Anne Barbour Read online

  “Lianne.” Her name sprang to his lips involuntarily, and when she turned her head at his entrance he had the oddest sensation that she had been positioned thus for hours, as much a part of the furnishings of the room as the ormolu clock that sat on the mantel, and that she had come to life only at the sound of his voice.

  The impression was dispelled the next instant as Lianne jumped lightly to her feet and ran to him. She grasped his hand in both of her own, and Ash’s heart lurched within his breast as he gazed down at the vibrant little face that had changed so little in the past year.

  She was small-boned and delicate, with a heart-shaped face surrounded by a cloud of dark hair. High cheekbones lent an exotic slant to green eyes that smiled intimately into his.

  “Ash! I am so glad you have come. If you knew how excessively weary I have become of my own company ...”

  She led him to a small settee by the window. “You must tell me all that you have been doing since you came to Town. I was shocked to hear that you have sold Ashindon House. Where are you living now?” She seated herself and with restless hands arranged the skirts of her dove gray morning gown about her and gestured to Ash to sit next to her.

  He did so reluctantly. “You must know that it has been necessary to sell everything I could—rather like throwing all nonessential items from a sinking ship.”

  “Oh, Ash. Is it as bad as that?” Her mobile mouth turned down in distress. “I knew, of course, that Grant was wasting his substance, but I had no idea—”

  “Actually, by the time Grant got around to wasting it, there wasn’t much substance left. My uncle, you must know, had no head for business, but thought himself a financial wizard.” Ash smiled painfully. “Grant’s inheritance was greatly diminished, although—” he caught himself.

  “Although,” finished Lianne, her lips curving bitterly, “he could have come about had he not made matters even worse by his dissolute ways. I am so sorry, Ash,” she concluded in a throbbing whisper.

  In an effort to lighten the mood, Ash laughed shakily. “Yes, but I did not come here to prate about my difficulties. You are all right?” he asked. “Your jointure, at least, was preserved. You are comfortable, are you not?”

  Lianne smiled sadly. “Comfortable? Oh, yes, of course.” She lifted her head in a significant gesture, conveying the impression that she left much unsaid.

  Ash shifted. “But what can I do for you, Lianne?”

  “Do for me?” She frowned in puzzlement, but her face cleared immediately. “Oh, you mean my note. I’m sorry, my dear friend, I did not mean to sound importunate. I thought, merely, that you probably did not know I was in town, and that you might condescend to brighten the hours of a lonely widow.”

  Her mischievous smile belied her dramatic words, and he returned it hesitantly. “I find it hard to believe Lovely Lianne could spend more than five minutes in solitude. You do not mean to tell me that your knocker has been still since you arrived.”

  She made a dismissive gesture. “Oh—the dandies and bucks on the strut. Of course, just let word of a new female in town be spread about and they spring up like weeds in one’s front garden. And there are the gossips, and the hangers-on. But, oh, Ash ...” Her long, dark lashes fluttered appealingly. “I have so longed for a real person to talk to. Someone who truly knows me and with whom I can feel comfortable.”

  She lifted her hand, and without thinking, Ash cradled it in his.

  “I realize,” he replied, his voice a harsh rasp, “that under the circumstances, while friendship is the only commodity left at my disposal, I’m afraid—”

  Immediately, Lianne withdrew her hand and turned her face away. “Please forgive me, Ash. I know I have no right to ask such a thing of you. I know that whatever was between us is over.” A small, choked sob escaped her.

  “It was over long ago, Lianne.” Ash could hardly speak past the hard knot that had formed in his throat. “It ended the day you accepted my cousin’s offer for your hand. You can’t—”

  “Oh, God, Ash.” Lianne’s emerald eyes glittered darkly against the pallor of her face. “You know that I could not help myself. My father would have disowned me... I could not go against his wishes—and those of my mother.”

  “I know,” said Ash, his voice suddenly gentle. “I know.” He patted the slender hand that lay curled in her lap. He took a deep, unsteady breath. “Of course, I will be your friend. I always have been, after all, and I suppose I always will be.”

