Fran Keighley Read online

  At last Lyndon did move in the direction of the Drumm party, and Amanda watched his approach with a little thrill of pleasure. He was attractive, and he moved with such easy grace.

  His expensively quiet elegance pointed up her present dowdiness, however, and his brief glance was pained. She had been right to obey Sally and purchase those extravagantly lovely gowns and fripperies.

  His words, as he bowed over the ladies' hands, were politely conventional, and his expression was bored, and then he was dutifully inviting Amanda to dance, and escorting her out onto the floor.

  Nervously, Amanda hoped she could remember the steps, for it had been such an age since she had last stepped out. She had always spent far more time sitting next to Lady Cordelia and a cousin on the sidelines than out on the floor with a partner.

  "That shatterbrain Sally informs me she has told you all," he remarked softly, an imp of mischief in his greenish-hazel eyes as he glanced down at her. It was a change from his indifferent or critical expression, at any event, and a most welcome change, a quite warming one.

  Amanda was uncertain how to answer him, feeling suddenly shy-and oh, good heavens, this was a waltz! Lady Cordelia disapproved of waltzing as being fast, almost indecent for unmarried persons to move in a close embrace in public, and consequently Amanda had less experience of the waltz than any of the other dances. She had only waltzed while acting as a partner for Eliza or Maria, practicing at home. It was all of a piece, she thought fleetingly, that Julian Lyndon, with his reputation, should have solicited her to waltz.

  "Yes, but did Sally tell you of our shopping expedition?" Amanda found herself countering. "I fear when the bills arrive your grandpapa will think I am sadly failing to influence you, but am being influenced instead."

  Lyndon threw back his head and laughed aloud, and swept her into the dance. "Plainly Sally was right; you will make me an excellent wife. In the event, by the time that day comes, we shall be wed and they can't rearrange the matter. Wed me to one of those cousins of yours instead, for example. I should not fancy Lady Drumm as a mother-in-law."

  The teasing light in his eyes emboldened Amanda to retort, "I make sure that, were there any danger of that, you could find a way to make her ostracize you."

  He was a very good dancer, which did not surprise her; what did come as a surprise was that he was so good that Amanda found herself following his steps quite effortlessly, feeling light and graceful and almost attractive. Doubtless he was automatically charming to any lady, but Amanda was not inclined to quibble since it eased the moment.

  "Lord, yes, perfected the technique years ago," he cheerfully agreed. "It isn't easy to escape the matchmaking mamas."

  For there were some who wanted a husband, any husband, for their girls, just as Lady Cordelia had with her, believing that any husband was preferable to no husband at all. Lyndon was kin to a duke.

  The waltz ended all too soon; Lyndon gave Amanda his arm, and as they walked along-back to Lady Cordelia? But not by the most direct route-Amanda glanced up at him, her shyness returning, and, drawing a deep breath, said before she lost the last vestige of her courage, "I fear, sir, that you may not quite like this. I appreciate that you have been forced into marrying, but indeed, I shall try to be a...a good wife, and conformable, and not...not too much of a bore or a...a nuisance. Truly I shall."

  He looked down at her with a faint smile and gave her fingers on his arm a little, comforting pat. "No, it isn't particularly what I should have chose, nor perhaps is it the choice you would have made, but a man must marry eventually, so I daresay it will answer, and we shall deal extremely together. I shall probably make the very devil of a husband, but perhaps I shall improve with time."

  Whatever could she say to that? "I hope both our lives will improve. If we do try to...to deal extremely-"

  "Exactly so." Then, his mood lightening, "Do you know, I believe your worthy guardians neglected to plan our honeymoon? However did they overlook that, I do wonder? What should you like to do? I doubt that Grandpapa's newfound generosity will quite extend to a Paris honeymoon."

  "Paris? Oh, I never thought of Paris." The thought amazed Amanda. "Why, I believe I quite overlooked the matter of a honeymoon, as much as they did." She hadn't expected any such celebratory excursion.

  "Well, then, shall we go to inspect our new home instead, and postpone Paris until a later date? Though I give you fair warning, Highbriars was last inhabited by Great-Aunt Louisa, who kept cats."

