by Allison Lane
It was the death-knell. She had met the man only once, but she knew enough about him to understand what the future held. He was a penniless younger son who would have jumped at the fortune Thorne must have offered, even if it meant taking Amanda with it. Fontbury would keep her locked on his estate until he had beaten her into submission, and probably afterward as well. Billy had needed all of Granny’s skill and a month of bedrest to recover from Fontbury’s single visit, and even then he could not return to his position as stable boy.
The six-and-twenty-year-old Amanda discovered that her hands were pressed tightly to her ears, as though they could stifle the echo of her father’s voice. He had continued his tirade for a good ten minutes, listing every fault that had come to his attention since his last lecture. But her real crime was inheriting her mother’s disposition.
The first Lady Thorne had been a sad disappointment to her husband. Despite being a duke’s daughter, she had fraternized with people of the lower classes, actually allowing warmth into her contacts with them. She had laughed a good deal, even at herself, and rarely found fault with anyone. She had also committed the unpardonable sin of addressing her maid by the girl’s given name. Amanda suspected that the worst transgression was laughing and calling Thorne a stuffy prig when he chastised her for that last. She had heard the tale from one of the servants. He would never have publicized so mortifying an occasion.
The second Lady Thorne was very much more to his liking, as were their four very proper children. If Amanda had copied their demeanor, they would have accepted her, but she had not. Despite her sunny nature, when it came to Thorne, she perversely dug in her heels and refused to obey his edicts.
Which was exactly what had happened that last day. Upon leaving the study – under orders to remain in her room until Fontbury arrived the next morning – she had fled to Granny Gossich’s cottage, tears streaming down her face at every thought of the wretched future her uncaring parent had arranged. But Granny was not at home.
Hoping that she was tending Jack, Amanda had gone there. She had first met him three months earlier when she’d accompanied Granny on her healing rounds. He was temporarily back from the wars, recovering from wounds. They had become friends, nothing more. But she drank in his tales of the faraway places he had seen and the exciting things he had done. It was so different from her own life. He shared her zest for living and was in the enviable position of controlling his own destiny.
Granny was not there, but Jack took one look at her face and urged her to talk. Between sobs she managed to choke out a confused tale of Thorne’s perfidy, Jack’s handkerchief pressed to her eyes. It was when she expressed the hope that Granny might know of somewhere to which she could escape that he made his own suggestion.
And so they were wed.
* * * *
The rattle of the door handle pulled her attention back to the present. Her heart began to race, but she kept her face impassive. It would never do to let him guess that she needed him.
The Marquess of Thorne paused just inside the door, shock clear in his gray eyes. It was the most emotion she had ever seen on his face. His fading brown hair had turned to dirty gray in the intervening years, but his regal carriage and imposing height remained the same. The lines of stern disapproval were deeper than ever. Several unidentifiable expressions twisted his countenance before it settled into hauteur.
“Well, Amanda, why are you calling yourself Mrs. Morrison?”
“It is my name.”
“So the blackguard married you, even without a dowry,” he scoffed, disbelief evident. “Or was it some other fellow who decided exclusive favors were preferable to sharing his slut with others?”
Anger thrust fear and nervousness aside. She had often wondered if she could have reasoned with him had she not lost her temper that day. Now she knew. And nothing had changed. It had been lunacy to come here. She nearly rose to leave, but Jack’s voice sounded in her ears. Never retire from the battlefield until you have accomplished your goal or exhausted all options. Only then should you retreat with dignity.
“I’ll not argue with you except to state that my behavior has never been less than ladylike. And as I have no intention of staying here, you needn’t fear for your guests.”
He stared silently as he stalked over to slam a letter onto his desk. The action was so familiar, Amanda nearly cringed, but this time whatever bad news lay in that missive could not concern her – except that she had apparently arrived at an inopportune time. Something else had already put him in a fury. Cold eyes raked her from head to toe, taking in the changes in her appearance.
“Then why are you here?”
“I know what store you set by your name,” she stated baldly. “I have come to a crossroads and felt you deserved a voice in which path I choose, since it may reflect on you. My husband died at Waterloo, leaving me little but his back pay. I have been supporting myself in London by teaching, sharing a house with another widow who was likewise occupied. But Jessie will remarry at the end of the month. Without her contributions, I cannot keep my home. There is no other lady with whom I could live in amity, and so I have two choices. I can advertise my breeding to justify increasing my fees and to recruit a better class of students than the daughters of merchants. Or I can ask you for a small allowance. A hundred pounds a year would maintain my present status.”
Fury was growing in his eyes. Either the double shock of her appearance and that letter had loosened his control, or the years had undermined his rigid composure. His face was more expressive than she had ever seen it.
“You are working?” he snapped, imparting so much scorn into the words that he might as well have accused her of whoring on the streets of Middleford.
“There is nothing wrong with work,” she countered. “I teach music and French. There are less genteel ways to support oneself.”
“The daughter of a marquess does not work for a living,” he stated coldly.
