by Danice Allen
“Mon Dieu, how can you dare speak of breeding?” Jean-Luc demanded to know, his French accent more in evidence as he appeared to be thoroughly enjoying the row and playing his part to the hilt. “Compared to your dogs, my poodle has the purest blood of all.” He raised his nose in the air, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Just as, compared to you two commoners, I have the purest blood!”
“Now see here—!”
“I beg your pardon, you—!”
Again Julian raised his hand and the arguing stopped. “I haven’t given Samantha permission to own another dog at all, so there’s no point in squabbling over which one of the three she’ll keep.”
“But Julian!” Sam exclaimed, rising from the floor and carrying all three wriggling pups in her arms as she moved to stand in front of him. “You must give me permission! They’re pups, so they can be trained to be obedient. And they can stay in the stable till they’re absolutely housebroken, then only come inside on very rare occasions.”
Julian scowled. He was sure Sam’s three suitors were transfixed by the appealing picture she presented, her hair attractively tumbled from romping with the pups, her large eyes fixed on him with such melting supplication. And the puppies already adored her … that was obvious by the way they snuggled against her chest, licked her face, and wagged their tails.
It was hard to resist her…
It was hard to resist her request, Julian corrected himself. Additionally, all three of her suitors were staring at him, waiting for an answer. Nathan looked belligerent, as if ready to resort to fisticuffs to make sure Sam got to keep her “Madison.” Ninian looked anxious. And Jean-Luc threw him an arrogant challenge through narrowed eyes … while managing at the same time to look as though he were about to laugh out loud.
However, it was obvious to Julian that there would be a scene if he refused to allow Sam to keep one of the puppies, and although he didn’t fear a scene, at present he had no time or patience for one. He was hungry, and the idea of delaying his breakfast any longer was unacceptable.
“Very well, Sam. You may keep one of the pups,” he told her, then added sternly, “but I want you to give whichever of the three pups you choose to the footman to be taken to the stable yard immediately. Madison has already ruined a pair of my best trousers, and I do not choose to replace my Persian rugs at this time.”
Instead of the grateful smile Julian expected, Sam’s face became crestfallen. “Oh, Julian,” she lamented. “You don’t really expect me to choose just one, do you? I already love them all, and … and they’re gifts! Isn’t it rude to return a gift to the giver?”
Julian should have seen this coming. “Good God, Sam,” he rasped under his breath. “You don’t really expect me to allow you to keep all three of them, do you?”
But by the timorous smile on her face and the pleading expression in her eyes, it was obvious that that’s exactly what Sam expected.
By noon, Sam had been hostess to a dozen gentleman callers. As Julian had been compelled to be constantly in attendance as her chaperon, he missed breakfast altogether and, after the last caller had reluctantly left, he’d stomped away toward the kitchen in a decidedly foul mood.
Satisfied with her work for the morning, Sam went upstairs to change for a carriage ride in Hyde Park, humming to herself. It would be her first appearance in the park during the “Grand Strut,” when all of London society came out to see and be seen. In fact, all her morning suitors had promised to see her there. Sam hoped that Julian was finally beginning to realize that although she was an innocent, she wasn’t a child. And that if he didn’t want her, lots of other men did.
Her strategy—the strategy she’d lain awake last night developing—was to make him think she perceived him simply as her much older guardian and mentor. Her open adoration and awe of him previously had undoubtedly been perceived as childish worship. Now she would pretend that she didn’t adore him and that he didn’t awe her in the least. A good trick, that, but she was up to it.
As well, she would pretend that she fully embraced the idea and institution of marriage. She would make him think she had begun to regard matrimony as her duty, and that her intention was to make a sensible, respectable choice in a lifelong partner … romantic love be hanged.
She found it quite amazing that while Julian was very astute in recognizing her feelings in general, he was extremely obtuse when it came to realizing that she was in love with him … that it wasn’t just a childish gratitude or worship she felt for him, but a real and very womanly tenderness in her heart and yearning in her body.
