“There is no doubt.” He murmured agreement again.
“Then I only ask that you spend time in her presence and allow what would happen to do so.” From the way Lord Rochester smiled, he was not thinking nature was going to bring them together by accident. He was surely going to bamboozle them with everything his wits could muster until a union was inevitable.
The idea both worried and soothed Windon for the same reason.
“My lord...” Once again he was cut off. Lord Rochester was bold, earnest and clearly worried about his daughter. Dissuasion from a reluctant duke was not going to deter him.
“You will come then? Excellent! Please inform me of your time of arrival. We have closed the ancestral estate, that damp pile of rock is too drafty for my temperament. You will find us in a delightful country estate outside of Brighton called Mossford. I’m sure you will find it most comfortable. It came as my wife’s dower lands, and now is to go to Amelia. She is my only child, you know? She inherits everything that is not entailed, but she must have a guardian or a husband to hold it.”
The last bit was shabbily done. Lord Windon thought so and his gaze was suddenly censured. “My own holdings are quite extensive, my lord, and I find I must make a tour of them before I can honor your invitation.” He was strangely incensed that Lord Rochester thought to sweeten the deal by revealing the vulgar details of her dowry. He was outraged that it was a consideration, when only her form and excellent wit was lure enough.
The salvo was intended to wound Lord Rochester and remind him of the fact that it was rather crass to discuss fortunes, even if he was only doing so in presenting his daughter. The man took it with a smile which puzzled his companion no end.
“But of course.” Lord Rochester agreed affably, with a bright smile that let Lord Windon know he had been played. The words had been meant to measure if his amiable demeanor depended on the fortune of the lady in question. Windon had, Lord Rochester mused to himself, acted in the right and proper manner. “I shall not dare to take your time much longer.” With a short nod he turned, walking with enough spryness to dispel all hints of ill health.
Lord Windon was left to his own thoughts, at first annoyance at the subtle entrapment filled him, another was concerning the easy manner in which the earlier part of the evening was spent. It filled him with a tangible nostalgia.
Lord Windon spent the rest of the evening fighting equal amounts of chagrin and guilt. He had not given his behavior towards his older sister much thought, he had simply done what was considered right. For someone of first acquaintance to point his errors out without hints of being coy, bringing him to his knees with a few words.
Cecelia had been happy enough to have own home. She had gladly married a widower and after she had given birth was reported to be quite content. But how would he know of the truth if he had not asked it her? Flights of fancy aside, her husband, a stout, portly figure with a benign smile was far from the image of a wicked husband, but one was never in the know. The night slipped away from him as he contemplated his imagined wrongs. His sister had not reached out to him, obviously because she knew the way of things and would not challenge them. The thought would not enter her mind in the least. So, it fell to him to remedy the slights, even if she did not perceive them to be so.
He resolved to send a personal missive in the morning, begging for correspondence from her on her life and her children. He was an uncle, but he scarcely played his role. Her young would be hard-pressed to pick him apart from a stranger in the streets of London. Making the resolution soothed him. He made a mental note to send a letter posthaste.
He fell into a slight sleep, troubled by dreams of Amelia pleased and appalled in intervals until he had woken up in sweaty tangled sheets. He stated awake ‘til daybreak conjugating Latin verbs in his mind and thinking on his sins. No one heard his moments of violent and frantic swearing.
When the sun was fully over the horizon he rang for his valet, putting the house in an uproar over his early waking. After a simple meal he sequestered himself in his study to craft a well-worded letter to his sister asking for an invitation back into her life.
Chapter Four
Lady Amelia swallowed her disappointment and sat with a rigid back in the swaying carriage. Lord Rochester looked at his daughter and wondered what had imbalanced her humors. “Are you quite well?” Her father asked with a worried expression.
“Yes, I am, Papa.” She answered. The words were spoken softly and offered no hint as to what troubled her greatly. When they had arrived at the townhouse she had slipped off to her room where her maid waited sleepy-eyed. Mary performed her duties in between yawns. She was most eager to help her mistress out of her ball gown, several petticoats and her stays before removing the pins from the complicated coiffure. She set aside the ornaments and flowers involved in the complicated toilette and she proceeded to gently brush Amelia’s hair with a soft brush. When it laid down her back and fairly shone Mary braided it into a simple plait. She ran the warming pan over the chilly sheets and bid her lady good night.
Mary was too sleepy to note the strain in her mistress eye. Tomorrow was soon enough for gossip. She enjoyed hearing the latest on the fashions, dashing gentlemen and perhaps the hints of scandals in the making—but for now she wanted nothing more than too see the warmth of her own pallet.
Amelia held on to her composure until her friend had slipped out. Then she was overcome by a wave of despair so strong it forced tears down her cheeks. The night had been a test of her resolve. Making acquaintance of a gentleman in such a bold manner instead of with a proper introduction was frowned upon by Society at large, but Lord Windon, rather than being scandalized had matched wit with her. A merging of ideas and thoughts so seamlessly was prized. She had missed him on his brief delay in the gathering of gentlemen.
