Martha Schroeder (3 page)

“What a waste!”

Gideon’s anger at his mentor’s cynical dismissal of the systematic kindness that had saved his life was hotter than he expected. He beat it down. Amelia and her father had saved a number of boys like himself. In later years he had helped them in their work, and his admiration for the rich and well-favored Bradshaws, father and daughter, who could have spent their lives in elegant salons with people as well-bred and attractive as they themselves, was boundless. His disgust at those who belittled them was equally vast. He hated to feel that way about Sir Richard Sinclair.

His host’s shrewd eyes took their time taking in his rock-hard jaw and thin lips. Gideon knew his eyes were black and stormy—they always were when his temper got the best of him. Fortunately, he had so far managed to keep his mouth shut.

“I am sorry, Gideon.” The colonel’s words were quiet, but Gideon could tell that they were heartfelt. “I did not realize quite how much the lady meant to you. I believe that we can find a way to keep her out of the grasp of fortune hunters, Mannering included. Sit down, and tell me about Lady Amelia’s work.”

Gideon’s anger seeped away. “Thank you, sir. I would appreciate your advice.” He raised his glass and prepared to share still more of his life with a friend. It was a new feeling, but he thought he might grow to like it.

* * * *

“Amelia, my dear, what in the world are you doing here? Oh, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded!” Jane Forrester greeted her friend with the quick laugh and good humor she used to confront a world that was not always kind to spinsters of slender means. “Of course, I am delighted to see you anytime you can break free from those
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parties that occupy your evenings.”

Jane put her arm around Amelia and led her into the small parlor. A woman of indeterminate years, Jane was too tall for beauty, though her glowing topaz eyes and wealth of chestnut hair could have made her seem beautiful. Jane Forrester had confronted and prevailed over circumstances that would have felled others. The only child of improvident artists, Jane had been the practical member of the household. From a very early age, she controlled the purse strings and managed everything except her parents’ painting. In her teens she had nursed both her mother and father through their final illnesses, to find herself alone in a world that placed a low value on the managerial skills she had in abundance and set a great price on wealth and family connections, of which she had none.

In her usual blunt, straightforward fashion, Jane had tried to use her talents to help others. She had begun as a teacher in a London girls’ school, and at the end of three years was its headmistress. Amelia met her when she was trying to expand the duke’s charities to include girls as well as boys. Jane’s school took a certain number of poor girls, and she worked hard to get the money to take in even more. Amelia had been glad to aid her in her work.

Now Jane offered her friend tea and sat on her shabby sofa, her feet curled under her. “You’re frowning, my dear, and staring into your cup. ’Fess up, Amy. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Jane’s comforting voice, the tea, the cozy surroundings made Amelia’s eyes sting. She’d never known her mother, but Jane, though only a few years her senior, was as warm and welcoming as any mother could be. No wonder the school administrators chose her instead of a learned lady to head their institution, Amelia thought. Jane could smooth problems and ease hearts—much more necessary for young girls than mere knowledge.

“Ah, Jane, you know me too well. But I did not come here to complain. It seems I have done nothing but burden you with my grief ever since Papa died.”

“Nonsense, Amy. You have continued the duke’s work almost from the day of the funeral. In fact, I thought that you were to attend some musicale this evening, hoping to corner that wealthy nabob and wring a few groats from him.” Jane laughed at Amy’s indignant look.

“Calumny, vile calumny!” Amy chuckled, too. Hostesses who were pleased to entertain a duke’s daughter often found that they and their guests paid for the privilege with a subscription to one or another of Lady Amelia’s favorite charities.

“I simply offer the
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the means to balance their frivolities with the gift of some necessities for others.”

“Ah, of course.” The door opened, and a bright childish face looked in. “Yes, Opal?”

“Excuse me, Miss Jane, but you telled me to read my chapter and now I done it.” Opal, a small, thin child whose bright eyes were shyly cast down before her schoolmistress’s elegant friend, sketched a curtsy.

“You may ask Cook for a glass of milk before you go to bed. You remember Miss Amelia, do you not?” Jane rose and went to put her arm around the little girl, who smiled up adoringly.