  "Splendid; I am most fond of kittens," Amanda demurely responded, grateful to him for so lightly putting her at ease.

  Suddenly she found herself wondering just what her new home would be like, and how it would be situated. Hadn't Sally spoken of it being in the country? For where else would a "minor estate" be? What was that part of the country like? Was it just outside a town or village, or in a truly remote rural area?

  "I daresay that also means it is free of mice, however. Kittens are indeed preferable." He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Your cousins have not given any thought whatsoever to our honeymoon? Even belatedly? Remarkable!"

  "No. I wonder how they did overlook planning that? Doubtless their interest extends merely to being rid of me; once Sir William gives me away to you at the church, his responsibility is at an end. I daresay they have been truly generous, giving me a home these past years, when they already have several daughters," she added with scrupulous fairness but little conviction.

  He glanced down at her, the expression in his eyes hinting he understood perfectly. "But these managing persons invariably wish to plan everything for one," he pointed out. "Well, at all events, it seems we shan't be bothered with in-laws. Do you truly wish to return to your cousins? Or should you prefer to dance?" The music resumed and sets formed.

  Amanda greatly preferred to dance. Suddenly it was a wonderful evening, and her headache was quite gone. This was a thrilling assembly filled with beautiful, glittering people. And if Isabella Hollingcourt was one of the most beautiful and glittering, at least she was married to someone else.

  For the first time, Amanda could fully understand why Sally and so many others loved the great whirl of parties and dances; it made such a difference when one was well partnered, no longer alone. Future assemblies would doubtless be better still, when she was Mrs. Lyndon, elegantly gowned and completely free of Lady Cordelia's dominance. But tonight was wonderful. Wonderful. This must be how Cinderella felt, at her ball.

  Later, at home in her own small plain bedchamber, Amanda cautioned herself before going to sleep. She could see that it would be all too easy to fall prey to Julian Lyndon's easy magnetism, and it would not do. Fantastic to be warning herself against loving one's affianced husband, but necessary, in this instance. Waltzing with him, caught by his physical attractiveness and undeniable charm, it was easy to forget that this was merely a marriage of convenience.

  He was most assuredly not falling in love with her. Why should he be? To allow herself to care too much for him would only lead her to heartbreak.

  "I am overly susceptible to kindness," Amanda silently scolded herself. "I must be on guard. There is no one to protect me save for my own self."

  With so few people to love, and no one truly loving her since her parents' death when she was hardly more than out of her childhood, perhaps it was natural enough that she should easily succumb to any kind word and friendly glance, and if gossip held truth, Julian Lyndon was adept at bending women to his will.

  She must not forget that, not for one moment.

  And yet-and yet-!

  * * *

  Chapter Four

  Amanda's wedding day dawned bright and fair, which Amanda felt augured favorably for the future

  Lady Cordelia had planned everything with her usual efficiency, despite her underlying indifference, and had planned it well enough. It was in her character to do no less.

  The private ceremony would be in midmorning, at a little church close by, one that was unfashionable, hence available
upon short notice, with no need that anyone could see for decorations. A small wedding breakfast at the Drumm mansion would immediately follow.

  As Sally Warrenby had cynically predicted, Lady Cordelia had selected Amanda's trousseau with more concern for economy and propriety than attractiveness.

  Amanda had packed for herself; no maid was sent to assist her, not even Betty, nor had she expected one. Items she would need on the journey to Highbriars went into a valise and her reticule; the rest in a trunk. She wondered what Lyndon would have thought of her ladyship's choices. Very little, she felt sure. She could visualize his expression of bored unconcern, which she remembered so well from that afternoon when he had offered for her.

  Amanda would wear Cousin Harriet's wedding gown. "So sentimental-the traditional family bridal gown," Amanda had overheard Lady Cordelia confiding to some bosom-bows over tea.

