Fran Keighley Read online

  Lyndon, for his part, was quite unused to a grandfather who showed his approval and interest. After initial wariness, Lyndon warmed to it, relaxing his usual defensive front of flippant indifference, and showing the knowledge and intelligence which he also possessed.

  They were in rare good humor with one another, Amanda instantly realized, both from their expressions, and from the fact that as they entered the drawing room, the duke was inquiring where Lyndon expected to purchase the mares and young 'uns.

  The cook's creations for tea proved unnecessary after all. The gentlemen were so deep in their calculations that they might have been eating nursery bread-and-butter with their tea, instead of delicious dainty sandwiches and the exquisitely frosted tiny cakes.

  * * *

  Another relative was not long in calling to pay his respects. Amanda had the feeling upon seeing him that she knew him, and upon his introducing himself, she realized that it was not Gerald Lyndon himself whom she recognized, but his resemblance to other members of the family. He was a man in his late twenties, slim and only medium-tall, with a pleasant face, his hair and eyes dark.

  He appeared to be a quiet gentleman, well dressed in riding clothes of good cut, with nothing about his person or manner to attract attention.

  Gerald Lyndon was well spoken, and Amanda, sending a message to summon Lyndon, was happy to discover there was a member of the family living nearby (although he had been away visiting friends this past fortnight) who was respectable yet not a prosy or gloomy bore.

  Gerald Lyndon displayed an interest in Lyndon's plans; if he showed his fear that it would prove only a passing fancy, Amanda tried to tell herself it was not to his discredit. Lyndon had not, in past, been one to settle to continued application such as this would require; his relatives might well feel skeptical now.

  "Pleasant chap, but dull," was Lyndon's verdict when his cousin took leave after a correct half-hour. "Been away, has he? I daresay he needed a change of air after that last family conference at Devonridge. Must have been galling for him, indeed."

  "Why?" That puzzled Amanda, and aroused her curiosity. "I thought it was you, and, of course, Humphrey, who found it unpleasant." Would she ever understand these relationships, with their entangled complications?

  Lyndon grinned. "Oh, to be sure. Lord, they were of a good mind to disinherit me rather than risk having me, or any son of mine, inherit. However, then they came to the decision that they'd best make do with me, as there was no one else to inherit."

  "So?" Amanda still did not see, and frowned over it. "But surely Gerald Lyndon is closely related as well?" For he had referred to the duke as Grandpapa, and as his last name was Lyndon, he had to be the son of a son, not a daughter.

  "Exactly so; Gerald's next in line after me, and lord, did he look sour to hear them all agree that he was no better than I am, as an heir. Well, considering their all-too-freely-expressed opinions of me, you could hardly blame the chap; damned insulting to him."

  "But why?" This deeply interested, and still puzzled Amanda. "I mean, I can see how he would be offended. But why should they feel so? One knows of your reputation, dearest, but what has he done?"

  Lyndon shrugged. "Nothing. That seems to sum it up. He may be well bred but he's a dull dog; perhaps they approve of him, but they aren't fond of him. Though I believe the actual way of it was that they'd have preferred him to me, all else equal, but they didn't love him enough to court more scandal by disinheriting me. And they'd get it, too. Damned if I'd have stood by all meek and mild and let them do it. I should have thought of some way of getting back at 'em, and well they knew it."

  "Yes, but now you're going to behave, aren't you?" Amanda questioned, made vaguely uneasy by the bitter undertone to his flippant words, and by the light in his eyes.

  He smiled brilliantly at her, the bitterness seeming to vanish. "Oh, to be sure. Why not? Just being here, the future heir, as constant reminder, is retribution enough to compensate me for any past insults. Lord, how they hate it, Humphrey and Henry, knowing I, or my son, will inherit and there's nothing they can do about it."

  Amanda nodded, considering it, and comprehending. "There seemed to be a certain coolness toward me, on their behalf, and of Eulalia. I see, now, although I did suspect as much."

  "Oh, to be sure. However, don't let it concern you, love. We can contrive to enjoy ourselves without their company, while we have Nesbitts and others. And while Grandpapa continues in this humor."

