A Lady at Last (27 page)

“Fine,” she said, huffing. “William de Brett. Ah, you will like him! De Brett has a modest income of twelve hundred a year. He comes from a very fine family—they are of Norman descent, as well, but he has no title. However—”

“No. Absolutely not.”

Eleanor stared, forcing herself to maintain a straight face. “Amanda can live modestly but well on twelve hundred a year and I know de Brett. The women swoon when he walks into a salon.”

His gaze hardened. “The income is barely acceptable, and he has no title. She will marry blue blood.”

“Really?”

His smile was dangerous. “Really. Who is Lionel Camden?”

She beamed. “Perhaps the best of the lot! He has a title—he is a baron. He has never been wed but he has several children. His home is quite nice, apparently, it is in Sussex, and he has a pleasing income! I believe it is two thousand a year.” She waited.

He stared, appearing close to an apoplexy. “So he is a rake?”

“You have bastards!”

“I am a rake! Next.”

She choked. “Next?”

“Amanda is not marrying a rake. Her husband will be loyal to her.”

“Then maybe you should consider de Brett? He is very handsome and I am sure that he might fall in love with Amanda!”

“Who is Ralph Sheffeild?” Cliff ignored her.

She had saved the best for last. There was absolutely nothing wrong with Sheffeild. “He was knighted during the war for his valor, he is the youngest son of an earl, the family is very wealthy, and he can marry as he chooses. He is
not
a rake. If he is taken with Amanda, it would be perfect!”

“How do you know he is not a rake?”

“I know his reputation.”

“He must be a rake, or he would be wed.”

“I feel certain he is not a rake,” she said quickly. “If he were a rake, the gossip would be all over the ton.”

“Does he have a mistress?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Then he must prefer men.” Cliff smiled in triumph.

“What a leap to make!” She was aghast.

“He is too perfect. Something is wrong with him. If it isn't that preference, perhaps he gambles!”

“He doesn't gamble.” She had to control her laughter now. She had no idea if Sheffeild gamed. “And Cliff, he likes women. I have met him personally, I am certain.”

Cliff folded his arms across his chest and stared. “Something is wrong with this one, I can feel it. What aren't you telling me?”

“I have told you everything. He is perfect for Amanda!”

He tore the paper, not in two, but in shreds. Then he smiled, letting the scraps drift to the floor.

“Cliff!” she gasped. “What is wrong with Sheffeild?”

“No one is perfect,” he retorted. “He is hiding something.”

“You cannot reject everyone!”

“I can and I will, until I find the right suitor. Make me another list,” he ordered, walking away.

She couldn't resist. She took a book from the shelf and threw it, so it hit him square in the back.

He turned. “What was that for?”

“Oh, let's just say I am going to enjoy watching you taken down a peg or two. And by the by, we are all rooting for Amanda.”

He simply looked at her, clearly clueless as usual.

Someone coughed from the doorway, behind her. Eleanor went rigid, then turned. “Sean!” she cried, her heart leaping wildly.

Tall and handsome, he came forward, taking her into his arms. “Surprise,” he said softly, just before claiming her mouth.

A
MANDA WAS SMILING
as she hugged her knees to her chest, dressed for supper in the same beautiful dress she had worn to call upon Blanche Harrington. Her call had been a success! She had actually conversed with the great heiress, she had answered her questions in a manner that seemed to please her, and the highborn lady had not been condescending, not even once. There had not been a single sneer!

How could this be happening, Amanda wondered. And she thought of her protector, her smile softening. Maybe, one day, she could find a way to repay Cliff de Warenne for giving her this opportunity. Because in that moment, she was beginning to genuinely believe that she could become a lady, that she could leave La Sauvage far behind in the past, where she belonged. She thought of Papa, but no tears came. He wouldn't mind, she thought, he would be so proud of her now.

The lady she admired the most of all, the kind of lady she aspired to, was Eleanor O'Neill. She was bold and outspoken, but beautiful and elegant. Amanda hid her face on her knees, continuing to smile. She might still yearn secretly for Cliff de Warenne, but her life was changing, and she was thrilled.

I can do this
, she thought.

A knock sounded on her door. She leaped to the floor, slipping on her brand-new white, lace-up shoes, and went to answer it. Cliff stood there, a smile on his face. “I thought I would escort you down to supper,” he said, his gaze slipping over her.

“Did you hear?” she breathed.

He touched her arm. “I heard. I heard you were a success.” His eyes sparkled, impossibly warm.

“Have you been to Harrington Hall?” she asked eagerly.

“Yes, I have,” he returned easily.

“Lady Harrington lives like a queen, Cliff! The house is like a palace—I had no idea.” She was so happy that she could share her triumph with him. “She asked me so many questions—me! As if she cared about what I would say! And we walked in her gardens—she has beautiful gardens. She is such a great lady!”

