Главная страница | Современная зарубежная литература | The Regency Season: Convenient Marriages: Marriage Made in Money / Marriage Made in Shame

The Regency Season: Convenient Marriages: Marriage Made in Money / Marriage Made in Shame
Sophia James
Every marriage has its secrets…Marriage Made in MoneyLord Montcliffe must marry into money to save his debt-ridden estate, but no one ever said he should actually love the bride. He wants nothing from Amethyst Cameron except her wealth – until one scorching kiss all but undoes him. When Daniel uncovers the truth about his new wife, can he accept the true Amethyst and give in to the passion brewing between them!Marriage Made in ShameAdelaide Ashfield is running out of time – forced to choose a husband she accepts the hand of Gabriel Hughes, Earl of Wesley. Despite spurning the advances of some of society’s most eligible bachelors, she’s chosen the man with a debauched reputation. Determined to never trust men again, Adelaide’s resolve begins to falter at the handsome Earl’s touch…






Table of Contents
Cover (#u9abc6625-fead-5a6e-956a-f409f4d21d1e)
Title Page (#u038b3172-1b1d-5611-a0c3-e70dbc5049e6)
Marriage Made in Money (#u37f76b2f-ae03-5ace-b5a7-6da79eb77c23)
Back Cover Text (#uf49c9a9f-5333-50b9-933a-68f67084ec3d)
About the Author (#u590e9ab2-67ee-5905-97b5-ac14ae780c64)
Dedication (#u6fea5939-4b35-5dae-a3e0-b534febf719d)
Chapter One (#udb5e0e1e-8204-5b2a-8753-508de4d17237)
Chapter Two (#u044c3cff-fa1d-5280-8b22-8c60d348806e)
Chapter Three (#u6fb73b78-5c1b-5c1e-abfc-7d4557cb5dc5)
Chapter Four (#u1bad66f1-8fec-5e7a-b63c-ee24868afb01)
Chapter Five (#ue7834544-6de8-50c8-9b10-6c454737e1e2)
Chapter Six (#u8f62910f-5c7e-547b-8a3d-baeb71b15d2e)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Marriage Made in Shame (#litres_trial_promo)
Back Cover Text (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Marriage Made in Money (#ub8a770ca-9628-5db0-b61b-d1566b4cd026)
Sophia James
To have and to hold…
After her first disastrous marriage, wealthy heiress Amethyst Cameron swore she’d never take a husband again. Yet her beloved father’s deepest wish is for her to wed an aristocrat to protect her life and reputation.
Until the debts are paid!
Lord Montcliffe must marry into money to save his debt-ridden estate, but he doesn’t have to like it—or his bewitching future bride. So he’s stunned by the feelings stirred up by one scorching kiss! But when Daniel uncovers the truth, can he accept the real Amethyst and help to banish the ghost of her past forever?
SOPHIA JAMES lives in Chelsea Bay, on Auckland, New Zealand’s North Shore, with her husband who is an artist. She has a degree in English and History from Auckland University and believes her love of writing was formed by reading Georgette Heyer in the holidays at her grandmother’s house.
Sophia enjoys getting feedback at www.sophiajames.net (http://www.sophiajames.net)
This book is dedicated to my writing friend, Lizzie Tremayne, who helped me to understand the anatomy of horses and the joy of working with them.
Chapter One (#ub8a770ca-9628-5db0-b61b-d1566b4cd026)
London—June 1810
Amethyst Amelia Cameron’s father loved all horses, but he especially loved his matching pair of greys.
‘I doubt you will ever see others as fine, Papa, if you do indeed intend to sell them.’ Amethyst tried to keep the worry from her voice as the carriage drew to a halt in the narrow lane outside number ten, Grosvenor Place. Things were changing without reason and she didn’t like it.
‘Well, there’s the problem, my dear,’ Robert Cameron replied. ‘I had the best and now I want for nothing more. Take your mother, for instance. Never found another like her. Would not even have tried to.’
Amethyst smiled. Her parents’ marriage had been a love match until the day her mother had died of some undefined and quick illness, seven hours short of her thirty-second birthday. Amethyst had been all of eight and she remembered the day distinctly, the low whispers and the tears; storm clouds sweeping across the Thames.
‘I do not think you should part with the pair, Papa. You can easily afford to keep them. You could afford ten times as many; every stallion and mare here in the Tattersall’s sales for the next month, should you want.’ Looking across the road at the generous roofs of the auction house, she wished her father might order the carriage homewards, where they could talk the matter over at their leisure.
It was not like him to decide on a course of action so quickly and she hoped he might have second thoughts and withdraw his favoured greys before the Monday sales the following week.
Yet as her father hoisted himself from the carriage his breathlessness was obvious, even such a small movement causing him difficulty. The unease Amethyst had felt over the past weeks heightened, though the sight of a man alighting from a conveyance ahead caught her attention.
After the dreadful débâcle of her marriage Amethyst had seldom noticed the opposite sex, shame and guilt having the effect of greying out passion. But this man was tall and big with it, the muscles beneath his superfine coat pointing to something other than the more normal indolence the ton seemed to excel at. He looked dangerous and untamed.
His dress marked him as an aristocrat, but his wild black hair was longer than most other men wore theirs, falling almost to his collar, the darkness highlighted by white linen. An alarming and savage beauty. She saw others turn as he walked past and wondered what it must be like to be so very visible, so awfully obvious.
‘Have Elliott send the carriage back for me around two, my dear, for I am certain that will give me enough time.’ Her father’s words pulled her from her musing and, dragging her eyes from the stranger, she hoped Robert had not noticed her interest. ‘But make sure that you have a restful time of it, too, for you have been looking tired of late.’
Shutting the door, he encouraged the conveyance on before placing his hat on his head. His new coat was not quite fitting across his shoulders where a month ago it had been snug.
Amethyst caught her reflection in the glass as the carriage began to move. She looked older than her twenty-six years and beaten somehow. By life and by concern. Her father’s actions had made her tense; after visiting his physician in London a week ago he had taken his horses straight to Tattersall’s, claiming that he did not have the time for livestock he once had enjoyed.
A shock of alarm crawled up her arms and into her chest as she saw her father in conversation with the same man she had been watching. Did her father know him? What could they be speaking of? Craning her neck to see more of their engagement, she was about to turn away when the stranger looked up, his glance locking with hers across the distance.
Green. His eyes were pale green and tinged with arrogance. In shock she broke the contact, wondering about the fact that her heart was beating at twice its normal rate.
‘Ridiculous,’ she muttered and made certain not to look his way again. Tapping her hand hard against the roof, she was also glad when the carriage slowed to its usual speed of just above walking pace.
* * *
Lord Daniel Wylde, the sixth Earl of Montcliffe, came to Tattersall’s quite regularly just to see what was on offer. Today with the sales about to begin the place was crowded.
‘Ye’d be a man who knows his horseflesh, no doubt?’ An older man spoke to him as they mounted the steps, no mind for introduction or proper discourse. ‘My greys are up and I’d want them to go to someone who would care for their well-being.’
His accent marked him as an East-Ender, the music of the river in his words. A man made rich by the trade of goods and services, perhaps, for his coat was of fine cloth and his boots well fashioned. The well-appointed carriage he had alighted from was beginning to move away, a young woman staring back at them with concern upon her face, but Daniel’s interest was snared by the mention of the greys. The superb pair he had seen yesterday belonged to this unlikely fellow? They were the entire reason he was here this morning after all, just to see who might be lucky enough to procure them.
The Repository courtyard at Tattersall’s loomed, substantial pillars holding up wide verandas and housing a great number of animals and carriages.
‘Your horses aren’t on the block today?’ Daniel could see no sign of the greys and it was more usual for those lots about to go under the hammer to be on display, especially ones so fine.
‘I asked Mr Tattersall for a few days’ grace just to think about things,’ the other man returned, his cheeks yellowed, but his eyes sharp. ‘To give me time, you understand, in case I should change my direction. The prerogative of the elderly,’ he added, a wide smile showing off a set of crooked teeth.
Daniel knew he should turn and leave the man, with his roughness of speech and the impossible manners of the trading classes, but something made him stay. The sort of desperation that one perceives in the eyes of a person battling the odds, he was to think later, when all the cards had been stacked up into one long, straight and improbable line. But back then he did not have the facts of the stranger’s most singular purpose.
‘My name is Mr Robert Cameron. Timber merchant.’ No shame or hesitation in the introduction.
‘Daniel Wylde.’ He could do nothing less than offer his own name, though he did not add the title.
The other man did it for him. ‘You are the Earl of Montcliffe? I saw the insignia upon your carriage outside and Mr Tattersall himself pointed your personage out to me here last week as a man who knows his way around a horse.’
‘Indeed.’ Even with the frosty tone of the reply Cameron seemed unfazed.
‘My greys are this way, my lord. Would you do me the honour of looking them over?’
‘I am not in the market for a purchase.’ Hell and damnation, there was no untruth in that, he thought, his hands fisting in his pockets with the sort of rage he had almost become accustomed to. Noticing others looking his way, Daniel tried to soften his face.
‘But you are renowned for your knowledge of a fine buy in horseflesh and it is that I seek to be assured of. I was only hoping for the chance of an expert’s opinion.’
They had passed beneath the roof delineating the courtyard now and had wandered down into the stables proper. It was darker here and a lot less busy. When the ground unexpectedly fell away the old man tripped, Daniel’s arm steadying him before he lost balance completely.
‘Thank you, my lord.’ Cameron’s voice was quieter and the flesh beneath the finely made coat felt alarmingly thin. Life had honed his instincts and Daniel’s were on high alert. This man was not quite as he seemed and he wondered at what was hidden.
‘Here they are. Maisey and Mick. After my parents, you understand, though they will not be billed as such here. Names of high distinction fetch more in the way of coinage, I am told, and so Mr Tattersall thinks to call them after ancient Grecian gods.’
The greys were of Arabian descent, their distinctive head shapes and high-tailed carriage unmistakable. The horses were small and refined, and Daniel could have picked their lineage out easily from a thousand others.
‘Richard Tattersall is a shrewd operator so perhaps you should listen to what he says if you wish to part with them. I know my brother always paid through the nose here,’ Daniel remarked.
Gnarled fingers were held against the jibbah bulge on the horse’s forehead, and it was easy to see that there was no lack of love between the animal and its master as the horse nuzzled closer.
‘Maisie finds any change difficult.’ The catch in his voice suggested he did too.
‘Why are you selling them, then? If you bred them, you could turn a tidy profit without too much work in it. A few years and the money could be double what a sale now would garner.’
‘Time is a commodity I am a little short on, my lord.’ The reply was grave. ‘But you sound like my daughter.’
‘The woman in the carriage?’ Why the hell had he said that? He wished he might take such a question back.
‘My beautiful jewel.’
