Matthew breathed a silent prayer for forgiveness for what he’d done—for what he was about to do. My vanity has brought me to this point. Now I must suffer for it.
The pressure of Lady Thorpe’s hand on his arm increased. Lady Dreggins’s wheezing breaths quickened in tempo. Bertie flicked the lid of his snuffbox and took a generous pinch.
Matthew made a decision. He must choose the lesser of two evils. And perhaps he might find a way out of his conundrum before he found himself wedded to a stranger.
Straightening, he looked at the older woman and cleared his throat. “Lady Dreggins, permit me to pay my addresses to Miss Sinclair for her hand in marriage.”
Lady Dreggins thumped her cane on the floor, swelling up until she looked about to burst from the confines of her corset.
“Done!” she boomed. “My charge accepts!”
That was when Miss Amaryllis Sinclair fainted dead away.
Returning from an early morning ride in Rotten Row before his staff had arisen, Matthew strode into the hall of his London town house and stripped off his gloves. His butler, Steves, took his gloves and hat, and inclined his head.
“I hear congratulations are in order, my lord.”
Matthew started. “Congratulations?”
“On your forthcoming nuptials.”
He thinned his lips. “News travels fast in this town.”
“Actually, I ascertained the information from the morning newspapers.”
Matthew ground his teeth as a fresh wave of fury washed over him. “No doubt that Lady Dreggins inserted it seconds after she trapped me into marriage with her equally conniving niece!”
“My lord, this is not joyful news?”
“No, it is not,” he snapped. “I find myself affianced to some country bumpkin who set a neat trap for me.” He tried to make Amaryllis Sinclair’s image into a cunning, shrewd female. Instead all he could remember was the way her blue eyes filled with alarm when she woke up in his arms after her faint. He also remembered the purity of her skin, the light fragrance of her perfume….
He grimaced. Surely such an innocent countenance was just a ruse. He’d seen it before when his male friends had been enslaved by belles of the ball only to find themselves married to empty-headed harridans.
“The Honorable Peregrine awaits you in the breakfast room, my lord.”
Matthew’s frown eased a bit. He entered the breakfast room to find Perry filling a plate with kippers and a rasher of bacon from the chafing dishes. He looked up with his usual cherubic smile.
Before he could speak, Matthew put up his hand. “Do not congratulate me, whatever you do, Perry.”
Perry grinned and brought his plate to the table. “Still huffy, eh? Thought you might’ve settled down by now.”
Matthew grabbed a plate and began filling it with eggs and toast. “Your wits have gone wandering, my good friend. I’m still quite livid and will make every effort to escape this debacle.”
Perry grunted. “Don’t see what all the fuss is about. Miss Sinclair is a pocket Venus. A real shiner. Make a fellow proud to have a girl like her on his arm.”
Matthew raised a brow as they sat down at the table. “Looks can be deceiving. I’ll grant that Miss Sinclair is, as you so delicately put it, a ‘real shiner,’ but I also know she’s sly, scheming, underhanded, tricky—”
“Are you sure about that?” Perry interrupted with his mouth full. He stabbed the air with his fork. “Maybe she’s as sweet as she looks. Maybe it’s that dragon aunt of hers who’s behind any scheming. Give the girl a chance.”
“Give the girl a …” Matthew pursed his lips and shook his head, deciding he’d had enough talk of Miss Sinclair. “By the way, is there a reason you stopped by this morning? Although I’m always happy to receive you.”
“Breakfast,” Perry mumbled around his food. “I’d starve on what my cook prepares.”
Matthew sent him an amused smile. “Fire her. Hire another.”
“Can’t. She terrifies me. Easier to come here.”
He laughed. “You’re welcome anytime, Perry.”
His friend drained his teacup. “ ’Sides, thought you might want to know what Snell said in his cups after you left last night. Mumbling something about seeing you dead before he’d see you wed.”
Matthew leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. “That cousin of mine bears watching. He’s been acting awfully strange lately.”
