In the Garden of Deceit (Book 4) (10 page)

As
she was slipping on her shoes in preparation for going downstairs,
someone knocked on the door.

“Enter.”

A
thump and a rattling of dishes accompanied a young maid’s
entrance. The petite girl, all freckles and flaming hair, stood on
the threshold, holding a tray.

“Lord
Lonsdale sent you breakfast, m’lady.”

“He
did? H-has he eaten?”

“Eating
now. Served him meself.”

“Oh.
Thank you. Set it down,” she glanced around the room, and the
only thing she spotted with a flat surface was the night table,
“there.”

Alone
with the tray, Amanda tried to appreciate what she hoped were the
good intentions of her husband. Otherwise, she must assume that he
had wanted to dine alone or at least without her. That was a hurtful
thought and with some effort she put it aside.

Hot
tea beckoned, thus she sat on the side of the bed and poured herself
a steaming cup. The tea was comforting in a familiar way, how she
started every day, and that small ritual helped restore her
equilibrium.

She
stared out the room’s one grimy window into a brilliant morning
that had cast off the storms of yesterday. She wondered if they would
be leaving today. She hoped so and then she did not. Staying here was
oppressive, but what lay ahead—Lonsdale—did not leave her
feeling optimistic.

The
food was not as appealing as the tea. Amanda removed the cover on her
plate, eggs and glazed ham. In all fairness to the cook, the meal
appeared well prepared, but her nervous stomach would not be enticed.
She munched a piece of dry toast simply because she thought she
should.

As
she was refreshing her cup for the second time, James returned to the
room.

“It
appears we’ll be able to travel later today,” he said,
glancing at the uneaten tray of food.

“The
roads are not a problem?”

“Benton
reports that there is a lot of mud, but much of the water has run
off, and the sun is doing its part to dry things out. Probably would
be better if we waited until tomorrow, but I’d rather not. Can
you be ready soon?”

“I’m
ready now,” she said, subdued. “We didn’t unpack.”

Amanda
was aware of him watching her, but she could not meet his gaze.

He
joined her on the bed. “Is everything all right, Amanda? You
haven’t eaten.”

“Tired,
I think. I didn’t sleep well.”

James
chuckled. “Had a rather restless night myself.” His
closeness was affecting her even now, his long, lean fingers resting
on her wrist, his concern lulling her into forgetting why she must
not trust him.

“Amanda?”

The
question in his voice forced her to meet his gaze. Amanda endured his
scrutiny, looking back uneasily. All at once she was certain James
meant to kiss her, as an avid, hungry expression altered his
features, his hand on her wrist squeezing almost imperceptibly.

The
moment hung between them, her heart thudding with expectation. She
flicked her tongue over her lips as if anticipating a much desired
bite of something rich and sweet. She could actually feel the glands
in her throat working and she swallowed, a dark excitement rising in
her belly.

A
tightening around his eyes told her that he had thought better of it.
Amanda could feel him withdrawing even as a wry smile eased his
mouth, and the sudden dousing by reality shocked her. Disappointment
made her eyes burn with humiliation. She glanced away to hide her
hurt.

Abruptly,
she stood and walked to the window. Though she looked out, she saw
nothing, her inner eye replaying the last few moments relentlessly.
No avoiding this pain and, for the life of her, she could not decide
whether he was toying with her or using caution. Either way, she
wished he would stop advancing and retreating on her like a tiger on
the prowl.

“I’ll
be here when you are ready,” she said.

James
came to his feet slowly, and Amanda sensed that he felt awkward now.

“You
wish to remain in the room?” he asked.

“I
think so.” She did not turn around.

“Yes,
well…”

“James,
just go, please.”

As
the door closed behind him, Amanda was aware of one overriding
emotion. Regret. They had lost another opportunity, and each time
they did so, the tiny hurts, the budding distrust left them closer to
failure.

As
she stared across the yard of the inn, she wondered how a
relationship that had held such promise only days before had come to
this, uncertainty and heartbreak. Though she blamed James for their
predicament, she no longer had the desire to tell him so. He wasn’t
happy, either.

