Amanda Scott (2 page)

“It would be shining armor,” Sarah pointed out, “and a well-made lance.”

“I think he would make an imposing sight,” Miranda said with a mischievous twinkle. “Any dragon would be routed in a trice.”

Smiling, Adriana considered their words while she allowed Nancy to help her into her moss-green, russet-trimmed traveling dress. Then, sitting again so that her dresser might arrange her hair and help her pull on her tan kid half-boots, she said, “You know, I daresay you are both wrong, and the dragon would merely sit back upon its long tail and laugh. Somehow, one simply cannot imagine Chalford behaving violently. He is far too self-possessed and mild of manner.”

“I like him,” Miranda said simply.

“Well, so do I like him,” retorted her sister, shooting her a sharp look in the mirror. “He is my husband, after all.”

“Like?” Sarah raised her slim, arched brows. “I had hoped you would feel stronger sentiment than mere liking, Dree.”

“Well,” retorted Adriana, “I for one am very glad I have not made such a fool over Chalford as you made of yourself over Mortimer two years ago. I remember, Sarah, and I am very thankful that I have not set the whole town in a buzz over my behavior. I certainly never was guilty of creating a scene that very nearly got me barred from Almack’s.”

“Mortimer told me that night that I was too good for him, that he dared not ask Papa to consider a suit from a mere baron, so of course I did not behave sensibly. And Almack’s becomes increasingly and foolishly rigid, I believe. Had I not begged Mama to speak to Lady Sefton, Mortimer would not even have been allowed to cross the threshold that night. Was anything ever so ridiculous? I am more glad than I can tell you that I fought to marry him, Dree. I love him, and I had hoped that by now you would feel some of those same tender feelings for Chalford.”

“Have I not just said that I like the man very well? Goodness, what a piece of work you make over so small a thing. His behavior has been utterly correct, and you surely don’t think Alston allowed us to be private with each other for more than fifteen minutes when he made his offer. I scarcely know him.”

“Then I am surprised that you agreed to marry him, Adriana,” her friend said quietly.

“Well, I am not surprised in the least,” said Miranda, turning from the window where she had been watching the view of Berkeley Square. “I would marry the bootboy if it would get me out of this house, and Chalford is
not
the bootboy.”

“But surely you have had other offers,” Sarah said, looking at Adriana. “Why, I know you have.”

Adriana grimaced. “I am an earl’s daughter, Sarah, as you are yourself, but neither my father nor my brother is as conciliating as your papa was about your love for Clifford. No one less than a viscount would do for me, and then only a viscount who, like Alston or George Villiers, will one day become an earl. The men in my family keep themselves on a very high form, my dear. The fact that no viscount or earl of our acquaintance was interested in a young woman with a mere five thousand pounds as her portion did not deter them from rejecting out of hand any other offer I received. And just consider my competition on the Marriage Mart if you will. Why, Sally Fane’s inheritance is said to be over one hundred thousand pounds, which is much more even than Sophie has. Sally and I came out together, as you know, but George never even looked at me. Nor did the handsome Earl Cowper, once he had met Emily Lamb. No one of consequence did, though I am said to be prettier than Emily and I’m not nearly as silly as Sally can be. You were satisfied with Clifford, Sarah, but a mere baron would never do for Viscount Alston’s sister or the Earl of Wryde’s daughter. They quickly sent what suitors I had to the rightabout.”

“Goodness,” said Sarah, “you never confided this to me before. How does Alston dare to insist that you look so high for a husband when he married a tradesman’s daughter himself?”

“Not at all the same, my dear.” She tilted her chin high in the air in imitation of her brother’s haughty public demeanor. “He sacrificed himself to save the family’s groats.” Grimacing expressively, she continued in a more natural tone. “There wasn’t much left by the time he came of age, you know, and though he very sensibly refused Papa’s ingenuous suggestion that they break the entail and sell some land, he needed a great deal of money to keep himself in the sort of comfort Papa has taught him to demand. And once he realized the extent of Papa’s debts and knew the responsibility for paying them would one day fall to him, he looked about him for an heiress willing to sell herself for a title. Hence his marriage to the delightful Sophie Ringwell. It was her money that finally gave him the power to force Papa to give the reins of Wryde into his hands. Imagine an ironmonger with money enough to dower his daughter with nearly sixty thousand while retaining so much that his son feels sufficiently puffed up in his own conceit to make improper suggestions to ladies living under his sister’s roof.”

