A Regency Invitation to the House Party of the Season (17 page)

‘We seem to be remarkably well endowed with villains at the Chase,’ Marcus interposed calmly. ‘What precisely did this Dent woman do, Sarah?’

Sarah looked at him with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. ‘I found her rifling through John’s papers, Marcus. She had no excuse, of course. I dismissed her on the spot.’

‘Quite right.’ Marcus nodded sagely, avoiding Sarah’s eye. ‘Gone, has she?’

‘Yes. She’s long gone now. I doubt any of us will ever set eyes on her again.’

‘Never mind that!’ snapped Great-aunt Harriet. ‘Marcus was about to tell us about this gaming hell of his. Well, Marcus?’

Taking a deep breath, Marcus launched into a suitably censored version of his quarrel with Frobisher and its aftermath.

‘Miss Devereaux, Major.’

All the gentlemen rose immediately. Anthony moved forward to greet the new arrival. From his place by the window, Marcus gazed at the woman he loved. He had thought he was prepared, but not for this. She was
breathtaking. He could feel a degree of warmth rising on his neck and realised he could well look like a lovesick boy instead of a grown man. It made him feel remarkably vulnerable, even though it was bound to be helpful to their cause.

Amy curtsied gracefully to Anthony. She had clearly taken considerable pains to ensure that nothing about her appearance would remind the guests of the missing abigail. Her glorious silver-blonde hair was piled high in a knot of curls. To draw attention to it, she had chosen a tiny little hat, with two long feathers, which was perched, rather drunkenly, on the side of her head. She was dressed in a travelling pelisse of deep blue velvet over a gown of a lighter shade. Everything about her was vivid and eye-catching, and the height of elegance. She gave Anthony a glowing and hopeful smile. ‘Major Lyndhurst, I am come in search of my brother, Ned.’ She frowned a little. ‘I understand that he has not been seen since he left Lyndhurst Chase.’

Anthony nodded reassuringly. ‘Do not be concerned, Miss Devereaux. Your brother is here. And he is perfectly well.’

‘Oh, that is wonderful news. I have been so worried. Thank you, Major.’ The frown had left her brow, to be replaced by a look of relief and enquiry. She began to scan the faces in the room, seeking her brother. ‘Oh!’ she gasped, when she came to Marcus. ‘M…Ma…!’ She put a gloved hand to her mouth and swallowed nervously. She looked suddenly very self-conscious. ‘Why,’ she said in a rather brittle voice, ‘it is Mr Sinclair, is it not?’ She dropped him a tiny curtsy. ‘How do you do, sir?’

It was Marcus’s turn now. He moved forward to bow over her outstretched hand. ‘Miss Devereaux,’ he said
softly. Then, in an absurdly gallant gesture, he raised her fingers to his lips. ‘May I say, ma’am, that you are looking even more beautiful than when I last saw you?’

Now, Amy really did blush.

‘Flummery!’ snorted Great-aunt Harriet from her accustomed place on the sofa. ‘Young men today! Can’t be doing with ’em!’

Marcus winced, but stood his ground. Amy had not failed him. And he would not fail her. ‘This is your first visit to Lyndhurst Chase, I collect, ma’am? I should be delighted to offer you a tour of the gardens, if you are not too fatigued by your journey. There are some exceptionally fine vistas down by the lake.’

‘Cut line, Marcus! The gel came here to find her brother, not to go wandering off with you.’

‘Aunt Harriet is right on this occasion, Marcus,’ Anthony said, a little testily. ‘Miss Devereaux, I regret that your brother is not here to greet you. He did know that you were expected. No doubt he has been…detained. I will send to fetch him.’ He crossed to pull the bell. ‘May I offer you some refreshment while you wait for him?’

‘Miss Devereaux might prefer to put off her travelling clothes first, Anthony,’ Cassie put in. ‘She is to have the room opposite mine, the one that was Lady Margaret’s until you dismissed her.’ She pretended to ignore Anthony’s warning look. ‘I am sure that your brother can be asked to wait a little, given all the anxiety he has caused you, Miss Devereaux.’

‘I would welcome a chance to wash and change, certainly. It will take me but a moment. I do so long to see with my own eyes that my brother is safe and well.’

‘He is very well, ma’am,’ Marcus put in. ‘I would go so far as to say he is in very rude health.’

Amy smothered a gasp and glanced to Cassie for support.

‘Oh, ignore him, Miss Devereaux. He is incorrigible. Shall I show you the way to your chamber?’

