by Jo Beverley
“Of course. Miss Frogmorton is already there with a cool cloth on her head. The maze does not usually have such a dramatic effect.”
“Are the others still inside?” he asked.
“I think so.”
“Then I had best go and find Sophie. I’m sure the rest will manage with ease.”
“Do you imply Sophie will be having the vapors?” queried Lady Templemore skeptically.
“Of course not,” he said with a smile. “I just miss her.”
With that he disappeared back into the maze, and Amy followed her hostess toward the house.
“You look a little pale, dear. I do hope it wasn’t the maze. It can upset some people. I confess at first I found it strange, but now I like it. It’s like entering a separate world.”
“Yes, it is,” said Amy, adding to herself, An extremely dangerous one.
Amy took tea with Lucy and Lady Templemore, and the others gradually drifted in to join them. Everyone else seemed to have had a merry time, and Clyta and the duke had clearly had some satisfactory encounter there. They both looked dazed but happy. Clyta had found the ladies’ prize—a silver fob—and given it to Rowanford without hesitation.
Harry came in last. He had already resumed proper dress and looked sober. He had found the gentlemen’s prize, perhaps because none of the others had bothered to look. He considered the ladies thoughtfully, then presented it to his hostess.
She unwrapped the small package to reveal a gold frog brooch with green eyes, which were presumably emeralds. It was a valuable piece but very ugly.
Lady Templemore laughed at her husband. “What a wonderful way of trying to get rid of it, Ver, but you see, it simply won’t go away.”
“We’ll try again,” he said with a grin. He explained, “It was given Emily by an eccentric Italian acquaintance of mine, and she’s afraid she’ll give birth to frogs if she wears it.”
The lady protested and there was considerable banter. Lucy looked as if she’d like to faint, and Amy was shocked at the casual way Lord Templemore referred to his wife’s condition. No one else appeared to be.
Sophie said, “I think you should give the frog to Lucy.”
Everyone looked at her for an explanation. “It would suit her—because of her name, of course,” she added blithely. “And she’d be doing the world a favor. Bad enough having little Verderans without them having green skin and bulging eyes.”
Lucy took the piece in a daze, clearly at a loss, and then they all prepared to depart.
Lord Templemore offered Amy another mount but she refused. The fewer high spirits there were today the better.
The ride home was uneventful. Everyone was content with a leisurely pace, satiated almost with excitement. The duke rode happily with Clyta, but the other couples were arranged for tact. Amy was partnered with Chart, who kept conversation light and impersonal, Sophie rode with Harry, and Lord Randal was using his considerable charm to soothe Lucy Frogmorton before she was returned to her mama.
Amy saw Harry look back at her with intensity once or twice, but he made no move to speak to her.
When they arrived back in New Street, however, it was he who came to assist Amy from her horse.
He kept his hands on her waist a moment longer than necessary. “I meant what I said.”
“So did I. Please don’t make things more difficult for me.”
“So you admit they are difficult.”
Amy pulled herself out of his hands and summoned a smile for the whole company as she thanked them. Then there was only the matter of giving a light account of her day to Nell and her aunt before she could find refuge in her room.
It seemed as if she had come out of a dream. It couldn’t have been real—the barefoot romping, the passion, the kiss. But one thing remained. She did not want an old man in her bed.
Amy claimed to have developed a headache from too much sun and kept to her room the next day. Both Lord and Lady Randal, and Harry Crisp came to call on her separately and were sent away.
Amy tussled with what was right.
She was quite certain that she must not marry Harry. The pleasure to be found in that was too great when there would be so little for her family. But would it be a better thing for them all to suffer the straitened circumstances which they deserved—by inheritance if not from personal responsibility—or for her to marry Sir Cedric?
Amy was still willing to marry Sir Cedric and do her best to make him a good wife, but she knew now what she would be missing and how little she had to offer. Such an old man would not want passion, of course, but he would expect some warmth. Did she have that for him?