But all that was going to change. He was not only going to realize how she felt about him, but he was going to realize that he felt the same tenderness and physical yearning for her… despite Charlotte Batsford.
Last night before bed, Sam had discreetly questioned Priss and Nan about Miss Batsford. When they assured her that all of London was wagering that Julian would eventually take the young lady to the altar, Sam’s resolve to win Julian for herself had only strengthened. Obviously she had no time to lose. Drastic times required drastic measures, and Sam was prepared to do whatever it took to become Julian’s one and only.
Entering her bedchamber, Sam found her abigail, Clara, waiting for her. Clara had been employed by Julian three months ago when she and the aunts had moved into his town house. A daughter of Julian’s majordomo, Hedley, Clara was a bright, pretty girl, but she suffered the usual disadvantage of a female of her status … she had no formal education. So it turned out to be rather advantageous for her that Sam was required to study every night to keep up with her schooling. They helped each other, and both girls ended up acquiring a whirlwind education.
Trouble was, because she didn’t have the connections Sam had, Clara was doomed to remain a servant forever, or marry as best she could. To Sam, however, Clara would always be a dear friend and a confidante. Like Hedley and the housekeeper, Verla, Clara was privy to Sam’s real connection to the Darlington family, but the three loyal servants would sooner cut out their tongues than reveal the secret of Sam’s illegitimate birth to anyone. Even the underlings at Montgomery House were kept in the dark about Sam’s true antecedents.
Clara crossed the room, grasped Sam’s hands, and swung them excitedly. “Miss! My, but you were a wondrous success today! I ran to the balcony every time I heard someone at the door, and I watched as each gentleman strutted through the hall to the drawing room. So many handsome men in fine togs!”
“Yes, many more than I expected,” Sam admitted modestly. “I just hope Julian took note and is beginning to see me as more than his childish pupil.”
Clara put her hands on Sam’s shoulder and gently nudged her to a full-length cheval mirror, then stood behind her and began to unbutton her gown. “How could His Lordship not take note of so many men bearing gifts?” She peered over Sam’s shoulder, meeting her gaze in the mirror’s reflection. “And three dogs, too! I thought I’d die when I heard that the American’s pup dampened His Lordship’s trousers!”
Sam smiled at Clara’s laughing face in the mirror. She looked quite lovely, her dark hair and brown eyes so striking next to the pristine white of her mobcap and apron. Sam often reflected that it seemed so unfair that just because you were born into the servant class, you could never aspire above it … at least not in England.
“Did you know he let me keep all three, Clara?” Sam asked her.
Clara slipped the sleeves of Sam’s dress off her shoulders and pulled it gently down to her waist, then straightened and grinned. “Yes. I heard Papa ranting about it in the kitchen. He’s not very pleased, of course. But I think it means you can pretty much get his lordship to do whatever you want, miss.”
Sam raised a brow, observing her bared shoulders in the mirror and the roundness of her breasts in her low-necked chemise. “Do you think so, Clara? Well, I’m not so sure. He might have given in about the pups simply because he was hungry for breakfast. Or perhaps he felt pressure from Nathan, Ninian, and Je
an-Luc … although that seems unlikely. Possibly he was just feeling generous, much like a doting old uncle might feel toward his favorite niece. I want him to be influenced by my feminine charms!” She plumped her small breasts with her hands and sighed. “Clara, what can I do to make him see me as a desirable woman?”
Clara eased the dress to the floor and Sam stepped out of a billow of yellow skirts. “Don’t ask me, miss. I’m still an innocent maid, too,” she said, walking to the armoire and hanging the dress on a hook. “I expect the best person to talk to about that sort of thing would be his mistress!” she joked, turning with a wry smile on her lips.
But Sam didn’t consider it a joke. Something inside her chest twisted painfully. She turned abruptly away from her reflection in the mirror and faced Clara. “His mistress? What are you talking about, Clara? Julian doesn’t have a mistress, does he?”
Immediately perceiving her mistake, Clara’s face turned crimson. “I … I don’t know, miss.”
