by Brenda Joyce
“I can protect myself,” Cliff exclaimed, truly surprised.
“Do not even try to tell me you do not care about the gossip. I know you are wealthy enough to withstand it, but I also know that it gets beneath your skin, which is not as thick as you would like me and everyone else to believe.”
He flushed, because every now and then, the whispers more than annoyed him. He might be an island privateer, but he was, by damn, the earl’s youngest and wealthiest son. “I do not need your protection,” he insisted, meaning it.
“Perhaps not. But I wish to give it, and I always will.” His gaze was searching. “I see the way you look at her, Cliff. Considering your penchant for seduction, what should I have thought upon seeing you dancing together?”
“I will not ruin Amanda,” he said grimly. “But she is tempting. I admit it. However, if the day ever comes where I am such a cad, that is the day I will make her my wife.”
For a long moment, Edward stared, his gaze searching. “So that is how you are thinking?” His face softened.
Cliff became terribly uncomfortable. “I have no intention of marrying anyone. I prefer my life exactly as it is. I am thinking of finding her the proper husband. But she is my ward.” He paused. “And we are friends.”
The earl stared at him for a moment. Then he clasped Cliff’s arm. “It is early, but will you join me for a glass of wine?”
Cliff relaxed. “It is very early,” he agreed, aware of being let off the hook. “But as you pointed out, it has been some time since I was home.”
They crossed the ballroom, heading toward a pair of great doors. “I understand you have given Miss Carre a dowry that includes an estate. You are going to great lengths for your ward,” Edward remarked.
“There is no other way to secure her future. In truth, it is my pleasure to provide for her,” Cliff said easily.
The earl smiled. “I am beginning to realize that. Have you ever considered the possibility that you are in love with her?”
Cliff jerked, caught upon that hook once more, where he squirmed. “Of course not,” he said, aware of his heart speeding. They entered the great hall. “I am not like Tyrell or my stepbrothers, to fall madly in love and never look back. I know the family legend is that the de Warenne men love only once and it is forever.” He laughed, but it sounded shaky to his own ears. “I have never been in love and I do not expect to ever fall in love.”
“Of course you don’t. You have decided that you are different from all of the de Warenne men. If you wish, I can help you arrange a marriage for her,” Edward said, casting a sidelong glance at him. “Considering her charms and the uniqueness of this relationship, it might be best to marry her off immediately and end this guardianship—and friendship.”
Cliff stiffened. Adare never failed in any objective. If he asked the earl to find Amanda a husband, he would do so, and swiftly. For the first time in his life, he told his father a significant lie. “I have a list of possible suitors, although I have yet to carefully analyze it, or other prospects. I can manage, but thank you.”
Edward shrugged. “If you change your mind, you need only ask. I am sure a choice of suitable prospects can be found.”
“Thank you, but no,” Cliff said. “I have the matter firmly in hand.”
The earl merely smiled.
“And Edward? Amanda and I will remain friends after she is wed.”
“Of course,” the earl said.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ASHTON WAS A TYPICAL English village, small and quaint, the shops proudly maintained, freshly painted with flowers in the window boxes. The carriage drive from the village to Ashford Hall was but ten minutes, along a charming country road, high, clipped hedges offering the slightest view into the stately homes of the local gentry. But the moment Cliff’s coach turned into the sparsely graveled drive leading to the hall, passing two chipped brick pillars, the engraved plaque so worn it could barely be read, he knew the manor was in dire straits.
The grounds alongside the rutted drive were overgrown in places, bare in others. Ahead, a grim gray stone house awaited them. He glanced at Amanda with a frown, but she was leaning toward her window, her face flushed with excitement. He silently cursed, wishing he’d had the foresight to come and inspect the estate alone, before ever allowing her to see it. He’d sent word, however, and they were expected.
