A Clandestine Courtship Part 6

Amelia nodded, settling onto a couch with a sigh of relief. She had danced for hours.

Caroline was too excited to sit and continued to twirl about the room. "Wonderful night. I danced ad dncd n dncd-"

"Slow down, Caro," urged Mary. "You charmed everyone, but you are letting the excitement carry you away."

"I know." She inhaled deeply, then perched on a chair. "And I made some mistakes. Lord Ridgeway couldn't wait to get away from me."

"What happened?"

Caroline clenched her hands. "He is big and intimidating- and he scowls. I do not like gentlemen who tower over me."

"Did he say anything to disturb you?" asked Amelia.

"N- no. But I could not slow my tongue."

"It is all right, Caro. One needn't charm everyone," Mary reminded her. "Did anyone else give you trouble?"

"Not really. I stumbled a bit with Sir Edwin because I was still upset from Lord Ridgeway, but he did not seem to mind. He is a fascinating gentleman."

"And steady," observed Amelia.

Caro smiled. "He spent quite half the evening with me, talking and dancing."

"Was he in London this past Season?" asked Maiy.

"Yes, but he did not enjoy it-except for the time he spent at the British Museum with their expert on Roman remains. Sir Edwin's estate might contain traces of an ancient settlement, so he is anxious to return and resume his hunt. He also needs to deal with his young brother, who was sent down from Eton for locking a dozen geese in his tutor's rooms." She giggled.

"Being sent down is no laughing matter," Amelia reminded her- "He should not have disclosed such ignominy, especially to someone he barely knows."

"Why?" Caroline appeared puzzled. "No harm was done. Prescott will return to school next term, and that tutor is dull, stupid, and bad-tempered-or so Sir Edwin recalls from his own school days."

"I expect he is, but that does not justify breaking the rules," put in Mary.

Caro scowled. "Perhaps, but I cannot condemn the boy. His prank was harmless-not at all like those Frederick favored. Remember the time he locked you in the dairy, Amelia? And that ghost caper, when he dressed up like Mad Cousin William, terrorizing a maid so badly that she broke a leg trying to escape?"

"And Frederick laughed." Amelia's eyes had hardened. "Sir Edwin would never risk hurting anyone. Nor would Prescott."

Mary frowned at her vehemence. She had not expected Caroline to form a tendre for the scholarly baronet. Sir Edwin was quiet and calm, far more like Amelia than the excitable Caroline. But they had pa.s.sed much of the evening together.

"Nor would Mr. Crenshaw," admitted Amelia. "I should not have criticized you, for we carried on a similar conversation. Mr. Crenshaw earned a reputation for playing pranks during his school days, though none were spiteful."

Mary nearly gasped at the warmth glowing in Amelia's eyes. "But your a.s.sessment is correct," Amelia continued. "Not all pranks are alike. Frederick's were always cruel."

"Mr. Crenshaw's weren't?" asked Mary skeptically.

"Not those he mentioned. Even the one that got him sent down for a term left the headmaster laughing. I found him fascinating."

"Perhaps, but tread warily," warned Mary. "A gentleman would never tell tales that might call his character into question, so you do not know that all his pranks were harmless. And he is friendly with Lord Ridgeway, who has yet to prove he is not like his brother."

"Despite reducing the rents for all his tenants?" Caroline's voice had intensified. "And he will collect no rents at all this year."

"I have heard nothing of that."

"Lady Carworth mentioned it. He only made the announcement today."

"I am delighted for Ridgeway's tenants, but that does not negate my concerns," insisted Mary, suppressing the warmth creeping into her heart. Why had James said nothing when she'd mentioned Ridgeway's appalling rents? "Sir Richard has met Mr. Crenshaw several times in London and reports that the man is widely known as a rake. He might be welcomed into society's drawing rooms, but I would not take his words to heart."

"He considers me nicer than the young ladies gracing London this Season," Amelia said stubbornly.

"That is precisely what I mean." Mary sighed. "Amelia, a rake flirts with every female he meets, paying her pretty compliments that puff her vanity. It is as natural as breathing. I doubt he plans to seduce you, for your breeding would then force him into marriage, but he will certainly try to lure you into indiscretions. Even an innocent-seeming kiss would ruin you if Mrs. Bridwell or Miss Hardaway heard of it."