“He was certainly surprised when you returned to London a fortnight ago from Spain. Like he’d seen a ghost.” Perry blotted his mouth with the edge of the tablecloth. At Matthew’s raised brow, he belatedly noticed the folded napkin next to his plate.
“Can’t get used to these newfangled French inventions.”
Matthew chuckled.
“Enough of your creeping cousin. This is a beautiful day and as such deserves a visit to a beautiful girl.”
“Forming a tendre for someone, eh, Perry? Who’s the lucky lass?”
He turned red. “No such thing, Leighton. I’m talking about us paying a call on your fiancée.”
Chapter 4
Amaryllis winced as pale light flooded the room when the chambermaid pulled the curtains open. She struggled to a sitting position, her brain fogged by something dark and ominous lurking just outside her memory. Her throat ached, whether from crying or a cold, she didn’t know.
“What time is it?”
The maid bobbed a curtsey. “Just past one, miss.”
“One in the afternoon?”
“My lady and miss didn’t return home until after four this morning.”
Amaryllis slumped back against the pillows as the shadow hovering over her burst into unhappy brilliance—she was being forced into marriage to someone who didn’t want her. And her aunt had insisted they stay for the duration of the ball to make sure everyone had heard the news.
She put her hands over her face and began to cry.
“Your chocolate, miss.”
Amaryllis looked up to see the placid face of the maid through a blur of tears. She accepted the cup and saucer with trembling hands, struggling to compose herself.
“My lord the viscount is accounted a good catch, miss.”
She stared in surprise. “You know about it?”
The maid lowered her gaze. “The announcement was in the papers this morning. Mr. Biggs, the butler, told the staff.”
I doubt Viscount Leighton sent that announcement to the papers. It had to be Lady Dreggins! She sniffed mournfully, wondering how to cope with such a cascade of humiliations.
The maid fluffed her pillows behind her. “And they say he do be a brave man.”
Amaryllis looked up after venturing a sip of the chocolate. “The butler?”
The maid’s lips firmed. “No, miss, the viscount.”
She thought back to the foppish dress and mocking gaze of her supposed fiancé, wondering if they were speaking about the same person. “Brave? How?”
“In the campaigns. The battle in Salamanca was written about in the papers, and my lord was mentioned especially.” The maid bobbed another curtsey and left the room.
He was a soldier? She tried to imagine the fribble she danced with last night leading troops into battle. A hysterical giggle escaped her lips.
The momentary merriment faded away. How can I ally myself to such a man? Dear Lord, surely this is not Thy will for my life. Surely Thou wouldst not have me yoked together with an unbeliever!
Colette swept into the room and began laying out an ensemble. “Time for miss to arise. Lady Dreggins wishes you to be ready for callers.”
“Callers?” she said faintly. “Does anyone in this town ever rest?”
“No, miss. They are here for one purpose and one purpose only—to marry well.”
Amaryllis sensed an underlying mockery in the tone of the lady’s maid. She swallowed a shaky sigh and got out of bed.
Lady Agatha Dreggins visibly preened over her apparent coup as they sat i
n the drawing room, awaiting callers. “Maria was fuming, Amaryllis. I tell you, it was my finest hour.”
Amaryllis bit her lip. “Aunt, I’m not sure it is wise to take glory in gambling.”
“Stuff. It’s the way of the world.”
The way of the world meaning the city of London. Amaryllis eyed the wheezing pug dogs in her aunt’s lap, wishing with all her heart she was back home in Dorset. Her gaze fell on the skirt of her morning gown of green crepe edged with blond lace. On the other hand, she could never have afforded such a wardrobe back in the parish, and she was feminine enough to enjoy a pretty frock.
Worries about her supposed fiancé suddenly eclipsed the beauty of her dress. She leaned forward. “Aunt, I beg of you, do not hold me to this engagement. What happened was purely an accident.”
Her aunt’s expression became mulish. “Doesn’t matter. Besides, Leighton needs to marry and set up his nursery, not prance around throwing away his fortune on himself.”
“I’m sure that is for the gentleman to decide.”
“Have no fear, Leighton will do what’s expected of him.”
