In the Garden of Deceit (Book 4) (12 page)

His
aunt was the one weight he carried on his conscience. Henrietta’s
distress was very real as was her love for her son. Poor thing, she
was not blind to Derrick’s faults. More than once she had
admitted that he was flawed like his father. Regardless, she clung to
her only child, hoping as only a mother can hope.

Damn
it!
Allowing Derrick to stay in the dower house would be like
enduring a splinter under his fingernail, a constant painful
irritation. And if irritation was the worst of it, he would be lucky.
Intuition told him that having his cousin on the premises was
inviting disaster. He didn’t even care to think how Amanda
would respond when she found out.

“I
want you at dinner tonight, Mother,” James said. “So you
had better stop drinking now. I also expect you to apologize to
Amanda for missing her homecoming today.”

The
dowager pursed her lips sourly but gave him a curt nod. “As you
wish.”

“And
you, Derrick—”

His
cousin sat up straight, the uncertainty he was feeling—probably
the outright fear—suddenly apparent. “Yes?”

“Stay
out of sight. Your only hope is not to remind me that you are here
lest I reconsider.”

The
young man’s shoulders slumped with relief.

“Oh,
and Derrick? Stay away from my wife, also. Upset her again and lack
of a home will be the least of your worries.”

James
left, more disgusted than he thought possible. Those two deserved
each other. He smiled grimly. How amusing it would be when they
realized their effort to plot against him was not nearly enough
reward to dispel how little they had in common.

***

CHAPTER
8

Dinner
went well, a party atmosphere prevailing. James was pleased by his
family’s acceptance of Amanda, his mother notwithstanding.

The
dowager had arrived only a little tipsy. She sat through the meal,
picking at her food, sullen, because James had refused to let her
drink more than one glass of wine. He had been discreet, of course,
warning the footman before everyone was seated. But his mother had
known and her resentment was palpable. She chose to leave immediately
after dessert.

“Didn’t
you have something you wished to say to Amanda, Mother?” James
asked as the dowager prepared to depart.

He
had chosen a public forum, the entire family still lounging around
the dining table. Again he detected his mother’s displeasure
with him. There was a protracted silence and Amanda gave her husband
an uncertain look.

“Yes,
of course. Thank you for reminding me, James.” The dowager’s
sarcasm was lost on no one. She turned to her daughter-in-law. “I
was indisposed this afternoon,
my dear.
I apologize for
missing your arrival.”

“Quite
all right—” Amanda began.

His
mother turned abruptly and traipsed from the room, weaving only
slightly.

Well,
that had been a mistake, he thought, humiliation making him sweat. He
should have known his mother would find a way to turn an apology into
an insult. He glanced over to find Aunt Henrietta gaping at him in
consternation—James was afraid to look at his wife again. He
released an exasperated breath and stood from the table, signaling
the end of the meal.

Henrietta
cornered him in the drawing room. Her guilty gaze darted from him to
the others in the room and then back again as if assessing whether or
not she could speak privately. He took her hand to reassure her,
leaning down so she could whisper in his ear.

“You’ve
been to the dower house, James?” she asked in an undertone.

“Yes,
I have.”

“I’m
so sorry,” she moaned. “I tried to tell you when you
arrived, but I didn’t want to upset Amanda.”

“It’s
not your fault, Aunt Henry.”

“I
should have told Derrick to leave, but I…”

“Would
he have listened?”

Her
shoulders drooped. “Most likely not. But that’s no excuse
for my not trying since it was your wish.”

James
patted the hand he held. “Not to worry, dear. I’ll handle
Derrick. You must trust that I will not be unfair.”

“Oh,
James, you know it’s not my lack of trust in you.”

“I
know. But you realize I cannot allow Derrick to get away with
mischief. His jealousy is his undoing, and I can’t tolerate
that.”

Again,
the guilty look entered her eyes. “Has Amanda recovered?”

Should
he lie or tell the truth? He settled on something in between. “For
the most part but it has definitely been a source of pain.”

