The Perfect Bride (28 page)

She
gasped. Simon was instantly ashamed.

"My
apologies,” he said. “That was poorly done."

The
look Miss Fitzhugh gave him did not exactly suggest his apology was accepted. "Perhaps
war has inured you to heinous acts,” she said quietly, “but I confess that
contemplating that man's horrible death makes me ill. Who could have done such
a thing?"

"The
king’s devoted wife and her lover," he said dryly. "Edward had deprived
Isabella of her estates and bestowed them on a court favorite. She left for
France and raised an army with Mortimer. Together, they deposed Edward in favor
of his son and imprisoned the king here."

Miss
Fitzhugh looked around the darkened chamber, which was suffused with the air of
decay. The air was still, stagnant.

"`Tis
said that as punishment, the ghosts of Isabella and Mortimer must remain in the
castle for all time, listening to Edward's screams." Simon gave the room
one last look. “It is only a silly legend, of course. Shall we move on?"

A
sudden, cold draft blew by them. Miss Fitzhugh shivered, and Simon tried not to
contemplate warming her in his arms.

"What
a vengeful woman Isabella must have been," Miss Fitzhugh said, absently
pushing back a strand of hair that had come loose from its pins. But another sharp
gust whipped it into her face, and she recoiled at the sting.

"I
imagine she did not care for Edward's tendency to bestow his affection — and
her wealth — on his court favorites," Simon said.

"But
surely it is not unusual for a king to have mistresses," Miss Fitzhugh
said. In the lantern’s glow, Simon could not see whether she was blushing.

He
cleared his throat. "The king's favorites were not, er, female."

“Oh.”

Now
he was quite certain she was blushing.

"Isabella
must have been deeply distressed to lose her husband's attentions in such a
manner," she said gamely as they left the room.

"Insulted,
more likely," Simon rejoined. "The king made no pretense of holding
her in affection."

"How
ironic that they — and Mortimer — are joined together in eternity."

He
eyed her in surprise. "You speak as though you believe in our ghostly
trio."

"I
would not have said so, but neither would I have imagined my actions of the
last few days." She sighed. "I have no choice but to conclude that I
know very little about the world and perhaps even less about myself."

Simon
did not know what to make of that statement. He hoped they were not about to
have another discussion of weighty personal matters, for it was utterly foreign
to his nature. There was much to be said, he thought wearily, for the unexamined
life. Alas, Miss Fitzhugh clearly thought otherwise.

And
yet, he could not avert his gaze from her velvet brown eyes, which were
suddenly, unexpectedly, filled with remorse.  

"I
apologize for my intemperate words earlier today, my lord,” she said. “I do not
know what has come over me lately."

Simon
hesitated, torn between acknowledging the events anew and his intense desire
not to examine the unsettling currents that lay beneath them. It was, he knew,
a cowardly view, but better than abandoning all sense of duty and honor, which
is where those currents had been headed.

“I
regret causing you distress,” he said carefully.

“Thank
you,” she replied quietly. “But I am largely to blame for my own distress. All
these years I have nurtured an image of myself that apparently is quite
wrongheaded. The person I thought I was turns out to have been a fraud.”

Her
honesty wrapped around some heretofore unknown place deep within him. In that
moment, Simon knew that as much as his desire for Amanda Fitzhugh — and it was
desire, he was forced to admit — stemmed from her physical charms, it was her
mature grace that truly captivated him. In acknowledging her flaws, she fearlessly
embraced a humanity that in no way diminished her.

He
had never known a woman like her. That realization had been dancing around the
edges of his awareness for days. He’d simply had no wish to explore it. Nor did
he wish to now, exactly, but she had opened that metaphorical door and the air that
rushed in was thick with unresolved forces.

Fortunately,
a real door — and its creaking hinges — recalled him to the task at hand. Behind
them, the tower door had opened a crack and Simon turned to shut it more firmly.

Self-discovery
would have to wait, thank the gods. Their joint mission was to find his fiancée.
He had an additional mission: to remember that he had one.

CHAPTER TWENTY

The
more Amanda thought about it, the more convinced she became that Felicity had
taken to the tunnels. Had not her cousin envisioned the cave as a temporary
hideaway in the event of her elopement? With Felicity's sense of drama, it
would be just like her to seclude herself in the secret refuge she would have
had with Stephen Frakes. Amanda suspected they would find her cousin this very
night, nursing a broken heart in what was to have been their underground bower.

She
did not understand how Felicity could form a heart-wrenching affection for Mr.
Frakes in so short a time. But then, she reasoned, Lord Sommersby had made an
indelible imprint on her own emotions. Perhaps time meant nothing set against
the yearnings of the heart.

Yearnings
and love were not necessarily the same, though, as she had discovered years ago
and as Felicity was learning now. To avoid a lifetime of misery, her cousin
must set aside those feckless longings, as Amanda had learned to do.

And
yet, as Amanda stood contemplating the door to her wardrobe, she heard an
internal voice taunting as useless her efforts to set aside her feelings for
Lord Sommersby.

Part
of her fervently hoped that when she and the earl searched the tunnel tonight,
Felicity would be waiting for them, ready to give up her childish behavior and
return to her betrothed. The other part of her prayed that Stephen Frakes would
return to claim Felicity as his bride.

The
knock at her bedroom door was polite, firm, purposeful. Lord Sommersby had
given her time to refresh herself and, like the meticulous military officer he
was — or had been — appeared promptly at the appointed time.

