Even if it meant playing the fool.
Once Lady Dreggins had delivered herself of the stern dressing-down on the impropriety of mentioning the word leg in polite society—nether limbs being the appropriate term—Amaryllis was given leave to go to her room.
At the window of her bedchamber, she pressed her forehead against the cool panes and looked out at the jumble of rooftops and birds wheeling against the cloudy sky. This is not at all what I expected, Lord. Is there still hope that I can find a husband this season? It will be dreadful if I don’t marry, and Aunt has to endure the expense of the season for nothing.
But to marry some coxcomb who minced and pranced in that disgusting way? She closed her eyes. It was either him or some man in his dotage back in the parish.
Amaryllis released a weary sigh and wandered over to the fireplace, where a cheerful applewood fire crackled against the chill of the day. She sank down onto an upholstered ottoman and thought of her surprise when Lord Leighton had arrived in somber morning dress. The tall, masculine man had been far and away divergent from the fop she’d become engaged to—until it served his purpose to play the fool again.
So which was the real Lord Leighton? The dandy or the dashing man of fashion?
A plop of rain fell down the chimney, landing on a fire castle with a hiss and crumbling it into a pile of embers. Was that happening to her dreams? Because dandy or dashing, what remained of import was finding a godly man to take as husband.
Chapter 5
Amaryllis was allowed to rest the following day before a busy schedule of evening events, and she was thankful for the reprieve. She spent the time in her bedchamber reading a Minerva Press novel. While she enjoyed the distraction of the gothic romance, Amaryllis felt the heroine was rather trying, always swooning and fainting about the place.
Remembering her own swoon in that musty room with many avid spectators made her cheeks grow warm. But that reaction had been real. Surely a mere apparition was no match for the discovery of being betrothed to a ridiculous stranger.
She thought once again of seeing Lord Leighton without the popinjay veneer. She had actually found herself attracted to him—actually had wondered if she would like it if he kissed her.
Amaryllis set the book down and jumped up from the chair. This is not the proper direction for my thoughts. Marrying the viscount will surely never come to pass—somehow the Lord will spare me from such a poor match.
But what if He doesn’t?
Amaryllis groaned. Somehow she had to stop this farce of a betrothal. Besides, the viscount didn’t want her any more than she wanted him. And to help him along, perhaps she might even dabble in a little masquerade of her own. Something to give him a disgust of her.
Her restless gaze landed on the cover of the novel, reminding her of the cloying, clingy heroine who was prone to faint at every little noise. She blinked. Of course! The perfect way to repulse someone who didn’t want her was to cling and pine and wheedle—and to press her unwelcome attentions on the skittish object of her pretend passions.
She giggled at her own melodramatic thoughts, but images of clutching the viscount’s arm, of gazing into his eyes—of risking a kiss—assailed her untried senses. It would be a dangerous game—a deep game where she might be burned instead of spurned.
But do I really have a choice? Imagine a lifetime joined to a posturing fop. Think of the consequences!
Amaryllis firmed her lips and raised her chin, her heart pounding in her ears. I’ll do it!
Butterflies took flight within Amaryllis’s stomach as the carriage stopped in front of a large mansion later that evening. Flaming torches lit the entrance, and once again, she felt the frightening thrill of venturing into the unknown. What would be the result tonight?
She took a measure of comfort in the fact that she was in looks—at least that’s what the cheval glass had told her. Colette’s choice of a round train-dress of rose Moravian muslin and silk roses nestled among her curls made her feel like a princess—and a little wistful that she had yet to meet her special someone.
“You know, we neglected to set the amount of a wager because I surely owe you some money!”
Amaryllis turned to see Fanny Elwood approaching with Maria Ashbury. She impulsively reached out to give the young woman a hug.
Fanny regarded her with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “I knew you’d get engaged soon, but this surprised even me. Congratulations!”
Amaryllis bit her lip, hesitant to divulge the details of her bizarre betrothal to her new friend. “Thank you.”
