A Lady at Last

by Brenda Joyce

  The countess was chasing after Tyrell and Lizzie’s other son, Charles, fondly known as Chaz. At two, he was intent on pulling every possible item and artifact off each end table and desktop. Vaguely, Cliff saw Rex seize Chaz before he could destroy a priceless plate. The boys outside vanished, and it was almost dark. Cliff started after them when he heard his sister’s breathless chatter in the hall. From the corner of his eye, as he seized the terrace doorknob, he saw a vision in pink.

  He turned, shocked, one word in his mind: Amanda. And he tripped over his own feet, but somehow caught himself before falling.

  She stood with Eleanor on the threshold in a pink silk gown, her hair pinned up, and she was so beautiful he was stunned senseless.

  All he could do was stare, smitten by her beauty and her innocence, wanting her insanely.

  He somehow sat down in a chair.

  She was blushing, smiling shyly.

  My God, he finally thought, his heart thundering in his chest. She was so beautiful, it hurt—but hadn’t he known from the start that she would be a great beauty?

  La Sauvage was gone, but he couldn’t seem to care, not when faced with the woman she was becoming.

  He could not take his eyes off her.

  “Cliff!” Eleanor shouted. She had her fists on her hips. She gave him a stern look.

  He leaped to his feet and rushed forward, tripping again on the damned rug as he did so. Then he skidded to a halt before her, terribly breathless. Their eyes locked. Oddly, he couldn’t think of a thing to say, when he wanted to tell her she was the most beautiful woman in all of Britain.

  “Do I look foolish?” she whispered.

  His heart turned over, impossibly, dangerously. “You look,” he managed, taking her hand, “beautiful…beyond words.”

  Her color increased. “You don’t have to be kind.”

  He brought her hand to his lips, but did not kiss it. He remained too shaken. “Amanda—” he swallowed, then gave in “—there is no one as lovely as you.”

  Pleasure filled her eyes and she smiled up at him with more confidence.

  He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed it, lingering over her flesh. He was so terribly aware of her. Worse, he had such a yearning inside, and it wasn’t just physical. In fact, he could not identify or recognize it—or was afraid to do so. But he couldn’t quite release her hand. He wanted to hold on to it forever. “Did you cut your hair?” he asked softly.

  She shook her head. “No.”

  He was relieved. “I’m glad,” he whispered. As he looked at every single perfect feature on her face, he realized nothing had changed—but then he looked at the pink silk caressing her bosom, her waist, and he inhaled, because somehow, everything had changed.

  “Lizzie pinned my hair up. She keeps her hair long, too.”

  Cliff had a stunning image of Amanda standing starkly naked, her long pale tresses spilling down her back, over her shoulders, over her full, high breasts. Last night, she had been naked, her hair down, but she had been in the throes of grief and despair, slicing her gown to ribbons with a knife. Now, he saw her smiling softly at him, her cheeks pink with desire, waiting for him to come forward and take her to his bed.

  He didn’t think he had ever wanted anything more. Cliff let her palm go. He cleared his throat. “I take it Madam Didier had a dress a client did not want?”

  Amanda nodded. “She was kind enough to make some alterations…how could anyone reject this beautiful gown?”

  “You are happy,” he breathed. “I will buy you a hundred more.”

  She smiled into his eyes. “I don’t need a hundred dresses. Cliff, I have come to my senses,” she said softly.

  His smile faded. What the hell did that mean?

  “I was hoping,” she hesitated, biting her lip, “I could ask you something, after supper.”

  You could be my husband. He was filled with tension, recalling her wish to be his wife. It had been a question, huge and poignant, one he would never forget. “You can ask me anything,” he said as softly. Their gazes held again.

  Then someone coughed.

  Cliff started, realizing they were not alone, and he felt his cheeks heat. He glanced around the room at his family, disliking Eleanor’s sly grin, Rex’s open amusement, and his mother’s and Lizzie’s wide stares and knowing smiles. Even Ariella was staring at him with open curiosity, as if he had done something terribly inappropriate and odd.