When he had returned, she found to her utmost delight that their moments had not been a fluke. She had been wary about the rare occurrence of finding a like mind in London after being the subject of a bet. It was pleasant to find one who genuinely did not sniff with disdain at her talk of horses and literature for hours on end.
Then the death knell had sounded. She had spoken out of turn and Lord Windon had no doubt taken offence of her over bold manners. Truth be told, it galled her that he had proved to be of the same ilk as several gentlemen who blindly followed the edicts of polite Society without a care for the people who were not in the upper ten thousand.
She could not, in good faith, fault him for inheriting in place of his sister. It was the law, and there was nothing he could have done to change it. The thought was bitter, nevertheless true. But she could and did detested the offhand manner in which he implied he had done his duty by his sister and was glad to be free if her. It brought her own demons too close to home.
If she did not make a good connection, her hope lay in a distantly related stranger who probably did not exist or, failing that, the estates and all the entailed wealth would revert to the Crown. She would become another saleable asset, and any funds she was able to hold on to would pass directly to a husband chosen by the monarchy. She wiped her face and slipped in between the warm sheets. It was of little import that Lord Windon was unworthy and callous. If she cried, it was understandable that the harried search for a proposal did not suit her disposition in any manner.
Chapter Five
Lord Rochester settled into bed affably, two thoughts consoled him greatly. One, that his machinations had borne fruit even if they hinged on the honor of one man, and the other? He was damned pleased to be heading for the country on the morrow. London was a necessary evil, and he was happy to leave its heavy fog and unpleasant humors in the far distance.
He waited with bated breath for what the morrow would bring. He was hard pressed to find a better match for his child. Lord Windon was ideal in his willingness to accommodate her educated mind and fierce opinions. His title was a perfect cover to make her eccentricities acceptable. He had been offended at the mention
of her dower lands, always a sign of good breeding and manners.
Amelia had had the luxury of many days to repent of her manner. She had thought on it with equal amounts of guilt and righteous anger. She was chagrined that she had lost her good manners in front of a person who could ruin her with words, notwithstanding her emotions had gotten the better of her and made her rash. But she couldn’t very well smile in the presence of so grave an injustice.
She had resolved to apologize, an easy decision to ease her guilt since she would likely never see him again, and it was forbidden for a maiden to write to a man. He had not been intentionally wicked, he deserved her forgiveness. She missed their seamless conversation and his dry wit. However all her charitable thoughts would fade into pure indignation when she was summoned to her father’s study in the morning.
Lord Rochester had a complexion ruddy with health. He was enjoying the gardens, as he had frequently since they had returned from London. The improvement in his health eased her very much, although his doctors cautioned that his lungs were not recovering, just less irritated.
Her father waved her to a chair and dismissed his steward, the first sign that the matter required delicacy.
“You will be pleased to hear that Lord Windon will be joining us for a few days. I hope you will make every effort to make his stay a pleasant one.”
“Papa!”
“You found him pleasant company before.” He looked so pleased with himself. “I only plead that you be kindly.”
“Papa, I cannot stomach these boldfaced machinations.” She turned to avoid his plea.
“Yet, you have not heeded my entreaties for your own sake.”
“Papa...”
“Hush, child. I only seek to rescue you from an unkind fate. I am not much longer for this world and I will not rest easy if I have not done my duties by you.”
“Papa, what if he does not desire this union?”
“Then I shall apologize for my bold manner but not the intent. I only ask you to cease your battles and be willing to try.” The words were spoken softly but it was also clear Lord Rochester did not believe that would happen. Angry at not having a say, she composed herself enough to acquiesce to her father’s demand. Then she clenched her teeth when he informed her that one of his outriders was already come to announce that Duke was a quarter an hour away.
She had pulled her hands down to hide the trembling but smiled at him. By then he was looking at her with something akin to remorse. Lord Rochester nearly suggested that she freshen up, but at the mutinous look on her face he restrained himself.
She was quite determined to meet Lord Windon stinking of the stables in her riding habit. And if his sensibilities were injured, that was his problem.
Now, standing on the steps waiting for Lord Windon to take her hand and give it a perfunctory kiss, she finally admitted to herself that she had been foolish. She looked hoydenish and smelled a trifle rancid. Standing in the sweltering heat with the stench of horses on her person she wished she had managed a sponge bath at least. Lord Windon did not balked at her person when presented. He kissed her wrist as airily as if she were attired for Court. The blatant apology in her father’s eye over an errant daughter galled her bitterly.
Chapter Six
The journey had started with a thousand misgivings, but the early spring was surprisingly mild and there was not even a hint of a chill on the air. The weather had remained clement, and the horses were sprightly. Robert wished to be detained by a problem. A broken spoke, or even highwaymen, but he had the devil’s own luck. He had thought more on her. Lady Amelia. It tasted sharp and sweet on the tongue, like lemon ice. He pictured her flashing eyes, her lips pursed or pouted, or even thin in anger. Her spine was as straight and strong as her convictions.
After the first missive to his sister, a steady stream had ensured where she had regaled him with tales of her life without whitewashing the facts. She had culminated in an invitation to her husband’s estate. He had visited and was relieved to find she did not live in abject squalor, but her station was much modest compared to what she had been born into. When he had offered to include her husband in his investment schemes, she had been speechless at the unexpected kindness.
