The Ardent Lady Amelia (11 page)

It occurred to him, in a suspiciously welcome burst of inspiration, that the logical thing for him to do was to spend more time in her company. Only by being closer to the situation was he going to be able to judge for himself just what Lady Amelia was, and what she wasn’t. He would pretend to court her, never getting himself in so deeply that he could not extract himself with honor, but deep enough so he came to know what depths those violet eyes hid from the casual observer.

The only difficulty he was likely to encounter was Lady Amelia’s obvious dislike of him. A small matter, he thought ruefully as he hurried back to his horse through the woods. One he could no doubt overcome with his nonexistent charm, his sterling lack of polite conversation, and his impressively un-Corinthian looks. To say nothing of his limp.

There were a lot more people around when he emerged from the woods and mounted his horse. The spring day had drawn them, at an unprecedentedly early hour for some of the ton. He hadn’t been surprised to find Lady Amelia there, but he took care now to avoid anyone he might know as he cantered his horse across the grass to where she was approaching the Grosvenor Gate.

She paid no attention to the approaching hoof beats, but showed a surprising confusion on his coming alongside and speaking to her. The color in her cheeks deepened and she looked about her rather anxiously, as though she were alarmed at being seen with him. “Good morning, Lord Verwood.” Her gaze seemed centered on his face, but he didn’t have the impression she was meeting his eyes.

“I trust you slept well last night,” he offered, wondering what one
did
say to set up a flirtation.

“Very well, thank you.”

They had come through the Grosvenor Gate and were crossing Park Lane. “I hope the boy’s mother is better this morning.”

“She’s in hospital, but the doctor thinks she’ll recover.”

Verwood searched her face for some sign of the charade he felt this must be, but Lady Amelia was frowning absently at the house they passed. He was startled when they reached the corner and she said, reining her horse left onto Upper Grosvenor Street, “Have a pleasant day, sir.”

“I thought I’d accompany you home.”

She gave him a sharp look but inclined her head in agreement. The color had receded slightly from her cheeks, but her eyes still skittered about in an uncomfortable way, unwilling to linger on his face.

“If I... upset you last night, I apologize,” he said, thinking perhaps she was still annoyed with him for that foolhardy kiss. On the balcony he’d suddenly had a vision of her in similar circumstances dozens of times, trying to wheedle information from her companions by bribing them with kisses, or worse. Hadn’t Chartier said precisely that? And she
had
been trying to get information from him. But she had reacted more like a Fury to his kiss than the docile maiden Chartier had painted, who didn’t protest at all. Maybe getting information from him wasn’t worth accepting his advances.

“The sooner last night is forgotten, the better,” she muttered. Her hands on the reins clenched more tightly for a moment and she stared straight ahead to the corner of Grosvenor Square.

Verwood softened his voice to a most persuasive tone. “I’d be infinitely grateful if you could see your way clear to forgetting it. Is it asking too much to depend on your charity, Lady Amelia?”

Her eyes finally lifted to his face, still half-suspicious. Apparently satisfied with what she saw there, she said, “I’m sure it’s already forgotten. We needn’t mention it again.”

“Certainly not,” he agreed, and smiled at her. He found he wished to erase those little frown lines above her nose, to coax some warmth into her violet eyes. Her lips, in the spring sunshine, looked even more tempting than they had the night before, but he brushed aside the thought to apply himself to cajoling her into a better humor toward him. “You’re an excellent rider, Lady Amelia. I fear, though, that your mare isn’t quite as young and energetic as she used to be.”

“Yes,” she said, stroking the horse’s neck fondly, “I’m afraid it’s time to retire her. I’ve mentioned it to Peter, but he’s been too busy to take me along to Tattersall’s. Poor Cleo deserves to spend the rest of her days in a pasture. London makes her nervous nowadays.”

“On Monday I saw a fine bay mare at Tattersall’s. One of Hampnett’s, I believe. They say he’s rolled himself up again and is selling his whole stable. I’d be happy to look into it for you, if you’d allow me.”

“That’s kind of you,” she replied, uncertain. “Perhaps if you were to mention the mare to Peter…”

“Of course.”