“But you said—”
“I was only teasing, miss,” she said, averting her eyes. “I just assumed that since most highborn gents have ladybirds tucked away for their pleasure, and the practice being so generally accepted, that His Lordship might—”
“Clara, are you telling me that people don’t condemn men like Julian for having a mistress?” Since her father had been ashamed of his mistress and resulting bastard child, the idea that it was perfectly all right … even expected … for an aristocratic gentleman like Julian to keep a woman on the side seemed amazing to Sam. Even unfair.
Not to mention the fact that she abhored the very idea of Julian holding another woman in his arms, kissing her, touching her … At this point, Sam always got confused. How would he touch her? Where would he touch her? How did men and women make babies together? A niggling voice inside Sam’s head taunted her, saying, if you don’t know the answers to these questions, maybe you really are a child.
“I misspoke, miss,” Clara said, peering anxiously into Sam’s distressed face. “In fact I’m sure His Lordship couldn’t possibly—”
“Don’t you treat me like a child, too, Clara,” Sam said sternly. “Go ahead and admit it. You don’t just suspect Julian of having a mistress, you know it for a certainty … don’t you?”
Clara bit her lip and reluctantly nodded. “It’s true, miss. All the servants know about it. He’s got a lady who used to be an opera dancer set up nicely in her own little house. A fine place, I’ve heard. He’s not stingy with her, I’m told … and that speaks well of him, miss.”
When Sam remained silent, crossing her bare arms and staring at the carpet, Clara put her arm around her shoulder and said soothingly, “Well, you can’t expect a man to ignore his natural urges, can you, miss? The fact is, if His Lordship didn’t have a mistress, I’d wonder about ’im!”
Sam looked up into Clara’s sympathetic face. She smiled wanly. “It seems, Clara, that there’s still a lot of gaping holes in my education.”
“Oh, no, miss,” Clara assured her. “Proper females aren’t supposed to know about mistresses and such. And if they know about them, they aren’t supposed to talk about them or even think about them.”
Another unwelcome idea popped into Sam’s head. “Do gentlemen keep their mistresses once they’re married, Clara?”
Clara winced. “Sometimes,” she admitted.
Sam clenched her jaw and shook her head. She pulled away from Clara and moved to stand in front of the mirror again, wearing only her chemise. She stared at her reflection and mused aloud, “I expect men keep mistresses because so-called proper women are made to think that enthusiastic lovemaking is vulgar … that variations on the usual are forbidden. That’s not going to happen to me, Clara. Julian will not need a mistress once he’s married to me!”
Clara laughed. “You don’t even know what the ‘usual’ is when it comes to lovemaking. How are you ever going to learn the ‘variations’? Miss Priscilla and Miss Nancy don’t know about such things.”
Sam smiled smugly. “I’ll just have to have a little chat with Julian’s opera dancer, won’t I?”
It took Clara a moment to realize that Sam was serious, then she was appalled. “Now, miss, that’s not what a proper lady does. You’d better get that notion out of your head this very—”
But in the midst of Clara’s lecture, there was a knock at the door. She startled a little at the interruption, coming as it did in the middle of a discussion on mistresses, but she collected herself and went to see who it was. While Sam sat on the bed and waited, there was a terse, low-voiced exchange at the door between Clara and her father, Hedley. Sam noticed that Clara didn’t have a very warm relationship with her father. In fact, she often seemed even a little frightened of him. When she ended the conversation and came back into the room, Clara’s eyes were large and worried.
“Papa says you’re to get dressed immediately and go to the library. He says your aunts came home a few minutes ago all in a twitter and they’re behind closed doors with His Lordship gabbing up a storm. Papa says Miss Priscilla has nearly wrung her hands raw!”
Sam jumped to her feet. “Oh, dear. What can the matter be, I wonder?” she exclaimed. “Hurry, Clara. Help me get my dress back on! And don’t fuss with my hair. I’d better go as quickly as possible!”
A sudden horrible thought entered Sam’s head. “I hope nothing has happened to Amanda or the baby!”
Sam and Clara exchanged stricken looks, then hurried even faster.
