Rules for a Lady (A Lady's Lessons, Book 1) (30 page)

"I understand." And she did. But she could not help feeling that in becoming Amanda, the best of Gillian had disappeared. If Gillian were gone, who would remember Mary Ames? Who would put flowers on a poor maid's grave? What would she say to her children about their grandmother? She could not speak of the sweet woman who sang nonsense rhymes by the fire to distract her daughter from an empty stomach. She could not tell them about a woman who lived with such simple wisdom.

Amanda did not know about these things, but Gillian did. And Gillian did not want to forget.

* * *

Stephen could not forget. He threw his empty bottle away in disgust while his head spun and his sight grew fuzzy.

She was gone.

Her small trunk had been loaded into the Tallis coach two hours ago, and then she'd followed. Her sweetly curving body and her tragic, pale face disappeared into the vehicle's dark interior with barely a backward glance. Then she and Tallis drove away.

She was gone.

The lying bitch.
But his thoughts held no heat, no anger, only the aching emptiness of memories that haunted him despite the brandy. Would he ever forget the way her eyes had widened with too much innocence when she tried to fool him? Or the saucy sway of her hips when she laughed? Or the erotic press of her lips that brought such fire to his soul?

He groaned and reached for another bottle.

"Well, this is a sight to warm a mother's heart."

Stephen looked up, squinting past the brilliance of a single candle held close to his face.

"Mother," he said, his voice only slightly slurred. "Get that away from my eyes."

"You are foxed."

"Not nearly enough."

She peered at him, bringing the candle even closer; then abruptly she set it down, her disgust palpable in the fetid air. "Really, Stephen, I thought you were the sensible child."

Stephen shrugged his shoulders, stoically resigning himself to his mother's company. "I am sorry to disappoint you."

She sighed. "Well, you might at least offer me a glass."

He blinked at his mother in surprise. He could not remember the last time she had requested brandy. But at her impatient gesture, he poured her a glass, desperately struggling to keep from sloshing it over the side.

"What is this?" she asked, her voice cutting painfully into his concentration. The amber liquid spilled over the side.

"What is what?"

Cup-shot as he was, his reactions were slow. He could not prevent his mother from grabbing a sheaf of paper from his desktop.

"'
Rules for a Lady,
'" she read aloud. "I never did see the need for such folderol, but then I never did much understand the two of you."

Even drunk as he was, Stephen was strong enough to pull the page out of her grasp. It was the list from Amanda's—no, Gillian's—room. She'd left it behind, just as she'd left the delicate necklace and ear bobs he had given her. All three were folded neatly in her mobcap, tucked away at the back of her wardrobe.

Greely had said one of the maids found them while cleaning the room. Now the items sat on his desk, his last reminder of her. His mother was brutal as she casually inspected each piece, silently poking at each item while Stephen ground his teeth in frustration.

They were his, damn it, and he had no wish for anyone, much less his mother, probing wounds that had not begun to heal.

"Mother—"

"Greely tells me Gillian's mother died. How very wretched for her. I tried to express my condolences earlier, but I am afraid she was not attending."

Stephen blinked, frowning as he tried to sort through his mother's last words. Had she said Gillian? Impossible. His mother did not know Gillian's true name.

"I recall when my mother died," the countess continued as she reached for her brandy. "You were too young to remember, but I was stricken with grief. There is a special bond between mother and daughter that nothing can erase. I did not eat or sleep for days. All I could think was that I was alone in the world. I had a loving husband and three beautiful children, but I still felt so terribly, terribly lost." She glanced significantly at Stephen. "It is not the time to make important life decisions. One invariably makes the wrong choice."

Stephen shook his head. "Amanda's mother died years ago."

The countess set her glass down with an irritated click. "Well, what is that to the point? I was speaking of Gillian's mother. And that odious minister. I am so glad you dealt with him." She glanced pointedly at the hole in the wall. "I suppose you felt the, um, drama was necessary?"

Stephen stared at her in openmouthed shock. "
Gillian's
mother died."

The countess folded her hands primly in her lap. "Why, yes. Did I not just say so?"

He gaped at her, trying to wade through his brandy-induced confusion to the truth. "How long have you known she is Gillian?"

"Why almost from the start! Stephen, you cannot think a baseborn serving girl could pretend to be a lady without my seeing the truth? I am not in my dotage, you know."

"But... but—"

"Good Lord, just because men are blind does not mean women cannot see these things. Why, there was nothing of my sister in her features whatsoever. And if that hair did not come from my brother-in-law, then it must have been the maid's."

"But... but—"

"Please, Stephen, try to clarify your thoughts."

Stephen took a deep breath, reached for his brandy, then pushed it away untouched. "Do you mean to tell me, Mother, you have known from the very beginning and yet you still pushed a... a—"

"Your uncle's by-blow," she supplied helpfully.

Stephen glared at her. "You mean you still outfitted her? And sponsored her Season?"

"Why, of course! Just because she was born on the wrong side of the blanket does not mean she is not family."

"But—"

"Really, Stephen, you are becoming quite tedious. Do you remember little Rebecca? The friend of the family I brought out when you were still in leading strings?"

He nodded, his thoughts stumbling back to a quiet little mouse of a girl, three years older than his oldest brother.

"She was your father's by-blow," the countess commented blithely. "Conceived before he and I ever met. My goodness, if I can bring out your half-sister, then I certainly can do the same for Gillian."

