Anne Barbour Read online

  “You!” Amanda cried, grasping the young man’s arm.

  “I beg your pardon, miss?” asked the young man in bewildered accents.

  “Never mind my pardon,” said Amanda through clenched teeth. “I want to talk to you. Now. Where can we go?”

  An apprehensive expression crept over the clerk’s features. “I don’t understand, miss. I merely wished to give assistance.”

  “Well, that’s what I want above everything. Assistance.” Bodily, Amanda hauled the young man to a quiet corner of the shop. “Now, I want you to tell me how I got here and how I can get back to my own time.”

  “P-please, miss,” stammered the clerk. “I don’t know—that is, if you will just let me get the manager...” Vainly, he attempted to pry Amanda’s fingers from their steely grip on his sleeve.

  “Oh, no you don’t. Not a step will you stir until I get some answers.”

  For a long moment, the young man stared into her face, and when he spoke, finally, it seemed to Amanda that the very timbre of his voice had changed to a tone of depth and reassurance. “How can I help you?” he asked quietly.

  “I just told you—”

  “You are right in the conclusions you have reached so far. Amanda Bridge is dead, and Amanda McGovern was chosen to fill out the span of years that would have been hers.”

  “Oh, God.” Amanda was forced to grasp the edge of a display table for support.

  “You seem to be experiencing an inordinate difficulty in adjusting,” the clerk continued with some severity. “It will not do, you know, to try to live as you did in that other time. You must learn to abide by the conventions of the time in which you are living. Your early morning jog in the park, for example, was reprehensible.” He stared disapprovingly through spectacles that threatened to slide completely off his face.

  “Well, what was I supposed—?” began Amanda indignantly.

  The man’s tone softened suddenly. “You live here now, Amanda. You must make adjustments.”

  “That’s just it,” said Amanda miserably. “I don’t think I can. Is there no way I can return to my own time?”

  “This is your own time, now.” The man’s tone was gentle, but inexorable. “If you but try, you will come to appreciate the gift that has been given to you. You are whole and strong now, and you have a whole new life to live.”

  Amanda’s jaw jutted stubbornly. “But I want the life I had. I want my life back.”

  The man sighed. “You are only making things difficult for yourself. You must give yourself more time here.”

  Amanda’s heart lifted. “You mean, there is a chance I can return if I cannot work things out here?”

  The man pushed his spectacles into their original position. “I did not say that. But”—he paused, as though listening to another voice—“I can speak with you no longer now.” He turned as though to move away, but Amanda tightened her grasp on his sleeve.

  “No! You must help me.”

  “I am trying to help you, my dear, if you will but listen. Ah.” He sighed. “We will talk again, if you insist. From now on, you must make a sincere effort to fit into your new life, but if you find yourself in real difficulty and need to speak to us again, we will come.”

  Once more he turned to go and once more Amanda clutched at his arm. “No!” she cried again. “You must—”

  “What on earth are you doing way over here, dearest?” Amanda whirled to find Serena at her elbow. “Are you looking at laces? We shan’t need any for the ball gown, but perhaps your new carriage dress—the one of Cheshire brown, could stand some trimming.”

  Brushing impatiently at her mother’s hand, Amanda turned again, but the young clerk was nowhere to be seen. Her frantic gaze swept the little shop, but the clerk had vanished as though he had escaped from the face of the earth. Which, thought Amanda in despair, he probably had.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Isn’t this just splendid, my dears?”

  It was just a week after Amanda’s confrontation with the jinni with the spectacles, or whoever he, she, or it might be, and Serena was bubbling over with gratification as she stood at the head of the stairs with her husband and daughter. “All the world is here tonight, and I shouldn’t wonder if tomorrow everyone is saying our little party was the worst squeeze of the Season!”

  For once, Jeremiah seemed satisfied with Serena’s arrangements, and he stood at his wife’s side, beaming impartially on his guests, the servants bustling to and fro with delicacy-laden trays, and on his family, whom, he had declared earlier in the evening, had “done him up proud, and that’s a fact.”