Again Daniel was shocked. In his circle it was not done to talk of progeny in such glowing terms.
‘Are you married, my lord?’ Another impertinence. Did Mr Robert Cameron always speak without thought?
‘No. Too busy saving England.’ He knew he should adopt a sterner demeanour, but the man was beguiling in his lack of protocol. The memory of a soldier he had once known came to mind. A man who had served with him and saved his life before losing his own on the high hills of Penasquedo. He shook away ennui. Of late the emotion seemed to have hitched a ride upon his shoulders, crouching over everything he said and did; a result of the problems at Montcliffe Manor probably and the cursed debts that had piled up in the years between his father’s indifference and his brother’s high-stakes gambling.
The other looked relieved at his answer.
‘A parent would do almost anything to keep a child happy, you understand?’
‘Indeed, I should imagine such a thing to be so.’
‘I would give my horses without a moment’s hesitation to a husband who had the wherewithal to make my girl smile.’
‘A generous gift.’ Where was this conversation leading? Daniel wondered, as a small seed of worry began to grow.
‘I was married myself for twelve long and happy years before my wife passed on. Well before her time too, I should say, and for a while...’ He stopped and brought out a large white kerchief to dab his face with. ‘For a while I thought to follow. The world is a lonely place to be without the love of a good woman and it was the nights that were the worst.’ Shrewdness lurked above sorrow in Robert Cameron’s eyes.
The stallion had now come over for its share of attention and Daniel had seldom seen another of its ilk; leanly muscled and compact, he was built for endurance, head turned towards him and darkly intelligent eyes watchful. If he had had the money he would have placed it down right then and there because he knew without a doubt that offspring from these two would soon be worth a small fortune on any market in the world.
‘Where did you get them?’
‘In Spain. Near Bilbao. I had heard of them and went over to look. Fell in love at first glance and brought them back three years ago.’
‘Don’t sell them cheap, then. If you hold out for your price, their worth will be increased,’ Daniel advised.
‘You wouldn’t be interested in purchasing them yourself?’
This was not said with any intention at rudeness. It was just a passing comment, a friendly gesture to a stranger. Of course Cameron would think the Montcliffe coffers full. Everybody still did.
He shook his head. If he could have raised the money, he would have bid for the pair in a trice, but that sort of life was finished and had been for a while now. He noticed a few other patrons drifting down to take a look at the greys. And then more came. However, Robert Cameron did not seem the slightest bit interested in singing the praises of his horseflesh any longer which was surprising, given the hard line he had taken just a moment before.
As the crowds thickened Daniel tipped his hat at the timber merchant and made his way out of the crush.
* * *
Three-quarters of an hour later, he was glad to sit down on the comfortable seat of his carriage. His right leg ached today more than it had in months and he knew that the bullet would have to be removed before too much longer. The Montcliffe physician had told him that time and time again, but the worry of being left a cripple was even worse than the pain that racked through him each time he stepped on it.
Throwing his hat on the seat, Daniel leant back into the leather and ran his fingers through his hair. It was too damn long and he would cut it tonight after a bath. His valet had once done the job, but Daniel had let him go, as he had had to do with other staff both at the town house and at Montcliffe.
He cursed Nigel again as he did almost every day now, his brother’s lack of care of the family inheritance beyond all comprehension. One should not think ill of the dead, he knew, but it was hard to find generous thought when any new debt now joined the pile of all the others.
A sudden movement caught his attention and he focused on a group in a narrow alleyway off Hyde Park Corner. Four or five men circled around another and it was with a shock that he realised the one in the middle was the timber merchant, Mr Robert Cameron.
Banging on the roof of the conveyance, he threw open the door and alighted quickly as it stopped. Twenty paces had him amidst the ruckus and he saw the old man’s nose streamed with blood.
‘Let him go.’ Raising his cane, he brought it down hard on the hand of the man closest to him as the scoundrel reached inside his coat for something. A howl of pain echoed and a knife dropped harmlessly to the cobbles, spinning on its own axis with the movement.
‘Anyone else want a try?’ He knew he had the upper hand as the thugs backed off, yelling obscenities at him, but nothing else. They were gone before he counted to ten and there was only silence in the street.
Cameron was leaning over as though in pain, his right arm held to his chest.
‘What hurts?’
‘My...pride.’ As he straightened Daniel saw the grimace on his face.
‘Did you know them?’
The older man nodded. ‘They have been demanding money from me.’
‘Why?’
‘My business is lucrative and they want a slice. One of their number also used to work for me in the warehouse until I fired him for stealing and I suspect he holds a grudge.’ He dabbed at his nose with his dislodged shirt tails. ‘If you had not come...’
‘I will take you home if you give me your direction.’
As Cameron was about to argue Daniel called his driver down from the high seat to give a hand and ten minutes later they were pulling up in front of a large town house in Grosvenor Square.
No little fortune here then, Daniel thought, as he helped Cameron out. He noticed blood had left a stain on the leather seat at about the same time as the other did.
‘If you wait, I will find coinage to cover the cost of the cleaning.’
‘It is of no significance.’
Cameron was now leaning on him heavily and he could feel the shaking of fright beginning to settle. As they came to the front door the sound of running feet was heard.
‘Are you hurt?’ Worry coated the voice of the woman who came into view, the same woman he had seen in the carriage, anger on her face creasing it badly. Cameron’s daughter by his own admission, though she looked nothing at all like him.
‘What on earth happened?’ She reached his side and all but pulled her father out of Daniel’s grasp, the sharp edge of a fingernail carving skin away from his wrist. If she noticed, she did not show it, merely helping her father backwards to a sofa that was perched to one side of the wide lobby.
‘Sit down. You look blue around the mouth.’ Her own mouth was a tight line of consternation, her dark eyes flashing up at Daniel in question. ‘Who did this?’
‘A group of blackguards waylaid him not far from Tattersall’s.’
‘You did not wait for the carriage, Papa. You said to send it at two, did you not?’ As if on cue the big clock in another corner struck the half hour of one-thirty.
‘I h-had done all I needed to at the auction house.’
‘You sold the horses?’ A new tone entered her voice, one of censure and irritation. Lord, the girl was a harpy and with no introduction Daniel was hard pressed to say anything.
Robert Cameron was shaking his head and looking worse by the moment. ‘The Earl of Montcliffe here helped me and brought me home. Lord Montcliffe, may I present my daughter, Amethyst Amelia Cameron, to you.’
Amethyst? His jewel? She did not suit such a name at all with her dark eyes and angry mouth. Her hair was a strange lustreless brown pulled back into a bun that was fashioned in the most unflattering of styles.
As if she could read his mind her expression tightened and she barely acknowledged the introduction. The clothes she wore were serviceable homespun without embellishment. The sort of dress one might wear to a dowdy funeral, the cloth of black showing up her skin as sallow and underlining the smudged circles beneath her eyes as dark bruises.
She was not a beauty, but she was not plain either. Beneath the downcast glance he caught a flash of anger, abrupt and sudden.
Tipping his head at her, he was surprised when she flushed a bright beet red, though she looked away, ringing for the butler to fetch a physician immediately.
Efficient and calm now, save for the remaining stain of red on her cheeks which made her look vulnerable. He wanted to lay his hand upon her arm and tell her...what? He shook the thought away and concentrated on her father, whose eyes were glued to his daughter, a speculative glance within them.
‘I hope you will recover without any ill effects, sir,’ Daniel said. ‘If you wish to take such an assault further with the law and need verification of exactly what I saw, you may call on me.’
Extracting his card from a thin leather holder in his pocket, he handed it over.
‘Thank you for your help, Lord Montcliffe, I have appreciated it greatly.’
Acknowledging the gratitude, Daniel turned to leave, though the daughter, after fumbling in a drawer to one side of the room, came forth with a wad of bank notes.
‘I hope this might help in the way of thanks.’ Her voice was no longer shrill, but the insult of payment was all Daniel could think of.
Without another word he turned and walked from the room, the butler hurrying to show him the way out.
* * *
‘Perhaps I insulted him, Papa, by offering him reimbursement for his trouble?’ Amethyst looked down at the substantial sum in her hands. Every other member of her acquaintance would have taken it and with the thankfulness that was intended, but not the Earl of Montcliffe.
She was irritated with herself for allowing such an awkward meeting, but she had been more than surprised to see the man outside the Tattersall’s auction rooms right here in their town house. She knew Lord Montcliffe had noticed her embarrassment and she chastised herself for even thinking of giving him reimbursement for a deed of honour.
Such a reward belittled the act, she supposed, by reducing it to terms of cold hard cash. She had heard that the ton rarely even carried money, the tarnish of trade and commerce resting instead with their accompanying helpers and sycophants.
Traders and merchants. Even with a princely sum made from hard work, good luck and risky ventures, the Camerons would not be accepted into any of the higher echelons of society.
Well, she could not care. No doubt Lord Montcliffe would be mulling over his encounter with them on the carriage ride home before sharing the story of her clumsy attempt at recompense with his peers at some exclusive ‘members only’ club in the nicer areas of the city. She was so very glad he was gone.
‘You need to inform the constabulary of this assault, Papa. You cannot keep pretending that this matter will simply disappear.’
‘You think I should pay them?’ For the first time ever Amethyst heard a tone in her father’s voice that suggested complete uncertainty and she did not like it at all.
‘No, of course not. Pay once and they will haunt us indefinitely. These people need to be cut off at the roots.’
Her father laughed. ‘Sometimes, Amethyst, you are so like your mother that it brings tears to my eyes.’ He took in a breath. ‘But if Susannah were here I think she would be scolding me for involving you so much in the business that you have forgotten about living.’ The handkerchief pressed to his nose still showed blood appearing through the thickness of the layers of cotton and Amethyst hoped that the physician might hurry. ‘A man like Montcliffe would make you smile again.’
‘I am quite happy as I am, Papa, and as Montcliffe must have every single woman’s heart in London a-racing he would hardly be interested in mine.’
The strange glint in his eyes was worrying for Amethyst knew her father well enough to know just what that meant.
* * *
She wandered across to the mews behind the house after her father had retired. Robert had bought in this particular area in London because of the proximity of the stables that held enough room to house livestock.
The stablemaster, Ralph Moore, was just finishing brushing down Midnight, a large black stallion her father had acquired in the past year.
‘It is a sad day when the cream of our livestock is left to languish in the Tattersall’s stable on view for sale, Miss Cameron. I know it is not my place to criticise anything your father does and he has been a kind and mindful master, but with a bit of patience and some good luck the greys could be the start of a line of horses England has not seen the likes of before. I have spoken of it with him, but he does not want to even consider such a proposition any longer.’
Such words made Amethyst wary. Why would her father suddenly not want the pleasure of breeding his Arabian pair, something he had always spoken of with much anticipation and delight?