Amanda sat beside him, fidgeting as she had ever since they’d been a few miles from Ashton. Ariella and Anahid followed in another coach, with Michelle, Cliff’s valet and Amanda’s new maid. Alexi had begged to stay at Harmon House, as he and Ned were now inseparable, and upon swearing fervently to behave and obey his uncles and grandmother without question, he had been allowed to remain behind.
Cliff allowed himself to glance at Amanda again. Every time he looked at her, he thought about the two times he had been in her bed and then he thought about Garret MacLachlan. He was not happy with himself, as he was introspective enough to know that a certain degree of jealousy had caused him to deny MacLachlan his suit. Had the Scot called on any other ward, had he another one, he would have allowed the courtship, dismissing the man’s strained finances, for his other attributes far outweighed the lack of economy and wealth. In fact, a man with MacLachlan’s obvious character was exactly the kind of suitor he wished for Amanda.
He turned away, staring at the gray stone house, noting the roof needed extreme repairs. As it was about to rain, he would undoubtedly learn whether it leaked or not. He was glad to be distracted from his previous thoughts and the fact that, deep within himself, he was ashamed of his behavior.
“We’re here,” Amanda whispered, so excited her tone was hoarse.
“The grounds are terribly neglected,” he commented as the coach halted.
She met his gaze, her eyes sparkling. He realized she wished to fly out of the coach and into the house. Before he could caution her to prepare herself for the worst—and to tell her he would find her a far better property—their door was opened. Amanda leaped from the coach, forgetting her new manners, and he smiled, his heart turning over hard, as it was so often doing these days. He followed her more slowly as their second carriage also halted, the front door to the house now opening. A servant came out, wearing a shabby, ill-fitting suit.
As Ariella, Anahid and Michelle alighted, he and Amanda walked up to the hall. He already knew it had been built in the previous century and had once been walled, but he saw no sign of the original walls. The house was two stories, mostly rectangular, and as melancholy as a home could be. He hated it—it would not do, even if there were three tenant farmers. Amanda deserved far better.
“My lord.” The servant came quickly forward, bowing eagerly. Instantly, Cliff thought him inebriated, and a moment later, he smelled the ale on the man’s breath.
“Miss Carre, this is Watkins, I believe.”
“Yes, I am Watkins, and I have prepared rooms so you may all stay overnight, rather than go to the village inn. My wife is preparing a small supper. My lord, I hope that meets with your approval?”
“That is fine,” Cliff said curtly, aware of Amanda standing breathlessly beside him, almost incapable of restraining herself. “Why are these grounds in such a state of neglect?”
Watkins’s face fell. “As you know, the previous owner has passed, sir, and the heir resides in town. He only wishes to sell, not to repair.”
Cliff was not impressed; he gestured the servant to precede them inside. As they followed, he took Amanda’s hand. “Do not be discouraged,” he said softly.
She beamed at him, broke free, and hurried after Watkins.
He realized she was not in the least bit discouraged and he was surprised.
He followed the pair into a moderately sized great hall, a rusting coat of armor beside the front door, a pair of swords over the stone hearth. He scowled, looking up at the cobwebs hanging from the rafters and in the corners of the room. The walls needed cleaning and whitewashing, two of the beams overhead were obviousl
y rotten, and the wood floors were heavily scarred and had not been waxed in years. A single trestle table was in the room, and the six chairs did not match, the various types of upholstery faded and torn. He was furious with his agent and with Watkins. “You have had two days notice that we would be here this afternoon. Why is this room not clean?”
Watkins cringed. “My lord, there are no housemaids. I oversee the property, that is all.”
“I see bones in the corner there,” he said. It appeared someone had thrown their leftovers on the floor a very long time ago.
“The previous owner left a dog, sir. He comes and goes.”
“I will not be requiring your services tonight,” Cliff said.
Watkins drew himself up, clearly about to protest.
“You and your wife may take the evening off. I suggest you vacate these premises now,” Cliff said softly in a tone that was unmistakably dangerous.
Watkins fled and Ariella skipped into the room, then wrinkled her nose. “Pew! It smells in here, Papa!” She glanced around. “You will buy this for Miss Carre?”
