The Viscount's Revenge (The Royal Ambition Series Book 4) (5 page)

“Oh,” said Amanda meditatively, her eyes sliding to the magnificent diamond he wore in his cravat.

The viscount fell silent and Amanda seized the opportunity to bite into a cake, while her mind worked furiously. The highwayman idea was only a dream.

What if she and Richard held up Lord Hawksborough! But he looked so tall and imposing, and he
had
been rather pleasant and courteous. Amanda gave a little sigh. How marvellous it would be if you could live inside dreams and never have to face the cold harsh light of reality.

Lord Hawksborough picked up his quizzing glass again and swung it by its cord between his fingers. The light from the chandelier sparked fire from the huge ruby which glowed on his middle finger, held by a thick antique setting of white gold.

Isn’t it amazing sad, thought Amanda, that he can calmly talk about Richard finding work when that one ring would probably keep the three of us forever.

Amanda swallowed the remains of her cake and started hurriedly on another. She felt someone watching her across the room and looked over and caught Aunt Matilda’s beaming, approving face. Good heavens! Aunt Matilda obviously thought she was fascinating his lordship. That was indeed flying high!

But she
had
been popular this evening, thought Amanda, carefully putting the remains of her cake on the plate. Very. A lot of her partners had been Richard’s friends. Richard had lost touch with most of them since he had left school, but he was still regarded as a prime favourite. And they had paid her no end of compliments, so she could not be exactly an antidote.

But she did not know how to flirt, so ran Amanda’s busy thoughts. The gentlemen had complimented her on her appearance and on her gown. In the books Amanda read, the villain always lusted passionately after the heroine, whereas the hero was always hitting his brow and looking on her in a kind of uplifting spiritual way and pressing his lips to her brow. But that was books for you. They were not much help in coping with the here and now. And here and now was one rich and attractive lord. Perhaps he was married.

“Is your wife with you?” asked Amanda suddenly.

“No,” he said. “I have no wife.”

I must flirt, thought Amanda. At least I could
practise.

Amanda wrinkled her brow. Then she remembered she had once asked Mrs. Jolly to instruct her in the art of flirting. Mrs. Jolly had said severely that good manners were enough, but had finally relented and said with a smile, “Always keep in mind, Amanda, that the gentlemen like compliments every bit as much as the ladies. I do not think the butter can be spread thick enough!”

What did one say? She had heard one man remark to another at the beginning of the evening, “That gel has a deuced pretty ankle.” Perhaps something along those lines.…

“You have a very fine leg, my lord,” said Amanda.

Lord Hawksborough removed his gaze from the crowded room and fixed her with a pale silver stare. “I do not think I can possibly have heard you aright, Miss Amanda,” he said. He glanced down the table and saw a large leg of mutton, and his face cleared. His young companion must have a truly bottomless stomach and the digestion of an ostrich.

“You were requesting some mutton?”

“No,” said Amanda, all pretty puzzlement. “I said you have a very fine leg.”

“Indeed!” he replied politely.

“Yes,” said Amanda earnestly. “I think it is very well shaped.”

“I cannot return the compliment,” he said gently, “for obvious reasons.”

“And… and…” pursued the resolute Amanda, wishing her brother could hear how gamely she was flirting with this lord, “your eyes are like… are like…” Her voice faltered as she met his flat silver stare. “Like sixpences,” she finished lamely.

“What about my left eyebrow?” he asked.

Amanda studied it carefully. “Arched like Cupid’s bow?” she suggested hopefully.

“No, no,” he said sadly. “You have failed to please me. A
mouth
, my dear Miss Amanda, is compared to a Cupid’s bow. What can one say of an eyebrow? Like a hairy caterpillar’s back arched in the sun?”

“No,” said Amanda, “I do not think that would do
at all.
I am persuaded you are bamming me.”