Tonight she felt restless and uncertain and the dangerous beauty of Lord Montcliffe came to mind. She wished she had not blushed so ridiculously when he had looked across at her or seen the returning humour in his eyes. The heat of shame made her scalp itch and, reaching up, she snatched the offending wig from her head and shook out the short curls beneath it, enjoying the freedom.
It was finally getting longer. Almost six inches now. Curlier than it had ever been and a much lighter colour. Soon she would be able to dispense with the hairpiece altogether.
If she had been at Dunstan, she would have saddled up one of the horses and raced towards the far hills behind the house. Here in London the moon was high and full, tugging at her patience, stretching the limit of her city manners, making her feel housebound and edgy.
A noise had her turning.
‘When I could not find you I knew you would be here.’
Her father joined her at the side of Midnight’s stall, Ralph Moore’s departure a few moments prior to his room upstairs allowing them privacy. Her father’s left eye was darkened and his nose swollen.
‘I imagined you would have gone up to bed early after such a dreadful day,’ she said.
‘Slumber is harder to find as the years march on.’ His glance rose to her hair. ‘It is nice to see you without the ugly wig, my love, for your skin appears a much better colour without it.’
Shaking her head, Amethyst looked down at the limp brown hairpiece in her hands. ‘I should have a new one ordered, I suppose, but it seems so frivolous for the small amount of time I still have need of it.’
‘Well, it is good to see you happier, my dear. Perhaps the exchange with Lord Montcliffe has given you some vitality? He is a good man and strong. Mr Tattersall spoke of him highly as a lord who can be relied upon.’
‘Relied on to do what?’
‘To look after you. I shall not be around for ever and...’
His sentiments petered away as she began to laugh out loud. ‘I hardly think that was what Mr Tattersall was referring to. Besides, an exalted lord of the realm would have no mind to mingle with a woman from trade.’
‘But if he did, my love, would you have the inclination to consider him as a husband?’
‘Husband?’ Now all humour fled. ‘My God, Papa, you cannot be serious for he would never marry me. Not for all the gold in England. Men like Lord Montcliffe marry women exactly like them. Rich. Beautiful. Young. Well connected. Debutantes who have a world of possibilities at their feet.’
Her father shook his head. ‘I disagree with you. Your mother taught me that those things are not the most important qualities to ensure the success of a union. She said that a partner with an alert and interested mind is worth much more than one of little thought or originality. Besides, we have accrued enough money to lure even the loftiest of the lords of the ton.’
His words seeped into her astonishment. ‘Why are you saying these things, Papa? Why would you be even thinking of them? I am a widow and I am almost twenty-seven years old. My chances of such marital bliss are long since passed and I have accepted that they are.’
In the moonlight her father’s face looked older and infinitely sadder. As he leant forward to take her hand Amethyst felt her heart lurch in worry, the certainty of what he was about to tell her etched into fright.
Midnight’s breath in the moonlight, the call of an owl far off in the greenness of the park, a carriage wending its way home along Upper Brook Street at the end of another busy night. The sounds of a normal and ordinary late evening, everything in place, settling in and waiting for the dawn, allowing all that had happened through the day to be assimilated by a gentle darkness.
The far edge of happiness is here, Amethyst thought. Here, before the crack of change opens up to swallow it. She knew what he would say for she could see it in his eyes.
‘I am seriously unwell, my dear. The doctor does not expect my heart to last out the year in the shape it is in. He advised me to settle my affairs and make certain everything is in order.’
Worse than a crack. An abyss unending and deep. Her hands closed about his, the chill in his thin fingers underlying everything. She could not even negate all he said and the reply she was about to give him was driven into silence by fear.
‘My one and only prayer is that the Lord Above in His Infinite Wisdom might grant me the promise of knowing you are safe, Amethyst. Safe and married to a man who would not forsake you. Lord Montcliffe is the first man I have seen you look at since Gerald Whitely. He is well regarded by everyone who knows him and it is rumoured that his financial position is somewhat shaky. We could help him.’
Stop, she should have said. Stop all this nonsense now. But in the shafts of light she registered something in her father’s eyes that she had not seen in a long, long time. Hope, if she could name it; hope of a future for her, even if he was not in it.
The gift of a place and a family, that was what he was trying to give her. There was no thought of greed or power or station. No inkling of a crazed want to surge up the social ladder, either. It was only his love that fostered such thoughts.
‘Would you listen with your intellect to what I have to ask you, my love, and perhaps your heart as well?’ he asked.
As much as she wanted to shake her head and tell him to stop, she found herself acquiescing.
‘There is only us now, the last of the Camerons, and the world is not an easy place to be left alone. I want you to be guarded and cared for by an honourable man, a man who would ward away danger. I want this more than I have ever wanted anything in my life before, Amethyst. If I knew you were safe, it would mean I could enjoy what is left of my life in peace. If I could go to your mother in Heaven and know that I had done my very best to keep you protected, then I would be a happy man. Susannah instructed me to see you lived well in her last breath of life and if it is the final thing that I can do for her then, by God, I am willing to try.’
Crack. Crack crack. Like ice on a winter lake, Amethyst’s heart was breaking piece by piece as he spoke.
Chapter Two (#ub8a770ca-9628-5db0-b61b-d1566b4cd026)
‘There is someone to see you, Lord Montcliffe. A tradesman by the name of Mr Robert Cameron and he is most insistent that he be allowed to come inside.’
‘Send him in.’
‘Through the front door, my lord?’ His butler’s tone was censorious.
‘Indeed.’
‘Very well, my lord.’
It had been a couple of weeks since the contretemps at Hyde Park Corner and Daniel wondered what on earth Cameron might want from him. The Arabian greys had been pulled from auction the day after they had last spoken and the small bit of investigation he had commissioned on the character of the man had been most informative.
Mr Robert Cameron was a London merchant who was well heeled and wily. He owned most of the shares in a shipping line trading timber between England and the Americas, his move into importing taking place across the past eight or so years, and he was doing more than well.
However, when the door opened again and Cameron came through, Daniel was shocked.
The man of a little over a fortnight ago was thinner and more pallid, the bruising around his eyes darker.
‘Thank you for seeing me, Lord Montcliffe.’ Cameron waited as the servant departed the room, peering about to see no others lingered in the background of the substantial library. ‘Might I speak very frankly to you and in complete confidence, my lord?’
Interest flickered. ‘You may, but please take a seat.’ He gestured to the leather wingchair nearby for Cameron looked more than unsteady on his feet.
‘No. I would rather stand, my lord. There are words I need to say that require fortitude, if you will, and a sitting position may lessen my resolve.’
Daniel nodded and waited as the other collected himself. He could think of no reason whatsoever for the furtive secrecy or the tense manner of the man.
‘What I am about to offer, Lord Montcliffe, must not leave the confines of this room, no matter what you might think of it. Will you give me your word as a gentleman on that whether you accept my proposal or not?’
‘It isn’t outside of the law?’
‘No, my lord.’
‘Then you have my word.’
‘Might I ask for a drink before I begin?’
‘Certainly. Brandy?’
‘Thank you.’
Pouring two generous glasses, Daniel passed one over, waiting as the older man readied himself to speak.
‘My health is not as it was, my lord. In fact, I think it fair to say that I am not long for this world.’ He held up his hand as Daniel went to interrupt. ‘It is not condolences I am after, my lord. I only tell you this because the lack of months left to me owe a good part to what I propose to relate to you next.’
Taking a deep swallow of his brandy, Cameron wiped his mouth with his hands. Labourers hands with wide calluses and small healed injuries. The hands of someone used to many long hours of manual work.
‘I want to bequeath the pair of greys to you, my lord. I know you will love them in the same manner as I do and that they will not be sold on, so to speak, for a quick financial profit. Mick and Maisie need a home that will nurture them and I have no doubts you shall do just that. I would also prefer their names to stay just as they are as the Grecian ones suggested by Mr Tattersall didn’t appeal to me at all.’
‘I could not accept such an offer, Mr Cameron, and have not the means to buy them from you at this moment. Besides, it is unheard of to give a complete stranger such a valuable thing,’ Daniel replied, taken aback.
For the first time Cameron smiled. ‘But you see, my lord, I can do just as I will. Great wealth produces a sense of egocentricity and allows a freedom that is undeniable. I can bequeath anything I like to anybody I want and I wish for you to have my greys.’
Daniel tried to ignore the flare of excitement that started building inside him. With such horses he could begin to slowly recoup a little of the family fortune by running a breeding programme at Montcliffe Manor that would be the envy of society. But he stopped himself. There had to be a catch here somewhere, for by all accounts Cameron was a shrewd businessman and a successful one at that.
‘And in return?’
‘Your estate is heavily mortgaged and I have it on good authority that a hefty loan your brother took out with the Honourable Mr Reginald Goldsmith will be called in before the end of this month. He had other outstanding loans as well and I have acquired each and every one to do just as I will with them.’
‘What is your meaning?’ Daniel bit out, forcing himself to stand still.
‘Coutts is also worried by your lack of collateral and, given the Regent’s flagrant dearth of care with his finances, they are now beating a more conservative pathway in the management of their long-term lending. With only a small investigation I think you might find yourself in trouble.’
‘You would ruin me?’
‘No, my lord, exactly the opposite. I wish to gift you three sums of twenty-five thousand pounds each year for the next three years and then the lump sum of one-hundred-and-fifty thousand pounds.’
A fortune. Daniel could barely believe the proportions of the offer, such riches unimaginable.
‘I would immediately sign over the town house in Grosvenor Square as an incentive for you to honour the terms. Then, whenever Amethyst instructs me to do so, a property I own to the north called Dunstan House, with a good deal of acreage about it, shall be endorsed into your care, as well.’
Stopping, the merchant faced him directly. Sweat had built on his brow and his cheeks were marked with a ruddy glow of much emotion. ‘There is one thing, however, that you must do for me in return, my lord. My only daughter Amethyst is now twenty-six, soon to be twenty-seven. She is a clever girl and a sensible one. She has worked alongside me for the last eight years and it is her surefootedness in business that has propelled my profits skywards.’
He waited as Daniel nodded before continuing.
‘Amethyst Amelia was educated under the capable tutelage of the Gaskell Street Presbyterian Church School and I paid the teachers handsomely to make sure that she acquired all the skills a woman of the classes above her might need to know. In short, she could fit into any social situation without disgracing herself.’
Daniel suddenly knew just where this conversation was leading to. A dowry. A bribe. The answer to his prayers for the selling of his soul.
‘You are single and available, my lord. You have two sisters who are in need of being launched into society, a mother who has fine taste in living and a grandfather who requires much in the way of medical attention. All continuing and long-term expenses. If you marry my daughter by the end of July, none of this will ever be a problem again and you will have the means to right the crumbling estate of Montcliffe once and for all.’
