He blinked to bring the vision into focus and realized Miss Sinclair was in the bedchamber. She sat in a chair next to the bed, her head pillowed on the mattress by her folded arm, asleep. Her other arm was stretched across the counterpane, her fingers wrapped around his own.
Well, now that her reputation has been compromised, I will have to marry her after all.
The notion did not depress him in the slightest. Instead, he came to the unexpected realization that he’d fallen in love with her.
From her contempt at his dandyisms, to her knowledge of the scriptures, and now her compassion at his bedside, Miss Amaryllis Sinclair had clearly demonstrated she was no gold digger determined to trap him into marriage—and he was ashamed he’d ever entertained such thoughts.
He tried to squeeze her fingers, but his grip faltered. He blew out a sigh and closed his eyes, praying for a speedy recovery. What had landed him in this bed anyway? He could only remember his stomach suddenly roiling combined with a feeling of overwhelming confusion.
A little gasp drew his gaze back to where Amaryllis sat. She had awakened, and her eyes were filled with tears.
“Lord Leighton,” she whispered. “You’re awake!”
Chapter 10
A knock sounded at the door. Amaryllis tore her gaze from the viscount’s and brushed the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand.
Mr. Haddon popped his head in the door. “Lady Dreggins is demanding your presence in the drawing room, Miss Sinclair.”
“Please give my compliments to my aunt, Mr. Haddon, but I cannot leave until I am assured of the viscount’s health.”
“Go ahead, Amaryllis,” the viscount said in a low voice. “I believe I am much improved.”
She turned and gazed at him, noting that a touch of color had returned to his face. “Are you quite certain, my lord?” The nightmare she’d woken from moments ago in which he had died clung to her with frightening intensity.
Lord Leighton inclined his head ever so slightly and offered a feeble smile. “Perry will apprise you if there is any change in my recovery.”
Amaryllis released his hand, suddenly embarrassed to be caught holding it. She dropped her gaze and rose on unsteady legs. Smoothing down the folds of her dress, she sent a shy smile toward her fiancé and turned to leave.
Mr. Haddon stood outside the door. “How long have I been here?” she asked him.
He pulled a watch from a pocket in his waistcoat. “About five hours, I should think.”
“And did my aunt leave and return for me?”
“No, she has been here this age along with all the other guests. They have been playing cards as was planned.”
“What!” Amaryllis stared at him in shock. “Entertaining themselves while my lord was at death’s door?”
“Well, er, yes, Miss Sinclair. In fact, they didn’t seem to believe Leighton was all that ill.”
She grabbed hold of his arm. “Yes, he was, Mr. Haddon, and I think he may have been poisoned.”
Perry’s eyes bulged. “Steady on! How can you be sure?”
“The footman who served my lord his soup was later seen by me receiving money from Mr. Snell. I know it’s circumstantial, but can it be a coincidence? No one else got sick, and Lord Leighton did not have a fever.”
“I say, Leighton was right. Gothic goings-on and all that.” He patted her hand. “Tell you what, you put in a good word for me regarding Miss Elwood, and I’ll send round notes to you keeping you apprised of Leighton’s condition. Have we a bargain?”
Amaryllis smiled. “Yes. Thank you.”
He sketched a bow and disappeared inside the bedchamber. She sagged against the wall next to the door, exhaustion assailing her. Surely she’d only nodded off moments before Lord Leighton had awakened. She remembered long hours keeping watch, fervently praying for his recovery.
Amaryllis heard a muffled shout through the door. Realizing it had not been latched, she eased it open a few inches. She squelched a stab of guilt at eavesdropping and inclined her ear to the conversation inside.
“And based upon Miss Sinclair’s suspicions,” Mr. Haddon was saying, “tonight’s events may not be a coincidence.”
“I believe you have the right of it,” Lord Leighton said in an angry voice. “And the time has come to confront this once and for all!”
“Isn’t it exciting? I confess I’m in high alt and don’t know how I shall be able to wait a whole week!”
