“I’ve actually given this matter a bit of thought myself,” Coventry said, surprising Amelia with his level of interest. “St. Agatha’s Hospital is run entirely on charitable donations and fund-raising events. Perhaps that would work for this school, as well.”
“It is not a bad idea,” the dowager duchess remarked. “Quite the contrary.”
Amelia agreed. “We could host a garden party while the weather is good—include a raffle of some sort.”
Tilting his head, Coventry met her gaze, his eyes lingering on hers for an extended moment until he finally said, “I like that idea.”
Elation shot up inside her, buzzing through her veins until she felt slightly lightheaded. Not only was her plan being accepted, but Coventry actually approved of the way in which she was handling it. More than that, the easy smile he wore and the spark that lit up his eyes suggested he was rather impressed.
“I was also thinking of offering paid evening classes for adults,” she said. “I’m not sure how successful it would be, but there could be painting, needlework, French . . . some of the same classes offered to children but maybe just one or two days a week.”
“That would require the teachers working late, which they might not wish to do,” Coventry pointed out.
“Of course. But their earnings would also be higher, so it all depends on how driven they are. In any case, it’s just something I thought I’d ask them about when I interview them for their position. And here . . . before we forget . . . are some sketches I’ve made along with a couple of floor plans.” Picking up the rolls of paper, she undid the ribbons that tied them, pushed aside the plate of biscuits on the table and spread out the first sketch.
Everyone leaned forward in their seats and stared down at it.
“You made this?” Coventry asked. His finger traced the outline of the dining room.
Amelia nodded. “You’ll see I’ve divided a few of the really large spaces, like the ballroom, in order to allow for an extra class there.”
“Talented, smart and creative,” the dowager duchess murmured. “Woe to he who underestimates you, my lady.”
Appreciating the compliment and the attention they were all paying to her restoration plan and the value the building would have on the community, Amelia answered the rest of their questions with pleasure.
“I’ll escort you to Mr. Gorrell’s office tomorrow and help you with the final payment,” Coventry told her once all the papers had been neatly put away again.
Thanking him, she found it impossible not to smile in response to the warmth emanating from his eyes, for there was something else too—some hint of wonder, as though he were seeing her for the very first time and found her to be . . . something more than before.
“You did well today,” Lady Everly said once the duke and his mother had taken their leave. “It is about time he sees your true worth which, if I may be honest, is so much greater than even I could have imagined. This idea of yours and your ability to follow through when women aren’t generally regarded as being capable of much more than marrying and producing children, is remarkable. Coventry noticed it too.”
“The important thing is I managed to convince him to help after his initial disapproval.”
“Of course that is the most important thing,” Lady Everly said dryly. “Your personal interest in him is completely inconsequential.”
Amelia froze. “My personal interest?”
A sympathetic smile materialized on Lady Everly’s lips. “My dear, I can see that you follow him with your gaze wherever he goes and . . . the look in your eyes when the two of you dance is so . . . full of longing and desire that one would have to be blind not to see you have feelings for him.”
“Oh God.” A shiver raked across her shoulders. “Do you think his mother might know?” An even more awful prospect occurred. “Do you think he does?”
“His mother is a wise lady. I have no doubt she has figured it out.” The dowager countess paused for one awful second while Amelia held her breath in anticipation. “Her son, however, is in my opinion completely ignorant of the fact. Which is probably just as well since you now have the opportunity to court him without him being the wiser.”
“Court him?” Amelia stared at the middle-aged woman who stood before her with sparkling eyes of mischief. “A woman cannot court a man.”
“Why not? This project has presented you with the perfect opportunity, Amelia. It is a chance for you to spend more time with him, for him to see how valuable you are.”
“Please stop.” She wasn’t so sure she could stand the thought of pinning her hopes on such a dream. “I don’t believe I would care to marry him even if he asked.”
Lady Everly’s eyes widened before narrowing into a pair of slits. “What did he do?”
“It’s more a question of what I did.” She shook her head while thinking back on her encounter with him at the house. “He was furious with me when he realized I’d lied about having a headache so I could go and see Mr. Gorrell instead. I’ve never seen anything like it. It was so unlike him and so very . . . terrifying, in a way. Not because I feared him as such. It was rather his sanity that concerned me.”
Sighing, Lady Everly nodded. “There is no doubt in my mind that you should have been honest and that you should not have gone to that part of town on your own without proper escort.”
“But Coventry’s reaction—”
“Was out of proportion, perhaps, but he is a man of principle, Amelia. Surely you must know this. So if he swore to protect you and you deliberately thwarted this attempt, you cannot be overly surprised by his anger with you.” Reaching out, she clasped Amelia’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze before releasing it once more. “The important thing is that you are able to prove to him now that you did what you did for a very good reason. Mark my word, you bamboozled him today and as long as you can continue to do so, he will have no choice but to fall in love with you.”
Confounded by her prediction, Amelia said nothing in response. But as she followed Lady Everly back into the parlor to collect her papers, she couldn’t deny the thrill sweeping up her spine. Perhaps there was a chance after all to win Coventry’s heart. It was probably a slim chance, but it was a chance nonetheless, and she’d be a fool not to take it.