“I repudiated that designation nine years ago, as did you. I have never regretted it, nor do I now. It makes no difference to me which course I take, but I felt you deserved the option of keeping my origins quiet if they matter to you.”
His face was glaring with rage, its features twisted into a caricature of one of the gargoyles she had seen on Notre Dame. “Your place is running a proper home for a proper husband and providing his heirs – if you can. I will not condone your continued intransigence.”
“My lord, this discussion is pointless,” she interrupted him, steel underlying her voice. “I have no intention of marrying again. I could never find another man like Jack. Nor will I give up my teaching. All other considerations aside, I enjoy it. The only question is the one I already stated. Will you provide me a small allowance, or shall I trade on my aristocratic connections to attract more business?”
“You have already cost me a small fortune,” he snapped. “I had to pay off Fontbury to keep your stupidity quiet.”
“Don’t you dare blame that on me,” she snarled. “You signed a contract without consulting me. It was your affair and your responsibility. I will allow no one to force me into an untenable life. Nor do I care a fig if people know I eloped, so any face-saving you indulged in was strictly for your own benefit. Now enough of the past. Have you a preference about how I conduct my business in the future? If not, I will do what I must.”
His hands balled into fists, but she no longer quailed under his stare. She had seen too much in recent years to be cowed by one arrogant nobleman. That fact alone gladdened her heart as some of the weight of her childhood slid from her shoulders. Jack had told her many times that she would never fear Thorne again. She had always replied that she knew he would protect her. But Jack had not allowed that to be the last word, pointing out that because Thorne was powerless to coerce her, she would find the courage to face him down the next time they met.
And she had. Her muscles relaxed as she watched her father pace restlessly around the library under the disapprovin
g frown of the previous marquess, whose portrait hung from the chimneypiece.
Several minutes passed in silence.
“You will have your allowance,” he conceded finally. “But there are conditions.”
Amanda kept her face impassive with an effort.
“I will provide one thousand pounds a year,” he continued. “But you must move back home. You will behave like the proper widow you should be and may choose between overseeing this house or looking for a new husband.”
She burst into laughter. “You surpass yourself in arrogant blustering,” she said once she had regained her voice. His face resembled a thundercloud, but she was no longer intimidated. The freedom that fact brought swelled her heart. “I will never again live in this house. You have no legal authority over me, and I thank God every day for that..” She rose to leave, but a gesture stayed her.
“Perhaps I have been too hasty.”
She could hear the effort it cost his pride to admit even that small error. Her heart began to race.
He continued slowly. “I repudiated all connection with you when you cast aside your breeding to elope with a common soldier. If you refuse to come home, I will continue to disown you. But it is improper for a woman to live in London alone. The offer of an allowance stands, but only if you move to a cottage in the country where no one knows you, and comport yourself as befits your station.”
“You are being deliberately obtuse, my lord,” she stated coldly. “My station is what I choose it to be. And what I chose was to sever all connection to a family that has done nothing but denigrate me since the day I was born. Unfortunately, fate seems to have other ideas, and I am left with making a damnable decision between openly declaring a connection or secretly accepting an allowance. But I will not give up my freedom. I am not ashamed of my life and will never act as though I were. Nor will I give up teaching.”
Thorne again paced the room. In his newly opened countenance she could read his conflict. He despised the idea of reneging on his word, yet duty demanded he assist his daughter. Playing shuttlecock between those extremes were his ingrained beliefs on the proper role of ladies.
He finally halted next to his desk, absently fingering the letter opener as he spoke. “Aside from propriety, it is not safe for a woman to live alone in London. I cannot offer you even a shilling in support of so foolhardy a notion. Nor will I allow you to trade on the family name to make a living there. If you persist, I will make your name a byword in town until no family of any class will employ you.”
Amanda remained motionless. That possibility had occurred to her before, but she had not believed that he would drag his own name through the mud to such an extent. She still did not.
He continued. “If moving elsewhere smacks of cowering in shame, then live in Middleford. Show the neighborhood how low you have sunk. But don’t expect to trade on the family connections. We will have nothing to do with you, and you will not be welcomed here again.”
She considered his words, trying to discern his real thoughts. Manipulating people was second nature to him. The demand that she hide away anonymously in the country was irrelevant. He must have known that she would never consider it, just as she knew he would never openly blacken her name in town. So the choice lay between surviving alone in London without help, or moving to Middleford and accepting an allowance.
He probably wished her to remain where he could watch her, but now that she’d come into the open, he could do that anyway. Middleford was a charming market town of several hundred inhabitants. She knew many of them, though he might not be aware of that. And if she were honest, London was not the most congenial place for a woman alone. She had to walk to most of her lessons, and the streets were never safe – not even in the respectable neighborhood where she and Jessie lived.
“The allowance?” she asked, for he had not actually connected it to Middleford.
“A thousand pounds a year, but nothing if you remain in London.”
It was more than twice what she had had to live on in even the most affluent times of her marriage and would allow her to survive in comfort for the rest of her life.