S’Truth! He had not dared admitted to himself how much he missed her. And in a week her little children, who had been initially shy, warmed to him enough to include him in their jaunts. In the middle of so good a time the guilt had returned full tilt. He had settled in the edicts of Society and hitherto missed such warmth. Never again.
When another week passed, the pressing matter of his promise to the Earl of Rochester returned to his mind with a vengeance. He had put it away in the days he frolicked with the children, but it would not be so easily dismissed when he was alone on his own estates with his own thoughts. He was honor-bound to fulfil the obligation, not to marry the chit. But he had to make an appearance at Mossford. How would he face the gel, knowing she had been right in her rash words? Even he no longer agreed with the way things were.
But the Duke of Windon was no coward and sent off a letter to announce his arrival in a few days. He made preparations and girded himself. For what? He wasn't sure. He made the trip with trepidation swelling with each mile gained. At the last town he sent an outrider to inform the estate of his imminent arrival.
When he had arrived they waited on the front step to receive him. Lord Rochester was ruddy and his daughter stiff. Windon sighed in annoyance and tugged at his cravat with irritation. The countryside was unseasonably warm. He would have liked to be in less stiff clothing and riding at a fast pace. A sentiment obviously shared by Lady Amelia. She was a sight, regally poised beside her father with her cheeks flushed in the obvious exertions of the morning. She looked absolutely fetching in her riding habit and was still ill-disposed to his person. He bowed over her fingertips but refrained from kissing them, such a gesture would even annoy her even more. He received a more jocular welcome from Lord Rochester. The trio entered the hall with the men in lead and her trailing behind, surprisingly docile. They were seemingly engrossed in their conversation concerning the architecture of the hall, sparked by an innocent remark by Lord Windon on the handsome masonry. Her father was doubly proud of Mossford, a favorite estate of his late wife. He obliged any who noted its beauty by delving into history of the building and local quartz mine used to build it.
Lady Amelia had thought them engrossed until she tried to escape, but before she could seek permission to retire her father was pressing Lord Windon ride with her. He claimed it was quite the thing, a brisk ride in the country air to alleviate the aches of the long bumpy ride in the carriage. Before she could bring a word in protest he had gotten Lord Windon to agree and embroiled her in his plans. She could not very well bow out without being impolite. His work done, Lord Rochester left them in the hallway. Perhaps for the first time since he had arrived, Lady Amelia raised her head to look boldly at Lord Windon. His gaze was just as earnest.
“If I may beg you...” he started.
“I would like very much to...” she spoke out, the words starting and stopped abruptly. After an awkward pause, he gestured for her to continue. “I must ask for your forgiveness, Your Grace, for my reprehensible manners in calling you out on your own matters.” He was her father’s guest and she had to assuage her guilt.
“Think nothing if it,” he said easily. “Shall we move to the stables then?”
It was an end of it then. After having deprived her of her sleep, the light way he treated her heartfelt apology did not earn him her favor, but she held her tongue. “And what you wished to speak of?” she prompted as she led the way.
There was enough time to raise the matter later in his stay. “It will keep, I am sure. I am most eager to gauge the manner of horseflesh in your stables.”
“I am sure you would find them worthy.” The stables were a pastime of hers and she was most eager to know his thoughts on it.
“Indeed, they will be. Lord Rochester is doesn
’t seem the man to have inferior stock in his stables.” It was an easy assumption to make and she forgave him for it.
“If I may be so bold, I would like to say the stables are my domain. My father has little appreciation for horses.” He did not betray his surprise but smiled genially at her and inclined his head to look at her.
“Then I must say they shall be doubly worthy.” She flushed at the praise and they walked on with an easy air between them. The stables did not stink as many was wont to. Lord Windon approved of wide, comfortable stall boxes in which the horses were housed. When the horses were led out for his inspection he was impressed by the efficient manner of her grooms and the expert handling of the horses.
A particular stallion of Arabian origins caught his eye. He commented on its fine lines. It stood at eighteen hands with a glossy coat, strong withers, and sporting only a tuft of white in its tail. It was a magnificent creature.
She was very pleased at his reaction. “Would you like to ride him?”
When he asked for a stretch of land for a gallop to try out the new mount she quickly gave orders for the grooms to saddle two horses. Soon they were away with her in the lead.
Lord Windon was a masterful rider, with an excellent seat and a masterful handling of the spirited horse she could not help but admire. When they reached a level stretch of land he gave the horse his head. Both man and beast performed admirably. A seamless merging of motion that warmed her no end, it showed Lord Windon’s prowess to advantage. “You ride as well as Sebastian.” She beamed at him delightedly.
“I thank you for the compliment, but who is Sebastian?”
The light in her eyes dimmed. “He was my brother.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize...”
“He loved to ride. It was his dream to raise a winning race horse. After the smallpox epidemic we had so few staff that Papa started talking about selling the stable, but I couldn’t let him do that.” She pushed a strand of hair out of eyes that glistened suspiciously.
Regency Romance Omnibus 2018: Dominate Dukes & Tenacious Women Page 47
