As Hawks was clearly speaking to Amelia, she had to form some sort of answer that would be acceptable to her father. She couldn’t think how it could be done. Aldreth found very little acceptable in the best of circumstances. This was hardly the best of circumstances.
She was saved from having to answer Hawks by the entry into the library of the Earl of Dalby, his uncle Mr. John Grey, and his three sons, the various Mr. Greys of the Iroquois nation. He had dragged them home, here, now? Hawks was entirely worthless.
The introductions were made in a perfunctory fashion and then Hawksworth said, “You’re to marry Lord Cranleigh, then? I had not thought, that is, I had not considered him to be someone of interest to you, Amelia.”
“I beg your pardon?” Amelia said stiffly. “I am not going to marry Lord Cranleigh. Not at all. Whyever did you think so?”
“Because he is declaring it himself, to everyone gathered in front of the house.”
“What? You mean, now?”
“I mean precisely now. This instant. You didn’t know?”
Of course she didn’t know, but she should have. Cranleigh could be so forceful at the most inconvenient times. She rushed to the window, everyone else in the room following her, and it was a crowd, and looked down upon Berkeley Square. The outdoor crowd had diminished by about half, but those who remained were engaged in a very loud and very agitated argument with Cranleigh, who looked quite ready, even eager, to duel the lot of them at the first opportunity. As dueling was illegal, first opportunities were not easy to arrange.
“My, he is determined,” Sophia said on a wistful note. One might even say she sounded appreciative. Amelia looked at her askance for a moment, not at all in a friendly manner. Sophia Dalby was entirely too aware of Lord Cranleigh and everyone knew that when Sophia became acutely aware of a man, he wound up in her bed. “Such an endearing quality, is it not?”
“It is not,” Amelia said. “Not when it is presumptuous and uncalled-for.”
“Uncalled-for?” Sophia said and then added in a whisper that could be heard by everyone, likely even Yates out in the vestibule, “Darling, he did kiss you, most ardently in fact. I think he feels he must do something about it. Something primitive.”
Amelia could only stare at Sophia in shock, her mouth unattractively agape. What could she say to that in front of her father?
“Amy? You kissed him?” Hawks asked, driving home the point, the fool.
“He kissed
me
. Briefly,” she answered, not certain that was a response that put her in the best light, but unable to think of an alternative.
“Small wonder he thinks he is to marry you,” Hawks said.
“Small wonder, indeed,” Mr. John Grey, Sophia’s brother echoed, his expression looking entirely off-putting. Why, was she to defend her behavior with Cranleigh to an American Indian? She would not.
She
could
not. But that was neither here nor there.
“Amelia declined something that was not quite an offer, not five minutes ago in this very room,” Aldreth said, studying Sophia.
“But of course she did,” Sophia said, staring back at Aldreth. “No one can expect Lady Amelia to accept any sort of offer of marriage that is less than the kind of offer she fully expects, kiss or not. Satire or not. Rumor or not. She simply has far more fortitude than Cranleigh has credited her with. And far higher standards than he relied upon.”
What was that supposed to mean? That Cranleigh had arranged for her to be very nearly forced into a situation that would very nearly require her to marry him? There was nothing further from the truth. And she ought to know. She’d been kissing him for more than two years and he had yet to do a single thing to damage her reputation or her chances for a good marriage.
That didn’t sound quite right, but it was correct in theory. And practice.
“She kissed him? Right here in this room?” Sophia’s fully grown, and what was to have been assumed, sophisticated son asked. He sounded like a simpleton. Where did it matter where Cranleigh had kissed her? Why, as to that, he had once kissed her on the seventh step of the Duke of York’s staircase for upwards of half an hour.
“Markham,” Sophia said, sounding almost weary, “please do try not to be tiresome. Certainly a man may kiss a woman and not have the world come to halt. I’m entirely certain that both Lord Cranleigh and Lady Amelia are both sophisticated enough to know that a simple kiss . . . or two, between friends, can’t possibly do either of them any harm. Unless, of course, one of them wants to do harm. Then it is another proposition entirely.”
