by Jade Lee
She was too busy being shoved aside by another person elbowing his way into the room from the side parlor.
"Do not feel ashamed, my lord," said the man who apparently had been waiting in hiding to spring upon Amanda. "Many are the souls who have been seduced by this lowborn witch."
Geoffrey heard Amanda gasp as everyone watched a rail-thin cleric swagger into the room. Geoffrey disliked the man on sight, starting with his fashionable haircut and ending with his austere ministerial clothing. But what most set his teeth on edge was the man's condescending smile and the lascivious gleam in his eyes as he took in every detail of Amanda's body.
"Reverend Hallowsby," Amanda said, her voice filled with contempt. "Come to create more sinners to punish?"
"Good afternoon, Gillian," the cleric returned, his attitude becoming even more derisive. "I have come to tell you of your mother's death. Four weeks ago."
Amanda swayed suddenly, and Geoffrey sprang forward, gently guiding her into a seat while the loathsome cleric continued mercilessly.
"Yes, I am afraid she died in sin, Gillian, neither repenting her base alliance with the late baron nor revealing your treachery." He stepped forward, using his superior height to look down his pointy nose at the pale girl beneath him. "How you managed to seduce the good Mrs. Hobbs to your cause, I shall never understand, but at least the doctor was able to give me your address."
Amanda—or was it Gillian?—glanced up, her eyes bright green emeralds in her wan face. "The doctor—"
"Arrived laughably late, as the patient was already buried. Beside your gravestone, I might add, tossed there on unhallowed ground. It makes me regret that I refused to bury you, Gillian, for the thought of the true Amanda lying in that place insults the soul of all good Christians."
Geoffrey reeled, fighting to absorb the information. Gillian had buried Amanda and put her own name on the gravestone?
"But at least the doctor could give me your address," continued the man, his words as relentless as they were cruel. "I, of course, suspected the heinous truth right away. I came straight to London to inform my lord of the unholy witch he bore in his midst." He turned to nod at Stephen, who looked to be carved in stone, his knuckles white, his emotions buried too deep to read.
"I feel it incumbent upon me to mention," the cleric continued, "that it was your sinful behavior, Gillian, that placed the final strain on your mother's failing health."
Beneath his fingertips, Geoffrey felt Amanda tremble, as if her body physically could not bear the news and tried to shake it off. For his part, Geoffrey felt at sea, his mind reeling from the sudden knowledge of Amanda's—no, Gillian's—true heritage. He, of course, knew of Amanda's half-sister. But could this be the girl? A by-blow passing herself off as legitimate?
Good lord, could it be true?
He looked down at the girl, trembling but stoic in the midst of her ruin, and knew it must be so. Still, he could not stop feeling some admiration for what she had done. It was bold and courageous, and a real joke on the haut ton.
He found himself liking her all the more.
Too bad he would not be able to marry her. Although in desperate need of an heiress, he knew what was due his family name.
Geoffrey sighed. Too bad.
Unless...
Geoffrey eyed Stephen. Mavenford was a man born to a wealth prudently, even brilliantly managed. He could not begin to understand to what depths desperation could drive a man or woman. Stephen stood there, behind his desk, the picture of betrayed trust, his compassion buried beneath generations of aristocratic duty and moral fortitude. But all that refinement had its weakness. The threat of a juicy scandal would cover a multitude of sins.
Geoffrey knew he could convince Mavenford.
The overweening cleric, however, was a different story. He would need to be eliminated somehow. The man was still droning on and on, detailing a whole catalog of Gillian's sins. It would be a pleasure to silence the bastard.
But before Geoffrey could think of a suitable method, Stephen managed it for him. The earl was curt and to the point, effectively shocking the cleric with his coldly delivered threat.
"Get out."
The reverend sputtered to a stop midword. "I beg your pardon, my lord?"
"I said get out of my house. In fact, get out of England."
"But—"
"If I ever—ever—hear one word of these accusations, I will hunt you down and kill you. I am a very rich and powerful man, Hallowsby. Do not test me on this, for I will do it."
The man stared at his would-be benefactor and sputtered, "But... but... but she is a bastard."
Beneath his fingertips, Geoffrey felt Gillian stiffen, but it could not compare to the earl's reaction. Without so much as a blink, he leaned down and retrieved something from his lower desk drawer. Lifting it up, he calmly loaded and cocked a pistol, then aimed it straight at the cleric's head.
"Was that your excuse for punishing her? Do you think her birth gives you the right?"
"It does give me the right!" exploded the man with holy zeal. "Every good Christian has the right to be repulsed by this witch, to be horrified and to exact God's vengeance!"
Bang! The gun discharged, blowing a melon-sized hole in the wood barely inches from the cleric's head.
"I said, get out."
Hallowsby literally shook in his boots. It took only a split-second's thought before the reverend grabbed his hat and ran for the door.
"Greely!" Mavenford barked. "Have two armed footmen follow him. Be sure some press gang finds him. He must leave England by tomorrow night."
The butler's pale but impassive face appeared just beside the smoking paneling. "Yes, my lord," he said, and then he quietly withdrew, closing the door silently behind him, only to appear at rigid attention in front of the gaping hole in the wall.
