Undressed by the Earl (7 page)

“You don’t understand. It’s expected of me.”

“Appearances are more important to you than protecting your family’s assets?” she inquired. Though it might be expected of a gentleman, she had the sense that his debts were growing steadily.

Lord Lisford let out a heavy sigh. “Appearances are necessary for maintaining a standard to which others aspire.”

In other words, he wanted to look good in front of his friends and was willing to bury himself in debt for the sake of it.

Amelia took his arm again and said, “If you wish to marry an heiress, then you’ll have to give up such nonsense. Why would she want to let you control her money, if you’ve been whittling it away?” She didn’t give him an opportunity to answer, but continued, “Prove yourself responsible, and more doors will open to you.”

“And what of you? Would you marry a reformed wastrel?”

Amelia sent him a sidelong smile. “Only if he earned my heart.”

Lord Lisford’s expression turned somber as he turned the corner. The phaeton moved smoothly as they continued down the opposite banks of the river. “I am sorry about what happened with your sister, you know. That was wrong of me. But it would have been worse to marry her.”

“It was a dreadful thing to do,” Amelia said. “And you should make amends for it.”

His mouth twisted. “There’s nothing I could say that would bring about her forgiveness. My actions were reprehensible.”

“Once she is wedded to another man, she’ll put it behind her,” Amelia predicted. “And I know just the earl who would suit Margaret perfectly. You could help me make a match for her.”

Lord Lisford listened to her plan, and by the time they had finished their drive, she was smiling. Before long, both the Earl of Castledon and Margaret would have their happily-ever-after.

Amelia would see to it personally.

Henry Andrews rose at half past eight, staring at the empty place beside him in bed. Though he knew it was fashionable for wives to have their own adjoining bedchambers, he rather missed Beatrice sleeping beside him. They had been married for nearly twenty-eight years now, but somehow in the past few summers, she’d become more distant.

Part of it was because he’d been away at war for so long. Beatrice had been forced to fend for herself, making the decisions about their estates and the girls’ lives. It was to be expected that she would gain a stronger sense of independence.

Yet after he’d returned, he’d thought their lives would resume as if he’d never left, like pieces of a puzzle snapped together. Instead, the edges wouldn’t quite fit. Beatrice was no longer the quiet, obedient wife. They’d had a terrible fight over the scandalous sewing business his girls had started. He’d demanded that they cease at once, and to his shock, Beatrice had refused.

“You left us on our own,”
she’d told him.
“And you have no right to criticize what our girls did to survive it.”

Even now, the thought of his daughters selling unmentionables—seductive ones at that—was enough to make Henry reach for the brandy. He’d believed they would end Aphrodite’s Unmentionables immediately. Instead, his defiant wife had continued her role overseeing the crofters’ creations, as if she were unaware of the social consequences of being discovered.

She was a baroness—not a courtesan. But no matter how he argued with Beatrice, she refused to discuss it.

Worse, she’d stopped sleeping beside him, and although she’d continued to follow her duties as Lady Lanfordshire, something had changed between them. There was an intangible distance that he couldn’t grasp or understand…almost as if she’d fallen out of love with him. They existed together, but her heart no longer belonged to him. And damn it all, he hadn’t the faintest idea how to change that.

He rather wondered if anyone had written an instructional guide to reviving one’s marriage. For his was certainly on its deathbed.

After his valet finished helping him to dress, Henry went to the adjoining door of his wife’s bedroom. He pressed his ear against the door and heard the faint sounds of conversation. Good. That meant Beatrice was awake.

Henry knocked upon the door, and momentarily her maid answered it. Glancing behind her, she said, “Forgive me, Lord Lanfordshire, but my lady is still abed. Was there something you needed?”

Yes. He needed to speak with his wife without a door between them.

“She is not still abed,” he remarked. “I overheard her talking with you.”

The maid blushed, but added, “That is true, but she is not ready to receive you. She bid me to say that she will see you at breakfast.”

For God’s sake, this was his
wife
. It was his right to push the door open and talk with Beatrice whenever he damn well pleased. But he sensed that barging in would only cool her demeanor toward him, and that wasn’t what he wanted.

