She stepped back, aware that his true interest was in her father, which was fine. She wanted to escape them both.
“Nigel, you old goat, you’re looking fit.”
“And so are you, John.”
“Come along. I’ve had tea served in the garden.”
John Murray took Amanda’s hand, slipping it through his arm. He chatted about the summer roses and about the weather as they walked through the vast and expansive ballroom to reach the gardens out in the rear. They walked along a path of beautiful hedges, and came at last to a manicured garden. At a table places were set with huge linen napkins and silver plates. Lord Dunmore’s butler waited to serve them.
Amanda sat, and thanked the man when her tea was poured. She nibbled at a meat pie and realized she could barely eat when her father was near.
“Isn’t it a glorious day?” John Murray demanded, and she agreed. She listened and responded politely, and wondered when they would clear their throats and indicate that their coming conversation might be lengthy and of little interest to a young lady.
They never came to that point. She was sipping a second cup of tea and watching a bluebird, wishing that she could fly away as easily as it could, when she realized that both men were silent and staring at her. She flushed and set down her teacup. “I’m so sorry. I was wandering.”
“Ah, milady, it’s quite all right. It is a beautiful day. And a young woman’s fancy must not be confined to a garden with two older men, eh? I’ve heard that Lord Cameron asked for your hand in marriage, young lady,” Dunmore said.
She flushed again and lifted her chin without glancing her father’s way. “I believe he asked Father permission to court me, milord.”
“You turned him down.”
“I—” She hesitated a minute, feeling her father’s eyes boring into her. She smiled sweetly. “Milord, I hear that he is in sympathy with certain men of whom I do not approve. His politics are quite different from my own.”
“His politics! Nigel, do you hear that!” Dunmore laughed. “Why, young lady, you mustn’t worry yourself with politics!”
She smiled. He was still chuckling, but the men exchanged glances again and again. A prickling of unease crept along her spine. Dunmore moved toward her. “Did you know, Amanda, that he is one of the wealthiest men in Virginia? He owns endless acres. He is titled, he is deeply respected. He is young, striking, and known for his courage, honesty, and valor. Perhaps he is noted for a certain hardness, determination, and temper, but his anger is aroused, they say, only under the greatest duress. He is considered a most illustrious marriage prospect and has been approached by nobility and royalty, as well as by the most affluent of private citizens. He has politely eluded all of these offers—then shocks us all with a proposal for you. Not that you are wanting in any physical way, indeed, my dear, you are surely one of the loveliest creatures in all of his Majesty’s realm. But you are not royalty. Your father’s holdings in Europe are meager. Therefore one would think that Lord Cameron is quite enchanted by your beauty and your beauty alone. You should feel quite honored, milady.”
Honored. She remembered the way he had taken her into his arms, the way she had felt. And she remembered the way Robert had seemed to cower before him, and she felt ill.
She remained silent, and Lord Dunmore spoke again. “His teeth are excellent, and one of my maids told me the other day that he had the most manly handsome face and fascinating eyes she had ever seen. Would you mind explaining to me, milady, your aversion to the man?”
“I—” She paused, completely unprepared for the intimate conversation. This should be between her father and her, and no one else. She couldn’t have even told her father, though, that her aversion was her love for another. She could have also told them both that Lord Cameron did not want her anymore, that he manipulated her like a puppet on a string, and that she would never be able to endure his laughter or the mocking knowledge in his eyes.
“I cannot say, milord,” she answered at last, smiling. “What is there in one that we do or do not love? Who can say?”
Dunmore leaned back, nodding. “Your father has the right to say, child,” he reminded her. “And at the moment…” His voice trailed for a moment. “Eric Cameron is one of my most able commanders. I will lead men out west to fight a Shawnee uprising very soon, and Eric will be my right hand. He can summon more men for a fighting force in less time than it takes to gather the militia. He is a very important man to me.”
“I imagine that he is, milord,” Amanda agreed carefully. She cast her lashes down and gazed toward her father, wondering where the conversation was leading. John Murray did not play idle games. He was a powerful man who spent his time wisely and well.
Her father remained silent. He just watched her, his eyes very small and narrow and speculative.
“Do you love England, my dear? Do you honor your king?” Lord Dunmore asked suddenly, staring at her as if she were a culprit.
“Of course!” She gasped, startled by the turn of conversation.
“So I thought!” he said proudly. He leaned toward her again. “Lady Amanda, I have a task to ask of you.”
Her fingers started to shake. Dread filled her.
“As I’ve said, Lord Cameron is to leave very soon for the west. The Indians are giving our people severe trouble, and they must be stopped. Cameron and I will be together in this venture, I know—he has given me his word.”
Eric Cameron was leaving. That was wonderful. But what on earth could they want of her then?
“Until such a time, I would like you to see him.”
“I beg your pardon, milord?”
“For me, for England, Lady Amanda. It is also your father’s will. See him. Become his friend. Pretend that you might consider his proposal.”
