British Brides Collection

by Hake, Kelly Eileen

  Mrs. Ashbury’s heavily rouged cheeks turned a deeper red. “My drawing room has been filled with many callers—”

  “Ah, how many offers has she received?”

  Mrs. Ashbury affected not to hear and led the way to the drawing room. Amaryllis suppressed a sigh at the behavior of her elders.

  In the drawing room, decorated with a great quantity of Egyptian furnishings after the current mode, she saw Fanny and several other ladies.

  “Lady Dreggins and Miss Sinclair, allow me to introduce to you some here whom you may not have met. Mrs. Barton and her daughters, the Misses Tabitha and Jane.”

  An elegant older woman sat next to two dimpled daughters with butter blond ringlets and china blue eyes. They bobbed curtsies at the introduction.

  “And Lady Olivia Thorpe. Unfortunately her mama is unwell today and could not be with us.”

  The pleasure at seeing Fanny faded somewhat when Amaryllis saw the woman who’d witnessed the sordid proposal scene at her first ball. The young woman, with her brown eyes, straight nose, and perfect rosebud lips, nodded from where she sat regally on a backless striped sofa.

  “Pray be seated, ladies, and I shall ring for tea.”

  Fanny patted the cushion next to hers, and Amaryllis thankfully crossed the room and sat down next to her.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” Fanny whispered. “Perhaps we shall be able to have a real visit. You’re always too busy dancing at the balls for us to have a comfortable coze.”

  Amaryllis blushed and regarded her friend, who wore a pretty apple green morning gown with a fringed shawl, which brought some color to her pale eyes. “You are funning me, Fanny. Now, tell me all about your prospects. Is there a gentleman you favor above all others?”

  Fanny covered her mouth with her hand and giggled. “Indeed, and you shall be shocked to hear his identity.” She glanced around the room as if afraid of being overheard. “Your fiancé’s friend Mr. Haddon.”

  Amaryllis smiled. “I am not shocked but rather pleased. Mr. Haddon is all that is amiable. Unlike—” She bit her lip against the unkind words about the viscount. Clearing her throat, she continued. “Does Mrs. Ashbury attend church? Mr. Haddon attends with Lord Leighton at St. George’s.”

  “Oh!” Fanny bounced on the cushion. “I must get her to take me next Sunday.”

  The tea service arrived, and cups were passed all around. Amaryllis’s aunt and Mrs. Ashbury talked exclusively with one another. The two Barton girls lisped and giggled their way through several cups of tea and plates of cakes.

  Suddenly, Lady Thorpe approached Amaryllis. “Miss Sinclair, I have long wanted to make your acquaintance. Do take a turn about the room with me.”

  Fanny sent her a rueful smile. Amaryllis stood and followed the woman to the perimeter of the room, her heart pounding at the certain direction of conversation. Lady Thorpe linked arms with her and smiled as if they were boon companions.

  “As you know,” she said in a low voice, “I was witness to what happened with Lord Leighton. And I want you to know you have my gravest sympathies.”

  “Um, well, that is very kind of you—”

  “Of course, there’s no doubting that the viscount is accounted rich and is fiendishly handsome, but sometimes that is not enough to make up for other things.”

  The ominous tone of her voice made Amaryllis stop. “Other things? What do you mean?”

  Lady Thorpe increased her grip on her arm, tugging her forward. “Far be it from me to gossip, but rumors have been circulating for some time….”

  Amaryllis’s respiration increased, mixed with a growing sense of annoyance. “Rumors,” she said flatly.

  Olivia peered around to confirm their privacy. “A string of mistresses,” she whispered. “And ’tis said his heart is as hard as stone, and society shudders at the poor victim he will take as wife.”

  “What I’ve seen of society,” Amaryllis said tartly, “is that many are hard-hearted, yet that stops no one from marrying.”

  “But I’ve heard he beats his servants, his horses, and I fear he will beat you, too!”

  Lord Leighton might be a slave to fashion, but she could not imagine him beating anyone. “Fustian!”

