A Lady at Last

by Brenda Joyce

  They were escorted through a vast hall filled with old paintings and into a huge salon with three crystal chandeliers and too many seating arrangements to count when the countess was announced. Amanda stiffened as an extremely elegant blond woman came into the room.

  Blanche Harrington was picture-perfect. She was so beautiful, and without uttering a word, Amanda knew she was the epitome of ladylike behavior. Although conservatively dressed in emerald green, diamonds sparkled at her ears and on one hand. She moved with the grace and confidence of one born to extreme wealth and power. But she was smiling warmly and she and Mary de Warenne exchanged hugs, not curtsies.

  “It is so good to see you, Mary,” Blanche Harrington said, obviously meaning it.

  “And I am delighted to be here, Blanche.”

  Blanche turned, smiling at Lizzie and Eleanor, her gaze taking in Amanda, as well. “It’s been too long, Lizzie! And Eleanor, I have not seen you since your marriage.”

  The women embraced, Lizzie explaining she was so busy with the children and Eleanor insisting the very same thing.

  Amanda trembled, clasping her hands, praying she would not make a stupid mistake. Blanche smiled at her as Mary introduced them. “Blanche, this is my son’s ward, Miss Amanda Carre.”

  Amanda felt as if her cheeks were on fire as she sank into her first official curtsy. Panicking, she wondered if her hair was falling from its pins or if she had somehow stained her beautiful dress. When she straightened, she saw Blanche’s pleasant expression had not changed.

  “Welcome to Harrington Hall, my dear. So Cliff de Warenne is your guardian! You could not ask for a better champion, I think. Have you been in town long?” she asked in a friendly and interested tone.

  Her heart rioting, Amanda tried to smile, but she was still too nervous to do so. “He is a wonderful guardian, my lady. And I have only been in town a week.”

  “London is a wonderful city. I am sure you will be pleasantly entertained while here,” Blanche said.

  Amanda nodded, realizing that Lady Harrington wished to converse with her. Was she supposed to say something? Her mind raced. She did not want to discuss the weather, as nothing would make her feel more foolish. “Your home is beautiful, my lady. I thought Harmon House grand, but this is even grander.” She was trembling. Had she addressed her correctly? “I mean, Your Grace,” Amanda whispered, becoming confused. The moment she spoke, she recalled from her previous lessons that only a duke or duchess was referred to as His or Her Grace. She flushed.

  But Blanche did not seem to have heard her faux pas. “Thank you, my dear. Lord Harrington, my father, built this estate many years ago. The gardens are my favorite part of the estate.”

  Amanda hesitated, amazed she hadn’t been ridiculed, then asked breathlessly, “Do you have a rose garden?”

  “Yes, of course. Would you like to see it?” She held out her hand.

  Amanda was nearly in disbelief. “I love roses. I should love to see it,” she managed, overcome.

  “Why don’t we all stroll outside? It is a lovely day,” Blanche said. “Afterward, we can take tea.”

  Amanda stood there, shaken and stunned, as the women walked toward the terrace doors. She inhaled hard. She didn’t have to be told to know that somehow, she had passed her first test in society. She hurried after the group.

  “CLIFF?” ELEANOR TRIED to appear innocent, but it was no easy task, as she could not wait to bait her brother now.

  He was at one of the two large desks in the library, both of which were at kitty-corner at the far end of the large room. Two vast red rugs covered the floors and bookcases lined two of the four walls. He seemed engrossed in paperwork and she had to come forward, a sheet of paper in her hand, calling his name again.

  He jerked, glancing up. Then he stood, smiling. “Eleanor! When did you return from Harrington Hall? How did it go?”

  She kept a perfectly innocent expression on her face. God, he deserved this! “Oh, fine. Mother is resting before supper—everyone is, actually. Can I have a word?”

  He scowled, coming out from behind the desk. “How is Amanda?” he demanded with vast impatience. “Was the call a success?”

  She simply smiled at him.

  “Do not test my patience now!”

