Amanda Scott (47 page)

He was silent again for a moment before he said, “From what you say, I must suppose that you also are on the lookout for an elderly, decrepit husband.”

“Goodness, no!” She laughed. “Whatever would make you suppose such a thing as that, sir?”

“Under circumstances as you present them, getting through the marriage itself as quickly as possible seems to be the smart thing for any sensible woman to do. You did say that she must marry and be widowed before she can control her life.”

“The law says that; I didn’t. ’Tis as foolish a law as the one that says goods must be shipped to England before they can go elsewhere. As you must know, sir, until a woman marries, she is by law a child and therefore somewhat protected. If her husband dies, she is by law a widow with certain rights. But while a woman is married, she has no position under the law, but belongs to her husband entirely, to use as caprice moves him to use her, just as he may use whatever wealth she brings to the marriage.”

“I would perhaps be foolish to suggest that men are rather better trained than women to handle money,” he said dulcetly.

“But that is a weakness in the upbringing of women, not in the women themselves,” Gwenyth told him, keeping her temper in check. “My brother explained the whole to me one day when I was in a passion with him over some triviality or other. The truth came as a shock to me, for I must tell you that I had expected better things of life.”

“Yes,” he said, “tell me.”

She looked at him curiously, put out of countenance once again by the fact that he seemed genuinely interested. She had a sudden fleeting image of the two of them in London at Almack’s Assembly Rooms, discussing such matters over cups of orgeat while members of the fashionable
beau monde
whirled about the dance floor behind them. The thought brought a twinkle to her eye, and she saw his expression sharpen, as though he would see into her mind. She had a sudden feeling that he would laugh if she shared the image with him, but although she could not bring herself to do that, she had no qualms about otherwise explaining.

“I had seen my sister Meriel as an independent lady,” she said. “For a time while we were growing up, she took charge of everything. She ran Plas Tallyn for three years after my father died, before Joss came home again from America, and everyone did her bidding. I also saw a good deal of my aunt during that time, and she was clearly independent, so I thought one had only to age to achieve such status. I made the mistake of telling Joss he would have nothing to say about what I did once I grew up, so you will comprehend my dismay when he informed me, rather brutally, that I should then have to answer to a husband.”

“But did you not think of marriage before then?”

“Oh, perhaps, I suppose, in a romantical sort of way. Every young girl does that. But I was not entirely conformable as a child—don’t snort like that, you will do harm to yourself.” She paused expectantly, but he made no further comment, so she said, “I fear it never occurred to me that marriage would mean letting someone else choose my friends for me, restrict my spending money, order my coming and going—even tell me what to think!”

He was silent for a moment. Then he said thoughtfully, “I expect a good many husbands do that sort of thing.”

“All gentlemen are accustomed to ordering matters as they choose,” she said. “You are.” She had not meant to speak the last two words aloud, but now that they were out, she watched him closely to see how he would react.

He smiled, catching her gaze and holding it, making her wonder again how it was that he did so so easily. “I have grown accustomed to telling others what to do and having them obey me,” he said, “but I did not grow up believing I should have control over everyone around me, as I have now, without doing anything more to earn it other than to have been born. My Uncle Edward had that attitude after Cadogan died, as did Edward’s eldest son, because they each expected to inherit Molesford. I didn’t. My father left me to Uncle Henry, and I was raised to believe I would have to control my own destiny by hard work.”

She made a sound of sympathy, only to have him shake his head at her.

“I don’t regret my past. My uncle taught me things that are worth knowing, and he provided me with an excellent education. I made my own way, and I think I am better prepared for the position I now hold than many are who grow up knowing what they will have. I only hope that someday I will find myself a wife who won’t hold my connection with trade against me.”

“Good gracious, Lyford,” she said, stunned, “you are an earl with a vast estate, however impoverished it may be. You will find any number of ladies of quality who would willingly overlook much worse things than a youthful connection with trade, now left safely behind, to share all that with you!”

She sensed his immediate withdrawal and his voice was tight when he said, “Does that include you, Lady Gwenyth? If I put my past behind me, would you marry me for my title and estate—if I were to ask you to do so, that is?” he added hastily.

