Fran Keighley Page 11

  Lyndon shrugged. "Who can tell? Gerald's manners are ever so gentlemanly, he could be thinking anything."

  "Very true. Though sometimes he speaks unwisely."

  Lyndon snorted at that. "Unwisely, but I suspect deliberately, if by seeming to misspeak, he can put me in a bad light. Not that my opinion of him is over-high, either."

  "No, indeed, and how should it be?" But Amanda strove to keep the discussion on more pleasant lines. "Who else was in attendance? I'm sure Harriet, and her husband were present?"

  "Oh, to be sure, and dull dogs they are. She is increasing again; do you know?" Lyndon gave Amanda a wry look. "Our child and hers will be of an age to be playfellows, but I trust we will not be close enough to make that a possibility."

  "No, indeed. I'm sure it is most unworthy of me to dislike Harriet because I received clothing she outgrew or tired of wearing."

  His glance was cynical. "Having met the lady in question, I feel certain that was not your only reason."

  "Well, no. I do hope and pray my disposition while in the family way will be better than hers."

  Lyndon looked alarmed. "Lord, yes. That is to say, I'm unacquainted with her, at such a time, but Eulalia turned into the veriest watering pot. Still, you are more agreeable in any case, so I have no fears."

  Amanda blushed a little, and renewed her resolve to be. "But about the party, who else attended? Was it a great squeeze?"

  "Lord, no, as I said, a sadly insipid affair. Let me think. Oh, also the oft-mentioned Mr. Weddlesham was of the party. He has never come my way before, and I shall be perfectly content if he never does again, but her ladyship was making much of his attendance. So, too, was Eliza, and for all that Eliza might attempt to preen herself upon having not merely one, but two interested suitors," Lyndon grinned wickedly at Amanda, "it was quite obvious Eliza was in dread that neither will come up to scratch. On the other hand, that by encouraging one she might lose the other, or that she might accept Weddlesham before Gerald can offer, yet lose Weddlesham if she waits in hope Gerald will offer."

  "Eliza is to be pitied, I suppose," Amanda allowed. "With Cousin Cordelia as a mama, it would be most unpleasant for Eliza to be left on the shelf, and with Maria already betrothed, her fears on that score must sharpen. I do hope that one of them will, indeed, offer for her."

  "Weddlesham," Lyndon said indistinctly, around a bite of sandwich. When Amanda cast him an inquiring glance, he swallowed and enlarged, "Don't want her around here, do we? As odds she would be, should she wed Gerald. In fact, I make no doubt they would do their utmost to live at Devonridge. Married to Weddlesham, she'll be fixed in London."

  "Quite true." Amanda nodded. "Moreover, wed to Gerald, it wouldn't be merely Eliza who'd spend all possible time at Devonridge. Her mama and sisters would doubtless take up residence, too. Once come on a visit, they'd be most difficult to dislodge. Yes. Is there anything we can do, I wonder, to foster Mr. Weddlesham's suit?"

  "Not from the distance I hope we shall be able to keep," Lyndon said lazily, critically selecting another sandwich. "Love, have you given thought of names for our heir? Lord, won't the old gentleman be delighted?"

  "Perhaps we could name it for him, as one of its names, I mean?" Amanda suggested. "He's been so very kind, and I've grown a considerable affection for him. Unless, Humphrey was not named for him, I hope? Completely setting aside Humphrey as a person, and his unlucky connotations, that is not a name which engages my preference."

  "Lord, no-it's Charles. Very proper for a boy, or if a girl, Charlotte is not a name to hold in aversion, do you think?"

  "We are not going to have a girl. Not this time," Amanda informed him with firmness. "Our next child, perhaps."

  Their eyes met, and held, in mutual contentment and happiness. How very agreeable life had become since they had wed. In moments such as this, Amanda could envision years of peacefully pleasant life together.

  They would have a fine family of healthy children. Four, perhaps. Two adventurous small sons, and two demure little daughters. Lyndon would settle to comfortable family life, enjoying his offspring and taking pride in their achievements, teaching them to ride.

  His horses would bring him such acclaim that he would have no need for daredevil stunts to bring him attention. He might easily become Master of the local Hunt. No, Mr. Nesbitt was Master. Did one become Master for life, or for only a stated period of time? Amanda wished no harm to Marianne's husband, but Lyndon would make such a truly excellent Master.

