Читать книгу The Regency Season: Convenient Marriages - Sophia James - Страница 14

Chapter Five

Daniel Wylde and she were in bed at Dunstan House, candlelight covering their bodies and her hair to the waist.

‘Love me for ever, my beautiful Amethyst,’ he said as he brought his lips down upon her own, hard and slanted, desire moulding her body into his, asking for all that she knew he would give her. His fingers framed her face, tilting her into the caress, building the connection. ‘Love me as I love you, my darling, never let us be apart.’

And then she was awake in her own chamber at Grosvenor Square, the moon high outside. Alone. The dream of Lord Montcliffe dissolved into a formless want and the need that she had no hope in wishing for dissipated. He would not love her like that, he could not.

Pushing back the covers, she stood and lit a candle before crossing to the bookshelves on one side of the room.

Here behind a row of burgundy leather tomes she found what she had hidden. Her diary. A narrative of Gerald Whitely and their time together, every emotion she had felt for him penned in black and white. And in red, too, her blood smeared across one page mixed in troth with his. A small cut below the nail of her thumb. Sometimes she felt it with the pad of her opposing finger. He had laughed at the time and told her she was being melodramatic. Then he had stopped laughing altogether. The small book fell open at one of the pages.

I hate him. I hate everything about him. I hate his drunkenness and his anger. I hate it that I was stupid enough to become his wife. I think Papa suspects that there is something wrong between us and I hate that, too.

As she riffled through to the end of the book, there seemed to be a myriad of variations on that theme and she remembered again exactly what hopelessness felt like.

After his death she had not trusted anyone except for her father. After Gerald the world of possibility and expectation had shrunk into a formless mist, her big mistake relegated to that part of her mind which refused to be hurt again, but even thirteen months later the horror had left an indelible mark.

The business of making money had been healing, saving her from the ignominy of venturing back into the pursuit of another mate. Oh, she had gone to Gerald’s funeral and attended his grave, placing flowers and small offerings because it was expected. She had also worn her mourning garb for the obligatory year because she could have not borne the questions that might have occurred otherwise. Even in death she had not betrayed him.

A single tear dropped upon the sheet below, blurring the careful writing.

A blemished bride. Then and now. Granted, she came to this next union with a dowry that was substantial and with the means to save a family on the brink of devastation. It must count for something.

But the kiss Daniel Wylde and she had shared was worrying because in it were the seeds of her own destruction.

Not like Gerald Whitely. Not like him at all.

The voyeur inside her who had been watching others for years was threatened, the safe distance she had fostered shattered by a hope she had never known, for when Lord Montcliffe had taken her hand and then her lips something in her had risen and his gold-green eyes had known it had.

Looking back, she could not understand just what had led her into the mistake of marrying Whitely in the first place. Loneliness, perhaps, or the fact that the years were rushing by. Certainly it had not been a blinding love or even a distilled version of affection. No, she had married Gerald because no one else had ever given her a second look and she was starting to feel as if spinsterhood was just around a very close corner.

Her father’s respect for his business acumen might have also made a difference. Amythest wanted to marry a man whom Robert would regard with fondness and Gerald had arrived at the warehouse with glowing references and a comforting confidence. A man who at first brought her flowers and pretty handkerchiefs and professed that he had never in his whole life seen anyone as beautiful as she was.

When the nasty side of him had surfaced a month or so before their marriage she should have cut her losses and run. Her father would have understood and there was no one else whose opinion she cared much about. Yet still she had persisted in believing that she could calm Gerald’s anger and gently soothe all the problems he seemed to have with others.

Marriage had changed that. The admonishments had been verbal at first, just small criticisms of her dress and her hair. Then he had used his fists.

Fear had held her rigid and distant, the shame and the anger at her stupidity buried under a carefully constructed outer mask. She could not believe that she had been so gullible and foolish as to imagine a wonderful life with a man she had barely known. When he had died sixteen months later Amethyst had not seen him for a good handful of weeks before that and her heartfelt relief added to the guilt of everything.

