The Perfect Bride (26 page)

This
statement called forth more tears from his betrothed. Helplessly, Simon eyed
Miss Fitzhugh.

"Felicity!"
she said sharply.

"He
has abandoned me,” Miss Biddle said, dabbing at her eyes. “I should have known
better. You were right after all, Amanda. This is what comes from indulging in
silly romantical fantasies."

Simon
stared at his fiancée in dawning amazement. "Do you mean to say that you
formed an attachment to the man I hired to organize my collection?"

He
waited for a denial. None came. "I do not understand," he said at
last.

"What
do you not understand, Lord Sommersby?" Miss Fitzhugh said crisply.
"The fact that Felicity formed a compelling attraction for someone other
than you, or the fact that such attractions can exist at all?"

This,
Simon realized, was dangerous territory. If he did not mistake the matter, he
was on the verge of supplanting the hapless Frakes as the object of the ladies’
anger. It would not be the first time a fact-finding mission blundered into battle.

"I
understand, Miss Fitzhugh, that women are prone to unpredictable fancies."
Simon spoke slowly, with the exaggerated patience one might use with a small
child. "It is the man's responsibility to ensure that reason rules. That
is what I am trying to do now."

"
Fancies
?"
she echoed in disbelief. "There is nothing fanciful about love, my
lord."

Simon’s
patience evaporated. “I suppose you expect me to yield to your extensive
knowledge of the subject."

The
moment the words were out, he regretted them.

Amazement,
then fury filled her gaze and appeared to leave her momentarily speechless. It
was fortunate, he thought, that the misericorde hung elsewhere. She would no
doubt have run him through with it.

Simon
switched tactics. “Reason must rule in human relations,” he said in a
mollifying tone. “What you call love is nothing but an excess of the more
primitive elements of human nature. Those elements must be controlled if one is
to achieve an orderly future."

Miss
Biddle, he noticed, had stopped crying and was staring at them, wide-eyed.

Miss
Fitzhugh recovered her formidable powers of speech. "Reason? Primitive
elements?" She shook her head so vigorously that some of her hairpins were
dislodged. "I thought that I had done myself a disservice by shunning
sentiment for all these years but
you
, sir, are worse than I ever
was."

"I
have had no cause to regret adherence to my principles." Simon watched in fascination
as several locks of Miss Fitzhugh’s hair tumbled down to her shoulders.

"Your
discipline is to be commended."

Was
that sarcasm he heard in her voice?

"Unfortunately,”
she continued, “not everyone — especially we pitiable females — possesses your
iron will.”

Most
definitely sarcasm.

“I
wonder that you do not simply decide to keep to your own company for the rest
of your days, my lord,” she added. “Then you will never be disappointed."

"That
would make it difficult to set up my nursery," Simon replied. "Unless
you know of some other way to achieve that goal —"

"Ah.”
Miss Fitzhugh turned to her cousin. “You see, Felicity? We women are useful for
something, it seems.”

“I
—” Miss Biddle began.

But
Miss Fitzhugh was once again focused on Simon. “If it is a breeder you want, why
do you not simply hire a woman off the streets to bear your children? That
would doubtless be more efficient. And you would not have to bother giving her
a Season."

Miss
Biddle gasped.

"Nor
would you have to worry about the intrusion of excessive sentiment or something
as nasty and primitive as passion —"

"Amanda!"
All tears were forgotten as Miss Biddle eyed her cousin in astonishment.
"I have never heard you speak this way. Whatever is the matter?"

But
Miss Fitzhugh was beyond reaching. Riveted, Simon watched as, with a toss of
her head that freed several more hairpins, she shot him a final disdainful
glare and swept from the parlor like a queen who had just savaged her mortal
enemy.

And
indeed, he did feel savaged. Ripped to shreds by a woman who did not know how
to mince words. He had no doubt that if Amanda Fitzhugh had possessed a sabre,
she would have run him through with it.

Part
of him demanded that he follow and force her to explain why a woman who had
offered herself to him so breathlessly just last night now disdained him so
completely. He would force her to admit that she wanted him as much as he
wanted her.

The
uncivilized part of him wanted her, he amended, the part capable of primitive
urges. Simon had always been able to restrain those urges — until now. As he
eyed the door through which Miss Fitzhugh had so recently sailed, her rebellious
hair trailing tantalizingly over her shoulders, he wondered whether the battle
was not already lost. With a great deal of effort, he told himself that he
would not go after her. He would not.

"Lord
Sommersby?"

The
quiet, tentative voice of his betrothed dimly penetrated his brain. He turned
and saw Miss Biddle staring at him uncertainly. Simon took a deep breath.

"Miss
Biddle," he acknowledged. He
had
neglected her, he realized. Perhaps
he had even been cold. As to that charge, Miss Fitzhugh had perhaps hit the
mark.

Simon
cleared his throat. "I fear I have been insensitive. Perhaps you would
care to start anew and tell me about this Mr. Frakes."

She
nodded. Warily, Simon eyed his fiancée’s tear-stained face, hoping she was not
about to cry again.

"I
gather that the two of you have, ah, became somewhat...close?"

At
that, Miss Biddle burst into tears anew. As she buried her face in her soggy
handkerchief, Simon wondered how he had ever thought the task of securing a
bride to be a simple, straightforward mission.

Waterloo
had never seemed so inviting.

***

Lady
Biddle shook her head and for the sixth time that morning eyed her husband in
tight-lipped disapproval. "I cannot imagine why you left Felicity and
Amanda in that castle with two unmarried men, one a known rake. Think of the
scandal if this became common knowledge!"

