The Danice Allen Anthology

by Danice Allen

  But now Sam saw that she’d been terribly wrong. As Julian stared at her, his gaze puzzled and a little irritated, she thought she finally understood what she truly was to him. Despite all the womanly accomplishments he’d taught her, he still considered her at best a child and at worst simply a well-met challenge, a clump of clay he’d molded to his expert specifications. She was a sow’s ear ingeniously transformed into a silk purse, good enough for other men … but not for Julian.

  “My dear girl, I should have thought you’d danced more than enough with me,” Julian suggested with a bewildered chuckle. “It was good of you to save me a dance, and I must assume you did it out of respect, but I assure you I’ll not be the slightest bit offended if you ignore me for the rest of the evening. As soon as your multitude of admirers see you are without a partner, you’ll be inundated with entreaties to dance.”

  Sam recognized a sort of kind patronage in Julian’s tone, mixed with impatience. It was the tone he’d use with a child. Mortification rose in Sam’s throat like bile. She felt her face heating up and her eyes burning with the start of tears. But she was saved by pride.

  Willing away the unwelcome emotions and forcing a carefree smile, she said cheerfully, “Very well, Julian. I will ignore you.” Then she abruptly spun around on the toes of her slippers and headed for Priss and Nan. Halfway there, however, Jean-Luc claimed her for the waltz, and she was whisked away.

  I’ll show you, Julian Montgomery, Sam vowed, holding back her tears and smiling brilliantly as Jean-Luc whirled her around the ballroom floor. I’ll show you I’m not a child anymore. I’ll make you as jealous of me as I am of you. Because now it’s my turn to be tutor, and as each day passes you’re going to learn to love me more than your soul’s salvation…

  Chapter Two

  The morning after Sam’s coming-out ball, the entrance hall of the Montgomery town house was filled with flowers … a definitive proof of Sam’s social success. As Julian walked down the stairs at his usual hour, he saw his protégé standing amongst the hothouse blooms, dressed in a daffodil-yellow gown and looking like spring itself.

  Julian couldn’t help a slight swelling of the chest. He’d worked hard over the past three months to turn a neglected child-of-the-mist into a darling of the ton. Certainly if Sam hadn’t been so bright and beautiful, the job would have been much more difficult, but he couldn’t help but feel he’d been the consummate tutor. And now the poor girl would be able to attract a respectable young man, marry, and settle down to a respectable life.

  In this self-congratulatory mood, Julian greeted Sam with a smile. “Good morning, brat. I’m surprised to see you up so early. After your late night and all your dancing, I hardly expected you to have breakfast with me as usual.”

  Sam’s nose was buried in a bouquet of forget-me-nots, her long lashes shuttering her eyes. She looked up at him, then carefully laid the flowers on a nearby rosewood table. “As you frequently remind me, Julian, I’m quite young. I don’t need the amount of sleep to keep up my stamina as perhaps people of your age.”

  Julian raised a brow. At first he thought she was playfully ridiculing him, but her accompanying smile was so open and sweet, he quickly changed his mind. She was simply being honest and artless.

  “I am not so long in the tooth yet, my girl,” he assured her in a teasing manner, “that I need to sleep half the day away after a ball.”

  “I’m very glad of that,” she answered seriously, turning to the mirror above the table to arrange a curl at her temple. “I do so want you around to watch my children grow up. Uncle Julian has such a nice ring to it.”

  Julian didn’t think so. His smile and his good mood faltered. Uncle Julian sounded so avuncular, so stodgy. Did she really consider him so close to being a relic? He’d never got that impression from her before…

  “Shall we go into breakfast?” he said, offering her his arm, ready to forget the unflattering image of a tottering, decrepit old man with a cane and yellowed teeth, that Sam’s words had conjured up.

  She glanced at his angled arm, her pert nose going up just a notch, then announced, “Thank you, but no. I’ve already eaten.”

  Julian was surprised, then surprisingly disappointed. “I see,” he murmured, dropping his arm to his side. “Well, I shall miss your chatter at the table, Sam. We’ve eaten breakfast together every morning for months now.”