  The countess came forward. “Amanda, dear, I agree. You are so lovely. Why don’t you and Cliff have a private word now while Rex goes after the two boys? I will take the ladies into the dining room and Anahid can settle the rest of the children upstairs.”

  “Thank you,” Cliff said to his stepmother. He paused to kiss her cheek. Outside, he heard the boys screaming in wicked laughter.

  Mary smiled at him. “I am happy for you,” she said.

  He had no clue as to what she meant. When everyone was gone, he smiled at Amanda. Even looking at her anew caused his heart to race. He began to wonder at his reaction—and to worry about it. Now that he was her official guardian, he had to get a grip on his composure. Guardians did not desire their wards, it was as simple as that. “Should I close the doors?”

  She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”

  He left the doors open. “Amanda, I am sorry about this morning,” he began.

  She laid her hand on his chest, making his heart leap wildly. “You mentioned a dowry—and an estate.” She dropped her hand.

  Her simple touch had made him recall every moment in her bed last night. Stiff and uncomfortable, he paced for a moment to distract himself. “Yes. I realized you need a dowry, and I will provide it. An estate will be a part of the dowry. I put my agents on it this morning.”

  Her eyes were huge. “So when I marry, there will be an estate? Will it belong to me? Or to my husband?”

  He was oddly disturbed that she was now speaking of her marriage so dispassionately. You could be my husband! “The lure to such a dowry is that it would pass from you to your husband upon marriage. However, I prefer the estate to remain in your name, and to be inherited by your eldest son. A suitor would still find the prospect attractive enough, as a husband controls his wife’s affairs and your son would be his son, as well.”

  “You are so generous,” she cried, her eyes huge, and he saw that she was excited now.

  He was very disturbed. “So you have come to the conclusion that marriage is best?”

  She glanced away, blushing. “Cliff…de Warenne. I spoke recklessly this morning. I mean…I wish I hadn’t said what I did…it was so silly!”

  “Amanda,” he began. “You are not silly—”

  “No, wait! I know you would never marry me. Of course I know it! I don’t know why I said what I did. I mean, I did think we would be lovers after what happened last night, but you did say a hundred times you only wish to protect me.” Her color was high. “I understand. I am not angry. I don’t…. hate you. I could never hate you.”

  He went to the doors and closed them, relieved no one was lurking in the hall. “I am very glad for that. Amanda, you do understand, don’t you? I’m never going to marry anyone.”

  She grimaced. “One day you will marry a great lady. She will probably be a princess—I am sure of it.”

  He sighed, realizing there would be no convincing her. “Is this what you wanted to say? That you regret your impulsiveness earlier?”

  “That, but more importantly, I wanted to understand what this estate means for me.”

  He reached out unthinkingly, his fingers grazing her cheek, then he jammed his hands in his trouser pockets. “The estate will be yours. In fact, this afternoon one of my agents found an interesting prospect. A manor house on quite a bit of land with three tenant farms.” He saw her eyes widen so he continued. “The price is oddly low. The manor is south of town, about a half day’s carriage ride from here.”

  She bit her lip, her eyes filled with excitement.

 
“What is it, Amanda?”

  “You are giving me a home of my own!” she cried. “The British took Belle Mer and the Amanda C. I have nothing to my name, but you are giving me an estate—my very own estate. Can’t you see what this means to me?”

  He hadn’t, but now he did. “I begin to understand. Have no fear. The estate will be yours, not your husband’s.” He hesitated. “And does the prospect of marriage now excite you, as well?”

  Her smile faltered. “I know you will find a suitable match. I know you will never force me into a union with someone despicable.”

  “Of course not,” he said slowly.

  “It is a small price to pay for such a life, don’t you think so?”

  He was very uncomfortable now, and awed by her stoicism. “It is what women must do. They must find husbands to provide for them. Even if they are great heiresses, they still must marry for security and heirs.”