  Amanda felt very much on display in the costly blue satin gown. The deep sapphire did indeed almost exactly match her eyes and the candlelight turned the delicate gold threads woven through it into streaks of liquid fire. Her shoulders rose, white and shapely, from a cunningly designed décolletage that discreetly emphasized the swell of her bosom. About her neck lay a diamond necklace, a gift from Jeremiah just before the family had taken their stations in the line. It featured clusters of small diamonds arranged about a central jewel nearly the size of a grape. It was crude and vulgar and positively blinding, and Amanda felt she had just been given her own personal albatross. At any rate, it weighed damned near as much. Nestled in the golden sweep of curls that made up her coiffure, a small intricately fashioned diamond tiara lay winking in the candlelight.

  Serena and Jeremiah had good reason for their satisfaction, for Grandmama Ashindon had evidently been at work. So far, the guests processing through the Bridge receiving line had included Lady Jersey and two other patronesses of Almack’s, as well as three dukes and their ladies, several earls, and an assortment of viscounts and lords. She had fallen into a dazed reverie when she came to, startled, as the butler intoned, “Mr. George Brummell.” Her eyes flew open. She was actually going to meet the Beau!

  To her startled amusement, a rather plump gentleman somewhat past the first blush of youth bent to kiss her hand. He was a little above medium height, with dark hair and eyes, and an expression of pained boredom screwed his Cupid’s bow mouth into a tight little bud of discontent. His words were courteous, however, and his glance was mild as he surveyed her discreetly.

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Bridge. One sees why Ashindon has forsaken the beauties of the ton. Have you met my friend Alvanley?” He gestured to the gentleman just now disengaging himself from Serena’s voluble welcome.

  Alvanley. Had she not read about him? thought Amanda. Yes, he’d been featured in many of the reference books she’d read on the period. William Arden, second Baron Alvanley, was, by all accounts the personification of the Regency dandy in all the glory of his studied eccentricities, and perusing the figure before her, she could well believe it. The signs of dissipation were clear on his amiable features, and he was, if she was not mistaken, rather the worse for drink.

  He swayed, quizzing glass at the ready, before bowing over her hand in a chaste salute. “Ah, Miss Bridge. You’re right, Brummell, she’s exquisite! Will you save a dance for me, my dear?”

  Without waiting for an answer, he and the Beau drifted off after a murmured consultation on the direction of the nearest liquid sustenance.

  Well, thought Amanda, disgruntled. So much for the scintillating repartee for which the Regency era was famed. She turned to observe that Ash had entered the receiving line. Earlier, Serena had bemoaned the fact that the earl could not be expected to join them in welcoming the guests, “But,” she said, with a contented sigh, “if the betrothal is not to be announced until well after the ball is under way, it would spoil the surprise if his lordship were to take his place with us beforehand.” She beamed now at the elegantly garbed peer and passed him to Jeremiah after permitting herself a quick peck on his cheek.

  Amanda smiled. Ash had visited the Bridge ménage several times since the dowager countess’s dinner party. They had continued Amanda’s dance lessons. Serena had joined them once or twice, and to Amanda’s as
tonishment, Jeremiah had put his head in the door one day and decided to take part, displaying a surprising lightness of foot and an enjoyment of the music provided for them by Serena on the great piano in the music room.

  Ash had also taken her for walks and drives in the Park. He told her more of himself—his time in the army and his aspirations for Ashindon Park and his family. It occurred to Amanda that she was taking altogether too much pleasure in his company, it was one thing to be physically attracted to a man, but to find so much enjoyment in simple conversation with him was dangerous in the extreme. She laughed at herself. A fine thing it would be to fall for the man she was supposed to marry. Or at least, she thought, sobering, it might be if there was any possibility of her actually marrying him—even if the gentleman returned her feelings—of which there was also no possibility.

  What nonsense, she thought, shaking herself out of this somewhat muddled reverie. She was not about to fall in love with a man who had lived almost two hundred years before her own time. If she had read the little man with the spectacles right, she had every reason to believe she would be departing this scene in the near future. She was well aware that this circumstance would more than likely leave Amanda Bridge dead, but that would solve all the earl’s problems, wouldn’t it? By that time, Jeremiah Bridge would have coughed up a considerable sum of money to his supposed future son-in-law.