  She picked up another bouquet of roses, and, as she looked at the card, casually said, “I know, but I thought it would be a good idea to be ready for visitors early this morning. The aunts said it was very likely I would be besieged with young men paying their respects.”

  “The aunts are quite right,” Julian agreed. And having said as much, he knew there was no reason why he shouldn’t excuse himself at this point and go and enjoy his quiet breakfast. But something seemed wrong … something about Sam. He couldn’t precisely put his finger on it, but she was somehow different this morning, more remote, more … complicated.

  He found himself looking at her, his gaze traveling over her figure, but this time he wasn’t looking at the lines of her dress or analyzing the effect Sam’s appearance would have on others. He was feeling her effect on him. And he was surprised to learn that he thought she was more than a little fetching…

  While Julian impatiently reminded himself that despite her womanly curves Sam was little more than a green girl and closer to being a younger sister to him than a sister-in-law, Sam picked up another bundle of flowers—this one a rather unusual jumble of assorted blooms—and read the accompanying card. “I should have known this colorful bunch would be from Nathan,” Sam said with a smile. “Americans are always so original.”

  “So you like Mr. Ford?” Julian inquired, arrested by the delighted look that had come over Sam’s face.

  “Very much,” she said.

  Julian frowned. “You just met him, you know, but you already … most improperly … refer to him by his Christian name. I hope you aren’t precipitously forming an attachment when there are so many young men you could choose from. Mr. Ford would assuredly drag you away to the wilds of Virginia, hundreds of miles from … er … your sister.”

  Sam chuckled. “Oh, I haven’t absolutely settled on Nathan, Julian. In fact, I don’t even know if he has serious designs on me … although he was awfully attentive last night and made a special point of telling me he was coming by early this morning with a surprise.”

  “Indeed?” Julian murmured.

  “But then so did Mr. Ninian Wentworth and Mr. Jean-Luc Bouvier.” She gazed into the middle distance for a moment, her brows puckered and her mouth set in a contemplative line. “When it comes time, I am determined to choose my husband from the three gentleman I’ve just mentioned.”

  Julian gave a shout of laughter, half-alarmed, half-amused by Sam’s sudden pragmatic attitude toward marriage, an institution she had previously viewed with highly romantic notions and even fear. “Just a few weeks ago you were asking me why it was necessary for you to marry at all,” he said, unable to keep the incredulous tone out of his voice. “And you made me promise not to allow you to marry except to the man that ‘loves you most in the world.’ If you are limiting your choice of a husband to three men you just met and hardly know, I can only assume you were not as earnest in your request as you sounded at the time.”

  “Were you earnest when you made the promise? Did you intend to keep it?”

  Julian was cornered. Sam stared at him, her gaze keen and questioning. “I always keep my promises, Sam. But I expected you to change your mind. You’re a bright girl. Once you were out and about in society, I knew you would eventually realize that marriage just doesn’t work the way you have been imagining it. I knew you would temper your expectations to more reasonable standards.”

  “As you have?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Priss and Nan told me last night that they expect you to marry Charlotte Batsford. Have you had to temper your expectations to that which is �
� reasonable?”

  Julian felt his face warming. “You have no business discussing my personal life with Priss and Nan,” he said acidly.

  “But you discuss my personal life with Priss and Nan,” she pointed out.

  “You very well know the difference.”

  Sam shrugged and turned back to her flowers. “Do I?”

  Julian was constructing in his mind a suitable lecture to repress the precociousness of his ward when the door knocker sounded. “Good God, who could that be at this hour?” he complained, checking his timepiece. “I haven’t even had my breakfast!”

  Sam caught Julian’s arm as Hedley, the portly butler, sailed majestically past them to the door. “If that’s a visitor for me, Julian,” she breathed in his ear, sending an unexpected shiver down his spine, “please don’t feel obliged to stand in as chaperon for Priss and Nan.”

  “Where are Priss and Nan?” he asked, alarmed.

  “They went to the Women’s Shelter early this morning.”

  “The deuce you say, and with all these callers expected!”

  “It doesn’t matter, Julian. I’m sure I will be quite safe alone in the parlor with my callers. They are refined gentlemen, after all, and not savages.”