He guided her into the hall. “I am very glad. You see, Amanda? Society is not as terrible as you think.” But he had sobered as they went downstairs.

“Tomorrow, the countess wishes for us to shop on Bond Street and stroll about Pall Mall. What do you think?” She was so excited, ready now for her next step in society. Everything that was happening was almost too good to be true.

Except for Dulcea
Belford
. Not a day went by that she did not recall her mother's rejection, and then firmly refuse to dwell on it or her. She wasn't going to think about her mother now, because her life was almost perfect. Today she was going to savor her very first success.

Cliff was speaking. “I think you should see the sights of London. In fact, I seem to recall promising you a private tour.”

Amanda's heart skipped for an entirely different reason. His gaze was frankly admiring. “I haven't forgotten,” she murmured, glancing sidelong at him. She was almost flirting, but she had never felt prettier than she did just then.

“It may have to wait until we return from Ashford,” he said softly as they went downstairs, where the voices of his family could be heard. His cheeks had become slightly pink and she felt his attention become terribly male. Then she realized that the boys were howling with laughter and someone—Ariella—was shrieking. Amanda winced and glanced at her benefactor.

Cliff scowled. “Alexi is out of control. He, Ned and Michael are fast becoming terrors in this house.”

“They are enjoying themselves,” she whispered, hoping he would not be too hard on them. But they would never be beaten for their antics. Did they know how lucky they were? “Have you decided when we are going to look at the Ashford estate?”

“I was thinking perhaps the day after tomorrow,” he said.

Amanda could not wait, and she sent him a breathless smile.

In the front hall, Cliff paused. “It seems you are becoming quite close to my sister,” he said.

“I do like her,” Amanda admitted. “She has no airs.”

He laughed. “I agree. Well, I am glad.” As they stood there, Rex appeared, herding Alexi and Ned, both boys snickering. “What have they done?”

“They put a toad down Ariella's dress. They are going to redo their lessons,” Rex said firmly.

“A capital plan,” Cliff said, staring coolly at his son. “I am debating shipping you off to the islands, my boy, so I would think twice about conspiring with your cousin to torture your sister—or commit any other troublesome crime.”

Alexi turned white. “You would send me back to the island!” he gasped.

“Perhaps tomorrow will suit you?” Cliff returned.

“I swear to behave,” Alexi cried.

Ned stepped forward, as serious and grim. “Sir, it has been my fault entirely, I have egged Alexi on. If anyone is to be punished, it is I. But do not send him back to the islands!”

“I will think on it. Meanwhile, after you have completed a copy of today's lessons, you may write Ariella a letter of apology.”

The boys nodded, humbly heading up the stairs.

“That is what they most definitely needed.” Rex nodded approvingly. He smiled at Amanda. “May I escort you into supper, Miss Carre? Surely you prefer my attentions to those of my egotistical brother. Besides, you can tell me all about your call on Lady Harrington.”

Amanda grinned and did not hesitate. She went to his side. “I am delighted to have your attention, Sir Rex.” She glanced back at Cliff, raising her brows to see if he approved of her new airs.

He did, for he nodded at her. “Well done,” he murmured, his lashes lowering.

Amanda's heart soared.

 

A
MANDA WAS HUNCHED
over the secretary in her room, reading a book on the history of London which Monsieur Michelle had given her the day before. Her progress was slow and painstaking, and she had a dictionary at her elbow, one Cliff had given to her while on his ship. It didn't matter. She loved reading and every day it was a bit easier than the day before.

Her bedroom door slammed open and she jerked, turning to see Lizzie standing there, flushed with excitement. Amanda closed her book, carefully marking the place, bemused. “Lizzie? Is the house on fire?” she asked. Lizzie de Warenne was one of the most composed women she knew.

Lizzie was practically hopping from foot to foot. “You must come downstairs. My sister is here with her husband and a friend!”

Amanda stood, unable to quell some nervous anxiety, yet she was excited, too. She had heard a bit about Lizzie's eccentric sister, Georgina, and her husband, Rory, who was a cartoonist for the
Dublin Times,
and quite infamous for his radical political satire. She was thrilled at having such success so soon, not just with Blanche Harrington but the de Warenne family, but also waiting with some dread for the inevitable condescension to occur. Surely her current course could not be all smooth sailing.

Lizzie knew, because she rushed to her, grabbing both her hands. “You will love Georgie, and Rory, too! They are both very outspoken and very radical! I must warn you, they will try to indoctrinate you to their separate causes—Georgie is for the Union and Rory believes Ireland should be an independent country. Hurry!”

Amanda had to laugh as Lizzie pulled her down the hall and downstairs. “I thought ladies were not allowed to discuss politics?”

“Preferably not, but in this family, everyone has a passionate opinion. They will love you, Amanda, as I do,” she promised. “And you can be yourself. There is no need for pretense now.”