* * *

Four mornings after the kiss she had shared with Lord Montcliffe she felt full of anxiety. Her intended was waiting downstairs in the Blue Salon and he had brought a friend with him. To see what trap the Earl had tumbled into, she supposed, the sour taste of trade balanced by a wife who was at least wealthy enough to save Montcliffe.

After nights of poor sleep and lurid dreams Amethyst felt exposed; pinned to a board like a butterfly in some scientific laboratory, wings outstretched and colours fading into dust. No possible defences. No protection against the disdain he surely must be feeling.

At least the wig felt like armour and the dark purple bombazine in her gown was sturdy enough to withstand any amount of derision. As she opened the door of the salon they had been directed to, the smile on her face was tight.

‘My lord.’ She did not allow Daniel Wylde to take her fingers or to touch her as she inclined her head.

‘Miss Cameron.’ There was a slight hesitation in his greeting. ‘I hope your father has had a few comfortable nights and is feeling better after his fall.’

‘He is, my lord, thank you, though he is under strict instructions to stay in bed for a few more days yet. Your doctor was most insistent about that. Perhaps I should have informed you,’ she added as an afterthought, suddenly uncertain of the rules around being unchaperoned even in her own house.

‘We will not stay long. May I introduce my good friend to you? Lucien Howard, Earl of Ross, this is Miss Amethyst Amelia Cameron, my intended.’

The man who stood by the mantelpiece watched her carefully. With hair as pale as Daniel Wylde’s was dark, he held the same sort of stillness and menace. She also thought she saw a hitch of puzzlement in his eyes.

‘Montcliffe has told me all about you, Miss Cameron.’

‘I should not think there would be much to say, my lord.’

Unexpectedly Lord Ross laughed. ‘Actually, I am more surprised by all he didn’t.’

Glancing over at Daniel, Amethyst wondered how much honesty he would allow. She decided to test him.

‘It is a truism that great wealth holds a loud persuasion. As a good friend of Montcliffe’s you must realise this.’

The stance of relaxed grace did not change a whit, but Lord Montcliffe had moved closer and Amethyst felt that same sharp jolt of shock with an ache. She did not look her best today, she knew it. The wig itched unremittingly and the red around her eyes from poor sleep did her no favours whatsoever. She had tried to assuage the damage with some powder she had asked her maid to fetch from the pharmacist yesterday, but the application was difficult and she wondered if instead of hiding the problem she had accentuated it. She wished now that she had simply wiped the powder off before entering the room.

‘Miss Cameron runs the books for the Cameron timber company, Luce. According to her father she is irreplaceable in her knowledge of the trade.’

Was the Earl criticising her? His words did not seem slanted with distaste so mayhap this was another example of her not comprehending the ways of the ton. His friend’s face was carefully schooled to show as little emotion as Montcliffe’s did, allowing her no way of understanding the truth.

‘I have heard it said that you have a knowledge of horseflesh too, Miss Cameron? Your father’s pair of greys were the talk of the town a few weeks back and, when I went in to look them over, Tattersall mentioned your name on the ownership deeds.’

‘Papa and I generally consult on new purchases, my lord. That particular pair was procured on a trip we made to Spain together three years ago.’ She stopped, thinking perhaps she sounded boastful.

‘I see. Montcliffe raised horses when we were younger too. Before the war took us into Spain and they were lost to him.’

‘You were in the army, as well?’

‘It is the curse of an estate of great title, but little in the way to support it, Miss Cameron. ’Twas either that or the church and the stipend in religion is miserable.’

As he said the words Lucien Howard turned and the light from the window directly behind him fell across a large swathe of scarring at his neck. Averting her eyes, Amethyst hoped he had not seen just where her interest lay, though when she glanced over at Daniel she knew a momentary consternation. The easy-going lord of the realm seemed replaced by another, hard distance coating his every feature, memory overlaid by anger.