Geoffrey took a deep breath. It was time for him to enter the fray with his own agenda. "My goodness, Stephen," he drawled. "I did not know you possessed such a flair for the dramatic."
But Stephen was not attending. Instead the earl turned his fathomless eyes on Gillian, his gaze holding the look of a man in hell.
"I am sorry about your mother," he said, his voice hoarse with suppressed emotion.
Gillian did not respond, too lost in her own misery.
"Hallowsby will not bother you anymore. He will not bother anyone." Then he paused, as if searching for something to say. "I will supply you with whatever you need: money, transportation, whatever you wish to start a new life."
"What you will supply, Stephen," cut in Geoffrey coolly, "is her dowry and a promise to keep her true identity a secret."
Stephen's reaction was all Geoffrey could wish. The man literally gaped at him. "What?"
"As I tried to explain earlier, Amanda and I have an understanding. I intend to stick to that understanding, provided, of course, a suitable incentive on your part and your promise not to reveal"—he glanced at the gaping hole in the wall—"this entire wretched incident."
Stephen glared at him, and Geoffrey raised a mocking eyebrow, his expression designed to show the earl he was quite comfortable with the situation. Provided, of course, he received his stipulations.
For a long minute, there was not a sound except for the ponderous ticking of the clock. Even Gillian appeared to stop breathing.
Abruptly Stephen relaxed. He settled down in his chair with a wary look. Then suddenly Gillian turned to look at him, her eyes wide with confusion.
"Why, Geoffrey? Why would you still want to marry me?"
He looked down, pleased to see she had stopped shaking. "Because," he said softly, "ours was always a business arrangement. Your true heritage changes nothing. In fact, it doubles your dowry." He glanced at Stephen to make sure the man understood his price. Then he looked back at Gillian, casually caressing her beautiful cheek. "I still believe we will deal well together. I am sure you will work extra hard now to always appear a lady."
She swallowed. "Y-yes, of course."
"But," interjected Gillian, "what if the truth does come out?"
Geoffrey sobered, knowing he must tell her the truth. "Then I will be forced to annul our arrangement. I will not want to," he said softly, "but I have certain obligations to my family. I will, of course, see that you are well provided for."
She nodded. "I understand."
"But I would not worry," he added as gently as possible. "I doubt the cleric will talk after Stephen's little display." The smells of gunpowder and burning wood were still heavy in the room.
"No, I doubt he will," she agreed. Her eyes focused not on him, but on Stephen as she spoke, her voice growing more determined with each word. "Indeed, I can see you are most generous, my lord." She turned to face Geoffrey directly. "I accept your proposal, Lord Tallis. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a good deal of packing to do while you gentlemen arrange the details."
She nodded to both him and Stephen, then quit the room. Watching her regal retreat, Geoffrey smiled, knowing she would make him an excellent countess.
Yes, he decided with a satisfied smile, this was indeed a good bargain for all around. And with that thought, he turned toward Mavenford, prepared to negotiate in the full knowledge that he had the upper hand.
Chapter 14
Rule #15:
A lady is never in haste.
Her mother was dead. For the last month her mother had been dead and buried, and she had not known, had not been with the dear lady when it happened, had not even been nearby. Gillian had been in London wearing rich clothes and going to parties. And now her mother was dead. She swallowed, catching a harsh sob in her throat, and she bit her lip to keep back the tears. Still, the grief threatened to overwhelm her, surrounding her in a hazy cloud of pain that washed the world in gray. "Amanda?"
Gillian blinked at her future husband, sitting across from her in his traveling coach. They were going to his family seat in the Cotswolds, where they would be married in the morning by special license. In less than twelve hours she would be Lady Tallis.
"Do you want to delay the wedding?"
Gillian shook her head. She had set upon her masquerade as a way to save her mother. By all rights, with her mother gone, she need not marry. Her own requirements were few, and she had the whole world to choose from.
Except that her mother's one wish was for her daughter's happiness. Although Gillian could not quite predict whether her marriage to Geoffrey would bring her joy, she was certain it would bring a measure of security. And for Gillian, security was as close to happiness as she was likely to find.
It did not matter that it was Amanda's security and Amanda's marriage, she told herself. Whatever remained of Gillian had died with her mother. She was Amanda Faith Wyndham now, and soon she would be Lady Tallis. She would have fine clothes, food, and a place in society—at least as long as her true lineage remained secret.
That was enough. She did not need to be herself.
"There is no need to delay, Geoffrey. Mother would have wanted this for me."
He nodded, his expression pensive, his eyes amazingly astute. "Do you love him so very much?" he asked softly.
She did not ask to whom he referred. Stephen had never left her thoughts since he had turned his back on her nearly a week ago. And Geoffrey, with his dark gray eyes that missed nothing, would be sure to understand that she grieved as much for losing Stephen as she did over losing her mother.
Did she still love him? After everything that happened?
