The Virtuous Ward (Sweet Deception Regency #5) (21 page)

"Oh Betta, I shall shrivel up under Ophelia's disapproving eye," Amity wailed. "Whatever will I do if Bancroft's sister cannot like me?"

"Iffen you don't hold still, she will take one look at your hair and run screaming from the room," the harassed abigail said as she tried to anchor a hairpin in her mistress' coiffure. Her plain face was set in disapproval since she was not partial to Lord Bancroft Paige. She had had other ideas as to whom Miss Amity should marry.

"I'm sorry, Betta," Amity apologized, smiling at her friend in the mirror above the vanity. "I am just so nervous."

"Ye have no reason to be nervous, Miss Amity. Iffen she can't take you the way you are then there's no point in worriting. Better you should wonder what is wrong with her if she cannot like you."

Amity giggled. "I wish I had your good sense, my girl. I always feel better for telling you my troubles."

Betta noticed the dark circles under her mistress' eyes and suspected that she had not shared all her troubles. She was very curious as to what had transpired on the picnic when she had returned all wet and disheveled but Miss Amity had been quiet ever since. More curious still, Lord Maxwell Kampford had been absent since that day, almost as if he were avoiding his own townhouse. Betta jammed the last hairpin into place none too gently and stood back eyeing her charge.

"How do I look?" Amity asked, rising and turning before her abigail.

Despite an unusual subdued air about her, Amity looked magnificent. Her gown was a heavy moss green silk which softened the red tones of her hair and brought out the gold highlights. There was a wide band of cream-colored lace at the high neck, repeated again at the wrists and along the edge of the hem. The lines of the dress were simple. The bodice was made up of flat pleats to just beneath her breasts, then the skirt fell to the floor in a shimmer of silk. She wore no jewelry except a string of pearls which Betta knew had been given to her by Lord Kampford. Her hair was dressed in a Psyche knot and its simplicity accentuated the exotic beauty of her crystal blue eyes.

"I expect you'll do," Betta said dryly. "Especially if Lord Paige is expecting a princess."

"What a good friend you are," Amity said, hugging her in a burst of enthusiasm. Then her eyes flew to the clock and she gasped. "They will be here any minute. Oh I wonder if Max and Lady Grassmere are ready."

"I almost forgot," Betta said, reaching into the pocket of her apron and extracting a note. "Lord Kampford said I was to give this to you when you were ready."

Amity snatched the paper and with shaking fingers ripped open the note. A smile was forming on her face at the thought of her guardian's kindness until she read the words of the note: "Just remember to take a deep breath every quarter hour and then everything is sure to go well." Oh why did he have to remind her of her habit of knocking things over in her nervousness. Just the mere mention of it gave her a queer feeling in the pit of her stomach and she crumpled the note in annoyance.

"Blast!" she swore.

"Miss Amity!"

"Oh, I know. I shant say it again." Amity dropped the paper on the vanity and called to Muffin who was as usual ensconced on the chaise longue. "Come on, old boy. It's time to put in an appearance."

The dog slid to the floor and followed his mistress to the door. She dug her fingers into the fur at his neck, grateful for the comforting contact with the animal. As if marching in a funeral parade they walked through the hallway and down the stairs to the salon. Lady Grassmere and Max were already present.

Max rose to his feet and Amity flushed at the gleam of appreciation in his eyes. He came forward and with a chivalrous gesture, raised her hand to his lips. A shiver ran down her spine as his lips touched her skin and she strove to control the rush of feeling that pounded along her nerve endings.

"My dear, there is little question that neither Bancroft nor Ophelia will find anything to criticize," Max said, his deep voice full of praise. "You are exquisite."

"Thank you, Max," Amity said. She snatched her hand away but still felt the touch of his lips as if they had marked her forever. Unable to meet his eyes, she turned to her chaperone. "How elegant you look, Lady Grassmere. Is that a new dress?"

"Why how clever of you to notice, child," Hester said, flushing as she straightened the grey folds of her dress. "I thought this occasion deserved something special."