Gwenyth felt an unexplainable thrill race through her as he spoke, but his last words recalled her to her senses. With careful dignity she said, “I have already explained, my lord, that I do not intend ever to marry. If I were ever to change my mind, however, I can safely assure you that no title or estate, however impressive, would influence my decision.”

He looked at her for a long moment, then appeared to realize how far they had ridden. “Look here,” he said suddenly, “they will be wondering what’s become of us.” He wheeled Cyrano, waited only until she had turned Prince Joseph, then urged the stallion to an easy, ground-covering lope.

Following him, Gwenyth wondered whether they would be able to continue their interesting conversation when they got back, for she wanted to know more. But when they rode into the stableyard, the sight of two young men striding toward them out of the stable banished all other subjects from her mind.

“Davy!” she shrieked, practically flinging herself from her saddle into the taller young man’s upstretched arms. Hugging him tightly, she said, “Oh, how good it is to see you! How was the Lake District? Did you enjoy your tour? Oh, and this is Lyford, Davy. Sir, this is my brother—”

“Davy,” he finished for her, grinning. “I collected as much. How do you do?”

“Very well, thank you, sir,” the fair-haired young man said, offering his hand. “I hope you won’t think us unmannerly for descending upon you like this. This is my friend, Alex Webster.”

The earl greeted the other young man, who was dark-haired and endowed with a round cherubic face and a pair of twinkling hazel eyes. He was an inch or so shorter than Davy Traherne and several stone heavier. He grinned, showing even white teeth. “Pleasure, sir,” he said.

“Webster … you Salton’s son?”

“I have that honor.”

Lyford nodded. “You’ll be right welcome then, lad. Your late grandfather was one of my grandmother’s beaux. She will be delighted to meet you.”

Lady Lyford was indeed glad to welcome both young gentlemen when they were presented to her in her drawing room and at once informed them of the dinner party she had planned in their honor.

“Dinner party!” Davy looked aghast. “Thought you was in mourning, ma’am.”

“Fiddle faddle,” the countess said. “One don’t wish to molder on the vine merely through following outdated fashions.”

Lady Cadogan spoke with amused reproach. “Almeria, what will these young men think of you?”

Lady Lyford waved the protest aside. “Tend to your knitting, Wynnefreda. For you to be telling me how to behave after you took yourself off to London for the Season is the outside of enough. For all you cared, I might as well have been rooted in my garden, for I could not leave Molesford.”

“You stayed here,” Lady Cadogan said calmly, “because you knew perfectly well that you would dislike being in London without being able to do anything of interest there.”

Davy and Mr. Webster were looking distinctly uncomfortable, and Gwenyth could not blame them. Nor did she think she ought to leave them alone with the two women while she went up to change out of her riding habit. Lyford had not accompanied them to the drawing room, nor had Jared returned from wherever he had gone. She was wondering if she might suggest that they allow a servant to show them to their rooms, where they could tidy themselves before dinner, when the door opened and Pamela entered.

She was wearing one of her new gowns, a delicious white muslin embroidered at the hem and over the bodice with tiny violets entwined with greenery. A narrow green sash encircled her ribs just below her magnificent breasts, and her hair had been piled in an artful tumble of curls atop her shapely head. Her eyes sparkled at the sight of the two young men.

“Oh,” she said, halting just past the threshold. “I did not know you were entertaining, ma’am.”

“Come in, gel, come in,” commanded the countess. “These two handsome young gentlemen have come to stay a spell. The tall, fair one is David Traherne, Gwenyth’s brother. The other is his friend Alexander Webster, who is the son of Viscount Salton.” She smiled reminiscently. “I remember the viscount’s grandpapa very well. Very well, indeed. Impudent fellow.”

Pamela stared at her, but when Davy and Alex got quickly to their feet, she collected herself to acknowledge their greetings. Lowering her eyelashes, she smiled demurely. “You have been in the Lake District, Gwen tells me.”

“We were,” Davy said, staring at her in awe. His friend was no less stricken. Indeed, Mr. Webster seemed to have lost his tongue altogether. Only when Davy jabbed him with his elbow after Pamela had taken her seat near the countess did he realize he was still standing and scramble hastily back to his chair.