‘Get out, you bastard.’ Daniel’s anger made the words tremble. That a man he was beginning to respect and like should think of coming into his life to blackmail him into marrying his daughter. For that was what this was. Blackmail, even given the enormous amounts mooted.
But Cameron looked to be going nowhere. ‘I can understand your wrath and indeed, were I in your boots, I might have had exactly the same reaction. But I would ask you to think about it for at least a week. You have promised me your confidence and I expect that, for if a word of this gets out anywhere my daughter’s reputation will be ruined. Hence, as a show of my own gratitude for your discretion, I shall leave you the greys regardless of your final decision.’
‘I cannot accept them.’
‘Here is a document I have written up for your perusal and I earnestly hope to hear from you presently.’
With that he was gone, his glass emptied on the desk and a fat envelope left beside it. Daniel was in two minds as to what to do: send it back unopened with a curt message containing his lack of interest or open it up and see what was inside.
Curiosity won out.
The sheet before him was witnessed by a city lawyer whose qualifications seemed more than satisfactory. It was also signed by his daughter.
‘Damn. Damn. Damn.’ He whispered the words beneath his breath. The girl had been told of all this and still wanted the travesty? Finishing his brandy, he poured himself another as he read on, barely believing what was written.
He was to marry Amethyst Amelia Cameron before the month was finished on the condition that he have no relations with any other woman for two years afterwards.
Shocked to the core, he took a good swallow of the brandy. Amethyst Amelia Cameron would allow her father to sell her for the promise of what? Under the law any daughter could inherit money, chattels and unentailed property from a dying father and he obviously loved her. Besides, she had experience in the business and had turned profits for many a year. Cameron had told him that himself. So what was it that she would gain from such an arrangement? They barely knew each other and, even given she was from the trading classes, an heiress of her calibre could garner any number of titled aristocrats who were down on their purse.
As he was?
‘Hell!’ Daniel threw the parchment into a drawer and slammed it shut, but the promises festered even unseen, malevolent and beguiling.
How on earth had Cameron known so much about his financial difficulties? Would Goldsmith truly call in his brother’s loans against Montcliffe before he was ready for them? If he did that, Daniel would be forced to sell the town house, the manor, the surrounding farms and any chattels that would fetch something. Then the Wyldes would be homeless, moneylenders baying for their blood and all the claws unsheathed.
If it was just him, he might have been able to manage, but Cameron was perfectly correct; his sisters were young, his grandfather was old and his mother had always found her gratification in the position the earldom afforded them in society and had freely spent accordingly.
Standing, he walked to the window and looked out over the gardens, swearing as he saw the two greys tied to a post by the roadside and his butler near them, looking more than bewildered.
He had left them just as he’d said. It was begun already. Daniel turned to the doorway and hurried through it.
* * *
‘I think he took my proposal very well.’ Robert Cameron sipped at the sweet tea Amethyst had brought him and smiled.
‘You do?’
‘He is a good man with sound moral judgement and a love for his family.’
Amethyst bit into a ginger biscuit, wiping the crumbs away from her lips.
‘So he signed his name to the deed?’
‘Not quite.’
‘He didn’t sign it?’
Her father looked up. ‘He told me that I was a bastard for even suggesting such a thing and said that I should get out.’
‘But you left the greys?’
‘I did.’
‘And he has as yet not sent them back?’
‘He has not.’
‘Then it is a good omen.’
Robert frowned. ‘I hope so, Amethyst, I really do.’
Amethyst tried her hardest to smile. Papa had become thinner and thinner no matter what she might get their French chef to feed him and he had taken to striding about the house at night...watching. He was scared and those that might harm them for their money were becoming braver. The daylight attack near Tattersall’s had made her father paranoiac about any movement in their street, any unknown face around the warehouse. Nay, he was eating himself up with worry and she could allow it no longer.
Papa wanted her to be protected and he desperately wanted her to trust in a man again. With time running out for her father Amethyst had allowed him the choice of her groom. Said like that it sounded abhorrent, but nothing was ever as black and white as one might imagine and right now she wanted her father to smile.
‘We shall wait a week. If Lord Montcliffe has not come back to us by then with an answer, we will visit him together.’ She injected a jaunty positive note into her words but everything in her felt flat.
Gerald Whitely’s face shimmered in her memory. The feel of his anger was still there sometimes, just beyond touch, his angry words and then his endless seething silence. A relationship that had blinded sense and buried reason, one bad decision following another until there was nothing left of any of it.
Cold fingers closed over the cross at her throat. Her father was the one person who had stayed constant in her life and she would do whatever it took to see that he was happy. Anything at all.
‘Your mother made me promise to see you flourish, Amy. They were the last words she spoke to me as she slipped away and I had hoped that you would, but after Whitely...’ He stopped, his voice wavering and frighteningly thin. ‘Lord Montcliffe will make you remember to laugh again. He loves horses and they love him back. Any man who can win the trust of an animal is a good man, an honest man, and I can see that in him when I look him in the eyes.’
She hoped her smile did not appear false as he held her hand, the dearness of the gesture so familiar.
‘Promise me you will try to give him all your heart, body and soul, Amethyst. No reservations. It is how your mama loved me and there is no defence for a man against a woman like that. Such strength only allows growth and wonder between a married couple and I know you have been saddened by love...’
She shook his words away, the reminder of bitterness unwanted. Her choice, cankered before it had even begun.
‘When death claimed Gerald Whitely, my love, I was not sorry. Sense tells me that you were not either.’
So he knew of that? Another shame. A further deceit that had not remained hidden.
‘It was the Cameron fortune Gerald was after, Papa. Perhaps Lord Montcliffe and he are not so unalike after all?’
But her father shook his head. ‘Whitely fashioned his own demise. Daniel Wylde is only trying to clean up after the mistakes of his brother and father and is doing so to protect the family he has left.’
‘A saint, then?’ She wished that the caustic undertone in her words was not quite so unmistakable.
‘Hardly. But he is the first man you have given a second glance to. The first man who has made you blush. Such attraction must account for something because it was the same with Susannah and me.’
Despite everything she smiled. ‘I imagine that Lord Montcliffe has that effect upon everybody whoever meets him, Papa. I was not claiming him for myself.’
‘Because you do not trust your judgements pertaining to the acquisition of a husband, given the last poor specimen?’
Her father had never before, in the year since his death, spoken of Gerald Whitely in this way. That thought alone lent mortification to her sinking raft of other emotions.
Failure. It ate at certainty like a large rat at a wedding feast. Once she had chosen so unwisely she felt at a loss to ever allow herself such a mandate again. Perhaps that was a part of the reason she did not rally against her father’s arguments. That and the yellowing shades of sickness that hung in the whites of his eyes.
Death held a myriad of hues. Gerald’s had been a pale and unholy grey when she had seen him laid out in the undertaker’s rooms. Her mother’s had been red-tinged, a rash of consequence marked into the very fabric of her skin and only fading hours after she had taken her final and hard-fought breath.
Amethyst’s nails dug deep into her thighs as she willed such thoughts aside. A long time ago she had been a happier person and a more optimistic one. Now all she could manage was the pretence of it.
It was easier to allow Papa the hope of joy in his final months, the illusion of better times, of children, of the ‘heart and body and soul’ love her father had felt for her mother and which he imagined was some sort of a God-given rite of passage. Once she had believed in such a thing as well, but no longer.
All she could muster now was a horror for anything that held the hint of intimacy.
Blemished. Damaged. Hurt.
Daniel Wylde would understand sooner or later the payment required for the Cameron fortune and she was sure he would feel every bit as cheated as she did. But at least Papa would go to his grave believing that his only daughter was safe and happy, the soldier earl he had chosen for her strong enough to ward off any threats of menace.
She leaned down and picked up a small coin from a collection on a plate, balancing it in her palm before flipping it over. If it shows heads this marriage willwork and if it does not... When the coin fell to tails she chastised herself for playing such silly games.
* * *
When Daniel returned from an outing later in the day his mother was ensconced in the drawing room at the Montcliffe town house, a glass of his finest brandy in her hand and a thoughtful look upon her face.
‘Have you been procuring new horseflesh, Daniel? There is a pair of magnificent greys in your stable and I just wondered...’
‘They were a gift, Mother. I did not purchase them.’
‘A gift? From whom?’ The silk in the gown Janet, Lady Montcliffe, wore matched her eyes exactly, a deep sapphire blue. A new possession, he supposed, thinking of the demand for payment that would come across his desk before much longer.
He could have been truthful, could have simply stated that there was a possibility he would be married and that the greys had been a pre-wedding present, but something made him stop. Anger, he supposed, and shame and the fact that to voice such a thing might make it feel more real and true.
With the Camerons he felt removed from society. In their company the preposterous proposed union made a sort of skewed sense that it didn’t here in front of his mother.
When he didn’t answer, his mother remarked, ‘Charlotte Hughes is back from Scotland. I saw her today at the Bracewells and she asked after you. She is looking a picture of health and wealth and was sporting a necklace with an emerald attached to it the size of a walnut.’
‘I am no longer interested in Lady Mackay, Mama.’ He stressed her married name.
‘Well, she seemed more than interested in your whereabouts. She had heard of the fracas at La Corunna, of course, and was most concerned about the injury to your leg. There were tears in her eyes when I told her of it and such compassion is heartwarming.’
Daniel interrupted her. ‘Is that my French brandy you are drinking?’ Crossing to the cabinet, he found the bottle and frowned as he saw there was barely any left. His whole family had been falling apart for years. His mother with her drink, his brother with his gambling and his sisters with their brittle sense of entitlement and whining. Only his grandfather had seemed to hold it together, though his body was letting him down more and more often.
‘If you are going to lecture me about the evils of strong drink...’
Daniel shook his head. ‘This evening I cannot find the energy to do so. If you wish to kill yourself by small degrees with your misplaced grief for my brother’s stupidity...’
‘Nigel was a good boy...’
‘Who mortgaged the Montcliffe property to the hilt as a payment for his escalating gambling habit.’
‘He was trying to save the estate. He was trying to make everything right again,’ she insisted.
‘If you believe that, Mama, then you are as deluded as he was.’
His mother finished the glass of brandy and stood. ‘The military campaign in Spain and Portugal has made you different, Daniel. Harder. A man of distance and callousness and I do not like what you have become.’
The sound of screams on a march from Hell with winter eating up any hope for warmth. Dead soldiers stripped of clothes and boots by others needing cover in the middle of a relentless freeze, and hundreds of miles left to reach the coast and to safety. Aye, distance came easily with such memories.
‘In less than six months the Montcliffe properties will be bankrupt.’
He had not meant to say it like this, so baldly, and as his mother paled a compassion he had long since let go of spiked within.
‘I have tried to tell you before, Mother. I have tried to make you understand that Nigel finished what our father started, but I can no longer afford to say it kindly. The estate lies precariously on the edge of insolvency.’
‘You lie.’