  By this statement, Julian concluded that Sam didn’t know anything about refined gentlemen and of what they were capable. But then how could she? He’d taught her how to be a lady, but he suddenly realized that he’d been woefully negligent in instructing her on how to fend off amorous advances from randy dandies in sheep’s clothing.

  “Thank you for dismissing me from the arduous chore of safeguarding your virtue and reputation, brat,” Julian growled. “But you must know it is essential that you have a chaperon at all times.”

  Sam clicked her tongue. “Well, if you really think it necessary. But I’m quite sure you’re starving for breakfast!”

  Now that she’d mentioned it, Julian did feel rather hollow where coffee and kippers and eggs ought to be about now. And going without his breakfast too long always made him cross.

  “Why did Priss and Nan have to go to the Women’s Shelter to do charity work this morning of all mornings!” he grumped under his breath, as Hedley opened the front door to reveal the expected Mr. Nathan Ford. But the tall, sturdy American held in his arms the unexpected. Apparently Mr. Ford’s surprise for Sam was … a dog.

  “Sam!” he shouted, squeezing past Hedley into the hall, trouncing unawares on the butler’s shoe in the process. “Aren’t you the prettiest thing that ever set foot on God’s green earth!”

  “Nathan!” Sam responded with enthusiasm, as the stoic Hedley limped away, wincing. “So good to see you! Pray, what’s that darling creature wriggling in your arms?”

  Since the moment the door was opened, Nathan Ford had had eyes for no one but Sam. Julian might have been a lamppost for all the attention being paid him. He was not used to being ignored, and it irked him. But he remained tight-lipped and silent, watching with a jaded eye the delicate dance of courtship being performed in front of him.

  “This little fellow is for you, Sam,” Nathan announced with a wide grin, displaying a healthy mouthful of glinting white teeth and dangling the dog from his large, rough hands.

  Obviously of indeterminate parentage, the pup was snub-nosed, had shaggy, sandy-colored hair, and sported a lolling, toothy dog grin. The grin and the dog’s hair color were very similar to Mr. Ford’s, and Julian couldn’t help being amused by the fact that Sam’s American suitor had chosen a dog that looked so much like himself. Was this a romantic tactic of some sort? He secretly snickered.

  But when Sam quickly took the dog and cuddled it against her bosom, pressing her cheek against its head and murmuring endearments, Julian’s amusement vanished.

  “He’s just a puppy, so he’s trainable,” Nathan said eagerly. “And his paws are small, so I don’t expect he’ll get very big. Do you think Lord Serling’ll let you keep ’im?”

  “Why don’t you ask Lord Serling?” Julian drawled.

  For the first time, Nathan turned with a surprised look and noticed Julian’s presence. “Oh, Lord Serling!” he said, laughing nervously. “I was so caught up in watching to see if Sam … er … Miss Darlington liked my surprise, I didn’t even notice you standing there!”

  “Obviously,” Julian observed coldly. “But now that all that are present are accounted for, I propose we quit standing in the hall and retire to the drawing room.” He lifted his arm and indicated the way. “After you, Samantha … Mr. Ford.”

  Julian followed the pair into the drawing room at a sedate pace, far enough back to notice the swagger in Nathan Ford’s deportment. The fellow swung his arms and legs so freely, Julian feared for his Ming vases. Americans always seemed to take looser, longer steps than the English, he mused. He supposed it was a result of the United States being such a large country and its citizens having to walk great distances to get from one place to another.

  In the drawing room, Sam and Nathan sat on a sofa together and Julian sat in a wing-backed chair opposite them. He steepled his fingers and observed the couple with a frosty glare that would have intimidated most men. But not Nathan. No, indeed. Once again, he seemed hardly aware that Julian was even in the room.

  Julian cleared his throat, but Sam continued to fawn over the whimpering, panting little pup, allowing it to lick her face and paw her gown. Nathan simply watched, fascinated, looking as though he wished for the same license as the pup to display his affection so openly.

  Julian cleared his throat again and finally Sam looked his way, her face aglow.

