Anne Barbour (30 page)

“I meant to tell you,” said Amanda, bewildered. “After the dust had settled. You were being so absurd about the jewels—for which I don’t care a jot.”

“Apparently not—nor do you seem to care for the fact that you had no right to sell them.”

“But they’re mine! Papa gave them to me.”

“Perhaps, having condescended to grace our backward period in time, you are unaware of the fact that you do not own anything. Everything belongs to your father, whether it happens to be in your possession or not.”

“But that’s positively feudal!” exclaimed Amanda, passing for the moment on this evidence that Ash now believed that she had come from the future.

“Perhaps, but that’s the way it is. Thus, I am pleased to be able to return the, er, merchandise—just in case your papa might not understand your generous gesture.”

“Well—thank you—I guess. But, why are you so angry?”

Ash took a step toward her, and for the first time the icy calm seemed to crack.

“Why?
My God, what kind of man do you think I am that I would take charity from the woman I am supposed to marry? You certainly cannot plead ignorance of our provincial little customs, for I told you very explicitly that I did not want you to interfere.”

“But,” murmured Amanda, “I only wanted to help.”

“Is that what you call help? I suppose you consider that you have made a great sacrifice, all for—no, not even love, is it? Did you think that having instructed me on the possibilities for gain, I would be incapable of making a rational decision on my own? Apparently so, for you gathered up what is most precious to you in the world, your jewelry,” Ash had gone even more pale as he spoke, and his eyes were hard and bleak as a November rain. “The fact that your papa would be happy to replace it with baubles even more blindingly expensive would not, of course, have influenced you in this noble gesture.”

Amanda stared at him, her breath seeming to have left her body. “Is that what you think of me?” she whispered at last.

“I don’t know what to think of you. I thought I did. I thought I had come to know Amanda Bridge. Now, I have discovered you are someone else altogether—an oddity from some other dimension who seems as thoughtless as she is beautiful.”

Without another word, Ash turned on his heel and left the room.

Amanda sank into the nearest chair, and for a long time simply crouched there, her arms wrapped around herself as though she had sustained a physical blow. How could he have said those things? How could he have so misinterpreted her action? He had spoken as though he hated her, and perhaps he did. She grimaced. For so long she had wished to confide her situation to him, and now that she had, he’d made it plain he considered her some sort of freak.

She tried to tell herself that none of it made any difference. Ash had his salvation in the form of a fistful of pounds, and she need not be bound by her father’s promise that they wed in a year’s time. She was free to return to her own place in the cosmos at a time of her choosing, and that time would come very soon if she had anything to say about it, leaving Ash free to pursue his true love.

A consuming ache rose in her like a bitter tide, and though the June breeze whispered gently through the curtains at the window, she had never felt so cold.

At last, she rose wearily and made her way from the Blue Saloon. As she walked down the corridor, a murmur of voices came to her from a chamber that lay ahead, and glancing in as she passed, she caught her breath.

There, before a pair of French doors, stood Lianne, wrapped in Ash’s embrace. As Amanda watched in stony silence, Ash brought one hand around to cup Lianne’s chin. He bent his head—but Amanda did not stay to observe what she knew would happen next. Closing her eyes on a sight that she knew would stay with her through the centuries, she swallowed the sob that had risen in her throat and made her way unsteadily along the corridor. Reaching the hall, she called for her pelisse and bonnet and her carriage.

“Please apologize to her ladyship for me,” she said to the hovering butler, pleased that her voice contained no hint of the turmoil churning within her. “But I must return home at once.”

Turning, she almost ran from the house on legs that barely held her upright.

Back in the small saloon, Ash released Lianne from his embrace.

“I wish you all the very, very best, my dear, and I’m honored that you told me first.” The smile he bent on her was warm, if somewhat crooked.

Lianne stepped back and grinned mischievously. “We shan’t announce it until we’ve set a date.” She laughed aloud. “I am pleased you are happy for me, Ash, but you needn’t look downright relieved. No, no,” she added as a halfhearted protest formed on his lips. “I know I’ve been behaving like the veriest limpet, clinging to a love that never really was. It took me a long time to admit it to myself, but we are simply not suited. I know very well that I am a shallow butterfly who needs to be pampered, and—”

“And Reggie Smythe-Wolverton will pamper you till your eyes bubble,” Ash said, the smile widening. “God knows, after those years of marriage to Grant you deserve some of that, but”—he gazed seriously into her jeweled eyes— “do you truly love him?”