‘The bank won’t lend the Montcliffe estate another penny and I have been warned that Goldsmith could call in one of Nigel’s outstanding loans before the end of this month.’
‘But Gwendolyn is to be presented in court and all the invitations to a soirée are written out. Besides, I have also just ordered several ball dresses from Madame Soulier. I cannot possibly curtail. If I do, others shall know of our plight and we shall suffer a very public shaming. Why, I could not even bear such a thing.’
Turning, Daniel held his breath, the guilt of Nigel’s death eating at his equanimity. Years ago they had been close and he wondered if his time away from England in the army had left his brother exposed somehow. Lord knew his mother and sisters were unremitting in their demands. If he had been here, would he have been able to bolster Nigel’s will and made him stronger, allowing him a sounding board for good sense and bolder decisions in the economic welfare of Montcliffe?
Taking a deep breath, he faced his mother directly. ‘There is only one way that I can see of navigating the Montcliffe inheritances out of this conundrum.’
His mother wiped the tears from her eyes and looked up at him. He had never seen her appear quite as old and lined.
‘How?’
‘I can marry into money.’
‘Old money?’ Even under duress his mother remained a snob.
‘Or money earned from the toil of hard labour and lucky breaks.’
‘Trade?’ The word was whispered with all the undercurrents of a shout.
‘The alternative is bankruptcy,’ he reminded her grimly.
‘You have someone in mind?’
He could not say it, could not toss Amethyst Amelia Cameron’s name into the ring of fire his mother had so effortlessly conjured up, a sneer on her lips and distaste in her blue eyes.
‘Your father would be turning in his grave at such a suggestion. Marry one of the Stapleton girls, they would have you in a second, or the oldest Beaumont chit. She has made no secret of setting her cap at you.’
‘Enough, Mother.’
‘Charlotte Hughes, then, despite her foolish marriage. She has always loved you and you had strong feelings for her once. Besides, she is a lot more flush these days...’
‘Enough.’ This time he said it louder and she stopped.
‘You have no true understanding of the difficulties that face me, Daniel...’
Her words were slightly slurred and he interrupted her. ‘Your line in the sand is in danger of being washed away by strong drink, Mother, and it would help if you listened rather than argued. If you made some sacrifice in the family spending and pared down on the number of dresses and bonnets and boots you required, we may have some ready cash to tide us over whilst I try to extricate us from this Godforsaken mess.’
Already she was shaking her head. Sometimes he wondered why he had not just left and taken ship to the Americas, leaving the lot of them to wallow in the cesspool of their own making.
But blood and duty were thicker than both fury and defeat and so he had stayed, juggling what was left of the few assets against what had been lost into the wider world of debt.
If Goldsmith was to foreclose as Cameron had intimated he would? He shook away the dread.
So far he had not needed to sell any of the furniture or paintings in the London town house and so the effect of great wealth remained the illusion it always had been.
The avenues of escape were closing in, however, and he knew without a doubt that it was weeks rather than months for any monies left in the coffers to be gone. Nay, Cameron’s option of a marriage of convenience was the only way to avoid complete ruin.
Upending her glass, his mother called her maid, heavily relying on the guiding arm of her servant as she stood.
‘I shall speak with you again when you are less unreasonable.’ The anger in her voice resonated sharply.
Brandy, arrogance and hopelessness. A familiar cocktail of Wylde living that had taken his father and brother into the afterlife too early.
He wondered if he even had the strength to try to save Montcliffe.
* * *
He met Lady Charlotte Mackay four days later as he exited the bank where he had spent an hour with the manager, trying to piece together some sort of rescue plan allowing the family estate a few more months of grace. And failing. His right leg hurt like hell and he had barely slept the night before with the pain of it.
Charlotte looked just as he remembered her, silky blonde curls falling down from an intricate hat placed high on her head. Her eyes widened as she saw it was he. Shock, he thought, or pity. These days he tried not to interpret the reaction of others when they perceived his uneven gait.
‘Daniel.’ Her voice was musical and laced with an overtone of gladness. ‘It has been an age since I have seen you and I was hoping you might come to call upon me. I have been back from Edinburgh for almost a sennight and had the pleasure of meeting your mother a few days ago.’
‘She mentioned she had seen you.’
‘Oh.’
The conversation stopped for a second, the thousand things unsaid filling in the spaces of awkwardness.
‘I wrote to you, of course, but you did not answer.’ Her confession made him wary, and as her left hand came up to wipe away an errant curl from her face he saw her fingers were ringless.
He could have said he had not received any missives and, given the vagaries of the postal system, she would have believed him. But he didn’t lie.
‘Marriage requires a certain sense of loyalty, I have always thought, so perhaps any communication between us was not such a good idea.’
Small shadows dulled the blue of her irises. ‘Until a union fails to live up to expectation and the trap of a dreary routine makes one’s mind wander.’
Dangerous ground this. He tried to turn the subject. ‘I heard your husband was well mourned at his funeral.’
‘Death fashions martyrs of us all.’ Her glance was measured. ‘Widowhood has people behaving with a sort of poignant carefulness that is...unending and a whole year of dark clothes and joylessness has left me numb. I want to be normal again. I am young, after all, and most men find me attractive.’
Was this a proposition? The bright gown she wore was low-cut, generous breasts nestling in their beds of silk with only a minimal constraint. As she leaned forward he could not help but look.
The maleness in him rose like a sail in the wind, full of promise and direction, but he had been down this pathway once before and the wreck of memory was potent. He made himself stand still.
‘I have learnt much through the brutal consequences of mistakes, but I am home alone tonight, Daniel. If you came to see me, we might rekindle all that we once had.’
Around them others hurried past, an ordinary morning in London, a slight chill on the air and the calling voices of street vendors.
He felt unbalanced by meeting her, given their last encounter. Betrayal was an emotion that held numerous interpretations and he hadn’t cared enough to hear hers then.
But Charlotte Mackay’s eyes now held a harder edge of knowledge, something war had also stamped on him. No longer simple. Two people ruined by the circumstances of their lives and struggling to hold on to anything at all. The disenchantment made him tired and wary and he was glad to see her mother hurrying towards them from the shop behind, giving no further chance of confidence.
Lady Wesley had changed almost as much as her daughter, the quick nervous laughter alluding to a nature that was teetering on some sort of a breakdown.
‘My lord. I hope your family is all well?’
‘Indeed they are, ma’am.’
‘As you can see, our Charlotte is back and all in one piece from the wilds of Scotland.’
When he failed to speak she placed her arm across her daughter’s. The suspicion that she was trying to transmit some hidden signal was underlined by the whitened skin over her knuckles. Charlotte looked suddenly beaten, the fight and challenge drained away into a vacuous smile of compliance.
Perhaps the Wesley family was as complex and convoluted as his own. Jarring his right foot, he swore to himself as they gave their goodbyes. His balance was worsening with the constant pain and the headache he was often cursed with was a direct result of that.
If the Camerons were to know the extent of his infirmity, would they withdraw their offer? Robert Cameron had told him that his daughter needed a strong husband. A protector. The beat of blood coursing around the bullet in his thigh was more distinct now just as the specialist he had seen last month had predicted it would become. If he left it too much longer, he would be dead.
The choice of the devil.
He had seen men in Spain and Portugal with their limbs severed and their lives shattered. Even now in London the remnants of the ragtag of survivors from the battlements of La Corunna still littered the streets, begging for mercy and succour from those around them.
He couldn’t lose his leg. He wouldn’t. Pride was one thing but so was the fate of his family. Dysfunctional the Montcliffes might be, but as the possessor of the title he had an obligation to honour.
For just a moment he wished he was back in Spain amongst his regiment as they rode east in the late autumn sunshine along the banks of the Tagus. The rhythm of the tapping drums and a valley filled with wildflowers came to mind, the ground soft underfoot and the cheers of the waving Spanish nationals ringing in his ears. A simple and uncomplicated time. A time before the chaos that was to be La Corunna. Even now when he smelt thyme, sage or lavender, such sights and sounds returned to haunt him.
The London damp encroached into his thoughts: the sound of a carriage, the calls of children in the park opposite. His life seemed to have taken a direction he was not certain of any more; too wounded to re-enlist, too encumbered by his family and its problems to simply disappear. And now a further twist—a marriage proposal that held nothing but compromise within it.
He tried to remember Amethyst Cameron’s face exactly and failed in his quest. The dull brown of her hair, the wary anger in her eyes, a voice that was often shrill or scolding. The prospect of marriage to her was not what he had expected from his life, but in the circumstances what else could he do?
His eyes caught the movement of a little girl falling and scuffing her knees. An adult lifted her up and small arms entwined around the woman’s neck, trusting, needing. Daniel imagined fatherhood would be something to be enjoyed, though in truth he had seldom been around any children. He turned away when he saw the woman watching him, uncertain perhaps of his intentions.
He was like a shadow, filled in by flesh and blood, but hurt by the empty spaces in his life. He wanted a wholeness again, a certainty, a resolve. He wanted to laugh as though he meant it and be part of something that was more than the shallow sum of his title.
If he did not marry Amethyst Amelia Cameron, the heritage of the Montcliffe name would be all but gone, a footnote in history, only a bleak reminder of avarice and greed. Centuries of lineage lost in the time it took for the bailiffs to eject the Wyldes from their birthright. The very thought of such a travesty made him hail a cabriolet. He needed to go home and read the small print and conditions of the Cameron proposal. He could not dally any longer.
A sort of calmness descended over the panic. His life and happiness would be forfeited, but there might be some redress in the production of a family. Children had no blame in the affairs of their parents and at thirty-three it was well past time that he produce an heir. An heir who would inherit an estate that was viable and in good health. An estate that would not be lost to the excesses of his brother or the indifference of his father.
Such a personal sacrifice must eventually come to mean something and he was damn well going to make certain that it did.
Chapter Three (#ub8a770ca-9628-5db0-b61b-d1566b4cd026)
The note came the seventh day after they had last seen him, a tense and formal missive informing them that Lord Daniel Wylde, the sixth Earl of Montcliffe, would be calling upon them at two in the afternoon.
Amethyst had been watching for him by the large bay window in the downstairs salon and she stiffened as she heard his carriage draw to a stop on the roadway in front of the house. Lord Montcliffe was here. She looked across at her father, his fingers knocking against his side in the particular way he had of showing concern. It did not help at all.
There were tea and biscuits already set out on the table and the finest of brandy in an unopened bottle. Every glass had been meticulously cleaned and snowy-white napkins stood at attention beside the plate of food, well ironed and folded.
‘Lord Daniel Wylde, the Earl of Montcliffe, sir.’ The butler used his sternest voice and made an effort not to look at anyone. Amethyst had instructed him on the exact art of manners before their guest had arrived.
And then the Earl was there, dressed in dark blue, the white cravat tied at his throat in the style of a man who hadn’t put too much care into it. Not a fop or a dandy. She was pleased, at least, for that.
