Martha Schroeder (7 page)

He knew he had annoyed her by acting as if he were her guardian, but he also knew he would risk her further wrath by continuing to do so when he deemed it necessary. It wasn’t only Eustace. Percival Sturdevant was not to be trusted, he was sure, and even Sir Robert was unworthy of Amelia.

Someone had to look after her.

He hurried after the slender figure descending the stairs like a green-clad woodland sprite, floating ahead of him, and as always, just out of reach.

Chapter Five

Eustace Mannering’s creditors were not of a mind to leave him alone to grow accustomed to his new position or to use it to persuade others to lend him even more blunt. They aimed to collect what was due them immediately.

Eustace had been subject to an ever- increasing series of threats, leavened by the occasional promise of new loans once the old ones were repaid. He had thought hazily that all his troubles would be over once he succeeded to the title. It had never occurred to him that the old duke would not leave him the fortune to go with the title. But now he found himself with houses and lands representing hundreds of thousands of pounds, but without any means of reducing any of those assets to cold, hard cash.

In desperation, he had told the leader of the informal syndicate of moneylenders whom he owed that he had every expectation of marrying the duke’s daughter in the new year. Yes, January, February at the latest, should see him solvent and happily leg-shackled, he told his chief tormentor with what he hoped was a confident smile.

It was a promise he had repeated several times, in attempting to explain why there had been no announcement of the upcoming nuptials in the
Gazette.
Neither the smile nor the promise carried any conviction.

“Marry her you must,” said the tall, cadaverous man known as Josiah Blakeley, who spoke for all those who had lent Eustace money. “But you cannot wait until January to do so. You can raise money on her fortune as soon as you’re riveted, but it must be now, Yer Grace,” he added sardonically.

“She is a gently bred female who has just lost her father,” Eustace complained. “I cannot rush her into matrimony.”

Blakeley’s thin lips turned down, and he glared at Eustace. “We don’t care nothin’ about that, Yer Grace. We want our money. Throw her over your saddle and ride to Scotland if you must, but make the lady yer duchess or there’ll be trouble. For you and yer ma,” he added.

The look in the man’s eye told Eustace that he had better do something toward advancing his case with Amelia or face some form of physical coercion. With that threat in mind, he appeared at Jane Forrester’s on a morning a week after he and his mother had moved into Doncaster House.

It was just like Amelia to remove to a house in Hans Town, far from the fashionable part of the city, to live with a renowned crank like Jane Forrester, whose views on the education of women and the resemblance of marriage to slavery were well-known. He was shown into a tidy reception room that, though light and airy, had not the least claim to elegance. The maid had a most unfortunate country accent and actually looked him in the eye instead of keeping hers discreetly lowered.

Amelia entered the room like a sunbeam, dressed in a yellow wool morning dress with a demure lace fichu.

“My dear cousin.” Eustace bowed over Amelia’s hand and mentally rehearsed what he had to say.

She withdrew her hand. “Eustace. I trust you and Cousin Hortense are comfortable at Doncaster House.” Her smile was pleasant, but her eyes did not reflect it. There was something cool and appraising in that candid blue gaze that threw Eustace out of countenance.

“My dear cousin,” he began again, then paused. His speech pledging undying love and asking her to be his bride had flown quite out of his head.

“Yes, Eustace?”

Was there a little genuine amusement in her smile now? “I-I . .. There is something important I wish to discuss with you. To ask you actually,” he said.

“Yes, Eustace?” She gestured for him to take a seat, then seated herself opposite him in a most uncomfortable-looking wooden chair.

“You must know I have always held you in the highest regard, my dear—”

“Miss ’Melia, I finished my sampler. Look, Miss ’Melia!” A tiny urchin in a calico dress came dancing into the room, waving a grubby piece of canvas.

Amelia smiled at her, but Eustace was revolted. “Really! This is Lady Amelia Bradshaw, you wretched little brat! See that you address her proper—

“Eustace!” Amelia’s tone brought him up short.

Damn! He should have remembered that Amelia adored these snot-nosed little thieves.

“We are all merely Miss and Mister here. It is one of Jane’s rules.”

“Pardon, my dear. It is just that I hate to see anyone treat you less than respectfully.” Eustace stretched his lips into what he hoped was an ingratiating smile.