Chapter 10
After worrying over what to wear since going to bed the previous evening, Amelia eventually selected a white gown with dark blue embroidery on the sleeves and hem. The bodice was modestly cut, and embellished with a pretty silk ribbon that encircled her torso and hung down her back. So when Coventry finally arrived to escort her, she was satisfied that she looked her best. He, of course, was nothing short of outstanding, dressed in a navy blue jacket and beige-colored breeches. His boots, which were likely newly polished, accentuated the length and sturdiness of his legs in not just a fashionable way, but in a masculine one too.
“Allow me,” he said once they’d taken their leave of Lady Everly and Juliette and descended the outside steps to where his carriage awaited. Amelia’s maid, Heather, had chosen to sit outside with the driver, for which Amelia was grateful since she enjoyed being able to speak with Coventry in private.
He held out his hand and she paused, struck by the way the sun washed over his hair to highlight streaks of golden honey. His face was clean shaven, the planes of his cheeks so smooth she was tempted to reach up and test the surface with her fingers. Anticipation lingered in the confines of his bold brown eyes while his lips curved a little to the left—a slight tilt that spoke of an amused sort of pleasure.
One of his eyebrows drew up in expectation, and she chose not to linger any longer, her hand settling neatly in his before she stepped up into their conveyance. He climbed in behind her and claimed the opposite seat.
“You look lovely today.” His comment was spoken as the carriage rolled into motion and began its meandering progress toward Piccadilly.
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
He pressed his lips togethe
r and studied her. “Do you think it might be possible to avoid saying Your Grace? I would prefer for you to call me Coventry.”
“I do call you Coventry,” she reminded him.
“Yes, but you also say Your Grace a lot, and frankly, I don’t much care for it.”
“Oh.” She considered that bit of information. “I thought I was supposed to use the honorific as much as possible, so I do so whenever I remember to.”
Chuckling, he leaned back into his seat to portray a pose of complete relaxation. “That rule mostly applies to when you are not well acquainted with the peer in question, but you and I are friends. We have certainly known each other long enough for you to be slightly more at ease around me.”
“But no given name.”
He gave her an odd sort of look. “No. That wouldn’t really be done when even my mother insists on using my title.”
Amelia sighed. “Forgive me, but I find that terribly strange and difficult to adjust to. I still call my brother Raphe. Huntley doesn’t come naturally.”
“I suppose it is a matter of what you have been used to.” He glanced out the window for a second before returning his attention to her. “For the ton, addressing a gentleman by his title denotes respect. Only a very close friend one has known since childhood would ever consider forgoing the use of it.”
“Surely wives are also permitted to do so.”
“Hmm . . . opinions on this vary. Some probably do address their husbands by their given names when in private.”
“Will you do so when you marry?” The question slipped out without her even thinking.
He stared at her before shifting a little as if with discomfort, then told her plainly, “I do not know. It is not something I have really considered since I have no immediate plan to snatch up a wife.”
Fearing she might have touched a nerve on account of his brusqueness, she pulled back a bit and considered an issue that truly puzzled her. “What I cannot figure out, is how to address a group of ladies who all hold the same title.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, let’s say there are ten duchesses in a room and—”
“An unlikely scenario since there are only five dukes in all of England and four of them are married.” He flashed her a smile that bore a teasing element to it.
Amelia allowed the effect of it to tighten her stomach before saying, “Very well, let’s say there are four duchesses in a room.”
He nodded, but that teasing smile of his lingered. It kept her feeling slightly unsteady and incredibly aware of his mouth. Trying not to look at it directly, she settled her gaze on his eyes and immediately regretted doing so, because the look there made heat pour through her in waves. There was something predatory about it that spoke to a secret yearning deep down inside. Not that she thought the look was the product of anything other than a bit of mischief on his part. He was just having some fun with her, that was all.
So she gathered her composure and continued with her question. “How does one distinguish between them when they are all to be addressed as Your Grace?”
“I suppose one would look at the duchess to whom one was speaking.”
Amelia shook her head in disagreement. “Using their names would be so much simpler. Can you imagine a conversation they might have between themselves? I think it would become rather confusing.”
“Once again, the scenario is unlikely to occur since two of the duchesses never visit Town anymore on account of their age.”
“But surely—”
“Just use the appropriate titles, my lady. You cannot go wrong with doing that.”
Amelia wasn’t sure she agreed. She could think of at least one way in which she could make it go wrong, but since the carriage was pulling to a stop and Coventry had turned his attention toward the door, she decided to drop it.
They entered the town house where Mr. Gorrell had his place of business, waiting no more than five minutes in the reception room before he came to greet them. “Your Grace,” the man said without so much as a glance in Amelia’s direction. “What a delightful surprise!” He led the way through to his office and gestured toward a chair. “Please have a seat and tell me how I might be of service.”
Still standing, Coventry gave the man a solid perusal before pausing on his face. “You may begin by greeting Lady Amelia properly.”
