Chasing Lady Amelia: Keeping Up with the Cavendishes (15 page)

“I am shocked to find you both here,” he said, glancing from one to the other. “Together.”

There was nothing to say to that.

“I suppose you have come to take Miss Dish back to school,” Alistair said smoothly. Had Darcy been less Darcy his lips would have twitched at the ridiculousness of her fake name, her fake life. But he gave no indication of being even the slightest bit amused by the situation.

“Right.” Of course, Darcy wouldn’t correct Alistair’s assumptions, so as to protect her reputation.

“What if Miss Dish is not yet ready to return?” Amelia asked. “We are only at intermission and I wish to see how the play ends.”

“I think we can all agree that you have seen enough,” Darcy said flatly.

Amelia turned to Alistair. Surely he wanted just a few more precious moments together. He held her gaze for a moment. A long moment of gazing into his dark brown eyes. She didn’t like
what she saw. He was letting her go. He was setting her free.

Whatever this was, it was over.

She liked what he had to say even less. “He is right. You should go with him.”

Just like that . . .
you should go. I’ll just pass you off to another man as if I didn’t claim you for myself just this afternoon. As if we didn’t fall half in love. As if it were just one and only one perfect day, and that’s all.

She waited a moment—a long, endlessly excruciating moment—for him to say something about
seeing her again or simply,
Fear not, this day meant
something to me, too.
But no, he said nothing.

Amelia felt something rising up in her throat; she swallowed and fought to keep control of her voice. After all they had experienced together today, all he had to say was
You should go with him?

“So this is how it ends.”

“No,” he said softly, daring to lightly caress her cheek under the pretense of pushing one wayward curl aside. “This is just the intermission.”

In which our heroine has a heart-to-heart with the most unlikely gentleman.

The hour is even later

A
melia had to admit it was a relief to sink into the plush upholstery of Darcy’s carriage after a long
day on her feet. Why, she and Alistair must have walked from one end of London and back again. Darcy sat beside her in the curricle and picked up the reigns. Then they were off, through the city streets, on her way home.

She found her guidebook on the seat. She recognized the dog-eared pages and leather cover and the gold engraving of the title:
Burton’s Guide to London.

“What is this doing here?”

“Lady Bridget left it behind,” he replied, much to her surprise.

“Bridget was here?”

“Yes.”

“With
you
?” Amelia fully turned in her seat to face him. Darcy sat still, facing straight ahead.

“Yes.”

“Just the two of you?” She did not attempt to hide her intrigue. Bridget hated Darcy. She wrote extensively about it in her diary.

“Yes. Lady Amelia—”

“Just the two of you?
Alone?
Without a chaperone?”

Amelia gaped at him. Darcy. And Bridget. Who would have thought? Amelia was about to question him further, but figured she would get much more information from reading Bridget’s diary in the morning.

“I daresay you are not in a position to judge others about the presence of a chaperone, or lack
thereof,” he replied in that haughty way of his before changing the subject. “Everyone has been searching for you all day. Discreetly, of course.”

Amelia flipped through the guidebook, noting all the pages she’d folded down and the sights she’d circled with ambitions to see them. It was clever of them to use this to track her down. Or perhaps it wasn’t clever; perhaps her family just
knew
her so well.

That brought a lump to her throat.

Now that she was away from Alistair, away from that spell he cast over her—to be fair, one she most certainly welcomed and encouraged—she remembered her family. It felt like years—decades, even—since she had seen them. And in all of her two and twenty years, she had never spent this much time apart from them.

“Your family is very worried about you,” Darcy said, which she knew to be true, but it made her feel guilty to hear him say it. “Gravely worried.”

“I know,” she muttered. Then she braced herself for a lecture, because Darcy seemed like the lecturing sort, and he delivered.

“Yet you stayed away for the better part of a day, without sending word. You have taken incredible risks with your own safety, your reputation, and the reputation of your family. That is remarkably careless, foolish, and inconsiderate behavior on your part. I would expect better of you, Lady Amelia.”

Well, Darcy did not disappoint on the lecturing front.

And she
knew
all those things. She wasn’t an idiot. But she had for one day managed to push it all aside because . . .

