Rules for a Lady (A Lady's Lessons, Book 1)

by Jade Lee

  "Oh," said the countess, cutting into the sudden tension with her own frustrated sigh. "You two have had another tiff."

  Gillian shifted her gaze, startled enough to break away from Stephen's mesmerizing face. "Tiff?" she echoed. The countess had called their arguments many things—explosions, tirades, even the onset of Armageddon—but never a "tiff."

  "Yes, yes," responded the countess in an exasperated tone. "You two are constantly getting into these childish little spats. Well, go on, Amanda. Apologize, and then Stephen will say all is forgiven, and we can set our minds to our true task—finding you a brilliant match."

  Gillian opened her mouth to say something rude, only to be forestalled by Stephen, his low voice filling their carriage as completely as the chill night air.

  "On the contrary, Mother, it is I who must beg Amanda's pardon."

  Gillian stiffened. He was sorry he had kissed her. So sorry, in fact, that he was apologizing in front of his mother.

  "Oh," commented the countess in disappointed surprise. "Very well, Stephen. Now, Amanda, say all is forgiven."

  "What if all is not forgiven?" Gillian failed to keep her voice even, upset because she could not understand why his apology hurt her so.

  "Well, of course everything is forgiven," snapped the countess, clearly at the end of her patience. "He has said he is sorry, and I am certain he promises he will not do it again."

  "Most assuredly," Stephen said.

  "He certainly will not," Gillian said at the same instant.

  "There," the countess said with a gratified smile. "Now all is well." And since the carriage had finally arrived at their home, no one bothered to contradict her.

  Chapter 11

  Rule #12:

  A lady honors and obeys her parents.

  Gillian was miserable.

  Nearly two weeks had passed since her confusing entre into the haut ton, and in that time she had been showered with every kind of flower, danced until her feet were numb, and had every part of her body immortalized in poetry. In short, she was a greater success than she had ever dreamed.

  Given her imagination, that was high praise indeed.

  Yet she was totally, incredibly miserable.

  She was in love.

  She did not know how it happened. She was not even sure when, but the facts were inescapable. It did not matter whose hand she held on the dance floor, her thoughts invariably compared the man to Stephen. This viscount's shoulders were not as broad; that lord was not nearly as graceful. This duke was too comfortable, that baron too complimentary.

  But even that she pushed aside as nothing more than simple selection. After all, she must make comparisons to keep everyone straight in her mind. It was not until nighttime that the inescapable truth held her in its burning grip.

  No matter what happened during the day, when darkness closed about her, Gillian would he stock-still and fight the desire to run to him. It did not seem to matter that Stephen was clearly destined for Lady Sophia or that he had spent the last weeks either ignoring or scowling at Gillian. At night, all she wanted to do was throw herself into his arms and whisper that all was forgiven.

  Yes, she was in love. With Stephen. She sighed and dropped her hand on her chin.

  "I see my wit is failing me today," commented Lord Tallis dryly.

  She glanced up in guilty surprise. She was so caught up in her thoughts that she'd failed to even notice she and Lord Tallis had already arrived at the Tower for their tourist event and the fulfillment of their wager.

  "Thank heaven it is early for the fashionable throng," he drawled. "Otherwise my reputation would be quite done in."

  "I am so sorry, my lord. My thoughts have been wandering."

  "If I were of a romantic nature, I might think you were a woman in love."

  She started, twisting in his curricle to consider him more closely. He was a handsome man in his own cynical way. Whereas Stephen was straightforward and honest to the bone, Lord Tallis was... different, almost devious in the way he presented himself to the world. Not as tall as Stephen, he nevertheless had his own aura of power hidden beneath his fashionably dandified air.

  And for the last two weeks, he had seemed like her only friend, despite her set-down at the ball.

  "My lord—"

  "Please," he interrupted, helping her descend from his curricle. "I think the coming confession calls for given names."