It was as if she’d remained invisible until that point and the act of Coventry mentioning her name had made her materialize in the room. Mr. Gorrell’s eyes widened. Giving Amelia his attention, he then spoke a series of hasty apologies while keeping a wary eye on the duke. “I take it this is about the house you are interested in?” he finally asked.
“Yes.” Moving forward, Amelia went to sit down. “I’m here to pay the remainder of what I owe you.”
“You owe me nothing, lady.” Mr. Gorrell went to claim his seat behind his desk.
Coventry remained standing, hovering close to Amelia’s chair. She liked that—the solid feel of him at her back. It gave her strength and courage. “You’re mistaken,” she said. “Our agreement was for me to give you an additional two thousand five hundred pounds.”
Spreading his arms with a shrug that irked her, Mr. Gorrell leaned back against the squeaky leather of his seat and said, “I’m afraid that deal fell through when the other interested party made a higher offer.”
“No.” She could feel her stomach collapsing in a tumultuous roil of uneasiness. This couldn’t be happening. It simply could not. “You signed the sales contract. We both did. With the understanding that you wouldn’t sell the property to anyone else. I gave you three thousand pounds in order to ensure this!”
Mr. Gorrell looked at her with confusion. “Not as far as I recall. The way I remember it, you said the price was too high and that you could no longer afford it.”
“That’s not true!” Panic overcame her, sharpening her voice into something loud and shrill that she hated but couldn’t do anything about.
Mr. Gorrell crossed his arms over his stomach. “What proof do you have, my lady? The sales contract perhaps?”
“You took that because you said you needed it in order to finalize the sale. But you did give me this.” Reaching into her reticule, she pulled out a piece of paper and placed it on the table.
Coventry stepped forward to look at it. “This is a receipt signed by you, Mr. Gorrell.”
The solicitor picked up the paper and studied it. “No,” he said. “That’s not my signature.” He then pulled out a stack of papers from a drawer and placed them on top of his desk. Spreading them out, he pointed to each document in turn. “That is my signature. It looks entirely different.”
Picking up some of the documents, Coventry studied each one against the receipt. He looked at Amelia with a steady gaze that did little to comfort her at the moment. “They do indeed.”
“But . . .” She could feel herself shrinking beneath the weight of her own stupidity.
“So you see,” Mr. Gorrell said, “there is no agreement between us.”
Coventry stared at the man for a long uncomfortable moment until Mr. Gorrell averted his gaze and shifted with a hint of unease. The papers the duke held in his hand crumpled between his fingers, and he was suddenly standing on the opposite side of the desk, leaning over Mr. Gorrell’s cowering form. “I do not know what game you are playing at, Mr. Gorrell, but I would suggest you stop trying to cheat Lady Amelia out of her money before I decide to take offense to your tone. Meeting me at dawn would not be in your best interest, sir.”
Amelia stared. Had Coventry really just threatened to challenge Mr. Gorrell to a duel? It seemed absurd and yet somehow so very heroic. Still, she couldn’t allow him to shoot the man or worse, get shot while trying to do what she’d failed to do herself in protecting her best interest.
“Coventry,” she began, not knowing precisely how to continue.
He cut her a hard look that warned her to stay silent. “What I would like to know,” he said before
she could manage to find her tongue, “is if another party actually exists or whether Mr. Gorrell here has simply chosen to steal from you.”
“Your Grace,” the solicitor muttered. “I’ll return the three thousand pounds to her ladyship if that will settle the dispute.”
“So you admit that I paid you,” Amelia said with disgust. “I don’t want the money back, however. What I want is the house you said you would sell to me.”
“Who else did you make a deal with?” Coventry asked in a low and terrifying tone.
Mr. Gorrell shook his head. “I cannot say. You have to believe me.”
“Unfortunately, I do not,” Coventry told him. He leaned back and straightened himself to his full height. “Which is why you will accept the final payment we are going to make today. If you do not, I will personally see to it that charges are brought against you, and in case you are wondering, I have an excellent barrister who will no doubt make certain you enjoy a lovely retreat in Newgate Prison.”
The solicitor was visibly trembling beneath Coventry’s gaze. “I t-tried to dissuade her from making the purchase. Had I succeeded, n-none of this would have happened.” Swallowing, he shifted his wary eyes between Coventry and Amelia. “I’m a good solicitor.”
“You’re a thief,” Coventry told him sharply. “Now see to it that the sale is finalized or God help me, I’ll—”
“Very well.” Mr. Gorrell hastily relented. With shaking fingers, he produced some papers that he proceeded to fill out and sign. A seal was added, and the document was handed over to Amelia for her signature, as well. She read the document carefully and then looked up at Coventry who gave her a nod of approval before she wrote down her name.
“And here is the rest of the money,” Coventry said, placing a bundle wrapped in brown paper and string upon the desk.
Mr. Gorrell quickly unwrapped it to reveal a thick stack of crisp bank notes. “Thank you, Your Grace.” His expression was not as pleased as Amelia would have expected it to be. After all, the man had just received more money than the house was worth and had also avoided a duel. He ought to look more elated.
The Duke of Her Desire: Diamonds in the Rough Page 11
