Amy Lake (7 page)

“You are in London much of the year. We will no doubt encounter each other quite often, and people have not been unaware of our association. I would never wish to cause you pain.”

Much as she respected the earl, Lady Pamela found it difficult not to laugh. Men. Such idiots, sometimes, and so full of themselves. She sipped her tea and wondered, too, if she could ever explain a woman’s heart to a creature as thoroughly male as Lord Edward Tremayne. For Claire’s sake–

“Edward,” she said, looking at him seriously,  “if you are thinking of taking another mistress,
I
am not the person whose feelings you should consider.”

He hesitated for a moment. “You mean Miss de Lancie?  But I have made the nature of our marriage and my requirements  completely clear to her. She is a practical woman.”

“Hmm,” said Lady Pam, appearing unconvinced. “Even a practical woman might not want the
ton
tabbies batting tales of your mistress in her face.”

“She will be spending her time at Wrensmoor Park. My activities in London will be of no concern to her.”

“Indeed.”

And it was left at that. Edward thought that Pamela was being rather hard. He would be spending most of the year in London, so of course he would take a mistress.   What else was he to do?  He had never been such a profligate as to consort with prostitutes. And he saw scant reason to consider the feelings of Miss de Lancie, who had, by her own admission, come to town for the single purpose of marrying the first eligible gentleman who offered. 

Edward left Lady Pamela soon afterward, with a quick kiss on the forehead. Although it was probably the last time he would see her for some weeks–and his visits would never be before–neither of them commented on the matter.  Pam kicked off her shoes and settled in with another cup of tea, brooding over the endlessly changing faces of love. Would men and women ever come to agreement on the subject?

* * * *

Jody, true to his word, insisted on accompanying Claire back to her bedchamber after breakfast. There they spent a few minutes in earnest discussion over the note Claire was writing to Sir Clarence. Jody agreed to see to its dispatch, and he left his sister reclining comfortably in bed.  She stayed there no more than moments, however–listening to the sound of his footsteps fading away down the hall–before venturing in search of the library. She assumed that Tremayne House, like all the great homes of the
ton
, had such a room. If she was going to be locked inside all day, at least she could find a few books to read.

It took some time–the footmen seemed to be avoiding her, and she made several wrong turns–but in the end her journey proved worth the effort. She had never seen so many volumes together in one place, and the air smelled wonderfully of leather. The sun streamed in through windows stretching the full height of the room and Claire saw several large, comfortable-looking armchairs beckoning someone to curl up in them.  She sighed happily and began to investigate what the earl might have in the way of ancient Roman or Greek histories.

Quite a bit, as it turned out. Claire selected a likely-looking edition of Herodotus, sat down in the biggest, most comfortable-looking armchair of the lot, opened the volume, and promptly fell asleep.

* * * *

Edward returned home from Lady Pamela’s and went immediately to his study, sending for his man-of-affairs.

“I am being married within the week,” he told Justin MacKenzie without preamble. Not a twitch from the imperturbable Scot. “Arrangements will need to be made for a special license.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“I will have instructions for the lawyers concerning the settlements to be made on my wife. By–say–tomorrow morning. Have Fitzwilliams ready with the necessary papers.”

“Yes, my lord. It might be helpful if I could make the name of the lady known to Mr. Fitzwilliams.”

“What?  Oh, yes. Claire. Claire de Lancie.”  Edward made a note to find out if Miss de Lancie had a second Christian name.

“Very good, my lord.”

“Oh, and, MacKenzie–”

“My lord?”      

“I need to find the current lodgings of one Sandrick Rutherford, gentleman. He may not be living in London, but I should think he’s somewhere close by. Make inquiries through the usual channels and hire the runners if you need.”

“As you wish, my lord.” 

Justin MacKenzie left, and the earl turned back to his desk, where a number of other papers required his attention.

* * * *

It wasn’t until Flora brought lunch up to Miss de Lancie that anyone noticed Claire wasn’t in her bedchamber. The girl, terrified that Lord Tremayne would ask for Claire before Flora could find her mistress, ran belowstairs. She knew that her best chance of finding Jody was in the kitchen.

“Oh, Mr. Jody!  She’s gone!”

Jody was helping himself to a large slice of Mrs. Huppins’s cheese tart. He looked up at Flo and smiled. She was a thumpingly pretty girl, he thought. “Who’s gone?”

