The Perfect Bride (18 page)

"It
was extremely mortifying,” she continued, “but the episode was kept quiet. I
fled to the country, where I have lived ever since. Quite happily, I might add,"
she added with a defiant flourish.

Mr.
Thornton's brows drew together like thunderclouds. "Did no one make the
knave own up to his responsibility?"

"If
you are referring to marriage, it was decided that Julian’s character made him
a thoroughly ineligible prospect, no matter that a dukedom was to be his. Sir
Thomas was torn between his obligation to demand a wedding and the obvious fact
that marriage to Julian would be a trial for any woman. In the end, my uncle
acceded to my wishes to let the matter go. By that time I simply wanted to
leave London and never return."

He
regarded her steadily. "And yet you are to return — as Miss Biddle's
chaperon."

"With
Lady Biddle indisposed, I had no other choice. Felicity needs a woman's
presence."

"I
will ask Claridge to leave on the morrow,” he said brusquely. “On the earl’s
behalf, that is." The hard glint in Mr. Thornton's eyes put her in mind of
his warrior cousin.

"That
is not necessary," Amanda replied. "I have recently realized that
over the years I allowed the episode to take on a dimension larger than itself.
In truth, Julian can hold no power over me that I do not confer, and I have
decided to grant him none. So you see, Mr. Thornton, seeing Julian again has
actually been beneficial."

He
eyed her dubiously. It was not difficult to guess that he thought her words
utter nonsense. An incident like the one at Vauxhall was not something to take
lightly. And yet, Amanda knew she had only spoken the truth: she would never
again allow that one night to determine the course of her life. There was
something enormously freeing about that knowledge. As if the future was somehow
new, perhaps even bright with prospect.

Mr.
Thornton still had not spoken. But he was regarding her steadily. And somehow,
that gave her goosebumps.

"Was
there anything in particular,” he said at last, “that led you to decide
Claridge has no power over you?"

"I
am not sure." It seemed the most natural thing in the world to be
discussing such an intimate matter with Mr. Thornton in her dimly lit bedchamber.

One
thing was certain, however: her pulse had quickened alarmingly. And yet, she dared
not trust her senses. They were tossing her everywhere and yon, from one
volatile situation into another. First, the earl. Now, this man before her. Had
she but transferred her inappropriate attraction for the earl to his cousin? Or
perhaps — now that she had discovered that her heretofore unexcitable nature
was indeed capable of excessive passion — she was now fated to swoon over every
man she met.

More
to the point was the question of Mr. Thornton, here, now, in her room. Was this
odd current between them genuine? Perhaps she had misread the regret he had
expressed this afternoon after that kiss. Perhaps he had only meant to suggest
that he did not wish to rush his fences.

Amanda
tried to discipline her wayward thoughts. He seemed to be waiting for a fuller
response to his question, for he was eyeing her expectantly.

"A
man's character is more important to me than his titles and charm, Mr.
Thornton," she said. “Our visit to Sommersby Castle has been most illuminating
in that regard. It has helped me see Julian more clearly in his true light, and
how, in fact, it contrasts rather sharply with that of your, er, family.”

Their
gazes held.

"Miss
Fitzhugh, there is something you should know," he said in a strained
voice.

His
awkwardness was endearing. Perhaps he was terribly shy. She would set him at
ease. She would tell him that she felt shy as well, that this growing awareness
between them had left her equally at sea. But before she could muster the
words, he spoke again.

"I
cannot tell you how deeply I regret what passed between us this afternoon.”

Amanda’s
heart sank, and with it the ridiculous fantasy she had constructed. He had not
wanted her at all. She had made too much of things, and the result had been
this embarrassing tension between them.

“It
was a grave lapse in discipline on my part,” he added.

He
need not be quite so insulting, Amanda thought. It was enough to be told that
one was a regret, much less a grave lapse.

“I
would not for the world add to that suffering you have already endured at
Claridge's hands."

Relief
shot through her. He was merely worried that his advances had offended her. His
concern, his doubts — those she could understand. Her fragile hope took wing.
Yet, staring into Mr. Thornton's troubled eyes, Amanda knew she would have to guide
and encourage him.

"It
is not at all the same, Mr. Thornton," she assured him. "I did not
take offense."

She
hesitated. "If anything, I appreciated — though that is perhaps not the
correct verb — your, er, actions."

Heat
flared in his gaze, and her pulse gave a little hop-skip.

"I
am a plainspoken woman," Amanda continued, her courage bolstered. "So
I shall tell you that although I am not accustomed to kissing gentlemen in such
a fashion. I found myself not displeased, and in fact unusually — that is to
say pleasantly — surprised, and rather delightedly so, by the thoroughness of
my response, er, from a purely subjective point of view."

He
eyed her in confusion.

"Oh,
dear,” Amanda said. “That was not plainspoken at all. What I am endeavoring to
say is that I would not be averse to continuing our friendship, Mr. Thornton,
provided any further intimacy between us could be somewhat restrained until
such time as our acquaintance warrants it."

Dear
Lord. Had she all but invited an offer of marriage? That was the only way he
could take her words, for she had brazenly confessed to enjoying the sort of
scandalous kiss unacceptable to all but married couples.

“Or
not restrained,” she quickly added. But that was all wrong, too. She had
carried frankness too far, when surely the moment called for more subtlety. The
world seemed to hang in the balance as she waited for his response.

Mr.
Thornton looked as stunned as any man could. Yet Amanda did not think she
misread the almost wistful longing in his eyes. Perhaps he, too, was eager to
get to know her better, to explore whatever common ground they shared. Perhaps
beneath Mr. Thornton's drooping mustache and grey hair lay the passion of a far
younger man — a man who wished to know her more intimately and, above all, to
repeat the experience of that kiss.