‘That is most kind of you, Miss…’

‘Forgive me, I should have introduced myself. I am Cassie Quinlan. My husband is Viscount Quinlan. That gentleman over there.’ She waved a hand in the direction of the Viscount, who bowed. ‘We are lately married, you know,’ Cassie added airily.

‘My congratulations, Lady Quinlan,’ Amy said.

Cassie took Amy’s arm and steered her towards the door. ‘Since you are such an old friend of Sarah’s, I am sure we shall get on famously.’ The door opened to admit the butler, come to answer Anthony’s summons, but Cassie brushed past him, talking all the while. ‘Tell me, Miss Devereaux, how is it that you come to know my cousin Marcus?’

Anthony shook his head at Cassie’s departing back. ‘Women!’ he muttered. Then he turned back to Marcus. ‘And as for you, Marcus! You must have windmills in your head to behave so! Make yourself useful for a change. Go and look for Miss Devereaux’s brother. And don’t come back without him!’

Marcus hurried out before his self-control deserted him completely.

Marcus was unable to get Amy alone until after dinner when the company reassembled in the drawing room. She had been prevailed upon to play and so he volunteered to turn her music.

‘I have spoken to Ned,’ Marcus whispered, under cover of turning her page. Amy began to strike the pianoforte keys rather more loudly than was required by
the markings on her music. ‘He says it’s not a matter for him, but if you’re determined to have me, he won’t object.’

Amy’s fingers stumbled. She glanced fondly across at Ned, who was lounging inelegantly in one of the wing chairs. He had drunk a great deal of wine at dinner. Luckily, it seemed to have made him sleepy, for, when fully awake, he was quite capable of complaining, all over again, that he was disgusted by all the ‘lovey-dovey stuff’ at the Chase. First, the Quinlans. And then, his own sister! It was as well that Ned was planning to leave on the morrow. And that he had been sworn to secrecy about Marcus’s hiding place.

‘
Are
you determined to have me?’ Marcus murmured.

‘Marcus, stop whispering in Miss Devereaux’s ear! How is she supposed to concentrate on her music with you hovering over her?’

Amy coloured at Miss Lyndhurst’s sharp words, but Marcus said nothing more. He waited until she had finished playing and then, taking her hand, he raised her from the stool. ‘Miss Devereaux finds it a trifle warm in here. We are about to take a turn in the parterre. Perhaps you would like to join us, Aunt Harriet?’

The old lady responded with something between a laugh and a snort. ‘I think not, Marcus. Sarah may go, if she chooses, though I see no reason why she should. We can all see the parterre perfectly well from here. If you must have company, take Anthony’s deaf old dog. She seems to do nothing but sleep. And smell.’

The old setter under the tea table must have sensed something, for she lifted her muzzle and sniffed the air. Finding that her master had not moved, she went back to sleep.

Sarah, who had been in the act of rising, shot a quick
glance at Amy and resumed her seat. ‘Aunt Harriet is quite right. Pray do not go beyond the parterre, Amy.’

Amy nodded and allowed Marcus to lead her through the open French doors and down the steps into the parterre. ‘Marcus, how could you?’ she gasped, as soon as they were out of earshot. ‘What on earth will they all think?’

‘They will think, my love, that this is a whirlwind romance. As indeed it has been. And they will be delighted that I am to enter parson’s mousetrap, I can assure you. Even Ned is pleased enough, I think.’

‘No wonder. He thinks to touch you for money to pay his debts.’

Marcus pinched her fingers. ‘And this, from the fond sister who has raced to Lyndhurst Chase to save her brother? Fie, Miss Devereaux! That is not the Christian charity I should have expected of you.’ He tried to look down his nose at her.

‘Amelia Dent was the one who advocated Christian charity, Mr Sinclair,’ she replied primly. ‘Amy Devereaux is merely a sister. And much put upon. By
all
the men in her life, I may add.’

Marcus’s thumb began to trace a circle on Amy’s bare palm, watching her face as her violet-blue gaze became increasingly unfocused.

She almost groaned. ‘Marcus, do you know what you are doing to me?’

‘Yes, my love, I do. To provoke such a reaction with just a touch…I cannot tell you how proud it makes me feel. I want you so very much. Will you permit me to announce our betrothal tonight?’

‘There can be no betrothal, sir, without a proposal,’ she said quickly. ‘I should perhaps remind you that the
lady on your arm is Amy Devereaux, gentlewoman. Not a mere servant.’

‘Ah, yes. I had forgot.’ He looked anxiously around.

‘What is the matter, Marcus? What are you looking for?’

He waved a hand airily. ‘I was hoping to find a patch of ground where I might kneel without getting too much dirt on my pantaloons.’