“What’s all this yammer?” said Mrs. Huppins with a swipe at Flora’s backside. “Mr. Jody indeed. Don’t be interruptin’ Mr. de Lancie when he’s ’avin’ his lunch.”

“It’s Miss de Lancie!  She’s not in her room!”

“Ach, you silly girl, you couldn’t find a pig in the henhouse. She’s probably just sleepin’ quiet in ’er bed.”

“No, I looked careful!  The bed hasn’t been touched since ’twas made up earlier!”

Mrs. Huppins snorted in disgust. With a beautiful room like that t’ sleep in, she thought. And now folks with work to do were havin’ to traipse all over creation looking for the precious miss. Why couldn’t the quality stay put like they were supposed to? 

Jody tried to reassure Flora that his sister couldn’t have gone far. He sat and thought for a moment while he ate another slice of cheese tart and one of Mrs. Huppins’s sticky buns. The pastries couldn’t compare to Mrs. McLeevy’s cinnamon rolls, but Jody was a diplomat and partook liberally of both women’s cooking. He had heard hints of kitchen squabbling during the past day or two, and he knew that Mrs. Huppins and Mrs. McLeevy were still negotiating territory.

Where might his sister have gone?  Jody and Claire were both very fond of horses. When they had lived on their uncle’s estate, Claire had a favorite mare that she rode every day possible. It was something she had missed in London and he wondered–could she have taken one of the earl’s lot?  Jody thought that Lord Tremayne’s stablehands must have instructions not to let a young lady out on her own, but he was also well aware of his sister’s powers of persuasion.

Well, it was a place to start, and Jody was as anxious as Flora to find his sister before the  earl noticed she was missing.  “Come on,” he told the girl, grabbing one last sticky bun. “Let’s check her chambers again and then try the stables. I’ve been wanting to see those, anyway.”

Jody followed Flora up the stairway and through one hallway after another toward the back of the house. It was probably unfortunate that the earl chose to exit his study just as Jody and Flora were hurrying by, and equally unfortunate that neither of the two had could manage a convincing lie.

“Jodrel?  Flora?”

They stopped sharp, Flora, with a gasp, ducking behind Jody and holding on to one of his arms for dear life. Her heart was pounding so hard she thought it would burst. The earl was as kind an employer as Flo had ever known, but still–   She could be discharged, Flora realized with dismay. She’d lost her young miss.

“What seems to be the problem?  And where are the two of you going in such a rush?”

Jody spoke up. “Oh, sir. Hello. Um, Flo was just taking me to visit the stables. You know, to see . . . to see the horses.”

The earl’s expression was disbelieving. “Flora was taking you to the stables?   To see–the horses?”

“Yes, my lord. I hear your stables in town are particularly fine.”  Jody tried to smile confidently at the earl, but this was too much for Flora, who was now worried that Lord Tremayne might think that she and Jody–well, that she was no better than she ought to be.

She started to cry. “Oh, sir, please,” said Flora. “I didn’t know to be looking in on her any earlier!”  

“It isn’t Flora’s fault,” interjected Jody with some heat. He didn’t want the earl to be angry with his sister, but he couldn’t let the young maid take the blame. “Claire gets fidgety. She just doesn’t take very well to–”

“She seemed so tired, I didn’t think she would leave her room!” wailed Flo.

“Enough.”  The earl took out a handkerchief and handed it to the girl. “Flora, I’m sure there  must be tasks awaiting you somewhere. I’ll deal with Miss de Lancie.” 

Flora gave him a grateful look, blew her nose once, loudly, and fled.

The earl turned to Jody. “I take it your sister is nowhere to be found?”

“No, sir. That is, yes, sir.”

“And she has been nowhere to be found since–?”

“Breakfast, sir. I did take her back to her room, like you said,  but I guess she must have gone somewhere after that. I thought the stables might–  Well, Claire loves to ride and she hasn’t had much chance lately.”

The earl closed his eyes and sighed in exasperation.

* * * *

In the end it was Lord Tremayne himself who discovered Claire, still sound asleep, in the library. Herodotus was on the floor next to the armchair–he looked, curious, at the book’s title–and much of her hair had escaped its pins, falling over her shoulders in a mass of black satin waves.

