‘I shall be sternly quizzed about you in the carriage; you may be sure of it,’ she whispered to Lord Thornfalcon as they took their leave of each other. He was so serious tonight that some sudden mischievous impulse prompted her to tease him for a reaction. Did the man’s face never soften?
‘I would rather face a cavalry charge by cuirassiers than be interviewed by your aunt,’ he responded with the first gleam of humour she had seen from him all evening. ‘She terrifies me; with that great beak of a nose, she might easily be Lord Wellington done up in a diamond parure and long gloves. Good luck!’
She was smiling to herself still as the door closed on them and the vehicle rattled into motion. Making Lord Thornfalcon betray amusement, possibly against his will, felt like a small triumph, though she wasn’t certain why it should.
‘Well, Niece,’ Lady Keswick said majestically, ‘it seems that the Major is growing somewhat particular in his attentions. I believe that you only made his acquaintance a few days ago, and yet here we are, proceeding with some haste. The first dance, and then the supper dance, and at Almack’s too, which is so vulgarly – but I must admit with justice – termed the marriage mart. He is of a ripe age to marry and presumably a man of some worldly experience, so I must assume he knows what he is about, to take such actions in such a public place. But do you?’
‘What do you mean, ma’am?’ Amelia was playing for time, for she had a fair idea of what these words of caution signified. But she must tread carefully here.
‘It is right that you should be reserved on such a delicate subject, and I do not criticise you for it. Your behaviour so far in regard to him has been unexceptionable.’ Amelia felt a pang of guilt at these words of praise, which she could hardly think she deserved, but said nothing in response beyond a murmur of thanks. ‘Hmm. Keep your counsel still, if you wish. But if Lord Thornfalcon means to offer for you, and your brother approves it – which I cannot doubt he would – you will do well to think seriously before you accept him.’
‘It is a good match, in worldly terms,’ she said equivocally.
‘Yes, of course it is, child, and not just because of his title. You are not a fool, and you know that you would not care be one of those women who can call herself Viscountess but has nothing else to show for it but a draughty castle in the middle of nowhere. And I do not speak only of his wealth. They are a good family, an excellent connection, as I believe I have said to you before. I know much to the young man’s credit and nothing to his discredit, apart from this mawkish story that his brother’s widow is putting about, and the tawdry gossip that it has engendered. But it would be foolish to ignore the whispers, nonetheless.’
‘He cannot intend to marry her, ma’am, surely. We have discussed this before, and his actions this evening alone suggest that he does not. You must be correct in thinking that there is a great deal of nonsense in all the gossip, as there so often is.’ It was impossible, Amelia found in this moment, to do anything other than converse with her aunt on the topic of her possible marriage with the utmost gravity, quite as though it were all real and not pretend.
‘Indeed. I hope he is not making use of you to sendthat womana message, for though his position is undeniably awkward and one must sympathise with it, that would not be the behaviour of an honourable man.’
It would be rash to underestimate the older woman’s shrewdness. And what to say in response? ‘I do not think that he would do so. Why me? He must know that my reputation is… more fragile than that of other ladies. Given that, it would be cruel to trifle with me, and I have no reason to think him cruel.’
‘You do not know him. Do not forget that. I am not sure a woman knows a man until she has been married to him for five years, or ten, and then, of course, it is far too late to mend matters without a great deal of trouble.’
Amelia blinked at this unexpected cynicism, which shed an unfortunate light on her aunt’s own marriage, or perhaps on her view of the world.
‘But I agree. I think we can expect him to call on Wyverne in a short while. Though I am not in general a believer in hasty engagements, these are not circumstances in which I would recommend a protracted courtship. If you feel you can overlook the stories that are put about concerning his improper relations with his late brother’s wife, and it seems to me from what you have said that you can, I would advise you to marry him as soon as it can be arranged. It will be safer that way,’ she finished cryptically.
‘You question Lady Thornfalcon’s intentions? Obviously, I don’t mean his mother.’
‘Quite obviously you do not, child. And I have said enough, I think.’ Lady Keswick would not be further drawn, and soon Amelia was at home, in bed, pondering the events of the evening, which kept her from sleep for a surprisingly long time.