"He wasn't flirting," insisted Amelia. "I can tell the difference between sincerity and flattery."

"With the gentlemen you have known all your life, but you have little experience with London beaux. Do you recall what happened with Charlotte McCafferty?"

She reluctantly nodded.

"I don't," said Caroline.

"It was five years ago, so you may not have heard about it."

"Charlotte was empty-headed and silly," said Amelia. "So when a London gentleman looked her way, she looked back, meeting him secretly and allowing him too many liberties. But he was merely amusing himself during a duty visit to his grandparents. Naturally, she heard nothing from him once he left. Anyone with sense had understood his purpose from the beginning."

"Be careful about casting aspersions," warned Mary. "Especially when your information comes from Mrs. Bridwell." She stared until the girl nodded. "While it is true that Charlotte lacked education beyond the finer points of manners and fashion, she was quite astute about people. Many of those who loudly condemned Lord Willis after he left had doted on him during his visit. In truth, he was a charming rogue who could talk water into flowing uphill. Charlotte believed every word he said-not because she was stupid or credulous, but because he made every word sound like gospel. And she had no experience with a manner quite common among London beaux."

"But- "

Mary ignored Amelia's interruption. "I am not accusing Mr. Crenshaw of being another Lord Willis. All I ask is that you be careful. I would hate to see your heart bruised because he chose you as his country diversion."

"What happened to Charlotte?" asked Caroline.

"No one is sure. She left not long after he did, supposedly to live with an ailing aunt. Few believed the tale, but nothing has been heard of her since."

"Why warn me and not Caroline?" demanded Amelia, ignoring their exchange. "Do you believe I am more likely to make a fool of myself?"

Mary blanched. "That was unfair, Amelia. You must both beware. I only mentioned Mr. Crenshaw because we know he is a rake, but Sir Edwin could be just as dangerous. We know nothing about him beyond his odd friendship with Ridgeway."

"Odd?" echoed Caroline.

"They would seem to have nothing in common-which proves how little we know about any of them. Perhaps their interest is genuine, but we must be wary. They have spent their lives in sophisticated circles. Sir Edwin has postponed an undertaking he is anxious to start in order to visit the earl. Sir Richard swears that Mr. Crenshaw usually visits Brighton this time of year-again, proving that he gave up his own pleasure to come here. And we know little about Ridgeway. How did he pa.s.s his years abroad besides dabbling in trade while in India? All I ask is that you guard your hearts until you know them better. Connection to Ridgeway is hardly a recommendation."

"Sir Edwin asked if he could call tomorrow," said Caroline.

"So did Mr. Crenshaw."

"Very well. They will be welcome. But you must promise that you will never make an unchaperoned a.s.signation with either of them."

Caroline and Amelia readily agreed, then left for their own rooms. But Mary stayed, her forehead creased in thought. She had hoped the girls could interest at least one of the gentlemen, but now that they had, she feared it had been a mistake to invite any of them. Perhaps she should have taken Justin's warnings to heart.

James was no longer the man she remembered-if he had ever been. Why had he accepted John's lies without checking the facts for himself? She had thought him smarter than that and far less reckless. Nor would the old James have accused her so rudely, interrupting a gathering in her own home to do so. It made those tales of an Indian mistress and child seem more believable.

She huddled deeper into her chair.

His accusations had revived the pain of John's worst lies. People were so credulous-and James most of all, she concluded sadly. John was the last man she would have allowed to touch her. Intimacy with anyone was repugnant, but John's very presence had made her skin crawl since the day she had witnessed him bludgeoning a kitten. She had been six.

But James had always seemed different-kind, generous, and willing to help anyone in need, without the condescension his father employed on those few occasions when he had played benevolent lord of the manor.

James had genuinely cared. He had paid to fix the church roof, found new buyers for the potter's wares, rescued two of Payne's sheep that had been swept away during a spring flood-and Payne had not even been a Ridgeway tenant.

So his accusations hurt, even more so because she had not expected such vitriol from him. He was not the self-righteous Mrs. Bridwell or the disdainful Lady Carworth. He had once been her friend.

But that had been many years ago, and now she had to wonder if he had ever been a friend. Her admonitions to the girls had breached the ramparts surrounding her own memories. Had she ever truly known James, or had she exaggerated every trait that set him apart from John?

They had seen little of James for several years before his last visit, for he'd spent most of his school breaks with friends, then moved to rooms in London. Only a month had elapsed between his return home and his father's death.