Amaryllis experienced a pang of pity for the viscount in the face of her formidable aunt.
“And it’s important that his cousin does not inherit. Leighton must have sons.”
Lady Dreggins stared at her as if Amaryllis could present sons by sheer force of her will.
“Cousin? That man who came into the room when …?” Her voice trailed away as renewed mortification rushed to the fore.
“Bertie Snell is a wastrel,” her aunt said, “and would run the Leighton estates to rack and ruin. He almost got his hands on them when your fiancé nearly died. Leighton is the last of his family.” One of the pugs lumbered onto her lap. “He does have an older married sister whose daughter, Regina, is due to make her come out next season, and a good thing, too. The girl is beautiful, but positively wild. She needs to be matched with someone with a strong hand to keep her from doing something scandalous. When you and Leighton marry, perhaps you can befriend her.”
“Of course,” Amaryllis murmured. “But what’s this about my fiancé almost dying?”
“Took a ball in the leg during a campaign. Was invalided home, and a fever almost finished him off. It’s amazing he’s alive.” She patted the asthmatic dog on its head. “Might not last much longer though if his dandyism extends to lead paint. But t’wouldn’t be a bad thing if he departed for foreign shores after you’ve produced a couple of heirs.”
“Travel to America?”
“I’m talking about death, child.”
“Aunt!”
“Tish. My Leon had the good sense to pop off six months after we were married. I have done a much better job with the estates than he would have.”
Amaryllis wondered if her dreams of love, marriage, and children were just that—a dream in this world of unions as business contracts and heirs merely a guarantee that fortunes remained in the family. She began to feel sorry for the viscount.
The butler entered the room. “Lord Leighton and the Honorable Peregrine Haddon, my lady.” He stepped aside to allow the two gentlemen in.
She caught her breath when her gaze met her fiancé’s eyes. He wore a blue morning coat of Bath superfine stretched across his broad shoulders, nankeen breeches, and glossy Hessian boots. His dark hair was styled in the windswept, and his conservatively pleated cravat exposed the clean lines of his jaw. There was no sign of the fop in the imposing figure that stood before her.
Amaryllis almost wished for his return.
His friend Mr. Haddon peeked around from behind and smiled beatifically. “Good morning, ladies. The weather is fine, is it not?”
Lady Dreggins waved them to the couch opposite. “Do sit down, gentlemen. Biggs, tea and cakes, if you please.”
“Yes, my lady.”
As the butler quit the room, Amaryllis peeked at Lord Leighton. He sat ramrod straight, resting his hands on the knob of a silver-topped cane. His dark eyes surveyed her with an air of disinterest. She felt her cheeks growing hotter by the minute.
He turned to her aunt. “Lady Dreggins, I must say you were most prompt in sending the betrothal announcement to the papers.”
Aunt Agatha wiggled her fingers at him, a toothy smile stretching across her face. “Tol rol, you fellows are so forgetful when it comes to such things. No need to thank me.”
Mr. Haddon cleared his throat. “How did you find your first ball, Miss Sinclair?”
Amaryllis’s gaze flew to the viscount’s friend. Is he mocking me? She glanced at Lord Leighton. He returned it with a limpid gaze of his own.
She took a deep breath. “I found it most singular, sir.”
Matthew regarded his apparent fiancée with something approaching appreciation. That’s an understatement, if I ever heard one. And though her beauty captured his attention, he hardened his heart when he remembered the way she had trapped him. How to get out of it? He’d chosen not to appear as a fop today because of the disastrous result on the previous evening, though he might revisit the ploy at some future date.
His gaze dropped to her lips. Perhaps I should take some premarital license. His conscience panged him, but the injustice done to him burgeoned in his mind.
She sent him a seemingly shy smile. “How is your leg, my lord?”
Matthew jerked in surprise. Lady Dreggins harrumphed. He notched up his brow. “My, what free and easy manners must thrive in the country. My, er, leg, as you so delicately put it, is much improved. I thank you for your concern.”
His temporary fiancée bit her lip, her blue eyes wide. She looked down as a blush mantled her cheeks.