As they sat down and arranged their skirts, Fanny leaned over. “I want all the details, you know. It must be romantic to receive an offer on one’s first evening in town!”
Fiddling with the lace of her reticule, Amaryllis wondered how to answer in such a way as not to be dishonest. “Um, well—”
“I spy the fair charmer now,” someone shrieked. “Make way!”
Amaryllis looked up in the direction of the disturbance to see Lord Leighton tittupping toward her on high boot heels. He made an elaborate bow with many flourishes of a lacy handkerchief in front of her and straightened, regarding her with a mocking smile.
“I am come,” he said in that absurd voice, “to claim your hand for the waltz.”
The viscount had outdone himself tonight. His coat of a virulent purple was worn over a waistcoat embroidered with a pair of showy peacocks. His cravat foamed up over his chin, and the points of his collar nearly touched his nose.
Out of the corner of her eyes, Amaryllis saw Fanny holding up her fan to hide most of her face, but sensed her friend was laughing at the outrageous spectacle of this Pink of the Ton. The grand plan to shame her fiancé into breaking the engagement suddenly seemed imperative.
Lord Leighton held out his arm. Closing her eyes briefly to summon strength, Amaryllis stood and accepted his escort. He led her to one side of the room, sweeping her into the crowd as the strains of the waltz began.
She spent most of the time adjusting her steps to the crush of dancers, while trying not to notice the pressure of the viscount’s hand at the small of her back. Despite the fact that the Prince Regent had given his blessing to the once-forbidden dance, it still seemed disgraceful to be so closely entwined with a member of the opposite sex. Finally, the dance came to an end. Amaryllis remembered her plan to cling to her fiancé. It’s now or never.
As he promenaded with her around the room, she hung on his arm and gazed up into his eyes. “I just dote on the waltz, don’t you, Lord Leighton? It is a rather scandalous dance, I suppose, but don’t you think it was made for us?” She batted her eyelashes for good measure.
The viscount blinked rapidly. “Er, yes, Miss Sinclair.”
She pressed up against his side and lowered her voice. “I cannot wait to see your home, my lord. Pray tell me, does it have a large ballroom? I simply dote on dancing and will want to have many balls and parties. I look forward to redecorating your—our—home.”
She stopped and faced him, peering up at him with her most appealing expression. “Do say you’ll get a special license so we may marry as soon as possible. I simply dote on quick weddings. Not the pomp and circumstance of a Hanover Square wedding for me. On the contrary, a small, intimate wedding of modest proportions will suffice. What say you, my lord?”
Lord Leighton tugged at the top of his collar, his face flushed a dark shade. “Really, Miss Sinclair, I wouldn’t dream of marrying you in such a hole-in-wall way. You deserve the grandest of weddings. Take a year or two to plan, you know, no rush and all that.”
Amaryllis rapped his knuckles with her fan. “Silly boy! You act as if you are getting cold feet, which is surely far from the truth. Admit it, you long for immediate nuptials as much as I.”
“Ah, here is your aunt, Miss Sinclair. Deary me, I see Mr. Haddon frantically waving me over. Must be some kind of emergency. Your servant.”
He bowed quickly and scuttled off into the crowd.
Amaryllis released a pent-up breath and leaned back against the chair, wondering if she’d laid it on too thick.
Matthew strode outside to the balcony facing the back of the property. He nearly bumped into Perry, who followed him out.
“I say, where’s the fire, Leighton?”
Matthew ground his teeth then forced himself to inhale a deep draught of cool night air. He took out his handkerchief and mopped his brow.
“Is anything the matter? You look affright.”
Tucking away the handkerchief, Matthew gripped the iron railing. “Perry, I’m in trouble. Apparently Miss Sinclair wants me to obtain a special license and marry right away.”
Perry slapped him on the back. “That’s capital news. Just capital.”
Matthew gave him a haughty stare. “Are you mad?”
“Miss Sinclair is all that is suitable. She’ll make a beautiful bride.”
“Perry, may I remind you my sole intent this season was to avoid matrimony, not find myself deep in the middle of it!”
