Adrienne Basso

by The Ultimate Lover

  “Malicious lies and kitchen gossip,” Roger retorted with a careless wave of his hand. “I thought you were above believing such drivel. Mr. Bascomb has always behaved like a gentleman in my presence. Yes, he can be forceful with others at times, but that is the mark of a successful man. I find your objections petty and insufficient.”

  Angered, she spun around to face him. “If those and all the other reasons are of such little consequence, then you marry him, Roger.”

  The earl’s face contorted in rage. For an instant he looked so much like his brother that fingers of fear scraped at Amelia’s stomach.

  “Do not forget to whom you are speaking, madame.”

  She swallowed, then moistened her dry lips. “I know in my heart that I can never be happy tied to a man like Mr. Bascomb no matter how hard I try. The marriage is an impossibility for me. I understand that you are concerned for my future and I am grateful for your efforts on my behalf.

  “More than anything I fear being a burden to you. Please, Roger, just let me have the funds I need to complete the renovations on the Dower House. Mr. Walsh, the architect, assures me the estimates for repairs are very reasonable and can be completed within the year. Once I move in I can live comfortably on my allowance and promise never to ask you for anything else.”

  “No.”

  Amelia nearly screamed with frustration. “How can you be so heartless? Will you bear no guilt for my future unhappiness? Will you condemn me again to a marriage void of love. Void of respect. Void of decency. After George died I vowed I would never again experience such degradation, such boundless unhappiness.”

  “Be quiet!” The earl slammed his fist on the table. Amelia’s full wine goblet tumbled to the floor, spreading a dark red stain on the rug. “There will be no words of slander spoken against my brother in my presence, nor in my home.”

  “ ’Tis the truth,” she whispered. “I was so blinded by my own feelings of love that I never realized what George’s true feelings were for me until we were wed. And then it was too late. You were not here, you do not know what I endured, what I suffered. Never again shall I willingly give another man such power over my person.”

  Roger advanced so quickly she did not realize his intent until he grasped her face between his fingers and turned her chin so that she was forced to look directly at him. The expression in his eyes made her blood run cold. “I give you this one and only warning. If you say another word to darken the memory of my brother, I shall order the Dower House burned to the ground.”

  A choking despair settled in Amelia’s heart. She knew Roger’s threat was not an idle one. He was certainly capable of such a malicious, vindictive act.

  “Let go of me, Roger,” she said, surprised at how calm she sounded.

  The earl pulled his hand away and turned abruptly from her. Her face felt bruised and raw where he had grabbed her. Roger stalked impatiently to the other side of the room, obviously trying to gather his composure.

  “We shall travel to Kent at the end of the week,” he said. “The duke and duchess of Hartwell are hosting a house party and we are invited to be their guests.”

  “I am not acquainted with the duke and duchess and therefore have no interest in attending their party,” she said tonelessly.

  “I have already accepted on your behalf.” Roger clenched his fists tightly at his sides. “We leave in two days. Mr. Bascomb will also be attending. It will be the perfect setting for him to ask you formally to be his wife. Naturally you will accept.”

  Amelia lifted her bruised chin and forced herself to meet his gaze. If she lived to be a hundred, she would never understand why Roger was doing this. Deep inside he must have some perverse, twisted reason for forcing this marriage upon her. If only she understood his motivation, perhaps she could change his mind, could save herself from this horrible fate.

  “I know you have never held me in great affection, yet surely it will pain you to know that you are responsible for the unhappiness and misery visited upon your brother’s widow.”

  The earl rubbed his palm over the back of his neck several times, as if it itched. For an instant Amelia thought she might have convinced him to reconsider.

  “The settlement that Mr. Bascomb has agreed upon is very generous. I would be greatly remiss in my duties as head of the family if I did not accept this fine offer from him on your behalf.”

  Ah, so it was the money. Amelia had suspected that was a large part of the reason Roger was so eager to make this alliance. She had noticed small, subtle changes in the household that were clear indications of attempts to economize. Fewer servants, less imported, expensive items, even fewer new clothes from the earl’s exclusive London tailor.

