Amelia's Intrigue (Regency Idyll Book 1)

by Judith A. Lansdowne

  “Yes, indeed. Would not you?”

  “Of course. But I doubt he will. Mr. Talbot is not fond of me, and I doubt he will allow his brother to be my partner.”

  “Oh, phoo,” Miss Thackett interjected. “Mr. Talbot barely knows any of us. And what should he have to say about his brother’s choice of partners.”

  “I believe,” answered Miss Mapleton with a curious glint in her bright eyes, “that Mr. Talbot has everything to say about anything that concerns his brother. I believe he wields a great deal of power over Lord Rutlidge.”

  “Oh, Amelia,” sighed Miss Sonnesby with a fetching little grin, “you are being romantical and mysterious again.”

  Miss Mapleton merely shrugged and kept her peace.

  The earl, meanwhile, was wholeheartedly beguiling his aunt with every word, and wrapping the tyrant effectively around his little finger. “Geordan,” she said, her face wreathed in smiles, “I cannot think what your mama has been about to keep you locked away at Westerley all these years.”

  “Oh, b-but she has n-not done that,” the earl protested with a puzzled frown. “Mama would never think to, to l-lock m-me away. I am n-not mad or anything, Aunt Jeanie. I am just s-slow.”

  “I did not mean that she locked you in, my love,” grinned the dowager, patting his hand. “I merely wondered why she did not bring you to London sooner.”

  “I know why. B-but it is a s-silly reason.”

  “Tell me.”

  “She was afraid that p-people would I-laugh at me and, and m-make me sad. But I do not c-care if they l-laugh. Only I do n-not want to embarrass T-Tony.”

  “You never could,” the dowager proclaimed. “Your brother would not care a fig for what anyone said.”

  “I know,” agreed the earl with an emphatic shake of his auburn curls. “I have n-noticed. Tony is n-not at all civ'lized. I thought he was before I c-came here. Now I c-can see that he is n-not. But he is not near as rep-rep-rehensible as me.”

  It was Lord Mapleton who received the commission from the duke to find out what the deuce his cousin had said to send his mother into whoops of laughter. “Because we ought all to write it down, Max. You and I, at least, will one day be in need of it.”

  “As a matter of fact,” Mapleton agreed with a nod, “I was just now wondering how to turn Aunt Theckla up sweet.” With a wink at the duke and a fond glance at his f daughter who was even then in the midst of a dance with Lord Eliot, he manoeuvred his way through the sad crush of guests surrounding the dance floor. “I rather think, Aunt Theckla,” he said as he approached, “that the party will end before anyone else has had the pleasure of meeting Lord Rutlidge. May I introduce him around for you. ma'am?”

  “Max!” the earl exclaimed instantly. “I have been l-looking all over L-London for you.”

  “Yes, but you do not look in the right places, scamp,” Mapleton smiled. “I am seldom found in Soho or on the docks or at the Tower or even at Mr. Trevithick's little engine.”

  “Geordan, have you been to all those places?” the dowager asked, her eyes shining.

  “Yes, ma'am,” the earl answered enthusiastically. “And Tony has p-promised to t-take me to Astley's Ampi-th-theatre as well. Where are you f-found, Max?”

  Mapleton laughed. “I should dread to say in Aunt Theckla's presence. Come and let me introduce you to some of these people.” He took the earl's hand into his own, and led him into the crowd.

  Lady Mapleton watched as her husband escorted the earl from one group to another, freeing the hand he held only so that the earl might make his bow or shake hands, and then taking the hand back into his own keeping again. She smiled wistfully as the two of them approached. “My dear,” she said “it is so good to see you again.” She took the earl's hands and gave them a quick squeeze. “I see that Max is making you known to quite everyone.”

  “Yes,” agreed Geordan, a bit wide-eyed, “and I shan't be able t-to remember any of their n-names.”

  “Not to worry, rapscallion,” declared the duke, coming up beside them, “They will remember yours, and that is what counts.”

  “I think,” Max grinned, “that Lord Rutlidge might like to dance, Catherine. Have you seen Amelia?”

  “Why, yes, there. Mr. Eversley is just leading her from the floor. Would you like to dance, Geordie?”

  “I c-can only w-waltz,” the earl answered, looking from one to the other of them. “D-Do people w-waltz in London? My Mama s-said they d-did.”

  “And so they do,” the duke grinned. “And so they shall. Amelia,” he added, as Mr. Eversley escorted her into the midst of their small family gathering, “send Mr. Eversley on his way.”

