Rules for a Lady (A Lady's Lessons, Book 1) (24 page)

* * *

Stephen heard the rattle of carriage wheels and could not stop himself from looking out the window. As he suspected, it was Amanda returning with Lord Tallis.

He glanced at the mantel clock. She would have to hurry if she intended to be ready for tonight's round of balls and routs. His mother intended to take Amanda to no less than three separate establishments tonight.

Since the evening of her first ball, Amanda had indeed become this Season's Original. For the past two weeks, he had tripped over posies and calf-eyed young bucks until he'd thought to convert the front rooms into a dormitory for lovesick fools. They were so thick, in fact, that he hid himself in his room to avoid the sight of yet more young tulips of the ton.

The whole situation was maddening. He could count the times he was alone with Amanda on the fingers of one hand. And each of those three times, it had been an awkward affair in the hallway between engagements. Neither knew what to say and both disappeared to their respective destinations at the earliest opportunity. They no longer even attended the same functions anymore. It appeared that Amanda planned her evenings intending to avoid him and Sophia.

Stephen glanced back at the carriage and frowned. Amanda was still there, speaking on the doorstep with Lord Tallis. Easing the curtains a little wider, Stephen narrowed his eyes and tried to guess at their words.

He had no clue, of course. But there did seem to be a new rapport between the two. Amanda clearly was not flirting, and yet she lingered on the doorstep with the man. It was as if the two had come to some understanding
      

Stephen stepped back from the window in shock, immediately denying the evidence of his eyes. She could not have made her choice already. It was only a few weeks into the Season. No, Amanda was too levelheaded to make her decision so soon.

Stephen settled back into his chair and returned to his reading—a pamphlet on the plight of young boys. But he could not concentrate; his mind was too full.

Amanda and Geoffrey. True, the man had a title, social standing, and enough wealth with the addition of Amanda's dowry. By all accounts, the man was a good match. Why, Stephen was even considering marrying Tallis's sister, as much because of her family status as her inherent breeding.

So why should he have this feeling of dread? Something was definitely wrong.

Setting aside his half-finished notes for his speech to the House of Lords, Stephen rang for his valet. It was time to make some inquiries, not only into the particulars of Lord Tallis's estate, but also to resolve some lingering questions about Amanda. He had put off the task, no doubt afraid to uncover whatever indelicacies her childish passions had thrown her into.

But it was time to face his responsibilities. He was Amanda's guardian. While his solicitor poked into the niceties of Tallis's affairs, he had time to check on Amanda's inheritance, making sure everything was in order before her nuptials.

With a grim expression, he turned to his valet, ordering the man to pack a small bag for him. Then he ducked down the back stairs, searching for some brandy to dull the ache in his gut.

* * *

Gillian was still awake. It was past three in the morning, at least an hour after everyone else in the household had sought their own beds. But Gillian was awake, staring out at the overcast night with nothing but a frail piece of foolscap to keep her company.

Her mother had written her a letter. It had clearly been delayed, sent through Amanda's housekeeper, Mrs. Hobbs, a notoriously forgetful woman despite her kind heart. It had arrived here care of Amanda Wyndham, buried in with a long series of the manor's household receipts.

Gillian twisted the page in her fingers. Though there was no light to read by, Gillian reviewed the page word by word. It was not hard, for the missive was very short.

I love yu. Yur father did to in his own way.

Rember yor cap.

It was not even signed, but Gillian recognized her mother's shaky letters, the belabored script and frequent misspellings. She also recognized the underlying message:
Good-bye.

Her mother did not expect to see Gillian again.

Gillian bit her lip, trying to muffle the sobs constricting her throat. How could this happen?

Gillian felt her ball gown rustle beneath her fingers as she crumpled the shimmering silk. The letter came in the post this afternoon, but she had not received it until after she'd returned home from Almack's. What irony, she thought with a grimace. While she danced in society's most guarded ballroom, her mother's last goodbye waited on the front table for her attention. Had she truly been so immersed in her deception that she'd forgotten her own mother?

No.
She had not forgotten her mother. When Gillian left two months ago, her mother was healing. With spring's arrival she should have continued to grow stronger each passing day. Gillian never would have left York if there was any hint of a relapse.

But the tone of her mother's letter implied otherwise. Gillian felt her hands shake, her heart breaking as she thought of her sweet parent. Was it possible? Was her mother truly dying?

She had searched frantically through the receipts, looking for anything else, even a note from Mrs. Hobbs telling her some news. But there was nothing—only the certain conviction that her mother was dying, and Gillian was hundreds of miles away.

She dropped her head in her hands and let the tears fall unchecked. But long before her gown grew wet, Gillian dried her tears, dismissing them as a useless waste of time. She must make her decision, and sobbing would not bring her any closer to an answer.

The question now was simple. Did she go back to her mother and forget the future? Or trust her mother was fine and carry on her charade until the end?

Abruptly pushing out of her chair, Gillian began to pace, the crumpled foolscap resting like a white flag on her bed. She was an engaged woman. Although Tallis had not wanted to make their betrothal public until after his sister was settled, their agreement was finished. She would soon be Lady Tallis.

But would their engagement survive her sudden absence if she disappeared to Yorkshire?

The answer, of course, was yes. Geoffrey would certainly not propose to a woman, then forget it the next evening. The problem lay in his desire to spend more time, not less, with her. Once she decided to visit York, he would undoubtedly offer to accompany her. It would be a natural opportunity to inspect the property that would go with her hand in marriage. And she could not allow that.