“I wanted to do something for myself,” she said softly. “Just once I wanted to do what I wished and not give a care for what anyone thought. Just once I wanted to have a day of fun and adventure instead of stupid morning calls in the afternoon and changing my dress three times and attending the same old parties with the same old people. I wanted a day for myself. I don’t expect
you
to understand.”

Darcy wasn’t an idiot and thus didn’t ask what she meant by that. He was Noble Duty To Others personified.

“I do understand,” he said, in a voice full of
feeling
, which surprised her. “In fact, I understand completely. Perhaps more than you will ever know.”

This shocked her and she turned once again to look at the man beside her, trying to reconcile this calm and understanding man with the heartless snob she read about in Bridget’s diary.

“But aren’t you going to tell me that I am horribly selfish? That I should sacrifice my happiness for others? Aren’t I going to receive a longer lecture?”

“For all that you have made foolish decisions, I
do think you are aware of the fact,” he said. “Besides, I suspect the duchess will do a far better job of it than I.”

“I suspect I shall confirm that shortly,” she muttered. When no other lecture seemed to be forthcoming from Darcy, Amelia turned her thoughts to Alistair. His eyes. His lips. The way he touched her. Their perfect day.

And the uncertainty of what would happen next.

“About Mr. Finlay-Jones,” she said. Beside her, Darcy nodded. “You know him.”

“I do.” When Darcy was not forthcoming with any other information, Amelia prompted him. “Well? Is he a terrible scoundrel? A villain with nefarious intentions?”

“Do villains ever have intentions that aren’t nefarious?”

“That is an excellent point. But do answer the question. Have I . . .” She paused, struggling to find precisely the right words . . . have I . . .
fallen
in love with . . . given myself to . . .
She gulped.
“Have I spent the day with a villain?”

“No.”

“So Alistair Finlay-Jones is his real name, he has spent six years on the Continent, and he is not a villain?”

“True, true, and true.”

“Well that is something at least.”

But she was not consoled. Now that she thought about it, she knew so little of him: he
had business with his uncle, but who was his uncle and what had transpired between them? What did one do on the Continent for six years and why would one stay away for so long?

She knew how he tasted, what his fingers felt like entwined with hers, and that she could be herself with him. It had seemed so important hours ago, but now she wondered if she had risked her reputation and future on a man based on something as little as how he kissed.

There was so much more to know about him. And yet, he had said nothing of another opportunity with which she might discover it.

“I have known him to be a gentleman,” Darcy added. She noted the
past
tense. Then Darcy coughed awkwardly and asked, “Do I need to revise my opinion?”

Then she blushed furiously. Never in a million years did Amelia ever imagine that she would be having this conversation with this man.

“Lord Darcy, are you very politely inquiring if you need to duel on behalf of my honor?”

In the dim light of a passing gas lamp, she saw him redden slightly.

“Either way, you will have to marry him,” Darcy pointed out. “The duchess was surely hoping for a more prestigious match, but if today’s events are discovered, you will be ruined. Your whole family’s reputation will be tarnished. That is, unless you marry.”

But Alistair thought her Miss Amy Dish, student at a finishing school that didn’t exist. He wouldn’t be able to find her.

Or would he? She glanced at Darcy—her one connection to Alistair. Darcy could certainly find him and ensure that they were wed, whether they wanted to or not, just so they could avoid a scandal.

Whether she was
ready
for that monumental step or not. Yes, she ought to have considered this earlier, etc., etc. . . . but it was only now that she dared to really consider it.

What a terrifying prospect. Marriage. Forever. She wasn’t sure she wished to marry, ever.

“Those aren’t good enough reasons to promise a lifetime to someone,” she said stubbornly. It was certainly more complicated than that, but she didn’t want to think about it now. She didn’t want to be pushed into the Right Thing or the Done Thing. She had meant it when she said she had no intention of marrying. But if she did . . .

“Oh? Than what is?”

“Love, Lord Darcy.”

“Do you not love him?”

“We have known each other but one day,” she pointed out, not ready to declare her new, half-blossomed love to
Darcy,
of all people.

“Much can happen in one day,” he said thoughtfully, and upon that they could agree.

In which our heroine returns to the bosom of her family.

