had would have to do. If he could remain true to her, after sleeping his way across the Continent, perhaps he was already closer to love than friendship? Might he one day realise it, say it out loud? No, Lucian was far too worldly and saturnine to permit himself such vulnerability.

  If one of them were to confess to love, it would have to be her. But Amanda was not so stupid as to plunge into feelings that could destroy her when this halcyon period came to its inevitable end. She would keep the innermost part of her heart safe, for her own and her children’s sake. Love was dangerous. She was better off without it.

  “You have gone silent,” Mattie charged. “Still wrestling with surprise?”

  “No, Mattie, I am merely wondering what I’m to give you as a wedding present.”

  “I’m not particular. When I have the love of a good man, all the rest becomes insignificant.”

  Amanda nodded, forcing her features into a smile. For some reason, her throat felt too tight to speak.

  Once she had recovered her voice, she said lightly, “I hope you will still be able to help with my activities in town, Mattie, perhaps a few hours now and then, even when you are married and have your own household?”

  “If you mean for the ball you are planning, just try to keep me away! Besides, it will take place before our wedding anyway,” Mattie declared. “I am eagerly looking forward to my part in organizing such a grand affair, and I want to dance there with John.”

  “I may also need you to be committee secretary for whatever charity project I select,” Amanda said. “Rescuing abandoned children, perhaps.”

  “That is far trickier and harder than you probably imagine,” Tennant warned. “Worthwhile, no doubt, and I’m sure that the earl will put a budget at your disposal so you won’t have to touch your pin money. Such benevolent activities can only improve his reputation and yours. But don’t attempt it without studying what others have done, and how; otherwise, you will discover all the same pitfalls on your own.”

  “Improving the family’s reputation is not why I’m anxious to do some good,” Amanda said. She doubted that her charities would make much of a dent in Lucian’s reputation as a Don Juan anyway. One had nothing to do with the other.

  Mattie inclined her head sceptically. “Of course I am willing to support your charitable ventures, but I’m not at all sure you should get personally involved in such a scheme. You must be very careful not to bring some contagious disease back to your own infants. At the very least, you ought to leave the selection of indigent children to others.”

  Amanda had not considered that aspect. She wanted to protest, but the merest hint of danger to her frail babes gave her pause. “I’ll think on it,” she said reluctantly. “Certainly the welfare of my own children must outweigh any other consideration. And you have little Sigurd to think of.” Surely not all abandoned children were sick with contagious diseases? She could still meet them once they had been taken in and were pronounced healthy.

  “Have you heard from your family?” Mattie asked. Amanda had confided in her that she had invited Eve to attend her ball in London and stay for a few months during the Season.

  “No,” she admitted. “But remember, we haven’t even set the date for our ball, and it will be a long journey for Eve from Northumberland, if she is allowed to come. Father will probably be in favour, but my mother has taken an unaccountable dislike to Lucian. She was not even at our wedding.” That was the story she had told Mattie to gloss over the true reasons for their estrangement.

  “I am surprised, considering what a brilliant match it is. Most mothers would swallow their qualms and put their best face on it, especially once the wedding was a fait accompli,” Mattie commented.

  “She does not easily budge from a strongly held position,” Amanda said with a little sigh. “But I have by no means given up on my plan. If Eve is not allowed to attend my first ball, she may still come and visit later, perhaps over the next summer.” As much as she had come to like Mattie and rely on her cheerful practicality, she missed her favourite sister. Letters were simply not the same.

  As they discussed the plans for Mattie’s wedding, the butler presented a letter to Amanda on a silver tray. She did not recognise the handwriting.

  “This may be the news you were hoping for, that Eve will come to visit,” Mattie said optimistically. “Do read it at once; don’t mind us.”

  Amanda slit the folded page open with a small fruit knife while the happy couple was looking at each other, wreathed in smiles. Her own expression congealed when she saw the signature. The letter was from
her aunt Regina, the wife of her evil uncle Roderick.

  Dear Niece,

  It is perhaps not surprising that we have not had word of you in recent months, considering the high station to which your marriage has elevated you. Allow me to offer belated felicitations on your marriage and the birth of your children.

  Amanda’s hand clenched on the letter, creasing the paper. Her aunt had no idea how those children came into the world, she reminded herself. As far as she could know, Amanda was merely her husband’s niece, who had married fortuitously well.