  There was also the conspicuous absence of certain valuable items that had once graced the mansion. Paintings, antique vases, and silver plate, even a prized horse was no longer in the stables. Apparently the rumors of the unhealthy state of the family finances were not exaggerated.

  Though he had been a dismal husband in almost all other areas, George had managed to provide her with material comforts. He had a talent for business and making money that he had kept well hidden from society, fearing ridicule. After all, a true gentleman did not soil his hands with work, like a common man.

  Unfortunately for all of them it appeared as though Roger did not share this financial acumen with his brother.

  “I am certain there are many heiresses among the beau monde who would be honored to become your countess,” Amelia said, forcing back the twinge of guilt she felt at the suggestion. “All you need to do is make your choice.”

  “You are strikingly naive,” Roger replied, staring at her broodingly. “The young women of society, and their fathers, are not so easily duped.”

  Amelia’s clasped hands turned cold and clammy. Roger must have chased after a bride this Season, yet for some reason had been unsuccessful in arranging the marriage. It made Amelia’s situation all the more desperate.

  “Must it be Mr. Bascomb? Is there no other solution, Roger?” she asked with quiet dignity.

  “Devil take it, Amelia. I am not a complete ogre.” He narrowed his eyes. “If you can find an acceptable gentleman who will match the settlement that Mr. Bascomb is offering then I will seriously consider allowing you to dismiss Mr. Bascomb’s proposal.”

  It was a hollow promise and they both knew it. She was not acquainted with any suitable men and most definitely did not know any male who was desperate enough to offer a large marriage settlement to a widow of her years.

  Knowing there was nothing left to say, Amelia walked toward the door. Though feeling utterly defeated and disheartened, she left the room with her head held high, waiting until she reached the privacy of her own chambers before collapsing into sobs.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The trip to Winchester Manor in Kent was long, arduous, and depressing. Fortunately the rain held off and Amelia was spared Roger’s company inside the coach. The earl preferred keeping his own pace by riding his spirited stallion ahead of the carriage.

  In the late morning of the third day of travel the earl pulled his horse beside Amelia’s open window, bent low, and shouted, “We should arrive within the hour. The house rests on the high ridge just beyond these trees.”

  “ ’Tis a very large home, my lord. I assure you I have no difficulty seeing it,” Amelia retorted. She turned her head aside and deliberately pulled down the carriage window shade. Far better to endure the heat than to have to suffer the earl’s company.

  Amelia had taken some small petty comfort in responding to the earl with thinly veiled disdain every time he addressed any questions or comments to her. Since she had decided it would be futile to make any additional protests, knowing there were no words that could make Roger reconsider this course of action, this somewhat childish behavior was her only form of retaliation.

  All too soon they reached the end of the mile-long drive leading to the house. They were ushered into the elaborate foyer by a fastidious b
utler who summoned an army of servants to attend to the luggage and then informed them that tea would be served at four-thirty in the crimson drawing room. There was no sign of either of their hosts.

  “Be sure to inform the duke and duchess that the Earl of Monford and his sister-in-law the dowager countess have arrived,” Roger said. He flicked a cool gaze down the length of the butler’s body. “At once.”

  The butler bowed respectfully, but made no promise to convey the message. More than anything, Roger detested being slighted. Amelia’s bottom lip twitched with amusement.

  “I am sure our hosts are busy attending to other more important guests,” she said clearly, delighted when a look of pique appeared in Roger’s face.

  The smile remained on Amelia’s face as she followed a footman up the great sweeping main staircase. Thankfully, the earl’s rooms were in a different wing of the house, so she was spared his company.

  Though having spent all her life among the finer things, Amelia could not help but be impressed by the painted ceiling moldings, gilded door, and window fixtures, exquisite artwork, priceless antique vases, and thick luxurious rugs she passed.

  It appeared that the duke and his duchess were not averse to flaunting their enormous wealth and refined tastes.