War wounds. She had seen the soldiers from the Peninsular Campaign as they had stumbled up the quayside of all the ports between Falmouth and Dover the previous year in the final days of January. She had been in the south with her father, checking on a new timber delivery, and the filthy, ill and skeletal men had been a shocking sight. Thirty-five thousand men had crossed the Spanish frontier to march against Napoleon and eight thousand had not returned. Lord Montcliffe and his friend Lord Ross had no doubt been amongst those on the crowded transports in the Bay of Biscay storms. She could barely imagine what nightmares such a journey would have brought.

Daniel was a stranger to her, all the pieces of his past unknown and the sum of his whole unchartered. The cold thought clawed into consciousness but she shook such a musing away, colouring as she realised her guests were looking at her as though expecting an answer to a question.

‘I am sorry, I did not hear what you asked.’

‘Lucien wished to know if you would allow his younger sister to help you get ready on your wedding day.’

‘Oh.’ Amethyst did not quite know how to answer this. She had always been surrounded by men in the business of trading timber and had seldom had the time to foster any relationship with women.

The Earl of Ross took up the conversation now. ‘Christine lost her betrothed in the march up to La Corunna and she is a little depressed. Helping in the preparation for a wedding might be just the distraction she needs.’

‘I should imagine your sister would find me most dull.’

‘She loves hairstyles and dresses and decorating homes.’

Amethyst’s heart sank.

‘And she can make an occasion of anything.’

Hard to make an occasion with the two participants pressed into a union neither wished for. Placing a false smile on her lips, Amethyst nodded.

‘Then I would be most thankful for her help.’

Montcliffe appeared as though he was about to laugh, but the arrival of the maid with an assortment of small cakes and lemonade put paid to that expression. Pouring three generous glasses, she handed one to each of them and invited them to sit down.

‘The speciality of the house is this lemon syrup. I hope you will enjoy it.’ The lemonade was cold and sour, exactly the way she and her father liked it, yet both men looked to be struggling with the taste. Even yesterday she might have been mortified to think that the beverage was not quite right, but today for some reason the fact made her smile.

The control she seldom lost hold of had seemed to slip of late and the small victory was welcomed. She knew, of course, that they would be far more at home with some alcoholic drink, but it was only just midday and the hour seemed too early to be serving something as strong without Papa present.

When Lord Montcliffe stood she was certain that he would be taking his leave, but he walked across to the window instead to observe a view of the park opposite.

‘This house is well situated. Do you take exercise there?’

‘Sometimes I do, my lord. More normally though I ride my horse in Hyde Park in the late afternoon.’

‘Will you be there tomorrow?’

He had not turned, but she felt a palpable tension as he waited for her answer.

‘I shall. I take a turn or two around Rotten Row most days.’

‘Good.’

At that Lucien Howard also stood and both men gave their leave and were gone within a moment. When the door shut behind them Amethyst remained very still. Had Daniel arranged a meeting between them for tomorrow or not? The two almost-full glasses of lemonade stood on the table and she picked up the one Daniel had used and sipped from it. Ridiculous, she knew, but he made her feel that way: girlish, breathless, terrified.

Her father’s bell was ringing. Papa was waiting for an account of the meeting, she supposed, but still she did not move. Would Daniel ride alone tomorrow? Her maid always accompanied her to the park, but stayed on a seat near the gateway. Would this allow them some privacy? Did she want it?

Gerald had been disappointed in her so very quickly. She had held his attention only briefly before he had ventured forth to find other avenues of satisfaction. He had found her gauche and stiff. He had told her that the night he had left for the last time, a wife who was nothing like he had imagined she would be, but she could not dwell on it. ‘I deserve to be happy, and so does Papa,’ she muttered to herself and caught sight of a small bird on a branch outside.

‘If I close my eyes and count to ten and it is still there, then all shall be fine.’

When she opened them the sight of an empty branch greeted her, the buds of new leaves shivering with the motion of its parting.

Signs. She looked for them everywhere now, good and bad, but the hectic tinkle of her father’s bell had her moving from the room and up the wide oaken staircase.

* * *

She absolutely had to tell him. Today. Now. This minute. The early evening light sending redness into his raven hair and the green of the oaks all about them.