He grasped the door handle and closed the door in the maid’s face. This situation had grown more ridiculous with each passing day. For twenty years, he’d slept in his wife’s bed. On the journey here from Scotland, she’d wanted separate rooms. Separate! As if she couldn’t bear to breathe the same air as him.

His temples were beginning to throb with a headache, and he went to sit at his writing desk. During the war, he’d been an officer. As a colonel, he’d presented quite a few battle strategies to the generals, and he was no stranger to warfare.

He took out paper and a quill and realized that this situation was no different. There had to be a correlation between a battle and a marriage. Both required peace terms, and it was clear that Beatrice believed she had the upper hand.

Not so.

Henry’s quill began to move over the paper, outlining the various methods of attack. In warfare, the troops needed to scout the enemy’s whereabouts and understand their actions. It seemed a reasonable course of action to shadow his wife. He hadn’t the faintest notion of what she did all day, but perhaps he could spy on Beatrice and thereby understand her better. With women, actions spoke far louder than words.

Satisfied with the results, Henry decided that today he would make a concerted effort to rediscover his wife. He had mistakenly believed that all was well between them, when, in fact, it was not.

But here, in London, they could make a fresh start. And Henry fully intended to enlist the help of his daughters.

Chapter
T
hree

D
avid stepped inside the foyer of the Andrews residence and gave his gloves and hat to the footman. The butler, Mr. Culpepper, was a portly man with a gray mustache and a beard. His expression was grave as he led David inside. “Miss Amelia Andrews and her mother are expecting you.”

He followed the butler toward a small parlor and was surprised to see Lord Lanfordshire standing in the hallway. The man appeared to be eavesdropping for some odd reason.

“My lord.” David greeted the baron, but Amelia’s father only shook his head and waved him onward. Why in the world the older man was lurking about instead of joining them was uncertain. The butler only lifted a finger to his lips and beckoned for David to join the ladies inside.

The parlor was a cozy room with creamy wallpaper and long green drapes to frame the large windows. He bowed to the ladies, greeting Lady Lanfordshire first. “I trust you had a good journey from Scotland?”

“It was wretched, as always.” She smiled, gesturing for him to sit. “Thank you for coming to tea with Amelia and me.”

He took a seat across from them and saw the gleam of strategy in the young woman’s face. Amelia was clearly plotting something, and he wasn’t certain what that was. “It was my pleasure.”

Lady Lanfordshire began with a banal conversation about the weather and travel conditions, but all of his concentration was on Amelia. She was wearing a deep blue gown, and her blond hair was pulled back into a chignon, though several strands were artfully arranged about her face.

There was no denying her beauty. Her green eyes held mischief, as if she knew a secret he didn’t.

Too young
, his brain warned. Even so, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. David forced himself to reply to Lady Lanfordshire’s questions, but Amelia withdrew a scrap of paper from behind a cushion, letting him silently know that she’d received his list. Her eyes shone with amusement, and he raised an eyebrow at her.

Do you really think I’ll pay any heed to this list?
her eyes seemed to say.

It’s for your own good
, he responded silently.

When Lady Lanfordshire offered him a piece of cake, he declined politely, keeping to his tea. Amelia, however, closed her eyes when she took a bite, savoring the taste. She appeared lost in a moment of reverence, while she enjoyed the moist cake with currants.

He’d seen that look on a woman’s face before, and it reminded him of how many years it had been since he’d shared his wife’s bed. It was unnerving to find himself so intrigued by Amelia’s response.

“If I may, Mother,” Amelia began, “I wanted you to meet Lord Castledon because I believe he would make an excellent husband for Margaret.”

Lady Lanfordshire nearly spewed her tea across the saucer. Instead, she coughed, raising a handkerchief to her lips. “Goodness, Amelia, you needn’t be so forward. Lord Castledon certainly has no need of your matchmaking.”

Miss Andrews ignored her mother. “He is five-and-thirty, and—”

“Three-and-thirty,” he corrected. He didn’t need her adding years to his age.

“Yes, well, he’s not too old for her yet. He’s a nice gentleman, and I believe they would get on quite well.”

Lady Lanfordshire closed her eyes as if seeking patience from a higher power. “Amelia, dearest, this is not the way a young woman should behave in front of an earl.” She sent him an embarrassed smile. “I understand you have a daughter, am I right, Lord Castledon?”

