In the Garden of Deceit (Book 4) (17 page)

Henrietta
grimaced in distaste. “Muriel Tremont married beneath herself,
and she has never changed her original assessment, not in more than
thirty-five years.”

“Beneath
herself? She married an earl.”

“An
impoverished earl. Hardly something about which to boast.”

“Then
why did she marry him?”

“My
father was friends with her father. And frankly, my brother was
marvelously handsome—unlike the rest of us—an absolute
Adonis in his day and quite a catch on that score. Again,” this
time a sly smile quirked her lips, “much like his son.”

“H-how
interesting.”

“Yes,
indeed. Muriel was smitten, and she thought she could overcome her
aversion to being poor. Almost from the beginning she regretted her
decision. Of course, her father was the doting sort, and he gave her
money whenever she wanted it. Though even he became disgusted with
her constant complaining.”

“There
was no dowry?” Amanda wondered if she was being rude to ask but
couldn’t help herself.

“Well,
yes, but Herbert was burdened with more obligations than he could
manage, accumulated over generations, don’t you see? He did
what he could, but it wasn’t enough. We are a large family, and
he insisted on taking care of all of us.” Henrietta lowered her
voice. “Where would Huey have gone, after all, if Herbert had
not? And even the twins lack self-sufficiency, though I don’t
know why. Whatever the reason, Muriel resented the obligation my
brother felt toward his family.”

Amanda
was aware all of a sudden that this conversation was meant to expose
more than Muriel’s intolerance for her in-laws. Her own
acceptance of the Tremont clan was of primary importance if she were
to be accepted herself.

“She
started drinking—to ease her discontent, I assume,” Henry
continued.

“I’m
having some difficulty understanding why
he
married her.”

Henry
trilled a laugh. “Men are so basic. Muriel was absolutely
stunning. I hate to say my brother was blinded to her less sterling
qualities, but I suspect that’s the truth of it.”

“Stop
me if I’m being too personal, but it seems you are the mistress
of the household not my mother-in-law.”

“Oh,
you think Muriel moved into the dower house when Herbert died? No, my
dear. She moved there fifteen years ago when I came home to stay
after I was widowed. Called Derrick and me the final insult. I would
never have imposed if I’d had another choice, but my husband
was a spendthrift and left Derrick and me with virtually nothing.”

“James’s
father didn’t mind Muriel moving to the dower house?”

Aunt
Henry giggled. “Thanked me more than once for ending his
misery. Truth is, the marriage was over long before she left, so he
let her go without a fight. Only thing he regretted—or so he
said—was that the dower house was only a stone’s throw
away.”

Amanda
bit her lip to contain a smile.

“Just
so,” Henrietta nodded. “Also, Herbert wanted to spare
James and Ilene their mother’s bouts of overindulgence. Of
course, James was almost a man by then, but Ilene was only twelve, a
very vulnerable time in a young girl’s life.”

“Ilene—James’s
sister?”

“Yes,
lovely person. Unfortunately, Muriel never appreciated either of her
children.”

“Having
children did not ease her disappointment?”

The
old woman snorted. “A female that self-centered is not going to
become nurturing simply because she has been blessed with a
child—more’s the pity for that child.”

Amanda
looked at Henrietta, sensing the woman’s impatience with a
mother who did not rejoice in her wonderful offspring. She remembered
Derrick, and it was painfully clear why James’s aunt would feel
that way.

“You
raised Ilene?”

“More
or less. But my brother was a caring father and he made up for much.
He saw his daughter wed to a very good man before the end, and for
that we are all grateful. His last years were not satisfactory in
many ways, but Ilene brought him much joy.” Her gaze drifted
across the room again. “He missed James terribly.”

“Why
did James leave?” Amanda asked quietly.

Henry
shrugged. “A young man’s wanderlust, I imagine. We can’t
expect our children to give up their lives because we find it
difficult to give
them
up.”

“I
suppose not.”