Nearly midnight

F
inally, Durham House came into view. The stately mansion rose up against the night sky, nearly every window lit from within. Amelia recalled her impression upon first seeing the house: nothing so grand and palatial could ever be a home. And yet, the people she loved most in the world where behind those walls, sitting vigil by the candlelight, waiting for her.

At Amelia’s request, Darcy waited in the carriage while she alighted.

She paused, there, taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders, facing that house, and everything it represented. Shoes that pinched,
tightly laced corset, riding sidesaddle at a walk instead of riding astride and galloping on horseback. Reputations and polite conversation about the weather. Footmen in matching livery and multiple forks at every meal. Mean-spirited cartoons about her when she got it all wrong. Marriages for the sake of reputation, not love.

She vowed that she would not return for
that.

Amelia was returning for her family. Because she loved them and because she had put them through enough worry. Because she had spent the day with someone who didn’t seem to have much family of his own, for better or for worse.

And because, though she belonged with them, she might belong with Alistair too, and how to reconcile all this belonging was something to sort out in the morning.

With love for her family firmly in her heart, Amelia knocked on the door.

Pendleton opened it, and gave no indication that her homecoming nearly four and twenty hours after her disappearance was anything remarkable. But that was an English butler for you.

Once he saw that she had returned home safely, Darcy nodded in the darkness and drove off. And within seconds of stepping into the foyer, her siblings were rushing toward her.

“Where the hell have you been?” James demanded. But his voice was muffled by her hair, as he pulled her into a fierce embrace.

“What did you do to your hair?” That was Bridget.

“Do you have any idea how worried we were?” That was Claire.

Before Amelia could reply she was engulfed in the fierce and loving embrace from all of them, all at once.

They finally stepped back and parted, revealing the duchess standing in the doorway between the drawing room and the foyer. Her spine was erect, and her eyes were bright. She smiled, revealing relief.

“Really, where have you been?” James demanded, slightly shaking her. “We’ve been looking
everywhere
for you.”

For once in her life, Amelia found herself at a loss for words. Her brother looked so worried, and dare she say it, older than he did yesterday, undoubtedly because of her.

She did feel guilty. Now, especially.

And yet her day with Alistair was
hers.
She had no wish to share it and have her memories picked over by others or to be chastised for all the perfect little moments of the day. She wanted to preserve the memory of the happy day.

“I’ve been out. Exploring.”

“Were you alone?” Bridget asked, pointedly.

“Do you have any idea how bloody worried we were?” Claire demanded, ever the older sister.

“I’m sorry to have worried you all. Truly.”

Amelia spoke earnestly. “I didn’t mean to run away. I honestly don’t even remember how I did it. But then I was out and . . . and then I was waking up . . . I was safe, I promise.”

But still, her siblings and the duchess exchanged loaded glances.

“It must have been the laudanum,” Claire murmured.

“What laudanum?” Amelia asked. She looked from face to face at all the sheepish expressions.

“We might have slipped some laudanum into your water,” Bridget explained in a small voice.

“We?”

“We simply wished to calm you down after your . . . excitement last night,” the duchess said in the no-nonsense way of hers.

But it all started to make sense now. Her own family had drugged her! Any untoward emotion, any expression of feeling, any display of behavior that went beyond simpering was something to be drugged away. No wonder she had run away.

That ameliorated some of her guilt at running away since she was clearly out of her mind—involuntarily—when she’d done it.

“I told him I wasn’t drunk,” Amelia muttered.

“Told who?” James demanded.

But Amelia wouldn’t answer. She slowly climbed the stairs and plodded down the hall to her bedroom. Once inside with the door shut
behind her, she opened the window and leaned out, looking at the night sky.

The city was quiet; there was no one singing tonight. There was no romantic baritone singing bawdy ballads to lure her out. Amelia gazed out over the dark outline of the city, dimly lit from starlight. She thought of all the people and places she had seen today, from the lowly girl selling violets to the triumphant actress upon the stage. There was a whole world out there, pulsing with activity, and today, at least, Amelia had been a part of it.

And somewhere, out there, was Alistair.

In which our hero broods and sips brandy, as heroes are wont to do.

Was it midnight yet?