  “You have no patience,” she cried. Then she smiled genuinely at him. “It was a very good idea to call on Blanche first. The call was a success. Amanda may not realize it, but she has a calm and grace, even when she is afraid. She did make one faux pas, but we all pretended not to notice and she realized her mistake. She can hold her own in society, Cliff—she is clever and, in truth, good at conversation.”

  He was smiling. “I am so pleased.”

  Eleanor plucked his sleeve. “But you know society just as I do. Blanche Harrington is one of the few genuinely nice women in town. There are so many vultures out there! I hated society when I was forced to come out. I can’t begin to tell you how many English ladies looked down on me because I am Irish. Worse, even though I am an earl’s daughter, the rakes in the ton were conscienceless.” She made sure not to grin, although she thought her eyes probably danced.

  He scowled. “I will protect Amanda from any rogue who dares give her a single glance,” he said tersely. “No one will dare pursue her with any intention other than an honorable one.”

  Eleanor tried not to laugh. “You do take this guardianship very seriously,” she said, maintaining an innocent expression.

  “Of course I do,” he snapped, appearing vastly annoyed. Then he nodded at the document in her hand. “Is that for me?”

  Eleanor simply could not prevent a grin. “It is the list of suitors.”

  Cliff looked at her as if she had spoken Chinese.

  “Don’t you want to see who is on it?”

  He snatched the sheet from her hand and she tried not to chuckle as his brows lifted. “There are only four names here!”

  “It is only the first four names I have thought of,” she said. “Besides, although you are providing her with a dowry, you are not making her a great heiress. We can claim an ancient Saxon family tree, but we have no proof. I am trying to find Amanda the perfect husband. You do want her to be very happy and to live in marital bliss, don’t you?”

  He gave her a dark look. “John Cunningham? Who is this?”

  She became eager, smiling. “He is a widower with a title, a baronet. He has a small estate in Dorset, of little value, but he is young and handsome and apparently virile, as his first wife had two sons. He—”

  “No.”

  She feigned surprise, raising both brows. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Who is next?”

  “What is wrong with Cunningham? Truthfully, he is openly looking for a wife!”

  “He is impoverished,” Cliff spat. “And he only wants a mother for his sons. Next?”

  “Fine,” she said, huffing. “William de Brett. Ah, you will like him! De Brett has a modest income of twelve hundred a year. He comes from a very fine family—they are of Norman descent, as well, but he has no title. However—”

  “No. Absolutely not.”

  Eleanor stared, forcing herself to maintain a straight face. “Amanda can live modestly but well on twelve hundred a year and I know de Brett. The women swoon when he walks into a salon.”

  His gaze hardened. “The income is barely acceptable, and he has no title. She will marry blue blood.”

  “Really?”

  His smile was dangerous. “Really. Who is Lionel Camden?”

  She beamed. “Perhaps the best of the lot! He has a title—he is a baron. He has never been wed but he has several children. His home is quite nice, apparently, it is in Sussex, and he has a pleasing income! I believe it is two thousand a year.” She waited.

  He stared, appearing close to an apoplexy. “So he is a rake?”

  “You have bastards!”

  “I am a rake! Next.”

  She choked. “Next?”

  “Amanda is not marrying a rake. H
er husband will be loyal to her.”

  “Then maybe you should consider de Brett? He is very handsome and I am sure that he might fall in love with Amanda!”

  “Who is Ralph Sheffeild?” Cliff ignored her.

  She had saved the best for last. There was absolutely nothing wrong with Sheffeild. “He was knighted during the war for his valor, he is the youngest son of an earl, the family is very wealthy, and he can marry as he chooses. He is not a rake. If he is taken with Amanda, it would be perfect!”

  “How do you know he is not a rake?”

  “I know his reputation.”

  “He must be a rake, or he would be wed.”

  “I feel certain he is not a rake,” she said quickly. “If he were a rake, the gossip would be all over the ton.”

  “Does he have a mistress?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Then he must prefer men.” Cliff smiled in triumph.

  “What a leap to make!” She was aghast.