  “I protest,” cried Eversley, laughing. “What have I done to be turned off? Haven’t missed a figure yet. Hello,” he added with a grin at the earl. “You must be Rutlidge.”

  The earl nodded and held out his hand.

  “This is Mr. Eversley,” said the duke, “who has just been kind enough to bring Miss Mapleton to waltz with you, Geordie. We thank you, Eversley. Now go find a partner. The musicians are about to change their tune.” Giving Amelia an encouraging nod, the duke strolled off with a hand on Eversley’s shoulder.

  “W-will you w-waltz with me, Miss M-Mapleton?” the earl asked, his eyes looking innocently into hers. “You d-do not need to just because T-Tracy said.”

  “Why, I should be honoured to waltz with you, my lord,” Amelia answered, making him a becoming little curtsey.

  “G-Good,” he grinned, “because I d-do not know any other young l-ladies. I c-cannot remember which n-name goes with who.”

  Lord Mapleton, his eyes glowing with mirth, bowed to them both and led Lady Mapleton out onto the dance floor. That brought a wide smile to Amelia's face, for she had never before seen them dance together. The duke requested the duchess to be his partner, and a large number of mothers present quickly found themselves the objects of attention rather than their daughters. Husbands long since lost to the cardroom emerged from it to escort amazed but excessively pleased wives, and as the strains of the waltz began, it was a slightly older, quite graceful and decorous generation that stepped to the music. In a far corner of the room Talbot leaned his shoulders against the wall and watched his brother lead Miss Mapleton into the dance.

  “By Jove, Talbot, I think Rutlidge has been holding out on you,” Bristol said. “Did he tell you he could dance?”

  “I knew he could waltz,” Talbot murmured. “Mama taught him.”

  “I begin to wish your mother had taught me,” Northampton sighed, leaning up against the wall next to Talbot. “Or that Uncle Max or Aunt Catherine had. You know, they are all of them very good at it. It’s odd, but one never thinks of one’s parents or such as, as…”

  “Persons who dance,” Talbot provided, not taking his eyes from his brother. “Why do you suppose Mist Mapleton is laughing?”

  “Possibly because Rutlidge has said something humorous,” Bristol suggested with a glance at Northampton “He holds her rather closely does he not? I should like to hold several young ladies exactly like that.”

  “Yes, and Northampton would be wild to do so with Angel.”

  “I do do so with with Angel,” replied Northampton, wishing that young lady had not been promised elsewhere for the evening.

  “Well, I wish Geord would not do so with your cousin, Robert,” mumbled Talbot. “She will think him a sad rake.”

  Miss Mapleton's thoughts, however, ran along no such lines. The earl, who stood only a few inches taller than she, gave her much more to look at than a ruby pin in his neckcloth or a broad chest and broad shoulders, or a well-designed waistcoat. His eyes watched her impishly from under curling lashes, and his lips, as charming as any she had been privileged to view so closely, tempted her constantly to return his smile. “You are a wonderful dancer, my lord,” she told him softly.

  “Yes,” he grinned, his eyes alight, “I know.”

  “You do? Who else has told you so?”

  “My M-M
ama. She is a very g-good d-dancer, and she would n-not lie to me. I am glad I c-came to London.”

  “Did you not wish to come before now?” Miss Mapleton asked.

  “Yes, b-but…” the earl's voice drifted off as his eyes caught sight of his brother. Miss Mapleton followed his glance. The earl almost missed a step, but recovered and glanced at her with an apologetic grin. “I w-was thinking about s-something else,” he murmured. “I am s-sorry.”

  “About Mr. Talbot?” Miss Mapleton asked with suspicion.

  “Yes. T-Tony is f-frowning. Am I d-doing something wr-wrong, Miss M-Mapleton? I do n-not intend to.”

  “You are doing everything exactly right,” smiled Mapleton. “Pay no attention to your brother. None at all.”

  It was Kit Mapleton who threw Tony and Amelia together three dances later for the next waltz. He did it charmingly by explaining to Amelia that though he was aware he had claimed the dance, he could not possibly perform it. He was obliged to assist his father with a sudden emergency. “But not to worry, Amy,” he assured her, “for we have found someone who will substitute for me.”