And, of course, Amy would have to give him what devotion she could under the eyes of his chilly son and saddened daughter-in-law, even as she grabbed as much of his money as she could get her hands on so it would all be worthwhile.
Amy’s headache became a grim reality.
14
SHE KEPT TO HER ROOM THE NEXT DAY, too. Nell and Lizzie both fussed over her and discussed whether to send for the doctor. Amy assured them that was not necessary.
“Sir Cedric is expected back today,” said Nell. “Will you not want to see him?”
“No,” said Amy, a little more forcefully than she intended. “I mean…I really wouldn’t be good company today. Apologize for me, please.”
Lizzie came up with a tea tray in the afternoon and coaxed Amy into taking a little. “Been overdoing it, I suppose. But you must get your looks back before Sir Cedric cools down, dear. Most anxious to see you, he was. He seemed to want someone to go for a drive with him, so Nell went.”
Get her looks back. Amy sat up and studied her reflection in the mirror. Good heavens, her beauty was fading. It was the pallor and the dark smudges beneath her eyes which were doing it. Perhaps she wouldn’t have any choice as to whether to remain a spinster or not.
“And no sign of that duke,” said Lizzie, “so it will have to be the banker, I suppose.”
“If the worse comes to the worse,” said Amy, “it won’t be so bad to carry on as we were. In just a few years we’ll be able to live in modest comfort.”
“What!” exclaimed Lizzie. “Back at Stonycourt, living on potatoes, mutton, and chamomile tea. You must be mad!”
Amy retreated. “It’s just that he hasn’t offered for me, Aunt Lizzie, and there doesn’t seem to be anyone else.”
“How can he offer for you if you mope up here? Drink your tea and get well.” When she left with the tray she said, “Oh, that Mr. Crisp was here again. Some people won’t be put off, will they? He left something for you. I’ll have the footman bring it up.”
Amy found her energy had returned with a jolt and sat up in bed. The footman, escorted by Aunt Lizzie, carried in a medium-sized box and placed it on the bed. When he had gone Amy opened it with some anxiety. He had said he intended to woo her. What on earth would it be?
The crate contained an item swathed in cloth and surrounded by padding. When the bundled object was unwrapped it proved to be Lady Jane.
“Pretty,” said Lizzie as Amy lifted it out gently. “Though what he thinks he’s about sending you gifts I don’t know. I would have thought you’d shown him what you thought of him clearly enough.”
Amy ignored this and turned the key. The music started, the sweet tinkling tune carrying her straight back to Coppice Farm. Lady Jane turned her head gracefully, then began to lift her leg. There was a ping and the leg fell limp again, though the music played on.
“Why, it doesn’t even work!” exclaimed Lizzie. “I’ll have Simon come and get it. Mr. Crisp can have his gift straight back.”
“No,” said Amy. “It’s pretty and the music box works.”
With a sniff, Lizzie left.
When she was alone Amy picked up the note that had been in the box and opened it. She had never seen his handwriting before. It was dark and a little wild.
Darling Amy,
I hope you will take Lady Jane. She means a lot to both of us,
as a memory of that time in my kitchen with your clothes abandoned in the corner and us sharing such delights. Of course, I hope we will one day be reunited, you, me, and Lady Jane.
I cannot doubt that, when I think of our passion yesterday. I remember you throwing off your stockings, so eager were you. My skin still bears the marks of your nails, my mind the memory of your desire.
You are the only one I desire. I long to see you nestled in my blanket once again.
Harry
After a shocked moment, Amy collapsed in laughter. The cunning rogue. Not an untrue word in it and if anyone saw it she’d be at the altar with him in the twinkling of an eye.
There was more on the back.
Lady Jane is, I’m afraid, irreparable. I still think her worthy of care. Not everything can be put back together as it was.
Your loving Harry
That was a direct reference to her purpose, but he was wrong. Many things could be put right, and as he had proved with the automaton, it was often worth the effort.
Amy looked at the note. She should destroy it, but the temptation was very strong to leave it around and let fate take its course. Aunt Lizzie was certainly not above reading someone else’s correspondence. In the end she slipped it between the pages of her book. It was Adam Smith’s The Wealth of Nations, and she didn’t think Lizzie would pick that up.