  Olivia Thorpe’s smile faded. “My apologies for trying to warn you, Miss Sinclair. Beatings you may endure, but you will wish you had heeded my words when you learn he has left you for the arms of his mistress after your marriage. That will surely be beyond bearing, even for you!”

  Lady Thorpe abruptly dropped her arm and walked away. Managing female, Amaryllis thought crossly. Yet as she returned to Fanny’s side, the image of Lord Leighton in the arms of another woman seared itself into her brain. She balled her hands into fists as an unexpected emotion slithered into her heart.

  Jealousy.

  Chapter 7

  Do you really think Amaryllis Sinclair has any intimacy with the Holy Scriptures?”

  Perry leaned on the pommel of his saddle, gazing out to the foggy green distance as they wended their way through Hyde Park. “Stands to reason. Vicar’s daughter and all that.”

  Matthew grimaced, patting the neck of his roan. “Perhaps she learned of my interest in that direction and is using the knowledge to further her hold on me.”

  “Perhaps if you took the scriptures to heart you’d stop mincing around like a coxcomb and simply ask Miss Sinclair outright.”

  Matthew felt as if he’d been struck, made doubly painful by the truth in the words. “I’ll thank you to keep such observations to yourself,” he said in a chilly tone.

  Perry let out an apologetic grunt. “Think on it, Leighton. You haven’t been yourself this last week.”

  His conscience panged him. He had been behaving badly lately. “Perhaps you are right, but I don’t always find myself forced into an engagement!”

  “Then break it if you are so set against it.”

  He sighed. “You know very well I cannot break the engagement. If I did, doubtless that Dreggins woman would have me in court. That is why I must give Miss Sinclair a disgust of myself so she will initiate the break.”

  “It’s a lot of nonsense if you ask me.”

  Matthew shook his head as if to clear it. “My apologies, friend, for snarling at you. Let us endeavor to forget such ‘nonsense’ for a time, eh? We’ve been trotting sedately along long enough. What say you to a bit of a race?”

  Perry grinned. “You’re on!”

  He pointed with his whip. “To that tree yonder.”

  Nodding, Perry yelled, “Heeyah!”

  Matthew spurred his mount, and together they flew across the greensward. The wind in his face was exhilarating, freeing him from the confines of his troubles.

  Suddenly his horse jolted to a stop—and he went sailing through the air—sky, clouds, and grass, spinning before his eyes.

  Matthew landed on his back with a dull thud, the air evacuating his lungs. The thundering hooves of another horse approached. Dazed, he closed his eyes, willing himself to draw in air.

  “Leighton! Are you all right?” Perry skidded to a stop and knelt at his prostrate form.

  Matthew held up a hand as little by little air seeped into his lungs. He took a gasping breath and struggled to a sitting position. After a moment, he clambered to his feet, holding on to Perry’s outstretched hand.

  “How’s the leg?”

  Matthew gingerly twisted his previously injured leg, noting no new pain. “I’m all right,” he croaked. After a few more minutes, he walked to where his horse stood, its eyes rolled back and muscles quivering.

  “Easy, boy.” Matthew gripped hold of the reins and ran his hand along the horse’s neck, speaking in soothing tones. Something wasn’t right. As he examined the animal’s legs for any sign of injury, he noticed a wetness on its flank. When he touched the substance, his fingers came away sticky with blood. “Perry, look at this!”

  Matthew checked under the saddle and blankets and found a large thorn embedded in the horse’s flesh. Perry c
almed the horse while Matthew pulled it out. The animal whinnied, then stilled when the object had been completely removed.

  “What do you make of it? This is bigger than anything I’ve ever seen. And how did it get under the blankets?”

  Perry took the thorn. “Wicked looking thing, I’ll warrant that. Show it to your groom and see what he makes of it.”

  After a long, hot bath to ease his aching muscles, Matthew felt more the thing. Not only had his body taken a beating, but his conscience, as well. Perry was only speaking the truth that he’d been treating Miss Sinclair shamefully. Fiancée or no, she deserved better.

  Later, as his valet brushed his evening coat, Matthew determined to behave with impeccable manners tonight at the rout where he would surely see her. Regardless of whether he’d been tricked or not, he must treat her with delicacy and kindness, especially as she was an apparent sister in the Lord.

