Amberley Chronicles Boxset I: The Impostor Debutante My Last Marchioness the Sister Quest (Amberley Chronicles Boxsets Book 1) (31 page)

“No, yet from the first moment I felt as though I had always known you, my whole life … forgive me again. You, who have had some of the highest in the land suing for your favours, cannot possibly be interested in my feelings.”

“Are you saying you are less worthy, because of their higher birth and fortune?”

“Most of the world would see it in that way,” Beecham said. “I do not hope for anything myself, but I beg you not to throw yourself away on any man who does not appreciate your intelligence, loyalty, and courage, the qualities which raise you far above all other females of my acquaintance.”

“Not my beauty, then?” Minerva smiled. “Admit that in an ugly woman, you would not notice these qualities so readily.”

“There are many beautiful women; it is those other virtues that make you unique.” His voice returned to its usual, more sober intonation. “I should take my leave after being so indiscreet, yet there is business still to discuss. Would you consent to bear a message to Sir Mortimer Conway and Miss Conway? I dare not go down to the Hall again myself, since that could lead Peter Conway straight to his daughter. I was planning to write to them, but have not yet found the time.”

“Feel free to use the ink and paper on this desk,” Lady Minerva offered. “I am done – having written more today, than I ever did in my schoolroom. Dozens of invitations and letters had to be answered. At least there was a letter from my brother George, with the news that he and Marianne are now free to proceed on their journey, though the next stop will apparently be Constantinople.”

Her calm voice helped Beecham fully regain his composure. No other lady had ever overthrown the reserve he had cultivated over the years, – a smile or kind word from Lady Minerva was enough to set his heart pounding in his chest, as though he were a mere stripling. Had she been of his own class and station, he would have lost no time in declaring himself and fighting for her hand. Yet what chance was there for him, with a lady generally regarded as a future duchess? Only heartbreak could result from such an ill-directed passion, and yet Beecham was not altogether sorry that she now knew of his devotion. At least she had not shown him the door immediately.

Accepting her offer, he sat down at the place she had relinquished, still warm from her body, and dipping the quill into the inkwell, began to write rapidly on one of the cream-coloured sheets she had been using. A faint trace of her perfume clung to the paper.

“I will leave you to your task,” Minerva said, “and check on little Monique once again. I shall return in half an hour – is that time enough to compose your message?”

“Certainly, my lady.” He should have been focusing on his letter, but he could not help looking after her. Even though her day had been difficult, there was a spring in her step; Lady Minerva was admirably resilient. Whenever she was near she pulled his gaze towards her, as the North Pole pulled at a compass needle.

But he needed to concentrate, and apprise the Sir Mortimer of this new threat to Miss Conway’s safety. He dipped the quill in the inkwell again.

Chapter 26

Celia was cutting roses and carnations in the garden, wielding the shears with care and precision. She had an excellent eye for selecting and arranging flowers, and Charlotte had gratefully accepted her offer of regular assistance with this task. Now that the weather had turned so warm Celia preferred to cut the flowers in the early morning, before breakfast. Since it had rained overnight, sensible shoes protected her feet from the damp grass and gravel.

“Miss Conway?” Rook appeared from the direction of the house, dressed for travel, and freshly shaven. “Well met. Good morning!”

“You are leaving?”

“Yes, it is for the best. Last night I wrote letters to several friends who will already have left town, since the season is all but ended. But it came to me that it would be more effective to set the record straight in person, with those still to be found in town. I am therefore returning to London today, but shall come back for the ball on Saturday; so please do not give the supper dance you promised me to anyone else. I could not depart before taking my leave of you.”

“You are doing the right thing. Lady Minerva does not deserve to be the victim of such vicious gossip, and I hope you will be able to refute it.”

“That is my intention; at least I shall do my best.” He hesitated a moment before adding, “These last days have been lightened by your presence, when they would have been unutterably dreary otherwise. Please receive my thanks for your lively company, which was greatly appreciated.”

“It was not an arduous duty,” Celia said. “I am very fond of a good argument, as you are also, I could tell.”

“Indeed; our discussions were enjoyable. But I hope they did not give raise to any false impressions… in this informal rural paradise we could talk unchaperoned, in a way it would never be permitted in town, under the rigid control of the duennas.”