  She flinched, wondering just how much of her soul he could read with his keen gray eyes. Then she sighed. She must speak with someone, and at the moment he was her closest friend. Even so, she waited until after he paid their admittance fee to the Tower menagerie and dismissed their guide. She did not speak until she stared at the cage of a particularly sad-looking panther.

  "Oh, Geoffrey, the truth is, after all my scoffing at unseen dangers, it seems I have fallen into the biggest trap of them all."

  "You have fallen in love." He spoke evenly, his words a statement and not a question, but she could sense his underlying tension when she touched his arm.

  She looked away from the panther to gaze at a cage of careening monkeys. "I... I seem to be having difficulty ruling a particularly willful aspect of my nature. Despite all logic and reason, I feel... pulled toward one man."

  He did not answer at first, waiting patiently as other visitors passed out of earshot. "I take it the gentleman in question is unacceptable."

  She released a disgusted laugh. "Unacceptable, irredeemable, and cantankerous to boot."

  He raised an eyebrow, a sparkle of amusement flashing in his eyes as they wandered on. "How dreadful."

  "He has been a thorn in my side from the first moment. The thought of willfully subjecting myself to his tyranny for the rest of my life is insupportable. I simply will not do it."

  "Methinks the lady doth protest too much," he commented dryly.

  She glared at him. She had never been particularly fond of Hamlet. Too much moaning, too little doing. But unfortunately Geoffrey did have the right tack. She was protesting too much, and all the while her illegitimate nature gained a foothold in her heart.

  She looked back at the monkeys. "I am undone by my own traitorous blood."

  "Not blood, Amanda. Passion. And passion can easily be ruled by the head."

  She lifted her gaze to him and knew he, at least, believed it was true. Despite his frivolous air, Geoffrey was a man of control, a man who probably never once let his emotions override his reason.

  She suddenly discovered she had a great deal of respect for him. She straightened her shoulders, wanting to copy his example. "Very well, Geoffrey. What do you suggest?"

  He was watching her closely, as if gauging her mood. Then abruptly he spoke, startling her with the plainness of his words. "Marry me, Amanda."

  "What?" She gasped.

  "I like you. I think we would suit admirably. And I must confess, although my estates are quite solid, an infusion of fresh capital right now would not go amiss."

  Gillian blinked. "You mean you want my dowry."

  He sighed, seemingly apologetic as he nodded. "Yes, I need your dowry. But I also think I could be a good husband." He turned to her, his eyes serious. "I would not object if you took the unsuitable gentleman for a lover."

  She gasped. "He would never do that."

  She answered without thought, never realizing how much she gave away by such a statement. There were not many men of the ton who, once invited, would turn down a married woman's bed. Add to that her statement that he was a thorn in her side from the beginning, and the list narrowed down to only one man.

  Geoffrey was too quick not to understand. His eyes narrowed. "Your guardian is to marry my sister," he said, his tone cold.

  Gillian glanced away, letting her gaze wander over the rows of cages. "I know."

  "Is he aware of your feelings?"

  "Good God, no! He thinks I want to scratch his eyes out." She tilted her head in a half smile. "And most of the time he is right."

  Geoffr
ey pulled her along, guiding her to a more secluded spot near a Spanish wolf. She did not speak as they walked, knowing he was thinking. Then suddenly he turned to her, his eyes filled with a careful determination. Clearly he had made a decision, and she held her breath, waiting for his pronouncement.

  "I want to marry you, Amanda, but there are a few questions still."

  With a supreme effort, Gillian controlled her expression while her thoughts whirled. Here it was. The moment she had anticipated for years. She needed to keep her head for only a few more moments; then her future and her mother's would be set.

  "First, could you stand seeing Stephen and Sophia at family gatherings and holidays?"

  She bit her lip, flinching at the thought of unending Christmases watching Stephen and Sophia together, seeing their children year after year. Could she do it? "I..." She took a deep breath. "I suppose I shall have to in any event. He is my family, even if he is not yours yet."