I have been married before. My husband died in a brothel because he could no longer abide the pretence of me in his marriage bed. It was not a successful union and by the end of it we hated each other.

That was what she should have said. Out loud. With conviction. Let Daniel run before the knots tied them irrevocably together and the blame game began. But she stayed silent as she watched him rein in his steed and move beside her. The time to confess everything about her tawdry past was not quite right and she wanted just for this moment to enjoy his company. Next time. She would definitely tell him of her unfortunate mistake next time they met.

‘I did not think you were coming,’ he remarked.

‘Papa passed a fidgety night and I have spent the day reading to him as it makes him relax. I was not certain you would wait.’

‘Then we both have much to learn about the other, Miss Cameron, for I have the patience of a saint.’

He didn’t look like anything celestial with his wild black hair caught in an untidy queue and his snowy cravat highlighting the darkness of his skin. Nay, today atop the power of his steed he looked like a soldier who might rule the world and use it in whatever way he wished.

The wickedness of his smile and the dancing pale green in his eyes took her form in, a scorching languid perusal that made her glance away. If she had been braver, she might have laughed into the sudden breeze and used his words as a challenge. She might have even thrown back her own. But the days of her certainty had long gone and the battered ends of the mouse-brown wig flew against her face, making her eyes water.

This is me now, this person, small and damaged and scared. A man like this is not to be played with, not to be taken lightly. The weight of the Cameron fortune was heavy on her shoulders and her father’s sickness heavier again as she stayed silent.

‘Our marriage notice will be in the paper tomorrow morning. I just thought to warn you of it.’

‘Warn me?’ She could not quite understand his meaning.

‘Society has the habit of being ingratiatingly interested in those who gain a title.’

‘Unexpectedly, you mean?’

‘A new countess is everybody’s business, Miss Cameron. It is the way of the world.’

His focus suddenly centred on a small group of mounted women on the path, the stillness in him magnified as he muttered something under his breath.

‘It is probably prudent to say nothing of our upcoming nuptials at this stage.’ He stopped his horse and waited and she did the same. ‘The ton is a small group, but their propensity to gossip is enormous and one wrong word can set them into a frenzy.’

* * *

Lady Charlotte Mackay and Lady Astoria Jordan were exactly the pair Daniel had no inclination to meet. Dressed in the finest of riding attire, they looked the picture of well-heeled perfection as they slowed down to chat. Amethyst, on the other hand, seemed to have drawn into herself, lips pursed and eyes dull. The light on her hair did nothing to help her appearance either. For the first time since he had met her he wondered if she wore a wig, ill fashioned and dreary. The thought was surprising.

Charlotte’s beauty, on the other hand, seemed to radiate around her, the soft blond of her coiffure under the riding cap catching the light and falling in an unbroken line to her ample bosom. A tinkling laugh completed the picture.

‘Daniel. I knew it was you.’ His name curled from her tongue as an invitation, the intimacy that they had once shared drawn into the words. Her glance took in the woman he was with and his bride-to-be stilled perceptibly.

‘Lady Charlotte Mackay, this is Miss Amethyst Cameron.’

‘Amethyst. An unusual name, I think.’ A frown marred the space between Charlotte’s sky-blue eyes as she tried to place the family. ‘Are you of the Camerons from Fife in Scotland or those closer?’

‘Neither, Lady Mackay.’ Amethyst’s answer was quietly given and then she smiled, deep dimples evident in each cheek and a knowing humour across her face.

Strength and honour had its own allure, Daniel thought, watching her deflect the other’s interest with such acumen. Out here in the open with the promise of a ride before them and a beautiful summer’s evening foretelling a hopeful outlook, Charlotte looked overdressed and overdone. However, as if realising that she would have little more in the way of conversation from Amethyst, she turned her attention towards him.

‘I will be here tomorrow at the same time. Perhaps we might enjoy a ride alone.’ Her hand closed over Daniel’s sleeve and in her inimitable style she leaned across to him, the riding habit she wore cut as low as it could be. ‘For old times’ sake. For the world that was before it all turned different. For us,’ she whispered closely, the breath of her words across his face daring more.