“False impressions? On whom, the sparrows and bees of the garden?” Celia frowned. Clearly she had not yet mastered these aristocrats’ indirect way of expression. “If you are wondering if I shall pine after you, set your mind at ease.  I am not so easily overset.”

Rook blinked. “Pine after me? You must think me a great coxcomb indeed. No, I was merely thinking of the other denizens of this Hall, especially the servants, who are always prone to gossip. You, Miss Conway, are surely one of the most level-headed young ladies of my acquaintance, a Goddess for whom
others
might pine. But I do not have the right to say any more at present, until I have spoken again with Lady Minerva.”

Celia opened her eyes wide. “I do not know if I understand you correctly, Sir, but I beg of you not to say more, either now or then, whatever Lady Minerva may wish. I value your friendship, but anything else would hardly be –,” she broke off, realizing how presumptuous her words must sound to the highest prize on the marriage mart. To cover her momentary confusion, she turned to the rosebush at her side and snipped another long-stemmed bloom.

When she turned back to him, she was astonished to catch an expression of hurt, gone in a moment. Surely she did not have the power to affect this confident young man’s emotions?

“I understand.” He took his leave with a bow, lower than a marquis would normally bow to a young lady of no particular social standing. “Goodbye until the ball on Saturday, Miss Conway.”

“Godspeed, Lord Molyneux. May you travel safely.” She watched his tall, broad-shouldered form stride away. Could she have misinterpreted his meaning? Had the heir to a duke indicated – if ever so lightly – a serious interest in her, Celia Conway? Or was he only interested in dalliance, since she certainly was not his equal in birth, or, did he but know it, respectability? In either case, she had done the right thing, asking him not to say any more.

Turning to the next row of bushes, Celia added three
Aphrodite’s Gift
roses to her basket, pausing for a moment to savour their delicate perfume. A few raindrops were sparkling between the yellow blooms, reflecting the glorious morning sun.

She must never mention Rook’s possible interest to her uncle or grandmother. Such a match would be the culmination of their most ambitious hopes. But not her own, and she had to listen to her own heart, no matter how unrealistic its desires. She could always settle for second-best when she reached some great age … like thirty.

+++

Lady Minerva was happy to shake the dust of the capital from her skirts. Mme Fourrier, with whom she could converse if both spoke slow and careful French, also expressed relief at leaving the city behind. It was too hot and dirty, the air not nearly fresh enough to suit the delicate health of her young charge. Undaunted by the bad air, Monique was more active than Minerva had yet seen her, climbing onto laps and across the narrow floor of the carriage with restless energy. She could stand when she held on to something, and seemed determined to practice this skill in the moving carriage. Between her maid and Mme Fourrier, Minerva did not have to do more than grab the girl a dozen times and hand her back.

“Is she always this energetic?” Minerva asked.

“Yes, lately the little Mademoiselle has become much more active. She wants to walk, but cannot quite yet.”

Minerva had many questions regarding the woman’s journey and her motives, but forbore to discuss them now, in the presence of her maid. Besides, she wanted Charlotte’s and Celia’s impressions and advice. Strange how the latter, whom she would not have invited had the decision been left to her, was now so much in the family’s confidence. It seemed the most natural thing in the world.

They had completed almost half the journey when, to her surprise, the coachman pulled to the side.

“I hope it is not a problem with the carriage, or horses,” her maid said uneasily.

A familiar face appeared outside the coach window, rapping on its thin wooden door. “Minerva, can you come out for a minute?”

She opened the door, and was grasped round the waist by Rook, who easily lifted her down onto the grassy verge of the road. Having released her, he politely offered his arm, as though they were in a ballroom.

“Will you walk with me for a few minutes, my lady?”

“Very well, we do need to talk.” She put her hand on his arm, and they moved slowly along the deserted stretch of road. “How did you turn up here, in the middle of the road?”

“I was travelling up to town and recognized your family’s coat of arms on the carriage. Naturally I turned and signalled to your coachman to stop.” He had been driving his own curricle, she saw. It could not have been easy to turn on the narrow road, but Rook was a noted whip.

Glancing at his face, she made a discovery. “Rook, your moustache is gone! You look much more handsome without it. What brought this about?”