  Geoffrey nodded, apparently satisfied by her response. "I shall insist upon an heir first. There will be no lovers before that."

  "That will not be difficult." Once away from Stephen, she doubted she could be tempted by anyone.

  He searched her face, and she lifted her chin, showing him her own resolve. She did not bother asking about his lovers. As it was for her, this was a business transaction. She would get his title; he would get her dowry. And her mother would get a warm home in the winter.

  She felt him raise her hand, and once again she found herself comparing him to Stephen. Like that of the earl, Geoffrey's touch was firm and commanding, but his hand was smaller than Stephen's and somehow did not give her the same sense of security.

  It did not matter, she told herself sternly. The dowry Stephen provided would give her whatever Geoffrey could not.

  "Miss Wyndham, will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?"

  She swallowed, forcing the words out of her mouth before her traitorous heritage overcame her reason. "Yes, Lord Tallis. It would be my great pleasure."

  Then he kissed her, not gently or reverently, but professionally, with a skill that impressed her, warming her blood even as it left her heart cold.

  * * *

  Stephen heard the rattle of carriage wheels and could not stop himself from looking out the window. As he suspected, it was Amanda returning with Lord Tallis.

  He glanced at the mantel clock. She would have to hurry if she intended to be ready for tonight's round of balls and routs. His mother intended to take Amanda to no less than three separate establishments tonight.

  Since the evening of her first ball, Amanda had indeed become this Season's Original. For the past two weeks, he had tripped over posies and calf-eyed young bucks until he'd thought to convert the front rooms into a dormitory for lovesick fools. They were so thick, in fact, that he hid himself in his room to avoid the sight of yet more young tulips of the ton.

  The whole situation was maddening. He could count the times he was alone with Amanda on the fingers of one hand. And each of those three times, it had been an awkward affair in the hallway between engagements. Neither knew what to say and both disappeared to their respective destinations at the earliest opportunity. They no longer even attended the same functions anymore. It appeared that Amanda planned her evenings intending to avoid him and Sophia.

  Stephen glanced back at the carriage and frowned. Amanda was still there, speaking on the doorstep with Lord Tallis. Easing the curtains a little wider, Stephen narrowed his eyes and tried to guess at their words.

  He had no clue, of course. But there did seem to be a new rapport between the two. Amanda clearly was not flirting, and yet she lingered on the doorstep with the man. It was as if the two had come to some understanding

  Stephen stepped back from the window in shock, immediately denying the evidence of his eyes. She could not have made her choice already. It was only a few weeks into the Season. No, Amanda was too levelheaded to make her decision so soon.

  Stephen settled back into his chair and returned to his reading—a pamphlet on the plight of young boys. But he could not concentrate; his mind was too full.

  Amanda and Geoffrey. True, the man had a title, social standing, and enough wealth with the addition of Amanda's dowry. By all accounts, the man was a good match. Why, Stephen was even considering marrying Tallis's sister, as much because of her family status as her inherent breeding.

  So why should he have this feeling of dread? Something was definitely wrong.

  Setting aside his half-finished notes for his speech to the House of Lords, Stephen rang for his valet. It was time to make some inquiries, not only into the particulars of Lord Tallis's estate, but also to resolve some lingering questions about Amanda. He had put off the task, no doubt afraid to uncover whatever indelicacies her childish passions had thrown her into.

  But it was time to face his responsibilities. He was Amanda's guardian. While his solicitor poked into the niceties of Tallis's affairs, he had time to check on Amanda's inheritance, making sure everything was in order before her nuptials.

  With a grim expression, he turned to his valet, ordering the man to pack a small bag for him. Then he ducked down the back stairs, searching for some brandy to dull the ache in his gut.

  * * *

  Gillian was still awake. It was past three in the morning, at least an hour after everyone else in the household had sought their own beds. But Gillian was awake, staring out at the overcast night with nothing but a frail piece of foolscap to keep her company.

