Anne Barbour Read online

“We won’t be going in just yet. We will go straight on to the dower house. I merely wanted you to see the place.” He nodded briefly to Jeremiah, who was clambering down from the Bridge carriage.

  “Looks as though you should pull the whole place down before it falls about our ears,” he grumbled.

  “No!” cried Amanda, and as the others swung to her in surprise she mumbled, “that is, I’m sure it’s not as bad as it looks.”

  “You are quite right,” responded Ash. “The repairs needed are extensive, but there is life in the old place yet. It will see many more generations of Ashindons.”

  As they reentered their carriages and began moving once again, Amanda cast a last glance at the house through the rear window. She suppressed a surge of anguish at the knowledge that it would not be she who would be assisting in producing those generations.

  * * * *

  “Well,” said Jeremiah a week or so later over breakfast, “I begin to think you were right, missy. It will cost a fortune, but I believe the old place can be made liveable again.”

  “What a magnificent edifice!” exclaimed Serena. “You will be able to entertain the entire county, I daresay, and all your London friends when they come to visit. Oh, my dear,” she said ecstatically to Amanda, “you will be the reigning hostess for miles around.”

  “What’s that to say to anything?” snorted the dowager countess, who presided over one end of the table in the dower house dining room. “There ain’t nothing for miles around except shabby-genteel squires and pig farmers.”

  “Oh, no, surely not!” replied Serena, scandalized. “Why, just next door are the Bonners. Not perhaps the first style of elegance, but perfectly respectable, and Lord and Lady Binstaff live not five miles away. In addition,” she continued defensively, “as I said, I’m sure Lord Ashindon will wish to entertain members of the ton residing in London.”

  The dowager cackled. “Does that include you and your husband?”

  Jeremiah, who had immersed himself in The Times, betrayed by only a slight quiver of his paper that he had attended this remark, but Amanda, who had a partial view of her father, noted the telltale crimson that flooded his heavy cheeks.

  Serena twittered distressfully, but made no response.

  Amanda sank back in her chair, sipping from the cup of coffee she had been nursing for some minutes. Ash was not staying at the dower house, but occupied one of the few remaining bedchambers in the manor house to provide any degree of comfort. Over the last several days, she had explored the house with him from scullery to attics, usually accompanied by one or both of her parents. Wandering through the empty, shadowed rooms in the wake of a silent and rigid Ash, she had fallen completely under the spell of the place. She should have been depressed as she traversed through the empty, shadowed rooms. Holland covers shrouded the furniture, and what could be seen of the interior was hardly promising. The deterioration was still relatively imperceptible, but one had to walk carefully to avoid the rotten places in the ancient wooden flooring. Rain pouring through holes in the roof had caused extensive staining of walls, carpeting, and furnishings. The linenfold paneling in the state dining room almost crumbled to the touch. Filthy crystal chandeliers, missing lustres clanked disconsolately in the breezes that drifted unimpeded through sagging doors and windows. Over all lay a pall of dust and grime that seemed to have been accumulating for centuries. Through it all, Amanda had fallen even more deeply in love with the house.

  Her imagination peopled the drawing rooms, salons, reception rooms, and halls with generations of Wexfords. In the ballroom, visions of dancers dressed in ruffs and doublets and hose, or hoops and satin breeches rose before her eyes, and the images of chubby little lordlings playing games and pouring over books in the nursery rose clear and poignant in her mind’s eye. Reception rooms and halls were peopled in her imagination by ladies of the manor playing host to the county gentry of bygone years.

  Amanda shook herself and returned to the breakfast table conversation.

  “The kitchen!” Jeremiah was bellowing in astonishment. “With all that needs to be done to the place, you want to start in the kitchen?”

  “Well, it does need a great deal of work if Amanda and Lord Ashindon plan to entertain. We must start with the installation of a closed stove. Those huge old hearths are positively medieval, and—”

  “Will you strive for some sense, woman?” barked Jeremiah. “What good is a modern kitchen if the roof falls in while they’re asleep in their beds some night?”