They had reached the earl’s house and Verwood quickly dismounted to offer his assistance to Lady Amelia. She swung one knee free of the hook and the other foot free of its stirrup, but hesitated when he held his hands out to her. His smile became gently quizzical and she placed her hands in his before sliding to the ground. For a moment they stood gazing into each other’s eyes. Then he pressed her fingers and released them, saying, “I shall call soon, if I may.”

Amelia caught her lip uneasily between her teeth before shrugging slightly. “If you wish,” she said softly. “Good morning, Lord Verwood.” Without waiting for a response, she grabbed the skirts of her habit in both hands and hurried up the stairs.

Chapter 8

Trudy was standing in the large entry hall when Amelia came down that afternoon to meet Robert for their excursion to St. Giles Rookery. One of Trudy’s favorite costumes was a high-waisted gold-and-white-striped day dress that seemed to balloon out from her on all sides. She was observing herself complacently in the gilded glass over an ornate table on which rested the silver tray for visiting cards.

“Where are you going?” she asked, eyeing Amelia’s pelisse in the mirror.

“I’m off with Robert to see the child who was here last night. His mother’s in hospital and I want to make sure the children are well-cared-for and lack nothing. I won’t be long.”

“Really, my dear, you can’t go into some appalling area of town, even with Robert. Send him to assess the situation.”

Amelia smiled placidly. “I assure you I’ll be perfectly safe with Robert, Aunt Trudy. No one ever so much as looks at me askance when I’m with him.”

Trudy gripped one billowing panel of her dress and smoothed it down. “I’m sure Robert can accomplish any errand on his own, dear. You really can’t expose yourself to the kind of squalor there’s bound to be where that child lives.”

“It’s already arranged.”

“It can be unarranged,” Trudy informed her, frowning at Amelia’s reflection.

There were not many occasions on which the two strong-willed women clashed, but Amelia could see that this was going to be one of them. She was about to put forth arguments in her behalf when the knocker sounded.

Bighton came unhurriedly through the green baize door at the end of the hall, bowed slightly to the two women who faced each other obstinately, and progressed to the front door, where he admitted none other than Lord Verwood.

“Ah, a guest,” Trudy murmured. “You really can’t leave with a guest just come.”

“He’s come to see Peter.” Amelia felt certain this wasn’t really the case.

“No, indeed. He’s come to see you. Peter is out.”

“But he doesn’t
know
Peter is out,” Amelia suggested.

Trudy glared at her. “He brought you home from the park this morning. I saw him from the breakfast parlor. In any case, we must surely entertain him.”

“You
may entertain him,” Amelia muttered. “I have other matters to attend to.” But she smiled pleasantly as Verwood advanced toward them, saying, “I’m afraid you’ve missed my brother, sir, and I was just leaving, but my aunt would relish some company.”

Not willing to be undercut in this way, Trudy shook her head vigorously. “No, no, I cannot allow it,” she said, turning to the viscount with an imploring expression. “You must convince her, Lord Verwood. It would be folly for her to venture into such a neighborhood with Robert.”

“St. Giles Rookery?” he asked immediately, to Amelia’s surprise.

Trudy shuddered and looked questioningly at her niece.

“Yes, St. Giles Rookery,” Amelia admitted as she casually buttoned her pelisse. “There’s no need for concern. The undernourished poor are no match for Robert, I promise you.

Since at this moment Robert appeared in the hall, resplendent in his livery, no one actually quibbled with this statement. He was certainly a strapping young fellow. His shoulders were as broad as a prizefighter’s and his height surpassed Verwood’s by a good four inches. Amelia thought he looked a great deal more civilized as well, this blond giant. Verwood’s wild black curls and his fierce black eyes gave him the look of a pirate or a highwayman, hardly what one expected in the drawing room.

He was observing her now, the thick brows lowered thoughtfully over his eyes, and a rather odd twist to his lips. Amelia realized after a moment that this latter was his attempt at a polite smile. She had to bite her lip not to burst out laughing, though she sobered quickly enough when he said, “I would be willing to accompany Lady Amelia and Robert to the Rookery, Miss Harting, if it would set your mind at ease.”

“Would you?” Trudy gushed over with gratitude. “How very kind of you, Lord Verwood! I wouldn’t have a moment’s rest the whole time she was gone. But you can see how determined she is! There’s no stopping her once she has her mind made up.”

