The Beloved One (34 page)

Just don't think about the fact that she once lay with Charles.  Don't think about the fact that her daughter is really Charles's flesh-and-blood.  Don't think about that, and everything will be just fine.  I hope . . .

And now Juliet came forward, her eyes mirroring the same wary hesitation that Amy herself felt, her smile a little unsure.  "I understand you're from Massachusetts, too," she said, trying to break the ice.

"Yes, Newburyport."

"I'm from Boston — and Maine before that."

"Yes, I know," Amy said, and instantly clapped her hand over her mouth.  "I'm sorry —  I didn't mean that the way it sounded . . . I really
don't
know everything about you — oh, you must think me terribly rude!"

Nerissa, grinning, wandered into the adjoining dressing room, tactfully giving them a few moments alone.

"No.  Not at all," Juliet replied.  "Of course you would know more about me than I would about you, so please don't worry, Miss Leighton — I am not offended."  She regarded Amy with her steady green gaze.  "I know that things seem a bit awkward between us right now, given the fact that I knew Charles, but I want you to know that that is all in the past, and that is where it will stay."  She smiled then.  "I do hope that we can be friends."

"I think we already are.  And please, call me Amy. 
I
hate formality, too!"

"Amy, then."  Juliet relaxed, and her soft smile became a grin.  "Goodness, it
will
be nice to have one of my countrywomen here!  These English are a strange sort.  Why, do you realize that they play cards and drink and make merry on the Lord's day, doing things that we'd
never
be able to do back in Massachusetts?  But never mind, you'll find all that out for yourself.  Now tell me, are you homesick at all?"

"Oh, no, I'm far too excited to be homesick!  So much to see and do and learn . . . I can't wait to start work.  Do you think the duke would temporarily employ me as a lady's maid or cook or housekeeper or something?"

"What?" said Juliet, slightly taken aback.

"Well, I
do
need to find a position right away, so that I can earn my keep.  After all, that's the only reason I came to England, so that I could make a new start and actually earn money for all my hard work!"

Juliet frowned and looked at her as if she had two noses.  Then, recovering herself, she glanced toward the dressing room into which Nerissa had gone, and changed the subject.  "Speaking of His Grace . . . how did you hold up during the rigorous interview I assume he subjected you to last night?"

"You — you knew about that?"

"Yes, but only because he subjected
me
to one the night I arrived, as well.  It was dreadful.  Gareth had rescued my stagecoach from highwaymen and gotten himself shot in the process, and I was covered with his blood.  Lucien showed me no mercy whatsoever though, and forced me to sit there in the library and answer every one of his questions, and this after I'd only just met him and must've looked like the loser in a gladiator fight!  I thought him quite the rudest, most arrogant man I'd ever met."  She shook her head.  "I hope he wasn't as overbearing with you."

"No, he was actually quite kind."

"
Kind?
"  Juliet raised her brows.  "He must be up to something, then."

"Yes — the Restoration of Charles, as he called it."

"I rather suspect he's up to far more than that," Juliet said, cryptically.

"Such as?"

"Oh, never mind.  It's only a thought, and not worth voicing."

"Well, he
was
a bit intimidating."

"A
bit
?"  Juliet laughed.  "We're talking about a man who conceals a rapier in his walking stick, who appears to be as omniscient as God, who faithfully practices his duelling skills every week, and who loves nothing more than to move and manipulate those around him as he might the pieces in a game of chess.  Add to that the fact he is one of the most powerful — and dangerous — men in England, and I fear that
intimidating
doesn't even begin to describe him!  But he loves and is very protective of his family, I'll give him that.  If you could have seen him when he found out that Gareth had taken up pugilism for a living . . ."

Humming to herald her imminent arrival, Nerissa reappeared, all smiles.

"Well, well, I see that you two Yankee Doodles have found something to talk about!"

"Yes, your infamous brother," Juliet said wryly.

"Lucien?  He wasn't unkind to you, was he, Amy?"

Amy nearly laughed.  "I don't understand why everyone thinks he's such a monster!"