  Like a child who has escaped punishment, Lianne sighed and smiled widely in relief. “Oh, my dear, I can’t tell you what that means to me. Now, do let me call for some refreshment. And I must let Aunt Biddy know that you are here. You remember her, do you not?”

  Ash remembered very well the formidable woman who was Squire Bonner’s sister. A picture formed in his mind of a profusion of iron gray hair and a long, large-featured face that put one in mind of an affronted horse. Beatrix Bonner was a force to be reckoned with in the Bonner household, and Lianne had chosen well in persuading her to act as chaperon.

  Lianne rose, and with a fluid movement crossed to the bellpull. Turning to Ash, she remarked casually, “Do you go to the Marchford ball next week? I collect all the world and his donkey will be there.’ At Ash’s assenting nod, she continued smoothly, “I shall take you up on your declaration of friendship by being so bold as to solicit your escort. There is nothing so wretched as attending a ball with one’s aunt, after all.” Musical laughter flowed from her lips like silken ribbons.

  Ash’s insides clenched. “I—I’m afraid that will not be possible,” he said slowly. He read the disbelieving surprise in her eyes and continued hastily. “I am escorting someone to the ball.”

  “Escorting someone?” Her expression grew rigid for a moment before she smiled and asked archly, “Is she anyone I know?”

  “I rather doubt it,” he replied dryly. “Her name is Amanda Bridge.”

  “No, her name is not familiar to me.” Lianne’s gaze was concealed by the silky curtain of her lashes. “Is there something I should know, dear friend?” she asked playfully.

  Ash took a deep breath. “Perhaps there is. I have proposed marriage to her, Lianne.”

  Her eyes flew open and she stared up at him, shock apparent in every line of her body. “Marriage?” she whispered, her hand at her throat. “Oh, Ash, how could you?”

  At this, Ash stood abruptly. “What do you mean, how could I?” he asked bitterly. “Did you expect me to enter a monastery?”

  “No, of course not—I only meant—”

  “It is my duty to marry, after all. I must produce an heir, to say nothing of repairing the Park, and there are Andrew and Dorothea. Andrew is studying for the bar and Dorothea has gone to live with my Uncle Breverton and his wife, the Park having become virtually unlivable.”

  Lianne exhaled a sharp, little sound that seemed to echo in the silence of the room.

  “This Miss, er, Bridge is wealthy, then?” she asked in a barely audible voice.

  “Her father is a mill owner, and has fingers in a hundred other pies. I daresay he could buy Golden Ball.”

  “I see.” Lianne’s lovely mouth curved in a tentative smile. “I must ask for your forgiveness once again. I, of all people, have no right to censure you for making an expedient marriage. Although, I wish—” Her hand fluttered upward to come to rest on his sleeve, and he covered it with his own. Unknowing, he moved closer to her until she was suddenly standing in the curve of his embrace.

  “Oh, Ash,” she said, gasping, “I cannot bear it!” She threw her head back against his shoulder, and tears glistened in the dark lashes that fanned her cheeks. “Surely, there must be some hope for us!”

  Ash’s arms tightened around her involuntarily, and with a groan he bent his head to hers. Her mouth was as soft and warm as he remembered, and he felt a familiar tide of wanting sweep over him. His kiss grew hot and urgent. Lianne’s supple body shuddered in response and her lips parted under his. His hands
moved along her slender back, only to be stilled at the sound of footfalls in the corridor outside the parlor. Abruptly, he released her and she sprang away from him, her eyes wide and staring.

  In the few seconds before the door opened to admit the butler, she had patted her hair and composed herself. “You may serve us, now, Hobbes, and please inform my aunt that we have a visitor.”

  Ash, his heart thundering in his ears and his breathing so ragged that he could hardly speak, lifted a hand. “No. Do not bother, please, Lianne. I cannot stay. I must be on my way.” He was already backing out of the room. “I shall look forward to seeing you at the Marchford ball.”

  Lianne made no attempt to stay him. Instead, she put out her hand in an oddly formal gesture and in a voice no steadier than his own replied, “Of course, my lord. I appreciate your calling so promptly. Do come again when you can stay longer, for I know Aunt Biddy will want to see you.”