“When you have praised my leg so beautifully? I can assure you that no female of my acquaintance has ever appreciated my poor leg so much before. When I die, I shall have it embalmed and sent to you.”

Amanda gave a snort of laughter. “I was trying to flirt, my lord, because it is the thing to do, don’t you see, but obviously I do not know the right way to go about it.”

“Then you need lessons.” He picked up her hand and held it lightly in his and smiled into her eyes. “I could teach you.…”

The sound of a shrill exclamation made him turn around. Amanda followed his gaze.

The earl and countess, Miss Devine, and the other members of the earl’s house party were standing in the doorway with the master of ceremonies, Mr. Jessamyn. Mr. Jessamyn had told the earl in no uncertain terms that the behaviour of his guests had offended most of the county present at the ball. Furthermore, Miss Devine’s insults had been too much. The earl had agreed to remove the members of his party forthwith. Mr. Jessamyn as hunt secretary was allowed a license given to few and spoke his mind in the ballroom as he spoke his mind on the hunting field.

Miss Devine was furious that the earl had not stood upon his rank.
She
was not going to stand and shuffle her feet in disgrace and allow herself to be patronised by a set of country nobodies.

“Then
come along
,” she said in a loud carrying voice. “I am still feeling shaken after having been jumped on by some great ploughboy.”

There was a shocked silence and then everyone started to talk at once. Amanda’s eyes flew across the room to where her brother sat. His face was red with mortification.

“Excuse me one moment, my lord,” she said breathlessly. “I must go to Richard,” and without waiting for his reply she hurried off.

“Oh, Richard,” whispered Amanda, sliding into an empty chair beside him. “She is horrible, that woman. Do not look so stricken, I beg of you.”

“Damn them,” said Richard fiercely. “I would rob the lot if I could.”

“Oh, Richard, do not refine too much on it. She is spoilt. She dresses like a Cyprian. Oh, see, they are leaving. I must say good-bye to Lord Hawksborough and then I will return.”

As Amanda left to join Richard, Lord Hawksborough experienced a stab of what he was sure was indigestion as he watched her slight figure move quickly across the room.

He found the earl at his elbow and rose to his feet. “Well, Hawksborough,” grunted the earl. “Seems some of my ladies have disgraced us. Better get ’em off, heh!”

“Yes,” said the viscount wearily. “I will help see the ladies to the carriages.”

Unseen by the viscount, Amanda had come back and was standing behind the earl, within earshot.

“Want to say good-bye to your young lady?” said the earl.

“My… Oh, the village maiden,” said Lord Hawksborough. He still had that pain in his chest and it was getting worse. The evening had been insipid. Miss Amanda had enlivened it considerably, but he would not see her again and she preferred the company of her country lover, Richard.

“No,” he went on with quite dreadful clarity. “I shall be glad to leave. I cannot remember when I last spent a more boring evening.”

She was so furious, she did not know whether to scream or cry. To be dismissed contemptuously as a bore. She
hated
Lord Hawksborough. She hated him more than Mr. Brotherington. She hated him more than anyone else in all her young life. Amanda turned on her heel and went back to join Richard.

They both sat in silence until Amanda at last put her small hand over Richard’s large one and whispered, “Lord Hawksborough is leaving Bellingham sometime tomorrow. He plans to travel to London at night.”

“Indeed!” said Richard Colby savagely. “Now, that, my dear Amanda, is very interesting indeed.”

They looked at each other in complete understanding.

Aunt Matilda came drifting up, looking rather wilted. Her large turban had sunk down on her forehead so that her faded blue eyes peered warily out at the world through a curtain of gold fringe.

“Who was that extremely handsome man you were having supper with, Amanda?” she asked.

“Lord Hawksborough.”

“Hawksborough!” Two spots of pink began to appear on Aunt Matilda’s withered cheeks. “Now, I wonder. I just wonder,” she murmured.

“Wonder what, Aunt?” demanded Amanda sharply.