“Claude doesn’t!” Sarah bit her lip to keep from laughing. “Dear me, he’s so—so—”

“Wet is a good word,” Adriana said. “I could not explain it all to you before without sounding old-cattish, Sarah, or so I believed.” She wrinkled her nose in a self-deprecating way. “In truth, my pride would not allow it. I had thought to remain a spinster all my days, you see, so anything I gave as a reason must sound self-pitying at best, and that I could not bear.”

“And then a marquess offered for you.” Miranda sighed. “It is just like one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s tales. Dear Chalford.”

“It was with the greatest astonishment that I learned of his offer,” Adriana said. “Alston informed me of it after I had met the man but four times, danced with him perhaps as many times, and talked to him for not more than half an hour altogether. And for the most part, I daresay I merely flirted as I always do, not making any effort to attach his affections, you know, for it never entered my head that a man of such rank and wealth would consider matrimony with a woman in my financial position. I said whatever it entered my head to say. He is a most comfortable man to talk to, that I will say for him. He listens with such a flattering air of attention, and though he rarely talks about himself, I remember once actually asking him what it was like to have enough money to do as one pleased.”

“Adriana!” Sarah made no effort to conceal her amusement. “What did he say?”

“That he didn’t suppose anyone ever had that much money because the more money one has, the more responsibilities one incurs and thus the less likely it is that one may do as one pleases.” Adriana sighed. “I hope he doesn’t prove to be as great a nickpenny as Alston has become. One expects wealthy men to live wealthily.”

“But you must know how he means to go on,” Sarah said. “Surely, he has made arrangements for you.”

“Oh, yes, the settlements.” She smiled tolerantly. “I had nothing to say to them, of course, and I am sure he has made me a most generous allowance to be getting along on at Thunderhill—well, Alston certainly thinks it generous, and he was impressed when Chalford refused to quibble over details and agreed to whatever he suggested—but Alston believes I ought to get along on pennies, and Chalford cannot realize how expensive London is, or Brighton. A marchioness has an image to present to the
beau monde,
after all, and I don’t intend to be remiss in my duty.”

“Well, you will bring Chalford ’round your thumb in no time,” Miranda said. “You are very good at that sort of thing, Dree, having practiced so long with Orson and Papa, neither of whom is conciliating in the least, which Chalford appears to be. Moreover, if he did not quibble, it is because he desires you to have what you wish. I have seen the way your husband looks at you, my dear. If he is not besotted, he is very close to it. In any event, he will give you whatever you ask for.”

Sarah frowned, and Adriana, catching her look in the mirror, said quickly, “I sound like a spoilt child, do I not?”

Sarah shook her head. “Never that, my dear. To speak frankly, I think you are a little frightened of what lies ahead and trying hard to pretend that you are not. No, no, do not poker up. Remember, this is Sarah, who knows you well. Though I was in love with my husband, I was frightened about what lay ahead—and confused, too. You scarcely know Chalford, so your apprehension can only be greater than mine was. And your mother is not here to tell you how you should go on. Not,” she added with a laugh, “that mine was of any assistance to me. She only blushed and mumbled until I hugged her and told her I would learn what I must from dearest Mortimer.”

“Here be your bonnet, m’lady,” said Nancy before Adriana could speak. Silently, she let the abigail settle the russet bonnet over her intricately twisted coiffure. The bow, however, she tied herself, under her right ear. Then, pulling on her tan gloves, she stood, shook out her skirts, let Nancy arrange her demitrain, and declared herself ready to go down to her husband.

Miranda and Sarah both moved forward quickly to hug her, and Adriana found that she was blinking back as many tears as her abigail before she managed to get herself out the door. Once she reached the wide staircase leading down to the hall, however, she had herself well in hand again and nodded and smiled to the guests milling below, waiting to bid her farewell. Her gaze swept the crowd, then came to rest upon one particular gentleman standing at the very foot of the stairs.