  “He is too perfect. Something is wrong with him. If it isn’t that preference, perhaps he gambles!”

  “He doesn’t gamble.” She had to control her laughter now. She had no idea if Sheffeild gamed. “And Cliff, he likes women. I have met him personally, I am certain.”

  Cliff folded his arms across his chest and stared. “Something is wrong with this one, I can feel it. What aren’t you telling me?”

  “I have told you everything. He is perfect for Amanda!”

  He tore the paper, not in two, but in shreds. Then he smiled, letting the scraps drift to the floor.

  “Cliff!” she gasped. “What is wrong with Sheffeild?”

  “No one is perfect,” he retorted. “He is hiding something.”

  “You cannot reject everyone!”

  “I can and I will, until I find the right suitor. Make me another list,” he ordered, walking away.

  She couldn’t resist. She took a book from the shelf and threw it, so it hit him square in the back.

  He turned. “What was that for?”

  “Oh, let’s just say I am going to enjoy watching you taken down a peg or two. And by the by, we are all rooting for Amanda.”

  He simply looked at her, clearly clueless as usual.

  Someone coughed from the doorway, behind her. Eleanor went rigid, then turned. “Sean!” she cried, her heart leaping wildly.

  Tall and handsome, he came forward, taking her into his arms. “Surprise,” he said softly, just before claiming her mouth.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  AMANDA WAS SMILING as she hugged her knees to her chest, dressed for supper in the same beautiful dress she had worn to call upon Blanche Harrington. Her call had been a success! She had actually conversed with the great heiress, she had answered her questions in a manner that seemed to please her, and the highborn lady had not been condescending, not even once. There had not been a single sneer!

  How could this be happening, Amanda wondered. And she thought of her protector, her smile softening. Maybe, one day, she could find a way to repay Cliff de Warenne for giving her this opportunity. Because in that moment, she was beginning to genuinely believe that she could become a lady, that she could leave La Sauvage far behind in the past, where she belonged. She thought of Papa, but no tears came. He wouldn’t mind, she thought, he would be so proud of her now.

  The lady she admired the most of all, the kind of lady she aspired to, was Eleanor O’Neill. She was bold and outspoken, but beautiful and elegant. Amanda hid her face on her knees, continuing to smile. She might still yearn secretly for Cliff de Warenne, but her life was changing, and she was thrilled.

  I can do this, she thought.

  A knock sounded on her door. She leaped to the floor, slipping on her brand-new white, lace-up shoes, and went to answer it. Cliff stood there, a smile on his face. “I thought I would escort you down to supper,” he said, his gaze slipping over her.

  “Did you hear?” she breathed.

  He touched her arm. “I heard. I heard you were a success.” His eyes sparkled, impossibly warm.

  “Have you been to Harrington Hall?” she asked eagerly.

  “Yes, I have,” he returned easily.

  “Lady Harrington lives like a queen, Cliff! The house is like a palace—I had no idea.” She was so happy that she could share her triumph with him. “She asked me so many questions—me! As if she cared about what I would say! And we walked in her gardens—she has beautiful gardens. She is such a great lady!”

  He guided her into the hall. “I am very glad. You see, Amanda? Society is not as terrible as you think.” But he had sobered as they went downstairs.

  “Tomorrow, the countess wishes for us to shop on Bond Street and stroll about Pall Mall. What do you think?” She was so excited, ready now for her next step in society. Everything that was happening was almost too good to be true.

  Except for Dulcea Belford. Not a day went by that she did not recall her mother’s rejection, and then firmly refuse to dwell on it or her. She wasn’t going to think about her mother now, because her life was almost perfect. Today she was going to savor her very first success.

  Cliff was speaking. “I think you should see the sights of London. In fact, I seem to recall promising you a private tour.”

  Amanda’s heart skipped for an entirely different reason. His gaze was frankly admiring. “I haven’t forgotten,” she murmured, glancing sidelong at him. She was almost flirting, but she had never felt prettier than she did just then.