What on earth would he try next? She couldn’t let him get away with this. She had to make her own decisions and stick to them.
Amy got out of bed and went to the window. Was she going to marry Sir Cedric or not?
Presumably he was mainly interested in her beauty, since they had so little else in common. She could offer him that, as long as she didn’t allow misery to fade it. It would be an honest bargain—youth and beauty for money.
That sounded despicable.
Amy straightened her shoulders. It was the way of the world. The family had spent so much money to send her to London that it would be wicked to turn her back on triumph when it was to hand. Moreover, she ruthlessly acknowledged that she had no real expectation of going back home to live in poverty. If she didn’t marry Sir Cedric, she would doubtless be won over by Harry one of these days. She would end up with everything she had ever wanted, while her family had nothing.
Amy resolutely spent an hour walking in the garden to bring some color to her cheeks, but she made sure she was to be denied to all callers. She could not bear to see Harry. She went down to dinner that night.
Nell seemed to be in a fidgety mood, and chattered of this and that. She did not mention her drive with Sir Cedric, so nothing of significance could have been said. Anyway, Amy supposed he would approach Aunt Lizzie for permission to pay his addresses, not Nell.
“Tell me, Amy,” said Nell, who had only picked at her roast chicken, “what of the duke? He seemed a very charming young man.”
“He’s pleasant as dukes go,” said Amy. “I hope I’ve tied him up with Clyta Ashby. She’s madly in love with him.”
“Oh,” said Nell. “I thought you would make a lovely duchess.”
“Indeed she would,” said Lizzie. “It would have been a triumph to warm her mother’s heart. But no, she has to push him off on her friend and settle for a mere knight.” She helped herself to more peas.
“Oh dear,” said Nell faintly, then she jumped to her feet. “Look at the time. I am expected at Fanny Bamford’s. I did promise to go early and help with her soirée. She always worries so. Do please excuse me.”
“I must say,” said Lizzie staring at the door, “Nell is behaving most strangely. She used to be a very sensible woman.”
Amy smiled. “I think she’s in love, Aunt.”
“In love? Nonsense. Not at her age. Are you finished? Ring for the sweet. It’s apricot soufflé.”
Amy did as she was requested, reflecting that she would once have thought Nell too old for love, but no longer. The hunger that was love had nothing to do with age.
By the next day Amy had regained some of her detachment and all of her resolve. If Sir Cedric truly wished to marry her, she would agree. She would be honest, though. She would tell him that she could offer nothing but friendship and genuine regard. After some consideration she decided she wouldn’t tell him she loved another; he would doubtless be as romantical as all the rest and insist that she sacrifice all for love.
She would also explain the financial commitment she required from him. If after all this he still wanted her, she would accept.
Amy sat in her room, awaiting the news that he had called, aware of a secret hope that all her cavils and demands would be too much for him.
The ormolu clock ticked away the afternoon. What if he didn’t come? If he truly wanted to see her, he would come.
Amy thought she heard something and went to her window. His carriage!
She rushed to the mirror and checked her appearance. She was improved. Not in full bloom, but well enough, surely, and the blue sprig muslin she was wearing was her most becoming. She generally maided herself, but today she had requested Nell’s maid to weave some ribbons through her curls, and the effect was pleasing.
Amy went to the door and hovered, waiting for the summons, hands clasped anxiously.
The clock ticked on. What was happening?
Of course, he would have asked to speak to Aunt Lizzie first. But Aunt Lizzie had gone to the British Museum with a friend, Mrs. Fellows. Perhaps he was speaking to Nell instead.
Amy paced the room, glancing at the monotonous clock. It must have been quite twenty minutes.
She stopped dead. What if the foolish maid had forgotten that she was home to Sir Cedric? Amy hadn’t seen Nell to tell her she was receiving guests. Sir Cedric could this very minute be leaving.