Joshua Blackburn, eleventh Marquess of Chalford, seemed somehow aloof from the excited group surrounding him. There was a coolness, a calmness that separated him from the others. He too had changed to clothing more suitable for travel, but he was precise to a pin in his buff breeches, black boots, and the snugly fitting dark-blue coat that seemed only to emphasize the powerful breadth of his shoulders and the narrowness of his waist and hips. One lock of dark hair had escaped the brush’s control to fall over his left temple, and his dark-gray eyes glinted with unmistakable approval when his gaze met Adriana’s. She smiled at him, then her gaze shifted quickly, scanning the group again, darting from one person to another as she smiled and nodded and continued to make her graceful descent.

When she was close enough, Chalford held out his hand to her and she placed hers within it, grateful for the warmth of his grasp and the strength of his presence. The first time she had seen him, at Lady Sefton’s rout after the opening sessions of Parliament, she had assumed from the way he carried himself and the way he unconsciously drew the attention of everyone else in the room that he must be a man of wealth and power, and she had been surprised to learn that few of the women knew him at all. The men who knew him said only how much they liked him and what a pity it was that such a bruising rider to hounds passed so much of his life in such humbug country. Once she had made his acquaintance, she had learned quickly that he rarely talked about himself, which made the initial impact of his personality all the more incomprehensible to her.

Now he smiled at her, and she smiled back, but before either of them could speak, Viscount Alston, beside the marquess, said in a sharp undertone, “What can have kept you so long, Adriana? We have all been waiting this half-hour and more.”

She turned, automatically assuming a look of contrition. Then, suddenly, awareness struck her that she no longer had to answer to him, and she smiled. “Dearest Orson,” she said, gently emphasizing his name, delighted when the irritation in his expression sharpened to anger, “I wished to be certain nothing was amiss with my appearance on so important an occasion.”

At Alston’s side, his plump, pink-satin-draped viscountess had been examining Adriana’s attire and now shook her head in disapproval, making the three purple ostrich plumes adorning her elaborate coiffure bob wildly. “I am surprised at you, Adriana,” she said. “Such a plain dress to choose, and no jewelry at all. Your mama left her personal jewels betwixt you and dear Miranda, did she not?” Without waiting for a reply, she added, “The pearls at least, I should have thought, and a ring or two more to deck your fingers. Not that the ring Chalford gave you is not exquisite, for of course it is.” She fluttered her sandy lashes at the marquess, then returned her gaze to Adriana, saying more brusquely, “You have a position to uphold, after all.”

“Ah, Sophie, I can never glitter so well as you do,” Adriana replied gently. “I am but a drab moth beside a butterfly, and I know better than to attempt imitation.” She shot a mocking glance at her brother, enjoying herself but thinking, too, that it was as well she would not have to answer to him for that little barb. He was visibly fuming, but she knew he would never reprove her with Chalford at her side. Indeed, he would not wish Sophie to realize that what Adriana had said to her was not a compliment. His wife was very nearly preening herself.

Behind her, Adriana heard a familiar chuckle, and though it was all but drowned out by the noise of the others in the hall, she knew she must divert her brother’s attention before he noted Miranda’s amusement. Accordingly, she smiled at Alston again and said sweetly, “Thank you for a lovely wedding, Orson dear.” Then, raising her voice above the din, she said, “Do, everyone, stay as long as you like. Alston and Sophie will be distressed if you do not, for there is food and drink to last all the day.”

Cheers greeted her words, and she found her hand clasped more firmly than ever in her husband’s as he urged her toward the tall front doors, which swung wide at their approach. With more cheers and whistling, their friends and relatives made a path for them, then followed them out to the awaiting carriage.

Chalford, grasping Adriana by the waist, easily lifted her into the chaise, then leapt in behind her and signaled the postboys to horse. With a surge, the light, well-sprung vehicle leapt forward as he was latching the door, and Adriana’s last view of the merrymakers made her chuckle. Miranda and Sarah were waving and laughing, but Alston and his lady stood on the topmost step, both looking anxious and rather grim.

Satisfied, the new marchioness leaned back against the squabs. “I hope everyone stays until dawn.”

“You practically ordered them to do so, did you not?” was the calm response.