“I will not claim any connection with you,” she agreed. “But I must visit my grandmother on occasion. She will wish to see me if I live so close, and you can hardly dictate her behavior.”
He frowned, but finally nodded.
“I will continue teaching music and French if there are students who wish to study those subjects,” she continued. “And you must understand my past. Many people in this area, including several in Middleford, know me. I have not changed that much since my marriage. You are mistaken to believe they will think poorly of me. Quite the reverse. I will not trade on your name, but I cannot control the tongues of others. Very soon, everyone in the district will be aware both of the connection and of the antagonism that exists between us. If you cannot accept that, then you must allow me to return to London..” Even as she spoke the words, she knew they would not matter. Thorne regarded the lower classes as little better than animals. Their opinions would affect him any more than those of a sheep. But she had to point out the obvious, lest some higher-ranking individual criticize his decree. She would no longer allow him to blame her for anything.
Thorne paced the library, face contorted in thought. Finally, he turned back to Amanda. “As usual, you live in a dream world. But even if you prove correct, I care nought for the opinions of a bunch of motley peasants. Make yourself a laughingstock if you must. Every family has its black sheep, so worthy gentlemen will not blame me. But you will not interfere in my family’s life.”
“Agreed.”
Chapter Three
Amanda paused to admire an arrangement of roses on the hall table before joining her grandmother for tea. She had not seen the lady in nearly a fortnight, her own affairs keeping her too busy.
After leaving the Thornridge library, she had walked back to the dower house deep in thought, trying to decide whether she had handled the confrontation well or had botched it. Though she was not unhappy at the thought of leaving London, perhaps it would have been better to live someplace that was not under Thorne’s nose. Had he outmaneuvered her? She had little experience in manipulation.
Yet there was another side to his terms.
She laughed aloud as the truth suddenly became clear. Instead of the choice she had offered, she had won both options. The allowance was many times what she had requested, and enough people knew her identity that she would have little trouble securing students. An unexpected benefit was that Thorne was proving to all and sundry that he really was the unfeeling monster she had always known him to be. She doubted that he even realized she had won everything. Despite her efforts, he had not believed her. He was the one living in a dream world, a place where lords not only received obedience and respect from their inferiors, but could control their minds and thoughts as well. He truly believed that his peers would follow his lead and condemn her, and that the lower orders would ridicule her every move. This was but another skirmish in their lifelong war, his latest attempt to shame her into adhering to his standards.
Lady Thorne did not see it in that light, of course. When Amanda admitted she was leaving London, the dowager was delighted.
“I always thought he regretted the rift between you. This is the first step in making amends.”
“Fustian!” Amanda exploded. “He has never rued an action in his life. He is again trying to make my life miserable.”
“It is true that he has never openly admitted a mistake,” agreed Lady Thorne. “Even as a child he was adamant. But that never prevented him from correcting his behavior.”
“Enough, Grandmama,” protested Amanda. “I have agreed to his conditions, but that is the end of it.”
“It is right that you return to your home,” she stated firmly.
“Not home, Grandmama,” she countered. “I would starve first. I will live in Middleford, where I will continue teaching.”
Lady Thorne f
rowned, but did not offer new arguments. “There is a cottage on the edge of town that was recently vacated. It is not large, but you seem not to care about that.”
Her grandmother had been right, Amanda decided as she toured the house that afternoon. Too large to deserve the designation of cottage, it nonetheless suited her. The parlor was roomy enough to house a pianoforte – something Lady Thorne had already insisted on providing. A small stable would permit her to keep a horse and gig, allowing her to accept students from farms as well as town. The garden included a selection of common herbs that she could use for making healing draughts. The adjacent forest and water meadow contained others. Yet the house was small enough that it could be run by only a couple of servants.
She had returned to London the next day to close up the house and ship her belongings north, arriving back in Middleford only two days before. Now that she was settled into her new home, she had accepted her grandmother’s invitation for tea.
“You pour,” requested Lady Thorne once they had exchanged greetings. “Are you established at last?”
“Reasonably. I could have been back a week ago, but I wanted to stay in town until after Jessie’s wedding.”
“She shared rooms with you?” asked Lady Thorne.
“Yes. Her husband also died at Waterloo.”
Her voice precluded further conversation on the subject. She did not wish to discuss her marriage. She missed Jack. She missed so many old friends. Talking about any aspect of the last nine years would reduce her to tears, something she could not do again in her grandmother’s presence.
“Is the house party still in progress at the Court?” she asked instead.
“No..” Unexpectedly, the dowager chuckled. “It was a dismal failure.”
“There was no betrothal?”
“The suitor excused himself from attending. Thorne was livid..” Her voice held an odd inflection.
“What happened?”
“The gentleman sent word that he was suffering from an unspecified injury and must return home. Personally, I suspect that he was not ready to commit himself. He has a reputation for avoiding society. That is one of the reasons Thorne chose him – proper disdain for frivolity.”