  “Amelia? Is that really you?”

  Startled by the familiar female voice, Amelia jerked her head toward it.

  “Charlotte!”

  Amelia nearly burst into tears when she saw one of her dearest friends, Miss Charlotte Sanford, rush forward to greet her. The women hugged warmly.

  “What a delightful surprise,” Charlotte exclaimed. “I thought you loathed house parties. Why did you not write and let me know you were planning to attend?”

  “It all came up rather suddenly,” Amelia said evasively. “There was hardly time to pack my wardrobe.”

  “I suspect you managed.” Laughter sparkled in the depths of Charlotte’s warm brown eyes. “Belinda is here, too. Have you seen her?”

  “No. We’ve only just arrived.” Amelia gestured toward the footman who was trying to remain as unobtrusive as possible.

  Charlotte consulted the delicate gold watch that hung from a chain around her neck. “I have but a few minutes to spare. I promised my brother James I would meet him on the south lawn by three o’clock so I could help chaperon his twin daughters. Can you believe my nieces are already seventeen years old? It makes me feel positively ancient each time I say it aloud.”

  Amelia smiled briefly. “You hardly look older than seventeen yourself, Charlotte.”

  “You sound like a randy buck trying to turn my head with such foolish flattery,” Charlotte exclaimed.

  “I’m being truthful,” Amelia insisted. She had known Charlotte, and Belinda, since they were young girls attending Miss Webster’s Academy for Young Ladies together. Always considered the prettiest of the three, Charlotte’s angular face, smooth complexion, and rich dark hair had indeed become lovelier over the years.

  Amelia sighed softly. “If only we could go back to that simpler, happier time in our lives when we were most concerned about completing our lessons and pronouncing our French verbs with an authentic Gaelic accent.”

  Charlotte tilted her head and frowned. “You seem troubled, Amelia. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  Amelia blinked back the sudden onslaught of tears. “Oh, Charlotte, ’tis beyond your help or anyone else’s, I fear.”

  “What is wrong?”

  “It’s my brother-in-law, Roger. He is being positively horrid.” Amelia shot a quick, discreet glance at the footman, who appeared far too innocent not to be eavesdropping on every word. “The situation is much too complicated to explain now. Besides, you promised to meet your brother by three and I do remember how James hates tardiness.”

  Charlotte’s pretty face assumed a forceful, take-charge expression. “I cannot abide seeing you so unhappy. Belinda and I shall come to your room later this evening, so we may speak in private.” She grasped Amelia’s hand and squeezed it reassuringly. “Remember, dear friend, you are not alone.”

  “ ’Tis settled. We shall all three assess the qualifications of each unattached man in attendance and by the conclusion of the house party elicit a proposal of marriage for Amelia from the most suitable candidate,” Lady Belinda Gooding declared solemnly. “She will then inform the earl of her choice and he will be forced to send Mr. Bascomb packing.”

  Amelia shifted uncomfortably in her chair. It had brought her a great sense of relief to confide the horrendous situation with Mr. Bascomb to her two oldest and dearest friends. They had been indignant on her behalf and quick to offer advice and support. Yet despite their best efforts, Amelia feared a solution could not be found.

  “I appreciate your efforts to aid me in my time of need,” Amelia said. “Knowing you agree that Roger’s actions are despicable is a great comfort and your ideas and plans to thwart him are welcomed. But the simple truth is that I have no desire to be a wife again to any man, no matter how suitable he may appear.”

  “Are you very sure? Though he was considerably older than I, my years of marriage to Lord Gooding were very happy. It was not a passionate whirlwind of emotions, but we shared companionship, laughter, and a great affection.” A shadow of concern crossed Belinda’s face. “Not all men are like George.”

  “I know.” Amelia lowered her chin as she felt a blush creep into her cheeks. Charlotte and Belinda knew her marriage had been an unhappy one, yet she could never bring herself to tell them the entire truth. There were some humiliations Amelia could share with no other living soul.

