Читать книгу The Regency Season Collection: Part Two - Кэрол Мортимер, Кэрол Мортимер - Страница 54
ОглавлениеThe note came the seventh day after they had last seen him, a tense and formal missive informing them that Lord Daniel Wylde, the sixth Earl of Montcliffe, would be calling upon them at two in the afternoon.
Amethyst had been watching for him by the large bay window in the downstairs salon and she stiffened as she heard his carriage draw to a stop on the roadway in front of the house. Lord Montcliffe was here. She looked across at her father, his fingers knocking against his side in the particular way he had of showing concern. It did not help at all.
There were tea and biscuits already set out on the table and the finest of brandy in an unopened bottle. Every glass had been meticulously cleaned and snowy-white napkins stood at attention beside the plate of food, well ironed and folded.
‘Lord Daniel Wylde, the Earl of Montcliffe, sir.’ The butler used his sternest voice and made an effort not to look at anyone. Amethyst had instructed him on the exact art of manners before their guest had arrived.
And then the Earl was there, dressed in dark blue, the white cravat tied at his throat in the style of a man who hadn’t put too much care into it. Not a fop or a dandy. She was pleased, at least, for that.
‘Sir.’ He looked at her father. ‘Miss Cameron.’ He did not even deign to glance her way, the anger on his brow eminently visible. The folder that Papa had made ready with the documents outlining the terms of their betrothal was in his hands. Each knuckle was stretched white. ‘I accept.’
He threw the deeds on the table where they sat between the fine brandy and the fresh biscuits.
I accept.
Two words and she was lost into both method and madness; the Cameron fortune would remain intact and her own fate was sealed. For good or for bad. She felt her heart beating loud and heavy and, placing her hand on her breast, she pressed down, wanting this moment to stop and start again as something else.
But of course it did not.
‘You accept?’ Her father’s voice was businesslike and brisk—a trader whose whole life had consisted of brokering arrangements.
The Earl nodded, but the expression on his face was stony. An agreement dragged from the very depths of his despair and nothing to be done about any of it. He knew as little of her as she did of him; two pawns in a game that was played for stakes higher than just their happiness alone. She had always known that, since the pounds had begun to roll into the Cameron coffers from the lucrative timber trade to and from the Americas. Great fortunes always came with a price.
‘You have signed every condition, then?’ Her father again. She thought he sounded just as he did when he was clinching a deal for the sale of a thousand yards of expensive American mahogany and she wondered at his calm and composure. She was his only daughter and again and again in her lifetime her father had insisted that she must marry for love.
Love? Unexpectedly she caught the eyes of the Earl. Today the green was darker and distrusting. Still, even with the stark fury of coercion on his face, Daniel Wylde was the most beautiful man she had ever had the pleasure of looking upon.
Such looks would crucify her, for nobody would believe that he might have freely chosen her as his bride. She swallowed and met his glance. No use going to pieces this late in the game when the joy on her father’s face was tangible. Papa had not appeared as happy for months.
‘This is your choice too, Miss Cameron?’
‘It is, my lord.’ The floor beneath her began to waver, all the lies eliciting a sort of unreality that made her dizzy.
‘You understand the meaning of the documents then?’ he pressed.
‘I do.’ A blush crept up her throat as she thought of the clause stipulating the two years of monogamy. Her father’s addition, that proviso, and though she had argued long and hard with him to remove it, Robert was not to be shifted.
Montcliffe turned away. The stillness she had noticed outside Tattersall’s was magnified here, a man who knew exactly his place in the world and was seldom surprised by anything.
Save for this marriage of convenience.
‘I hope then that the person you placed to look into my financial affairs can be trusted, Mr Cameron. If word were to leak out about my straitened circumstances and this unusual betrothal, I doubt I could protect your daughter from the repercussions.’
‘Mr Alfred Middlemarch, my lawyer, is a model of silence, my lord. Nary a stray word shall be uttered.’
Their parlourmaid knocked timidly at the door, asking if she could come in to pour the tea. The Earl crossed the room to stand by the fireplace and chose brandy for his sustenance. When Hilda filled his glass to a quarter inch from the top Amethyst winced. On reflection, she thought, perhaps such a task was supposed to belong to the lady of the house and she wished she had not instructed the maid to return to do it. It was seldom that they had such lofty visitors and every small detail of service took on an importance that it previously never had.
Was this how she would live her life from now on? she wondered. On the edge of eggshells in case she were to inadvertently place a clumsy foot wrong? The tutors at Gaskell Street had tried their best with the vagaries of manners, but she imagined they had had about as much practice with the higher echelons of London society as she had.