“Is that so?” he asked, giving Amelia an amused look which she assumed was meant to quell any objections she might have.

And she had objections. Any number of them. Not the least of which was that she felt a trifle nervous in his presence. She had noticed it that morning, when he was making a particular effort to be pleasant to her. It was an unusual reaction for her to succumb to. Having enjoyed the benefits of society for some years now, there were few occasions on which she felt inadequate or uncomfortable, so it was difficult to explain the fluttery feeling she had in her stomach, or the way her hands were wont to tremble just because he was staring at her.

What could he do, after all? Scold her? Surely that wouldn’t be so awful. Even his trick of turning the tables on her, of making her aware that he was laughing at her, couldn’t really do her any harm. Who cared if he laughed at her? It was a unique experience, to be sure, but he never did it in such a way that anyone else knew, so there was no need to worry. Her daydreams from the early morning came back to her, and the unbidden thoughts she’d had in Hyde Park before he joined her. It was ludicrous to think she was forming some sort of attachment to him, and yet…

Better under the circumstances to accept his coming with them. Otherwise Trudy might positively forbid her to go, and Amelia was intent on seeing the Carson children. So she gave in with as good grace as she could manage, saying, “I’m sure it’s unnecessary, but if you wish to accompany us, of course you’re welcome.”

She said good-bye to Trudy, tucked a strand of honey-colored hair under her bonnet, picked up her basket of food from the kitchen, and walked to the front door. Robert held it open for her, and for Verwood, of course, following them down the steps to where the carriage stood waiting. It was a maroon barouche with a crest on the door, the hood down owing to the fine weather. Verwood took one look at the open carriage and said, “The hood will have to go up.”

Amelia frowned at him. “Why?”

“Because of the area in which we’ll he travelling, of course. We’d probably do better to take a hackney.”

The carriage would be stuffy with the hood up on such a day, and Amelia considered the possibility of remanding his order. But Robert had already sprung to do his bidding. It didn’t help Amelia’s mood any that Robert looked relieved about Verwood’s advent, either. She allowed the footman to assist her into the carriage and reluctantly made room for Verwood on the seat beside her. Robert sprang up on the box with the coachman; she could see him through the windscreen talking with the older man.

“Blue becomes you.”

Startled, Amelia switched her gaze to Verwood. If it had been conceivable that anyone but he had made the comment, she would certainly have believed it, since he sat rigid beside her, not even meeting her gaze. Nor was he observing her blue silk pelisse, but the tassels on his Hessians, which swayed with the movement of the carriage.

“Thank you,” she said coolly.

“It might have been better if you’d dressed a little less elegantly to go into St. Giles.”

“I don’t own anything less ‘elegant’ than this.”

He nodded his head in noncommittal acknowledgment of the likelihood of this statement and moved his eyes to the window, where Brook Street drifted past. “Have you been to visit the Carsons before?”

“No, I’ve dealt only through Reverend Symons.”

“You may be disturbed by their living conditions.”

She lifted her shoulders slightly. “Their situation has been described to me. I’m not likely to suffer from a fit of vapours, if that’s what you imagine.”

Verwood suddenly turned the full impact of his black eyes on her. He had a most unnerving habit of not blinking very often, and Amelia, as though to make up for this oversight, blinked several times in rapid succession. “I’ve seen poverty before, Lord Verwood,” she said.

“In the country?”

“Yes.”

“It’s not the same. People in cities... Well, just be prepared for something of a shock.”

There was a note of real concern in his voice and Amelia felt the irritation that had risen in her abate. Suddenly she wanted to tell him about Tommy and his family, though the night before she had tried so hard to give him as little information as possible. But she was afraid he’d think she was trying to make herself out as a Lady Bountiful, that she was asking for his approval rather than his advice, and she remained mute. He wasn’t likely to know more about what to do with a family like the Carsons than she was, after all.

They had left behind the better area of London now and were driving farther and farther into a scene of raggedly dressed children, strong odors of decay, and worse. The stately homes of the West End had given way to ramshackle buildings and edifices that could be described as nothing but hovels. Their progress was slow, kept to a walking pace by the straggling animals, the bedraggled carts, and the press of wretched humanity. Amelia saw a blind beggar with a one-legged child and dug for her reticule.