It was a blatant tactic to change the conversation topic.

“I do.” Clearly Lady Lanfordshire had no idea that he and Amelia had already conversed about potential wives. Steering the conversation back, he added, “And it is Christine’s fondest wish that I remarry and give her a mother.”

The matron’s expression softened. “How old is your daughter?”

“Eleven years old,” he admitted. “I should have remarried long before now, since I do need an heir. And yet, I couldn’t quite bring myself to do so.” He saw the sympathetic dismay on Lady Lanfordshire’s face. “Miss Andrews offered to help me find some suitable candidates.”

The older woman sighed. “Amelia ought to mind her own affairs instead of meddling with others.”

“I’m very good at meddling,” Amelia interjected. “And I do get results.”

That she did. David raised an eyebrow at her, and she sent back a secretive smile. He reached for his teacup. “Shall I assume that this was the reason you invited me here?”

“Actually, it was because I wanted to introduce you to my mother so that she’ll side with me about your being a good match with Margaret.”

Before the baroness could reply, David pulled out the list Amelia had sent and handed it to her. “And what do you think of these young ladies, Lady Lanfordshire?”

The matron accepted the list, sending a warning look toward Amelia. “All of them come from good families. But I’m not certain how well they would do as a stepmother to your daughter.” She began going down each name, listing the attributes of each. Amelia took a sip of her tea, presumably feigning obedience.

He hardly heard a word Lady Lanfordshire said. He was watching the way Amelia’s hands moved over the cup, and how her lips touched the porcelain rim. She sent him an impish smile when she caught him staring, and it was like a bullet to his brain.

Stop looking at her. She’s not for you.

He wanted an older woman, someone who could help him rear Christine and teach her to be a young lady. Not someone who would train his daughter how to be rebellious.

“In summary, I believe that either Miss Harrow or Miss Pearson would be an excellent choice for you,” Lady Lanfordshire finished.

“Not your own daughter?” he prompted, stealing another look at Amelia.

“Margaret has expressed a reluctance to marry,” she admitted. “After what that horrid Lord Lisford did to her, it’s no wonder.”

“He’s not a blackguard,” Amelia argued. “He simply made wrong choices.”

David finished his tea and replaced the cup, giving Lady Lanfordshire his full attention. “I must agree with you, Lady Lanfordshire. The man is indeed a rake, and I should hate to see any of your daughters associated with the likes of him.”

All of the humor disappeared from Amelia’s face, and she sent him a furious glare. David met her gaze coolly. Was she honestly expecting him to take her side in this? He knew Charles Newport well enough. The man was irresponsible and had a reputation for draining money from his family. He’d sooner see Amelia wedded to a wolf than a man like the viscount.

“I quite agree,” her mother echoed.

But the tight look on Amelia’s face held more than anger. Her fists were clenched against the cushions, and she looked ready to tell him to go to the devil.

He sent her a smile, but in her eyes, he saw war brewing.

Amelia stood inside the ballroom, fuming inwardly. She knew that she ought not to say anything to Lord Castledon. A proper lady like Margaret would never dream of it. But even three days later, she was still angry with him for insinuating to her mother that Lord Lisford was a bad marital choice. True, the viscount had made countless mistakes. But she had caught a glimpse of a good man on their drive the other morning. Beneath his practiced words and suave manner was a man in great need of a woman’s love.

Amelia believed, in her heart, that she could help Charles Newport. He could be redeemed, even after all that he’d done.

Her sister Victoria, the Duchess of Worthingstone, was hosting tonight’s soirée, and Amelia had managed an invitation for Lady Sarah, though she hadn’t told Toria why. If somehow Lady Sarah met the gentleman of her dreams, it would solve everything. Assuming the woman didn’t resort to blackmail.

Logic told her to inform the Duke of Worthingstone. He could have Lady Sarah brought up on charges of blackmail, if needed. But, as the woman had said, there was no tangible proof.

Once again, Amelia dug deep with her instincts, trying to determine the woman’s character. Lady Sarah didn’t seem to be the sort of person who would resort to criminal behavior—more of a woman trying to escape a fate she didn’t want.