How naive she had been in those days. James had grown to full manhood during his stay in London. The craggy face that intimidated when twisted into John's habitual frown could soften breathtakingly when influenced by James's crooked smiles. He had cropped his hair to a Grecian cap of dark curls according to the fashion of the day. And his laugher had been like a fresh breeze blowing through the neighborhood. Was it any wonder that his flirtations had turned her head?

What an idiot she had been. First with George, then with James.

Sighing, she wandered to the window and gazed up at the stars. She hadn't thought of George in years.

The son of another vicar, he had been visiting a school friend before a.s.suming a post as curate to a Leiscestershire rector. She had been flattered when he chose to court her-and a little wary. Curates had minuscule incomes and could rarely support wives. But he had a small inheritance that would supplement his earnings until he found his own living.

They had discussed marriage more than once. But he had never spoken to her father. Then he'd left without a word, bidding his hosts farewell a full month early.

She had been devastated. Then furious. If he had suffered a reverse of fortune or a change of heart, the least he could have done was to explain it to her. It had to be one or the other. No message had summoned him away. No disagreements had occurred. Ten years later, she was still baffled.

And hurt. His defection had injured more than her feelings. Everyone in town had expected a betrothal. When he left so abruptly, the gossip-mongers a.s.sumed she had driven him off. She might have weathered the storm if she'd admitted turning him down, but lying had never occurred to her. So they'd concluded that her virtue had been compromised, letting their imaginations run wild over her supposed transgressions.

Her tarnished reputation had never fully recovered. The sly looks and snide remarks had made appearing in public a ch.o.r.e. Yet locking herself in her room where she could grieve in private had not been an option. Too many parish duties fell to her.

Thus James's flirtation had been welcome. It had quieted the gossip and added sparkle to her days.

Perhaps he had been trying to help her. That had been the effect of his attentions at first. Or perhaps he had been amusing himself. But he had not considered the inevitable consequences. When he left-which he had done within the month, slipping away without a word, just like George-his desertion had added fuel to the rumors, subjecting her to vicious attacks that still echoed in area memories. Everyone a.s.sumed that they had been conducting an affair, so his departure had cast further calumny on her reputation. Even worse, the suspicions mat he had brought about his father's death also hurt her, for they were inextricably linked in the public mind.

But her tarnished reputation was not the worst consequence of his attentions. Any girl in her position would form a tendre for a handsome London gentleman who took pains to make her laugh and ease her burdens. She had never admitted her infatuation-had actually denied it more than once-but that did nothing to lessen her pain. Thank heavens Charlotte McCafferty had provided another example she could use with the girls, making it unnecessary to bare her own soul.

What a fool she had been. Who, in her right mind, would believe that an earl's son could entertain serious thoughts about a vicar's daughter? It would have been odd enough if her father had been a well-born younger son, but she was three generations removed from the closest aristocratic tie-and even that was to a little-known baron. Yet she had embraced his interest, using it to heal her bruised heart. And her feelings had rapidly strengthened beyond anything she had felt for George. Idiot!

She had not even accepted the truth when he left. At first she had excused him, a.s.suming that he needed time to sort through the rumors and eliminate the fiction. When he didn't return, she forgave him. He was only three-and-twenty and was unready for a serious relationship, so he must have forgotten that she was of marriageable age.

But as the gossip swirled and grew more lurid, forgiveness had faded. He had used her, then abandoned her. Her rationalizations had been no more than a way to keep despair at bay. Having experienced the same treatment from two vastly different gentlemen, she could only conclude that she was unworthy, just as the gossips declared.

Abandoning the window, she headed for her bedroom. As much as she wanted to forget the past, she must deal with James. John had told him that they had conducted an affair. Since James believed him, he must also have believed the other rumors-which put a new slant on his youthful attentions. Perhaps he had not been rescuing her from the gossip after George's defection. Had he expected her to fall into his bed, abandoning the idea only because he declined to share with his brother?

She shuddered.

If that were true, then he was more like John than she had ever suspected. Which boded ill for everyone. Would he resume John's long campaign against her? Only time would tell.