  “Well, Julian, what do you say? You can’t say no! I adore him. And I’ve already decided what to name him.” She turned back to Nathan. “I’m going to call him Madison, after your American president. Don’t you think it fitting, Nathan?”

  “I’m sure President Madison wouldn’t mind, even though the dog is only a mutt,” Nathan replied. “But it’s my experience that mutts make the best pets. A mix of breeding brings out the best in dogs. Inbreeding over time makes animals lazy and dim-witted.”

  “I hope your theory does not apply to people, as well, Mr. Ford,” Julian said dryly. “The English aristocracy would not take kindly to such a description. They, after all, have been inbreeding for centuries.”

  Nathan looked horrified. “Lord Serling, I certainly never meant to imply—That is, I—”

  “Oh, don’t mind Julian,” Sam said dismissively. “He’s just trying to make you feel uncomfortable, Nathan. It’s part of his job as chaperon to terrify young people. Now what about Madison, Julian? I may keep him, mayn’t I?”

  Julian was still pondering Sam’s lightly delivered comment that he liked to “terrify young people.” He eyed Nathan Ford, estimating that the man was pushing thirty if he was a day. Julian himself was only five-and-thirty. Just how old did Sam think he was? Fifty? Sixty?

  “You’re silent, Julian,” Sam said with a sigh. “That’s not a good sign. But I know one way to convince you to let me keep Madison.” She stood up, crossed the short distance between the sofa and the chair, and plopped the puppy into Julian’s lap. “If you hold him a moment, I know you’ll decide you want him here at Montgomery House as much as I do.”

  Julian did not dislike dogs, but he was of the firm opinion that they belonged in the country and not in town. He scowled down at the pup. Large, frightened puppy eyes stared back … and then Madison promptly and thoroughly peed on Julian’s leg.

  “Good God!” Julian rasped. And Sam giggled.

  Twenty minutes later, hungrier and more irritated than ever, Julian descended the stairs after quickly changing his clothes. He had left Hedley in the drawing room with strict orders not to leave the room or take his eyes off Sam and her suitor till he returned. Now, as he crossed the hall he could hear an unusual commotion coming from the drawing room. Not just Nathan Ford’s, but several raised male voices could be heard … and the excited barks of more than one dog!

  When Julian entered
the room, he could hardly believe his eyes! Nathan Ford, Ninian Wentworth, and Jean-Luc Bouvier were nose to nose in the middle of the room, arguing.

  Sam was sitting on the rug in front of the fireplace, romping and laughing with Madison and two other dogs—one a French poodle and the other a Welsh corgi.

  Hedley was down on his hands and knees wiping up a suspicious-looking puddle, and when he glanced up and noticed Julian, a pained, apologetic look spread over his red face. Hauling himself to his feet, he said, “My lord!” in such a loud voice he could even be heard above the bickering.

  The three gentleman immediately became silent and turned in Julian’s direction, their complexions still ruddy from the heat of the argument.

  “Good morning, gentleman,” Julian intoned with quelling austerity. “What is the meaning of this vulgar display of shouting in my drawing room, and in the company of my ward?”

  His affronted dignity was a little compromised when Sam chose that moment to laugh out loud at one of the antics of the pups, but Julian forged on. “And what is the meaning of turning my house into a kennel?”

  Naturally, all three men started to talk at once, making it impossible for Julian to make any sense of their explanations.

  Above shouting himself, Julian simply raised his hand to demand quiet, and the shamefaced men complied.

  “One at a time, if you please,” he said. “Mr. Ford, you begin.”

  “Well, it’s like this, sir,” he began in his straightforward way. “I brought Sam—”

  “Sam?” Julian looked daggers.

  “I mean … I brought Miss Darlington a dog so she wouldn’t miss Zeus and Neptune so much. I was the first one to show up with a pup, so I think she ought to be able to keep mine, not one of theirs!” He jabbed an accusing finger in the direction of the other two men.

  “It’s just like you colonials to think that being first makes you the best. But your dog has no breeding. My corgi is a purebred,” Ninian sniffed, tugging on the sleeve of his puce-colored jacket.