“Yes, I do. Not wildly and with the consuming passion I felt for you, but with something that will develop more deeply, I think. He will make a good husband—and I will be a good wife to him.” She hesitated a moment before continuing. “I do not think I have ever wished you happy with Amanda. You are lucky to have found your love, as well.”

“I?” asked Ash, startled. His lips thinned. “You mistake the matter. The marriage of the Earl of Ashindon and Miss Amanda Bridge will be strictly one of convenience.”

Lianne chuckled, her piquant features alight. “Tell that to someone who might believe you. I’ve seen the way you look at her. You’re head over tail in love with her, Will Wexford.”

Ash stared at her, bereft of speech. The chill emptiness that had settled in the pit of his stomach since his discovery that morning of Amanda’s perfidy seemed to expand and engulf him until he felt himself the center of a dark, whirling, and unbearably lonely void.

“I—” he began, only to be interrupted as Emily bustled into the room.

“There you are,” she said breathlessly. “Grandmama sent me to find you. She said this is getting to be like that story of the explorers who keep tramping out into the jungle one by one and never coming back.”

Upon returning to the dowager’s august presence, Lianne made her farewells. When Ash declared his own intention of leaving, the dowager held up a thin veined hand.

“You stay,” she ordered, having subjected him to an intent scrutiny. “I wish to speak to you.” She dismissed both Lianne and Emily from the room with a distracted wave. “Now then, I want you to explain yourself.”

“I beg your pardon?” Ash lifted his brows in puzzlement.

“I want you to tell me why you look as though they just hanged your best friend.”

Ash laughed shortly. “Considering my feelings toward my best friend right now, your comparison is singularly appropriate. Actually,” he continued. “I take leave to tell you that, contrary to your belief, I am in excellent spirits, just having made a killing, as I believe the saying goes, in the stock market.”

“Eh?”

Briefly, Ash related the details of the successful risk he had taken. He included Amanda’s belief that Wellington would defeat Napoleon, but not her reasons for this certainty.

“Well! That is splendid news. You’ll be free from now on of the Brass Bridge’s golden fetters, if not from the bargain you made with him.”

“Um,” said Ash.

“What I do not understand is why you aren’t dancing in the streets, adding your huzzahs to that mindless mob out there instead of moping about here wearing that tedious Friday face.”

Ash moved to the window, where he stood staring sightlessly into the dowager’s small garden for several moments. He turned, finally, and related the story of Amanda’s clandestine contribution to his good fortune.

“I could not believe she would so plot against me, Grandmama. Nor that James would go behind my back in that fashion. I tell you, I came within Ames Ace of planting him a facer when he admitted what he’d done—without so much as an apology, mind you.”

“But, why should he apologize?” The dowager returned his incredulous stare with one of amusement. “He had merely done a favor for his best friend’s fiancée, knowing that there was no harm and a great deal of good might come of it.”

“Grandmama!” Ash gaped, unbelieving. “She stole her father’s jewelry! She meddled in my affairs when I expressly told her not to! Do I strike you as the kind of man who would allow a female to bestow trinkets on him like a—a pet pug?”

“What I think,” retorted the old lady, “is that you are a complete fool.”

Since this statement jibed so precisely with what James had said to him a few hours earlier, Ash blinked. “But, see here, Grandmama—” he began.

“I take it,” said the dowager, paying him no heed, “that you have already spoken to Amanda about this wretched tendency to do you kindnesses. This no doubt accounts for her abrupt departure from my home without even the courtesy of a farewell. I will tell you to your face, boy, that if you have hurt that gel, you will have me to answer to.”

“I cannot believe what I am hearing,” said Ash. “Hurt her? What about what she did to me?”

“As far as I can see, the only thing she has been guilty of is trying to see you through a very trying time. Do you think she does not know how it galls you to accept Jeremiah Bridge’s iron-clad benevolence? She was trying to save your pride, you looby, not destroy it.”