Amanda doubted that. She recalled being alone on the island while her father cruised, trying to attend to their farm, and she thought about the six-week voyage aboard Cliff's ship. It was becoming hard to visualize that ragged waif in breeches and boots who had lied and stolen to survive. She glanced down at her beautiful dress, recalling the brief conversations she had shared with Blanche Harrington and all the lovely suppers at Harmon House. She thought about strolling down Bond Street with the countess and the drive through the park with Lizzie and Eleanor. She wasn't really sure who she was anymore but she was
not
La Sauvage.

“Here she is,” Lizzie cried excitedly, pulling Amanda into the hall with her.

A tall, slender woman with dark blond hair instantly came forward, followed by a handsome blond man. “I have heard so much about you,” Georgina McBane said welcomingly. “It is such a pleasure to meet you. How do you like London? Do you need someone to show you around? I would love to do so.”

Amanda was surprised by her enthusiasm. No two sisters could look less alike. But Georgina McBane was smiling so warmly that Amanda realized she was genuinely excited to make her acquaintance. She really was very much like her sister—a kind woman without pretense. “The pleasure is mine,” she managed, about to curtsy.

“Oh, we do not stand on formalities,” Georgina laughed. “Besides, I am just Mrs. McBane. I do not outrank you, Miss Carre.”

Her husband was bowing, however, in a very gallant manner, his green eyes twinkling. He seemed torn between amusement and horror. “So I finally meet Cliff's ward. This is an astonishing development,” he said, grinning, “but now that we have finally met, maybe I am not all that surprised. Cliff has always had an eye for the most beautiful ladies!”

Amanda blushed, aware that Rory was handsome and flirting with her. “Cliff has been very kind, as has the entire family,” she said. “Had he not taken me in, I fear I might have been sent to an orphanage.” Then she realized that was not a proper greeting at all. But before she could correct the omission, Rory and Georgina exchanged glances.

“Well, the Cliff de Warenne we know is honorable, perhaps, but he is hardly renowned for his kindness,” Georgina said tartly. “Where is the cad, anyway?”

Rory muttered, “And he is renowned.”

Georgie poked him in the ribs.

“Georgie,” Lizzie said, “I promise to tell you
everything
.” The sisters exchanged smiles.

Briefly, Amanda felt left in the dark. She had been astounded at first by the intimacy in the de Warenne family, and the genuine affection they all shared, and now she could not help but envy the intimacy between the two sisters.

The third member of their party was standing somewhat behind Georgie and Rory, almost in shadow. She turned to face him. And the moment she did so, she met a pair of emerald-green eyes framed by thick black lashes—beautiful eyes that were fixed intently upon her. She curtsied; her heart skipped.

The gentleman was staring at her the way Cliff so often did.

“Our friend, Garret MacLachlan,” Rory said, chuckling. “Garret, do meet Miss Carre.”

Amanda straightened, flustered, as she had hardly expected a handsome male caller. For another moment, MacLachlan simply stared at her as if he could not tear his gaze away, his interest shockingly direct. And in that moment, she understood that he was admiring her.

It was almost unbelievable. First her success yesterday, and now this, an admiring caller! She almost had to pinch herself to see if she was dreaming. She reminded herself that he was not, exactly, calling on her.

“A pleasure, sir,” she said softly.

“I fear I ha' lost my wits,” he said even more softly, his brogue heavy and seductive. “Miss Carre, 'tis an honor. I ken you are from the islands?”

She knew she must avoid any discussion about her real past. “Yes, I am, but my father has recently passed. It is hard for me to talk about my previous life there.”

“I dinna ken. I am so sorry!” he exclaimed. “Forgive my faux pas. I could na' help noticin' yer beauty,” he added. “No Englishwoman I ha' ever met has such radiance.”

Amanda blushed, thinking about her sun-kissed complexion. He would surely look at her differently if he knew the reason for her wholesome appearance. “Englishwomen are very beautiful,” she managed. “The ladies here are so well dressed and so very elegant. I hope to be as elegant, one day.”

“Why?” he asked with genuine surprise. “I think they must imitate you, lass.”

Amanda blinked in surprise. “I hope they do not!” She had to smile. “If you saw my poor dancing, sir, you would never make such a statement.”

He laughed. “I ha' nay doubt that yer dancing is as extraordinary as the color of yer eyes. Ye ken that they are the green o' the Irish spring.”

He was flirting, she thought, thrilled.

“An' perhaps, one day, when ye be feelin' a wee bit better, ye will tell me about the West Indies? Having never been across that ocean, I be very curious, indeed.” He sent her a soft smile.

Amanda felt herself nod, some of her caution vanishing. She had the odd notion that he was genuinely interested in the island—and in her. Of course, she had been advised to never speak of her life there, and she had no wish to reveal too much of herself to him. “One day, perhaps,” she finally murmured vaguely.