  Mr. Talbot deserved a high degree of acclaim for his self-control when he discovered whom his partner was to be. He bowed gracefully to Miss Mapleton, led her to the floor, and did not mention at all his unwillingness to perform this particular service. “If, of course, there had not been an emergency, Miss Mapleton,” he apologized as the music began, “I would not have thought to force myself upon you. But your brother would not see you without a partner on his account.”

  “I understand perfectly,” replied Miss Mapleton, positive that she did. “We need not dance, Mr. Talbot, if you would prefer not to do so. We might simply sit down and converse sociably.”

  “I do not think that a particularly good idea, Miss Mapleton. Were we to hold a serious conversation, Eliot might become extremely jealous. He dotes upon you, I understand.”

  “He does?” Miss Mapleton asked, startled. “I fear you mistake the matter, sir. Lord Eliot is a terrible flirt, but that is all. Tell me, how long have you known Kit?”

  “About an hour, Miss Mapleton.” He stared down into her eyes and a smile twitched at the corners of his lips though he allowed it to go no farther. “And your brother David for even less. Your father, however, have met at White's many times, though we are not on intimate terms. Why do you think, Miss Mapleton, that I have suddenly become of such great interest to your family?”

  “I am sure you mistake the matter, sir. I cannot believe that you are of interest to any of my family.”

  Talbot suppressed a chuckle. “Direct hit, Miss Mapleton.”

  “Yes,” she smiled innocently up at him, “I meant it to be a regular facer.”

  “And so it was. Tell me, Miss Mapleton, do you ride?”

  “Of course,” she answered.

  “I do not mean tamely in Rotten Row. Do you enjoy racing through woods and fields and marshland on the back of spirited mounts who want only to fly like the wind?”

  Amelia peered up at him suspiciously.

  “I am not trying to entrap you, Miss Mapleton,” Talbot said, the smile he had refused to grant suddenly transfiguring his face. “I am merely attempting to do Geordan a favour.”

  “Lord Rutlidge, sir?”

  “I cannot conceive what it is, but he is taken with you,”

  Amelia's face puckered into a petulant pout. “Pardon me?” she asked. “You cannot conceive…?”

  Talbot laughed and spun her around. “That did not come out well at all, did it? I did not mean to imply, Miss Mapleton, that you have no qualities to recommend you to a gentleman. I only meant that I have no idea why Geordan should ask me to discover if you might ride with him. Did you tell him you liked to ride?”

  “No,” she murmured, “we did not discuss horses at all. But I do like to ride, Mr. Talbot,” she added with a lift of her stubborn little chin. “And I am considered a very good rider.”

  “For a woman, Miss Mapleton?”

  “For a person who rides, Mr. Talbot.”

  “I see. Geordan is a lunatic on horseback. I feel I must warn you of that. And Mouse is equally as mad as he.”

  “Mouse?”

  “His favorite horse, Miss Mapleton, whom he longs to be astride, running with the wind, before the week is out. I have told him he may do so very early in the Aston-Croft Grove. He requested that I ask you to join him.”

  “And will you be joining him as well, Mr. Talbot,

  “Not on your life. But his groom, Martin, will accompany you should you wish to do so.”

  Amelia thought it odd that Mr. Talbot should not as company his brother, since he appeared never to allow the earl out of his sight. This, she thought, is my chance. Certainly his lordship will not be afraid to confide in me with Talbot gone. Unless, she thought abruptly, this groom should be Talbot's spy. “I think,” she declared, as the music came to an end and Mr. Talbot led her from the floor, “that I would enjoy riding with Lord Rutlidge very much. Rotten Row is a dead bore, you know, and one may never so much as gallop a horse there without raising people's eyebrows.”

  “When, Miss Mapleton?” Talbot asked as he delivered her into Lady Mapleton's care.

  “Sir?”

  “That is what Geord will ask the moment I say you have accepted—when?”

  “Why, why, Wednesday morning I should think.”

  “Good. He and Martin will collect you at six, say?”

  “Six o'clock? In the morning?”

  Mr. Talbot sighed quietly. “Too early, Miss Mapleton?”

  “Not at all, sir,” she responded. “Please inform Lord Rutlidge that I shall await him.”

  Mr. Talbot bowed respectfully and turned to leave. He turned back almost immediately. “Ride the most spirited horse you own, Miss Mapleton,” he said, “and wear your very oldest habit.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  LORD MAPLETON, who had always been exceedingly proud of his daughter's prowess on horseback, offered her the use of his bay hunter. “For if you are to ride at Aston-Croft with Geordan, you will need a mount with bottom, my dear, and one who is not overly polite. Rutlidge is a terror in the saddle.”