"No," she lied. Then her gaze slid away from Geoffrey to watch the evening glow fade into night. "And even if I did, he despises me now. The upright Earl of Mavenford could not countenance marriage to a by-blow, much less a liar and a fraud." She tried to keep the bitterness from her voice, but it crept in despite her efforts.
Then she felt Geoffrey's hand on hers. "We will proceed slowly, Amanda. Accustom ourselves to one another. In time I am sure we can come to some arrangement."
"Thank you," she whispered, grateful for his understanding. It would be a relief, after all that happened, to take a moment to rest before facing the obligations of marriage.
"It will all work out for the best, Amanda."
She turned to him, her question spilling from her lips even while she wondered why it was so important to her. "Could you not call me Gillian? Just when we are alone?"
His answer was softly spoken, but clear in the evening gloom. "I do not think it wise, Amanda. Someone might overhear. And besides, you must learn to accept your new identity. You are Amanda Wyndham now. All traces of... of the other person must be erased from your heart and soul."
"I understand." And she did. But she could not help feeling that in becoming Amanda, the best of Gillian had disappeared. If Gillian were gone, who would remember Mary Ames? Who would put flowers on a poor maid's grave? What would she say to her children about their grandmother? She could not speak of the sweet woman who sang nonsense rhymes by the fire to distract her daughter from an empty stomach. She could not tell them about a woman who lived with such simple wisdom.
Amanda did not know about these things, but Gillian did. And Gillian did not want to forget.
* * *
Stephen could not forget. He threw his empty bottle away in disgust while his head spun and his sight grew fuzzy.
She was gone.
Her small trunk had been loaded into the Tallis coach two hours ago, and then she'd followed. Her sweetly curving body and her tragic, pale face disappeared into the vehicle's dark interior with barely a backward glance. Then she and Tallis drove away.
She was gone.
The lying bitch. But his thoughts held no heat, no anger, only the aching emptiness of memories that haunted him despite the brandy. Would he ever forget the way her eyes had widened with too much innocence when she tried to fool him? Or the saucy sway of her hips when she laughed? Or the erotic press of her lips that brought such fire to his soul?
He groaned and reached for another bottle.
"Well, this is a sight to warm a mother's heart."
Stephen looked up, squinting past the brilliance of a single candle held close to his face.
"Mother," he said, his voice only slightly slurred. "Get that away from my eyes."
"You are foxed."
"Not nearly enough."
She peered at him, bringing the candle even closer; then abruptly she set it down, her disgust palpable in the fetid air. "Really, Stephen, I thought you were the sensible child."
Stephen shrugged his shoulders, stoically resigning himself to his mother's company. "I am sorry to disappoint you."
She sighed. "Well, you might at least offer me a glass."
He blinked at his mother in surprise. He could not remember the last time she had requested brandy. But at her impatient gesture, he poured her a glass, desperately struggling to keep from sloshing it over the side.
"What is this?" she asked, her voice cutting painfully into his concentration. The amber liquid spilled over the side.
"What is what?"
Cup-shot as he was, his reactions were slow. He could not prevent his mother from grabbing a sheaf of paper from his desktop.
"'Rules for a Lady,'" she read aloud. "I never did see the need for such folderol, but then I never did much understand the two of you."
Even drunk as he was, Stephen was strong enough to pull the page out of her grasp. It was the list from Amanda's—no, Gillian's—room. She'd left it behind, just as she'd left the delicate necklace and ear bobs he had given her. All three were folded neatly in her mobcap, tucked away at the back of her wardrobe.
Greely had said one of the maids found them while cleaning the room. Now the items sat on his desk, his last reminder of her. His mother was brutal as she casually inspected each piece, silently poking at each item while Stephen ground his te
eth in frustration.
They were his, damn it, and he had no wish for anyone, much less his mother, probing wounds that had not begun to heal.
"Mother—"
"Greely tells me Gillian's mother died. How very wretched for her. I tried to express my condolences earlier, but I am afraid she was not attending."
Stephen blinked, frowning as he tried to sort through his mother's last words. Had she said Gillian? Impossible. His mother did not know Gillian's true name.
"I recall when my mother died," the countess continued as she reached for her brandy. "You were too young to remember, but I was stricken with grief. There is a special bond between mother and daughter that nothing can erase. I did not eat or sleep for days. All I could think was that I was alone in the world. I had a loving husband and three beautiful children, but I still felt so terribly, terribly lost." She glanced significantly at Stephen. "It is not the time to make important life decisions. One invariably makes the wrong choice."
Stephen shook his head. "Amanda's mother died years ago."
The countess set her glass down with an irritated click. "Well, what is that to the point? I was speaking of Gillian's mother. And that odious minister. I am so glad you dealt with him." She glanced pointedly at the hole in the wall. "I suppose you felt the, um, drama was necessary?"
Stephen stared at her in openmouthed shock. "Gillian's mother died."
The countess folded her hands primly in her lap. "Why, yes. Did I not just say so?"
He gaped at her, trying to wade through his brandy-induced confusion to the truth. "How long have you known she is Gillian?"
"Why almost from the start! Stephen, you cannot think a baseborn serving girl could pretend to be a lady without my seeing the truth? I am not in my dotage, you know."
