by Tuft, Karen
Lady Ashworth took her hands and kissed her cheek. “Amelia, you do look stunning! I am so glad I insisted on the plum. I knew it was the right decision.”
“Miss Clarke,” Anthony said, his voice vibrating through her like the low tones of a cello. He bowed over her hand and kissed it, lingering slightly. “You look so exquisite tonight I fear I cannot resist you.” He delivered this last bit with a flirtatiousness that was typical among the beau monde and, therefore, would not be taken seriously by anyone observing their interaction. “You must reserve a dance with me. I insist.”
“It would be my pleasure,” she said, feeling like a debutante. And then she was past them and in the ballroom.
She had been in the ballroom many times, but tonight it looked especially magical. Hothouse flowers spilled from urns everywhere, spicing the air with their fragrance, and the chandeliers blazed brightly overhead. The orchestra was tuning their instruments, the signal that the dancing was about to begin.
The room, spacious though it was, was filled to overflowing. It was a veritable crush: ladies in their finest gowns adding their own bouquet of colors to the scene, set off beautifully by the men in their black evening wear.
Lady Elizabeth was the first person to approach Amelia. “How fine you look this evening, Amelia,” she said with true friendliness. “I love the color of your gown. I can never wear such a bold shade, you see, but it goes wonderfully with your hair. I am quite envious.” Her eyes twinkled.
Lady Elizabeth, in contrast to Amelia, wore a gauzy dream of a gown that gave her an ethereal quality, especially when combined with her blonde hair and pale-blue eyes. “You have no reason for envy, Lady Elizabeth. You put everyone in the shade.”
Lady Elizabeth was beauty personified, in fact, and she was Anthony’s best choice for a bride, Amelia reminded herself. Ignoring the pit in her stomach, she took the lady’s hands in hers in greeting. “I never could have imagined seeing you run a three-legged race,” she said. “It is an image I shall treasure for some time.”
Lady Elizabeth laughed merrily. “It is an image that would have haunted my father for decades had he seen it. And remember, I am merely Elizabeth.”
“I shall endeavor to get used to it.”
“You know, it has been so long since I did something as frivolous as that race,” she said. “I enjoyed myself thoroughly. Lord Cantwell is a jolly sort of fellow.”
“Indeed—”
“What a lovely gown,” a strident female voice said, interrupting their conversation. “I was just saying that exact thing to you, was I not, Charlotte? That Miss Clarke’s gown was especially lovely?”
Lady Elizabeth shot Amelia an understanding look before turning to face the Putnam girls. “Ladies, how breathtaking you both look. I envy your ability to wear that particular shade of yellow, Miss Putnam. Yellow does absolutely nothing for my own complexion. And Miss Charlotte, the ruffles on your gown are delightful.”
Her words stopped the Putnam girls in their tracks. Elizabeth had smoothly and graciously deflected the attack. She was kind and beautiful, Amelia thought, and Anthony could do no better in finding a suitable wife. Amelia wanted Anthony to be happy above all else, and he needed someone who could provide him with comfort. Lady Elizabeth would be that kind of wife.
But the thought deflated her, even as Phillip Osbourne asked her for the first dance. Lord Cantwell then invited Lady Elizabeth to dance as Harriet Putnam looked on with simmering contempt.
Chapter 8
When Anthony finally entered the ballroom, the first thing he saw was Phillip Osbourne dancing with Amelia, and he had a sudden and compelling urge to plant the man a facer.
Amelia’s deep-purple gown shimmered with her movements, and her auburn hair looked aflame under the chandeliers. He could not take his eyes off her. Phillip, confound the man, seemed taken with her. Anthony suddenly could not seem to remember why he had thought her an unsuitable choice as a wife.
He shook his head to rid it of the thought. He had matters to attend to before he could allow himself to ponder that question. He must mingle with the guests, and he must speak with Lady Elizabeth.