To give Montcliffe some credit he sipped his tipple carefully from the top before placing the glass down on a green baize circle especially designed for such a purpose. She doubted her father had ever used them before, her eyes catching circles of darkness in the white oak where errant drinks had seeped into the patina of the wood.
Blemished, like them, the outward appearance of Papa and herself reflecting a life that had been lived in trade and service, with little time left for the niceties of cultured living. Amethyst wished she had at least gone out and bought a sumptuous dress for this occasion, something that might lift the colour of her skin into lustre.
She smiled at such a nonsense, catching the Earl’s eyes again as she did so. When he looked away she saw that the muscle under his jaw quivered. In distaste? In sympathy? Usually she found people easy to read, but this man was not.
‘I will announce our betrothal in The Times next week, if that is to your liking, Miss Cameron.’
So few days left?
‘Thank you.’ She wished her voice sounded stronger.
‘I should not want a complicated ceremony given our circumstances.’ A slight shame highlighted Daniel Wylde’s cheeks after he said this and it heartened her immensely. He was not a man in the habit of being rude to women, then? She clutched at the cross at her throat and felt relieved.
Her father pressed on with his own ideas. ‘I was thinking we might hold the ceremony here, my lord, with a minister from our Presbyterian church, of course, and any of your family and friends you care to invite. I would have the first of the money promised transferred into your bank account within the week.’
The give and the take of an agreement. Again Daniel Wylde looked at her as if waiting for her to speak. Did he imagine she might stand up and negate all that her father had so carefully planned? Montcliffe had seen just exactly what those who might hurt her father were capable of. Lord, she brought her hand up and felt the scar just beneath the heavy wig at her nape. It still throbbed sometimes in the cold and the headaches had never quite abated.
‘After the nuptials we will repair to my family seat north of Barnet.’
‘No!’ It was the first real alarm Amethyst had felt. ‘I need to be close to Papa and as he is retiring to Dunstan House then this is where I should like us to live...’
‘I am certain we can work something out, my dear.’ Her father now, placating such an outburst.
Again she shook her head, the pulse of her blood beating fast. ‘I want to add a condition that I may live at Dunstan House, though if the Earl wishes to reside at Montcliffe Manor, then he may.’
‘Difficult to fulfil the clause of mutual cohabitation for a full two years if that is the case, Miss Cameron.’ His voice held a timbre of irony.
The clause her father had insisted upon. She glared at Robert, but kept her silence and was unexpectedly rescued by the very one she thought she would not be.
‘It does not signify. We will reside wherever you wish to.’ The Earl’s tone was slightly bored. An unwanted wife. An unwelcomed cohabitation. Easier just to take the money and acquiesce.
‘Then that is settled.’ Her father, on the contrary, looked pleased with himself. The thought that perhaps he had over-exaggerated his own illness came to Amethyst’s mind, but she dismissed this in the face of his extreme thinness. ‘We shall ask if the children from Gaskell Street can be a part of the choir...’
‘A small and simple wedding would be better, Papa.’
‘I agree.’ Lord Montcliffe spoke again. ‘My family, however, are proponents of the High Anglican faith.’
‘Then you bring your man of God and the service can be shared.’ Papa had hit his stride now and the Earl looked to have no answer to such an unconventional solution. In fact, he looked plainly sick.
‘A good solution, I think,’ Robert went on to say. ‘Then we can all be assured that you will be most properly married.’ Standing after such a pronouncement, he walked to the door. ‘But now I shall leave you alone for a few moments. I am sure there are things you might wish to say to one another without my presence to inhibit you.’
Amethyst glanced away, her father’s words embarrassing and inappropriate. What could the Earl and she possibly have to talk about when there was a palpable distrust in the air? Usually Papa was more astute at reading the feelings of others and seldom acted in a manner that she found disconcerting.
When the door closed behind him, softly pulled shut inch by inch, Lord Montcliffe looked straight at her.
‘Why would you agree to this charade, Miss Cameron?’
She asked him another question quickly back. ‘Did you love your father, my lord?’
He looked perplexed as he answered, ‘No.’
That threw her momentarily, but she made herself continue on. ‘Well then, I think you must understand that I truly do love mine. Father, I mean.’ Her voice shook. She was making a hash of this. ‘Papa is ill and his one and only wish is to see me well protected and cared for. He is so ill that I fear—’ She stopped, the words too shocking to say.
‘Then why choose me in particular?’ The tone of his fury was recognisable.