‘Sir.’ He looked at her father. ‘Miss Cameron.’ He did not even deign to glance her way, the anger on his brow eminently visible. The folder that Papa had made ready with the documents outlining the terms of their betrothal was in his hands. Each knuckle was stretched white. ‘I accept.’
He threw the deeds on the table where they sat between the fine brandy and the fresh biscuits.
I accept.
Two words and she was lost into both method and madness; the Cameron fortune would remain intact and her own fate was sealed. For good or for bad. She felt her heart beating loud and heavy and, placing her hand on her breast, she pressed down, wanting this moment to stop and start again as something else.
But of course it did not.
‘You accept?’ Her father’s voice was businesslike and brisk—a trader whose whole life had consisted of brokering arrangements.
The Earl nodded, but the expression on his face was stony. An agreement dragged from the very depths of his despair and nothing to be done about any of it. He knew as little of her as she did of him; two pawns in a game that was played for stakes higher than just their happiness alone. She had always known that, since the pounds had begun to roll into the Cameron coffers from the lucrative timber trade to and from the Americas. Great fortunes always came with a price.
‘You have signed every condition, then?’ Her father again. She thought he sounded just as he did when he was clinching a deal for the sale of a thousand yards of expensive American mahogany and she wondered at his calm and composure. She was his only daughter and again and again in her lifetime her father had insisted that she must marry for love.
Love? Unexpectedly she caught the eyes of the Earl. Today the green was darker and distrusting. Still, even with the stark fury of coercion on his face, Daniel Wylde was the most beautiful man she had ever had the pleasure of looking upon.
Such looks would crucify her, for nobody would believe that he might have freely chosen her as his bride. She swallowed and met his glance. No use going to pieces this late in the game when the joy on her father’s face was tangible. Papa had not appeared as happy for months.
‘This is your choice too, Miss Cameron?’
‘It is, my lord.’ The floor beneath her began to waver, all the lies eliciting a sort of unreality that made her dizzy.
‘You understand the meaning of the documents then?’ he pressed.
‘I do.’ A blush crept up her throat as she thought of the clause stipulating the two years of monogamy. Her father’s addition, that proviso, and though she had argued long and hard with him to remove it, Robert was not to be shifted.
Montcliffe turned away. The stillness she had noticed outside Tattersall’s was magnified here, a man who knew exactly his place in the world and was seldom surprised by anything.
Save for this marriage of convenience.
‘I hope then that the person you placed to look into my financial affairs can be trusted, Mr Cameron. If word were to leak out about my straitened circumstances and this unusual betrothal, I doubt I could protect your daughter from the repercussions.’
‘Mr Alfred Middlemarch, my lawyer, is a model of silence, my lord. Nary a stray word shall be uttered.’
Their parlourmaid knocked timidly at the door, asking if she could come in to pour the tea. The Earl crossed the room to stand by the fireplace and chose brandy for his sustenance. When Hilda filled his glass to a quarter inch from the top Amethyst winced. On reflection, she thought, perhaps such a task was supposed to belong to the lady of the house and she wished she had not instructed the maid to return to do it. It was seldom that they had such lofty visitors and every small detail of service took on an importance that it previously never had.
Was this how she would live her life from now on? she wondered. On the edge of eggshells in case she were to inadvertently place a clumsy foot wrong? The tutors at Gaskell Street had tried their best with the vagaries of manners, but she imagined they had had about as much practice with the higher echelons of London society as she had.
To give Montcliffe some credit he sipped his tipple carefully from the top before placing the glass down on a green baize circle especially designed for such a purpose. She doubted her father had ever used them before, her eyes catching circles of darkness in the white oak where errant drinks had seeped into the patina of the wood.
Blemished, like them, the outward appearance of Papa and herself reflecting a life that had been lived in trade and service, with little time left for the niceties of cultured living. Amethyst wished she had at least gone out and bought a sumptuous dress for this occasion, something that might lift the colour of her skin into lustre.
She smiled at such a nonsense, catching the Earl’s eyes again as she did so. When he looked away she saw that the muscle under his jaw quivered. In distaste? In sympathy? Usually she found people easy to read, but this man was not.
‘I will announce our betrothal in The Times next week, if that is to your liking, Miss Cameron.’
So few days left?
‘Thank you.’ She wished her voice sounded stronger.
‘I should not want a complicated ceremony given our circumstances.’ A slight shame highlighted Daniel Wylde’s cheeks after he said this and it heartened her immensely. He was not a man in the habit of being rude to women, then? She clutched at the cross at her throat and felt relieved.
Her father pressed on with his own ideas. ‘I was thinking we might hold the ceremony here, my lord, with a minister from our Presbyterian church, of course, and any of your family and friends you care to invite. I would have the first of the money promised transferred into your bank account within the week.’
The give and the take of an agreement. Again Daniel Wylde looked at her as if waiting for her to speak. Did he imagine she might stand up and negate all that her father had so carefully planned? Montcliffe had seen just exactly what those who might hurt her father were capable of. Lord, she brought her hand up and felt the scar just beneath the heavy wig at her nape. It still throbbed sometimes in the cold and the headaches had never quite abated.
‘After the nuptials we will repair to my family seat north of Barnet.’
‘No!’ It was the first real alarm Amethyst had felt. ‘I need to be close to Papa and as he is retiring to Dunstan House then this is where I should like us to live...’
‘I am certain we can work something out, my dear.’ Her father now, placating such an outburst.
Again she shook her head, the pulse of her blood beating fast. ‘I want to add a condition that I may live at Dunstan House, though if the Earl wishes to reside at Montcliffe Manor, then he may.’
‘Difficult to fulfil the clause of mutual cohabitation for a full two years if that is the case, Miss Cameron.’ His voice held a timbre of irony.
The clause her father had insisted upon. She glared at Robert, but kept her silence and was unexpectedly rescued by the very one she thought she would not be.
‘It does not signify. We will reside wherever you wish to.’ The Earl’s tone was slightly bored. An unwanted wife. An unwelcomed cohabitation. Easier just to take the money and acquiesce.
‘Then that is settled.’ Her father, on the contrary, looked pleased with himself. The thought that perhaps he had over-exaggerated his own illness came to Amethyst’s mind, but she dismissed this in the face of his extreme thinness. ‘We shall ask if the children from Gaskell Street can be a part of the choir...’
‘A small and simple wedding would be better, Papa.’
‘I agree.’ Lord Montcliffe spoke again. ‘My family, however, are proponents of the High Anglican faith.’
‘Then you bring your man of God and the service can be shared.’ Papa had hit his stride now and the Earl looked to have no answer to such an unconventional solution. In fact, he looked plainly sick.
‘A good solution, I think,’ Robert went on to say. ‘Then we can all be assured that you will be most properly married.’ Standing after such a pronouncement, he walked to the door. ‘But now I shall leave you alone for a few moments. I am sure there are things you might wish to say to one another without my presence to inhibit you.’
Amethyst glanced away, her father’s words embarrassing and inappropriate. What could the Earl and she possibly have to talk about when there was a palpable distrust in the air? Usually Papa was more astute at reading the feelings of others and seldom acted in a manner that she found disconcerting.
When the door closed behind him, softly pulled shut inch by inch, Lord Montcliffe looked straight at her.
‘Why would you agree to this charade, Miss Cameron?’
She asked him another question quickly back. ‘Did you love your father, my lord?’
He looked perplexed as he answered, ‘No.’
That threw her momentarily, but she made herself continue on. ‘Well then, I think you must understand that I truly do love mine. Father, I mean.’ Her voice shook. She was making a hash of this. ‘Papa is ill and his one and only wish is to see me well protected and cared for. He is so ill that I fear—’ She stopped, the words too shocking to say.
‘Then why choose me in particular?’ The tone of his fury was recognisable.
‘You liked horses and you made it your business to save Papa from the attack in the alley when you could have so easily just gone on. I do not wish for a mean husband or an inconsiderate one, you understand. Also the army has made you strong. Another advantage, if you like.’
‘A trade-off, then? Like the timber your father imports?’
‘Exactly.’ This was turning out to be a lot easier than she had hoped.
‘Damn.’ He swore and reached forward to tip her face up to his own.
‘Are you truly as cold-blooded as that, Miss Cameron?’ His green eyes narrowed as if he was listening for an answer and Amethyst was simply caught in the unexpected warmth of them. Paralysed. The darker green rim was threaded with gold.
‘So there is no more to this agreement than the plain and blunt terms of commerce?’ He let her go as she twisted away, uncertain of the words that he was saying and even more uncertain of her own reaction to them.
‘If my father had not been ailing, I should not even be thinking of a betrothal, my lord, but he is fearful and fidgety and the doctor had made it clear that unless he relaxes and stops worrying...’ She swallowed, her bottom lip wobbling. ‘Your estate is falling into pieces about your feet and my father is dying. Our alliance should stave off the consequences of them both, yours for ever, and mine even for just a while. A business proposition, my lord, to suit us both.’
* * *
He turned away and walked to the window. No woman had ever spoken to him so plainly before. Usually the opposite sex fawned about him, the wiles of femininity well practised and honed and saying all that they thought he wished to hear.
Miss Amethyst Amelia Cameron seemed to possess none of these qualities and he was at a loss to know how to proceed.
‘So I could have been anyone?’
When she did not answer, he added, ‘Anyone with a dubious fiscal base and a strong military background?’
She looked over at him then with the directness that was so much part of her, a frown marring her forehead. ‘You needed to be unmarried, of course, and not too old.’ He was about to speak when she took a breath and carried on further. ‘I also sincerely hope that I have not taken you from the arms of someone you love, for if that is the case I should absolve you from all the agreements between us. As a measure of good faith we would throw in the greys as a means to buy your silence on such a sensitive matter.’
He swore again and she flinched. The worth of the greys would not begin to cover the debts of Montcliffe.
‘Why did you not choose a man you have some tendre for or one you had at least some notion of?’ While she was being so brutally frank he thought he might at least discover something of the woman he would be tied to.
Her hand went to brush away the hair from around her face in a feminine and uncertain gesture. Against the window and in the light of a harsh afternoon sun she looked almost beautiful, a strong loveliness that was not much lauded in society these days, but one which caught at him in an unexpected twist of want. Not a woman of the same ilk as his sisters and mother with their constant neediness and fragility.
‘There is no one else.’ She did not even attempt platitudes.
Daniel had no experience of speaking with a woman who would not be cowed by his title or by him personally and for one unlikely moment he thought he might tell her just that. With an effort he gathered himself together.
‘Truth be told, Miss Cameron, I am caught in this ruse as certainly as you are.’
‘Then perhaps it would be wise for us both to make the best of it. I would not hound you for much time or for sweet words, my lord, but what I would ask is that around my father you pretend a tendre, allowing him the contentment he deserves in what little is left of his life.’