Amaryllis smiled at Fanny’s enthusiasm. Everyone was talking of the masquerade ball at Lord and Lady Ackers’s Berkley Square mansion. At first Lady Dreggins and Maria Ashbury had pooh-poohed the notion of their charges attending, as masquerades were known to encourage loose morals, but Mrs. Ashbury had been overheard admitting high hopes that Mr. Haddon was epris in Fanny’s direction and might use the occasion of the ball to propose.
All that remained was the choosing of fripperies to complement their costumes. Amaryllis decided to stop worrying about Lord Leighton’s health and enjoy the sunshine of their outing to Exeter Exchange. Mr. Haddon had been faithful with his missives, but she wondered if he were too quick to assure her. If he could be believed completely, Lord Leighton had improved immeasurably and was planning to attend the masquerade.
Gazing about the shops from the windows of the carriage, Amaryllis couldn’t suppress her own hopes of dancing with the viscount to test her tender new feelings when she wasn’t terrified for his health. The carriage came to a stop, and a footman opened the door and let down the steps.
Exeter Exchange on the Strand quivered with the noise and bustle of shoppers and stalls filled with every imaginable ware, including scarves, cheap jewelry, toys, and fans.
“Amaryllis, do come here!” Fanny cried. “I found the perfect mask for my costume!” She held up a satin sequined affair with rainbow feathers.
“I agree, Fanny. It’s perfect!”
“And a mask for you, miss?” the vendor asked. He had swarthy skin and a bushy black mustache and sideburns.
Amaryllis looked over the selection, trying to decide which would be the best match for her white gown. She had decided against the usual shepherdess, gypsy, or Turk costumes that were so popular and planned to wear a pretty mask with regular fancy dress.
“May I be so bold as to ask what will you be wearing, miss?”
She told the vendor, whose fingers flew over the selection. He picked one up and showed it to her with theatrical flair. “For a night of mystery, this will be the best. This is not just any masquerade mask but one worn during a ball as the wearer fled the Terror in France. And later, by a lady who thought her lover false. Be not alarmed, their paths led to true love.”
“And just how did you come by all this information?” Amaryllis asked, biting the inside of her cheek.
He closed his eyes. “The mask, it speaks to me, I sense this intrigue and romance in the glint of the pearls and—”
“The gossipy servant what gave it to him told him all about its owners, that’s what,” said a ruddy-faced woman who was apparently the man’s wife. “Blimey, Jem, you an’ yer stories.”
Amaryllis laughed as his face turned red. Covered in white silk with seed pearls and white feathers, the mask was pretty and would be just the thing to match her gown. She paid the price of five shillings and couldn’t help wondering what might be in store for her when she wore the mask.
After another hour spent choosing ribbons and gazing at everything offered, they headed home. When Amaryllis arrived back at her aunt’s town house, Biggs held out the salver. On it was a note folded like a cocked hat.
Her heart beat a little harder. Mr. Haddon only sent plain letters sealed with wax. Amaryllis took the note to her bedchamber and opened it with trembling fingers.
Miss Sinclair,
Mr. Haddon and I launched upon an investigation, and after searching for the servant you saw receive money from my cousin, we discovered him in his cups as he apparently has a weakness for drink. We found out that he h
ad been paid to put arsenic in my soup and had also been paid earlier to put the thorn under my saddle, all ‘for a lark.’ I decided to speak to the groom at Leighton Hall about the carriage accident that took the lives of my father and brother. He believed there was evidence that the ridge poles had been sawn through, but I had earlier dismissed such a notion as he was known to be rather touched in the upper works.
Amaryllis put her hand to her mouth. Murder?
All together, this is simply too much to ignore. Apparently, Bertie thought I had died when I was wounded in the war and so assumed he was heir to the title. When I appeared in London, he had to find a way to get rid of me, and in part thanks to you, he has not succeeded.
I do not have direct evidence except for the ramblings of a drunk man and the mutterings of an old groom, so I cannot involve the local magistrates at this time. I have, however, decided to embark on a plan which I will carry out at the masquerade ball Thursday next.