“I don’t know as to harm,” Hawks said, actually beginning to pace the room. Hawks, as a very firm policy, never engaged in anything as energetic as pacing, particularly not when there were six perfectly good sofas available, and ten chairs. It was a well-equipped library, after all. It even had a pleasingly arranged assortment of books. “I do know that he’s convincing nearly everyone out there,” and here he pointed vaguely at the window that overlooked the street, taking in three or four Indians with the gesture, “that he’s going to marry you. He’s
very
convincing.”
“Of course he’s convincing,” Sophia said. “I’m quite certain that he’s simply trying to clear the area in front of Aldreth House for Lady Amelia’s sake, her reputation being of his utmost concern. Wouldn’t you agree, Lady Amelia?”
“I most certainly would,” she said stiffly, not daring to look at Aldreth. He
had
seen her kissing Cranleigh, after all. In certain lights, it might appear that Cranleigh had other things on his mind than her reputation. “I was most definitive in my refusal of his offer of marriage. I even have witnesses.”
“You certainly do,” Sophia said. “And I’m quite certain that, if required, Aldreth and I will give accurate and detailed accounts of what occurred in the library concerning Lady Amelia and Lord Cranleigh. But only if required.” Sophia smiled at her as she said the last. It was not a pleasant sort of smile. Why, it looked very nearly malicious.
“As she is soon to marry,” Aldreth said, studying Amelia with more care than she found comfortable, “I shan’t think it will be required. Her husband will dispel any lingering rumors, as is his right, as well as his duty.”
“And his pleasure,” Sophia’s brother said, his black eyes mere slits of speculation as he looked her over, “if he’s the right kind of man. This one,” and he made a gesture with his head that clearly indicated he meant for her to look out the window, which she did not as it would have been seen as entirely too forward by the mob below, “seems the right kind. What’s wrong with him?”
“Nothing!” Amelia said sharply, feeling very safe about being sharp with an Indian as she was in the very heart of Aldreth’s house. On the open street would have been another matter entirely. In the park, she would have said nothing at all, no matter the provocation. And she had been provoked. Dreadfully. And all because she had kissed Cranleigh . . . blast, he had kissed
her
. . . she really had to get that bit straight, and because Cranleigh was out on the street trying to salvage her ravaged reputation.
Which wouldn’t have been ravaged if he hadn’t practically torn her dress off of her very unwilling body in the Prestwick conservatory. Well, very nearly unwilling. Some small part of her had felt the slightest thrill when he had laid his hands on her, his icy eyes burning with . . . passion? Anger? Frustration? Something very like all three. There was very little to it, after all, a simple misstep, a torn dress. It happened almost every day, didn’t it? Something to be quickly forgotten.
Or it should have been if not for that scandalous satire.
Oh, very well, she might have been slightly responsible and things might have got just a bit out of hand because she had been found in Iveston’s very brotherly arms. Certainly brotherly. Why, she felt as much passion in Iveston’s arms as she did in Hawksworth’s, which is to say, none whatsoever.
Couldn’t Cranleigh see that for himself? How could he be blind to something so very obvious?
“John,” Sophia said, “things are not as simple as that, particularly in this country. Why, a man and woman must have all sorts of ties and alliances to bind them. Mere physical attraction and a good character are not enough.”
True, completely and utterly true, and yet so unpleasant when put forth so blatantly.
“Good family is essential,” Aldreth said, sitting down on the sofa closest to the window and crossing his legs.
“There is nothing wrong with the Blakesleys,” Amelia said.
“No, perhaps not,” Aldreth said. “Still, Hyde, as a general of some repute, didn’t perform up to expectations when the colonies revolted.” Aldreth shrugged slightly, his most damning gesture.
“Truly?” Sophia asked. “I can find no fault with his performance. We have differing standards, apparently.”
“Apparently,” Aldreth echoed, not at all perturbed. Why, he looked very nearly relaxed and the whole world knew that Aldreth never relaxed.
“What’s to be done about Cranleigh?” Hawksworth asked. “If he’s not to marry Amelia and as he’s even now putting it out that he is . . .” He let the idea trail off, as it would have been too much effort to complete a sentence.
