The Hope Chest

by Jacquie D'Alessandro

  And suddenly it dawned on her precisely why she hadn’t been able to erase him from her mind. It was because he was different. He stood out when she’d reflected upon the other gentlemen simply because he was so different from them. And now that she’d determined what had been niggling at her, she could cease thinking about him.

  A wave of relief flooded her. Excellent. Now she could get back to solving her dilemma of which suitor she wished to marry. And that’s exactly what she intended to do.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ONE WEEK AFTER his visit with Lady Lydia and Lady Amanda, Maxwell sat in his private study, slumped in his maroon leather chair, tapping out a frustrated staccato on his desk while he stared at the enigma he’d purchased at Gibson’s shop.

  Bloody hell, an entire week spent studying and examining the box from every angle, utilizing his strongest magnifying glass to painstakingly scrutinize the carved swirls and star patterns, comparing them to his maps of the constellations and research books, but so far he had been unable to find a match. Still, he refused to give up. He simply could not shake the feeling that the carvings contained some sort of message. ’Twas good that he loved a puzzle as this one was proving extremely elusive.

  Speaking of puzzles… Maxwell turned the open box so he could look at the woman gracing the glossy top. How many hours in the past week had he spent looking at her shiny image, wondering about her? Too many to count. Had she been real, or merely the figment of the craftsman’s imagination? Surely real, and someone the craftsman had known well, even intimately, for how else could he have captured so much feeling, so much emotion in a mere silhouette? She was simultaneously sad and seductive, mysterious and alluring. And achingly, hauntingly familiar.

  Reaching out, he brushed his fingertip over the glossy surface of her, and shook his head in bemusement at the tingle that rushed up his arm. “Surely you must be Aphrodite, the goddess of desire, to affect me so,” he said softly.

  With a groan, he cradled his head in his hands and closed his tired, gritty eyes. The woman on the box instantly materialized behind his eyelids, a dark-haired temptress who beckoned him with a crook of her finger and a low, throaty whisper, Come with me….

  He followed, powerless to stop himself. When he finally caught up with her, he drew her into his arms and claimed the kiss he could no longer wait for. And when he lifted his head, he looked into her lovely face, into the golden brown eyes that had haunted his every waking and sleeping hour since he’d first seen them. The eyes and face of a woman who’d somehow bewitched him and who would never, could never, be his.

  A knock sounded at the door and Maxwell lifted his head, dragging his hands down his face. “Come in.”

  Sutton entered, bearing a tea tray.

  “Did I ring for tea?” Maxwell asked.

  Sutton blinked. “No, my lord. But you’re served tea at this same time every day.”

  Maxwell’s gaze swiveled to the mantel clock and he shook his head. Where had the day gone? Damn it, he felt as if he were engulfed in a fog. Leaning back in his chair, he crossed his arms over his chest and watched Sutton set the silver tray on the cherrywood end table then arrange a variety of biscuits on a china plate.

  “Sutton, when you first met Mrs. Sutton, did you feel as if…a lightning bolt had struck you?”

  “Actually, ’twas more like a potted plant falling on my head,” he said, filling a teacup.

  “Oh. That sounds…painful.” Not at all like the tingling jolt Maxwell had experienced.

  “Indeed it was, falling from the second-story window as it did.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “The potted plant. Geranium it was. Bright red. Fell right on my head.” Sutton reached up and rubbed his head, wincing as if his skull still hurt. “When I came ’round, I thought for certain I was dead for surely I was looking at an angel. She had the most beautiful brown eyes I’d ever seen.”

  Maxwell nodded. He knew precisely what Sutton meant.

  A faraway look entered Sutton’s eyes, and a smile played around his mouth. “She asked me if I was all right. I told her yes, but I knew I’d never be the same again. In here.” He tapped his hand to his chest. “I got a bump on my head and lost my heart in one fell swoop. But that’s often the way of it, my lord. Doesn’t take the heart but a single beat to know what it wants.”