The first dance was just ending when he finally spotted her. She was on the floor with Kit. The Osbourne brothers certainly had not wasted any time acquiring the loveliest ladies in attendance as their dance partners.
He moved to intercept them. “May I have the honor?” he asked Lady Elizabeth when the dance finally concluded and Kit escorted her off the floor.
“I think you can do better than this lackwit,” Kit said to her with a wink.
“Lord Cantwell!” she said, aghast. “Oh, you are joking. I would be delighted, Lord Halford.” She placed her hand lightly on Anthony’s sleeve and allowed him to lead her back onto the dance floor.
Whereas Lady Elizabeth had appeared relaxed and quite animated while dancing with Kit, she now seemed reserved and formal. Apparently she too was anxious about their betrothal status. It was time to resolve the issue once and for all.
“Lady Elizabeth,” he said as the music began, “I hope you have been enjoying your stay at Ashworth Park.”
She looked up at him with concern. “Of course,” she said. “Have you heard something to the contrary?”
“Not at all.”
The moves of the dance took them apart briefly, and when they were reunited, he said, “You are no doubt aware of our fathers’ intentions for us.” She swallowed, the movement of her throat as delicate as a bird’s, giving her an air of vulnerability. “What is your opinion on the matter?” he asked gently.
“What do you mean?” she asked cautiously.
“Come with me.” He took her by the elbow and led her from the floor toward a quiet corner where they could speak more privately. “I meant exactly what I asked. What is your opinion?”
“I . . .” She seemed at a total loss for words. “I have never presumed to have an opinion on the matter. I knew marriage to your brother was a good match, and I accepted his courtship and proposal willingly, as everyone expected me to do.”
“Ah,” Anthony said. This was going to be harder than he had anticipated. It all led back to duty; it always did. Even for her. As surely as Anthony knew his own duty, she knew hers, which was to marry well, an arrangement that did not necessarily include love, especially among the ton. In fact, it rarely did.
“You must know, Lord Halford, that I grieved for your brother when he died,” she said.
“Thank you.” Anthony paused so he could choose his next words carefully. “Lady Elizabeth, what would your opinion be if I were to suggest that we not continue down the path set out by both our fathers? Would that be your preference? Or are you set on the match?” She grew quiet, so Anthony sought to put any concerns she may have to rest. “I will, of course, honor the agreement that has been made, if that is your preference. However, I have made it clear to my father that no announcement will be made under any circumstances without your full consent.”
He drew her farther aside so he could whisper this next part. He did not want anyone but her to hear what he was about to say. “I was only just informed of your father’s wish for an announcement to be made this evening. Forgive me, then, for my abrupt manner in bringing up the subject. I would have preferred discussing this with you under more accommodating circumstances. I would never want to rush any lady in such a manner. But his insistence requires that I receive an answer from you.”
She searched his face to see if what he was saying was in earnest. “Do you truly mean what you are saying? That if I choose not to accept your proposal at this time, you will honor it?”
“Yes. However, I must be frank, my lady. I have given my word to my father that I will wed at the earliest convenience and therefore cannot promise I will be free later should you change your mind.”
“I see,” she said. “I understand completely.”
Anthony suddenly remembered her animation when dancing with Kit—and Kit had also run the three-legged race with her. With that knowledge shoring him up, he realized he was not doing her a disservice. Probably quite the opposite. “You are an exceptional woman, Lady Elizabeth, and I am not the only person to recognize this, am I? I am fully confident you will marry well and find great happiness in the match. I believe you know in your own heart it will not be with me though, don’t you?”
“Yes, not with you.” She smiled. “I hope you do not take offense at that.”
“Not at all.” He smiled to reassure her. “It is why I am having this conversation with you in the first place.”
“Thank you for your honesty and your concern for my happiness. You are a true gentleman, Lord Halford. I hope we shall remain friends.”
“I am certain of it, my lady.” He took both of her hands in his and kissed each one. “And now,” he said briskly, “I shall go find your father so I may tell him of our decision.”
