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

A
knock at the door and, upon permission, Betty entered the chamber. A
sly smile played on the maid’s mouth, and Amanda gritted her
teeth with embarrassment.

“Not
one word, Betty, do you hear me? You abandoned me to-to…”
Flustered, she reached up to pat her mussed hair.

“The
attentions of a handsome man?” There was laughter in her voice.
“I’m sorry, my lady, truly I am.”

The
sound Amanda made was somewhere between a gulp and a splutter. Her
outrage must seem ridiculous under the circumstances. Being a fair
person, her sense of humor reasserted itself, and she found herself
grinning sheepishly.

“Point
taken,” she conceded. Turning businesslike, she continued. “Our
company has begun to arrive?”

“Yes,
ma’am. Your father is here and Lord Lonsdale’s mother.
There seems to be a pair of uncles, an aunt and a cousin, also
belonging to his lordship. And a much older uncle and aunt, the
Marquess of Sutherfield and his wife. He’s a real nabob that
one is, the likes o’ which this house has never seen.”

Indeed.
“Only family?”

“For
the moment.”

Even
as the maid spoke, the door chime pealed out again, and Amanda knew
that the evening had begun in earnest. Briskly, she instructed the
maid to help her dress. Many minutes passed before she was trussed up
once again in her finery. She wore the requisite crinoline under a
heavy satin ball gown, dark green with tiny cap sleeves off the
shoulder, modestly scooped neck, and nipped around the waist like a
second skin.

She
sat at the dressing table and waited impatiently while Betty restored
some order to her hair, since James had seen fit to destroy all the
maid’s hard work. The result was a sleek upswept style that
suited her perfectly. Emeralds and diamonds at her ears and throat
were the final touch, a gift from her husband. The stones shone
brilliantly like her eyes, a dazzling promise of what was to come.

When
Amanda left her bedchamber a short while later, she had never felt
lovelier, more desirable. Her heart was singing.

***

The
earl entered his room, peeling off his shirt and wrinkled trousers,
searching through his trunk for newly-pressed ones. He rang for his
personal servant but knew he would be nearly dressed before the man
arrived. Against his will he was becoming accustomed to employing a
valet again. During his traveling days he had learned to take care of
himself, and he preferred not having someone who fussed over him.

James
dreaded the coming party, hated formal affairs as he always had.
There was no way around tonight, however, so rather than dwell on the
next few hours, he chose to think about when he and Amanda would
finally be alone. This time uninterrupted.

His
one taste of lovemaking with her had left his blood simmering. She
was not only beautiful, she was passionate, although he could see
that she was unnerved by such intense emotions. No man could ask for
more. Best of all, he liked her. Amanda was intelligent and kind, a
witty woman who kept him on his toes. He suspected theirs would not
always be a serene coupling.

James
had feared, despite a worldlier viewpoint he had acquired over the
years, that he and Amanda would be a social mismatch. He need not
have worried. She was sophisticated and charming, well-bred if not
high-bred. His only real concern was that she might suffer slights
when he took her into society, not for his sake but hers. She
deserved the best, and he would slay the individual who hurt her.

All
and all, the earl was well pleased with the unexpected turn his life
had taken. His money worries were over, and he had formed an alliance
with a woman who had significant potential for being a fine wife. And
lover. This last was eclipsing all else presently, which was not
admirable perhaps, but understandable given his new lady’s
extraordinary physical appeal.

James wasn’t certain he could call it love. Love had always
eluded him—or he had eluded love. All he knew was Amanda made
him feel in a way he never had before, protective—hungry. He
was comfortable with the lust, but the tightness in his chest when he
thought of her, the tender emotions, left him feeling oddly exposed
and vulnerable.

As
he predicted, the valet arrived as James was pulling on his white
gloves.

“You
look splendid, my lord,” Jenkins said, clearly used to the
earl’s penchant for dressing himself. He retrieved the clothing
brush from the bureau to remove any lint that still clung to his
master’s formal black coat.

James
exited his chamber in time to see Amanda exit hers. She was a vision
in emerald satin, and his jewels sparkled at her throat and ears. The
tightness in his chest returned as she glided toward him, a secret
smile just for him playing on her lips. He placed her hand on his arm
and together they descended the stairs to the dining room.