His garrulous friend shrugged. “Got to get married sometime, you know. Set up a nursery, carry on the family name, eh what?”
“You’re missing the point!”
“Here now, no need to get huffy.”
Matthew raised an eyebrow and straightened his shoulders. “I never ‘get huffy,’ Perry. Please do see reason.”
“What I see is a perfectly charming young lady who you, mind you, proposed to. Look around at the debs. Won’t find one like Miss Sinclair. Sad crop of debs this year, sad crop.”
Matthew shook his head, realizing he was getting nowhere. He replayed Amaryllis’s little performance in his mind, wondering what her angle was. “She’s already talking of redecorating Leighton Hall, the grasping female.”
“Place could use a bit of sprucing up. Last time I was there, it smelled of dust and damp dog.”
“Perry, are you on my side or what?”
“Think about it, Leighton. If you don’t snap her up, someone else will.”
“Tcha!” Matthew spun on his heel and stomped from the room, regretting the pain shooting up his thigh—which did little to improve his mood.
As he headed back into the ballroom, someone passing by clipped his shoulder.
“Hey, coz, we were just looking for you.”
Matthew turned and saw Bertie and Olivia Thorpe on the fringes of the crowd. Desiring to avoid conversation with his annoying relative, he bowed to Lady Thorpe.
“I believe I still owe you a dance from the other night, my lady.”
She smiled and took his proffered arm. As they began the steps of the cotillion, he studied the woman with whom Bertie seemed to want him to become better acquainted.
Her deep brown eyes matched his in color, and her pomaded hair shone in the candlelight. He wondered what she saw in Bertie.
“How do you find the season, Lady Thorpe?”
“Very well, I thank you.”
The measures of the dance separated them for a time. When they met again, she smiled. “And how do you find the prospect of marriage, my lord?”
He remembered Amaryllis’s words. “Singular, my lady.”
His dancing partner emitted a silvery laugh and sent him an understanding smile. “These misses out of the schoolroom can be a trifle farouche … and rather forward, if you ask me. Even to the point of trickery.”
Matthew frowned at the tone in her voice. She had been witness to the disastrous proposal and surely knew he’d been backed into a corner. But for some reason, he was offended by her judgment of his fictional fiancée. Something prompted him to tease her a bit.
“I admit the matter presented itself most awkwardly, but now that it’s accomplished, I confess, I look forward to love in a cottage, surrounded by doting children.”
Lady Thorpe cast him a sly look. “Ah, you are funning. Love in a cottage, indeed.”
The dance came to an end. He smiled stiffly and returned her to his cousin, who was leaning against a pillar at the edge of the ballroom, watching them.
As Matthew walked away, Lady Thorpe’s words plagued him, echoing the throbbing wound in his leg that refused to completely heal.
Love in a cottage. For some reason, the notion echoed something in his heart, something unidentifiable at the moment, while Amaryllis Sinclair’s face rose to mind.
Chapter 6
At least here, Perry, we may find refuge from the trials of women.” Lord Leighton ushered his friend ahead, and they filed up the aisle of the rapidly filling church to the private box. He looked forward to focusing on God and forgetting his troubles over a country miss.
As he settled himself in his private box, he gazed across the way to see others who were in attendance. When he saw the owner of a smart chip straw bonnet adorned with cornflowers, all his expectation of a peaceful service fled.
“What is she doing here?” he grated.
“Who?” Perry asked in a disinterested voice.
“That woman!”
Perry leaned over the box to view the one below. “ ‘Pon rep, that’s Miss Sinclair.”
“I am aware of the identity of the person, Perry,” he said in freezing accents. “She is here to torment me, to rob me of my last refuge, to—”
“Why are you in such a taking, Leighton? Perhaps she’s here to commune with the Lord as you are.”
“Pah!”
Several people turned around at the noise, including his fiancée. When she caught sight of him, her eyes widened, and her lips thinned. She sent him an irritated glare before turning back around.
“Well!” said Matthew, offended despite himself. “She acts if she’s the one who is put out, when I have the prior claim.”