  Sutton crossed the cream and maroon Axminster rug. After setting Maxwell’s teacup and plate of biscuits on the desk, the butler clasped his hands behind his back. “Does your curiosity about me and Mrs. Sutton have anything to do with what’s troubled you this past week, my lord?”

  Maxwell didn’t bother to deny he was troubled, not to a man who knew him better than anyone. A man who had shared the pains and disappointments as well as the joys when Maxwell was growing up. Certainly more than Maxwell’s father ever had. A humorless laugh escaped him and he raked his hands through his hair. “I’m not certain, Sutton. I can’t put my finger on precisely what’s wrong.”

  “I’m surprised to hear that, my lord, as you’re such an intelligent man and it’s very obvious.”

  “Indeed? Then enlighten me. Please.”

  Sutton’s gaze flicked to the open box on the desk. “’Tis a certain lady that has you tied up in knots.”

  Maxwell nodded slowly, then reached out to brush the pad of his thumb over the glossy silhouette. “Yes. I wish I could decipher the carvings in this box.”

  “I’m not talking about the lady on the box, my lord. I meant the lady who opened the box. Lady Amanda.”

  Maxwell’s head snapped up and he stared at Sutton whose eyes were serious with unmistakable concern. “You’ve been…different ever since you met her,” the butler continued. “’Tis obvious she’s made a profound impression on you.”

  Bloody hell. “When did I become as transparent as a pane of glass? Or have you developed some form of clairvoyance?”

  “A bit of both I suspect, my lord.” Sutton paused for several seconds, then said, “You can’t stop thinking about her.”

  As there was no point in denying it to a bloody clairvoyant, Maxwell nodded. “It’s as if she’s embedded in my brain.”

  “Then why haven’t you pursued her?”

  “To what end?” he asked, his voice rough with frustration. “I have nothing to offer her.”

  Sutton’s eyes widened. “Nothing to offer? You call a title, estates, wealth, a life of ease and luxury and yourself nothing to offer?”

  “I can’t imagine any woman relishing the title ‘Lady Crazed Killer of Cardiff.’”

  A muscle jerked in Sutton’s jaw and anger flashed in his eyes. “You didn’t kill anyone.”

  “I know that. But unfortunately not everyone else does.”

  “Does Lady Amanda believe that vile gossip?”

  Maxwell hesitated. “She didn’t seem to. I know she’s heard the rumors, but she told me she preferred to form her own opinions.”

  “Sounds like an intelligent woman.”

  “Yes. But if you’ll recall, Lady Roberta claimed to believe me innocent, then one week later cried off from our engagement.”

  “Lady Roberta was spoiled and selfish and not worthy of you,” Sutton said, raising his nose in the air as though he’d caught a whiff of something foul.

  Maxwell blew out a long breath. Yes, Roberta had turned out to be spoiled and selfish, but she’d also been vivacious and beautiful. And for a brief time he’d believed himself in love with her. When she’d broken their engagement, the blow had cut deep. Yet he now realized that he’d been fully prepared to marry a woman who had never, at any point during their lengthy acquaintance, fascinated him as much or elicited such strong reactions in him as Lady Amanda had in a matter of minutes.

  He shook his head. “Even if I were the most eligible man in the kingdom, it wouldn’t matter. As I told you when we discussed my visit to Lady Lydia’s estate, Lady Amanda leaves Cardiff to return to London in a fortnight’s time to choose a fiancé.”

  “Pe
rhaps she wouldn’t if she had a reason to stay.”

  “Have you forgotten that four gentlemen have approached her father with offers of marriage?”

  “No. But it seems to me that you have forgotten three very important things.”

  “Which are?”

  “One—that any lady who can handle four suitors can certainly handle five. Two—while it’s true that she’s leaving in a fortnight, you clearly haven’t considered that also means she shall be here for a fortnight. And three—she is not promised to anyone…yet.” He regarded Maxwell steadily for a moment. “I’m a firm believer in Fate, my lord. If I hadn’t been walking beneath that window at the exact instant my Sarah’s elbow knocked over that geranium, I might never have met her.”