  “It hardly seems possible he could be a terror anywhere, Papa,” Amelia said, sitting down to breakfast across from him. “He seems so very sweet.”

  “Yes, well, he is. But he is mischievous as well, and once he is aboard Mouse, he is incredibly bold.”

  “All this time,” Amelia mused around a bite of broiled kidney, “I have never heard you mention his name. And now I find you know him well, and even the name of his horse. I could see last night that you and he were good friends, Papa.”

  “Do you like him, Amy?”

  “Very much. He is unlike anyone of my acquaintance.”

  “Oh, most certainly that,” grinned her father, swallowing a last bit of ale. “But you take the bay, Amy. I shall tell Gowan to have him saddled and waiting for you. And wear your oldest riding habit, my dear. The probability is that you will be most happy you did.” He smiled at her and wandered from the room in search of some notes he had meant to make available to his overseer who was to ride in from Maple Grove later that morning.

  AT Rutlidge House no one sought breakfast until well after eleven o'clock, the dowager's party having lasted until four in the morning. “I do not know what it is, Geord,” Mr. Talbot murmured, sipping carefully at a steaming cup of coffee, “but you are most definitely Aunt Theckla's favourite person.”

  “D-Do you think s-so, Tony?”

  “Yes. I think she likes you better than the duke. Why do you suppose that is?”

  “B-because I am n-not around her near as much as T-Tracy?” The earl was frowning in concentration over buttering his toast, and Talbot's weary eyes stayed focused on his every movement.

  The truth is, Tony thought, watching his brother catch his lower lip between his teeth in concentration as the melting butter almost escaped over the side of the toasted bread, the truth is, you
are most definitely my favourite person. Though how you have contrived to be a person at all mystifies me. “Geord, what did Brummell say to you last night that made you laugh so?”

  “He s-said that if the T-Talbot brothers were to become the next arbit-arbit-ors of fashion, that he had b-best go p-poke his eyes out with a stick. He is very f-funny, Tony, and he says you are b-beyond help.”

  “He shall eat those words one day, Geord. You see if he does not. By the way,” he added, a grin playing about his lips as the earl scooped a spoonful of strawberry jam from the jampot into the centre of the well-buttered toast, “Miss Mapleton would be delighted to ride with you.”

  “When?” asked the earl, his attention immediately diverted from the toast, which tilted in his hand and threatened to adorn with butter and jam the new pale yellow pantaloons his brother had procured for him. Mr. Talbot leaned quickly across the table and prevented such disaster in the nick of time.

  “Wednesday morning,” he answered, ignoring the neatly averted tragedy and settling back into his chair. “You and Martin will call for her at Brook Street at six o'clock.”

  “R-Really? You are n-not b-bamming me, are you, T-Tony?”

  “Not at all. She says she will await you. But remember she is a young lady, Geord. Do not make her ride to an inch. And you must not let Mouse have his head until you have reached Aston-Croft, no matter how deserted the streets may seem.”

  “And I must escort her b-back to B-Brook Street when we have f-finished our ride,” nodded the earl. “D-Does Martin know where B-Brook Street is?”

  “I will be sure he does, scamp. Do not worry about it. What is it makes you so eager to ride with Miss Mapleton?”

  “Well, you will n-not get up at six o'clock to g-go with me, Tony, and I thought she m-might.” The dark blue eyes looked up at him with such utter innocence that all thought of teasing the gentleman fled Talbot's mind.

  “Eat,” Tony instructed with a glance at the rapidly cooling toast, congealing butter, and runny jam.

  THE gentleman who rode into Lord Mapleton's stable yard in Brook Street Wednesday morning was a vision to wring Miss Mapleton's heart. His curls, which may once have been combed, were in utter disarray. He wore a long-sleeved white silk shirt without a collar or a neckcloth, black kidskin breeches with a patch at the knee, and scuffed thigh-high boots that had not seen a shine in the better part of a year and were run down at the heel besides. He had no hat, no coat, and his gloves were worn through at the knuckles. If she had not known he was an earl, she would have imagined him a fugitive from Newgate. But as his eyes lit up at his first sight of her and his whole face seemed to tilt in the lopsided, irresistible grin, she quickly overlooked any shortcomings in his dress. “G-Good morning, Miss M-Mapleton,” he said, and she heard the pleasure in his voice.