  "No, but we must meet from time to time, and amicable relations would be preferable," Amanda pointed out. She needed to confirm one point. "There's really nothing they can do?" For herself, she could be content to stay on here, as ordinary Mrs. Lyndon of Highbriars, but...

  "Nothing whatsoever." He paused, thinking it over for a moment. "Though, should anything happen to Aunt Mathilda, I lay you odds Uncle Henry would marry again before the cat could wink its eye, find himself a young bride, and try to have sons to cut me out." He smiled down at her. "Poor sweet, you would prefer for all of us to love one another, would you not? Impossible, I fear; too many harsh words behind us. Be satisfied that you have Grandpapa and myself on good terms. I mean for us to continue so. The rest I don't care for, any more than you'd wish to have Lady Cordelia and her fubsy-faced daughters living in your pocket."

  * * *

  Chapter Eight

  "What the devil?!" Lyndon exclaimed, scanning the note which a groom from Devonridge Court had just delivered as they sat at breakfast.

  "What is it?" Amanda asked. Not an invitation to dinner, she hoped. She preferred taking meals in their own cozy dining room, just the two of them, to the grandeur of Devonridge and its inherent stilted conversation with the rest of the family. Somehow she didn't think it was an invitation, for Lyndon's expression was too surprised and puzzled.

  "Humphrey," he said briefly, glancing up from the page. "He didn't sleep in his bed last night. In fact, they cannot remember seeing him since he rode out yesterday afternoon, and want to know whether he spent the night here. As if we would not have sent word, in that unlikely event."

  "But then, where can he be?" Amanda said blankly, coming to peer over his shoulder, to scan the note herself, as if she might detect something Lyndon overlooked.

  "Not with a woman, at all events," Lyndon said tersely. "I'd best be off to Devonridge, love. Perhaps he's just drunk himself into a stupor at some inn, but equally he could have been thrown and injured and be lying out in the open somewhere. If there is a search, as I assume, every available man will be needed. I'll take my grooms and the gardeners, as well."

  "Yes. Certainly." Amanda hesitated, considering. "You'll let me know? Or should I, do you think, go to Devonridge with you, to be with his wife and mama?"

  "No. Wait here till we see the need," Lyndon directed. "If he is just lying drunk somewhere, it would only be an embarrassment, and if it is something more, there'll be time. I'll notify you without delay. Don't you wait tea or dinner, though I daresay I'll be back long before either, with good news. Lord, I hope so."

  He had already been attired in his customary riding garb, and was away as soon as his favorite chestnut hunter was saddled. A search might require crossing fields and jumping their fences, especially if an injured Humphrey should be found, and help was needed without delay.

  Amanda watched him ride down the drive, admiring his horsemanship, and fondly smiling a little to herself. He might speak scornfully of his cousin, but how swiftly he rode to Humphrey's aid. Family feeling existed for all their differences, and perhaps memories of their boyhood, when they had been companions, even friends.

  Amanda drifted upstairs to her boudoir, trying to convince herself that this was just like any other day, Lyndon out on his affairs while she attended to household duties.

  Amanda had made schedules of her duties so that inexperience should not cause her to overlook any, and this was her day to go over the household accounts, and to plan the week's menus with Cook. They discussed dishes Cook
had found in long-unused recipe books that they might enjoy, what comestibles they had on hand, which were running low and should be replaced, and what was coming in season.

  Yet this morning, Amanda couldn't concentrate upon them, and her pretty white-and-gold boudoir seemed less satisfying. It was because of the workmen belowstairs, talking and making noise as they hung the new chinoiserie wallpaper, she attempted to convince herself. Really, it was just as well Lyndon was out of the house for the day, for gentlemen never enjoyed a household upset by redecorating.

  All too clearly, she recalled Sir William stamping about, loudly complaining, when Lady Cordelia had transformed their drawing room into a palace on the Nile. Even Papa, during her childhood, had-but that was not really the answer, and Amanda knew it.