  To Amanda’s astonishment, instead of subsiding into her chair Serena sat up straighter, and replied calmly. “Of course, I am not suggesting that the kitchen is more important than the roof. I was merely looking ahead to the improvements that will have to be made once the house is put into repair, and I say we must begin with the kitchen.”

  Amanda almost laughed aloud at Jeremiah’s expression of astonishment mixed with bewilderment, as though one of his coach horses had just wandered into the room asking if he might borrow a copy of The Times. Way to go, Serena! she chortled inwardly.

  “I’ve been saying the same thing for years,” interposed the dowager, gazing at Serena with a startled respect. “When I lived here, I had the whole service area brought up to modern standards—at least what was up to date for that time. They’ve brought out so many improvements recently. In those days we had money to spend on whatever we chose, of course, and did not have to rely on funding from outsiders.” Once again, The Times rattled ominously.

  “What are your plans for the day, Amanda?” asked Serena in a pathetically transparent attempt to infuse the atmosphere with a semblance of normalcy.

  “Since this will be our last full day here, Ash is taking me fishing, and,” she said, laughing, “I think I’d better start searching my wardrobe for something sufficiently grubby.”

  “Well, you do not forget you must return in plenty of time this afternoon to change. Do not forget that we are promised to the Bonners for dinner.”

  Right, thought Amanda gloomily. Lianne had declined to stay at the dower house, but chose instead to sojourn with her parents at nearby Fairwinds. Still, she had spent an inordinate amount of time at the Park, following along on the house tours, her light laughter echoing incongruously through the cavernous chambers. As Ash looked on in an attitude of tender amusement, she reminisced wistfully on the days when she and Ash and Grant had laughed and played in the corridors. She choked back tears at the signs of depredation in the house and expressed in tremulous accents her joy that the manor was to be brought back to its former glory. All the while, with a wisp of handkerchief delicately lifted to her great green eyes, she assured Amanda and Ash of her happiness for them.

  Amanda, frankly, was ready to throw up, and the thought of spending an evening with Lianne and her family, chez Bonner, cast her into a profound depression. Determinedly, however, she thrust herself into her plainest gown and donned a pair of boots, dredged from a kitchen cupboard, that were two sizes too large for her. A big floppy bonnet completed her ensemble.

  An hour and a half later, Ash and Amanda set out into the sunshine. Amanda was astonished at the change in Ash. Where before he had been rigidly restrained, his anguish fairly radiating from his silent, closed figure as he listened to Jeremiah appraising his family’s treasures to pound, pence, and shillings, he seemed relaxed now, and he was smiling. Garbed in old breeches, coat, and shabby brogans, he carried an assortment of fishing poles, several small boxes of what Amanda supposed contained lures, and a frowsty woven basket to serve as a creel.

  Ash turned to Amanda. A smile had spread over his face on first catching sight of her, and it returned now. “My dear, I don’t know what they’d say at Almack’s, but you are looking perfectly splendid today.”

  Amanda grunted. “Well you may laugh. I almost decided to steal a pair of breeches from the knives and boots boy. I may look comfortable, but this is not what I consider walking gear.”

  That was another egregious disadvantage
of this time period, thought Amanda resentfully. At home—in Chicago—she practically lived in jeans when she wasn’t teaching. She had had just about enough of long, encumbering skirts and tight puffed sleeves. When she returned to her own time, the first thing on her agenda would be a long, hot shower and a pair of worn, comfy jeans.

  At Ash’s chuckle, she said nothing, however, and hooking her arm through his, set off whistling.

  A longish walk through fragrant meadows and leafy lanes brought them to the stream, gurgling merrily to itself as it made its way through a small wood that lay on the north edge of the Park. Amanda breathed in the fresh country air with relish, wondering again why anyone with any sense would choose to live in smelly, sooty London when he or she could live in this idyllic paradise. She supposed, on second thought, that knowing one was about to lose the paradise to creditors would cast a pall on enjoyment of same.

  Lazily, she watched Ash setting out the fishing apparatus.

  “Now, Miss Bridge, have you ever fished before?”