  I have read in the society pages of my newspaper that you will be spending the forthcoming Season in London and, after your presentation at court, are expected to take your place among London’s fashionable hostesses.

  It was news to Amanda that gossip columns would mention her, but given her husband’s position and wealth, and the suddenness of their match, perhaps it was not surprising.

  We shall also be in town from the end of February, so that your cousin Doris might meet with other young people and acquire some town bronze. Your mother and your sister Eve will be joining us in the house we are taking for the Season. I would appreciate if you could include both girls in any entertainments you might be giving or attending among your new acquaintances. I shall send you the direction where we shall be staying as soon as I know it myself. Your uncle is even now in town looking at houses and will hire the most suitable to be had.

  Her uncle. And Eve. In the same house. Amanda was seized with such anger that she trembled, and had to bite down hard so that nothing indiscreet spilled out of her mouth. That was a catastrophe in the making. What was her mule-headed, idiotic mother thinking? To expose her second and far prettier child to that middle-aged predator, knowing how close he had come to ruining Amanda’s life?

  “You don’t look pleased,” Mattie said. “Not ill news, I hope?”

  Amanda pulled herself together with an effort. “No, not at all. The letter is from my aunt by marriage, Lady Budleigh, with whom I spent some weeks last year. She tells me that they will be in London for the Season with my cousin Doris and that my mother and Eve will be staying with them. She asks to be included in any fashionable entertainments I might give or take them to others as my guests, I suppose.”

  “Perfectly natural,” Tennant observed. “Any ambitious mother related to a countess, no matter how remotely, would be foolish not to call upon her help on the marriage mart. The two girls will enjoy your ball. Are they pretty?”

  “Eve is the beauty of our family, and my cousin Doris is by no means ugly or stupid. Their portions are modest, but with fine clothes, they should not lack for partners.”

  Inwardly Amanda was still reeling. Had her father given his consent to this foolhardy scheme? Could she prevent it somehow? What should she do?

  Perhaps it was time to hunt for spiders in the attic.

  Chapter 26

  They had been back in town for a month, and so far, to Lucian’s relief, all had gone well. The twins had survived the journey, wrapped warmly in furs as for some arctic expedition, at their respective wet nurses’ bosoms. The only one who had caught a temporary sniffle was young Sigurd. Lucian rather liked the earnest little boy who had to share the nursery with no less than four mewling babes, Amanda’s twins and the boy and girl of the two wet nurses. The head nurse reigned over them all with a rod of iron. Even Lucian would hesitate to overrule her on matters pertaining to the children’s welfare, though to his amusement, Amanda did so blithely and got away with it. She had a strong will, his young wife, and he was glad of it.

  She would be presented to the queen as soon as the next drawing room was organised. As a countess, Amanda would take precedence over mere misses or even daughters of peers. Due to the king’s madness and the installation of his son’s regency, royal drawing rooms had been interrupted for several months, and the waiting list was long. To his amusement Amanda was not looking forward to the event, whenever it would be scheduled, and grumbled at the expense of the old-fashioned presentation dress. “I have lived all my life without royalty,” she declared. “What have they ever done for me?”

  “A very natural sentiment,” Lucian had replied, “but the Crown insists on the presentation of peeresses. You may as well get it over with. It’s just a few hours of your life.” That was not quite accurate, as the fittings alone were lengthy and tedious, and practicing the proper curtsy with a long train was also time-consuming.

  In London, they saw far less of each other than at Racking. Their separation during much of the day made their nights together all the sweeter for Lucian. Amanda hardly ever slept in her own room, though sometimes he joined her there when he came home very late and she was already asleep.

  That particular day he had been in conference with his bankers, and in the House of Lords for an irritating but important discussion. Lucian was a Tory, not because he necessarily shared their hidebound opinions, but because it had seemed more natural for a rich earl to join the party which openly espoused privilege and inequality. Whigs prettied up their equally self-seeking agenda with hypocritical cant and gestures, but morally, there was not an iota of difference between the two parties. Before Amanda, it would not even have occurred to Lucian to consider politics under a moral perspective.

  After being cooped up so long on the benches of the House, he decided to walk home and stretch his legs. It was cold outside, but the pavement was dry, and the overcast sky did not threaten immediate rain.