  What could have become of Humphrey? Doubtless Lyndon was correct and Humphrey was merely sleeping off his inebriation; he had been drinking far more than he should, of late. He had reason to drink, no question about that. A problem such as his would make any man despondent, particularly as he would feel people were talking and sniggering. They surely were, too, for he had been too pompous in his self-importance to be well liked, in contrast to Lyndon, and this was the sort of thing people would whisper about.

  Drinking overmuch could also lead to careless or even reckless behavior; he might have been thrown or have simply fallen off his horse. Surely, however, his horse would have found its way home. Not necessarily, she silently answered herself.

  She wasn't sure of Humphrey's riding habits; Lyndon liked to ride his hunters, she knew, and preferred the thrill of jumping gates to tamely opening and closing them, but perhaps Humphrey stayed in the lanes? In that case, one would expect his horse to return to its stable.

  Possibly Humphrey had fallen or had been thrown in a field, and the horse had quietly turned to grazing, unable or unwilling to jump fences to get home. Even, Humphrey could have kept hold of the reins in falling, effectively tethering his steed.

  Amanda gave her head a shake, and tried once more to add up a column of figures in the accounts, only to have the vision of that solitary horseman replace them once more.

  But this was nonsense. It could just as easily have been the horse that had the accident. It could have stepped in a hole, breaking its leg, out miles from nowhere, or it could simply have pulled up lame, and Humphrey could be at this moment walking it home.

  Mayhap he had gotten turned around in the dark, trudging miles out of his way. More like, Humphrey had spent the night in some humble cottage. Not at an inn...At an inn he could have hired a horse, or sent a message explaining his plight, to allay his family's fears.

  At any time now, Lyndon would come riding in, to give her a humorous account, laugh at all she had imagined, and compliment her choice of wallpapers even as he made a face at the smell of the paste, and then he would go striding out to set his men back to work on the stables.

  * * *

  When Lyndon did ride in, toward the middle of the afternoon, Amanda could tell the weary slump of his shoulders that the news was not good. Perhaps it was merely that Humphrey had not been found, or that they had found him injured, Amanda told herself. Regardless, Lyndon was sure to be cold, for the day was not warm, and there was a stiff breeze, so she rang and sent instructions to the kitchen for tea to be made instantly.

  "Did you find him? Is he-all right?" Amanda questioned, meeting him in the front hall, her face anxious.

  Lyndon gave his head a little shake. "We found him-dead. Shot through the head. He must have done it yesterday, probably soon after going out, we think. Poor devil. Manda, love, can you bear to go over to Devonridge? Eulalia and Aunt Mathilda are utterly prostrated, of course, and the household is in confusion, with no one to give it direction. Your calm good sense is greatly needed."

  "I?" Amanda said, shaken. She was to direct the great Devonridge Court household? But she had never directed any, until Highbriars, which was so much smaller. "Why, yes, dearest, I suppose so. Yes, of course. Here is tea; do you drink it and relax while I tell my woman-and your man?-what to pack for us. I'll be with you directly, my dear." She touched his sleeve comfortingly, and then turned to the stairs.

  Amanda meant only to speak briefly to her abigail and Lyndon's valet, but in her bedchamber, she came to an abrupt realization that she could hardly wear rose muslin to a house of mourning, and moved to survey her wardrobe, frowning.

  Nothing she had was truly suitable, really. Ultimately, she pulled out a gray muslin with broad tucked white collar and cuffs at the wrists of long full sleeves. It looked Quakerish but elegant, and gray did count as mourning.

  A part of her mind made a mental note to dispatch one of the grooms with a message to Madame Jolie; mourning would be required. Surely gray would be sufficient for a husband's cousin, only once met? She seemed to remember a deeper gray silk that was already made up, trimmed with black velvet ribbons and bows. Perhaps lilac, as well, but Amanda knew she could safely leave the matter to Madame Jolie. So she also had to dash off a hasty note to the modiste.

  * * *

  In Lyndon's curricle, driving to Devonridge, Amanda asked, "Mightn't it have been accidental? Humphrey's death? An accident, or hunting?"

  "Doubtless it will be hushed up as an accident, but-" Lyndon shook his head. "No. Spring is not the season for hunting, and at all accounts, a point-blank wound, with a pistol-no, it was intentional, I fear. Pistols are not used for hunting."