Hiding a smile, Gwenyth said politely that she wished to change her habit for a dinner gown. As she turned to leave the room, however, a footman stepped through the open doorway to announce the arrival of Sir Antony Davies.

“Antony?” Gwenyth looked in surprise at Lady Cadogan. “Were you expecting Antony, ma’am?”

She shook her head, but the countess said sharply to the footman, “Show him up, for goodness’ sake, and tell the housekeeper to prepare a room for him. He will stay for our dinner party. Can’t ever have too many gentlemen.”

W
HEN SIR ANTONY DAVIES
entered the drawing room several moments later, the Earl of Lyford accompanied him, and the pair, both tall and broad-shouldered, made an imposing sight.

Like Lyford, Sir Antony wore riding dress, but despite his journey, he was precise to a pin, not a thread or hair out of place, his boots polished to a mirror gloss, his breeches stainless, his coat fitting without wrinkle or crease. Lyford, on the other hand, looked like a man who had been working all day. Both gentlemen appeared to be relaxed, but beneath the earl’s surface composure one sensed suppressed but simmering energy, while Sir Antony merely looked a trifle sleepy.

He made his bow to the countess and Lady Cadogan, then turned that sleepy gaze upon Gwenyth. “Well, little sister?”

She grinned at him. “Very well, thank you, sir, but how come you here to us? What a surprise it is to see you!”

“My lamentable manners,” he said glibly, stepping forward to bow, to her great delight, over Gwenyth’s hand. “I received a letter from my wife, informing me of your presence here,” he went on, his eyes twinkling as he straightened and looked down at her. “She commanded me to present myself forthwith to … ah, that is … to discover if all was well with you.”

Lady Cadogan regarded him shrewdly. “To see that Gwenyth had not got into mischief yet is more likely what Meriel commanded, but if her letter took well nigh a fortnight to reach you, our post hereabouts must be lacking indeed. She told us you were in Oxfordshire, you know. Only across the river, no doubt.”

“Did she tell you that?” The sleepy gaze turned full upon her. “Then she will also have told you that I had business there, ma’am. It has kept me fully occupied, no doubt due to my unworthiness for my position.”

“Your unworthiness is naught but air in your head,” Lady Cadogan retorted tartly, looking him directly in the eye, “but your business, if I may be so bold, sir, is not in Oxfordshire, but at home with your wife. I do not like what tale I hear of her from Gwenyth, and that I tell you to your face.”

The sleepiness disappeared at once, and Gwenyth thought the large gentleman grew even larger before her very eyes, till he seemed to fill the room and to dwarf even the earl, still standing silently beside him. “What’s this?” he demanded. “Is something amiss with Meriel? Tell me!”

Before Lady Cadogan could speak, Gwenyth said quickly, “She is perfectly stout, sir, only a little tired. She promised that it is nothing out of the ordinary and assured me that she is being obedient to your command to take care.”

If he looked more suspicious than ever, she could scarcely blame him, for her sister Meriel was not known for her submissive nature, but he relaxed visibly when she was able to meet his gaze steadily without looking away.

Lady Cadogan turned back to her knitting, her needles clicking with their customary rapid rhythm, but Lady Lyford snorted and said, “Left commands, did he? Typical man. Home only long enough to set her to breeding, I daresay, then off again, leaving no more than orders behind to comfort her. I know the way. How many brats is she saddled with now? Three, is it not? Well, Sir Antony,” she demanded when no one else responded, “puff off your progeny for us. Ain’t it three of ’em?”

Sir Antony smiled at her, his lazy manner settling back into place like an old familiar cloak. “It is, madam. Three strong, healthy children, and another of the same, I hope, on the way.” He shot Gwenyth an oblique look. “Just how tired is she?”

But Lady Lyford did not give Gwenyth a chance to reassure him. Cracking her cane against the floor, she snapped, “is it any wonder if she is tired? Confinements tire most women and very likely would kill a member of the true weaker sex, which is why the good Lord don’t see fit to inflict them upon you.”

Looking up from her work without missing a click, Lady Cadogan said with a rueful smile, “I did not intend to frighten you, Antony, dear. I was but voicing what must be every woman’s wish when she is with child, to have her husband near. In any case, I daresay you mean to see Meriel soon enough.”