***

CHAPTER
7

Lonsdale
was a Georgian Manor, perhaps one hundred and fifty years old. It
sprawled across the landscape, massive and in ill repair, with
peeling paint, missing shingles, and a general attitude of benign
neglect. And yet, the house radiated warmth into the countryside, an
inviting charm, as though the residents in their careless
surroundings offered a loving retreat for those who came there.

It
was a genteel home, no doubt steeped in family history, the kind
Amanda had often seen, but as one of the newly rich never been part
of. Shabby it might be, but aristocratic privilege pervaded the
structure from roof to foundation.

As
they drove up to the manor, dusk fast approaching, Amanda could
imagine that she was indeed coming home. They were expected, as
servants spilled from the house, lining the drive in cheerful
welcome. The family had joined them, for she recognized Aunt
Henrietta and Uncles Ham and Harry. The sibling trio was fairly
dancing with excitement. Obvious by her absence was the dowager.

James
helped Amanda descend from the carriage into the midst of chaos,
everyone talking at once, no one willing to wait his turn. This was
not a household with structure, no stern reprimands for whispering
servants, no stiff handshakes and chaste kisses. The Tremont clan
threw their collective arms around Amanda as if she were one of them,
drawing her through the crowd and into the house. Despite herself,
she was disarmed.

“I
cannot tell you how happy we are that you are here, my dear,”
Aunt Henry gushed.

“Oh,
yes,” Uncle Ham replied. “We thought you were coming
yesterday. Then all that rain. We’ve been watching the windows
for your arrival ever since.”

Harry’s
contribution was a nod of agreement, but the sweet smile he gave
Amanda was touching.

She
looked to James to supply an explanation. He did so with ease,
smiling and hugging his relatives unselfconsciously.

“Perhaps
all of you were up to a journey on the heels of a wedding, but I can
tell you Amanda and I were not. We needed a day to recover.” He
paused then, glancing around the foyer. “Where is Mother?”

Immediately
there was an uncomfortable silence. Uncle Ham opened his mouth to
speak, but Aunt Henry forestalled him.

“She
remained at the dower house, James. Y-you’re mother sends her
regrets. Said she will make an appearance at supper. She doesn’t
like all the fuss—asked me to explain…” She
trailed off, as it was apparent to everyone listening that nothing
Henrietta had said so far was an acceptable explanation for the
dowager having essentially snubbed her daughter-in-law’s
introduction to her new home.

Her
husband’s face fell into rigid lines of disapproval. “I
see.”

He
said no more on the subject, but Amanda suspected he would be saying
plenty to the dowager later.

“And
Uncle Huey?” James continued.

Uncle
Huey?

Those
in the entry parted, opening a pathway in a foyer that proved to be
quite large. The staircase was revealed, a carved architectural
statement in dark cherry that curved artfully and quite dramatically
to the landing above. On the landing sat a man. Seemingly aware that
all eyes were now turned on him, he rose and slowly descended the
stairs, coming to stand on the last step.

He
moved forward when James beckoned, like an insignificant eddy
rippling into the sea of people. Uncle Huey was a slight man, not
heavy like his siblings. His right arm, which he hugged to his side,
was shriveled, and he walked with a limp, indicating a shortened
right leg. He looked at Amanda through an aging face of about
forty-five years, but his expression was that of a child.

His
green gaze was wide-eyed and assessing, as only a child’s can
be. “You’re beautiful,” he said simply.

An
almost silent sigh filtered through the foyer, and Amanda knew that
despite his handicaps Uncle Huey was a much revered person to this
family. She was right about the warmth and kindness she had detected
here.

“You
are most kind to say so,” Amanda returned. “It is a great
pleasure to meet you, Uncle Huey.”

He
smiled then, and Amanda was startled by how beautiful his own face
was when he did so. Nature may have been cruel to this man, but it
had given him something back, a natural charisma both charming and
infectious. She gave him a hug as she raised her eyes to her husband.