By now Ash was beginning to feel as though he was losing control of the conversation. It was not a feeling to which he was accustomed, and he found that he did not like it above half. He drew in a long breath.

“Grandmama, I am to marry her. I cannot have her flouting my wishes and attempting to manage my affairs. Our marriage may be one of convenience only, but—”

“Pfaw! Don’t you marriage-of-convenience me, you young twit. As if anyone with the meanest intelligence cannot perceive that you are besotted with the chit.”

“What!” The room began to reel about Ash. First James, and then Lianne, and now his own grandmother—Had everyone of his acquaintance gone mad?

He opened his mouth and then shut it abruptly. The room stopped reeling and proceeded to drop away from his vision altogether. All he perceived was the dowager’s bright, shrewd little eyes staring at him.

No, they had not all gone mad, had they? he thought, sitting down very slowly. It was he who seemed to have lost his powers of reason. How else could he account for the fact that he had been in love with Amanda Bridge—or McGovern—or whatever the devil her name was—for some time and had not even known it?

From a great distance he heard his grandmother’s rusty chuckle. “It’s perfectly understandable, boy. You’ve been adrift for so long in that absurd infatuation for Lianne that you did not recognize the real thing when it was right under that beaky nose of yours.”

Ash did not reply. He was lost in the revelations his heart was making to him. Memories of his time with Amanda overwhelmed him. Amanda laughing with him in the park—and waltzing with him, her satiny curls brushing his chin—Amanda’s lips, warm and pliant under his—the magical, companionable hour they had spent on a quiet riverbank.

Good God, he thought suddenly. He had just insulted her cruelly. She had given him all she had to give in order to help him out of his difficulty, and out of his stupid pride he had repaid her generosity with a lot of pompous prating. Would she now make good on her promise to end their betrothal? She had hinted that she might return to her own time. He felt cold, suddenly, and turned to the dowager.

“I must go after her,” he said simply.

“That’s the first sensible thing I’ve heard you say for a long time.” The old lady cackled. “Be off with you then, before she flings herself into the arms of Cosmo Satterleigh again.”

Ash paused in the act of hurtling from the room.

“Good grief,” he said with a tender smile. “She won’t do that. I have her word on it that she thinks him a complete jerk.”

The next moment, he was gone, leaving the countess to stare after him in puzzlement.

Chapter Twenty-two

Ash found his quarry to be singularly elusive. On arriving at the Bridge home some ten minutes after leaving Grosvenor Square, he was informed by Goodbody, the butter, that none of the family was at home, the master of the house not having returned from his place of business in the City and Mrs. Bridge still out paying afternoon calls. Miss Bridge was expected home shortly, but would surely not be available for visitors at that hour because she would be making preparations for Mrs. Wiltsham’s soiree, which was to take place that evening.

Ash immediately perceived the futility in simply waiting for Amanda to come home. Her parents were sure to arrive at an inopportune moment, and trying to fix the attention of a damsel in the throes of party preparations would be an exercise in unwisdom. He would see her tonight at the Wiltshams’. Granted, a crowded soiree was not the place to seek a reconciliation, but surely there would be a quiet nook in the vast Wiltsham House to which he could repair with Amanda.

Containing his impatience, Ash mounted his curricle once more. Lost in thought, he directed his horses in the direction from which he had just come, toward Grosvenor Square and Ryder Street to make his peace with James. In his preoccupation. Ash did not note his surroundings as he drove along the northern perimeter of the square, thus he did not see Amanda sitting on a bench inside the railed park, conversing earnestly with a young nursemaid overseeing a pair of lusty children.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” asked the young woman. Her small, knobby cheeks glowed as though recently polished as she pushed her spectacles up her nose.

“Yes,” replied Amanda quietly. She was amazed at how quickly the personage had responded to the plea that pounded inside her brain as she hurried down the steps of the dowager’s house. She had cried aloud, “Please, take me home! I must get away from here—back to where I belong!” and the next moment she had bumped into the little nursemaid grasping her charges in each hand. “Yes,” she repeated. “Can you help me?”