But a more immediate enemy was herself. Her attraction remained. He had done more than adopt a more impressive demeanor in his years away. He had also changed his style of dress, abandoning his former experiment with dandyism for something more elegant. A brilliant sapphire had sparkled from the folds of his cravat tonight, drawing attention to his blue evening coat and to the silver embroidery on his white waistcoat. The fit of his gray pantaloons had been the perfect compromise between fashion and movement.

Then there was that deep, velvety voice. His compliment on her appearance had thrilled her. Trading words had been exhilarating, tumbling chills down her back, and not from cold or fear. Even her fury had contained no fear. But she must fear him. He shared too much of John's blood. Despite his show of openness and kindness, he had hidden basic parts of his character. She did not know him.

Which brought her full circle to his friends. Mr. Crenshaw was an earl's younger son, giving him a higher social standing then Amelia. So could he seriously be interested? Considering his reputation, she had to doubt his intentions.

Sir Edwin was easier to believe. Wedding Caroline would be a step up for him, and he was probably attracted by her vivacity. But he did not yet know the full extent of her problem. And his friendship with Ridgeway raised questions. What did the men have in common?

Yet without evidence against them, she could not forbid them the house. She needed to investigate their circ.u.mstances. In the meantime, she must make sure that both girls were closely chaperoned whenever the gentlemen were nearby.

Perhaps Justin could spend time with each of Ridgeway's friends. Men behaved differently with each other than with women. And their morning meeting had gone a long way toward convincing her that Justin was nothing like Frederick. She could trust his judgment.

"Tell me about Miss Amelia," demanded" Harry as the carriage bounced away from Northfield.

James shifted so his legs would not become entangled with his friends'. "You know more than I do. I hardly spoke with her this evening, and I didn't notice children on my last visit."

"Then what do you know about Northrup?"

"Again, very little-he is ten years my junior and was away at school when I left home. I understand he just returned from several years of military service in India."

He hid a frown. If Frederick had been John's closest friend, then what were his sisters like? They had seemed conventional, but public facades rarely revealed true character. And even their facades had been odd. Amelia was too quiet, while Caroline had been crazed. But he had paid them little heed, being too caught up in confronting Mary and listening for any gossip about John.

"The older brother was not a steady character," Edwin noted. "In fact, several people compared him to John. But he was rarely here, so he exerted little influence on the girls. Miss Caroline says they were raised by Lady Northrup."

"Is that supposed to be a recommendation?" asked James sharply. However much he wanted her, he could not overlook her unladylike conduct. "She wed Frederick, who was two years her junior; she has been running the estate by herself; and though they are undoubtedly exaggerated, more than one rumor questions her morals."

"All false," snapped Harry. "Amelia easily refuted the one about an affair with Sir Richard, for he was in London when it supposedly took place-as I know from personal observation. Not a shred of evidence has ever supported the tales. They would have died years ago if judgmental harridans like that prune-faced Mrs. Bridwell didn't keep them alive."

"You sound tike you are smitten," observed James.

"Perhaps. Amelia is the sweetest girl I've ever met. But despite that delicate appearance, she is neither helpless nor gullible. I intend to see more of her."

"Be careful about raising expectations you cannot meet," warned James. "Whatever my suspicions about her family, I do not want her hurt."

"I will keep an eye on him," offered Edwin. "It will be no hardship. Caroline is a delightful young lady."

Harry choked. "Surely you jest. One cannot understand one word in ten that she says. What would you want with a pea-brained widgeon?"

"Excitable, certainly. But never pea-brained. You probably rattled her," said Edwin. "All that sparkling charm. But once she slows down so her tongue stops tripping over itself, she is quite knowing."

"Are you saying she thinks faster than she talks?" asked James, frowning.

"It would seem so. Whether that is usual with her, I cannot say. But she was clearly wrought-up tonight. I promised to call on her tomorrow."

James turned his thoughts inward as his friends compared impressions of the Northrup sisters. He did not like this development at all. Mary was clearly plotting to marry off her sisters and would grab the first gentlemen to show interest. She might even stoop to compromising them.

But they were determined-moonstruck, both of them. All he could do was accompany them whenever they called at Northfield and make sure that neither of the girls tried to draw her escort off alone. Which would complement his own plans nicely, he realized in satisfaction. He had not yet convinced Mary to look for John's killer.

A burst of heat at the prospect of seeing Mary again made him grimace. What was wrong with him? No matter how delectable she was, he could not afford to lose control. If she suspected his motives, she would never agree to help.