He
was watching her, his aspect serious and unreadable. As Amanda
released Huey, James placed an arm around his uncle’s
shoulders, squeezing him affectionately.

Surprisingly,
the servants had not trailed away to their duties as one might
expect. They had stayed for the family greetings as though part of
them and, in fact, Aunt Henry began introducing each and every one to
their new mistress.

It
was thirty minutes more before Henrietta escorted Amanda upstairs.

The
bedchamber the older woman entered was huge, with a canopied bed
dominating one wall. The room had the same shabby appearance as the
rest of the house, but again, it exuded warmth and welcome.

“I
asked James to let me redecorate, my dear, but he refused,”
Aunt Henry began. “Said you’d want to do that yourself.
Stands to reason, but I hated for you to arrive to such threadbare
circumstances. After seeing your father’s home in London,”
she looked a little embarrassed, “I am much aware of how things
here have gone to ruin. We’ve had a bit of a time keeping up
appearances.”

“Quite
all right,” Amanda murmured. “I wasn’t expecting
anything in particular.”

Not
anymore.

Unfortunately,
this line of talk brought to mind the very thing that was uppermost
in Amanda’s thoughts. James had needed money. Seemed ironic to
apologize for not using his new resources to make his wife more
comfortable, when she was the reason his bank account was now in the
black.

Amanda
turned as the footman delivered two of the many pieces of luggage
that had made the journey from London. Even as the cases were piling
up, she became aware that James’s belongings were being
deposited with her own. Of course, the servant would assume, but
didn’t her husband have a room of his own? It would be
difficult enough living with the man in the close confines of a
marriage, but if they were actually forced to share the same
quarters, she feared for her sanity.

As
she stared fixedly at the luggage, her mind blank with uneasiness,
James appeared in the doorway. She slowly lifted her gaze to him,
even as his attention locked first on the cases and then on her.

“James—”

He
shook his head, one brief jerk, silencing her.

Henrietta,
fussing with the draperies, turned to her nephew. “I was just
explaining to Amanda why we have not done anything to the room.”

“Aunt
Henry, you worry too much. It’s not so bad.”

“Spoken
just like a man.” The older woman shook her head as she
returned to the center of the chamber. “Well, nothing for it.
What’s done is done. When you are ready to make some changes,
my dear,” this to Amanda, “please come to me. I’ll
help you in any way I can.” She reached for her niece-in-law’s
hand. “We’re so pleased to have you in the family.”

Amanda
said a polite and sincerely felt, “Thank you.”

Aunt
Henry turned to James, pausing, as if she had something to say. But
evidently she was ill at ease and having difficulty expressing
herself.

“Aunt?”
James raised his brows in question.

Her
attention slipped to Amanda briefly, but without looking her in the
eye. “Perhaps another time would be better,” she
murmured.

Henrietta
gave her nephew a tentative smile and edged toward the door. Her
departure was followed by an uncomfortable silence.

Since
the surroundings were strange and did not feel like her own yet,
Amanda remained where she stood, uncertain how to proceed. James, on
the other hand, looked to be filled with nervous energy, and he paced
to the luggage, separating the bags into his and hers.

“I
know you are not pleased with the sleeping arrangements, Amanda,”
he began, his back to her. “But when I made them, I had reason
to believe you would not be averse.” He turned around to face
her, his gaze direct but hesitant. “At the time, you had not
yet met Derrick.”

“Is
there no room attached to this one?” she asked faintly,
swallowing over a nervous lump in her throat.

“The
master suite is down the hall.”

“This
isn’t the master suite? I don’t understand.”

“Father
slept in those rooms for more than thirty-five years. And he died
there in the fall. I was not comfortable appropriating them yet.”

That
made sense but, “What are we to do?”

“Need
we do anything?” James asked, his manner now brusque. “You
are in no danger from me.”

Remembering
their bargain, Amanda wasn’t quite certain she believed him.
The long nights much like last night loomed ahead, promising at the
very least a perennial case of insomnia. Before it was over she would
perish from exhaustion.