“I decided that if your niece, Lady Verena, did not appreciate the moustache, the world was not yet ready for it. Out of the mouth of babes … but we have far more important matters to discuss.”

“So we do. Rook, when I was in town yesterday, your father called at Amberley House and claimed that ridiculous rumours are circulating about you and me. It is most irritating. He had no idea where you were, and was worried. You should call upon him as soon as you arrive in London.”

“Irritating? Minerva, we both know how the
ton
operates. Will you marry me now? I beg you to give it serious consideration. Nothing else will completely restore your good name, I fear.”

She regarded him thoughtfully. “Could you bear to know that I only accepted you for such a reason as that? It would not be a good basis for a life-long partnership, I think.”

“Naturally I would strive to give you other reasons to be happy with your decision, no matter why it was at first taken.” He swallowed and stood as though braced for a stroke.

“Oh, Rook, you know me better than that. I understand why you had to offer, and you will understand that I had to refuse. I hope you will meet a lady who completely bowls you over, as I was not able to do. I wish you very happy with her, whoever she will be.”

“You are a treasure,” he said warmly, taking her hand and kissing it. “I did not fully understand that before, and I apologize for proposing without being able to offer that complete devotion that you deserve.”

“Enough,” Minerva protested. “If you are going to town, please tell people that these ridiculous stories were all a hum.”

“That was my reason for leaving today,” he told her. “We learned about the rumours from your sister Jennifer, who has arrived yesterday with her entire family.”

“The nursery will be overflowing,” Minerva said. “But Charlotte will cope, she always does. I am bringing yet another child to her, who has been travelling long enough, so I had better resume my journey now.”

Rook led Minerva back to her carriage and lifted her back up, noting only now that the coach held two other females and a squirming infant. He fixed his gaze on the latter in mild enquiry.

“This is Alphonse’s daughter, Monique, and her wet-nurse,” Minerva explained. “They will be staying in Sussex with us.”

“You will have your hands full,” Rook said. “Farewell.”

“Farewell to you also, and thank you again, for your most obliging offer.”

The carriage slowly regained the middle of the road, and resumed its way. Rook stood there and looked after it until recalled to the present by the Ellsworthy’s youngest stable boy, whom he had borrowed to serve as tiger for this trip to town.

“Are we going on now, Milord?”

“Certainly.” He climbed up, and took the reins, while the stable boy resumed his position in the back.

He would never have thought it possible, but he had just been rejected by two young ladies in a single day. Though he had not precisely offered for the first, he had come close. Both were quite out of the ordinary, and he could not think of any of the current crop of debutantes who compared to either Minerva or, especially, Miss Conway – Celia, as he called her in his thoughts. It had never occurred to him that he could not have any woman he wanted, when he was ready to fix on a wife at last.

He fell to brooding as he drove towards town. Could it be that he had blundered, that successful courtship required something he had not expended, a price he had been unwilling to pay? Rook knew that the majority of debutantes would have accepted him in a heartbeat, but apparently the girls he himself considered most suitable expected more than titles, wealth and rank. They were romantic, and wanted his heart along with everything else. He might have offered it to Celia – it had been all too ready to slip into her slender fingers, when he had left. If she did not want it, as she had indicated in the rose garden, leaving was the best thing he could do.

Were these girls unrealistic in their expectations? Or … should he also expect more, when he could bear to try again? What would it be like to be in love, a condition he had always regarded with amused pity in others? A marriage such as James and Charlotte had achieved would suit him very well. But was he even capable of the openness it required? To expose his feelings that far could end very badly. When Minerva had freed him of any obligation just now, he had felt only relief. He thought back to her first refusal, when pique had been his main emotion, and was not proud of his behaviour. 

Celia’s words, in contrast, had been almost hurtful. To be in love had to be dangerous. It made strong men vulnerable. No, he was better off as he was. He would put these uncharacteristic doubts away and go back to his pleasant old life. Eventually he would look around once more for a suitable candidate as his marchioness, a girl who would be content with that role and its many advantages, and not ask for any more than he was prepared to give.

But not right away – he was only twenty-six, it could wait until the next season. When the bruises had all healed, and were long forgotten.