  “Are you suggesting that Lady Amanda cosh me with a potted plant?”

  “No, my lord. I’m saying you own a box that only Lady Amanda can open. If she hadn’t entered Gibson’s shop to buy that very same box, at the very same time you were there, you wouldn’t have met. You also wouldn’t have known the box opened, or that only her touch could lift the lid. I’m saying Fate played a hand in that. And Hope as well. You ventured into the village hoping to find…something. Seems to me you found it.”

  Maxwell leaned back in his chair and considered. The facts Sutton presented were true. But did Maxwell want to risk himself, his heart, to another rejection? Was his meeting Lady Amanda really Fate or simply coincidence? While his scientific nature did not place much credence in Fate, neither did he place any faith in coincidence.

  Perhaps he’d built up his encounter with Lady Amanda in his mind into something it simply hadn’t been. If he saw her again, perhaps he might feel…nothing.

  There was only one way to find out. And he absolutely had to know.

  He pulled a sheet of vellum from his desk drawer, then reached for his pen. After writing a hasty note, he sealed the missive with wax, then handed it to Sutton. “Please see that is delivered to Tufton Manor at once, and have the footman wait for a reply.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Sutton turned smartly on his heel and departed, and Maxwell spent the next hour pacing in front of the fireplace, his heart pounding, trying without success to tamp down the impatience and anticipation nipping at him. When Sutton finally returned bearing a response on a silver salver, Maxwell quickly broke the wax seal and scanned the contents.

  “Did you receive the reply you’d hoped for, my lord?”

  Maxwell looked up from the note and smiled. “Yes, Sutton. It appears we’re having a dinner party this evening.”

  AMANDA ENJOYED another bite of delicious blueberry pie and allowed her gaze to drift around Lord Dorsey’s spacious dining room. The aesthetically pleasing proportions of the room, its high ceiling decorated with a stunning al fresco, appealed to her greatly. Indeed everything she’d seen of his home since she and Aunt Lydia had arrived pleased her, much to her surprise as the forbidding exterior had suggested an equally forbidding interior.

  When the carriage had pulled into the curved drive, she’d looked at the massive house in dismay. With shadows of twilight darkening the facade and casting eerie stains upon the aged stone, while fingers of misty fog reached upward, Dorsey Manor looked like an inky specter rising from a ghostly vision.

  Based on that initial impression, Amanda was caught completely off guard when she entered the black-and-white-tiled marble foyer. There was nothing forbidding about the huge sparkling crystal chandelier lit with dozens of candles. The entryway glowed with golden, welcoming warmth, and prisms of light reflected off cream silk-covered walls decorated with gilt-edged mirrors and framed landscapes. The pleasing fragrance of beeswax scented the air, mixed with the heady perfume from a stunning arrangement of white roses and deep purple lilacs set in a silver urn on a round mahogany table. Everywhere she looked, surfaces gleamed with loving care, and she’d been filled with an overwhelming curiosity to know if the rest of the house was as delightful as this first glimpse indicated. Certainly this lovely dining room, and the perfectly prepared and served meal, had exceeded her expectations. Even Mother, who was extremely particular in matters of meal preparation and service would have been hard pressed to find fault.

  Her gaze shifted back to the head of the table where it had wandered more times than she cared to admit. Lord Dorsey was listening intently to Aunt Lydia describe the details of a musicale she’d attended in London. While many gentlemen, her own father included, would have politely feigned interest in the long-winded tale until they could interject a change of subject, Lord Dorsey’s attention was clearly genuine. Indeed, he asked a number of probing questions, proving he was listening carefully. Aunt Lydia was only too happy to provide him with additional details.

  Amanda couldn’t count the number of times the man had intruded upon her thoughts the past week. Yet it was not just that she was thinking about him that unsettled her—it was the direction of those thoughts that disconcerted her.