  Mourning for Cousin Almeria, who had been only a distant cousin, her demise not at all regretted, provided full cause for the ceremony's smallness and private nature. Then, with so few guests present, there was no reason to go to unwarranted expense. Simplicity. Indeed, Mr. and Mrs. Warrenby were the only persons attending who were not of the Drumm family, saving the groom himself. None of his other relatives were in attendance, nor had he invited any friends. Mr. Warrenby served as his best man, while Mrs. Warrenby attended Amanda.

  Amanda felt strangely remote, almost as if she were standing off watching and listening to two other people making their vows to love, honor, and obey. The church was bare and chill, and she struggled against shivering, feeling that would be unseemly during her marriage ceremony. She heard as if from a distance her own voice, small and clear, repeating the vows; she felt Lyndon's fingers, even colder than her own. She was conscious of their lack of warmth, with a quiver detectable only to other fingers, not to the eye, as they guided the plain broad gold band onto her third finger. His cool lips barely brushed hers in a token kiss.

  And they were married now? She was Mrs. Julian Lyndon?

  She felt no different.

  The wedding breakfast was small and frugal, with no luxuries or decorations or favors, even though the Warrenbys were guests, and it was not prolonged; Amanda knew her cousins had other plans for the afternoon that they considered of greater importance and interest. That was not the reason given, of course: consideration for the length of the newlyweds' journey was the excuse. However, Amanda felt certain Lyndon didn't wish to linger, and she felt the same, even though she was going into the unknown.

  The maid whom Sally had hired for Amanda (although the Drumms were under the impression that the woman was Mrs. Warrenby's own dresser) waited in Lady Cordelia's bedchamber. That was being used for the occasion, as more accessible, spacious, and impressive to Sally and her maid.

  Amanda and Pym exchanged a long, assessing glance, and Amanda felt encouraged. Here was no toplofty dresser like Lady Cordelia's Meadows, but a neat, respectful woman of possibly thirty years, brown-haired and pleasant-faced. She displayed enough quiet elegance in her own person to bode well for her ability to do for Amanda.

  How impressive, a real lady's maid, as demonstrated by the fact she was addressed by her surname, not an ordinary abigail like Betty, called by a plebeian type of forename even though she did help to do up buttons and the like.

  Deftly, Pym arranged Amanda's hair and assisted Amanda to change into her going-away costume. That was handed down, like the bridal gown, from Harriet. Sally gave Amanda's shoulder a comforting pat.

  They made quite a procession on their departure. Lyndon and Amanda rode in the post chaise. This was followed by a second coach occupied by Lyndon's man and Amanda's maid, and was loaded with their trunks and boxes. Indeed, all of Amanda's few possessions were included, for she hoped never again to return to this house.

  "I'd say we brushed through that quite well," Lyndon commented lazily, as their chaise rattled over the rough paving stones. "I've sent my groom and horses ahead to await us at the Red Lion in Hand Cross. The landlord there knows me and can be depended upon to have a neat supper and good accommodations ready for us. Always do stop there on my way to or from Devonridge. Brightest spot of the entire visit, as a rule."

  "But are we going to Devonridge?" Amanda questioned, horrified. All of Sally's accounts had made her grandfather and aunt and uncle sound most formidable; Amanda scarce felt adequate to meet them with so little warning, on top of so much else. "I...I thought we were going to our own home."

  "Oh, to be sure, but we all but pass Devonridge, so we may as well make a stop, do the pretty, keep the old man in good frame." With a mischievously slanted glance, he drawled teasingly, "If you did indeed spend the whole year's allowance on your back, we'd best do so." However, his hand went out to cover hers fleetingly, and he added comfortingly, "Never fear. Give the bills to me; the old gentleman's used to what I can do. Besides, it may not come to that. My luck's in these days; I've had some good nights at the tables since last at Devonridge. I think that perhaps you have brought me luck, Mrs. Lyndon. And who can tell, Grandpapa may well come down handsome with a bride gift."

  Mrs. Lyndon. That was her name now, no longer plain Miss Blackton. And she was a wife, no longer a spinster, an old maid, an ape leader. Wife, moreover, to the grandson of a duke, no longer a mere unwanted poor relation uneasily subsisting upon the reluctant charity of cousins.