Amy couldn’t bear another day of this waiting. She ran out into the corridor and down the stairs. She slowed in relief when she saw the empty hall. At least he wasn’t leaving yet.
The drawing room was open; the room was empty. They must be in the morning room.
Amy hesitated. She didn’t want to barge in like an overeager hussy, but it wouldn’t take this long for Nell to give him permission to make his offer. They must think she was still unwell.
Amy walked up to the door. She raised her hand to knock, but that was silly. This was a public room. She turned the handle, walked in, and stopped dead.
The couple didn’t notice her for a moment, which wasn’t surprising since Nell was on Sir Cedric’s lap and they were kissing with passionate abandon. Perhaps Amy made a sound, for they broke apart and stared at her with horror.
In a flash Nell was up and rearranging her gown. Sir Cedric was on his feet twitching at his disarranged cravat.
Amy backed away.
“Amy, dear, don’t go,” said Nell. “Let us explain.”
“There’s nothing to explain,” said Amy numbly. “I’m…I’m very happy for you. I’m sorry I interrupted.”
Nell grasped her hand and wouldn’t let her flee. “You must come and talk, dear. We can’t pretend nothing has happened here. Cedric and I have been feeling dreadful ever since we realized.”
Amy found herself sitting down, with Nell and Sir Cedric facing her like guilty children. “Really,” she said. “It’s nothing to do with me.”
“Yes it is,” said Sir Cedric firmly, for all that he looked like a raw stripling. “I paid you particular attentions, Miss de Lacy. I was greatly attracted to your beauty, but also by your inner qualities. You have courage, honesty, and wit. I thought we could make a comfortable match of it to both our benefits.” He looked to his side and took Nell’s hand in his. “My feelings for Nell took me quite by surprise.”
Amy was aware that this was a disaster, but she couldn’t help delight in their love. “I’m glad,” she said. “I truly am.”
Nell smiled mistily. “Oh, Amy. You really are amazing. You mean it, don’t you?”
“Yes. You both deserve to love and be loved. Everyone does.” Amy sighed and rose. “It is probably time
for Lizzie and me to return home.”
“Lizzie has been offered a home with a friend, Dorothy Fellows,” said Nell apologetically. “I think she will prefer to stay in London.”
Amy felt as if this was abandonment, which was ridiculous. “Well, that’s one less mouth to feed,” she said.
She tried to make the door again, but Sir Cedric put himself between her and it. “Miss de Lacy—Amy—I will not let you run away. There are matters to be discussed. Though there is no longer any question of a marriage between us, I do feel very fond of you, as if you were a daughter. I have considered how best to help you—”
“No!” said Amy. “You must not. We are not a charity case.”
“You cannot refuse to let me help you.”
“I can and do. We will manage for ourselves.”
“My dear child, you were willing to sacrifice yourself—for that is what it amounted to—for the sake of your family. Can you not let go of a scrap of your pride?”
Amy was trying to find an answer to this when a commotion erupted outside. “That sounds like Jasper,” Amy said in amazement and headed for the door. This time no one stopped her.
Nell’s hall was full of people.
“Amy!” cried Jassy, running into her arms. “Isn’t this a wonderful surprise?”
Amy hugged her younger sister and looked over at a smiling Beryl. A Beryl who was arm in arm with a frowning Mr. Staverley.
“What on earth has happened?” Amy asked.
“We’ve come to London for the Season,” Jasper announced, then looked over Amy’s shoulder. “Good afternoon, ma’am, sir. Sorry for the disturbance. Girls are always a bit overly excitable.”
Reminded of her manners, a dazed Amy introduced her family to Nell and Sir Cedric. She still didn’t understand why Mr. Staverley was here, especially as he looked so cross about it. “But you can’t stay here,” she told everyone. “Mrs. Claybury doesn’t have room.”
There was a gabble of explanation, which Amy could not follow, then Nell’s voice cut through. “That is unfortunately true, but at least you must all come in for tea.” Within moments everyone was settled in the drawing room and the tea tray had been ordered.