***

CHAPTER
3

Muriel
Tremont, the Dowager Countess Lonsdale, took a sip of her
champagne—another in a long succession of sips—watching
her new daughter-in-law without warmth. Blue-eyed and dark like her
son, the years had not been kind to her. Permanent dissatisfaction
lined what once had been a handsome face. Amanda understood her
mother-in-law would be living at Lonsdale—in a dower house, she
hoped.

“I
must say, James was not lying when he said you were beautiful, my
dear,” the dowager said, slurring slightly. Her biting tone
robbed the words of any real approval.

“You
are kind,” Amanda murmured politely, her attention wandering as
she searched for her husband. The evening had been long and dreary,
first the interminable dinner and now the ball. Where was James?

“Yes,
well, we were all surprised that he leapt so quickly,” the
dowager continued, “but under the circumstances I suppose he
had no choice.”

“Under
the circumstances…?”

At
that moment the earl joined them, approaching from behind Amanda. He
had in tow two middle-aged gentlemen who were exact replicas of one
another, tall, overfed and balding, hairy mutton-chop whiskers that
were a droll contrast to their shiny heads. They bowed in unison as
James introduced them.

“These
are my father’s younger brothers, Uncle Harold and Uncle
Hamilton,” James said. “They are twins as I’m sure
you have guessed. They’ll be living with us at Lonsdale.”

Amanda
sent her husband a startled glance then returned her attention to the
twins. Both men had open, friendly faces, and they gave her identical
toothy grins.

She
smiled in return. “Who is who?”

“I’m
Hamilton,” said the uncle to her right. “Call me Ham—they
all do. I talk more than Harry. He’s a miser with words. That’s
how everyone tells us apart. Was that way even when we were babies.
Isn’t that right, Harry?”

“True,”
said Uncle Harry.

A
brief pause followed as they waited for Uncle Harry to expound
further, but he seemed content with his contribution to the
discussion.

“There,
you see?” said Uncle Ham.

Shaking
his head, his eyes alive with amusement, James pulled Amanda onto the
dance floor. She glanced over her shoulder to nod at her
mother-in-law and the twins. Ham and Harry were grinning hugely, but
the dowager looked as though she had been sucking lemons. It didn’t
take a soothsayer, Amanda decided, to realize her relationship with
the woman would not be an easy one.

A
waltz was playing and James enfolded her in his arms, drawing her
close. For long moments they simply moved to the music, synchronized
steps without effort, each aware of the other in a very intimate way.
Amanda laid her head on his shoulder, too content to worry about her
unseemly show of affection.

The
heat of his breath caressed her ear when he spoke. “This party
has gone on far too long. I think we should send everybody home since
no one has the good sense to know when to leave.”

She
sent him a coy smile. “You seem a bit anxious, my lord.”

His
blue gaze deepened. “Witch,” he said. “You’re
enjoying yourself?”

“Most
tedious gathering I’ve ever attended.”

James
laughed outright, garnering attention from those dancing around them.
He bussed her lightly on the lips. Amanda was aware of the other
couples sharing knowing looks, and she felt her face warm.

“Have
I embarrassed you?” he asked, peering into features she knew
had turned pink.

“You
know you have,” she said tartly.

“And
you are angry with me?”

“Being
angry with you would be counterproductive for our immediate plans,
don’t you think?”

“Yes,
indeed. Counterproductive.”

Again
James laughed, a full-throated guffaw that announced to the gathering
just how delighted Earl Lonsdale was with his new wife. He swung her
in a tight circle, and Amanda followed his lead, never missing a
step.

“Would
you stop? Everyone is looking at us.”

“Then
we’ve given them what they came for, a man and wife in love,
eager for their honeymoon to begin.”

He
sounded so happy her heart tumbled in her breast.

“Have
you been introduced to all my family?” he asked as the music
ended, guiding her to the edge of the dance floor.

“You
have more aunts and uncles and cousins than anyone I’ve ever
met.”