  After presenting his invitation to the long-faced butler at the mansion and entering the evening’s festivities, Matthew mentally prepared himself for the crush of fighting his way up the stairway among the other rout goers to greet the host and hostess at the top, then fight his way back down the other side of the stairs, all without the added benefit of refreshment or entertainment.

  He craned his neck, looking for a diminutive blond among the pushing and shoving guests. Now where is she? His groom had heard from the Dreggins’s groom that they’d planned to attend tonight. Matthew made it all the way up the stairs, greeted the hosts, and was almost all the way back down before he spotted her.

  This is madness. Amaryllis struggled to breathe amid the mass of perfumed, unwashed bodies of the ton. A wizened old man with a pink scalp to match his satin pink evening coat leered up at her from his smaller stature. She pressed herself backward, hoping to eel through the crush without damaging her new gown embroidered with gold thread.

  Her formidable aunt seemed to be in her element, conversing with practiced ease in the press. Amaryllis fought down a rising feeling of panic. Lord, please help me get down these stairs!

  “Miss Sinclair!”

  A familiar voice drew her attention downward. Lord Leighton! Remembering Olivia Thorpe’s words that had festered overnight, Amaryllis turned her shoulder and refused to face him. Her heart pounded, and she felt dizzy—whether from the crowd or from pique, she didn’t know. Regardless, she wanted to be well away from that philanderer.

  “Miss Sinclair, take my hand and allow me to lead you out of the fray.”

  She peeked back at him only to see one old dowager rap him on the head with the sticks of her fan for getting too close. Amaryllis winced on his behalf but edged upward away from him. The ancient man who had given her a fright moments before leaned closer and clicked his false teeth at her in a terrible leer.

  Oh, for pity’s sake! Desperation made her turn toward Matthew and grasp his outstretched hand. His grip was warm and strong as he gently threaded her through the crowd, down the steps, and out to the hall. Breathing a sigh of relief, she sent a sideways look up at her benefactor.

  Once more he had forgone the foppish attire and was resplendent in a black double-breasted wool coat with tails worn with gray trousers. A diamond winked from the sculpted folds of his cravat. She hardened her resolve, remembering to look beyond the appearance and to the heart.

  “Forgive me, Miss Sinclair. I have not yet bid you a good evening.”

  Amaryllis flicked open her fan and shielded the lower half of her face in an attempt to gather her wits. His open expression and seemingly genuine smile made her feel more out of kilter than when she’d been on the staircase.

  She averted her gaze. “Good evening to you, Lord Leighton. Are you alone tonight or did you bring a friend?”

  “Unfortunately Mr. Haddon is feeling a trifle under the weather and elected to remain home.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, but I wasn’t referring to Mr. Haddon.” Amaryllis almost choked on a fresh wave of jealousy.

  He raised his brows. “Whom are you referring to, I pray?”

  “A lady friend, perhaps?”

  “A lady friend.” His brow arched upward.

  “Of cracked reputation?”

  Blood rushed to the viscount’s face, and his expression was like thunder. “I beg your pardon!”

  That’s torn it. Amaryllis too late realized one of her aunt’s rules of decorum: never, ever mention a man’s mistress to his face.

  Lord Leighton took hold of her upper arm and marched her to a less populated area. His voice sounded like a hiss. “What on earth could compel you to allow such filth to pour from your mouth?”

  “Are you going to beat me next?”

  White to the lips, he stared down at her with eyes that smoldered like coals. “Would you mind explaining to me how you came to believe such a farrago of lies?”

  She bit her lip, realizing she was in deep trouble. If Aunt Agatha catches wind of this, I’ll be packed off to the country quicker than a wink. But the poison of Lady Thorpe’s words had infected her heart and mind. Amaryllis’s eyes filled with tears of mortification.

  “Did someone tell you this?”

  She nodded, unable to speak.

  “What utter rot! I demand to know who.”

  “Is it true?” she asked just above a whisper.

  He pulled her close, his face only inches from hers. “Miss Sinclair, I am a man of faith, and as such I do not fraternize with ladies of certain reputations, neither do I beat anyone! Now, I want to know who is spreading such lies about me.”