“Yes, ma’am. Good evening, Miss Amelia. Good night, Miss Amelia, good night, ma’am.” Having taken care of the polite formulas in a few words, Opal slipped back out the door.

“Does she live with you now?” Amelia asked. “I remember seeing her at the school.”

“No. I take one of the scholarship girls home with me each month, so that they can learn how to go on. That way, when they are employed in a genteel household, they will fit in.”

“What a splendid idea. I must talk to Gideon about doing the same thing with the orphans in our school.” Amelia made a mental note. “I can have them stay at Doncaster House and— She broke off as memory returned. “No, I cannot. I forgot. I will not be taking anyone to Doncaster House anymore. Hortense called this afternoon to announce that she and Eustace will be moving in shortly. In time for Christmas.” Amelia leaned forward and clasped her hands tightly. “I thought I was prepared for this, but now that it has come, I find I am not. Even though Papa left the contents of the house to me and the rest is just brick and mortar, the thought of leaving—is difficult.” Amelia’s throat constricted, and she clenched her hands more tightly. She hated the very idea of crying. She should be done with all that by now. Papa would not wish her to mourn, but to carry on his work.

“Of course it is. Especially since it is that toad Eustace who has inherited it. Where are you going to go?”

Amelia looked up. “I was rather hoping you would take me in for the holidays. I can earn my keep, you know. If your cook wants to return home for Christmas, I can replace her. Or any of the teachers. Except music, of course. Or drawing. I was terrible at those, but I can keep up with almost everything else.”

Jane shook her head. “You are welcome here anytime you wish to come, Amy, you know that. You do not need to do any more than you already have.” She reached out her hand to her friend.

“I simply hadn’t thought about Christmas. Or rather I had planned to fill the house with you and the children. And Gideon of course since he’s at Horse Guards for the time being.”

“This house hardly compares to Doncaster House, but we can certainly squeeze Captain Falconer in. Perhaps he might consent to pass out the presents. If he wore his regimentals, the children would be most impressed.”

The idea of Gideon surrounded by little girls amused Amy. He spent most of his spare moments at the orphanage the duke had established on a farm not far from London. There it was clear that Gideon had a gift for talking to small boys. And he could talk to men in the military or politics about their professions, or indeed anyone who had an interest besides amusing themselves. He had encountered many such men at the duke’s masculine dinners. But Amy knew he avoided dandies and sportsmen, lapsing into a brooding silence on the few occasions he had encountered them in her presence.

But she had never been aware of exactly how Gideon related to women other than herself. Why was that? When she gave it a moment’s thought, she realized Gideon avoided
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parties. Occasionally he would escort her to the theater or the opera, both of which she adored, but never the usual routs and musicales she attended.

“I do not know if he will come,” she said slowly to Jane as her mind assimilated this startling fact. “I find I know practically nothing of his social life. I suppose it is because he has been away with the army, and we have grown apart. I used to understand him so well.”

For a horrified moment Amelia felt tears clog her throat for the second time that evening. She could not bear the thought of embarrassing herself again. Hurriedly she rose to her feet and held out both her hands to Jane. “I must go. Thank you for giving me carte blanche to impose on your hospitality. I may have to take advantage of it sooner than I would wish. I have the feeling that Eustace and his mother are going to spare no effort to keep me at Doncaster House for Christmas.”

Chapter Three

Amelia was more prescient than she knew.

After a long discussion with his mama, Eustace presented himself at Doncaster House the next afternoon. It was Wednesday, Amelia’s day to receive callers. As he intended, he was the first to arrive. He greeted her with an effusion of compliments carried on a wave of scent. It was all Amelia could do not to back away in revulsion.

“My dear cousin, how lovely you look. Black becomes you. You should always wear it.” When Amelia remained silent, Eustace seemed to realize how unfortunate that remark was. He hastened to make amends. “Of course, one does understand that you wear it not for fashion’s sake but to honor your dear papa. Such a loss to everyone. I myself was devastated, truly. That was why I did not attend his funeral. It was simply too painful.”