  Of course, Amanda’s death would be a blow to her family, but the girl would have died anyway these three weeks past. She shivered. She really did not want to think about that aspect of her impending escape.

  Amanda noted with some interest that Lianne was at the earl’s side as he passed through the line. Her brows lifted disdainfully. Could it not be considered a shade tacky for a gentleman to escort his beloved to a celebration of his betrothal to someone else?

  A moment later she observed that the dowager countess clung to his other arm, with Cousin Emily Wexford, the countess’s companion, in tow. The unpleasant churning in her stomach subsided a little. Perhaps the earl had been suborned into accompanying the matriarch and her court. The expression of long-suffering on his lordship’s face gave credence to this assumption. At any rate, when his gaze fell upon her, his expression underwent a gratifying transformation to one of undisguised admiration. She fluttered her eyelashes as he bent over her hand.

  “You look,” Ash said huskily, “very attractive this evening, my dear.”

  The earl cursed himself. “Very attractive!” for God’s sake. She was love’s dream come to life, her azure eyes sparkling with the promise of unspoken delights, the curves of her lithe body outlined by sensuous folds of sapphire satin. On anyone else, that necklace would have been the height of poor taste, but Amanda carried it off with serenity and grace.

  “Good evening, Miss Bridge.”

  Lianne’s voice next to him was like a dash of cold water on his heated sensibilities, and with a murmured promise to seek her out for a dance later, Ash released Amanda’s hand and moved into the ballroom. Lianne moved with him, clinging to his arm as they paced the perimeter of the dance floor, nodding to acquaintances.

  “Oh, this is lovely, isn’t it?” asked Lianne, her green eyes glinting with pleasure. As Ash’s brows lifted in surprise, she added hastily, “This is a terrible night, of course, for it will set the seal on your betrothal, but”—she drew in a brave, quivering breath— “I have determined that I shall not think about that.” Evidently she had little difficulty in accomplishing this feat, for she smiled sunnily. “I don’t know why it took me so long to come to London. At any rate”—she turned a laughing face to Ash—”it will be a cold day before I ever return to stuffy old Wiltshire.”

  “Stuffy?” Ash remarked lightly. “Wiltshire? I thought you liked it there,” he said, remembering Lianne’s past declarations of devotion to the countryside.

  “Oh, I do,” replied Lianne hastily. “At least, I did, but that was before I had to spend so many months in virtual seclusion.” She glanced about. “I have so longed for parties and picnics and people to talk to.”

  “But there are plenty of people to—”

  Her laughter chimed in his ear. “Oh, but I mean interesting people, people of wit and elegance. I want to gossip of the Regent’s latest scandal and who has taken up a liaison with whose wife.”

  “My God,” was Ash’s only comment, and Lianne pouted adorably.

  “Do I shock you?” she asked archly. “You did not used to be such a stick-in-the-mud. Oh, look there is the Beau!” She indicated the erstwhile reigning dandy some yards distant. “I did not think to see him tonight. I hear he does not attend many ton affairs lately.”

  “No, he doesn’t, but he is an old friend, and a great favorite of Grandmama’s. Mrs. Bridge was only too happy to invite him.”

  “I do not wonder at it,” Lianne commented dryly. “She must have been beside herself at the thought of the famous Beau Brummell attending her little function.”

  Ash stiffened, but she continued, oblivious. “Oh, my poor Ash, it breaks my heart to think of you fettered to those people for the rest of your life.”

  Ash murmured something noncommittal, but he seethed with inward resentment. That he had expressed these same sentiments himself did not lessen his anger that Lianne Bonner, an outsider, should take it upon herself to—

  He drew in a sharp breath. Lianne, an outsider? What kind of profanation had he just committed? Lianne had every right to comment on his future. Hadn’t she? He bent his head to her once more as she turned her attention to others in their immediate vicinity. Lord, Ash thought, listening to her comments lightly tinged with malice, he had not realized she could be so spiteful. It was with some relief that he beheld his friend James Wincanon approaching.