Once he might have smiled back his assent and followed her to the ends of the earth. But that was then and this was now. Amethyst Cameron had looked away, her eyes on the trees far in the distance as the horse below her shuffled.

Tipping his hat to both ladies he disengaged Charlotte’s grasp and made his steed walk on. When they were out of earshot he tried to explain.

‘Lady Mackay is lonely and—’

Amethyst interrupted him. ‘I don’t require an explanation, my lord. I won’t be that sort of wife.’

He laughed, but the sound was not humorous. ‘Then what sort of wife will you be, Miss Cameron?

She did not answer, but the red flush of anger on her face was telling and what had been a comfortable and easy meeting was suddenly difficult. But he needed to explain to her honestly so that she did not imagine he would be a philandering husband.

‘We were lovers for three-and-a-half years between the stints of my army duty.’ Now she looked around at him. ‘I was twenty-seven when I met Charlotte and thirty when she ran off and married Lord Spenser Mackay. He was an extremely wealthy Scottish landowner, you understand, and I was a second son and a soldier.’

‘So she broke your heart?’

His laughter this time was much more genuine. ‘At the time perhaps I thought that she had.’

‘But now...?’

‘Now with the wisdom of distance there is the greatest relief in the realisation that we would never have suited.’

‘I got the impression that she thinks exactly the opposite.’

‘Then she is wrong.’ The distance had returned to his voice. ‘Do you have a ball dress?’

‘Yes. Why?’

‘There is a ball on Saturday night which will be well attended. I hope you might accompany me to it?’

‘Would your family be there?’

‘No. Mama has a slight cold and my two sisters are still young.’ He hesitated for a moment. ‘I thought you might have known all my particular familial circumstances when you made me your choice of groom?’

For the first time he heard Amethyst laugh as though she meant it. She simply tossed her head back and sounded happy. He was mesmerised.

‘I left the snooping to my father, my lord.’

‘And I passed muster?’

‘It was the time you spent with Sir John Moore in La Corunna that sealed it for my father, I think. It was said that you were quite the hero on the heights of Penasquedo and he has always admired those who might lay down their life for crown and country, you see.’

‘And what of your choice?’

The good humour vanished in a second.

‘I no longer trust myself enough to make wise decisions.’

‘Which implies that you have made some foolish ones?’

‘People change on you when you least expect it, my lord.’ She looked at him directly now, the dark of her eyes marked with a softer gold.

‘Aye, that they do. Lady Mackay became a woman I did not recognise, but I wouldn’t say her intransigence was my problem.’

The small show of her dimples heartened him. ‘The blame was hers, you mean.’

‘Entirely.’

‘And you moved on without looking back?’ she asked curiously.

‘I did.’

* * *

This conversation was taking a surprising turn. Honesty was something she favoured and Lord Daniel Wylde had not held back about his past or lied about it.

Unlike her.

Such knowledge shrivelled her good mood, though their kiss of the other day still lingered below each glance and word. A scorching and undeniable truth embracing neither logic nor reason.

Passing into a narrower path, he took the reins of her horse and pulled them both to a stop. ‘Even given the unusual circumstances of our union, Miss Cameron, I want us to be friends.’

Friends. As she had been at first with Gerald Whitely. She hoped he did not see the consternation on her face because what he was offering was honourable.

‘I certainly would not wish for two years of bickering.’

She shook her head. Everything he said made perfect sense and she had come into this betrothal only with the expectation of filling the last months of her father’s life with happiness. But the kiss they had shared had skewed things, made them different and she could not help but hope that he might eschew convention and take her in his arms, here in the most public of places. That he might kiss her again, show her it had not been all a figment of her imagination, fill in the empty fears with a warm certainty.

But of course he did not, he merely called his horse on and challenged her.

‘You ride well, Miss Cameron. At Montcliffe after we are married I would deem it an honour to pit my horse against your own.’