Amanda
opened the door. The lantern he held illuminated the chiseled planes of his
face, the firm jaw, the gaze that flared briefly before retreating into a blankness
that told her no hidden passions could possibly lurk behind that flat expression.
It was at odds, perhaps, with the mane of red hair that suggested wild, untamed
impulses lurked just beneath the surface of those flat seas, but Amanda knew
that was an illusion. The Earl of Sommersby would never allow desire to taint
the honor he bore so unwaveringly on his broad shoulders.

Hope
shriveled in her breast.

***

Simon
tried not to stare at the four-poster bed in Amanda Fitzhugh's chamber. Once
before he had carried her to that bed, albeit under vastly different
circumstances. He could still envision her in the dressing gown she had worn
the night she had injured her ankle. Though her hair was now pinned back
neatly, his mind’s eye saw that silky curtain falling loose around her
shoulders as he cradled her in his arms. He remembered the feel of her skin as
his fingers examined her bare ankle.

Tonight,
of course, she was quite properly clothed in the high-buttoned muslin frock
she’d worn earlier in the day. She had wrapped a soft blue shawl around her
shoulders against the tunnel’s damp.

Simon
forced his attention to the matter at hand. He took approving note of the extra
candles she had assembled. She opened the door to the wardrobe, and he stepped
into it, inspecting with satisfaction the much sturdier bolt he had quietly ordered
installed on the back panel the day he had ordered Julian to leave.

By
the time he turned to her once more, he was able to throw her a briskly
impersonal glance and growl a terse order to stay by his side, as the footing
in the tunnel was uneven.

She
was not one of his men, of course, and he ought not to bark orders at her. "I
shall go first," he added gruffly. "It would not do for you to injure
yourself again."

Strangely,
she said nothing. Simon wasn’t sure he preferred that to the woman who
challenged him at every turn, but it served the mission tonight.

It
appeared to be the first time she had seen the heavier latch. "My
goodness,” she said, inspecting it. “Tis a wonder you did not also put armed
guards at my door. Was this truly necessary?”

"Creatures
reside in these tunnels, madam,” he replied, sliding the bolt open. “Bats,
snakes, perhaps even bears. You should not risk —"

"Lord
Sommersby," she interrupted, amusement in her voice, "neither bat nor
snake has the power to open that door. And if you truly thought a bear prowled
these tunnels, I daresay you would not take us further."

Simon
ignored that as he started into the tunnel, then turned to assist her. She took
a tentative step that made him wonder whether she had abandoned use of the cane
prematurely.

As
they made their way, Simon held the lantern while she lit the candles and
placed them on small outcroppings along  the way. Their goal was the larger chamber
that the four of them had explored on the recent tunnel outing.

Grateful
for the distraction of the uneven footing, Simon reached back to help her over
a few precarious spots. Once, he caught her lightly about the waist and lifted
her lightly over a pile of stones. The intimate knowledge this exercise
afforded — that she did not wear a corset — provided an altogether different
type of distraction.

Duty,
honor, obligation. As he inhaled her scent and contemplated her curious
combination of strength and vulnerability, he mentally recited those words to
himself. They would keep distractions at bay. They always had.

As
he eased them through a particularly narrow part of the tunnel, his arm accidentally
brushed her breast, and she inhaled sharply. He debated whether to apologize,
then reasoned that to speak of it would embarrass her further and acknowledge what
should best go unacknowledged. He was enormously relieved when they emerged at
last into the spacious cavern area.

There,
on a moldy pallet sat his betrothed. A dozen candles blazed nearby. A small bag
and other supplies rested beside her. Miss Biddle had obviously been prepared
for an extensive stay.

"Good
evening, Amanda, Lord Sommersby," she said, seemingly unsurprised to see
them. "Or is it good morning? One cannot tell night from day in this
place."

"Felicity!
Whatever are you about?" Miss Fitzhugh demanded.

Miss
Biddle frowned. "Why must I be `about' anything, Amanda? I should think it
perfectly acceptable for a lady to slip away by herself to do some
thinking."

"We
have been looking everywhere for you!" Miss Fitzhugh stared at her
incredulously. "Your parents are here, and they are extremely worried. I
have told them about Mr. Frakes."

A
shadow crossed Miss Biddle's delicate features. "Mama must be beside
herself thinking that I have done something rash." She smiled
apologetically. "I suppose I have been very foolish."

"’Tis
wonderful to hear you say so, dear,” Miss Fitzhugh said, looking relieved.

A
look passed between them. Miss Fitzhugh extended her hand to her cousin. “Come,
dearest. Lord Sommersby will make you an inestimable husband. I am glad to see
you have put that other episode behind you."

Miss
Biddle smoothed her skirts, then rose. "I quite agree, Amanda. The earl
will make an excellent husband."

Simon
did not particularly like being talked about as if he were some inanimate rock
formation. He stepped forward. "Miss Biddle, nothing that has happened has
diminished my respect and admiration for you," he said, knowing that that
much, at least, was true. "You have made me very happy by agreeing to be
my bride." More difficulty with that one, but his duty was clear.

Miss
Biddle beamed. "Then it is all settled. Shall we return to the
castle?"

Miss
Fitzhugh slanted her a gaze. “Did you not worry about any creatures that be
about?”

“Not
at all,” Miss Biddle said easily as they made their way back through the tunnel.
“Oh, there was the odd fluttering of wings — bats, I suppose — but they are
really quite harmless.”

Simon
had the distinct feeling he was missing something. His betrothed bore no
resemblance to the young lady who had been so distraught over that fellow Frakes's
disappearance. She chatted gaily, nonchalantly, as if they were on a leisurely
stroll through the park. He supposed he should be glad that she had put up no
resistance to returning, but something nagged at him nevertheless.

Finally
they reached the entrance to the wardrobe, and Miss Fitzhugh’s bedroom. Miss
Biddle suddenly touched her neck and gasped.