Please let this end
, Amelia prayed. Having a conversation with her sisters about a possible scandal that would drag all of their names into ruin was the very last thing she needed. She wanted to handle it herself, and perhaps if Lady Sarah won her freedom, all would be well.

It was early, and the dancing had not yet begun. Many of the guests mingled in the ballroom, while others were enjoying the unseasonably warm weather out of doors. Thus far, she hadn’t seen Lady Sarah, but that didn’t mean the woman wasn’t already here.

Amelia crossed the stone terrace and spied Lord Castledon. He was standing on the bottom step of the terrace that led out to a walled garden. As always, he wore black. She doubted if the man had a single color in his wardrobe. As soon as he saw her, he gave a slight bow. “Miss Andrews.”

Amelia beckoned for him to walk with her, not wanting to cause a scene. When they were a short distance away from the other guests, she asked, “Why did you side with my mother against Lord Lisford?”

“Do we really have to have this conversation now?” he countered. “It’s a lovely evening, and your sister was gracious enough to invite me to her home. Perhaps you should consult the list I gave you and speak to one of those gentlemen.”

Amelia tried to gather her patience, but she was so frustrated, she couldn’t bear to be patronized. “I gave
you
a list of young ladies in good faith. Any one of them would be perfect to serve as a wife and mother to your daughter. I tried to help you, but you—”

“I helped you as well.” He cut her off, offering her his arm. “I simply added a few names by way of warning.”

She took a deep breath, realizing that he was completely unaware of how he’d sabotaged her during their tea. Or possibly, he was indifferent to the damage he’d done.

“I have been in love with Charles Newport for the past four years,” she informed him. Though “love” was probably too strong of a word, it sounded better than to admit she had pined for him in the corner. “I know the sort of man he is, and I believe he can change his ways,” she finished.

“No. You don’t love him.” His tone suddenly went dark, and his expression turned cold in a way she’d never seen before. Amelia stopped walking. She’d never seen him angry before, and his affable manner had vanished. “You don’t know the meaning of love.”

She was about to argue, but he wouldn’t allow her to speak. “You believe love is about silly words and compliments.”

“No, I don’t—”

“You know nothing of what it is.” Now there was more in his voice than anger. It was a bleakness, a sense that he’d locked away years of grief. Never before had she caught a glimpse of the man behind his mask of loss. Lord Castledon had always been a brooding sort, but this was different.

In his piercing blue eyes, she saw a man who was furious with the world and with her. He looked nothing like a man with the personality of a handkerchief or a man who remained on the outskirts, like a wall hedge. He took a step forward, staring down at her as if he resented the ground she walked upon.

“Love is holding the hand of the woman you worship, praying to God that the next breath won’t be her last. It’s watching her waste away, unable to eat or drink, and praying for a miracle that doesn’t happen.” His mouth was tight with such desolation, she wondered how many years he’d held it all inside. “It’s wondering how you’ll ever manage a single minute without her…and knowing that you’ll have to, for the sake of the child she gave you.”

Her throat closed up, and there were no words that would ease him. Amelia felt the edge of tears threatening, and she finally managed to say, “I’m sorry for what happened. But do you think this is the life Lady Castledon would have wanted for you and your daughter? Hiding away from the world?”

The rigid tension in his jaw never softened. “I never wanted this life at all. I still don’t want another wife. Katherine can’t be replaced by anyone.”

“I’m certain the ladies on that list will be glad to hear of it,” she said quietly. “Knowing that they will forever be confined to the ground while the memory of your first wife rests on a pedestal.”

It was cruel, but after he’d struck out at her own dreams, she couldn’t stop herself.

“You’re too young to understand,” he countered. “Go on, then. Make a fool of yourself in front of a man who hasn’t a responsible bone in his body.”

“I don’t know why you’re even bothering to make pretenses.” Amelia crossed her arms and regarded him. “If you don’t want another wife, then don’t marry. Send your daughter to live with an aunt or someone who will show her how to be a young lady.” Softening her tone, she suggested, “Margaret could teach her every last rule of society. But you needn’t wed her for that.”

His expression didn’t change. “I thought your sister’s name was on the list of candidates.”

Amelia sighed. “Not if you won’t even give her the chance to have a happy marriage. She doesn’t deserve a life where you’re comparing her to Saint Katherine, the Wife Who Could Do No Wrong.”