Cliff realized Amanda had already rushed down the hall and was in one of the adjacent rooms. “Of course not,” he said. He smiled at his daughter. “Maybe you should play outside while I fetch Amanda. We will be staying at the village inn after all.”
Ariella hesitated. “Papa, she was so happy to come here today! She told me so…she will be so unhappy if we leave.”
He went to Ariella and hoisted her into his arms. “Darling, I believe she will be thrilled to leave,” he said, hugging her.
Ariella shook her head. “This estate means everything to her, Papa. She told me how her home in Jamaica was taken away from her. Papa, she has no real home of her own!”
Cliff stared at his clever daughter. “But she lives with us now,” he finally said.
Ariella brightened. “I know that, so why can’t she just stay with us? Why can’t Harmon House and Windsong be her homes?”
He tensed. “I am certain you are aware of what a dowry is, Ariella. I am providing such a dowry for Amanda.”
Ariella’s brows knit. “So she can marry someone…I know what a dowry is. Papa, doesn’t Miss Carre make you happy?”
Surprised and even uncomfortable, he set her down. “I am very fond of her.”
Ariella smiled. “You are always watching her and smiling. You seem very happy.”
Cliff became still. Did his own small daughter guess at his feelings for his ward? “You make me happy, darling,” he said, hoping to distract her.
But she tugged his hand. “Do you love Miss Carre?”
He was aghast. “What kind of question is that?”
“Alexi and I were wondering if you should marry her, instead of finding her a husband like the Scot, whom you so hate.”
“Have you been eavesdropping?” he asked, stunned.
“I can’t help it if everyone in the family talks about you and Miss Carre in front of me,” she said with a grin. Then she sobered. “I wouldn’t mind.”
He tugged at his collar, opening it. “You wouldn’t mind what?”
“I wouldn’t mind Miss Carre being my mother, and Alexi wouldn’t mind, either.”
He stared, at a complete loss for words.
Ariella stared back, clearly waiting for a response on his part.
He knelt, so they were eye to eye. “Darling…. do you wish to have a mother? Haven’t I been a good father? Isn’t Anahid exactly like a mother?”
Ariella shook her head. “I love Anahid, and I know she loves me, but she is not my mother. She is my friend—and even so, you employ her, Papa.”
He touched her cheek. “Am I failing you?” he asked, stricken over the possibility.
She shook her head again. “You are the best papa in the world! But I so like Miss Carre and you seem to love her! I couldn’t help thinking how nice it would be if we were a real family.”
He stood, thinking about Garret MacLachlan. He couldn’t help his next thoughts. If he would not allow her to marry Garret or a man like him, then he should do the deed. Otherwise he must allow her a man of strength, will and character.
But he did not want to marry, not ever! He felt real panic at the thought. “I am not planning to marry Amanda or anyone, Ariella,” he said firmly, but even as he spoke, his heart leaped in a protest he refused to comprehend.
Her face fell. “Oh.”
“Why don’t you go outside and wait for us?” he suggested.
When she was gone, he took a moment to compose himself, wishing his daughter had not spoken up as she had. As for MacLachlan, he owed it to Amanda to seriously rethink his position in regards to the Scot’s suit.
“Cliff! Come quickly!” she cried.
He raced from the hall, uncertain as to whether she was in distress or greatly excited. He raced into the adjacent room and found her in a library, standing beside the terrace doors. Two walls were lined with shelves and filled with books. A very old, faded Oriental rug was on the floor, a single simple desk in the midst of the room, an elegant carved chair behind it. One wall had a door which opened onto a slate terrace, a gazebo in the distance beyond. A fireplace with a beautifully carved wood mantel was on the other wall.
Amanda whirled, facing him, her eyes wide. “Look at this room!” she cried, and he saw her eyes shining with unshed tears.
He hurried to her. “Dar…” he began. Realizing he had almost called her darling, he began anew, in consternation now. “Amanda, have no fear. This house will not do. I was misled, as was my agent. We will find you another estate, one in far better condition.”