  “If you are certain you cannot have another husband, there is only one other solution,” Charlotte declared. “You must take a lover and cause a great scandal, so that Mr. Bascomb will withdraw his offer of marriage.”

  Amelia looked at Charlotte with a pained expression and tried hard not to focus on how the very idea of taking a lover mortified her on so many levels. The physical aspects aside—though that was a rather large portion of the difficulty—it nearly made her skin crawl to imagine the emotional trust she would be giving to a total stranger.

  After being free of male attention for three years of widowhood it was in some ways impossible, unimaginable, incomprehensible for Amelia to envision inviting that degree of intimacy from a man.

  “I agree a scandal might discourage Mr. Bascomb from pressing his suit,” Amelia said slowly. “But must it be a lover?”

  “A woman’s options in this area are rather limited,” Belinda answered. “Though I suppose you could act disgracefully rude and boorish.”

  Amelia nodded her head thoughtfully. “Lady Morgan became rather tipsy at last year’s holiday celebration. She knocked over the punch bowl and a pile of fresh oranges that Roger had purchased especially to flaunt his seemingly boundless wealth. The talk of her disgraceful behavior is only now starting to lessen.”

  “Men like Mr. Bascomb are used to dealing with drunken sots.” Charlotte gave an amused snort. “If you are serious about ridding yourself of his odious suit, then you must take a lover. No man will tolerate a wanton hussy for a wife. Besides, if you are going to be embroiled in a scandal you might as well have a bit of fun!”

  “Fun?” Amelia and Belinda queried simultaneously.

  Charlotte, who had been reclining beneath an array of plump red and gold tapestry pillows on the four-poster bed, sat up abruptly. “Oh pray, do not tell me that only I, the spinster of our group, finds bedsport a delight?”

  “A delight?” Amelia sat back against her chair, her mouth open. Charlotte’s bluntness did not offend Amelia. Though unmarried, Charlotte had conducted a passionate and scandalous affair with a handsome and totally unsuitable naval officer the first year the girls had made their debut into society.

  Though raised in a narrow world that expected purity from the unmarried females of its ranks, Charlotte had somehow found the courage to give her heart and body to her young man without a pang of conscience or regr
et. At the time, Amelia had feared her friend’s reckless behavior would bring her heartache and had advised caution.

  That advice was considered, for Charlotte and her young man had been discreet. Naturally, there had been speculation and gossip, but thankfully no great scandal. When her lover was killed in battle, Charlotte had been distraught for over a year. Through the passing years there had been offers of marriage, but Charlotte never showed any interest in other men.

  For a moment Amelia envied her friend. Though of short duration, her love affair had possessed everything Amelia’s much longer marriage seemed to lack. Love, intensity, passion.

  “If I may be so bold to inquire, what exactly about uhm, bedsport do you find so delightful?” Amelia asked.

  “Why, everything,” Charlotte replied simply. “I can sense however, that you are of a different opinion. No matter. I shall be the one that takes a lover and creates a scandal.”

  “What?” Belinda, who had her head down, apparently absorbed in reflective thought, lifted her chin. “How will that possibly help Amelia?”

  “If I create a scandal and Amelia defends me the scandal will touch her. No man wants a wife who would refuse to shun a disgraced woman. This will force Mr. Bascomb to cry off.”

  “Oh, I could never—” Amelia began.

  “Why do you get to be the one who creates the scandal?” Belinda interrupted in a challenging tone. “Perhaps I would like to be the one Amelia needs to defend.”

  “I really don’t—” Amelia tried again.

  “Taking a lover is a drastic measure,” Charlotte interjected. “I never thought you would so easily abandon your scruples, Belinda.”

  “Well, I would. For a friend,” Belinda added hastily.

  “Belinda, Charlotte, please.” Amelia held up her hand, palm out, hoping to prevent another interruption. “I could never allow either of you to do such a thing for me. What of your nieces, Charlotte? This scandal could hurt their chances for a good match next Season.”