  Whatever came, Amanda was certain it was preferable to what she left behind.

  * * *

  The journey was less of an ordeal than Amanda had feared. She had had terrifying moments, lying awake in the small hours of the night, of feeling certain that the trip would be made in frozen silence, punctuated only by stiff remarks born of desperation.

  Or might Lyndon attempt to make love to her as soon as they were alone together? In the carriage itself? How did rakes behave when alone with young ladies?

  Almost equally frightening for her to contemplate, would the jouncing of the carriage make her sick? If it did, Amanda knew she would die of shame.

  She had reckoned without her bridegroom. Possibly Lyndon's behavior was motivated by selfish consideration for his own comfort, but he had chosen a chaise so well sprung that motion sickness was out of the question, and he made enough light conversation regarding their wedding, relatives, and the countryside through which they traveled that Amanda had only to follow his lead.

  Indeed, his easy manner made her relax and quite enjoy herself, and to feel grateful to him, whatever the cause. An unwilling bridegroom's selfishness could so easily have taken the opposite course, venting its spleen upon the bride. She knew herself to be fortunate there.

  It had been past noon when they left the Drumm mansion, and with four good horses, they clipped right along at a steady pace. On this sunny spring afternoon, the countryside was lovely, and its quiet tranquility was a welcome change to Amanda after the winter in the great grimy metropolis, with all of its noise and bustle and confusion.

  They made one halt for a change to a fresh team; Lyndon swung out of the chaise to refresh himself in the taproom, and sent a waiter running out with hot chocolate for Amanda. A little maid came to show Amanda the way to the necessary. Those were unlooked-for considerations, and far more luxury than she had ever experienced when the Drumm household was on the road.

  Then the journey resumed, traveling until, as dusk was gathering, they reached Hand Cross and pulled into the courtyard of the prosperous Red Lion Inn.

  There was a hospitable flurry, the host himself bustling out to greet them and to escort them to the neat private parlor and bedchamber that Lyndon's man had bespoke. Two inn servants joined the valet and dresser in conveying the needed luggage upstairs.

  Amanda surveyed the apartments with pleasure. Never before had she stayed at an inn; Lady Cordelia considered such things needless expense when, by starting earlier in the morning, the entire journey could be crowded into a single day, or by going somewhat out of their way they could stay with friends or relatives. Acco
rdingly, Amanda had not realized an inn could offer comfort such as this, with its tasteful furnishings and warmly welcoming fires crackling in each room. Of course, this was a high quality inn, catering to the gentry.

  Lyndon's notion of a neat supper proved to be a feast to Amanda, not huge but so well chosen. She had been too nervous to eat a bite before going to the church, and she had only nibbled at the wedding breakfast afterward.

  Lyndon's conversation as they traveled had set her at ease. The warm fire and glass of sherry upon arrival further relaxed her and served to release a healthy appetite which enabled her to do full justice to the delicious cream soup, roasted chicken with mushroom fritters, broiled fish, and the pastries, fruit, and cheese which were presented to her.

  For beverage they had champagne, and as the evening wore on, Amanda suspected she was drinking rather more than she ought; certainly more than she ever had in the past. She felt delightfully hazy and somewhat as if she floated slightly above her chair and the floor.

  Moreover, she was exalted by her surroundings, so very comfortable, such a meal. The consideration and attention she was shown by her bridegroom eased her still more. Never before had she been encouraged to give her opinions, to talk at all, and never before had she spoken so wittily, so intelligently. Had the wine released unsuspected abilities? Perhaps, Amanda told herself, she should be more cautious, lest she over imbibe and become foolish.

  However, Lyndon was being amusing. Very amusing, and she kept forgetting and taking one more sip, from a glass that always seemed to be full. She would have to be careful to walk properly, without staggering, she feared, but at the moment that hardly seemed a serious problem, but more of a joke to giggle over.

  They made an early night of it; when the inn waiter cleared away the remains of their dinner, Lyndon directed, courteous even to servants, "You may send my man and my wife's woman up to us now, if you please."