“But you didn’t see the rose garden!” she cried, pointing out of the glass door. “Cliff, look!”
He stared past her and saw an overgrown and neglected garden, one filled with rose bushes, many of which were in bloom.
“Cliff!” she begged, seizing his hands. “I don’t want another estate…I want Ashford Hall! I love it!”
AMANDA WAS ONLY VAGUELY aware of Cliff behind her as she went up the stairs, which were covered with a torn and worn red runner. She did not see the holes or tears, she saw the red wool, her favorite color, the wool terribly expensive and fine. She saw the beautifully carved banister, the wood so smooth beneath her hand from a century of use. Her heart had been racing uncontrollably for the past hour, ever since she had arrived at the hall, and she felt faint. The manor was so beautiful! It was the most beautiful home she could imagine. Her favorite part was the library and the rose garden outside.
She prayed Cliff would approve.
She paused on the threshold of the first bedchamber, where a bed with thick ebony posters, beautifully carved, was made up in dusky gold covers and pillows. Darker gold draperies fluttered at the single window, and a single chair in faded bronze brocade was in the corner. Amanda bit her lip, instantly in love with the room, hoping it would be hers.
Cliff walked past her, over a rug so faded it was nondescript beige, and he pushed a velvet drape aside. Dust billowed. A piece of the drapery came apart in his hand.
Amanda knew he hated the house. She hurried to his side and peered out at the back lawns, terribly overgrown but lush and green, and at the charming gazebo, which had probably been white once upon a time and now matched the rug under her feet. “There’s a pond,” she cried in delight.
Cliff sighed. “Yes, there is, and I have little doubt it is but muck and scum.”
She faced him defensively. “It can be filled with fresh water—and fish!”
His face softened. “Of course it can. Amanda, do you really prefer this estate?”
“Yes, I do,” she cried.
He studied her. “Don’t you think it wise to view a few other choices?”
She folded her arms across her chest. “Cliff, you said it was a good price. And there are three farms. I love it here. It’s so quiet, so peaceful…so English.” She thought of the rose garden again, and couldn’t help it, she thought of her mother.
The hurt roi
led and she told herself, don’t. She wasn’t going to let Dulcea Belford ruin this wonderful moment. She was becoming a lady now and this was exactly the kind of home she envisioned for herself.
She stared down at the blooming roses, some pink, some white, others red and yellow. She could not wait to take a chair and go outside to sit there and read a new book.
Cliff touched her arm. “We can sit together before supper and make a list of necessary repairs and the furnishings we will need to buy.”
Amanda jerked, her gaze flying to his, and when he smiled at her warmly, she felt herself melt. “Does this mean you will purchase the estate for my dowry?”
“If you still insist, after our discussion, then, yes, I will.”
She threw her arms around him and hugged him hard. Instantly, she was acutely aware of his hard male body. Being in his arms still felt dangerous and worse, it still felt so right. She would never forget the waltz they had shared, either. She had replayed it a hundred times in her mind since the other day.
I love you so much, she thought, and had to bite her tongue to prevent herself from saying the words aloud. Instead, overcome with emotion, she looked him in the eye. “Cliff, how will I ever repay you?”
He pulled away so that she did not continue to grasp his arms. “The only repayment I wish, is for you to be happy,” he said, appearing uncomfortable.
“I am happy. You have taken me into your home, your family has been kind and welcoming, and I was even a success in society. And now, dear Lord, there is this house.” She beamed. “A home of my own.”
But she felt her smile fade. Yes, Ashford Hall would be hers if she insisted—Cliff had made that clear—but she was going to have to marry one day, probably sooner rather than later. She didn’t have to think about it to know that she would miss Cliff terribly after she was wed. But she would have this house—a home of her own. And eventually, there would be wonderful children. She wanted a son just like Alexi and a daughter just like Ariella. And whenever Cliff was in London, she would call on him. London was only a half day’s coach ride away.