  Was his skin warm? Was his hair as thick and soft as it looked? How would it feel to be held in his arms? What would his kiss taste like? She’d continually cursed her curious nature and had almost succeeded in convincing herself that she didn’t really want to know the answers, when his invitation to dinner had arrived, infusing her with anticipation and utterly dissolving her resolve to stop thinking of him.

  Now, the soft, amber glow from the candelabra cast him in an intriguing contrast of light and shadows that Amanda simply could not resist watching. His Devonshire brown jacket accentuated his broad shoulders, while his silver brocade waistcoat and snowy linen shirt offered a stark contradiction to his dark hair. Several errant locks marked his forehead lending an unexpected boyish air to a countenance that was otherwise supremely masculine. His quick smile flashed at something her aunt said, and she found herself staring at his mouth, hoping for a repeat performance, wondering once again what those lovely soft yet firm-looking lips would feel like pressed against hers.

  “You mentioned a love of history earlier, Lady Amanda. Have you had the chance to visit the nearby ruins of Llandaff cathedral?”

  Lord Dorsey’s deep voice yanked her from her perusal and she jerked her gaze upward. Their eyes met, and a wave of embarrassment swept through her at being caught staring. And at his mouth, no less. Thank heavens he could not read minds.

  “We visited the ruins earlier today,” Amanda said, inwardly cringing at how breathless she sounded. “I found them fascinating.”

  “Fascinating, yes, but quite exhausting,” Aunt Lydia declared with a laugh. “I don’t believe I’ve met anyone who likes to walk as much as my niece. The instant we arrived home I retired to my bedchamber for a much needed nap.”

  “And did you retire to your bedchamber for a nap as well, Lady Amanda?”

  An image instantly flashed in her mind…of her lying in bed…and him leaning over her, his lips only a hairsbreadth from hers. Heat flashed through her, and she knew crimson stained her cheeks. Good heavens, what was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she stop these unsettling, uncharacteristic and completely improper thoughts about him?

  She blinked away the image and cleared her throat. “No nap. I spent the afternoon walking along the beach, collecting shells.”

  Pleased surprise filled his gaze. “One of my favorite activities. I did not realize you were a fellow conchologist.”

  She smiled. “My knowledge of shell collecting is not nearly vast enough to qualify me with such an impressive, scientific title.”

  “Nonsense. One need only have a love of shell collecting. Did you find any interesting specimens?”

  “I confess I gathered so many, I was forced to remove my bonnet and use it as a basket, lest I drop any of my treasures.”

  He nodded, as if he understood completely the unacceptability of losing a found treasure. “My favorite time to walk the beach is immediately after a storm,” he said. “Nature, and the waves, deposit a veritable trove of new delights.”

  “I would love to see your collection
.”

  “It’s in my observatory. Since we’d already planned to visit there to view the stars through my telescope, that works out perfectly.” He glanced at the empty dessert plates. “Would you like to go now, or shall we first retire to the drawing room?”

  Amanda looked to her aunt who nodded encouragingly. “Now would be fine,” Amanda said.

  Five minutes later the three of them strolled down the flagstone steps leading from the spacious, moonlit terrace toward the gardens. “There is a path at the rear of the garden which leads to the observatory,” Lord Dorsey said.

  As they walked, Amanda breathed deeply, delighting in the scent of earth and roses combined with a whiff of the sea. “I love the smell of this place,” she said, drawing in another breath. “After spending so many months in London, I’d forgotten how wonderful clean air could smell.”

  Lord Dorsey pointed off to the right. “That path leads down to the sea. Other than my observatory, it is my favorite place on the estate. You walk along and can hear the sea, and smell it, but only catch glimpses of blue through the trees and foliage, until you round the final curve, then…there it is. I’ve walked the route countless times, yet it’s somehow always a wondrous surprise.”

  Amanda smiled. “My family’s county home is in Kent, and while we do have a small lake and I’ve always loved it there, I must admit that I find the sea most alluring.”

  “Alluring,” Lord Dorsey said slowly, looking at her. “Yes, that describes it very well.”