The other two exchanged knowing glances.  "You will," they chorused.

"Is he
that
difficult to work for?"

Nerissa stared at her.  "What do you mean?"

"Amy came here looking for work," Juliet supplied, with a glance at Nerissa that spoke volumes.

"Work?  Why, that's preposterous.  She's not going to work, Charles would never allow it and neither will Lucien.  I've never heard of anything so silly in all my life."

"Well, of course I have to work," Amy said, greatly confused and a little chagrined.  "After all, I do have to eat. . . ."

But Nerissa was studying her jacket and petticoats, both faded to the color of beach sand; her impossibly long fall of sleek dark hair, her shoes, her work-roughened hands.  "You don't need work, you need a maid."

"No, you don't understand, I came to England expecting to be someone
else
's maid —"

Nerissa gave an airy wave of her hand.  "Nonsense.  You must have a maid.  You must have new clothes.  And you must have a ball gown, which is why you're going to London with me this afternoon so we can visit my dressmaker."

"London?  A
ball gown
?"  Amy couldn't help her burst of laughter.  "That's the last thing I need!"

"On the contrary," said Nerissa.  "Lucien is throwing a ball next Friday in honor of Charles's homecoming, and he wants you to be there."

"Wants?"

Juliet drawled, "
Demands
is more like it."

"It's his way of thanking you for all you've done for Charles," Nerissa added.  "He wants to give you a magical, Cinderella night-at-the-ball as his way of expressing his gratitude for saving Charles's life."

"But — but I
can't
attend, I — I don't even know how to dance!"

"Then you will learn," said Nerissa, blithely.

"And . . . I don't know the correct things to say to people, or how to address them properly . . . or — or . . . anything!"

"We will teach you."

"And I can't afford fancy new clothes, let alone a ball gown!"

"Ah, but I can, and I would be very offended if you do not accept them as a small token of my appreciation for saving my brother's life," intoned a smoothly urbane, aristocratic voice.  Gasping, Amy whirled to see the duke of Blackheath standing in the doorway, an amused little smile playing about his otherwise severe face.

Amy sank in a curtsey.  "Your Grace!"

"My dear girl.  Are you giving my sister trouble?"

"No, but I really can't go to a ball, I'll look the fool and I've got no business being there anyhow and —"

"Do you want to go to the ball?"

"Well of course, it'll be magical, wondrous, but I'll feel like a chicken amongst a flock of peacocks!"

The duke folded his arms and leaned negligently against the door jamb, his black eyes holding her captive.  "Do you remember the conversation we had last night . . . about helping Charles?"

That soft, suave tone was enough to make Amy's heart still.  "Well yes, but I don't see how this has anything to do with him . . ."

"Of course you don't.  And so I will tell you.   Nerissa wants a new gown for the ball.  As a lady's maid, you will want some new clothes.  And
I
—" he gave a silky smile — "I will want Charles to ride alongside your coach to provide safe escort to and from London."  He smiled, but the gesture was just a little bit sinister.  "It would benefit him greatly to feel . . . useful, don't you think?"

And Amy, standing there feeling nervous and dry-mouthed and very, very intimidated indeed, suddenly understood.  By sending the girls off to London and asking Charles to go along as protection, Lucien was setting things up so that Charles would have opportunity to regain some of his feelings of self-worth.

She only hoped he wasn't lining up a highwayman to rob them, as well!

She returned the duke's smile, suddenly feeling like a co-conspirator instead of a scared ninny.  "Yes, your Grace.  I quite understand."