She gave him a smile, her roan shimmying as she let her attention wander. With Montcliffe beside her and the summer breeze in her face Amythest felt the sort of freedom that she had missed for months now.

‘I think for a fair competition you would have to allow me a starting distance. Your mount looks as if he might beat anything he was up against.’

He laughed and the sound was honest and true. ‘Deimos here was well blooded in the Peninsular Campaign in Spain.’

‘Deimos?’ she repeated the name. ‘The Grecian spirit of dread and terror?’

He smiled. ‘Not many would know that.’

‘You took him to the Continent?’

‘I rode with the Eighteenth Light Dragoons under Lord Paget.’

‘Is that where you hurt your leg?’

‘On the last day at La Corunna. The medic couldn’t get the bullet out.’

‘So it is still in there?’ she asked, horrified.

‘And hurting like hell.’ Unexpectedly he smiled. ‘I don’t usually talk about the injury and certainly seldom admit to any pain.’

‘Why do you not simply have the shot removed then? Here, in London?’

‘The surgeon said that it lay near an artery. If they accidentally severed it during the operation, I should lose either my leg or my life, so at this stage the option of doing nothing is the sensible one. Besides, to complete my side of the marriage deal I still need to scare people away from your father, Miss Cameron.’

‘I think you could do that anyway, Lord Montcliffe, with one leg or two.’

‘Do you?’ His demeanour had changed. Now he leant towards her, taking the bridle to hold her mare still. She felt the blood in her cheeks rise as it never had before, so red that her whole face throbbed with the consternation.

‘I like it when you blush.’

Daniel Wylde was lethal. With just a few words he could make her forget everything and believe in fairy tales with happy endings against impossible odds.

Better to remember the way Charlotte Mackay had looked at her with that innate snobbery so prevalent in the English upper classes as she had sniffed out the presence of trade like a bloodhound. Tomorrow when the notice of their intention to marry went into the papers Amethyst could hardly bear to think of what the repercussions would be. But the very worst of it was that she wanted this man before her, wanted his kisses, his smiles and his compliments, no matter what.

‘The ball you speak of, would it be very formal?’ she asked apprehensively.

‘It would indeed. Did they ever teach you how to dance at your Gaskell Street Presbyterian Church School.’

‘They taught me what they knew, though there were times when I wondered just how much that actually was.’

‘Did you learn how to waltz?’

‘No.’

‘A pity, for they call it the dance of love.’ Now his amusement was easily seen. ‘If you like, I would be most happy to teach you the steps.’

* * *

He loved the way she was so easily flustered, this woman of commerce and business and brusqueness, though his attention was caught by a series of heavy pins around the line of her hair that had been dislodged by the movement of the ride.

‘Do you wear a wig?’

Her fingers instantly came up to where it was he looked, pushing the dull brown hair forward in one easy swipe.

‘I do.’ Her hand shook as she tried to secure the loosened clips.

‘Why?’ Surprise at her admission had him frowning.

‘The accident in the carriage that we told you of. I had my head shaved so that the surgeon could drill into my scalp to release the pressure on my brain.’

My God. No simple accident, then, but an operation that could have so easily killed her. He tried to hide his concern and concentrated on the fact that she had survived. ‘What colour is the hair beneath?’

‘Not this shade.’ The lowering sun radiated on her face, altering the plain sallowness of her complexion. ‘It is lighter. And curlier. I did not think it would take this long to grow back, though, so I retrieved this old hairpiece from my mother’s things. Now I regret it. But on saying so I do not wish you to think I am vain, it’s just that....’ She stopped, her teeth worrying her bottom lip and confusion sending her eyes away from his.

Sometimes she looked so unexpectedly beautiful that for the first time since he had met her he allowed himself to imagine something finer between them, his sex swelling with the promise. Amethyst Amelia Cameron was honest to a fault and forthright and direct. She did not simper or lie or pretend. He was so very sick of the deceit of women, that was the trouble. Charlotte Mackay had for ever cured him of liars and his sisters and mother had done the rest with their duplicity and falsities.