At this point the conversation came to a halt and Amity sat down on the silver and white striped settee, Muffin sprawled at her feet. She fidgeted with her reticule and prayed that Bancroft and his sister would arrive soon. Her nerves felt overset; she had a sudden urge to giggle but dug her nails into the palm of her hand until she was able to overcome such an idiotic notion. When she looked up, Max was leaning against the back of the high backed chair next to the settee, his face quite expressionless.

Amity stared at him, wanting to imprint the memory of him on her mind. He looked well in black, she decided, for it brought out the unusual green in his eyes and made the chestnut color of his hair seem richer. His cravat, the work of the indefatigable Wilberforce, was tied far more ornately than usual. Oh, how handsome he is, she thought as her eyes studied him.

A small furrow creased her forehead as she looked more closely at her guardian. Today there was something different about him. Although he appeared relaxed there was an air of tension to his body, almost as if he was prepared to do battle. He glanced across at her and there was a blaze of intensity in his green eyes that she could not read. Then his mouth flashed in a wide grin that transformed his face and there was such a feeling of happiness apparent in his smile that Amity was quite taken aback. She was saddened that he was so pleased to have her off her hands. When Putnam announced Lord and Lady Paige, she had to force a smile of welcome to her trembling lips.

While they were greeting Max and Lady Grassmere, Amity had a chance to study Ophelia. Her first impression was not promising. The thirty-year-old spinster was wearing a gown of dun-colored sarcenet devoid of frivolous trim or ornamentation. A small round cap of worked muslin covered her hair, except for a thin braid of mousey hair which was bound in a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Ophelia might have been considered a neat and trim woman but for the look of disapproval she wore like a banner on her face. Her mouth was pinched into a thin discontented line and her dark eyes held little softness.

Amity trembled as Max led Ophelia over to the settee and waited as he seated her, asking if she were quite comfortable.

"My comfort is of little importance to me," Ophelia said, her voice a heavy monotone.

"My sister is known for her ability to withstand great physical inconvenience," Bancroft stated, pride in his voice. "She has a toughness of spirit that is much to be admired. She will be an excellent example for my future wife," he finished, reddening as he stared at Amity.

"As Brother says, I would hope to be not only an example but a guide for the young lady he favors with his attentions," Ophelia in her turn avoided looking at Amity, her eyes fixed on Bancroft. "We live a simple life, free from the debilitating corruption of luxuries. A lady must learn to live with discomfort."

"A lowering thought, Lady Paige," Max said, his expression very serious although Amity caught a twinkle in the green depths. He seated himself in the high backed chair, cocking his head as if listening. "Ah, here is our tea."

The doors to the salon were thrown open and Putnam entered followed by several footmen bearing trays. Max indicated that the tea tray should be set before Amity whose hands were clenched in her lap. She raised agonized eyes to her guardian and he raised his pocket watch, taking a deep breath to remind her of his note. She ground her teeth at his conspicuous prompting, knowing only too well that his kindness in reminding her, made her aware of her penchant for knocking things over. Blast Max's good intentions! she muttered under her breath. Steeling herself, she reached for the first cup.

"How would you like your tea, Lady Paige?" Amity asked, hoping the woman did not hear the distinct rattle of the china.

"Plain," was the uncompromising answer. "I have not always been able to convince Brother"-she nodded to Bancroft who shifted under her censuring gaze.-" to give up his sweets. I find that most of the younger set cosset themselves with all sorts of confectionaries that do little to improve the health or teach them abstemious ways."

"How true, Lady Paige," Max said. He leaned against the cushioned arm, his hand tapping the cover of the wicker sewing basket beside the chair. "I have warned my ward that a diet of sticky buns will do little to enhance her figure. But then it is an innocent enough vice."

Amity stared daggers at Max but managed a smile as Ophelia, mouth pinched in disapproval, turned to her. "Lord Kampford will have his little joke. In point of fact I abhor sticky buns," she said, drawing in a deep breath before she filled Lady Paige's cup. She passed it without incident, wanting to wipe her perspiring hands on her skirts before attempting another.

"Will you be leaving town soon, Lady Paige?" Max asked, his eyebrows raised in interested question. "Now that the summer heat has arrived it appears to be quite uncomfortable."

"Brother and I will be going to Bath," she said, her words sparing as if she begrudged the use of each one. "As a child, Bancroft was a puny thing but each year I have seen to it that he takes the waters. As you can see, he has benefited from such an efficacious cure."