  He would continue to grow in favor with his grandfather, who would live to a great age, spoiling those great-grandchildren, especially the mischievous imp who'd been named for him.

  This evening, the future looked very rosy.

  * * *

  Chapter Eleven

  "Mr. Gerald Lyndon, madam." Price made formal announcement of the caller, expression utterly impassive, displaying not so much as a flicker of curiosity at the guest's battered countenance.

  Not so Amanda. "Good God, cousin!" she cried in liveliest amazement. "Whatever has befallen you?"

  A cut and swollen mouth smiled. Fingers were wincingly gentle in exploration of a colorfully bruised eye. "Footpads, cousin, two nights ago, the scourge of London after dark. Such a mere stone's throw from my club to my rooms, it seemed quite safe to walk unescorted. Lord, I've done so for years, but this time I was set upon."

  "But how dreadful. I have heard of villains lurking to rob, but never has anyone I knew personally been set upon." Amanda had never been out alone after dark. Even if she had had the inclination to venture out, Lady Cordelia would not have allowed it, for her daughters or Amanda. Whenever any of the ladies of the family went out in the evening, Lady Cordelia had the carriage plus footmen chosen for their muscularity, well able to protect. Indeed, their very appearance would deter footpads.

  "More than mere robbery was intended, I fear, from these villains' remarks, but I was in luck, some good chaps heard my shouts and came to my rescue. Thank God." Wryly, Gerald added, "I was most glad to return to the peace and safety of the country, I do assure you."

  "Indeed so," Amanda fervently agreed. "City life is become far too hazardous for enjoyment. I am most content to be settled in the country." Shifting the topic to a happier aspect, she inquired, "But prior to that, sir, I trust your visit to Town was enjoyable? You attended my cousin Maria's betrothal party, I am told?"

  "Yes, a most elegant affair," Gerald replied. "What a pity you were not present to share in their happiness. I saw Julian there, of course."

  "Yes, so he tells me. Your cousin Sally, as well, I believe?"

  "Exactly so. Quite a Lyndon family gathering, in the midst of the Drumm family gathering." Gerald eyed her indecisively, and then appeared to make up his mind. "I hope the gossips...Well, dear cousin, from living in Town, you will know how they exaggerate the slightest incident. I feel it to be my duty to reassure you that Julian waltzed with Lady Hollingcourt twice only, and if he escorted her in to supper, it was as part of a group, and not tête-à-tête."

  "Indeed?" Amanda responded politely, far more calmly than she felt inside. "They are both particularly elegant dancers, are they not? It is most natural that they should enjoy partnering one another. Twice only? Dear Isabella is always in great demand, is she not? Were you able to stand up with her, as well?"

  He shook his head, battered face wry. "Alas, no. Lady Hollingcourt is ever too much in demand. Especially for one as humbly placed as myself."

  Amanda eyed him, suddenly wondering, was Gerald in love with Isabella? Did that account for his not-quite-concealed bitterness? As he said, he was below her touch. He would have been when she was the season's Incomparable, and though he was a pleasant gentleman, there was little about him to make her risk reputation by setting up even a mild flirt with him.

  Comfortingly, Amanda offered, "Isabella and Julian are friends of long standing. Since childhood, I believe." Amanda had never heard any such thing, and quite invented it now. "I am sure each would
have found my cousin's party to be a sadly insipid squeeze without the enlivening company of the other."

  "Yes. Yes, I daresay that is it." But he looked troubled over it, nevertheless. "You are a woman of great good sense, cousin. Precisely the wife for Julian. I hope he appreciates what he has in you."

  How did he mean that, Amanda wondered. She managed a smile, and added confidentially, "Lyndon did tell me that only encountering Sally and other friends there made it endurable. Between us, we may admit that while Lady Drumm's entertainments are elegant and entirely proper, they are lacking in imaginativeness. Their success or failure depends entirely upon the mood of the company."

  "Well-!" Gerald responded, refusing to commit himself. Perhaps he preferred that sort of party. "I find you a lady of considerable insight, cousin, and I am most happy to count you as a member of our family. Tell me, how did you entertain yourself during Julian's days in London?"