  “What ho, yer lordship,” said that gentleman, folding his length into an exaggerated bow. His gaze contained a sardonic glint as he kissed Lianne’s hand. “Lady Ashindon—ravishing as ever.”

  Lianne twinkled up at him. “Why, James, I think that’s the first time you have ever complimented me.”

  “I cannot think how I came to be so remiss,” James replied smoothly, “and it certainly will not be the last.”

  Lianne’s laughter chimed. “I have just been telling Ash how glad I am to be here tonight. It has been such an age since I have been out and about.”

  “You chose well,” James answered. He turned to Ash. “Mrs. Bridge has netted the jewels of society for her festivities.”

  Lianne laughed again, this time not so musically. “You can thank Grandmama Ashindon for that. She’s been busy all week writing notes and paying visits. I don’t think any other force under heaven could have dragged Mrs. Drummond-Burrell to a home that smells of the shop.” She wrinkled her dainty nose and tittered behind her fan. Ash knew a moment of stunned anger. This could not be Lianne, the woman of his dreams, speaking so. He noted that James was observing the young countess, an odd smile quirking his lips.

  James bowed once more. “May I have this dance, my lady? Along with the company, the music seems to be first rate.” He extended his hand and Lianne, with a flirtatious smile, placed her fingertips on his arm and allowed herself to be escorted onto the floor. She sent a sparkling glance over her shoulder to Ash as she moved away. “I shall speak with you later—my lord,” she called softly. A moment later she was all flying curls and pink cheeks as she whirled through the figures of a vigorous reel.

  Ash stared after her in consternation. How could she have changed so dramatically? Surely it was not he who had altered during their separation. He chided himself. It was, perhaps, to be expected that a vital creature like Lianne would become overexcited at one of her first forays into society after so many years, thus leading her to speak as she would not ordinarily have done. Or perhaps her distress over his impending betrothal and marriage had led her to vent a hurt that she would otherwise have kept to herself.

  “Pretty little filly, ain’t she?”

  Startled, Ash turned to observe Jeremiah Bridg
e at his elbow, following his gaze to Lianne and James. He opened his mouth to protest, but Jeremiah waved his hand expansively.

  “Never mind, young fella, I know all about your interest in that quarter. I told you I’d made it my business to find out everything about you, and your previous connection to your cousin’s widow was one of the first things brought to my attention. Can’t say as I blame you,” he added meditatively, still watching the dancers.

  “You are to be commended on your thoroughness, sir.” Ash’s voice was chill as midnight in winter. “However, it is not necessary for you—”

  Jeremiah laughed. “Oh, I know—man of honor and all that. I’m well aware I can count on your discretion, my lord. I just want to emphasize the point”—the jovial smile dropped from his lips—”that if word of any hanky-panky were to reach my daughter’s ears, I would be very, very displeased. And”—his voice sank to a whisper—”I don’t think you want to displease me—my lord.”

  Ash was filled with such fury that he could hardly speak, but his voice was controlled as he spoke. “Mr. Bridge, are you suggesting that I would so much as consider betraying my vows to Amanda? No, of course not—for her father to voice such an idea would be beneath contempt.”

  Jeremiah reddened and his massive jaw thrust forward belligerently. After a moment, however, he said with a burst of forced laughter, “You’re proud as bedammed, ain’tcher, my lord? No need to take me up, though. I was just setting matters straight.”

  “Is that what you were doing?” asked Ash coolly. “If you will excuse me, sir, it is time to claim a dance from my betrothed.” He turned on his heel and strode away, teeth clenched and fists balled.

  He could not believe the conversation that had just taken place. If he had understood Jeremiah Bridge right, the man had all but informed him that an outside liaison was perfectly acceptable to him as long as the matter did not reach Amanda’s ears. Slowly, he relaxed his fingers and took a deep breath. Well, he had known what he was getting into—how had Lianne put it?—fettered—to a vulgar, overbearing, evil-minded pig of a man.