Chapter Three
As Sam half ran down the hall toward the library at the rear of the house, instead of a mere footman waiting to open the door for her, she saw Hedley. In Sam’s estimation, such consideration did not bode well. And when she thought she detected a bit of sympathy in Hedley’s usually haughty expression, she entered the library trembling with fear.
The scene that greeted her did not lessen her fears, either. The aunts were sitting on the sofa, their faces white and drawn. Priss was wringing her hands as if she were imagining some villain’s neck. Julian stood with his back to the fire, his arms crossed over his broad chest, looking as sober as a minister presiding at a funeral. Whose funeral? thought Sam. Please not Amanda’s!
Hedley closed the door, leaving her alone with Julian and the aunts. But they all simply stared at her, saying nothing.
“Don’t leave me in suspense,” she pleaded. “It’s Amanda, isn’t it? Something’s happened to Amanda!”
The aunts began disclaiming at once, and Julian came forward and grasped Sam’s hands, chafing them between his two. “Nonsense, my girl. It’s nothing of the sort. By last report, Amanda is doing excellently, and we’ve no reason to believe her situation has changed.”
Sam sighed with relief, squeezing Julian’s hands gratefully. “Oh, I’m so glad to hear it. When I was called to come so urgently, and with Hedley looking so sympathetic and all of you appearing so concerned, I assumed it was bad news.”
Sam noticed Priss and Nan exchange looks. She peered up at Julian, demanding, “It is bad news, isn’t it? Why won’t you tell me what’s wrong?”
Julian guided her to a chair and urged her to sit down. He straightened and looked down at her with a serious expression. “It is news of importance, certainly, though it remains to be seen whether or not it is bad news. It is unfair and cruel of us to keep you in suspense, I know, Sam, but the truth is, it’s very hard to know where to begin.”
“Why not at the beginning?” Sam suggested, trying to smile even though her heart was beating so fast it was difficult to breathe.
“An excellent suggestion,” Nan said, nodding enthusiastically. “Excellent, indeed.” She paused, then turned to Priss. “Er … you begin, Priss.”
“But I wasn’t the one who found the diary,” Priss protested. “You found it!”
“Whose diary?” Sam asked, confused. “And what has a diary to do with me?”
“The diary belonged to Clorinda Darlington, Amanda’s mother,” Julian explained, lean
ing his shoulder against the mantel and keeping his steady gaze trained on Sam.
“Yes, unbeknownst to us, our sister kept a diary,” Nan continued, pulling a handkerchief from her sleeve and sniffling into it. “And it appears she had a much worse life with Simon Darlington than we ever suspected … the sanctimonious brute! She was very unhappy.”
“Am I to gather that you only recently found this diary?” Sam inquired.
“Yes, we found it this afternoon when we were going through a trunk of old clothes belonging to Clorinda, looking for suitable apparel to donate to the Women’s Shelter. Amanda Jane had given us permission long ago to give the clothes to the poor, and so we finally had the trunk brought up from Darlington Hall last week and sent directly to the shelter. We found the diary hidden on the very bottom under a taffeta petticoat!”
“Had no one gone through the trunk before?” Sam wondered.
“No,” said Priss. “Amanda Jane hadn’t the heart to do it at first, you know, and so much has happened in the past few months…”
Sam’s heartbeat was beginning to slow to a reasonable speed. She certainly sympathized with Priss and Nan’s distress about finding the diary and reading unpleasant revelations about their sister’s life with her “sainted” father, but why had she been sent for with such urgency? What could any of this have to do with her? Nothing that could be revealed about her father’s cruel nature would surprise her; she ought to know better than anybody of his insensitivity and indifference. But was there more to this than they were telling her?
The aunts had sunk into another uncomfortable silence. Sam looked questioningly at Julian. He sighed, then pushed off from the mantel and actually knelt beside her chair in the manner of a man proposing marriage. Sam’s heart tripped into a fast rhythm again. “I can see that I’m going to have to tell you what Priss and Nan discovered in the diary, Sam, and perhaps I’m the person who should do it, anyway.”