  “You’re a Christian?”

  His features softened somewhat. “Yes, Miss Sinclair.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know there were any in London.”

  A smile tugged the corners of his lips. “Yes, even in London.” He gave her a gentle shake. “Now will you tell me who gave you such wicked information?”

  Amaryllis gazed up at him, taking in the details his proximity afforded. He had long, thick lashes and a small scar over one eyebrow. He smelled of soap and cologne, and even better, he was a believer. “How did you get that scar?”

  “Miss Sinclair,” he growled. “The name, if you please.”

  There’s no going back now. “Olivia Thorpe told me you had a string of mistresses and that you beat them as well as animals and servants.”

  His expression grew grim. She wondered how she ever thought him effeminate. He tucked her arm through his and drew her from the shadows to where Lady Dreggins stood waiting for the carriage.

  “There you are, you naughty child. I have been looking for you this age. Leighton, be so good as to call for our carriage.”

  He bowed and, as he straightened, sent Amaryllis a look she was unable to decipher. “As you wish, madame.”

  After he left, her knees felt decidedly weak. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves and grabbed hold of the revelation that Lord Leighton’s heart was in the right place after all.

  Chapter 8

  I tell you, Perry, I felt as if she’d slapped me.” Matthew paced in front of a window in the library of his townhouse. He looked up to see his friend taking his ease in a large, leather, winged chair and regarding him with twinkling eyes.

  “Was it that she mentioned it to your face or that she imagined you to have a mistress in keeping?”

  Matthew stopped and took a breath. “Both. To hear such language from her lips.” He slapped his gloves against his thigh. “Dash it all, it’s her look of innocence that gulls me. I keep forgetting she’s not what she seems.”

  Perry grunted. “To Miss Sinclair, neither are you. What would the young miss think if her foppish fiancé had once considered the curacy?”

  “I told her I was a Christian.”

  “Fan me ye winds! What did she say to that?”

  Matthew slumped onto the facing chair. “Said she didn’t know there were any in London.”

  Perry chuckled. “Can’t say that I blame her for such a supposition. And when she finally meets one, he’s a far
cry from anything she’s seen in her parish.” He leaned forward. “Do you know what I think?”

  Matthew leaned against the back of the chair. “You will tell me regardless,” he said dryly.

  “I think that the Lord orchestrated this meeting with Miss Sinclair.”

  “What!”

  Perry put up his hand. “She’s apparently a believer, and you did not think they existed. Well, here’s one right under your nose. Couldn’t be more perfect.”

  “You’ve got windmills in your cockloft, Perry. I doubt very much that Amaryllis Sinclair is a believer. Don’t forget she tricked me into a betrothal.” When his friend raised a supercilious brow, Matthew cleared his throat. “Besides, why would she tell me Olivia Thorpe said such lies about me? Lady Thorpe would have no reason to act that way. Another strike against Miss Sinclair!”

  “Fiddle,” Perry said pleasantly. “Olivia Thorpe is an intimate of your obsequious cousin, who can’t be trusted under the best of circumstances.”

  “It’s probably just a coincidence.”

  Perry stood and went over to the bellpull, giving it a tug. “Not like you to be so stubborn, Leighton. You act as if you’re in love with Miss Sinclair.”

  “Love!” Matthew expostulated, jumping to his feet.

  “You rang, sir?”

  “Ah, Steves,” said Perry rubbing his hands together. “Got any of that seed cake about?”

  “I shall ascertain if the cook has any in the larder, sir.”

  When the butler left, Perry grinned. “All this argufying makes me hungry, and your cook’s seed cake is sublime.” He sat back down.

  Matthew shook his head, half-amused, half-exasperated at his friend’s behavior. “Love, indeed. When I marry, if I marry, it will be to a sweet-natured girl from a good family far away from London, I can tell you that.”

  “You’ve described your fiancée to the letter.”

  Matthew put up his hand. “Enough! We are getting nowhere. And still the question remains, why would Lady Thorpe say such things about me, if Miss Sinclair can be believed.”