Here, Eustace put his hand over his heart, and Amelia had to suck her breath in sharply to keep from telling him exactly what she thought of his supposed grief.
You managed to overcome your grief enough to come to hear his will read,
she thought wrathfully.
You odious toad!

If Eustace noticed the dangerous sparkle in her narrowed eyes, he ignored it. Other callers arrived just then, and he had no further opportunity for private conversation with Amelia. Since he hoped to further his suit and reinforce his mother’s invitation to spend Christmas with them, he determined to stay until everyone else departed.

Those hopes were dashed when Gideon Falconer entered the drawing room a few minutes later. Eustace noted that the cavalry captain lacked his own ease of address. Falconer stood stiffly, holding a glass of sherry but never drinking from it and looking around with an unsmiling mien. Enough to frighten most guests into leaving immediately. The icy look he gave Eustace left the duke in no doubt as to his feelings. Eustace shrugged. A nobody. A captaincy purchased by the old duke-more money wasted, damn him. Who would have Gideon Falconer now that his patron was dead? His dark, brooding looks might remind women of Lord Byron, but with no family and no fortune, he would be lucky to find himself a provincial miss with a mustache and a modest dowry.

Amelia watched Eustace preen.
He’s looking at Gideon as if he were beneath contempt!
she thought.
Give a man like Eustace a title, and he prances about the world as if he owned it!
She turned away in disgust and crossed the room to greet Lady Maltby, one of her father’s oldest friends.

“Amelia, my dear, it is so nice to see Eustace here,” Lady Maltby said. “I am happy there will be no rift in your family. I do deplore such feuds.”

Eustace had followed Amelia across the room and overheard the remark. “How right you are, Lady Maltby. Mama and I are determined that our dear cousin will not only spend Christmas with us here but will remain for the indefinite future. We wish her to make her home with us!”

“That is very generous of you, Eustace,” Amelia said, managing to keep her voice even and pleasant. “But as I told Cousin Hortense, I plan to stay with friends over the holidays and move into a new house soon after the beginning of the year.”

“Nonsense, Amelia,” said Lady Maltby. “Eustace is very right. Christmas is for families. I myself always spend it at the home of my eldest daughter. She and I have never gotten along, and her children are insupportable. Nevertheless, every December I hie myself into the wilds of Scotland to suffer through Christmas with them. Family!” she barked, sounding very like an aging sergeant major. “Tradition!”

Amelia fought a losing battle with a smile. She took the older woman’s arm and guided her to a comfortable wing chair. Once she had her guest installed, she sat herself. There were no other chairs nearby. She hoped to discourage Eustace from lingering in her vicinity.

Offering Lady Maltby a dish of comfits, she said, “Scotland and insupportable children! What fortitude you must have, ma’am. I am not so intrepid, and will slink off to visit friends in warmer climes.” She was not actually misleading Lady Maltby—London was warmer than Scotland! If she and Eustace believed that Amelia was traveling some distance for the holidays, so much the better. “I believe the children who live with my friends may be somewhat less troublesome as well, though I am by no means an expert on the subject. You are more than welcome to remain and pass Christmas with us.”

Lady Maltby gazed fondly at Amelia’s mischievously smiling face. She had known Amelia since babyhood and had often bemoaned the fact that her own daughters were not half so pretty or charming. She hated the thought of Amelia spending Christmas somewhere other than her own fireside. Not that Amelia had her own fireside anymore. “You must marry, my dear girl!” she said, still in her sergeant-major voice. “Then you will always have a place to go for Christmas.”

Eustace, who was hovering around Amelia’s chair, pounced upon the remark. If he could not maneuver a private meeting with Amelia, he would do his best with the public forum that was available to him. “Just what I have been telling my cousin, ma’am,” he said enthusiastically, lowering his voice in what sounded to Amelia like a horrid parody of sympathy. “She needs a strong arm to lean on, a hard head to handle her business affairs, and”—he sighed deeply—”a tender heart to care for her. Such a small, helpless creature.” Amelia longed to punch her cousin in the stomach and have Frederick, the footman, frog-march him off the premises.

“Such fustian!” she exclaimed. “I need no such thing. I have a strong arm of my own and likewise a hard head. I do not need a man to come along and rescue me!”