  “I know.” She walked away, wringing her hands. His breath caught as he watched her without her being aware of it. How difficult would it really be to find Amanda a husband? He no longer considered the modest but necessary dowry; some gent was going to take one look at her and fall head over heels in love. And he was almost jealous at the thought.

  Amanda faced him, a great distance separating them. “What kind of husband,” she asked slowly, “do you plan to find me? Will he be someone like my father? Not a pirate, of course, but someone strong and fearless?”

  He felt his eyes widen in horror. There was no way to respond truthfully, as the last thing he would ever do was foist a savage brute like Carre on her. But he began to suspect that Amanda felt a brute like Carre was her due. “I am going to find you a gentleman, Amanda, someone generous and kind, someone who will never lay a hand on you except in affection.”

  She started in surprise. “You mean…a gentleman? A real gentleman…like you?”

  He felt his cheeks turn red. “That is exactly what I mean.” He walked away, her earlier words echoing again, damn it. You could be my husband. He whirled. She was staring, brows raised, so he managed a smile. “Would you like to inspect Ashford Hall together?” he asked.

  And as he had hoped, she was distracted. She beamed. “You mean, we will go see the estate you plan to provide for my dowry? Together?”

  “It isn’t far,” he mused, very much liking the idea. “We could take the children—they have yet to see the countryside—and Monsieur Michelle, as you must not miss a lesson.” He sent her a smile he knew was dazzling. “I had planned to take a look myself at some point in the near future. We can make it a family outing, instead.”

  Amanda jumped up. Before he could react, she threw her arms around him and hugged him, hard. “I am glad you are my guardian,” she whispered, her lips against his cheek.

  Absolutely rigid, wanting to kiss her senseless, he took her shoulders, pushed her back, and forced a smile.

  Somehow, this was not quite going as planned.

  AMANDA STARED out of the carriage, filled with tension as it entered a wide white crushed-stone driveway, passing immaculately trimmed lawns and hedges as it did so. The six-in-hand was the countess’s conveyance and the six horses pulling the vehicle were perfectly matched blacks, each with a white star, the bridles and harnesses gilded leather. The de Warenne coat of arms was emblazoned on the lacquered ebony doors—a gold wolf snarling on a black shield, against a field of red set with gold fleur de lis. The seats were sapphire velvet. Amanda sat next to Eleanor in the backward-facing seat. Apparently the front-facing seat was reserved for rank, so the countess sat there with Lizzie.

  Ahead, a huge, dark stone palace awaited them, the residence of the viscount Harrington, which he shared with his daughter, one of the greatest heiresses in the land.

  The women had been chatting nonstop since they had left Mayfair. Sean was due in town any day, and Eleanor was dying, or so she claimed, as she missed him so. Tyrell had sworn he would attend the Carrington ball. Lizzie was feeling poorly and had almost stayed at Harmon House. Her fourth child was due in February. Having two boys, Lizzie was certain she was having another girl. The countess reminded her to allow the nurses to actually govern the children.

  Amanda did not hear any of it.

  Her first custom gown had arrived and she was suitably attired in ivory, with a pale green pelisse and a matching hat. Before she had left the house, Cliff had appeared, clasping a small strand of brilliantly glowing pearls about her throat, shocking her.

  “A lady requires jewelry,” he had murmured softly.

  Amanda had been so moved, tears had come to her eyes. She’d had to remind herself that they were just friends and nothing more, not ever.

  Now, she could not breathe, much less cry. There were so many dos and don’ts. Do curtsy the moment Lady Harrington enters the hall and do avoid direct, bold eye contact. A demure countenance is always acceptable. If the countess extends her hand, you may kiss the air above it. Speak only when spoken to. Speak quietly and slowly—demurely! Wait to sit when offered a chair and never sit before the countess or anyone else of greater rank—which meant everyone in London. If there is no chair, simply stand and smile demurely. If there was one word to be remembered, it was that one: demure.