He lowered himself into the armchair facing Claire’s, and for several minutes he simply sat there watching her. She was quite the loveliest woman he had ever–  Edward stopped himself and looked away. The earl had always thought of Lady Pamela as the loveliest woman of his acquaintance. But he found himself staring again at the girl curled in the armchair, her slippers kicked off and her toes peeping out from under her day dress. The thin muslin of the bodice was close fitting, revealing curves that left the earl feeling a bit warm.  Edward thought about some of the young misses of his acquaintance, the lines of their figures little different than those of a boy. He found himself imagining what it would be like to have Claire de Lancie in his bed. No–to have his countess in his bed. His weeks spent at Wrensmoor would certainly be different from those in the past.

The earl had avoided marriage for years. He’d seen little point to it, other than the begetting of an heir. Why should he now be contemplating his wedding day with something that felt suspiciously like anticipation?

* * * *

Claire woke to feel strong arms around her.  With every breath she took came a comforting male scent that she had already learned to associate with Lord Tremayne. He was carrying her up a staircase, Claire realized, and she was acutely aware of his hands cradling her in a way that felt terribly intimate. As if those hands knew everything there was to know about the other parts of her body as well. She felt his breath warm against her hair.

“Mmm.”  It all felt so good.  She curled her arms around the earl’s neck and snuggled deeper into his embrace. She heard his short, sharp intake of breath, but his footsteps persisted in their strong, steady tread. Claire was about to drift back into sleep when she felt herself being dumped unceremoniously onto a bed.

Her eyes flew open.  “My lord!” she exclaimed, momentarily unable to say anything more. Her dress–dear heavens, the skirt was almost up to her knees. She hurriedly pushed it over her ankles and glared at the earl.

He regarded her stonily. “Our wedding will be three days hence,” said Lord Tremayne, his voice taut and cold. “After the wedding we will travel to Wrensmoor Park.”

“Three days–”

”Until then, your home is Tremayne House. I have arranged for Madame Gaultier to attend you here, and you may choose whatever gowns and other items you will need for a trousseau.”

“But in only three–”

“Madame Gaultier will have everything you require ready in time.”  The earl’s tone allowed no room for disagreement. 

How dare he be so presumptuous?

“My lord,” said Claire, her eyes flashing with annoyance, “I do not know this Madame Gaultier, but I have every suspicion she is too dear for my purse.”

“It is my intention to pay for the trousseau of my countess,” said Lord Tremayne. “You may order as you wish, and the bills will be sent to me.”

“I will speak with my own
modiste
,” hissed Claire, knowing full well she had no such creature to consult. Her London gowns had been her mother’s, which Claire had carefully adapted with fresh lace and ribbon to be
à la mode moderne
. She tried to stand. The earl sat on the bed, blocking her attempt to rise.

     “Miss de Lancie,” he said, enunciating each word with icy clarity, “let me make myself very clear.”

“Oh, by all means, my lord,” said Claire, “you may make yourself clear at length. I’ve no choice but to listen.”

“We will be married Friday at noon. For the next three days you will not set foot outside this house. You may visit the library or the sitting room or any other room you wish as long as you are accompanied by Mr. de Lancie or myself. Otherwise, you will remain in your bedchamber to rest.”

“So I am your prisoner!”  exclaimed Claire bitterly.

“No, Miss de Lancie,” said Lord Tremayne, “but you
are
my responsibility.”

Chapter Five

Claire did not see the earl for the better part of two days. Madame Gaultier arrived as promised and–though Claire suspected she had no more French blood than did Flora–proved to be a
modiste
of remarkable taste and speed. Two gowns would be completed and sent to Tremayne House by Thursday morning, with several others to be delivered to Wrensmoor Park shortly after their arrival. Claire’s choice for the wedding was a simple walking gown with a flounce of silver gauze over a white satin underskirt and a short train. The bodice was fitted, with a square neckline, and embroidered with seed pearls.

Jody had taken one look at it and pronounced it fit for an angel, and in her heart Claire was also pleased. If Lord Tremayne would persist in treating her like his own private charity case–some poor thing he was willing to marry only because she would provide him an heir–then Claire was determined she would be a very well-dressed charity case. No one was going to look at her and think that the Earl of Ketrick had married beneath him in style.