12
As he had promised, Marcus called upon Lady Amelia the next afternoon to take her driving, and happened to encounter her brother Rafe as he was entering the house. They greeted each other cordially, of course, and he felt obliged to explain why he was there, feeling devilishly awkward as he did so, like one of his own young cornets or subalterns. He received a rather penetrating look in response, from dark blue-grey eyes that greatly resembled Amelia’s own. Though he flattered himself he was learning to know her a little, so that he could read the fine nuances of her myriad changeable expressions, with her brother, he could not claim such insight. He had no idea what the man might be thinking.
Lord Wyverne was a man of much his own height, but of a rather less massive build. He was as dark as both his half-siblings, but a very different character from his younger brother: a Corinthian rather than a dandy, in immaculate but casual sporting dress, and practical top-boots rather than gold-tasselled Hessians. ‘Come into my library for a moment,’ he said affably enough. ‘My sister will only keep you kicking your heels in the hall.’
This was an invitation that could not be refused, and Marcus soon found himself seated opposite the Marquess in a comfortable, book-lined room much like his own. If it had till fairly recently been the previous Lord Wyverne’s private den, it showed no sign of his occupation, apart perhaps from a fine modern painting of Danae in her shower of gold (and not much else) about the mantel. Marcus dragged his eyes away from the piece, which disconcertingly somewhat resembled the current Marchioness in face and form, and concentrated upon the man opposite him.
Lord Wyverne was toying with some ornament on his desk, and said rather abruptly, ‘I received a note from Lady Keswick this morning – I was about to say, from my aunt, but she is not my aunt though she is Amelia’s; she was my first stepmother’s oldest sister. We are a somewhat complicated family,’ he added with a reluctant grin of brief duration. ‘At any rate, she wrote to me in aunt-like fashion to tell me that in her opinion, I might expect to receive an offer for Amelia’s hand from you soon enough. I wish I might show it to you, for she has a high opinion of your character, and expresses it in such stately periods as must be a matter of wonder and admiration. I dare say I have never received such a letter before.’
Marcus opened his mouth to speak, but Lord Wyverne interrupted him before he could begin. ‘I didn’t call you in here to interrogate you as to the nature of your intentions. I am sure Her Ladyship might easily be wrong, though I would not choose to be the man to tell her so. What I wanted to say to you was that if by chance you should be considering my sister as a prospective bride, I hope you will not allow yourself to be deterred by any gossip you may have heard – damn it, must have heard – about the Wyverne family. If you are a man of sense, which you appear to be, it will be obvious to you already that Amelia has had no part in anything disreputable, and if indeed there is some Wyverne “taint” that comes from my late father’s mode of life and the last woman he married, it has less than nothing to do with her.’
‘Of course I know that,’ Marcus said readily. This at least was an answer he could give honestly. ‘Only a fool would not see it directly upon meeting her.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. I can only say that there are a great number of fools in the world, some of them are scoundrels too, and many of them have asked me for her hand in less than flattering terms and been sent away, each of them with a flea in his ear.’
‘I know,’ Marcus could not prevent himself from replying. ‘She has told me so, and I was very sorry for it.’
‘Has she indeed? That’s… interesting. And if you should know all this, believe as you do and yet still be reluctant to ally yourself with such a notorious set of relatives, I hope you will accept my solemn assurance that the stepmother who is still living – as half of London will attest, having seen her half-naked on the stage with their own eyes – was never my mistress. I know the world believes she was, but she was not. The rumour originated with her and is entirely false.’
‘You do not need to tell me such private things, Wyverne. Even if the worst of the rumours were true, it is none of my affair.’
‘Well, I could put two very different interpretations on that statement. But you note I do not ask you, still, if you intend to offer for Amelia. I do hope you appreciate my forbearance.’
Marcus smiled with a little effort. ‘I was about to say that I too have been the subject of most unwelcome gossip – I still am – and so I would not be the first one to rush to judge a man because of what some chattering idiot told me about him. I also know,’ he added with feeling, ‘that life is damned complicated, and one’s actions can often bear a construction that is most discreditable, without there being so much as a grain of truth in it.’
‘God knows I can understand that,’ Rafe said soberly.