Yes,
she thought as his gaze dropped to her mouth, Mr. Thornton was a man of
passion. A woman did not need a great deal of experience to see that. To be
sure, he kept it carefully hidden, but what he had shown her earlier by the
cliffs was enough to curl her toes in anticipation. Every nerve seemed to stand
on end as Amanda waited for him to speak.   She smiled encouragingly.

"Miss
Fitzhugh," he began, a tortured expression on his face, "I hold you
in great esteem, but I cannot offer anything but my deepest regrets for what
happened today. I have other...obligations. My intentions toward you,
therefore, cannot be honorable, nor can I allow our acquaintance to
continue."

Amanda’s
smile froze.

"I
cannot but mourn my irresponsible behavior, which generated unexpected and
unacceptable expectations in both of us," he added. "My actions can
only be judged as heinous in view of your unfortunate experience with Claridge.
I do not wish to give you reason to despise another member of my sex. But I
fear that now I have no other choice. Goodnight, Miss Fitzhugh."

With
that, he bowed deeply. Amanda blinked in amazement as he turned and, without another
word, left her chamber.

Her
fragile hope evaporated. In its stead was an unthinkable nightmare.

Grimly
eyeing the door through which Mr. Thornton had fled, Amanda hoped fervently
that his sleep would be as tormented as her own.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Stephen
Frakes cradled the worn binding in his hands and bashfully eyed his audience.
Then, in a sonorous voice that wrapped around the words as lovingly as his
hands cradled that old binding, he read:

"'There
is a garden in her face

Where
roses and white lilies grow;

A
heavenly paradise is that place

Wherein
all pleasant fruits do flow.

There
cherries grow which none may buy,

Till
'cherry-ripe' themselves do cry'."

Felicity
dabbed a handkerchief at the corner of her eye. "That was beautiful, Mr.
Frakes. Though I suppose some might disdain the sentiment as excessive."

A
troubled expression shadowed his deep brown eyes. "The words of a man's
heart are nothing to disdain, Miss Biddle."

"No,"
she agreed quickly. "Oh, do continue, Mr. Frakes. I declare you have
discovered my favorite poets. Though perhaps it is only the magnificent way in
which you read. You have quite a gift."

Flushing,
he replaced the book on the library shelf, removed another volume, then
hesitated. "Are you certain that I am not keeping you from something
important?"

"It
is I who am keeping you from your work, Mr. Frakes," Felicity replied, her
mouth pursing in concern. It was quite true. Since discovering that she and Mr.
Frakes shared a mutual love of poetry, she had not been able to stop herself
from visiting him daily to hear him read. His voice was not stuffy and
stentorian like some of the orators, but rich and resonant in a way that did
not overwhelm the poet's words but allowed them to shine in all their
magnificence.

Perhaps
she was spending too much time in Lord Sommersby's library, but the earl was
away and Mr. Thornton had been occupied with Amanda. Felicity wondered if a
match was in the offing in that quarter. She hoped so. Amanda did not deserve
to spend the rest of her days as a spinster, no matter how willingly she
pretended to embrace her fate. Happily, the Duke of Claridge had not put in an
appearance for several days — although that left her father as the only other
person to engage in conversation, and he had been in a brooding mood of late.

Felicity
did not see why she should feel guilty for seeking out the only other person in
the castle who appreciated the fine literature on Lord Sommersby's shelves. The
earnest Mr. Frakes was only slightly older than herself, and he did not appear
to mind her intrusions. Indeed, he seemed to welcome the break from his labors
that her visits afforded. She had become so comfortable with him that she had
even taken to wearing her spectacles so that they might read together. So
enjoyable were these occasions that the time sped by.

A
diligent scholar, Mr. Frakes had begun arriving earlier and earlier each day to
compensate for the hours he spent away from his work during her visits. Yet
Felicity did not flatter herself that his interest in her went beyond their
shared appreciation of literature. Everyone in the castle knew that she was
betrothed to the earl; she would not do Mr. Frakes the dishonor of suspecting
his interest to be anything personal.

And
though Mr. Frakes was attractive enough, Lord Sommersby was the hero of her
dreams, a man of imposing physical attributes, whose achievements were nigh
legendary. Every woman in England would wish to be wed to such a man. Felicity
wondered how the earl would react if he discovered how much time she spent with
Mr. Frakes.

Not
that Lord Sommersby had any reason to be jealous. Mr. Frakes did not have the
earl’s physical assets. His light brown hair was rather thin on top, even
though he was not as advanced in years as Mr. Thornton, who still possessed a
full head of hair. Nor did Mr. Frakes have the earl's imposing build, but she
supposed that was not unusual in a man who spent his days inside with books and
papers.

Aside
from his voice, his eyes were quite the nicest thing about Mr. Frakes. Dark
brown, they bore a sincerity and appealing openness, suggesting that Mr. Frakes
would not be at a loss for words when it came to expressing his feelings.
Felicity wished the earl had a bit of that openness. She had no idea whether
the man held her in any affection or regard. He was quite remote.

The
woman who merited Mr. Frakes's adoration would be very lucky, Felicity decided.
She suspected he felt emotions deeply and would not shy from making them known.
Felicity suspected that whoever married Mr. Frakes would bask in his loving and
passionate attention for the rest of her days.

Sighing,
she adjusted her position on the divan and eyed him wistfully as he began to
read once more.

***

"What
is wrong with these people?"

"If
you are referring to our tenant, Isabella, it is clear that he is a man of
principle."

"I
have no use for a man who does not claim his pleasure where he finds it."