“I would never let you do that alone, Lord Halford,” she said, lifting her chin and looking every inch the daughter of a duke. “My father is not the most reasonable man once his mind is made up. I will go with you, and we shall face his wrath together.”
Anthony admired her all the more for it. “As a gentleman, I cannot let you,” he said. “Were I to ask for your hand, I would approach your father on my own. It will be on my own that I face him now as well.”
“But he must be made to understand this was a mutual decision.”
“Lady Elizabeth, we are not betrothed, nor have we ever, until this moment, even discussed the matter. I will simply make it clear to him that it is not to be and that it is my decision. I would not have your relationship with him tarnished.”
“What relationship?” she asked sadly. “I am merely a pawn my father moves at will to accomplish his ends.”
“Nonetheless, he is your father. Now, if you will excuse me, I shall go find him. But promise me something first?”
“What?” she asked.
“Enjoy yourself tonight. You deserve to.” He kissed her hand again and left her in order to find the duke, whom he suspected would be spending his time in the room set aside for cards.
Had Anthony been obliged to marry Lady Elizabeth, they would have had an amiable arrangement, which was more than most marriages of the ton could claim. Perhaps he had made a mistake in freeing them both.
And yet he did not think so. Despite the time constraints, Anthony needed to hope he would find a woman who could complete him, thin as that hope was.
But in truth, what he needed was someone who would not be frightened by his ghosts.
* * *
“Come here, you naughty child, and keep me company for a few minutes,” Lady Walmsley commanded Amelia from her seat at the side of the ballroom, gesturing rather wildly for a lady of her years.
Amelia dutifully sat next to her, grateful to be able to rest her feet.
Lady Walmsley was wearing a gray satin gown and more jewels than Amelia had ever seen in her life. Necklaces and brooches filled her bosom, and each of her fingers sported a dazzling ring or two.
“Now tell me,” the lady said as the ostrich feather in her hair bobbed up and down. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
“Of course. Everything is lovely.” Amelia was trying to enjoy herself, that was. The orchestra was wonderful, and the ballroom was awhirl with every imaginable color. It was a feast for the senses and undeniably the most elegant event Amelia had ever attended, but she had seen Anthony and Lady Elizabeth slip off together, which had left her with a pit in her stomach. “And are you enjoying yourself, Lady Walmsley?” she asked.
“More than I expected to at my age. I saw you dancing with that young Osbourne fellow earlier. Nice enough chap but not for the likes of you.”
“I am not here angling for a husband, Lady Walmsley,” Amelia assured her. Unlike certain other ladies she could mention.
“Oh, pah. You should be if you are not. You want to be a companion forever? Of course you don’t, clever girl like you. You want children, lots of them, and you have all the qualities it takes to keep a husband in tow.” She patted Amelia’s hand. “Lord Walmsley, God rest his soul, and I were not blessed with children of our own, but we rubbed along well together for all those years, nonetheless. Had a niece I was fond of; was her godmother, in fact. My sister’s girl.” She had a far-off look in her eye. “My sister married a younger son, and then off to India they went. There was money to be had there, you know, and younger sons need money.”
“Yes,” Amelia said.
“Did very well for themselves too, especially in the early years. Cotton primarily but other textiles as well. People want more than wool for their clothes, now don’t they? So there’s always a demand.”
“Did they eventually return to England?” Amelia wasn’t certain where this conversation was going, but Lady Walmsley was such a dear. Amelia had grown extraordinarily fond of the woman. “Your sister and her husband?”
“No, they never did.” She fumbled in her reticule for her handkerchief. “Sent their only child to me though, so she could get a proper English education. Name of Julia. Lovely girl. She had a terrible time leaving her parents. I felt bad about that, though I did the best I could. I doted on her, sent her to the best schools, and her friends came to visit on holidays. Wonderful times, they were. But, goodness, listen to me rattle on and you listening so kindly. Now, off with you.” She wiggled her fingers at Amelia in a shooing gesture. “Dance all you can, and flirt even more. Ho, young man,” Lady Walmsley called to—hm, Amelia didn’t know the gentleman who had turned in response, which could prove awkward. “Yes, you. Come here, if you please.”