Amanda
returned her attention to the men. Her husband was firmly trounced,
and he was laughing uproariously with the others, clearly as pleased
with Huey’s win as the twins were. James caught his wife’s
gaze on him, and he flashed her a happy grin so carefree and
unaffected that a lump formed in her throat. He looked back at Uncle
Huey and grabbed his good hand, pumping it vigorously.

“James
has brought back some of the cheer that has been missing since
Herbert died. He’s an exceptional young man.”

Amanda
glanced at her companion, wondering if she were being chided ever so
gently for her lack of understanding where James was concerned. Or
perhaps his aunt was merely aiding his cause. Henry’s attitude,
however, was as unaffected as James’s smile, and she decided to
take the woman’s words at face value.

“Yes,
I can see he is a family favorite.”

“Amanda,”
her husband called, “come, try your hand at chess.”

She
started to demur but then saw the hopeful look on Huey’s face.

“You
promised, Amanda,” Huey said.

“So
I did,” she said, coming to her feet. “But you must
promise not to beat me as badly as you did James. Why, he looks
positively cowed by his defeat.”

“I
beg your pardon,” the cowed gentleman retorted.

The
hooting and friendly jibes that followed set the room to shaking with
good will again, and the vocal “encouragement” continued
as Amanda put forth an amateurish effort that made her husband look
skilled. Huey was indeed a fine player and she told him so.

“But
you will improve, Amanda,” he said, his eyes glowing with
pleasure. “I will teach you.”

She
stood and, rounding the game table, gave Huey a hug. “Then I’ll
be learning from the best. What fun that was.”

“You
do not mind losing?” he asked, his usual careful speech even
more so.

“To
you? Never. If I played and always won, I would never get better.
Losing is a lesson in itself. Next time I will play better than I did
today…I hope.”

“I
always win so I will not get better,” he said sadly.

“You
don’t need to get better. You are already the best, Uncle Huey.
Remember?”

He
brightened again. “Oh!”

The
party broke up after that, the men deciding to have a drink before
retiring. Huey, of course, was sent to bed, and though Amanda
expected him to complain, he did not. His family treated him as an
equal and yet at times like a boy. The dichotomy of his world would
have left her head spinning, but Huey and his kind siblings had
settled on an equitable system that satisfied everyone. Amanda was
truly impressed.

As
she bid her own goodnight, Amanda glanced at her husband. His blue
gaze was hooded and assessing, his good humor replaced—she
assumed—by more personal considerations. She smiled tentatively
at him, and he raised his glass to her for the second time that
night.

“I’ll
be up shortly,” James said.

The
words held no special meaning to the casual listener, but Amanda did
not miss his message. He had decided to accept her invitation.

Her
evening had begun with flutters in her stomach. It was ending that
way as well. She ascended to her room, aware that James would be
joining her soon, aware that in the span of a few hours she would be
a different woman. On the eve of her wedding her thoughts had not
been so cautious or so introspective. She had looked forward to her
wedding night with nervous anticipation and not much else. But that
was before she worried that the man making love to her was feigning
an emotion he did not feel.

She
rang for the maid to help her out of her dress but sent the woman
away after her corset was loosened. Amanda wanted privacy while she
changed into her nightdress because she still had not decided what
she should wear.

She
opened the drawer that held the ivory nightdress. As she had done so
often before, she fingered the soft material, her eyes misting over.
Logically, the consummation of her marriage was the moment to put it
on—it was bought for that purpose, after all.

The
gown was beautiful and she would look appealing in it or so she
envisioned. But for some inexplicable reason, it had come to
represent all her hopes and dreams, a tangible symbol of her love for
James. A gift from her to him. And thus, she must leave it in the
drawer.

Not
that she didn’t love James. Oh, she did, with all her aching
heart. If she did not, Derrick’s mean little revelation would
have hurt only her pride. Amanda wondered if Derrick would have
refrained had he understood just how painful his words would be, then
decided the situation could not have ended in a more satisfactory
manner for him.

She
was disappointed in James, but she was singularly appalled by his
vindictive cousin.