‘Would your mother have approved of you being such a martyr?’
A flash of anger came into her eyes, lighting the brown to a clear and brittle velvet. He was surprised by such a quick change. Not quite the demure woman he had imagined, after all. ‘I think you forget, my lord, that I am as much a martyr to my family as you are to yours.’
‘Touché.’ Indeed she was right, the long line of Montcliffe ancestors all looking at him to save the Earldom for posterity. ‘And if your father dies sooner rather than later, are the conditions within our marriage null and void?’
Her face crumbled into sheer distress. ‘I sincerely pray that Papa should not succumb to his malady so readily, My lord. I should also impress upon you that putting aside a marriage so quickly would need to be most carefully handled.’
He almost laughed, thinking that she had no idea at all as to the whims of the ton in their dealings with the protection of large inheritances. Indeed, a hundred marriages that he knew of were conveniently forgotten about in the face of shapely courtesans and willing mistresses. Another thought also worried him. Perhaps in her circle of acquaintances such a truism was not as absolute.
He had never been a flagrant womaniser, but neither was he a man who would want to be bound for years in a union without love or respect.
When Robert Cameron came back into the room Daniel lost his chance to ask exactly what she thought to get from this alliance personally. Her father looked absurdly pleased with himself, a smile from one side of his face to the other.
‘I hope you have been able to find out a little about each other. My Amethyst was the cleverest of all the young ladies at her school, my lord, and won the first prize for academic endeavour for her year.’
‘I am certain he cannot be interested in such things, Papa, and—’
But Daniel did not allow her to finish. ‘Rest assured, Mr Cameron, I am.’
Her father frowned and helped himself to a drink. His bride-to-be stood perfectly still, a statue before the windows, her lustreless hair caught in the shafts of sunlight as she warned her father off saying more. Another darker thought suddenly occurred to him.
‘Have you had trouble with those who waylaid you before?’
Cameron looked at his daughter. God, Daniel thought, had Amethyst Cameron been hurt by the thugs, too?
‘The wheel of a carriage we were in sheared off just under a year ago because it had been cut almost right through,’ she answered, the fright in her eyes visible. ‘Our conveyance overturned a number of times and Papa and I were caught inside. We were out on business, you see, and those responsible knew we would be travelling on that road on that day.’ Daniel did not speak, but waited as she went on. ‘Papa was hurt a little and I was hurt a lot.’
‘Who are these people?’
‘Criminals who prey on those who might afford to pay them. Men who see an opportunity in the threatening of others and who with a great amount of force can intimidate without fear of redress.’ Robert gave him this answer.
‘So you refused their demands?’
‘You pay once and you never get free,’ Amethyst answered, her eyes daring him to criticise things that he knew nothing about. ‘People have been brought in to protect us since, and this was working well until...’ She faltered.
‘Until I found your father in the alley a few moments away from having the life being beaten out of him?’
Unexpectedly she smiled. ‘They were more afraid of you than any man Papa had employed before. It is one of the reasons we offered you the marriage agreement.’
‘I see.’ Did these people always have to be so wearingly honest in their truths? Daniel’s own jaded understanding of principle had long ago been leached from him and there was a sort of brave virtue in such directness. The ton would tear such rectitude to pieces, he thought, and wondered how life could mould people so differently.
‘Have those demanding money ever contacted you in the form of a letter?’
Robert took over the discourse now. ‘Once they did. More normally they just turn up unannounced at the warehouse door.’
‘Do you still have the correspondence?’
‘Yes.’
‘And yet you have not sought anyone to help you in this matter?’
‘Help me?’ Robert’s voice was puzzled.
‘Threaten them back. Make them realise they were playing a game they had no hope of ever winning.’
* * *
The Earl’s tone was weary, Amethyst thought. The utter nuisance of having to deal with people of the trade who had a raft of bullies chasing after them was more than he wanted to consider. Why, he probably thought such inconvenience was par for the course, just another way to show how base and shabby those below him in rank really were.
She wondered if he would simply turn tail and let himself out of this room full of problems, his beautifully cut tailcoat showing off fine shoulders and the breeches long and tapered legs.
A man of reduced means but of great presence, a man whom women would watch with hope in their hearts. Even she had watched him as he had ascended the stairs with her father outside of Tattersall’s and dreamed that she was a different girl with softer hair falling to her hips in luxurious waves as he admired her.
Such nonsense made her smile. She was her father’s daughter with trade flowing through her less-than-exalted blood line, the hunt of a good deal or an unexpected profit making her life...whole. Women like her did not marry for love and men like Lord Daniel Wylde invariably chose the beautiful butterflies who were the toast of a society Season.
It was only lack of money that stopped him doing exactly that and thinking otherwise would lead to disappointment. The marriage agreement held as much fear for her as it did for him, but she needed her father protected and she wanted to see him face the last months of his life with hope.
She had visited his doctor alone on her own accord after her father had told her of his ailment. The specialist had reiterated that there was little more the medical fraternity could do, but had been most insistent on the medicinal value of hope. Miracles had arisen from a happy demeanour or a looked-forward-to occasion that the sick one had no intentions of missing. Aye, he had said in tones that bridged no argument, there were miracles in the benefits of laughter that even the greatest brains of the time had not yet figured out. ‘Keep him happy, Miss Cameron, and he may live longer. That is the only sage advice I can give you at this point.’
Well, Amethyst decided, she would do everything in her power to advance this theory and her papa would have each second of his life tempered with good humour and possibilities. She swore to the heavens above that this would be so.
A few moments later after a general conversation with her father on the merits of a horse that had won a recent race at Newmarket, Lord Montcliffe reached for his hat and made for the door, giving only the briefest of goodbyes to her as he left. A man who was being forced into something he plainly did not want and yet, given his circumstances, could not refuse.
They were so much the same, Amethyst thought, as the door shut behind him and the hollow silence that was left only underlined the awful truth of her musing.
Chapter Four (#ub8a770ca-9628-5db0-b61b-d1566b4cd026)
Daniel sat in his library that evening before a fire that was both warm and comforting. Looking up, he frowned at the portrait of his brother lording it over the room. He would have a servant take the painting down on the morrow and he would find a landscape of Spain he knew to be somewhere in the confines of this town house. Nigel’s foolishness had brought the Earldom to this pass and he wanted no more of a reminder of his brother’s handsome visage smiling down upon his own dire straits.
The cool of early evening moved in about him despite the fire flame in the hearth, his leg still aching with the slightest of movements. Outside a dog called, the plaintive howl answered as he listened and silently counted the hours until the dawn. How often had he sat like this since his return from Europe? Even as he massaged the tight knots in his thigh, others formed in their place, iron-hard against the skin that covered muscle. His leg was getting worse. He knew it was. Would there come a day when he could not bear weight upon it at all? He swore beneath his breath and resolved not to think about it.
A knock at his door had him returning his leg to the floor and when his man came in with a card showing that Miss Amethyst Cameron was waiting to see him, his eyes glanced at the clock. Half past eight. My God. No time at all for a young and single woman of any station in life to be calling upon a gentleman without the repercussion of ruin. Following his servant to the lobby he found his bride-to-be standing there, no lady’s maid at her side and no papa to keep everything above board and proper, either. Glancing around, he was relieved to see a Cameron footman waiting in the shadow of the porch, ready to shepherd her back through the evening.
‘I am very sorry to come at such a late hour, but I need to speak with you, my lord.’
Worry marred her brow and she seemed relieved as he gestured her through to the blue salon, the scent of lemon and flowers following her in. Her dull brown hair this evening was pulled back and fastened with a glittery pin. It was the first piece of jewellery he had ever seen her wear.
‘Carole, one of the little girls at Gaskell Street, made the fastener for me and presented it to me this evening,’ she explained when she realised what had caught his attention. ‘A beaker was broken at the school last week and she fashioned the shards of china into a clip.’ Her smile broadened and it had the effect of making her eyes look bigger in her face than they usually were. And much more gold. Perfectly arched dark eyebrows sat above them.
‘I have just come from the school concert, my lord.’ Even as she said it she removed the clip from her hair and deposited it in a large cloth bag she carried.
‘You work there?’
‘No, I am a patron, my lord, a small recompense for all that they did for me as a child. We are building a new dormitory that will be ready in a matter of only a few weeks and there is much yet to finish and so—’ She stopped abruptly and blushed. ‘But you cannot possibly be interested in any of this. Papa said I should only speak of happy things, light topics and suchlike. Orphans and all of their accompanying poverty, I suppose, do not come into that category.’
He had to smile. ‘I hope I am not quite so shallow, Miss Cameron. The work sounds useful and interesting.’
‘Then you would not stop me being involved? You would allow me the independence that I need after this marriage?’
When he nodded Daniel had the sudden impression that he might have been agreeing to far more than he knew he was, but she soon went on to another topic altogether.
‘Papa’s insistence on a harmonious union should not be too onerous either, my lord. Nowhere in the marriage document is there any mention of how many days a year we would need to reside together. It need not be a trap.’
‘Are you always this forthright, Miss Cameron?’
‘Yes.’ No qualification. She looked at him as if he had just given her the biggest compliment in the world.
‘Clinical.’
‘Pragmatic,’ she returned and blushed to almost the same shade as a scarlet rug thrown across a nearby sofa.
Such vulnerability lurking amongst brave endeavour was strangely endearing and although he meant not to Daniel caught at her hand. He wanted to protect her from a world that would not quite know what to make of her; his world, where the cut of a cloth was as important as the name of the family and the consideration of others less fortunate in means was best left to the worry of others or to nobody at all.
As he had already noted, she smelt of lemon and flowers, none of the heady heavy aromas the ladies in court seemed to be drawn towards and desire ignited within him, as unexpected as it was unwanted. Abruptly he let her go.
‘You must know that it is not done for a lady to visit a gentleman alone, Miss Cameron, under any circumstances.’
‘Oh, I am not a lady, my lord.’
‘You soon will be.’
Again she shook her head. ‘I do not wish to change, Lord Montcliffe. There is just simply too much for me to do. This is why I have come to make certain that you know...’ She stopped, and he got the impression she was trying to work out exactly how she might give him her truths.
‘Know what?’
‘I will marry you, my lord, and my father will in turn nullify the debts of your family. But in exchange I wish for two things.’
She waited as he nodded.
‘I want you to make certain no one will ever bother my father again and I want you to promise that when Papa leaves this world...’ her voice caught ‘...you will let me go.’
‘Let you go?’
‘I will not contest the monies at all, though I will expect a substantial settlement and Dunstan House, of course, and its accompanying lands.’
‘My God. You are serious?’
She nodded her head. ‘I am a business woman, my lord, and astute enough to know that this marriage is only one of convenience. You would never have chosen me without the enticement of great wealth and I accept that, but I do want civility and fairness.’