“Ise ’spectful,” the child said, stamping her foot and glaring at him.

“Of course you are, Molly,” Amelia said. “And your sampler is beautiful. You run along, now. I have to talk to the gentleman.”

“I stay.”

Eustace stared at the wretched child, who proceeded to sit down on the floor and fix her dark, shoe-button eyes unwinkingly on him.

“No, Molly.” Amelia picked her up and set her on her feet. “You go back to the schoolroom. You still have lessons to learn.”

Molly frowned, which made her little monkey’s face look even less attractive. “I stay. Until Mr. Gideon comes, I stay. I guard.”

What nonsense was the brat babbling now? He saw Amelia smile at the child, lean close, and whisper something. Molly looked at him again, frowned again, and then with dragging steps and many a backward glance, she slowly left the room.

“Now, Eustace.” Amelia sat down in the same wooden chair and looked up at him. “You had something you wished to speak to me about?”

“Yes.” The damned little guttersnipe had thrown him completely off his stride. He needed time to recover. “I wonder if Miss Forrester’s household might have an extra cup of tea to spare for a visitor.” He tried to sound humorous.

“I
am
sorry, but I am afraid that tea is served only at teatime,” Amelia said. She was clearly not the least bit sorry. “Another of Jane’s rules. It is also a necessary economy measure. If you would care to contribute to the school, you could specify that your gift be used to furnish tea for guests.”

Eustace felt a giggle tickle the back of his throat. Contribute to Jane Forrester’s school? He was fully prepared to shut the place and padlock it once he had Amelia and Amelia’s money safely under his control! It galled him past bearing that Jane Forrester should be receiving money that was by rights his. He could feel impatience tug at him, fraying his already uncertain temper.

“Amelia.” He began to pace the room, although he had planned to fall to one knee in order to demonstrate his passionate devotion. “You must know that I hold you in the highest esteem. Never would I want to be the means, however unwitting, of ruining your life. So, my dear, dear Amelia—” he broke off. Mama had stressed the importance of emotion in his proposal, and he tried to took overcome with love and any other positive feeling he could think of. “Please, please do me the inestimable honor—make me the happiest of men—say you will be mine!” He played his final trump. “Let me make you the Duchess of Doncaster.”

Amelia did not look happy or surprised or show any of the other emotions young ladies who had just been asked to marry a duke were popularly supposed to feel. Instead she looked cool and faintly pleasant, as if she were listening to a shopkeeper extol wares she did not want. She was polite, but she did not appear ready to purchase.

“Oh, Eustace, I think not,” she said. “I do not want to marry anyone, and even if I did, truly we should not suit. Thank you for your offer, which I am sure was prompted by kindness and concern for my welfare.” She rose to her feet, held out both her hands to him, and smiled. It was not, he noted, as warm a smile as she had given the ugly little urchin. “But truly you need not worry. I am more than contented with my life as it is. Thank you, Eustace. But no.”

He could feel a tide of anger and despair sweep through him. She had to marry him. She had to! “You do not perfectly understand.” He clenched his hands at his sides to keep from wrapping them around her neck. “It is important.” No, that would not do. “It would make my mother very happy.” He saw Amelia’s eyebrows go up. That would not do, either. “It would make me very, very happy.”

The desperation he felt must have sounded in his voice, for Amelia looked at him with an arrested expression in her eyes. Eustace decided to continue to speak the truth. “I will be so unhappy, so
desperately
unhappy if you do not become my wife. I need you, Amelia. Truly I do.” His voice shook with emotion. He meant every word.

Amelia looked uncomfortable, even a little sad. “I am so sorry, Eustace. But I simply cannot marry you.”

Rage and fear commanded him now. He stepped forward and grabbed her arm. He shook her a little. “You don’t understand! You must marry me! You must!”

Amelia tried to pull away, but Eustace was past reason. He could see his future slipping away from him. Instead of life as the Duke of Doncaster, he was going to have to flee England for France or one of the colonies. If he could not pay his creditors, they had made it very clear they would see him in debtors’ prison. There was no choice but flight if Amelia failed him.

And here she was, the simple little fool, looking like a marzipan angel in a Christmas centerpiece, shaking her head and opening her mouth to cry out—

“No!” he cried. “No, you shall not summon that Miss Forrester. I am fighting for my life and for our good name. You owe me that, Amelia. You must help me salvage the family name!”