"I
trust that it will not become common knowledge," Sir Thomas said, weary of
the harangue that had begun upon his arrival in Mayfield and had continued
steadily since they left home yesterday on their journey to Sommersby Castle.
He suspected his wife had chosen to attack him to cover her discomfort at the
scene he had interrupted in her sitting room and which they had yet to discuss.
"Besides," he added churlishly, "Felicity has Amanda as her chaperon."

Lady
Biddle rolled her eyes. "And who, pray, is to chaperon Amanda and protect
her from that horrid Claridge? Can you answer that?"

Sir
Thomas frowned. "Why would Amanda need a chaperon? Did you not tell me she
was beyond all that? She has been a spinster for years, after all."

"But
she is an unmarried woman nevertheless. And Claridge has already demonstrated
the fact that he desires her. I do not know why you took it into your head to
leave the girls at that man's mercy while you came to see about my ankle. I was
in perfectly good hands with Dr. Greenfield."

"I
daresay," Sir Thomas muttered.

Lady
Biddle cast him a curious look. "You were very rude to him, you
know."

That,
he decided, was too much to bear. "It is my right," he said evenly,
"to be rude to any man whom I discover in my wife's private sitting room
caressing her foot as if it were the answer to all his prayers."

A
coughing fit suddenly seized his wife. Sir Thomas glared at her, unable to
decide whether she was sputtering in laughter or indignation. When she could
speak, her voice bore a melodious tone that sounded suspiciously like the
former. "Richard was only examining my foot, dear. He is a doctor, after
all."

"Doctor
or no, `Richard' was fondling your foot as rapturously as I have seen any man
touch a woman," Sir Thomas growled. "And you were not attended by a
maid at the time." He glared at her. "Do you think me an utter fool,
Eloise? I should have killed him on the spot. Now I suppose it will have to
wait until we return."

Lady
Biddle paled, all hint of amusement gone from her features. As the carriage
rounded a curve, she clutched the seat nervously. "Thomas," she said
uneasily, "I think we should talk about this."

"Talk?"
He eyed her scornfully. "How much talking did you manage with the good
doctor?"

"It
was not like that," she insisted. "Perhaps he is overly attentive,
but Richard — Dr. Greenfield — only has my best interests in mind. He truly
adores
healing..."

Her
voice trailed off at her husband’s look of cold fury.

"Let
me be plain, Eloise,” he said. “After we pluck the girls from that moldy castle
and rescue them from the potential scandal that no doubt accrues from my
abysmal lapse in judgment, we shall go forthwith to London, where you yourself
shall see to the matter of Felicity's Season. I will not have the
responsibility of launching our youngest fobbed off on Amanda simply because
Felicity's mother prefers the hands of the neighborhood quack."

He
ignored her shocked gasp. "Furthermore, I do not now — nor ever — intend
to share my wife with another man. If that is too much for you to abide by, I
shall not scruple to send a divorce petition to Parliament."

"Thomas!"
she cried.

"Any
notoriety that might result," he continued, as if she had not spoken, "is
preferable in my view to spending the remainder of my days wondering if my wife
was playing me for a fool."

"I
have never been unfaithful to you," she protested. "Never have I
given you cause to make such accusations!"

Sir
Thomas leveled a gaze at her. "Think again, Eloise. Think about that scene
I happened on in your room. Think about the good doctor's `healing' hands, the
predatory look in his eye, that rapturous smile on his face."

His
voice lowered. "What do you imagine would have happened had I not arrived
when I did? Can you tell me that, Eloise?"

The
acknowledgment in her eyes was painful to see. Lady Biddle bowed her head.
"I did not think about that, Thomas."

"No?"
Disbelief filled his eyes. "I think you did, my dear. I think you sent me
away to Sommersby with the girls because you wanted to find out what would
happen. And you almost did find out, but for my untimely arrival."

His
smile was bitter. "Tell me, Eloise, do you regret that it went
unfinished?"

She
shook her head. A single tear rolled down her cheek, but it was followed by no
heart-rending sobs. His wife had never resorted to cowardly female tactics and
for that, Sir Thomas guessed, he should be thankful. At the moment, however, he
felt anything but. He wanted only to shake her until she could explain to him
why he was not husband enough for her.

Sommersby
Castle rose on the near horizon, however. With a heavy sigh, Sir Thomas turned
his thoughts away from the woman at his side and toward whatever disastrous
situation awaited within those ancient stone walls.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Amanda
stared at herself in the mirror, seeing a woman she no longer recognized. Her
hair fell wildly around her shoulders. Her lungs took in great gulps of air,
but they didn’t calm her so much as feed the panic that had followed her out of
Lord Sommersby’s parlor.

She
knew she had to leave. Almost overnight, her contented spinster's existence had
been shattered by a man who did not even suspect he had turned her world upside
down.

That
Felicity imagined herself infatuated with Stephen Frakes changed nothing, for
Amanda suspected her cousin would come to her senses once the full import of
Mr. Frakes's departure settled in. The feckless young man had obviously preyed
on Felicity's romantic illusions, then prudently taken himself off after
considering the consequences of dallying with the earl of Sommersby's
betrothed.

Amanda
had no doubt that Lord Sommersby still considered himself bound to Felicity. He
was a man who honored his commitments, who would not be swayed from his course
by something as irrational as anger or jealousy. Lord Sommersby was a man of
reason.

Reason.
Amanda had come to despise that word, for it constantly reminded her of her own
failings. As much as she endeavored to learn from past mistakes and purge
herself of irrational thoughts and deeds, she still came up short. Had she made
so little progress since Vauxhall? Had she learned nothing at all in eight
years?

Precious
little, it seemed. Her every sense tingled in the earl's presence. She could not
even speak to him without wondering what thoughts lay behind that enigmatic
gaze.