I tell you this so you will not worry if events seem odd that night. I covet your prayers for the endeavor to be successful and for my cousin to be brought to justice. Please destroy this letter after you have read it.
I remain humbly yours,
Leighton
Amaryllis bit back an exclamation. Worry that the viscount was embarking on a foolhardy scheme conflicted with disappointment that his words contained not a trace of affection.
Shoving the letter through the grate into the fire, she watched as the paper curled and turned into ash. She hoped her dreams would not follow suit.
As if confirming the theme of the masquerade, a thick yellow fog crept through the city streets, masking the night of the ball. Amaryllis shivered and pulled her cloak more closely around her frame to protect her gown of white spider gauze over a white silver embroidered satin slip with paste diamond clasps.
Her heart beat erratically at the eve to come, not from debutante nerves but from worry over Lord Leighton’s plan—a plan to which she was not privy. She glanced at her aunt, who dozed as the carriage clip-clopped over the cobblestones to the mansion in Kensington.
Dear Lord, please protect Lord Leighton—Matthew—from any harm tonight. The prayer seemed somehow incomplete but worry fragmented her thoughts. Amaryllis glanced out the window and saw the flambeaux outside the mansion. They had arrived.
She looked down at the satin mask winking in the gloom, wondering what the night might reveal. Taking a deep breath, she quickly tied on her mask. The carriage door opened, and the footman let the steps down. Lady Dreggins awoke with a snort. Amaryllis alighted and marshaled her reserves for whatever lay ahead.
Matthew leaned against a pillar and watched the dancers in their glittering, feathered masks and colorful costumes. He wore a simple black domino over his evening clothes and a plain black silk mask.
I hope my plan works. If it doesn’t, I will be made the fool. He had the idea put about that he was considering wearing the costume of a Renaissance gentleman before making it known he would be unable to attend. Matthew regretted using deception to achieve his aims, but this had become a matter of life and death.
He stiffened. A man clad in a doublet, hose, and plumed hat strolled past.
“La,” the costumed figure said in a high falsetto. “I just pine to waltz with my fiancée, Amaryllis Sinclair. Have she and that dragon aunt arrived yet?”
Bertie! He took the bait! His cousin was of a similar height and physique and spoke in that ridiculous voice, making it easy for someone to take the imposter as the viscount. He cringed as Bertie continued to make a complete cake of himself. Poor Amaryllis! Did I disgust her as much as my cousin disgusts me? Faugh, what a coxcomb!
He continued to watch his cousin prance and simper. Now, if only Bertie will take this charade all the way.
“Matthew!”
The soft utterance made him twist around. He saw Amaryllis, a vision in shimmering white and silver satin, looking past him to the Renaissance imposter she obviously thought was her real fiancé. Despite her mask, he saw her rigid stance and the high color of her cheeks.
Bertie approached her, flickering a lacy handkerchief in her face. “Remember my rank and title when you address me, my pert country miss.”
Amaryllis’s lips firmed, and she sank into a low curtsy. “My lord viscount.”
Matthew glared at his cousin for his impertinence, only to realize Snell was just mimicking what he’d seen.
Bertie held out his arm. “Your manner pleases me, therefore I shall deign to dance with you for the cotillion. No, I shall accept no words of gratitude. It is enough to know you will cherish this for years to come.”
Matthew seethed, breathing through his teeth as they whirled away in the figures of the dance. Posturing popinjay!
Amaryllis bit her lip, fighting against a wave of tears. Her fiancé was behaving like the veriest fool! Surely he didn’t need to act so when they were together. To think she’d allowed her feelings for him to grow warmer.
How can he be party to any plot while he’s leering at me like any half-pay captain? She lowered her gaze. But Matthew never leers. He plays the part of the fop, but he has never taken such license.
Amaryllis studied her cavalier when they met in the figures of the dance. Dark eyes glinted from his heavily sequined mask. Despite the similarity of color, something wasn’t right. Could it be someone else? Could this be part of Matthew’s plan?