He wished they were somewhere else, somewhere quiet and private, some place that he might bring her up against him and reassure her that he did not think she was vain, but the pathways of the park were filling with more riders and the crease on her forehead told him that she was as astonished as he by their candour.

‘We should go back.’

She glanced away from him and nodded, her fingers tense on the leather reins and every nail bitten to the quick. He wondered why she did not wear the riding gloves he could so plainly see tucked into the fold of her belt.

* * *

The dream came again that night of the carriage turning over, the scream of the horses and the cold of the day. Her hand had been caught by her thick woollen glove against a seat that had come loose and she could not free herself and jump to safety as her father had done.

Over and over and over, in the slow motion of fear. She had not lost consciousness when her head slammed against the roof or lapsed into a faint as her wrist had broken. No, she had lain there as the dust settled, the bright stream of blood turning the day to red and listening to the last dying breaths of one of the horses.

Her father had reached her first and by his expression she knew things must have been bad. ‘My broken doll,’ he had whispered, words so unlike his usual diction she had thought she must already be dead.

But the pain came later, as did the fear of heavy gloves, and carriage speed and long-distance travelling. Unreasonable, she knew, but nevertheless there. She had seen Daniel look at her bare hands and wonder.

Her fingers went up to feel her hair. It was finally growing, a good amount of curl now covering the pink baldness of her scalp. She could have almost dispensed with the wig altogether, but it had become a sort of disguise that she liked in the time since she had put it on and now she was loathe to simply do away with it. People did not notice her as they once had. She blended in more, the colour of the hairpiece picking up some tone in her skin that kept her hidden. She could walk amongst a crowd and barely feel a glance.

Her tresses had once been her crowning glory. Gerald Whitely told her that time and time again before she had married him. Afterwards he had barely mentioned it, the long silences between them hurtful and unending.

A light tap on her door had her pulling the neck of her nightgown up.

‘Come in.’

Her father walked forward, the silver cane the only vestige of his fall the other evening, though he leant on it with quite some force.

‘I saw the light under your door.’

‘You could not sleep either?’

He shook his head. ‘You seem out of sorts lately and I keep wondering whether this marriage agreement is the cause of it? Lord Montcliffe is after all quite forceful and if you should wish to nullify—’

‘No, Papa.’ She cut across his words and watched his face light up. ‘I am quite happy with things as they are.’

‘It is just the marriage notice will be in the paper tomorrow and I should imagine after that things might change a little.’

‘Lord Montcliffe said the same this afternoon when we were riding. He asked me to a ball on Saturday evening, a formal occasion with much of society in attendance.’

‘And you agreed?’

‘He made it difficult to refuse.’

Her father sat down on the chair opposite and wiped his brow. ‘I am uncertain of the ways of all this. Perhaps we should employ a chaperone for you, Amethyst, so that we don’t get things wrong.’

‘I do not think it will be necessary, Papa. We will repair to Dunstan House as soon as we are married and then we need not worry at all.’

‘Montcliffe is amenable to that?’

‘He once told us that he would be. Besides, a friend of his, the Earl of Ross, asked if his sister might be able to assist in the preparation for the wedding. Perhaps I could also ask her for a little assistance with the ball as well. It seems she is most creative with these things and I have a few gowns that could be altered to make them more fashionable without too much trouble.’

The smile on her father’s face was bright with relief. He looked happier than he had been in a long while.

‘If we had some notion of how many people would attend your marriage ceremony, that would also be of a help. The contract stated the marriage would take place before the end of July and the weeks will run away if we do not get it all in hand.’

‘It will be a small group, Papa. No more than twenty.’

‘But the Montcliffe family will be there?’

‘I am not sure, Papa. They all seem distant from one another.

‘A shame that, for family is all you have to rely on in the world when it comes down to it.’

‘I am uncertain Lord Montcliffe would agree as he seldom speaks of his.’

‘Well, I shall send them invites, nonetheless, for it is only good manners.’

A sense of dread began to play in Amethyst’s mind. Would the Montcliffes be difficult? Would they accept her? Would they come? Only a few weeks until her wedding and she still had not procured a dress. Tomorrow she would send a note to Lady Christine Howard to see if she might consent to help her.