The gentleman in question approached and bowed formally to them.
“I am Lady Walmsley, and you are?” she asked.
“Rupert Seymour, at your service, my lady,” he said. He seemed at a loss, Amelia thought, just as she was. He was also something of a dandy. His hair was heavily pomaded, and his waistcoat was lavender silk with heavy embroidery work.
“Mr. Seymour,” Lady Walmsley continued. “May I present Miss Amelia Clarke? Miss Clarke, Mr. Seymour. I am too old to care about formalities,” Lady Walmsley said. “But there you are; you have been introduced. Mr. Seymour, this young lady is in need of a dance partner, and it appears you are available.”
The poor man flushed bright red, which clashed terribly with his waistcoat. “Well . . . um, certainly I . . .”
“My lady,” Amelia quickly interjected, hoping to spare the man more embarrassment. “I am afraid I cannot accept Mr. Seymour’s generous offer as I am promised elsewhere at the moment. Please forgive me.” It was a pathetic excuse, and Lady Walmsley shot her a knowing look, but desperate times called for desperate measures. She smiled politely at Mr. Seymour, who bowed once more and made his escape.
“Lady Walmsley, you are a troublemaker,” Amelia whispered.
The old woman only cackled and tapped Amelia on the arm with her fan. “Off with you, then, girl, to keep this so-called ‘promise’ I know you do not happen to have. Go break some hearts.”
Amelia leaned down and planted a kiss on Lady Walmsley’s papery cheek. “I shall try, my lady. Stay out of trouble, or at the very least, do not overtire yourself.”
“If only I dared. Oh, to be young again,” Lady Walmsley said as Amelia took her leave.
The elderly lady really was a dear.
* * *
The Duke of Marwood was sitting at a table with a few of his cronies, playing cards, just as Anthony had suspected.
In what little time Anthony had been around the man, he had grown to dislike him exceedingly. He was a power-mongering windbag with a surprising number of bad habits, including gambling and drinking to excess. Anthony had met a few such individuals in the army, arrogant and full of thems
elves; he had learned it was better to ignore them as much as possible and face them man to man only when the situation called for it.
Marwood’s rank and his status as a guest of Anthony’s parents meant Anthony would need to choose his words carefully. He cleared his throat to get the gentlemen’s attention, so engrossed in the game they were. “Your Grace,” he said. “May I have a word?”
The Duke of Marwood looked at his cards and the size of the pot and said, “Must it be now? I am in a game here, in case you had not noticed.”
The other players looked up at Anthony with interest.
“I suppose, if you insist, we can have the conversation here,” Anthony said. “However, I do not believe your daughter would appreciate an audience while we discuss certain matters.”
Marwood glared at him, slapped his cards on the table facedown, and stood.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Anthony said.
He led the duke to a small study down the hall from the card room and gestured for him to enter first. Once the door was closed behind them, the duke spoke. “I am assuming you are officially asking for Elizabeth’s hand, although you needn’t have bothered with the formality, especially when I had a winning hand. Your father and I are in agreement. The betrothal will be announced before the supper dance.”
“You and my father may be in agreement, Your Grace, but Lady Elizabeth and I are not. I have informed my father thus, and now I am informing you. There will be no betrothal, not tonight or at any other time. The lady does not wish it, and neither do I.”
“Her wishes are not my concern, nor are yours. Lady Elizabeth understands her duty to her family and defers to me in such instances. I find it appalling that you are less informed about your own duty.”
Anthony knew his duty only too well.
“I will not marry the lady without her consent,” he said.
“Then you would do well to earn it before the supper dance, or I will take matters into my own hands.”
“With all due respect, Your Grace, I would suggest not doing that.” Anthony was working hard to control his temper, which felt perilously close to the surface, especially after the demands of the day.