  "Tolerably well," Amanda answered, and continued on to describe some of her activities, while wondering, Julian's days in London? But surely Lyndon had stopped in London only overnight, both going and returning? So she had understood, but doubtless Gerald spoke casually, supposing that of course Lyndon would spend more time there?

  And why was it that well-meant reassurance left such a bitter taste, and his compliments rendered her uneasy?

  Briefly, Amanda considered going on to confide in Gerald that a child was expected; her good news could be most unwelcome to him. He would doubtless prefer that Lyndon die without issue, or as Humphrey had, with daughters only. Oh, but that was being spiteful. Quite petty. Gerald meant for the best; he merely had an unhappy gift of speaking at the wrong moment, or poor phrasing. Bearers of bad news invariably encountered hostility; in ancient times, had there not been a king who executed all messengers who brought disagreeable tidings? At all accounts, Lord Devonridge had not yet been informed, and he must be the first after her husband to hear that she believed herself to be enceinte.

  Gerald Lyndon's visits seldom exceeded the correct half-hour, and this one was no exception. Amanda was sorry to see him go, for his casual conversation and interest in her doings was a distraction from her own thoughts. Thoughts which he himself had stimulated, true. Now, alone, she lacked even household duties or other company to divert her from them. This would never do.

  Briskly, Amanda scolded herself: so Lyndon had waltzed with Isabella Hollingcourt and supped with her. Was he a Lord Byron, to attend a ball and prop himself against the wall, refusing to dance? Most certainly not. He danced well, enjoyed the exercise, and now, particularly, after these weeks in the country, he would enjoy seeing his Town friends. How very mean-spirited of her to begrudge him this.

  Despite her best intentions, when alone, it was impossible for Amanda to banish thoughts of Lyndon and Isabella together, waltzing in sensuously close embrace, laughing and whispering, heads bent almost touching, at supper. Hadn't she seen them just so, in the past, at the larger assemblies?

  Even worse were the visions which her own newfound sexual experience created. Visions of them after the party, in a dark coach, riding homeward. To Lyndon's rooms or the mansion of Isabella's elderly but absent lord? Passionately kissing in the dark carriage, Isabella pressed back against the soft velvet squabs, Lyndon's lean hand slipping inside her décolleté bodice, or moving down to raise her chiffon skirts. Isabella with eagerly parted lips, arching her body, spreading her legs to welcome his caress. Then together in a tumbled bed by candlelight, or again, with afternoon sun streaming in to gleam on Isabella's lushly curving ripe body, her golden hair disheveled by passionate writhing against the pillows.

  Ahh, but he couldn't! He couldn't! He's married to me now! Amanda exclaimed in silent protest. Then she laughed bitterly and shook her head dismissively. Fool to think that made any difference to a gentleman. He hadn't married her for love, had he? She hadn't expected fidelity from him, had she?

  And yet, with their lovemaking so very sweet, it was excruciatingly painful to envision him in the arms of another woman, treating someone else as he did her.

  Well, best accustom herself. All too soon her body would be too swollen and awkward for desirability. Making love might even be injurious to the child she carried. Would it? She had no idea, but if so, would Lyndon tamely await its birth, eschewing other women? No, she had best not expect that. Resign herself to the inevitable. Turn him a blind eye, a smiling face. Provide a comfortable, welcoming home whenever he returned to it, so that he would return to it. To her. Devote herself to her child, to her children, so that she would scarce notice his absence.

  Ah, but she'd notice! She would ever and always notice!

  Briskly, Amanda put her resolutions to the test. Wrapping her elegant Norwich shawl more closely about her, she trod out of the house and along the path to the stables.

  Lyndon had ridden in only moments before, and as he oversaw the rubbing down of his bay hack, he talked casually to the groom. He cast a proudly possessive eye over the new horses, now arrived and settling down so nicely, seeming content in their new stalls and paddocks.

  "Ah, love," Lyndon said in welcome, moving forward and holding out a hand to her. "Come to see your mare? What a shame you must delay learning to ride her. You shall enjoy getting to know the remainder of our acres. I shall teach you yet."

  "I shall anticipate that," Amanda assented, smiling. "Meanwhile, I shall make her my friend. Ahh, you are a pretty thing, you are," she crooned to the gleaming red-gold mare. She offered it a wisp of hay, and reproached herself for not thinking to bring sugar lumps.