  He nodded stiffly, and having gained the entrance hallway, gathered up hat and gloves and fairly flung himself through the door. Once outside, he grasped the iron railing of the tiny porch fronting the house and drew in great lungfuls of air as though he had just escaped from a burning building.

  On legs that would barely carry him, he mounted his curricle and spent some moments driving aimlessly through streets of whose names he was unaware.

  Good God, the unthinkable had happened. He had almost been caught on the verge of making love to his cousin’s widow. He groaned aloud. He might have known he would be unable to keep himself from gathering her in his arms. He had told himself he was no longer in love with her, but only a few minutes in her company had dispelled that notion.

  How could it have been otherwise? he thought in a burst of clarity. He had been in love with Lianne Bonner ever since he knew what the word meant. And before that, they had been inseparable playmates. He had been her protector from the time she could toddle unassisted, and when she began to fulfill the promise of beauty her early years had forecast, he had worshipped her helplessly. She had returned his love, and from the first shy wondrous kiss shared in an old apple orchard they had made plans to marry.

  Then, fate took a hand in their affairs to dash their hopes. Grant had returned from Oxford on holiday. Lianne was sixteen, a budding flower of exquisite womanhood, and Grant, who had heretofore scarcely been aware of her existence, suddenly plunged into a feverish infatuation with her. Lord Ashindon had hoped for a more suitable parti for his heir, but if Lianne was what Grant wanted, Lianne was what he should have. Squire and Mrs. Bonner, while aware of the precarious financial situation at the Park and the tendency toward prodigality already displayed by the heir, nevertheless were quite taken with the idea of marriage to an earl for their little girl.

  For months, Ash had railed against fate and the implacability of his uncle’s decision. Grant expressed a good-natured regret for his suffering, but assured his young cousin that he would get over it. “Besides,” he concluded with a lazy chuckle, “if I’m marrying for love, you’re going to have to marry for money, old man.”

  It was with a great deal of difficulty that young William had refrained from beating Grant senseless. He could have done so with ease, for even at eighteen he was taller and stronger than his cousin, and lean as a whip.

  An elopement seemed the only answer, but although Lianne passionately declared herself willing to fly to the border with him, she could not bear to fail her family so abysmally.

  “For I do not think Mama’s heart would stand up under the shock,” she had sobbed against his chest, her hair a fragrant drift under his chin. “And how can I deprive my sisters of the opportunity to come to London for husbands. Just imagine the wealthy bachelors who will flock to Ashindon House when Grant and I— Oh, William! I did not mean to say such a thing, but I am only a woman, and I have been raised to honor my obligations.”

  William had raised his brows as Lianne began to speak, for they had agreed long ago that Mrs. Bonner’s frequent spasms were merely a device to keep her husband in line, but he was struck by compunction as she continued. Of course, Lianne would always put her family’s needs above her own.

  Thus, little more than a year later, William had attended his cousin’s wedding and had somehow survived the festivities that followed. Lianne had looked at him directly only once during that terrible day and with a small, brave smile had turned away instantly.

  A career in the army had not appealed to him when the possibility had been broached earlier by his uncle, but now he welcomed the haven of a life in uniform. Almost immediately upon the purchase of his colors, he was posted to the Peninsula. He heard through his aunt’s frequent letters news of Grant and his new bride, and worries of Grant’s continuing profligacy were plainly evident. He was unable to return at the death of his aunt, or for that of his uncle, a few years later. It was only after Grant’s death that he saw Lianne again.

  He had been struck to the heart by her appearance, for she had changed so little. Her air of fragility was, perhaps, more pronounced, but her vitality remained undiminished. His visit at her family’s home had been brief, for he could not bear to remain in her presence any longer than necessary, and when he bade farewell to her outside Fairwinds, the Bonner manor, he had ridden away as though pursued by devils.

  He had not seen Lianne, the Countess of Ashindon, since. He had remained at Ashindon Park for many months in his futile effort to bring the estate finances about, but he had steadfastly refused to give in to the almost overwhelming temptation to avail himself of her company. He did very little socializing during that period, and was careful to attend only those functions at which he knew Lianne would be absent.