Stephen gripped the edge of the desk as if it were an anchor holding him to reality while the rest of the universe spun out of control.

"Goodness, Stephen, I had no idea you were so correct. Surely you realize half the ton consists of bastards and by-blows pretending to a nonexistent heritage?"

"Half?" He gasped.

"Well"—she shrugged—"perhaps not half. At least two now."

Stephen pressed his fingers against his temples, trying to hold back the headache already throbbing behind his eyes. "Do you mean to say you knew about Gillian and did not tell me?"

"Well, I assumed you were more clever."

He let his hands fall onto the desk as he regarded the woman he thought he knew. "Mother—"

"The question now is, do you love her?"

"What?" He nearly roared the word, but his mother did not so much as blink.

"Come now. You cannot pretend this"—she waved at the empty brandy bottles—"is simply because she lied to you. I lie to you all the time, and you never go to these extremes."

Stephen stared at his mother, then abruptly closed off those thoughts. He did not want to know what she meant. He could only focus on one thing at a time. "Gillian committed a fraud. On all of society!"

"Yes, yes, we established that. I want to know if you truly love her."

Stephen felt as if his world were narrowing in on him, cutting off his air. He pushed out of his chair and went to the window, shoving it open until he felt the night air caress his heated skin. "She pretended to be my cousin."

"And you pretended to believe her."

Stephen tensed, unable to deny the truth. He had known. Perhaps not as soon as his mother, but he had realized Gillian's identity more than a week ago.

"She is illegitimate," he said through stiff lips. "I am an earl."

"Does that truly matter?"

Stephen was silent, considering. Of all his worries and thoughts, the difference in their birthrights was the least important of all.

"No," he finally said. "It does not signify." All his heart cared for was her smile, the open-hearted way she embraced the world, and most of all, the way he felt when they were together. She brought out the laughter within him, and a joy he never thought he could possess.

"Do you love her?" his mother pressed again.

That answer, at least, was painfully clear. "Yes."

"Then why let her marry another man?"

"I..." Why was he letting her go? he wondered. "Because she does not love me."

From somewhere behind him, his mother released a disgusted sniff. "Men! Stupid to the bone."

Stephen whirled around. "She wanted to marry him! He proposed, and she accepted right there in front of me."

The countess crossed her arms, staring at him just as she had the time he turned the front parlor into a battleground for his toy soldiers. "I already explained, Stephen. Two minutes after hearing of your mother's death is not the time to make life decisions."

"But—"

"Gillian will marry another man in less than ten hours. If that is what you want, then I bid you good night. But if that is not what you want, then I have already ordered the carriage brought 'round. Do you wish to take it or your stallion?"

Stephen stared at his mother as his world finally, irrevocably fell into an obvious order. He was in love with Gillian. He had, in fact, been in love with her from the first moment she had called him the most generous man in the world and then ordered him to hire Tom. He could not let her marry Geoffrey. Though a decent man, Tallis was nevertheless not the one for Gillian.

Tallis would probably teach her to brawl.

Suddenly he felt his world brighten as it expanded enough to admit a willful, disobedient, and thoroughly delightful by-blow. "My stallion, Mother."

The countess sighed as her stubborn son strode from the room. "Men," she said as she drained the last of her brandy. "Stupid to the bone, but at least you can kick them."

* * *

"I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Gillian trembled slightly as Geoffrey lifted her veil. His lips descended, and she felt the warm pressure of his mouth against hers. Then his lips were gone, and she was married.

Married.

She gave a tremulous smile to her new husband. Did he look the slightest bit pale? No, it was merely the difference in his coloring. He was fairer than Stephen.

Taking her arm, Geoffrey turned her to the small audience of servants and family gathered as witnesses. Except for Lady Sophia and his mother, they were all strangers to her. But she smiled at them nonetheless. After all, they were her family now.

"Come, Amanda. Cook has been slaving in the kitchen since before dawn. We cannot disappoint her."

"Of course." She did not think she could swallow a single bite, but knew she must find a way. She was the lady of the manor now, and she needed to be gracious.

The lady of the manor.

Lady Tallis.

She moved mechanically, her poise deserting her as she forced herself into the dining room. Geoffrey had barely seated her when they heard a crash at the front door. Beside her, she saw Geoffrey's spine stiffen as his eyes darted toward the vestibule.

What could it be?

But before she could voice her question, Geoffrey interrupted her.

"Look at me."

"What?" She still frowned at the hallway, trying to gaze past the other people who also twisted around to see the front door.

"I said, look at me!"

Gillian shifted her gaze.

"Kiss me."

She obediently tilted her head, and with startling speed, Geoffrey took possession of her mouth. He was masterful in his touch, strong and demanding, but her thoughts were scattered, her mind numb from the events of the last few hours. She opened her mouth beneath his insistent pressure, but there was no heat in her motion, no thought other than simple compliance.

Then he broke it off, his expression incredibly sad. Then, when he spoke, the emotion echoed in his soft words. "Oh, Gillian, what have we done?"

She looked into his eyes, frowning as she saw regret, tenderness, and, most of all, the flat acceptance of a man resigned to his fate. She saw it, but she could not understand it.

Then all thoughts fled as a familiar bellow cut through the air.

"Tallis!"

Gillian spun around, scanning the room for Stephen. She had not thought to see him for months. Years, if she could manage it. Yet here he was, bursting into her new life, ruining everything even before it began.