‘But you cannot! Not in full view of—!’

‘It is customary, you know, Miss Devereaux, to propose to a gentlewoman on bended knee.’

‘No, Marcus! Not here!’

He stopped and turned her to face him, taking both her hands in his. He raised first one, then the other, to his lips. His erstwhile abigail now tasted of honey, and lavender. ‘I want you to be my wife, Amy Devereaux. You have precisely five seconds to accept me, or I shall kneel in supplication at your feet, where all the world and his wife may see me. And pity me for a lovelorn swain. I am beginning to count now. One…’

‘Marcus—’

‘Two…’

‘I do believe you would really do it.’

‘Three…’

‘Yes! Yes, you idiot! Of course, I accept you. You know that I love you to distraction.’

He smiled down into her eyes, marvelling at their misty depths. ‘Thank you, my love. I may tell you that the feeling is entirely mutual. Though I fancy you already know that.’ He raised her hand to his lips again, but this time he turned it over and placed a lingering kiss on her palm.

The sensation quivered through Amy’s flesh so strongly that it was almost like a stab of pain. But no
pain brought such warmth, or such a flood of desire. ‘I think perhaps we should announce our betrothal this evening after all,’ she said hoarsely. ‘The sooner we are betrothed, the sooner we may be married. Shall we go in and tell them now?’

Marcus tucked her hand in his arm. ‘In a moment, my love. I rather think there is a need for us both to…er…cool down a little first.’

‘Marcus!’ Amy was now bright scarlet.

He gave a low laugh and gestured towards the path through the parterre. ‘Come, my love. Let me show you a little of Anthony’s garden.’

Marcus drew Amy closer into his arm and enclosed her fingers in his own. ‘Ladies and gentleman,’ he began. His voice cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again. ‘My dear friends, I have an announcement to make. Miss Amy Devereaux has made me the happiest man in the world. She has consented to become my wife.’

‘Must be something in the water,’ Great-aunt Harriet announced, in the sudden silence. ‘Everyone appears to be rushing into wedlock in this house. Perhaps you should give up brandy and try water instead, Anthony?’

A babble of excited voices almost drowned her last words. Anthony simply turned away to pull the bell and order champagne.

Sarah was so delighted that she was almost jumping for joy. ‘I told you so, John. Amy will never do what Marcus tells her. They are made for each other.’

‘There are similarities with us, certainly,’ John admitted with a rueful smile, reaching across to shake Marcus by the hand. ‘Congratulations, Marcus. I wish you may both find as much happiness together as we have done.’

Sarah kissed Amy soundly. ‘You, too, Marcus. Only I cannot reach unless you bend down.’

Marcus grinned and bent his head obediently.

‘You will need to keep a tight rein on him, my dear,’ Great-aunt Harriet boomed. ‘He’s been left to his own devices for much too long. Just like you, Anthony.’

Anthony’s tight smile cracked.

The butler entered at that moment, carrying the champagne that Anthony had ordered.

‘Thank you, Ufton.’ He frowned. ‘We do have one vacant bedchamber, do we not? Good. You may remove Mr Sinclair’s things from my dressing room. Immediately. I am heartily tired of tripping over him.’

‘At once, sir.’ The butler deposited the tray of glasses on the table and withdrew.

Marcus and Amy exchanged hot glances. If their bedchambers were reasonably close, they might perhaps—

‘I see that Ufton has brought lemonade for you, Cassie,’ Quinlan said, smiling mischievously at his wife.

Cassie made a face.

‘If you would prefer to have champagne, I shan’t try to stop you, my love. We
are
celebrating, after all. And the last time you were foxed was…er…certainly something of a celebration. For both of us.’

Everyone laughed, except Cassie, who had gone rather red. ‘No champagne for me, Anthony.’ She was trying to sound nonchalant. ‘You know how it upsets me.’

‘No champagne for Miss Saunders either, Anthony. I declare she is looking quite unwell.’

Aunt Harriet was right. Marcus could see that the companion’s pale face was quite flushed. Her hazel eyes were wide and feverish. She was twisting her fingers nervously together, looking now at Anthony, now at her employer.

‘I suggest you take yourself off to bed, my dear,’ Aunt Harriet said, sounding remarkably concerned, for once. ‘You look as though you could do with a good night’s sleep.’

Anthony nodded, though he was still frowning. ‘Miss Lyndhurst is right, of course, ma’am. You must look after your health. You would do best to avail yourself of this opportunity to get as much sleep as possible. After all, one never knows what may occur to disturb it, does one?’