Only her mother and sweet Mrs. Hobbs knew of her deception. Everyone else in York would call her Gillian Ames, bastard daughter of the old baron. Geoffrey would discover her fraud within an hour. So she could not go to York, at least not yet, and certainly not openly. But she still could do something for her mother.

With sudden determination, Gillian stripped off her ball gown, regretting her decision to allow Hawkings to retire. It was awkward pulling at buttons meant to be unfastened from behind by a maid, and in the end Gillian tore the delicate fabric in her haste. She gave it barely a regretful sigh as she pawed through her wardrobe for something appropriate.

Gillian pulled out a serviceable walking gown. It was much too bright for skulking about in the nighttime shadows, but it was the best she could find under the circumstances. And, best of all, she could fasten it from the front. Then, taking a deep breath to calm her thoughts, she sat down to compose a letter.

Gillian's first mission was to revive her mother's failing health. That meant a doctor, but the nearest one she trusted lived miles from her mother's small village in York. Though he did not begrudge his services, he usually required some recompense for his time and travel.

Rooting about in the back of her dresser, Gillian retrieved her maid's cap from its hiding place. Folded within the white linen, she kept the last of her pin money and the piddling sum she had managed to win at a card party. She could easily have gotten more, but she had not wanted to be too forward at her first card party. Now she wished she had been ruthless.

Nevertheless, she decided, as she spilled the pound notes out across her escritoire, her small cache would be enough for the doctor. She quickly scribbled her request that the doctor visit her mother immediately. The money was to pay for his time and any medicines he prescribed.

The next step was to see her mother. Since there was no end of difficulty in going to York herself, perhaps she could bring her mother here to London, where she would set the dear lady up in a peaceful room nearby.

That, of course, had been her original plan. As soon as she was married, she would send the money for her mother to move to London. She felt her lips curve at the thought of finding a quiet location nearby where she could visit her mother whenever the society whirl became too much for her. Mary Ames had an extraordinarily simple way of viewing life, and somehow she never failed to even out the worst of Gillian's riot of emotion and action.

The problem was, of course, finding the money for a discreet abode.

She must talk to Geoffrey. She would have to tread very carefully, plan out her exact phrasing beforehand, but she thought she could convince him to loan her the money. She would speak with him when he returned from his estate. He had left this morning, pleading urgent business, but he'd promised to return as soon as possible.

In the meantime, she had to post her letter in secret. Which meant she must give it to Tom.

Just as before, Gillian took off her slippers and climbed out onto the windowsill. Her gaze fell briefly on her list of ladylike behavior, noting especially number two on not climbing up and down trellises.

She sighed, knowing that if Stephen caught her, he would banish her for sure. But this was the safest, quietest way to escape the house, and that overrode any considerations of ladylike behavior. At least this time she would not be barefoot. She slipped both her footwear and the letter into her pocket.

She stepped past the sill and felt her toes grip the trellis. She climbed safely and silently down to the ground, an involuntary shiver coursing up her spine as her bare feet settled on the cold cobblestones.

Suddenly a hand slapped over her mouth. It was thick and heavy and nearly suffocating. Gillian tried to scream, but all she managed was a muted squeak. Then an arm wrapped around her rib cage, crushing her against a huge, foul-smelling body.

"An' wot 'ave I caught today? Why, it be a wench for Tess."

Two coarse laughs echoed through night air, and Gillian realized there were at least two men against her. If only Stephen had taught her to hit, then she might have had a chance. But he had refused, and all of her struggles were useless. Her captor was too strong, his hold too secure.

All too soon, a massive fist exploded against her left temple and the world went black.

* * *

Stephen tossed aside his bedcovers in disgust.

He could not sleep. His mind was too full of the sight of Amanda speaking intimately with Tallis on the doorstep. He knew nothing improper had occurred, but he still envisioned all sorts of illicit conversations and meanings attached to their simple actions.

He tugged the bell pull with unnecessary force, summoning his valet. If he could not sleep, he might as well make his way toward York.

He was barely dressed and a message sent to the mews when the commotion began. In what should have been a quiet house, he heard the distant sound of a boy calling.

"...lordship! Yer lordship!"

Stephen frowned, a cold dread seeping into his blood. "Check Amanda's room," he ordered his valet. Then he crossed the room, yanked open the door, and was halfway down the stairs when Tom stumbled to a gasping halt in front of him.

"'E's got 'er!"

"Start at the beginning, Tom. And speak clearly."

The boy nodded, his eyes wide with fear, his clothing begrimed, but he took a deep breath and made a valiant effort at speaking precisely. "I was watching. I know ye told us t' stop, but I thought 'e might come back."

Stephen did not wonder what Tom meant. The morning after Amanda's escapade on the trellis, he and the boy had spoken at length about Bullard, Tom's former "protector." Then Stephen had ordered Tom and one of the footmen to watch the house at night in case Bullard returned to make mischief. But he'd canceled the order last week, thinking the cutthroat effectively intimidated. Apparently Tom had decided to continue on his own, and unlike Stephen, the boy had not underestimated Bullard's patience.

"Miss Wyndham is not in her room, my lord. And the window is open."

Stephen turned to stare at his valet, his worst fears confirmed.

"'E's got 'er!" repeated Tom. "'E was waiting off to the side. I didn't see 'im until she was already down. And then it were too late."

Stephen felt a cold fury begin to build. "He climbed through the window for her?"

Tom shook his head. "Naw, she was coming down. I.. I did not think she would, not after the drubbing you gave her afore."

"Apparently I have underestimated a good many things lately," Stephen muttered under his breath, his mind spinning furiously, searching for a plan.

"There was two of 'em. I couldn't get close to help."