“I’m
so sorry!” She sounded as though she might cry. And in fact,
she reached into her bodice and extracted a lace hankie, holding it
to her mouth.

He
sighed. “Unfortunately, Aunt Henry, I must share the blame. I
should never have listened to Amanda’s father. In doing so, I
gave Derrick the ammunition. I simply wish he had not found the need
to use it.”

He
could tell that his words gave her comfort and for that he was glad.
He loved his aunt and sympathized with the misery she’d
suffered due to her wayward son.

“May
I ask you a question?” she ventured.

Suddenly
wary, he nodded.

“Did
you marry Amanda only for the money?”

He
frowned. “Does it matter?”

“Oh,
yes. Perhaps it’s none of my business, dear, but indeed it
matters. I like her.”

James
relaxed, smiling. “I like her, also. Originally, I agreed to
meet Amanda because of the fortune her father dangled in front of me.
I admit that. But I would never have married her for that reason
alone. Too much sacrifice for me, I’m afraid. The Tremonts
would have had to find another way to thwart starvation.”

“Truthfully?”

He
lifted his brows at her devilishly. “Does she look like a woman
who would inspire only avarice in a man?”

“But
do you love her?”

He
paused, sending his gaze to his wife where she sat on the sofa,
entertaining Huey. Her dark head was bent close to his uncle, the
smile on her face kind and interested. He appreciated her compassion.
Not everyone outside the family was tolerant of Uncle Huey’s
limitations.

Even
as he watched her, Amanda looked up, her lovely brown eyes widening
when she saw him staring at her. They shared a moment so personal, so
fraught with meaning, it seemed for a time that the room and its
occupants faded, leaving only the two of them.

“Do
you?” his aunt insisted, her voice seeming far away.

Continuing
to observe his beautiful wife, he murmured, “Yes, I believe I
do.”

Her
gaze followed his. “Have you told her?”

“Would
you
believe me right now? Would you trust me to tell the truth
when I’m already proven to be a liar?”

“James—”

“Would
you fear that I was using expediency rather than revealing my true
feelings?”

“Perhaps,
but then what are you to do?”

“I
have to demonstrate that I love her.” He took in a weary
breath. “I have to demonstrate that I am worthy of her loving
me, how I don’t know.”

“Does
she love you?”

“Does
it matter? She doesn’t particularly like me right now, and love
without like is a very tenuous thing. It has the potential to be
corrupted at any moment. And once love dies it is rarely
resurrected.”

This
time she took his hand, “Then don’t let it die, James.”

He
smiled wistfully. “She is a stubborn girl, is my Manda.”

“Just
what you need, if you ask me,” Aunt Henry said in a tart voice.

“Never
let me get away with a thing, do you? Will you do me a favor?”

“Of
course.”

“I
asked Amanda not to share our problems with anyone. I’d hate
for her to think I did the very thing I asked her not to do.”

“Not
a word, love. Your secret is safe with me.”

***

With
much effort, Amanda forced her attention back to Uncle Huey, who sat
next to her on the sofa. She had glanced up, compelled by a feeling
of being watched, to find her husband staring at her from across the
room. His blue eyes were filled with an intimacy that took her breath
away, made her heart beat painfully. Not the intimacy of physical
desire, but something she had never seen in his attitude before,
something more intimate than sex.

Hard
to believe there was anything more intimate than sex. But she knew
people often shared their bodies without sharing what was in their
hearts. She had never understood the aristocracy’s penchant for
marrying for any reason
except
love, had wondered how they
could be disdainful of the only emotion that made marriage
worthwhile.

She
chanced a peek at her husband again, but James was now concentrating
on something his Aunt Henry was saying. His love for the older woman
was obvious as he listened to her.

Whatever
their private little heart-to-heart was about, it ended then. He
cupped his aunt’s elbow and guided her to the others in the
room.

Amanda
felt a tug at her sleeve.

“Do
you play chess, Amanda?” Uncle Huey asked, enunciating each
syllable clearly.

“Not
very well, I’m afraid.”

“I
do. I play very well.”