  On the eve of his departure for London, he had sent her a formal missive informing her of his plans to seek additional financing and his promise to render assistance to her if she should need him. He had left early the next morning, carrying a picture of her in his heart as she had appeared on the morning she had averred her intention of remaining in the fastness of her parents’ home.

  Now, she was in London, and what was he to do? He supposed he could continue to avoid her, although it would be difficult, harnessed as he was to his newly betrothed and her social obligations.

  By the end of the day, the only conclusion to which he had come was that while he would under no circumstances visit Lianne again, he was also wholly averse to playing the gallant to Amanda Bridge. How could he spout pretty platitudes to golden curls and blue eyes, when an image of raven locks and eyes of emerald green was engraved on his heart forever? He had almost a week before the Marchford ball to gird his loins to the performance of his duties. He would indulge himself in the luxury of those few days’ solitude. He would then emerge, if not like a butterfly from a chrysalis, at least as a reasonable facsimile of a happy bridegroom.

  * * * *

  If Amanda noted the earl’s absence, she said nothing to the other members of the household. She did, indeed, wonder a little and admitted to herself that she missed him. With him, she could be herself—more or less. That she also missed the sardonic flash of gray eyes and muscled shoulders contained in an elegantly tailored jacket, she forbore to discuss with herself.

  Instead, she filled her days with activity. She practiced the piano and went for long walks through the fascinating streets of London. That Serena insisted she be accompanied on these excursions by Hutchings and a couple of footmen was a source of irritation to which she tried to accustom herself. She returned to Grosvenor Chapel on several occasions, despite Serena’s strictures, with no more felicitous results than before. She still could not come to grips with the possibility that she had actually traveled through time. There must be some other explanation. The only one that suggested itself, however, was that she’d gone completely bananas, and she somehow found that less than acceptable.

  In the meantime, she found it almost impossible to pass a mirror without gazing at herself in rapt admiration. She supposed that she would eventually become inured to the dazzli
ng beauty of young Amanda Bridge, but right now she planned to wallow in it. She reveled in the strength of her legs, and immersed herself even farther in Serena’s black books by walking out alone on several occasions.

  She found that she was forced to revise her earlier, unfavorable opinion of young Amanda’s mother. Serena was an irritating flea-brained dingbat, but she was possessed of a basic kindness, and truly did seem to have her daughter’s interest at heart. The fact that what would be good for her daughter varied so markedly with Amanda’s idea on the subject was scarcely Serena’s fault.

  The woman’s major flaw was her absolute, mindless submission to Jeremiah. Amanda was aware that her behavior was the norm for her time, but, thought Amanda resolutely, for however long she was to remain in this time period, she would make it one of her first priorities to liberate Serena Bridge, no matter that she was only an illusion. She had already begun her campaign by purchasing for Serena a copy of Byron’s The Bride of Abydos, which, she knew, from an earlier conversation with Jeremiah, to be on the list of things forbidden to Serena. When she had told Ash of this, he had laughed and suggested she offer the book to Serena as a gift from himself.

  “For surely,” he said, the merest twinkle at the back of his eyes, “your estimable papa can have no objection to a gift from his soon-to-be son-in-law.”

  Her days were full. Social activities absorbed an astonishing amount of time, with visits during the day, rides in the park in the afternoon, and small parties at night. Despite the general inanity of the conversations obtained at these functions, Amanda found that she was enjoying herself. She was able, with Hutchings’ continued help, to avoid most of the pitfalls caused by her ignorance of young Amanda’s past.

  She was even, after a foray into the kitchen that left the lower staff astonished and not a little discomfited, able to teach Hutchings how to make a fairly decent cup of cocoa. This was not as easy as it might have been, because, apparently, cocoa had not been created yet, and drinking chocolate was concocted by breaking chunks of solid, very bitter chocolate from a large bar, to be ground in a chocolate mill. This accomplished, Amanda instructed Hutchings to melt the resulting granules in a small quantity of hot water. She added what Hutchings declared an inordinate amount of sugar to the mix and poured in a generous dollop of milk. The finished product was, if Amanda said so herself, quite tasty, particularly when Hutchings added a pinch of crushed vanilla bean.