  “It may have to wait until we return from Ashford,” he said softly as they went downstairs, where the voices of his family could be heard. His cheeks had become slightly pink and she felt his attention become terribly male. Then she realized that the boys were howling with laughter and someone—Ariella—was shrieking. Amanda winced and glanced at her benefactor.

  Cliff scowled. “Alexi is out of control. He, Ned and Michael are fast becoming terrors in this house.”

  “They are enjoying themselves,” she whispered, hoping he would not be too hard on them. But they would never be beaten for their antics. Did they know how lucky they were? “Have you decided when we are going to look at the Ashford estate?”

  “I was thinking perhaps the day after tomorrow,” he said.

  Amanda could not wait, and she sent him a breathless smile.

  In the front hall, Cliff paused. “It seems you are becoming quite close to my sister,” he said.

  “I do like her,” Amanda admitted. “She has no airs.”

  He laughed. “I agree. Well, I am glad.” As they stood there, Rex appeared, herding Alexi and Ned, both boys snickering. “What have they done?”

  “They put a toad down Ariella’s dress. They are going to redo their lessons,” Rex said firmly.

  “A capital plan,” Cliff said, staring coolly at his son. “I am debating shipping you off to the islands, my boy, so I would think twice about conspiring with your cousin to torture your sister—or commit any other troublesome crime.”

  Alexi turned white. “You would send me back to the island!” he gasped.

  “Perhaps tomorrow will suit you?” Cliff returned.

  “I swear to behave,” Alexi cried.

  Ned stepped forward, as serious and grim. “Sir, it has been my fault entirely, I have egged Alexi on. If anyone is to be punished, it is I. But do not send him back to the islands!”

  “I will think on it. Meanwhile, after you have completed a copy of today’s lessons, you may write Ariella a letter of apology.”

  The boys nodded, humbly heading up the stairs.

  “That is what they most definitely needed.” Rex nodded approvingly. He smiled at Amanda. “May I escort you into supper, Miss Carre? Surely you prefer my attentions to those of my egotistical brother. Besides, you can tell me all about your call on Lady Harrington.”

  Amanda grinned and did not hesitate. She went to his side. “I am delighted to have your attention, Sir Rex.” She glanced back at Cliff, raising her brows to see if he app
roved of her new airs.

  He did, for he nodded at her. “Well done,” he murmured, his lashes lowering.

  Amanda’s heart soared.

  AMANDA WAS HUNCHED over the secretary in her room, reading a book on the history of London which Monsieur Michelle had given her the day before. Her progress was slow and painstaking, and she had a dictionary at her elbow, one Cliff had given to her while on his ship. It didn’t matter. She loved reading and every day it was a bit easier than the day before.

  Her bedroom door slammed open and she jerked, turning to see Lizzie standing there, flushed with excitement. Amanda closed her book, carefully marking the place, bemused. “Lizzie? Is the house on fire?” she asked. Lizzie de Warenne was one of the most composed women she knew.

  Lizzie was practically hopping from foot to foot. “You must come downstairs. My sister is here with her husband and a friend!”

  Amanda stood, unable to quell some nervous anxiety, yet she was excited, too. She had heard a bit about Lizzie’s eccentric sister, Georgina, and her husband, Rory, who was a cartoonist for the Dublin Times, and quite infamous for his radical political satire. She was thrilled at having such success so soon, not just with Blanche Harrington but the de Warenne family, but also waiting with some dread for the inevitable condescension to occur. Surely her current course could not be all smooth sailing.

  Lizzie knew, because she rushed to her, grabbing both her hands. “You will love Georgie, and Rory, too! They are both very outspoken and very radical! I must warn you, they will try to indoctrinate you to their separate causes—Georgie is for the Union and Rory believes Ireland should be an independent country. Hurry!”

  Amanda had to laugh as Lizzie pulled her down the hall and downstairs. “I thought ladies were not allowed to discuss politics?”

  “Preferably not, but in this family, everyone has a passionate opinion. They will love you, Amanda, as I do,” she promised. “And you can be yourself. There is no need for pretense now.”