“Oh, nothing,” said Aunt Matilda airily.

The dance was starting up in the ballroom again, but Amanda and Richard both declared they would like to go home. Amanda had not been to school, having gleaned all her education from Richard’s schoolbooks, and so, unlike her brother, had no friends to confide in. Richard, because he was hurt and humiliated, blamed his friends for egging him on to ask the haughty Miss Devine to dance, and wished only to get back to Fox End and lick his wounds.

Both brother and sister were too miserable on the journey back to notice that Aunt Matilda was in unusually high fettle, humming snatches of dance tunes to herself, and smiling and nodding at no one in particular.

Frost glinted and sparkled on the hedgerows like the diamond in Lord Hawksborough’s cravat, and a moon rode high above the countryside, as flat and silver as his lordship’s eyes.

It was good to be home at last. The quietness of Fox End welcomed them with its comforting smells of beeswax, woodsmoke, dry rot, and damp plaster.

Aunt Matilda sat an infuriatingly long time over the tea tray. Richard and Amanda wondered whether she intended to go to bed at all. She had removed her turban and her faded eyes sparkled and her wispy salt-and-pepper hair stood up around her head as she talked about the ladies she had met and the food she had eaten.

At last, to their relief, Aunt Matilda announced she was retiring. First she insisted on carrying the tea things to the kitchen and washing them up, despite the protests of the twins.

Then she fussed about the kitchen, picking things up and putting them down.

Then she went into the back kitchen to prod a spoon into Amanda’s bramble jam to make sure it had set. Finally she lit her bed candle and mounted the stairs with a light step, singing softly to herself.

“Well,” said Amanda in amazement. “It was certainly worth the expense just to see Aunt so happy and
alive.
”

“We did not spend so much,” said Richard. “In fact, I could give you some, Amanda.”

“No, keep the money,” said Amanda, settling herself down in the winged armchair facing Richard. They always used the morning room once the cold weather had set in. The dining room and drawing room were large and chilly and damp. The study was used as a sort of dump for old game bags and papers and unanswered letters and bills.

Richard sat with his legs stretched out in front of him, thoughtfully watching the leaping flames. Amanda felt a pang of dismay and loss. All at once he looked older and his old carefree expression had gone.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked.

“Money,” he said. “Money and how to get it. I will never allow anyone to humiliate me as I was humiliated this evening.”

“I was humiliated too,” said Amanda in a low voice. She told him of Lord Hawksborough’s remark to the earl.

“How dare he!” she went on passionately. “Are we not as good as they? Even the lord lieutenant of the county, Sir Percival Jenks, would not treat us so.” A mischievous smile curved her lips and she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees in a most unladylike manner. “I say, Richard,” she said softly, “would it not be extremely humiliating for my Lord Hawksborough to be held up by two highwaymen, one of them on a donkey?”

Richard grinned back and then his face grew serious. “I had better ride into Bellingham in the morning and find out how many servants they have. It would not be at all funny if they were armed—well, they will be armed of course—what I am trying to say is that it would be disastrous if they should be young, alert servants who would shoot us on sight.”

“I think it would be infinitely worse if we shot anyone ourselves.”

“I thought of that,” said Richard simply, “and I shall not load the pistols.”

Amanda looked at her brother thoughtfully. She was glad he did not propose to leave her out of the venture, but on the other hand it would be a
start
if one’s brother saw one as a frail female to be defended from the cares of the world.

But instead she asked, “Are the pistols in good condition? I have not used one since you taught me how to shoot two years ago.”

“I cleaned and oiled them and refaced the flints,” said Richard. The Colbys both knew that in a flintlock pistol, the contact of flint and steel caused the flint to chip away slightly at every shot.

Neglect led to misfires, the average being one misfire for every thirty-eight successful shots. “Not that I’m going to load them, as I said,” pointed out Richard, “but there is something very deadly about a well-cleaned, well-oiled pistol.”