"Ophelia has been lucky to find rooms near the Crescent," Bancroft said, smiling at his sister. "She is able to walk to the Pump Room each day for her morning glass. Since I am never quite sure how long I will be staying, I have been putting up at the inn. But Sister, prefers to stay as long as the company is interesting."

"I was never a great believer in drinking medicinal waters," Max said, earning a look of condemnation from Ophelia. "Believe me, Lady Paige, you are far braver than I. I was in Bath for a week a year ago and availed myself of the much-vaunted cure. One taste and I poured out my glass into the nearest potted plant. By the end of my stay, the plant looked decidedly peaky and was beginning to turn brown."

Bancroft chuckled at the joke as he leaned over the tea table, accepting the cup for Lady Grassmere and carrying it across to the chaperone who was busy with the needlework in her lap.

"You look exceptionally well, Amity," he said when he returned to her side.

Before Amity could thank him for the compliment, Max leaned over to Ophelia and whispered in a voice that was quite audible to all, "You will be quite pleased that Amity has such a nicety of taste. She never stints on her wardrobe but the extravagant prices are well worth it for the
savoir faire
of her ensembles."

One look at Ophelia's face, sent Amity's heart plummeting to her satin slippers. The woman did not sniff but it was apparent she could not applaud either extravagance or
savoir faire
. A tremor invaded her arm as she extended Bancroft's cup. She was saved from disaster when he removed it from her hand and she heaved a sigh of relief.

"I must agree that your ward is always dressed in the first stare of fashion," Bancroft said into the heavy silence of the room.

For a moment Amity had an overpowering urge to stick her tongue out at Max. He was oblivious to her beau's ready defense, concentrating his attention on the ceiling while his hand played with the lid of the wicker basket beside his chair. She could not understand what he was about. His conversation thus far had been both outrageous and provocative. He must be aware that his comments were not easing an already tense situation.

Amity's fingers felt wooden as she poured her own tea and raised the cup to her lips. She took a sip, hoping the soothing brew would calm her rattled nerves. Wanting to signal Max her distress, she raised her eyes to glare across at him, but she was caught by the sight of the wicker basket which seemed to be moving of its own volition. It was only when the top inched upward and a ginger-colored paw snaked over the rim that Amity dropped her cup.

Chapter Twelve

The teacup dropped from Amity's nerveless fingers, hitting once against the edge of the table before it toppled to the carpet. She opened her mouth to call a warning as the top of the wicker basket opened farther but the words froze on her tongue. In slow motion the top raised and slid sideways onto the floor. With a loud hiss and a scrabbling of claws on the reedy sides, the ginger cat exploded from its wicker prison. She sprang into the air and with balletic grace landed in the very center of the tea table between the tea service and the pastries.

For a moment nobody moved, so transfixed were they by the unexpected apparition. Ginger swung her head, eyeing the tarts topped with cream. The tip of her rough tongue shown between her teeth and she lowered her head toward the plate. The slight movement broke the spell. Max rose to his feet at the same time that Amity made a desperate lunge for the animal, knocking the pitcher of cream over on the tray. The clattering sound upset the cat and she sprang from the table, clearing the teapot by inches and landing in Ophelia's lap.

"Oh! Oh!" Ophelia shrieked, making frantic flailing motions at the animal. "Get this beast away from me!"

At the sudden commotion, the recumbent Muffin raised his shaggy head. The sight of the bristling cat started an ominous growling rumble deep in his throat and he lumbered to his feet. When the dog attempted to bound into the fray, Amity threw her arms around his neck, holding him by sheer strength against her legs.

"Oh help!" Ophelia cried, her spine pressed to the back of the settee and her face set in a grimace of loathing.

"Allow me, Lady Paige," Max said, his voice coaxing as he reached for the ginger cat. "Naughty puss. Not you, Lady Paige. I was referring to the cat."

At Max's words, Amity felt a bubble of hysteria rising to her throat and buried her face in Muffin's coat. As if things weren't bad enough already, the dog decided he would enter the melee, and let loose with a chorus of deep barks. Amity patted his back, trying to calm him.