  "Oh." Amanda spoke very softly. How dreadful for anyone to reach such depths of despondency as to take one's own life on a bright spring day.

  They rode along in silence for a time, then Lyndon spoke abruptly. "Has it yet crossed your mind what this means to us, Manda?"

  "To us?" The question startled Amanda. "Why, no. Has it a meaning?"

  "It means," Lyndon said deliberately, "that only my grandfather, who is nearing eighty, and Uncle Henry, who has a bad heart, are between me and the title. Humphrey might, in the ordinary course of events, have been expected to live a good many years, possibly to outlive me. They will not. You will end your days a duchess, Amanda my love."

  Amanda sat stunned. She had married knowing it was her duty to bear a son who would inherit a dukedom, but never had it crossed her mind that events would fall in this fashion, and she made a small sound of protest.

  She didn't wish to be a duchess and mistress of huge Devonridge Court. At least not for years and years. Living quietly, plain Mrs. Lyndon, in snug small homelike Highbriars, suited her very well.

  "I won't speak of it to others lest it sound unfeeling," Lyndon drily promised, "and I shouldn't have wished this to happen, but happen it has, and I shan't pretend to you that I had any vast affection for Humphrey or feel overcome with grief at his passing. Still, the prospect bears consideration, does it not?"

  * * *

  The ducal mansion was in confusion, with the ladies weeping in their bedchambers, the gentlemen sitting stunned in the library. Up in the nurseries, Humphrey's little daughters whimpered, not knowing what had happened, but sensing the upset. Belowstairs, the servants whispered together and wept in emulation of the ladies.

  Despite the grandeur of the setting, Amanda realized this was a situation such as might be found in any family which had lost a son and husband with brutal suddenness. There was little, she felt, which she could really do. What could she say to these people? She, who hadn't known him, had met him so briefly?

  Amanda could make only the conventional gesture, murmuring stock words of condolence while clasping a hand. With that done, the very fact that she was not emotionally involved in the tragedy enabled her to help. She turned to speak quiet words to the upper servants, reminding them of their duties, so that they, in turn, set the under-servants to work at necessary tasks.

  Food was prepared, but no one felt like eating any dinner. The gentlemen could be steered into the dining room to put food into their mouths automatically, and trays were carried up to the ladies' rooms. There Amanda, assisted by
their maids, firmly insisted that they take at least a little soup, just a morsel of chicken, a sip of tea.

  By the time that was accomplished, Amanda herself felt almost too weary and strained to do more than nibble at the food offered her.

  The sole consolation Amanda could find for her own position was that this had been delayed until she had been mistress of her own home for some few days; it would have been impossible to cope had she been confronted with it immediately upon leaving Lady Cordelia's roof.

  * * *

  Amanda and Lyndon spent several days at Devonridge Court, remaining until the funeral. By then the situation was more normal.

  Lady Mathilda, after her first collapse, rallied to resume command, giving Lyndon glances of puzzled distaste at the constant realization that he now stood in her son's shoes, a position she obviously considered him most unworthy to fill.

  Eulalia drifted about indeterminately, attempting to adjust to the thought that she, who had made a brilliant marriage to the heir to a dukedom, fortune, and estates, now would no longer become a duchess. Amanda suspected Eulalia grieved that fact more than she grieved Humphrey himself.

  Amanda found it just as difficult to comprehend that she herself, married off with such disregard, would one day become a duchess; what a shock that news would be to Lady Cordelia.

  The funeral was quiet, under the circumstances, which were learned to be yet stranger, when the doctor reported a puzzling absence of powder burns.

  "But what does that mean?" Amanda questioned Lyndon, uncomprehending, when they had a moment alone. "I don't understand..."

  * * *

  Chapter Nine

  Amanda found it an enormous relief to be back in her own home after the vast grandeur and melancholy of Devonridge. Sunshine poured into the rooms, and Mrs. Price had been busy, pressing the workmen to finish the renovations while Mr. and Mrs. Lyndon were not present to be disturbed.