“As Lady Amelia’s brother,” the Earl of Dalby said reasonably, “I should think the duty should fall to you, Lord Hawksworth.”
Two or three of the Indians, most attractive men in a primitive sort of way, particularly the elder brother, a Mr. George Grey, who had the most alarmingly attractive dimple in his left cheek when he smiled, which he was doing right now, grunted in what she assumed was agreement to Lord Dalby’s suggestion.
Spending a few days with Lady Dalby’s exotic relatives had apparently done nothing to firm Hawks up. “I could attempt it, I suppose,” Hawks said with absolutely no enthusiasm.
“If I go out it will look entirely too official,” Aldreth said, “as if there is actually something to his assertions. I don’t think that would serve Amelia’s best interests.”
“No, it certainly wouldn’t,” Sophia said thoughtfully. “Perhaps you should do it, Lady Amelia. It would certainly quell every hint of speculation if you were to be seen publicly denouncing Cranleigh’s claims. I should think it would be obvious to those who remain, those who see the two of you together, that Cranleigh is wildly off the mark in claiming an alliance, indeed, an arrangement between you. Don’t you agree?”
She most certainly did not. However, as the entire room was arrayed against her, she didn’t see that she had much choice. As to that, she had always found Cranleigh to be almost usually reasonable as long as they weren’t alone; she didn’t anticipate any problem in dealing with him on a public street.
It was truly remarkable how wrong she could be in her expectations, starting with her alliance with Sophia, which was not proceeding as smoothly as she had wished, and ending, she hoped, for she was truly quite exhausted by the events of the past week and still without a proper proposal, with Cranleigh.
Cranleigh, his coat off, his shirt nearly undone, was very close to brawling in the street, her street, to be exact.
Again
. It was entirely scandalous. That Cranleigh was brawling with . . . oh dear . . . with
Iveston
. Why on earth was Lord Iveston here? Hadn’t they mutually decided that a marriage between them was not a thing to be desired? As he was not a man to be desired, at least by her.
Amelia moved cautiously down the steps, just one or two; she couldn’t see any requirement that she actually go down amongst the men. Two footmen stood at the entrance of Aldreth House, watching the fight with overt delight, which was not at all helpful.
The Lords Dutton and Penrith were in the crowd, near the front; at Penrith’s side was Lord Raithby, the Earl of Quinton’s son, which was most peculiar as she had only met Raithby a half dozen times at best and Hawksworth didn’t have a fondess for him at all, which might explain the peculiar look of delight on Raithby’s rather handsome face.
The younger brothers of Cranleigh were quite visible, and doing nothing to stop their brothers’ fighting, which was so very like a brother. The Dukes of Calbourne and Edenham were far to the back, but for all that, they had an unobstructed view of the fight and, in fact, seemed to be wagering on the outcome. As to that, Calbourne looked a bit rumpled about the cravat; perhaps Cranleigh had knocked him another glancing blow? She did hope so. For all that Calbourne was a duke in the very prime of life, she did find him a bit of a nuisance. He had been discarded. Could he not accept the fact and forget her?
Apparently not. It was to be expected that dukes in the prime of life had little experience at being rejected for any reason.
“Cranleigh!” she said, holding her shawl tightly around her. It was not a red shawl, as depicted in that horrid print, but it was a shawl nonetheless and she realized in the next instant when every man gathered in front of Aldreth House, and there were more than a few, stopped watching the fight for the barest instant to look at her, that she should not have worn a shawl of any color. By the very speculative gleam in all their very debauched male eyes, she should
not
have worn a shawl.
She also should not have called out to Cranleigh. No, not Cranleigh. His name on her lips was perhaps, just perhaps, too intimate an act for public consumption.
Cranleigh, to his credit or against it, she could not decide which, did not look at her upon hearing his name. He did take advantage of Iveston’s momentary loss of concentration to hit him firmly in the vicinity of the third button of his waistcoat. Iveston turned a bit red in the face, and then white about the mouth, and then Cranleigh turned to give her the most unpleasant glare.
Well,
really
. What had
she
done? She was not going to feel guilty about merely saying his name, though by the look on his face, actually by the looks on all their faces, she should be simply drenched in guilt. And shame.