“Oh, do hush,” admonished Perry. “The service is about to begin.”
Matthew failed to bring his rioting thoughts under control—anger and attraction warred within him. Regardless of her pretty face and well-turned ankle, he would not succumb to entrapment. He would not.
“Well, that was a fine service, just fine. Might I repair to your place for luncheon?”
“Of course,” Matthew said distractedly. He was ashamed to admit that his fixation with Miss Sinclair and the troubles she presented had blinded him to the entire service.
“Going to greet your fiancée?” Perry asked cheerfully.
“No, I am not. Why give her the satisfaction since she followed me here to torture me?”
As if he didn’t hear, Perry waved to Miss Sinclair and Lady Dreggins and hurried to meet them out on the steps of the church.
Matthew followed, seething with a fresh wave of anger—then belatedly felt a sense of shame for his unrighteous attitude. Dear Lord, I pray for Thy forgiveness for the darkness of my heart in Thy house.
After greeting several parishioners, trading bows for curtsies, and exchanging innocuous remarks about the weather, Matthew finally made it out onto the steps where he could hear Perry talking with Miss Sinclair about her friend, Fanny Elwood. Schooling his expression into one of blandness, he headed toward them.
Amaryllis sensed Lord Leighton before she saw him. Then, from the corner of her eye, she spied him approaching their group. Despite her angst at seeing him this morning, she couldn’t help but notice his fine appearance.
She flushed when she remembered the verse the vicar had used for his sermon. Still, the short frock coat with brass buttons worn over a tan waistcoat with matching breeches made her wonder how she ever thought him a fop. His shiny top boots, beaver hat tilted at a rakish angle, and walking stick completed the picture.
Amaryllis released a breath, sternly reminding herself the truth from God’s Word: “Man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart.”
“What was that, Miss Sinclair?” Lord Leighton asked, raising her gloved hand to his lips in a perfunctory greeting.
She felt herself blush as she realized she’d spoken the verse out loud. Lifting her chin, she cleared her throat. “I was referring, my lord, t
o the scripture text used in this morning’s sermon from the first book of Samuel.”
His lean cheeks seemed to darken as he raised a brow. “And you are, er, familiar with the books of Samuel?”
“Indeed, my lord. I especially enjoy reading the exploits of David.”
“What are you prosing on about, Leighton?” her aunt demanded. “Of course Amaryllis is familiar with the Bible. Her father is a vicar!”
“But I also enjoy perusing God’s Word, Aunt Agatha.”
Lady Dreggins bridled. “What’s this? You ain’t turned Methody, have you, hey?”
Amaryllis refrained from rolling her eyes. Before she could answer, Lord
Leighton leaned forward.
“And what, pray tell, is your favorite book of the Bible?”
She regarded him, determined not to let his proximity affect her senses … much. “I take great comfort in the Psalms, naturally, but I hold the Gospels dearest to my heart.”
The viscount straightened, his gaze considering. Amaryllis wondered what he was thinking, wondered how he could make her feel hot and cold by turns.
“And the scripture today was?”
Returning his steady gaze, she said in a low voice, “ ‘Man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart.’ ”
“Apt, Miss Sinclair. Very apt.” He sketched a brief bow and walked away.
Amaryllis watched him go, having no idea what he’d meant with his cryptic statement.
“Wonder what’s up with Leighton,” her aunt groused. “Must be a disordered spleen. Remind me to have my footman take round some rhubarb pills.”
The following day, Lady Dreggins took Amaryllis to tea at Maria Ashbury’s home in Berkley Square. Regardless of who’d won the wager, Mrs. Ashbury maintained the better address and accordingly lorded that fact over her friend.
“Lady Dreggins! So good of you to come all the way from Green Street,” she said archly. “I trust you passed a pleasant journey?”
Lady Dreggins removed her cloak and handed it to the butler. “Indeed, I take much comfort in Amaryllis’s betrothal to such an eligible parti. How goes the hunt for Miss Elwood?”
British Brides Collection Page 16