Deciding to do a little investigation of her own, she smiled at her partner. “Such a comfort to join you in prayer the other day, my lord.”
“Prayer!” he scoffed. “Waste of time, Miss Sinclair. Religion is naught but for women and fools.”
A wave of relief washed over Amaryllis. Even in jest, Matthew wouldn’t speak so. Heart pounding, she confined her comments to harmless prattle for the remainder of the dance.
At last it came to an end. Before she could scan the ballroom for a glimpse of her true fiancé, a man in a black domino approached her and bowed over her hand. Suppressing a surge of disappointment, she bobbed a curtsy and joined him in the waltz.
Chapter 11
Looking for someone, miss?” Matthew asked in a purposefully husky voice, watching as Amaryllis’s masked gaze swung back to him.
Coloring up, she shook her head and stared at his cravat as they whirled about the room. Silk flowers with jeweled centers winked in her hair, and the stuff of her gown floated around her body. He thought of the sweetness of her spirit, and the quiet dignity with which she comported herself.
The newness of his feelings, discovered when he was at his weakest, had been shaken in the cold light of day by the incessant worry that she was marrying him for his money. If only he could be sure.
“Your fiancé, perhaps?” he pressed. “You are fortunate in securing such a prize. ’Tis said he’s rich and you naught but a poor parson’s daughter.”
“Sir,” she said through clenched teeth, “your manner is most unbecoming.”
A savage desire for the truth urged him on. “It’s more becoming than that of a scheming adventuress.”
Amaryllis stopped and stared at him with a fiery gaze and clenched fists. “You go too far, sirrah! I would marry Viscount Leighton if he didn’t have a farthing!” She spun on her heel and pushed her way through the dancers.
Matthew watched her go until she disappeared from view, the meaning of her words heaped like burning coals on his head. He cursed his hard heart—and his lack of trust—and feared his harsh words might have cost him the woman he loved.
“Aunt Agatha,” Amaryllis said breathlessly when she reached that lady’s side, “have you seen Lord Leighton?”
Her aunt stared at her. “Are you blind?” She pointed with her fan. “There he is, heading for the card room.”
Amaryllis saw the man with whom she’d danced the cotillion. How could she voice her doubts that he was her real fiancé?
Lady Dreggins turned to a dowager, with whom she’d been conversing. “Imagine, a girl not even recognizin
g her own betrothed!”
Amaryllis loosened the strings of her mask and removed it, intending to find the ladies repairing room where she could sort through her jumbled thoughts. Had she really just declared herself to a complete stranger?
Had she really fallen in love with her own fiancé?
The motion of the crowds heaved like waves of the sea, making her dizzy. She wanted nothing more than to find Lord Leighton and—
And what? Tell him you love him? Tell him you want to marry him? Tears burned her eyes. He’s made it plain he doesn’t want you!
Amaryllis put her hand to her head, taking deep breaths to clear her mind. If I tell him, his reaction will be that of the man in the domino—cynicism and suspicion. She glanced up to see Fanny being led by Mr. Haddon in the figures of a Scottish reel. She envied their simple courtship. They had no secrets between them.
Suddenly she knew she must tell Matthew the truth, regardless of his reaction.
More than anything, Matthew longed to find Amaryllis and reveal himself, but at that moment, his cousin sauntered by, heading in the direction of the card room. Matthew threaded his way through the crowd at the edge of the dancing, barely able to keep sight of the florid hat bobbing ahead of him. Bertie disappeared into the card room.
Matthew tried to go faster but was impeded by the ball guests gathering to watch the leaps of the more talented dancers. One dancer jumped up only to lose his balance and careen to one side.
A wave of people was pushed back from the impact. Costumed guests stumbled in his direction. A man, obviously drunk, reeled against Matthew, knocking his mask askew, crashing him to the floor, and landing on his bad leg.
Ladies shrieked and went into faints while others chanted the showy dancers to greater heights. Ripping off his mask in fury and pain, Matthew pushed the sodden man off his leg and struggled to get up.
British Brides Collection Page 19