  “Once or twice—a very long time ago. My father used to take me.”

  “Jeremiah?” asked Ash in surprise.

  She had not meant Jeremiah, but she nodded her head.

  “Huh,” said Ash, “I would not have thought—but never mind. Do you wish to try some casting?”

  Amanda smiled. “What I wish to do, I’m afraid, is simply sit here and soak up this delightful day, but, yes, I shall do my part in massacring the poor fishy denizens of your creek. Lead me to them.”

  In a few moments, Amanda stood on the bank, rod in hand. Ash stood beside her, having discarded coat and hat. His black hair, tossed in windblown disarray caught the sun in ebony glints, and his arms, exposed by rolled shirtsleeves, were as muscular as Amanda had suspected they would be. Firmly turning her attention from the fascinating sight of the Earl of Ashindon in dishabille, she cast with great enthusiasm and little skill. As a result, she nearly fell into the water.

  Sweeping an arm around her, Ash laughed. “Here, let me show you.” He did not release her, but keeping one arm about her shoulders and with the other guiding her arm, he sent the line floating lazily into the creek, the lure landing with a plop almost halfway across.

  “Now,” he said, his head very close to hers, “just let it float along.”

  And that’s just what Amanda wished to do more than anything else right then—just float along in his arms with the bees humming beside them and the glorious English sunshine warming them. She fancied she could feel his heart beating, and her own pulse thrummed in response. Oddly, she felt none of the throbbing heat she had experienced during that kiss in the music room. She merely wanted to lean into his strength, to rest her head on his shoulder, and stay right there in the warmth of his embrace for the next year or two.

  The next moment, Amanda felt a jerk on her hook. “I’ve got something!” she cried, her tone indicating the catch must be nothing less than leviathan in scale, and. indeed, it proved to be a wriggling trout of respectable length and tonnage. Ash declared himself suitably impressed.

  The morning progressed in this leisurely fashion, and after lunch they lounged, replete, on the stream’s grassy banks. Conversation was desultory, and not what could be called stimulating.

  “Yes,” Ash said in response to Amanda’s sleepy remark, “the cloud is shaped rather like a horse’s head. Look over a little to the left. I rather fancy that bank is going to be a castle in a few minutes, do not you? See the turrets are already forming.”

  “I see it,” she said with a chuckle. “Do you suppose it will have a moat and a drawbridge?”

  “Of course,” declared Ash solemnly. “And a dragon prowling about.”

  “Oh, good,” Amanda replied sleepily. “I do like dragons.”

  Ash bent a glance on her and she returned it, a sad tenderness twisting within her. After she was gone—returned to her proper place in space and time—would he bring Lianne here? Perhaps they would bring their children with them. She hoped he and Lianne would have a big family. Yes, of course, she hoped that.

  She scrambled to her feet. “I suppose we should be starting back,” she said casually.

  Ash rose to his feet reluctantly. “You are right. The Bonners will expect us to arrive on time.”

  Amanda was startled to observe a look of resignation on his face. Surely, he must be eagerly anticipating an evening spent with Lianne. Of course, she reminded herself, the prospect was no doubt painful, as well, since he believed her lost to him.

  In companionable silence, they packed up the remains of the picnic lunch.

  “There is one raspberry tart left,” remarked Ash. “Would you care for it?”

  He turned to face her, the tart proffered in one hand, and it seemed to Amanda that all the silver laughter of the stream lay in the eyes that hovered so close to hers. She put out a hand for the pastry—and suddenly stilled. For an instant, time seemed suspended as a moment of breathless clarity descended on her.

  Dear God, she thought dazedly, I’m in love with him.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Some hours later, Amanda stood motionless under the ministering hands of Hutchings, staring sightlessly into the mirror as the little maid swept her hair into a nest of spun gold.

  What an absurd thing to happen, she thought for the hundredth time since that blinding moment of revelation earlier in the day on the sunny riverbank. She could not possibly have fallen in love with a man whose acquaintance she had made a bare month and a half ago.

  But she had.