“Just
one sibling, though. I wish you could meet my sister Ilene, but she
lives in Scotland and couldn’t travel because her time is
almost upon her. Marcus—that’s her husband—refused
to let her risk the journey.”

“I’m
sure we’ll meet eventually.”

“Who
else is there…?” His gaze wandered the crowded ballroom
then lit with pleasure. “Uncle Simon and Aunt Cassandra!”
James grabbed his wife’s hand and pulled her across the room.

This
must be the nabob and his wife, Amanda thought as she and James
joined an elderly couple standing at the edge of the dance floor. She
remembered them from earlier at dinner, but they had been sitting
across the table and down from James and her.

“Uncle
Simon, Aunt Cassandra, so glad you could attend.” Without
ceremony James grabbed his uncle’s hand and pumped it
enthusiastically. He kissed the older woman’s knuckles before
stepping back. “Amanda, let me introduce you to Simon
Fitzgerald, Marquess of Sutherfield, and his lovely wife Cassandra.
Simon is my mother’s uncle, her mother’s brother.”

The
marquess and his wife nodded graciously, as handsome an elderly
couple as Amanda had ever seen. Lord Sutherfield—surely at
least eighty—had a full head of white hair and was very tall,
his posture that of a much younger man. His lady had clearly been a
great beauty in her day, and though her hair sported some gray, much
of the vibrant red of her youth still remained. Amanda like both of
them immediately.

“A
pleasure to meet you, Amanda,” The old man said, taking her
hand in his two large ones. “I suspect you are just what my
rascal of a nephew needs.”

“Now
see here, sir,” James began then laughed. “I suspect you
are right.”

“Welcome
to the family, my dear,” Cassandra said.

Several
minutes into their conversation, James looked up and apparently again
saw someone he recognized. “Will you excuse me, Uncle? I
haven’t greeted my father’s sister yet.”

Amanda
took her leave of Lord and Lady Sutherfield as she was once more
hauled across the ballroom.

“Aunt
Henry!” he said. “Come, she’s my favorite.

“
Aunt
Henry?”

“Henrietta,
actually. Little sister to Ham and Harry—and my father, of
course. You may not care for her son Derrick. Can’t stand him
myself. Takes after his father Albert who is, I’m pleased to
say, quite dead.”

“James!”

“Truth
is truth, and Aunt Henry will agree with me.”

As
they came upon her, Aunt Henry looked at James with true affection.
“I’m so happy for you, dear. She is a joy.”

He
beamed. “My sentiments exactly.”

Aunt
Henry was not tall like her twin brothers but her figure was equally
plump, and her face, round and pink, was equally friendly. She was
dressed all in heavy purple, an amazing feather-studded headpiece on
brown curls that were graying. She linked arms with the earl and
addressed Amanda.

“And
you’re a very fortunate girl. Your husband takes care of his
responsibilities as a good man should. After my brother Herbert died,
I was terrified that my poor Derrick and I would find ourselves
without a place to live. But James, the dear boy, would have none of
it.” She gazed at James adoringly. “Bless him, for he
offered his home for as long as we need it.”

Amanda’s
mouth dropped open. “At Lonsdale?” she asked weakly.

“Naturally.
Where else?”

Amanda
turned to James. “Herbert was your father?”

He
smiled at her sheepishly. “Yes. Sweetheart, I meant to tell
you—”

Aunt
Henry turned away from them, her expression softening as she held out
her hand to a young man who chose that moment to join them. “This
is my son Derrick Bickford, Viscount Lindley,” she said
proudly.

Reeling
from all the introductions and the realization that apparently
all
her husband’s relatives would be living with them, she was
unprepared for the young man whom she greeted next.

The
viscount was perhaps her age, middling height and slim, with
white-blonde hair and eyes so light blue they were nearly
transparent. His features were perfect, almost pretty. He eschewed
the fashionable mutton-chop whiskers because, she suspected, he
didn’t have enough beard to grow them. She would have been
dazzled but for the look he sent her way, equal parts disdain and
lechery. Amanda recoiled inwardly.

Derrick
took her gloved hand, grazing it with his lips. “Charmed,”
he said, his eerie gaze on James. He straightened. “You’ve
done well for yourself, Cousin.”