“What have you done, Eustace?” she whispered, her eyes, huge and shadowed. “Why is the family at risk?”

He pulled her toward him. “Never mind. Don’t ask so many questions. Just say you will marry me, and all our troubles will be over.”

“Your troubles might be over, Mannering, but Amy’s would be just beginning.” Gideon’s cool voice came from the doorway, where he stood with Molly jumping on one foot by his side. He strode rapidly to where Eustace and Amelia stood, locked in a parody of an embrace.

“See, Mr. Gideon. See!” Molly was triumphant. “I did just what you said. I guardeded.”

“Gideon!” Amelia’s voice rang with relief, and her face reflected the release of the fear she had felt.

“Falconer!” Eustace spat the word. It might as well have been
nemesis.
“Damn you, do you follow her around like a puppy, hoping for a pat on the head? That’s all you’ll ever get, you pathetic nobod—”

But Gideon had seen the duke’s hands tighten on Amelia’s arms and had watched as she tried anew to pull away. In the grip of a fury he had not felt since he last faced the French, he wrenched Eustace away with one hand and sent him spinning across the room, to land sprawled on the floor.

“Amy!” Gideon took her in his arms and ran his hands gently up and down her arms. She seemed unhurt, and the look she gave him made him feel like a hero. “Are you hurt? Did he harm you in any way?” His voice was low and hoarse. He looked deep into her eyes, and for once he did not try to guard his feelings, but let them blaze out toward her without constraint or disguise. He didn’t think of what was appropriate, or what the late duke would have thought, but only of what he felt—an emotion so strong and deep that he could not have found words for it if he had tried. He merely looked at Amelia and saw that she was not hurt and that her smile was wholehearted and wholly for him.

For a long moment they stood staring into each other’s eyes, oblivious to Eustace and everyone else in the world. Then Eustace scrambled to his feet and turned a face distorted with rage and frustration to her.

“Amelia!” His cry was heartfelt. “Amelia, don’t look at him like that. He is nobody. Nobody! Please, Amelia, look at me, pay attention to me.”

“Get out.” Gideon’s voice was flat, uninflected. It never occurred to him that Eustace would not obey. “And do not ever lay a hand on her again.”

“For God’s sake, Falconer! I have done nothing wrong. I want to marry her! You have no right to interfere!” The duke flung out his hands—half in supplication, half in threat.

Amelia took a step away from Gideon. Eustace had finally penetrated the haze she had been wrapped in since Gideon had taken her in his arms. “Eustace, we have nothing more to say. Gideon has nothing to do with my decision. I reached it entirely on my own.”

“Do not send me away, Amelia. You must many me!” Eustace took a step closer to her.

Gideon simply turned and looked down at him. “I would very much like to break you in half, Mannering.”

“Gideon!” Amelia put her hand on his arm, restraining him.

“But I will refrain because it would distress Amy.” He reached down and hauled Eustace to his feet without apparent effort. “If you ever lay a finger on her again, or threaten her or cut up her peace in any way, I will kill you.” His voice was calm and almost pleasant, but he knew his face bore the expression it did when facing an enemy—implacable resolve. He waited silently for perhaps ten seconds before Eustace gave up and stumbled out of the room, his steps jerky with rage and defeat.

“Come and sit down, Amy, and I will get Molly to fetch you a cup of tea.” Gideon gently led her over to the one comfortable chair in the room, a large wing chair, and seated her as if she were made of blown glass.

“We only have tea at teatime,” Amelia explained for the second time that afternoon. “Jane does not make exceptions.”

“She will for me,” Gideon said simply. “Molly, run and fetch Miss Amelia a cup of tea, please.”

The little girl nodded once and sped off to the kitchen. While they waited, Gideon squatted by Amelia’s side and asked her very quietly to tell him exactly what Eustace had said. She complied, speaking in a low but perfectly controlled voice.

“I am not overset, Gideon,” she said, smiling a little tremulously down into his eyes. “I knew that Eustace would propose sometime. I had not expected it so soon. I thought he would leave me at least six months of mourning before he pressed me, but I knew it would come. He is more desperate than I thought. I fear for him.”