* * *

‘You are marrying whom?’ His mother’s voice was shrill and disbelieving.

Both his sisters sat very still at the dinner table, their eating utensils poised to listen.

‘Miss Amethyst Amelia Cameron.’

‘And you say her father is a man of trade?’

‘Mr Robert Cameron is a successful timber merchant and is far wealthier than the Montcliffes have any hope of ever being.’

He hated that he should have to qualify his choice of bride in monetary value, but it seemed such an explanation was all Janet Montcliffe understood. She looked furious.

‘Amethyst? What sort of name is that?’

‘Hers.’ Daniel was tired of being careful and polite. His mother’s frown deepened.

‘We will be the laughing stock of the ton.’

‘I doubt that sincerely, Mother.’

‘Do you love her, then?’ This question came from his oldest sister Gwen, the sort of light shining in her eyes that could only belong to a naive and unworldly girl.

‘Of course he does not.’ His mother answered for him. ‘The interloper has simply tipped her cap at the title and managed to do what a hundred well-brought-up daughters of society have not been able to. She has brought your brother to heel and he will regret it, mark my words. You are marrying well beneath your station in life, Daniel, but any remorse afterwards will be useless. You will be tied to the upstart for life.’

‘I am taking it that you will not be attending the wedding ceremony then, Mother?’

‘None of us will be. I could not bear to look on Miss Amethyst Cameron’s face and see the gleam of victory within it. The girls should not be allowed anywhere near such...tradespeople either.’ She almost spat the word out. ‘As for your grandfather, he is sick and hasn’t the energy for all this nonsense so you are alone in your foolish choice of bride. I had such high hopes for you, too.’

Daniel stood as the resulting silence lengthened. ‘Then I shall bid you goodnight.’

With that he simply walked to the door and left.

* * *

He found himself lingering in the confines of Grosvenor Square. The Cameron house was dark save for a light on the second floor where the curtains had been drawn. The shadow of a woman caught in candlelight moved in a way that made him frown. His wife-to-be was dancing alone in her room and the outline showed no sign of the shape of her wig. A waltz, he determined by the beat of steps she took, a practice of the dance of love.

The tension he felt began to lessen and lighting a cheroot he leant back and watched. Janet Montcliffe and her bitterness had been a constant in his life, the anger and the rancour almost normal.

Amethyst Cameron, unlike his mother, was a logical and reasonable woman and one who held to the tenet of wording differences of opinion in a sane and sensible way. She did not whine or moan or berate. He liked her smile and her dimples and the low timbre of her voice. Her clothes might be shapeless and ill-formed but when the wind had caught her riding attire and pressed the material against her body he saw that there was a surprisingly shapely form beneath. He was intrigued by the description of her hair. Light and curly. Velvet-brown eyes would complement such a shade admirably.

After the scene at the dinner table tonight he wished he was anywhere but in London town. A different life was one he had been dreaming of for quite a while now. He smiled as the shadow drifted closer to the window and hoped she might pull the curtain back to look down and see him.

He liked talking to her. He liked her blushes and the quiet way she had dealt with the snobbery of Lady Charlotte Mackay. He liked her father.

Breathing out heavily, he wondered what all this meant.

He had always felt homeless, but Amethyst Cameron had had the effect of anchoring him. His father had been a man who was melancholic and weak and as his bitterness grew he had sworn that no offspring from his unhappy marriage would ever see a penny of the family money. An unhappy coupling that had brought out the worst in both of them, Daniel suddenly reasoned, and the thought made him drop his cigar beneath his boot and stomp out the embers. Nigel and he had been caught in the crossfire of their parents’ shortcomings. The spending of great sums of money and long holidays apart had dammed up the resentments for a while, but even that had not altered their basic dislike of each other. When his father had fallen from his horse after a long drinking binge his mother had buried him with a smile on her face.

Daniel did not look back as he strode into Upper Brook Street and hailed a passing cabriolet.