  If her husband was a notable horseman, so would she learn to be; if not actually proficient in the saddle, at least she could become knowledgeable, and with sugar and apples and carrots ensure that the horses would welcome her approach.

  The mare was indeed a lovely creature, simultaneously slim and strong, with an intelligent dark eye and a gracefully curving neck. She had a dainty ankle a lady might envy, and small rounded hooves. Her coat shone like a new copper penny, with a white stripe down her face and three white stockings. Amanda could imagine a sidesaddle on the mare, and herself in a well-cut dark blue riding habit (she would have to bespeak one from Madame Jolie) trotting across the fields and along the lanes beside Lyndon on this bay hack.

  Walking down this line of stalls together was reassuring to Amanda. Gerald was an old cat, a gossip in trousers, running to her to make trouble. Or perhaps he had, truly, meant well. People did gossip, and knowing the truth beforehand protected her from twisted versions.

  Good God, Amanda scolded herself, was she to sink into a morass of jealousy just because Lyndon behaved normally in company? Gerald had emphasized, had he not, repeatedly, that there had been nothing out of the ordinary.

  Lyndon had returned home to her, and had been most happy and content to do so, bringing her the gift of an obviously valuable mare, and he was quite delighted by the news of their anticipated parenthood.

  However, the next morning's post brought a fat letter from Eliza. Amanda eyed it with misgivings, not trusting a chatty cousin, most especially after that cousin's younger sister's betrothal party. Her instincts were correct. Much of the letter concerned the party, of course, with a boringly detailed description of the new gown Eliza had had for the occasion, and the most distinguishing attentions paid her by both Mr. Weddlesham and Mr. Gerald Lyndon.

  Eliza also went into a lengthy description of Lyndon dancing twice with Isabella. One of the dances had been a waltz, though the other was a mere country-dance, contrary to what Gerald had said. Isabella's ball gown was exhaustively described, and how beautiful she had looked in it, how greatly admired she was by all (especially the gentlemen) and her flirtatiousness, which Eliza considered outside of enough, in a married lady.

  Amanda was in no doubt what Eliza implied. Eliza made it plain enough that she thought the worst of both Isabella and Lyndon. Out of humor herself, Eliza didn't want others to be happy, particularly a scorned cousin whose marriage ha
d turned out so unexpectedly well. Gerald Lyndon was right to warn her against gossips, and to tell her how harmless it had truly been, even though he was incorrect about the number of times Lyndon and Isabella had waltzed together.

  But then Eliza continued, with the news that Isabella's elderly lord had suffered some sort of spasm the very day after the party, and was unlikely to live.

  Poor Isabella. Such a beauty, yet married to a man so much older, who had been in failing health since soon after their marriage. Did she love him, or at least regard him with affection? Now, apparently, she was to be widowed, and without even children to be her consolation.

  To be sure, Isabella would be a wealthy young widow, and fair women looked lovely in black. Doubtless she would remarry as soon as the mourning period was at an end. Perhaps in her second marriage she would attain the happiness and fulfillment missing from the first.

  Lyndon. In horror, Amanda realized that if Lyndon had remained single only weeks longer, perhaps he would have been Isabella's second husband!

  Now Lyndon had prospects. Isabella would be a free woman, independent of her parents to wed where she chose, and all the gossips whispered they had been lovers.

  How would he receive this news?

  Lyndon would receive it like a gentleman. Of course he would. He was pleased about his impending fatherhood. Expansive at his improved relationship with his grandfather, the new friends he was making in county society, engrossed in setting his stables to rights and starting to breed. Comfortable with Amanda herself. He wouldn't repine. Not truly. Perhaps a few fleeting regrets, the thought if only, but Lyndon was too content with his new life to truly care.

  Wasn't he?

  He was. He would feel sympathy for an old friend, an old lover, in her bereavement. He would wish her happiness in the future. The same happiness he now knew.

  He would. Surely he would.

  Briskly, Amanda rose and ascended the stairs to her boudoir. If nausea moved queasily in her stomach and throat, that was only to be expected during the first weeks of pregnancy. Morning sickness. No more than that. Not apprehensiveness about her husband's reaction to learning his former mistress would soon be free to remarry.