"Good.  I knew that you would."  And then, with a furtive exchange of glances with Nerissa, he bowed deeply to the three women and continued on his way.

~~~~

Charles returned from his race with Gareth, flushed and in higher spirits than he'd been in a donkey's age.  It had been just like old times, the two of them pushing their eager horses to the limit, leaving the cares of the world behind and rebuilding the deep friendship they'd always had.  They had galloped all the way down to Ravenscombe and back, slowing their mounts a half-mile away from the stables to give them a chance to cool down.

"Damn good run you gave me, Charles," said Gareth, patting Crusader's neck before dismounting and handing him into the care of a waiting groom.  "You might've beat me today, but by God, I'll have my revenge tomorrow!"

"Is that a challenge?"

"It is indeed!"

"Very well then, I accept it."  Charles grinned and also dismounted, and watched as the groom led both animals away.  His brother was still standing beside him, his cheeks a bit flushed from the winter wind, his eyes bright.

A silence fell between them as they headed toward the house.

They'd taken only a few steps when Charles paused and reaching out, caught Gareth by the shoulder.  "Gareth, I . . . I just want to say thank you."

"For what?"

Charles thought for a moment.  "For being yourself," he finally said.

Gareth grinned.  And then he looked hard at Charles, and his blue eyes began to twinkle.  "And thank you too, Charles — for being
your
self," he said cryptically.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Never mind," Gareth said, his eyes warm with brotherly love.  "Come on, let's go inside.  It's cold out here!"

They were just approaching the front entrance when the great iron-banded door opened and Lucien came out.  He had his walking stick in his hand, and his two dogs circling his heels, eager to be off on their morning run.

"Ah, Gareth," he said.  "I do believe your daughter is crying for you.  Why don't you go see to her?"

Gareth opened his mouth to protest, but something in Lucien's eyes made him suddenly think better of it.  Making his excuses, he left his brothers standing together on the drive.

Something clenched in Charles's gut as he remembered his deplorable behavior of last night.

Thankfully, Lucien chose to ignore it.

"My dear Charles," he said, expansively.  "I wonder if I might ask a favor of you?"

"What would you like?"

"Nerissa and Amy wish to go to London, and I simply don't have time to accompany them.  You wouldn't mind going instead, just to ensure that they come to no harm, would you?"

"What do they need to go to London for?"

Lucien gave a dramatically heavy sigh.  "Oh, female pursuits, of course.  Shopping, gossip, maybe a visit to that infernal French dressmaker of Nerissa's.  You know how your sister just has to have the latest fashions from the Continent."  He raised his brows as Charles eyed him narrowly.  "But of course, if you don't feel . . . up to it, I suppose I could always send Andrew instead."

"What do you mean, if I don't feel up to it?"

"Oh, nothing.  I was just thinking about our little conversation last night.  The one where you made it quite obvious that you are no longer, shall we say, capable of the things you once were.  But never mind.  I'm sure that Andrew will be delighted to lend his protection to the girls, instead.  He has become quite a handsome young lad, don't you think?"  His black eyes gleamed.  "I
do
wonder what your little friend will think of him . . ."  He whistled for the dogs and raised his walking stick to Charles in mock salute.  "Good day, Charles.  I will see you at teatime, I hope."

And then he moved off, leaving Charles staring after him in rising fury, his hands balled into fists and a little muscle ticking in his jaw.

What the
devil
was that all about?!

Well, one thing was for sure.  Andrew was
not
going to be the one escorting the girls into London!  Charles marched into the house, striding as though he was still a captain in the King's Own.  He went straight across the Great Hall, through the length of the castle, out into a far wing, up a flight of stairs, and found the youngest de Montforte brother right where he expected to find him:  in the great chamber above the ballroom that Andrew had long since adopted as his laboratory.

Charles's anger cooled the moment he stepped into the room.

The last time he'd been here, there'd been a dazzling array of bottles containing an even more dazzling array of chemicals and solutions filling the tables, the shelves, even the window sills.  There had been open books and scholarly papers strewn about on both floor and tables; notes and mathematical equations that Charles didn't even try to begin to understand scrawled across the blackboard; weights, scales, and measures, evil looking concoctions simmering in various tubes and beakers;  and Andrew, commanding this chaos like some mad scientist.  All of those things were still here.

As well as —

"What in God's name is
that
?" Charles expostulated, staring at the strange contraption that dominated the wooden floor.  Shaped like a giant arrowhead, it appeared to be constructed of a bamboo frame filled in with yards of tautly stretched red silk.  Beneath it, Charles could just see Andrew's stockings and shoes protruding; the rest of his brother was somewhere beneath —