  Her mother had written her a letter. It had clearly been delayed, sent through Amanda's housekeeper, Mrs. Hobbs, a notoriously forgetful woman despite her kind heart. It had arrived here care of Amanda Wyndham, buried in with a long series of the manor's household receipts.

  Gillian twisted the page in her fingers. Though there was no light to read by, Gillian reviewed the page word by word. It was not hard, for the missive was very short.

  I love yu. Yur father did to in his own way.

  Rember yor cap.

  It was not even signed, but Gillian recognized her mother's shaky letters, the belabored script and frequent misspellings. She also recognized the underlying message: Good-bye.

  Her mother did not expect to see Gillian again.

  Gillian bit her lip, trying to muffle the sobs constricting her throat. How could this happen?

  Gillian felt her ball gown rustle beneath her fingers as she crumpled the shimmering silk. The letter came in the post this afternoon, but she had not received it until after she'd returned home from Almack's. What irony, she thought with a grimace. While she danced in society's most guarded ballroom, her mother's last goodbye waited on the front table for her attention. Had she truly been so immersed in her deception that she'd forgotten her own mother?

  No. She had not forgotten her mother. When Gillian left two months ago, her mother was healing. With spring's arrival she should have continued to grow stronger each passing day. Gillian never would have left York if there was any hint of a relapse.

  But the tone of her mother's letter implied otherwise. Gillian felt her hands shake, her heart breaking as she thought of her sweet parent. Was it possible? Was her mother truly dying?

  She had searched frantically through the receipts, looking for anything else, even a note from Mrs. Hobbs telling her some news. But there was nothing—only the certain conviction that her mother was dying, and Gillian was hundreds of miles away.

  She dropped her head in her hands and let the tears fall unchecked. But long before her gown grew wet, Gillian dried her tears, dismissing them as a useless waste of time. She must make her decision, and sobbing would not bring her any closer to an answer.

  The question now was simple. Did she go back to her mother and forget the future? Or trust her mother was fine and carry on her charade until the end?

  Abruptly pushing out of her chair, Gillian began to pace, the crumpled foolscap resting like a white flag on her bed. She was an engaged woman. Although Tall
is had not wanted to make their betrothal public until after his sister was settled, their agreement was finished. She would soon be Lady Tallis.

  But would their engagement survive her sudden absence if she disappeared to Yorkshire?

  The answer, of course, was yes. Geoffrey would certainly not propose to a woman, then forget it the next evening. The problem lay in his desire to spend more time, not less, with her. Once she decided to visit York, he would undoubtedly offer to accompany her. It would be a natural opportunity to inspect the property that would go with her hand in marriage. And she could not allow that.

  Only her mother and sweet Mrs. Hobbs knew of her deception. Everyone else in York would call her Gillian Ames, bastard daughter of the old baron. Geoffrey would discover her fraud within an hour. So she could not go to York, at least not yet, and certainly not openly. But she still could do something for her mother.

  With sudden determination, Gillian stripped off her ball gown, regretting her decision to allow Hawkings to retire. It was awkward pulling at buttons meant to be unfastened from behind by a maid, and in the end Gillian tore the delicate fabric in her haste. She gave it barely a regretful sigh as she pawed through her wardrobe for something appropriate.

  Gillian pulled out a serviceable walking gown. It was much too bright for skulking about in the nighttime shadows, but it was the best she could find under the circumstances. And, best of all, she could fasten it from the front. Then, taking a deep breath to calm her thoughts, she sat down to compose a letter.

  Gillian's first mission was to revive her mother's failing health. That meant a doctor, but the nearest one she trusted lived miles from her mother's small village in York. Though he did not begrudge his services, he usually required some recompense for his time and travel.

  Rooting about in the back of her dresser, Gillian retrieved her maid's cap from its hiding place. Folded within the white linen, she kept the last of her pin money and the piddling sum she had managed to win at a card party. She could easily have gotten more, but she had not wanted to be too forward at her first card party. Now she wished she had been ruthless.