Amanda
lifted a soft cambric nightdress from the drawer and shook it out. It
was white, sleeveless with bits of lace circling a modestly rounded
neckline. Appropriately virginal looking without being staid, she
thought wryly. She finished undressing and slipped the gown over her
head, fastening a row of tiny buttons down the front.

Carefully,
she removed the pins from her hair. Amanda crossed the bedchamber,
wielding a brush, and sat on a window seat which overlooked the
gardens at the rear of the house. She paused in her brushing to
unlatch the window, pushing it open slightly. A gentle breeze seeped
into the room. It was fragrant and bracing, and she breathed deeply
of the cool night air.

A
full moon in a cloudless black sky watched her from above, the same
moon that was watching over her father in London. She hoped he was
all right. The passing days had tempered her anger somewhat, and now
she realized how much she missed him. She wasn’t certain she
had forgiven him yet, but it was a relief to know it would come in
time.

She
glanced at her lap. The brush lay motionless in her limp grasp.

Waiting
is a tedious thing, she decided, and it plays havoc with one’s
nerves. She was impatient with the trembling in her hands as she
returned to her hair, pulling the thick tresses over her shoulder to
braid them. One false start with the plaits, and she tried again,
muttering under her breath.

“Leave
it down. I like it better that way.”

Amanda’s
hands stilled—along with her heart. Slowly, she eased around on
the window seat.

James
stood inside the room, fingers wrapped around the door handle as if
he had just closed the door. He was watching her through narrowed
eyes, chips of blue ice so direct and intense, she felt pinned to the
spot. Why had she not heard him?

As
he strode into the room, he slipped off his coat, dropping it onto
the floor. With one hand he began unbuttoning his waistcoat, with the
other he pulled at his cravat.

There
was determination in his movements, and she was reminded of the night
of their wedding—days ago? How could that be? It seemed much
longer. If only she could feel now as she had then.

“What
are you doing?” she blurted.

His
vest and cravat joined the coat. “Getting comfortable,”
he said, smiling a humorless smile. He tugged the tail of his shirt
from his trousers, all the while his gaze never wavering from her
frozen features.

Not
until he stood before her naked to the waist was she moved to action.
He reached for the buttons on his trousers, and she stood abruptly.

“Wait!”

James
paused, pants partially opened but still clinging to his hips. For
the life of her all she could do was stare back at him.

He
was magnificent. Bronzed body from years in the tropical sun, wide
shoulders and a lean muscled chest, dark tousled hair and blue, blue
eyes—Amanda was transfixed. She hadn’t expected to be
attracted in quite the earthy way she was at the moment, the way a
man is aroused by the sight of a beautiful woman.

But
she was.

Only
then did his own gaze drop, taking in her demure gown with slow
deliberation, stopping at her unshod feet. James looked into her face
again, the heat in those wintry eyes nearly searing her. Amanda
reached out to the wall behind her to steady herself.

“Come
here,” he said.

She
shook her head, vaguely unsure why she was doing so. “You’ve
been drinking.”

“Only
a little.” A wicked smile eased his mouth.

Her
stomach dropped in sultry response. “I thought you were having
one drink.”

“Had
a bit more.”

“Why?”

“Courage.”

“Are
you nervous?” she asked in disbelief.

“I
bloody well am.”

“You
weren’t nervous last week when you came to my room in London
and scared my maid half witless.”

“That
was before I had to convince my bride that I was worthy of being in
her bed.”

“Is
that why you are standing there stripped to your skin?”

“Beg
pardon?”

“Are
you trying to convince me?”

An
arrested look altered his expression. “Perhaps…is it
working?”

Inherently
honest, the truth sprang to her lips before she could make herself
lie. “You are beautiful,” she whispered.

His
fey attitude died in an instant. “Amanda—”

He
came toward her, and she pressed her back to the wall, more from an
automatic response than inclination. However, James continued his
advance. He leaned into her, chest to pelvis, bracing himself with
his hands flat against the wall on either side of her. The warmth of
his breath, laced with brandy, brushed her cheek.