  Another Tory, Lord Licomber, fell into step with Lucian. “That was a damn fine speech you gave on the budget for the army,” he said. “I could not make head or tail of all those figures myself, but you seem to have them all in your head.”

  “It is a knack,” Lucian said modestly. He had always been good at mathematics, and for a man with his varied business experience, it was easy to see where estimates might be padded. Unlike most other aristocrats he did not despise or avoid commerce, and anyone who criticised him for engaging in trade would only earn a blistering set-down. Come to think of it, he had not dealt many of those since his marriage to Amanda. He was getting mellow.

  “Lady Rackington’s ball next month is the talk of town,” Licomber said. “My wife is urging me to allow her to do something similar, but of course, our house is not as big. How many is your wife inviting?”

  “I must ask her,” Lucian said vaguely. “She is not using our own house.” So Licomber, or rather his wife, was angling for an invitation. Well, he was a political ally, if not the brightest bulb among the peerage. “You must come to our ball,” he said, adding mischievously, “and we’ll come to yours when your wife gives it.”

  “Ah, very kind of you. We are bringing out my eldest daughter Sally this year . . .”

  “Say no more. She will be most welcome. My wife’s younger sister and her cousin are also making their bow to society. There will be many other young ladies and gentlemen.”

  “Ah, good, good . . . In the meantime, fancy a small detour to Madame Dorrisey’s? I hear they have a new pair of red-haired twins that put monkeys to shame with their agility.”

  Lucian was not tempted by the notorious brothel catering to the upper class. The revulsion he felt surprised him, however, given how normal such diversions had been for most of his life. “Not tonight,” he said mildly. To give the impression that he was reformed would do him no favours.

  “Ah, still enamoured of your young wife?” The boor leered, making Lucian regret the invitation he had promised. But he was no worse than most of his ilk.

  Taking his leave of Lord Licomber, he walked on, faster than before. In previous times, he’d have spent some time at his club, having a drink or a whole meal, chatting with his many acquaintances. He had friends, too, though of the kind he did not see often, and they were not in the habit of writing to each other. Max, his closest friend since Eton, was not yet in town, but with the war heating up and the regency so new, he should be arriving any day. He must introduce Max to Amanda. At least the
re was no danger that Max would fall in love with her.

  This fear was really absurd for a man of his age and experience. Love was just a temporary madness, a mirage; it came and went. Even if Amanda fell in love with a young man for a time, she’d still be his wife, continue to share his life. Or would she? Right after their modest wedding, he had made her that foolish promise that it was her choice, that they could live separately if she preferred.

  He was an imbecile. What had he been thinking?

  Amanda had appeared preoccupied since they came to town, and when he’d asked what the matter was, she told him she was worried about her young sister. And hurt, he surmised, that her mother still did not believe her; for otherwise, surely she would not expose yet another innocent, pretty girl to Sir Roderick. But was that all? It was a nuisance that politics and business were taking up so much of his time. Amanda might meet and be courted by a regiment of rakes while he spent those dreary hours in Westminster.

  Nor did she seem to miss him. Not once had she asked him to put aside his obligations and accompany her instead. Not that he wanted some foolish, helpless flibbertigibbet who clung to him all the time—but Amanda did not seem to need him at all in the daytime.

  Maybe she was only worried for her sister. Mark had written to Lucian that he was sending their governess along, with strict orders not to leave the girl alone with Sir Roderick, or anyone, for a moment. Reading between the lines, Lucian had guessed that there had been a tremendous argument in the Prendergast household, with Ellen insisting that their daughter should be allowed to take advantage of a London Season for relatively little cost and refusing to share Mark’s distrust of her brother. It was still astonishing that Mark allowed them to leave at all, when he was himself unable to travel due to a complicated lawsuit.

  For his part, Lucian was not sorry that Sir Roderick was coming to London for the Season. The man deserved the worst kind of punishment, financial and social ruin. Lucian’s solicitor was already investigating potential points of attack. If none were found, deep gaming might offer an avenue; he doubted very much that Sir Roderick was his equal at whist, or even Amanda’s, and it was easy enough to goad men into risking more than they could afford. Failing that, there might be some scandal to be exposed—he’d have the fellow shadowed to see what he was up to—or, if necessary, invented. One way or another, it would be the last season Sir Roderick would ever spend in London; Lucian would send him back to his Sussex estate to lick his wounds in penury and shame.