T
here was a pounding on the door of Alistair’s flat. It couldn’t be Jenkins, who had retired for the evening. It could not be Amelia; even she wouldn’t dare to run away, alone, at this late hour, again. Besides, those were a man’s heavy fists pounding at the door, demanding entry.

Alistair opened the door to find Darcy glowering on the other side.

Of course it was Darcy, Lord Protector of Propriety, the Right Honorable Gentleman, the defender of virtue, etc., etc., etc.

“Do come in,” he said as his friend pushed past him into the flat. “Make yourself at home. Brandy?”

“No thank you.”

“What brings you here?”

He was answered with a sharp look.
Don’t be
an idiot.

“Tell me everything that happened,” Darcy said, “beginning with how you came to be in the possession of Lady Amelia Cavendish.”

“I think I will have a brandy,” Alistair remarked. He poured himself a drink and sat down on the uncomfortable little settee. Darcy paced. Alistair wondered why he cared so much about the fate of one wayward American girl.

“Do you believe in fate, Darcy?”

“No.”

“I don’t either. Or rather, I didn’t.” He paused thoughtfully. Was it fate that had brought him and Amelia together? Or was it merely luck? “As I was walking home from the club last night, she literally stumbled into my arms. I thought she was drunk. You know I couldn’t very well leave her on the street. So I brought her home.”

“She spent the night here.” Darcy’s horror was evident.

“Do consider the alternatives. Leaving her on the street, depositing her on the doorstop of some unsuspecting family and fleeing the scene . . .”

But Darcy had no time for that.

“You will have to marry her.”

“And this is where fate enters the picture,” Alistair said with a laugh. “Marrying her was the plan from the beginning. No, the middle. At any rate, I found her last night and Wrotham ordered me to marry her this morning.”

“Which is interesting, truly, but does not explain why I found you both at the theater this evening.”

“She wished to spend the day doing all the things she hasn’t been permitted to do.”

“I do not want to know,” Darcy said flatly. Alistair decided not to confirm Darcy’s worst suspicions. “You must marry her
soon.
If word of this gets out, she will be ruined and the entire family will be shunned. In fact, not even the duchess could smooth their entry into society. A scandal like this would ruin them all.”

“I have not been out of society so long that I have forgotten how it works. If a man so much as sneezes in the vicinity of a gently bred female of virtue, he will find himself at the altar. As it happens, I have every intention of wedding her.”

There was just the tricky bit of revealing that he knew she had deceived him from the beginning. And God Forbid that she ever discover he’d been
ordered
to secure her hand in marriage.

But he’d gone over all that in his mind all day long. Darcy paced before him, evidently incredibly vexed by the whole situation when Alistair
couldn’t fathom that he had reason to be. Or did he?

“The question is why the family’s reputation matters to
you.
”

Darcy gave him a dark look, but Alistair had known him too long to fall for his Lord High And Mighty routine, which terrified everyone else. Instead, he sipped his drink and wracked his brain for what Darcy gave a damn about.

Then the answer was suddenly, blindingly clear.

“You’re in love with her.”

His quick no wasn’t quick enough. Alistair’s stomach dropped. He wouldn’t have a prayer of marrying Amelia if someone as esteemed and
rich
as Darcy was interested in her. God, and he would be considered Amelia’s rescuer while Alistair was just the scoundrel who had ruined her.

“That is why you were searching for her.”

“Lady Amelia?” Darcy burst out laughing. “No, I have no feelings for her, other than polite concern for her welfare.”

“I don’t suppose the family includes sisters?”

“Two, in fact. But this is not about me.” But it was; Alistair saw that now. The potential scandal would ruin
all
the sisters’ prospects. This was starting to make sense to him now. “This is about you,” Darcy continued. “And the fact that you absconded with a young lady of virtue and
squired her all over town. Anyone could have seen you.”

“No one saw us.”

“How do you know?”

Alistair shut up and sipped his drink. The truth was that he didn’t know. He’d been so long out of town, he wouldn’t recognize most people—or be recognized by them. And frankly, he wasn’t paying attention to anyone or anything other than the captivating Miss Amy Dish.

“Someone will have seen you. They always do. Word will get out. It always does. If you have any sense, you will wed her properly and publicly before anyone learns the truth about you and Lady Amelia.”