‘You liked horses and you made it your business to save Papa from the attack in the alley when you could have so easily just gone on. I do not wish for a mean husband or an inconsiderate one, you understand. Also the army has made you strong. Another advantage, if you like.’
‘A trade-off, then? Like the timber your father imports?’
‘Exactly.’ This was turning out to be a lot easier than she had hoped.
‘Damn.’ He swore and reached forward to tip her face up to his own.
‘Are you truly as cold-blooded as that, Miss Cameron?’ His green eyes narrowed as if he was listening for an answer and Amethyst was simply caught in the unexpected warmth of them. Paralysed. The darker green rim was threaded with gold.
‘So there is no more to this agreement than the plain and blunt terms of commerce?’ He let her go as she twisted away, uncertain of the words that he was saying and even more uncertain of her own reaction to them.
‘If my father had not been ailing, I should not even be thinking of a betrothal, my lord, but he is fearful and fidgety and the doctor had made it clear that unless he relaxes and stops worrying...’ She swallowed, her bottom lip wobbling. ‘Your estate is falling into pieces about your feet and my father is dying. Our alliance should stave off the consequences of them both, yours for ever, and mine even for just a while. A business proposition, my lord, to suit us both.’
* * *
He turned away and walked to the window. No woman had ever spoken to him so plainly before. Usually the opposite sex fawned about him, the wiles of femininity well practised and honed and saying all that they thought he wished to hear.
Miss Amethyst Amelia Cameron seemed to possess none of these qualities and he was at a loss to know how to proceed.
‘So I could have been anyone?’
When she did not answer, he added, ‘Anyone with a dubious fiscal base and a strong military background?’
She looked over at him then with the directness that was so much part of her, a frown marring her forehead. ‘You needed to be unmarried, of course, and not too old.’ He was about to speak when she took a breath and carried on further. ‘I also sincerely hope that I have not taken you from the arms of someone you love, for if that is the case I should absolve you from all the agreements between us. As a measure of good faith we would throw in the greys as a means to buy your silence on such a sensitive matter.’
He swore again and she flinched. The worth of the greys would not begin to cover the debts of Montcliffe.
‘Why did you not choose a man you have some tendre for or one you had at least some notion of?’ While she was being so brutally frank he thought he might at least discover something of the woman he would be tied to.
Her hand went to brush away the hair from around her face in a feminine and uncertain gesture. Against the window and in the light of a harsh afternoon sun she looked almost beautiful, a strong loveliness that was not much lauded in society these days, but one which caught at him in an unexpected twist of want. Not a woman of the same ilk as his sisters and mother with their constant neediness and fragility.
‘There is no one else.’ She did not even attempt platitudes.
Daniel had no experience of speaking with a woman who would not be cowed by his title or by him personally and for one unlikely moment he thought he might tell her just that. With an effort he gathered himself together.
‘Truth be told, Miss Cameron, I am caught in this ruse as certainly as you are.’
‘Then perhaps it would be wise for us both to make the best of it. I would not hound you for much time or for sweet words, my lord, but what I would ask is that around my father you pretend a tendre, allowing him the contentment he deserves in what little is left of his life.’
‘Would your mother have approved of you being such a martyr?’
A flash of anger came into her eyes, lighting the brown to a clear and brittle velvet. He was surprised by such a quick change. Not quite the demure woman he had imagined, after all. ‘I think you forget, my lord, that I am as much a martyr to my family as you are to yours.’
‘Touché.’ Indeed she was right, the long line of Montcliffe ancestors all looking at him to save the Earldom for posterity. ‘And if your father dies sooner rather than later, are the conditions within our marriage null and void?’
Her face crumbled into sheer distress. ‘I sincerely pray that Papa should not succumb to his malady so readily, My lord. I should also impress upon you that putting aside a marriage so quickly would need to be most carefully handled.’
He almost laughed, thinking that she had no idea at all as to the whims of the ton in their dealings with the protection of large inheritances. Indeed, a hundred marriages that he knew of were conveniently forgotten about in the face of shapely courtesans and willing mistresses. Another thought also worried him. Perhaps in her circle of acquaintances such a truism was not as absolute.
He had never been a flagrant womaniser, but neither was he a man who would want to be bound for years in a union without love or respect.
When Robert Cameron came back into the room Daniel lost his chance to ask exactly what she thought to get from this alliance personally. Her father looked absurdly pleased with himself, a smile from one side of his face to the other.
‘I hope you have been able to find out a little about each other. My Amethyst was the cleverest of all the young ladies at her school, my lord, and won the first prize for academic endeavour for her year.’