“He
certainly does,” Uncle Hamilton broke in from where he lounged
next to the fireplace. He was nursing a glass of port and watching
Amanda and Huey with obvious enjoyment.

Uncle
Harry stood next to him, and he nodded his balding head, nursing a
like glass of port. Apparently, Harry’s contribution to any
conversation was to confirm whatever Ham had to say. If he could do
so without speaking, so much the better. Or at least so it seemed.

“That’s
wonderful, Uncle Huey,” Amanda said. “You have my deepest
admiration. Chess is not for the fainthearted.”

“Will
you play with me sometime?”

“Do
you promise to be tolerant of a woefully inadequate player?”

He
grinned, green eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “Oh, yes!”

“Then
it’s decided.”

He
reached over with his withered hand, placing it on hers, and she
smiled into those green eyes. Only then did she understand it was a
test, for there was a shrewdness in his gaze that belied his limited
intellect. Had she shrunk from his infirmary—as she suspected
many people had done before—that would have been the end of her
relationship with him, not because she would shun him but because he
would have nothing more to do with her.

She
heaved an inner sigh when his expression indicated she had passed. To
hurt this sweet man would have been a sin. She sensed the relief in
the room and, startled, Amanda realized that all had gone quiet as
she and Huey had enacted their little tableau. Even the servants had
stopped to watch. She could feel the warmth and approval from this
family who loved and fiercely protected their favored “child.”

James
sat down on the sofa next to her on the other side from Huey. Amanda
turned to him, hesitant, but his eyes shone with that same approval.

“Uncle
Huey and I are going to play chess,” she said brightly because,
for the life of her, she couldn’t think of another thing to
say.

“So
I see,” James said. “Huey?” He leaned forward to
look at his uncle. “Don’t thrash her too badly at first.
She’s new to the family and we don’t want to hurt her
feelings.”

The
group broke into uproarious laughter. The twins toasted each other,
clinking glasses, while Aunt Henry rocked backward and forward from
where she stood, her chubby person looking much like a teetering
wooden top. As soon as one person ceased laughing, another would
break out again, and so it went until everyone was spent.

“Haven’t
had a laugh like that in years,” Ham stated.

“No,
indeed,” Harry reiterated, wheezing loudly.

And
for some reason, that started the mirth all over again.

The
party dissipated shortly after that. Uncle Huey escorted Amanda
upstairs, his arm tucked in hers. He bowed at her door.

You
meant it?” he asked shyly. “You’ll play chess with
me?”

“Absolutely.
But remember, you promised not to thrash me too badly.”

His
giggles trailed behind him as he hobbled down the hall.

Amanda
entered her room and closed the door. James had remained downstairs,
indicating he would be up shortly. There had been a shaded look in
his eyes that told her little and so she must wonder. She supposed he
was allowing her to ready herself for bed without his intrusion, as
he had done while they were traveling. Why not? She certainly had
complained about the lack of privacy.

Her
clothes had been unpacked, and she found the drawer where her
nightdresses were neatly folded. On top of the stack was an ivory
silk nightdress trimmed in matching lace. She had chosen it for her
wedding night. Her throat tightened as she ran her fingers across the
slick material, remembering how deliciously titillated she had been
when she first chosen it. How she had looked forward to her first
night alone with James! Dispirited, she pushed it aside, choosing a
more staid gown to sleep in.

She
still had not had a bath since leaving London and, more than
anything, she wanted one. It was late, however, and most of the
servants had already retired for the evening. The maid who was
waiting for her unlaced her corset, then Amanda sent the woman off to
bed as well.

Amanda
settled on a sponge bath, stripping down to her linen drawers. The
water in the pitcher was cold and she shivered, running a soapy
washcloth over her torso and under her arms. She washed her neck and
face until they stung pleasantly then repeated the entire process
when it was time to rinse.

A
soft snicking as if the door had been gently pulled into place caused
her to whirl around, washcloth dripping from one hand, the other hand
held to her mouth in alarm. Her glance darted over the room but all
was quiet, eerily so.