  This changed everything, she reflected wildly. On the other hand, it changed nothing. Ash was still in love with someone other than her own gorgeous self. His courtesy, his seeming enjoyment of her company—those head-spinning kisses, were all an effort on his part to create a sense of commitment to the betrothal, and she must not let them lure her into thinking he felt anything beyond a mild affection for her.

  No, her duty lay clear. She must redouble her efforts to set him on his feet financially. Then she would bow gracefully out of his life so that he could marry the woman he had loved since childhood. The fact that carrying out her plan would now be so much harder than she had dreamed possible must have no bearing on her actions.

  She had plenty of time, at least. Serena had decided that the wedding would take place in May of the following year, just as the Season would be moving into high gear. The event was to be held in that most fashionable of churches, St. George’s in Hanover Square.

  She had already begun mining Jeremiah, asking for one gown after another, until she thought he would surely balk. He was ever the indulgent father, however, and usually topped her requests by suggestions for even more finery. Unfortunately, most of her wearables were ordered from modistes and the bills sent directly to Jeremiah, thus eliminating the chance for Amanda to get her itchy fingers on any actual cash beyond that to be spent ostensibly on such minor items as shawls and ribbons and laces.

  Of course, there was the Gibraltar-sized diamond that Papa had given her on the evening of the announcement ball. She could probably sell that for several thousand pounds, and there was all the other expensive jewelry in the box that was brought from Papa’s safe to her dressing table when she went out of an evening. She felt no compunction about taking advantage of Jeremiah’s largess, for she was certain it did not spring from generosity, but merely a desire on her father’s part to impress the world to which he so desperately desired admittance. And he could afford to buy expensive baubles by the gross. Besides, Ash had stated his intention of paying back every farthing of Jeremiah’s largess. If only she could come upon a really big surefire investment opportunity that would reap almost immediate results.

  At least, work would be starting soon on the Park. Tomorrow, Ash’s land agent, one George Creevey, would arrive for a consultation, and Ash and Jeremiah would sit down with him to decide where to start. Ash had already stated that he wished to begin with the tenants’ cottages, but to Jeremiah’s mind this was
money wasted. It was the manor house where his daughter would live, and where she would throw lavish parties for the ton, thus it was the manor house that should receive immediate attention. She rather thought Ash would win out, but—

  “There you are, miss, and you look a fair treat.”

  Amanda came to with a start, realizing that Hutchings was addressing her.

  “If that Lady Ashindon thinks she can outshine you, with her black hair and her green eyes, she has another think coming.” The maid spoke with smug satisfaction, and Amanda gazed at her with surprise. The interest taken by the servants in their employers’ lives and the instinctive sniffing out of their primary concerns never failed to amaze her.

  “Really, Hutchings,” she said with a light laugh. “I am not competing with Lady Ashindon.” Her heart sank as she realized the truth of this statement. She was no competition for the Lovely Lianne, for the emerald-eyed beauty was already in possession of the prize. Amanda was not looking forward to dinner this evening at the Bonner manse.

  * * * *

  Horatio Bonner was a tall, thin gentleman, brusque of manner and fastidious in appearance. His wife, Charity, was slender, as well, given to floating draperies and an air of fragility.

  The Bonners received Ash with expressions of pleasure and greeted his guests courteously enough, though with an almost undisguised curiosity. The dowager countess was viewed with awe. Jeremiah, they obviously regarded as some sort of exotic specimen, like one of the animals in the Tower menagerie.

  Lianne hovered over Ash with a proprietary air that grated on Amanda’s already raw sensibilities. To her annoyance, Ash did not dissuade the young countess when she regaled the company with tales of childhood escapades with Ash and his cousin, nor did he see fit to remove her hands from his lapel when she reached, seemingly unaware of her actions, to brush away a piece of lint or to straighten his neckcloth.

  The meal consisted of sturdy country fare, and Amanda—who had never considered herself a junk food addict but who now dreamed nightly of cheeseburgers and fries and would have killed for a pizza, dutifully devoured steak and kidney pie, along with sweetbreads in sauce and other items she would formerly have considered inedible.