  There were also several basically safe and acceptable topics of conversation—the weather, the gardens, clothes and shopping, plans for the summer. Amanda had been advised by Michelle to stick to those topics and those only—he had made her memorize them. But after Cliff had given her the pearls, her guardian had leaned close and smiled. “If you are yourself, she will love you.”

  Amanda doubted that.

  “Amanda? You are looking as ill as I was feeling earlier today,” Lizzie said, reaching over to pat her knee.

  Amanda jerked. The future countess of Adare was very occupied with her children, so they had only really spoken once or twice, but Amanda had never met a more pleasant and less threatening woman. In fact, one of their conversations had occurred with the future countess’s dress spotted with flour and a dab of chocolate on her nose. Apparently she enjoyed baking and had made treats for the children.

  Amanda tried to smile and failed. She couldn’t even speak. This was her first social call and she was certain she was going to be exposed for the impostor that she was.

  “Oh dear,” Lizzie said, patting her hand this time. “Do you want to hear a story?”

  The last thing Amanda wished was to be told a story, but she couldn’t speak, so she could not refuse.

  “I was in love with Tyrell for most of my life, even as a young child. But he was heir to the earldom and he hardly knew I existed—or so I thought.” She smiled almost wickedly. “In any case, we were quite impoverished, and although I was madly in love, I never dreamed Tyrell would one day make me his wife.”

  Amanda forgot about being terrified of Lady Harrington. She sat up, leaning forward. “You were poor?”

  “And far too plump for fashion.” Lizzie laughed. “Well, I am still too plump, but Tyrell seems to prefer it. In any case,” she hurried on as Eleanor jabbed her, “I will make a long story short. Tyrell was so far above me in class and economy that I might as well have been a housemaid. And he was betrothed to Lady Harrington.”

  Amanda’s eyes widened. “What happened?”

  “True love,” Lizzie said with a sly grin, causing Eleanor to chuckle. “It was his duty to marry Blanche but he pursued me. And then Blanche kindly broke off their engagement, as for some reason, she prefers to remain unwed. And the next thing I knew, we were standing at the altar, exchanging vows.”

  “And it has been happily ever after ever since,” Eleanor said. She patted Amanda’s hand. “Tyrell fell in love with Lizzie long before she ever knew it. You may as well know one thing about the men—and women—in our family. A de Warenne loves once and forever.”

  Amanda was smiling. “It is very romantic!”

  Lizzie said, “You will be fine. Blanche is a very pleasant lady and we have remained on good terms for
all of these years.”

  Eleanor said, “Just smile and nod and try not to speak at all!” She grinned.

  “Eleanor,” the countess objected as the coach began to slow.

  Eleanor faced Amanda, her expression becoming serious. “I never speak my mind in polite company, Amanda. My opinions are too bold and I know it. But when I am at home, or with Sean, I speak and do exactly as I please. I even swear upon occasion. And if you must know, I am an avid horsewoman and I do not ride sidesaddle.”

  Amanda was trying to absorb this as she stole repeated glances at the huge stone face of the three-story house. Lizzie had succeeded in distracting her, but only briefly, and her stomach was aching from her nervous anxiety. The de Warenne postilions were opening the carriage doors. “But you are a lady,” she objected.

  “No one in the ton likes an outspoken woman, but behind closed doors, it is another matter entirely.” Eleanor smiled at her.

  “Eleanor, please. Dear,” the countess said to Amanda, “there is a middle road. Smile politely and choose your words with care. But the ladies are right. You will be fine and Blanche is a dear.” The countess was stepping down from the coach as she offered her advice.

  Amanda didn’t know what to think now, especially as she kept recalling Cliff’s last whispered words. She was the last to alight from the coach and she followed the three women up the wide stone staircase, glancing backward at the enormous fountain in the center of the driveway amidst the geometric gardens. Harrington Hall made Harmon House seem small and cozy. Her heart was racing with so much alarm that she felt faint.