“Lady Dreggins, might I have a few moments alone with my betrothed?”
Miss Sinclair looked up, her lips parted.
“No, Leighton, you may not.”
Mr. Haddon cleared his throat, eyeing his friend. “I say—”
“Alas,” Matthew said coolly, “I must insist.”
Lady Dreggins thumped her cane and rose to her feet, decanting the dog onto the floor. “Ten minutes and not a moment more.”
When Mr. Haddon, who darted nervous, meaningful looks in his direction, and Lady Dreggins left, he regarded the young lady where she sat with her gaze fastened squarely on her clasped hands.
“That is a vastly fetching hair ribbon, Miss Sinclair.”
She snapped her head up. “I beg your pardon?”
“I meant that I was only able to view the top of your head. I prefer this aspect much better.”
Her cheeks turned fire red. Quite the little actress, he thought cynically. “Do take a turn of the room with me.”
She stood and slowly took his arm, careful not to touch him any more than she had to. It struck him as odd behavior if it was true that she’d planned to trap him into marriage. Perhaps she had been forced into it by her aunt, as Perry had suggested. A plan to repulse her materialized in his mind as he thought once more of her lips. “Miss Sinclair.”
“Yes?” She looked up at him, her eyes the color of a warm summer sky.
He felt his own face heat at what he was about to do, but he stiffened his spine, rationalizing that it would be unwise to succumb to a sham of a marriage with a stranger—even if she was pretty. “May I kiss you?”
She pressed her hand to her chest and took a step back. Her frozen expression matched the ceramic gaze of the shepherdess on the mantle. “I barely know you!”
Matthew was unable to keep the irony from his voice. “And yet we are engaged to be married.”
He moved closer, effectively blocking her into a corner between the fireplace and an escritoire. She backed up until she bumped into the wall.
“Are … are you really going to kiss me?” she squeaked.
He placed a hand on the wall next to her and lowered his head, wondering if becoming unengaged might be more pleasant than he thought. “Perhaps.”
Miss Sinclair gulped. “Are you healthy, my lord? I fear I woke up with a bit of
a sore throat.”
He raised his brows.
“Because,” she rushed on, “Aunt Agatha said you were once quite ill and might even pop off right after we’re married.”
Matthew raised his head and narrowed his eyes, regarding his oh-so-innocent fiancé. Was this part of her game? To cast herself as an unwilling victim, to make him somehow sympathetic to her plight and allow the engagement to stand?
Well, I won’t be a pawn in some matchmaking busybody’s scheme. Despite the delicious temptation Miss Sinclair presented, he decided he wouldn’t attempt to kiss her. It could actually cement their betrothal in her mind. Better to stick to playing the part of the fop.
He pulled out a handkerchief and held it up to his nose. “La! Stand back, Miss Sinclair. I do not wish to be a victim of your contagion.” He flicked the handkerchief at her. “Get thee hence!”
Amaryllis glared at him in surprise and marched over to the sofa. She sat down, her back stiff with outrage.
The drawing room doors opened. Lady Dreggins lumbered in. “Well, Leighton, not up to anything havey-cavey, I trust.”
“Here now,” Perry sputtered as he walked in behind her. “Leighton doesn’t resort to such goings-on.”
“In fact,” Matthew said in a falsetto voice, “this Miss Sinclair is quite a forward girl. She got close enough to kiss me, then informed me of her contagious status. Really, Lady Dreggins, you should choose charges only from the healthiest stock if you plan to loose them into society.”
The older woman puffed up with anger, her gaze darting from him to Amaryllis. “What’s this all about? Are you bamming me, Leighton?”
“I had it from her own lips.” He let out a shriek of laughter at his pun and glanced at Amaryllis for her reaction.
Distaste had curdled her gentle features, which gave weight to the notion that Miss Sinclair had no more interest in this marriage than he. A reluctant admiration for her sprang up within him. Still, he needed to disaffect her to the point of begging her aunt for a release from the engagement.
British Brides Collection Page 15