‘I am certain he cannot be interested in such things, Papa, and—’
But Daniel did not allow her to finish. ‘Rest assured, Mr Cameron, I am.’
Her father frowned and helped himself to a drink. His bride-to-be stood perfectly still, a statue before the windows, her lustreless hair caught in the shafts of sunlight as she warned her father off saying more. Another darker thought suddenly occurred to him.
‘Have you had trouble with those who waylaid you before?’
Cameron looked at his daughter. God, Daniel thought, had Amethyst Cameron been hurt by the thugs, too?
‘The wheel of a carriage we were in sheared off just under a year ago because it had been cut almost right through,’ she answered, the fright in her eyes visible. ‘Our conveyance overturned a number of times and Papa and I were caught inside. We were out on business, you see, and those responsible knew we would be travelling on that road on that day.’ Daniel did not speak, but waited as she went on. ‘Papa was hurt a little and I was hurt a lot.’
‘Who are these people?’
‘Criminals who prey on those who might afford to pay them. Men who see an opportunity in the threatening of others and who with a great amount of force can intimidate without fear of redress.’ Robert gave him this answer.
‘So you refused their demands?’
‘You pay once and you never get free,’ Amethyst answered, her eyes daring him to criticise things that he knew nothing about. ‘People have been brought in to protect us since, and this was working well until...’ She faltered.
‘Until I found your father in the alley a few moments away from having the life being beaten out of him?’
Unexpectedly she smiled. ‘They were more afraid of you than any man Papa had employed before. It is one of the reasons we offered you the marriage agreement.’
‘I see.’ Did these people always have to be so wearingly honest in their truths? Daniel’s own jaded understanding of principle had long ago been leached from him and there was a sort of brave virtue in such directness. The ton would tear such rectitude to pieces, he thought, and wondered how life could mould people so differently.
‘Have those demanding money ever contacted you in the form of a letter?’
Robert took over the discourse now. ‘Once they did. More normally they just turn up unannounced at the warehouse door.’
‘Do you still have the correspondence?’
‘Yes.’
‘And yet you have not sought anyone to help you in this matter?’
‘Help me?’ Robert’s voice was puzzled.
‘Threaten them back. Make them realise they were playing a game they had no hope of ever winning.’
* * *
The Earl’s tone was weary, Amethyst thought. The utter nuisance of having to deal with people of the trade who had a raft of bullies chasing after them was more than he wanted to consider. Why, he probably thought such inconvenience was par for the course, just another way to show how base and shabby those below him in rank really were.
She wondered if he would simply turn tail and let himself out of this room full of problems, his beautifully cut tailcoat showing off fine shoulders and the breeches long and tapered legs.
A man of reduced means but of great presence, a man whom women would watch with hope in their hearts. Even she had watched him as he had ascended the stairs with her father outside of Tattersall’s and dreamed that she was a different girl with softer hair falling to her hips in luxurious waves as he admired her.
Such nonsense made her smile. She was her father’s daughter with trade flowing through her less-than-exalted blood line, the hunt of a good deal or an unexpected profit making her life...whole. Women like her did not marry for love and men like Lord Daniel Wylde invariably chose the beautiful butterflies who were the toast of a society Season.
It was only lack of money that stopped him doing exactly that and thinking otherwise would lead to disappointment. The marriage agreement held as much fear for her as it did for him, but she needed her father protected and she wanted to see him face the last months of his life with hope.
She had visited his doctor alone on her own accord after her father had told her of his ailment. The specialist had reiterated that there was little more the medical fraternity could do, but had been most insistent on the medicinal value of hope. Miracles had arisen from a happy demeanour or a looked-forward-to occasion that the sick one had no intentions of missing. Aye, he had said in tones that bridged no argument, there were miracles in the benefits of laughter that even the greatest brains of the time had not yet figured out. ‘Keep him happy, Miss Cameron, and he may live longer. That is the only sage advice I can give you at this point.’
Well, Amethyst decided, she would do everything in her power to advance this theory and her papa would have each second of his life tempered with good humour and possibilities. She swore to the heavens above that this would be so.
A few moments later after a general conversation with her father on the merits of a horse that had won a recent race at Newmarket, Lord Montcliffe reached for his hat and made for the door, giving only the briefest of goodbyes to her as he left. A man who was being forced into something he plainly did not want and yet, given his circumstances, could not refuse.
They were so much the same, Amethyst thought, as the door shut behind him and the hollow silence that was left only underlined the awful truth of her musing.