Each word she said was more astonishing than the last. He had had all manner of women throwing themselves at him for years and here was one telling him to his face that a marriage between them was purely a matter of business, and finite at that.
‘What of your needs in this union, Miss Cameron?’
‘I don’t have any as such, Lord Montcliffe. I simply want my father to be content in the last months of his life. That is all.’
Daniel was not one to turn away from such a gauntlet.
‘And emotion? Where does that fit into this conundrum?’
She shook her head vigorously, the brown tresses marked with no sheen from the lamplight. She had stepped back too, her strange large bag positioned between them like a barrier.
‘I do realise that as a titled gentleman you would require the production of heirs and as such this agreement will give you the time to find a woman you would want as the chosen mother of your children. You are not so old, after all, and gentlemen of the ton have a marked propensity to choose much younger wives from what I have observed.’
Without meaning to he smiled, such direct honesty so very unfamiliar.
His glance went to her lips, full and defined, and he felt a surge of desire. God, it had been years since his libido had been so fickle and months since he had last bedded a woman.
The world seemed to stand still between them, any logic sucked into pure and utter confusion. Any other female of his acquaintance would have simpered and flushed in such a situation, but she stood there watching him, her glance strong and unwavering.
‘I also hope you are of the same opinion concerning this marriage as I am and share the belief that it would require no...no...’ She stopped, searching around for what to say and failing.
‘Intimacy?’ He gave the word in humour, but she paled visibly, reminding him in that moment of a skittish colt, wanting to be reassured on the one hand and ready to bolt on the other.
‘I realise, my lord, that there must be a great many young women in the ton who would jump at the chance of being an earl’s wife in general and your wife in particular. Even with the imminent financial collapse of the Montcliffe estate I feel certain you would still be a good catch. With the Cameron fortune behind you there would be a far better chance of acquiring exactly the sort of woman you would wish for. I could simply disappear and never be seen again, a former spouse who should not be a problem if I was to be thought of as dead. I would be quite happy with such an outcome if Papa was no longer with me. Indeed, I could go to the Continent and settle under a different name.’
‘You are seriously expounding bigamy?’
He began to laugh then, because what she said was becoming more and more outlandish and because he could barely believe that she was saying it.
‘Perhaps I am, my lord, though in the very best sense of the word, of course, and mutually agreed. I would also like to add that I wouldn’t have acquiesced to a union between us if I had not liked your character. I realised, quite early on, that it was most unlikely you would have ever been attracted to me in the slightest, had we met under other circumstances, and there was a good deal of safety in that.’
A challenge thrown down between them, Daniel thought to himself, and given with such an engaging and disarming frankness.
‘Such safety, Miss Cameron, is not the best building block for any marriage and I shall show you exactly why.’ Without asking for permission, he dispensed with the bag and brought her into his arms.
* * *
She should have been horrified. She should have fought off his grip and demanded release as his hands brought her in and his lips came down on hers. But her head would not obey her heart as warmth seared into disbelief and the world narrowed to a feeling that began in a place low in her stomach, before exploding everywhere.
His kiss was not gentle or tentative or kind. It was raw and masculine with an edge of anger demanding response. It was deep and unexpected, his tongue finding hers as the angle of the kiss changed, slanting on to another plane, splayed palms guiding her in, the sound of breath, the dissolution of the world around them, the focus of heat and want and need.
Another language that she had had no notion of. The clock in the corner with its heavy beat seemed to stop as she tasted him in return, his strength, his toughness, the sheer and potent force of a man who understood the power he wielded. There was no question of resisting. When her nails traced a runnel in his skin to bring him closer, his lips slid down the sensitive line of her neck. They would mark each other with this moment, she thought, as she tipped her head, the column of her throat exposed to the hard pull of his mouth.
But as his hand wandered to trace the line of her bottom under her billowing skirt she jerked back, the hue on her cheeks rising. This was unlike anything she had imagined. The danger of her response made her feel dizzy.
She needed to be gone, away from this room, away from the things that she knew must be reflected in her eyes and on her face and in the hard twin buds of desire that pushed against the material in her bodice.
She was pleased both for the coat and for the fact that he had turned to face the window so that she did not need to see his expression. Not yet. With shaking hands she opened the door.
‘I am glad we had this...t-talk, my lord, but now I must go.’
Then she was outside, her footman following closely behind down the steps of the Montcliffe town house. As they gained the road the servant gestured to the Cameron conveyance a good hundred yards away to collect them. She had asked the driver to park there, away from the prying eyes of others.
She prayed Daniel Wylde would not follow to demand an answer to all that had transpired between them. Her father was dying and she would do anything at all in her power to make him happy, even marry a man who, she knew in that very second, could only break her heart. Wiping away a tear, she swallowed and took a deep breath, the strength she had always kept a hold on returning.
At least he understood now the parameters of this relationship. Or did he?
* * *
‘Hell.’ Daniel adjusted the fit of his trousers over a growing hardness. She had dumbfounded him with her reaction to his kiss, no tepid chaste reply, but a full-blown taking of everything he had offered, the promise of lust in the way her teeth had come down on his bottom lip, egging on all that he had held restrained.
Like a siren. Like a courtesan. Like a woman of far more experience than she was admitting to.
His plain little intended mouse-to-be was baring her claws and turning into a lioness and all before they had even got up the matrimonial aisle. Nothing made sense any more because the only thing he was thinking about was following her and demanding the completion of an intimacy that had left him reeling.
He was glad that her scent lingered in the room, glad to keep the promise of Amethyst Cameron for a little while longer. The cloth bag she had brought in was still beside the sofa, abandoned in her moment of panic, some item of clothing spilling out on to his thick burgundy Aubusson carpet.
As he hauled the thing upwards, one handle broke and the contents tumbled out. An apron and a tattered Bible were the first things that had fallen at his feet, Amethyst’s name printed in the frontispiece of the book and underlined in different colours. He smiled, imagining her doing such a thing. Beneath that was a ragdoll with a torn dress and another toy whose identity he could not determine—a cat perhaps, its paws missing. Incredibly, a diamond ring also sat there amongst the folds of cloth, the carat weight sizeable, and the cut, colour and clarity unmatched. Valuable and forgotten, strands of cotton and dust caught in the clasps of gold.
Any other woman of his acquaintance would have worn the thing on her finger, showing it off, enjoying the admiration of others, but not Amethyst Cameron. No, to her the dismembered cat probably had more of a value and the Bible a better use.
Stuffing the lot back in the bag, he called to his footman.
‘Have this delivered to the Camerons’ home in Grosvenor Square immediately.’ Daniel did not wish to take the thing himself, an unaccustomed fragility setting his countenance on edge after the last few minutes with his bride-to-be.
He tried not to notice the curiosity in his man’s eyes as he handed the bag over.
* * *
Her father was still up when she got home and Amethyst’s heart sank. Of all the nights he had delayed retiring to his bedchamber, why did it have to be this one?
‘Papa.’ She tried to keep her voice steady, but knew that she had not succeeded as he stood.
‘What has happened? You look...different.’
She almost smiled at that. Different. Such a word came nowhere near the heart of all that she felt.
‘I went to see Lord Montcliffe.’
‘And?’
‘I am not certain if he was the right choice after all. I think he might want a lot from me, more than I should be willing to give.’
Her father laughed. ‘Your mother said that of me.’
‘He kissed me.’
The stillness in his eyes was foreign. ‘Did you like it?’
Her heart thudded as she nodded.
‘Then he was the right choice, Amy, for although society is disparaging in allowing any intimate contact between intending couples I think that it should be mandatory. As long as it is a consenting thing. He did not force you?’
‘No.’
‘If your mother was here, she would tell you of the power of feelings between a man and a woman and she would say it better than I. Whitely knew nothing about you, my dear. He did not appreciate the layers in a woman or the complexities.’
Anger rose where only guilt had lingered. Until this moment Amethyst had always thought their broken marriage was her fault, but after Daniel Wylde’s kiss she wondered. Gerald had kissed her a few times in the very early days of their courtship, but his pecks were tepid reflections of all she had felt in the heated atmosphere of Lord Montcliffe’s library. The breath constricted in her throat and she swallowed back worry. If she could react this way to one of the Earl’s kisses, what might happen if things went further? The teachers at Gaskell Street had always drilled her upon the proper and correct reactions a lady might show to the world and she was certain that her response tonight would have been well outside any appropriate boundary.
Decorum and seemliness were the building stones of the aristocracy. The gentler sex was supposed to be exactly that, after all—women devoid of all the more natural vices men were renowned for. She wished her mother was here to give some advice and direction. Her father, however, seemed, more than ready to supply some.
‘Whitely was a conniving liar, that was the problem. He was no more than an acquaintance when you married him and nothing more when he died. I tried to warn you, but you would not listen. If your mother had still been alive, I am certain things would have been different, but it is hard to advise anyone against something they have their very heart set upon.’
His words dug into Amethyst’s centre. Her fault. Her mistake. Her deficiency to tumble into a relationship that had been patently wrong from the very start.
With Gerald there had been no true underpinning attraction. With Daniel it was the opposite. She did not know him at all and yet... She shook away the justification. Lust was shaky ground to build a relationship upon and she could not afford another disaster.
Her father’s coughing started in a little way at first, a clearing of a throat, a slight impediment. But then his eyes rolled back and he simply dropped, folding in on himself, a slight man with his jacket askew and his spectacles crushed underfoot.
She shouted out as the doorbell rang and the Cameron butler and a stranger rushed into the room, the bag she had left at the Montcliffe town house abandoned at their feet as they both lifted her father to the chaise longue. Wilson untied his cravat and loosened his collar, arranging Robert on his side so that his breathing was eased.
Amethyst could not move. She was frozen in fear as the numbness spreading across her chest emptied her of rational thought. Was it his heart? Was this the final moment of which the specialist had spoken?
‘Get a doctor.’ Their butler seemed to have taken charge and the man she did not know nodded and left the room. A Montcliffe servant, she supposed, returning her bag. Nothing made sense any more. The housekeeper scurried in with a hot towel and a bowl, the maid kneeling with new wood to stoke up the heat of the fire, Wilson trying to awaken her father from the stupor he had fallen into. The moments turned into a good half an hour.
* * *
And then Lord Montcliffe was there, his voice calm with authority as he took in the situation, a doctor at his side.
Amethyst’s jaw ached from where she held it tightly together, but when he took her arm and led her across to her father, she went.
‘Hold his hand and sit beside him. Talk to him so that he knows you are there.’
When Robert’s wilted fingers came into her grasp she held on. Cold. Familiar. The scar upon his little finger where he had fallen through glass, a nail pulled out by heavy timber. A working man’s hand and the hand of a father who had loved her well. She brought the back of it to her lips, paper-thin skin marred by brown spots, age drawn into years of outside work. Kissing him, she willed him back, willed him to open his eyes and see her. The doctor frowned as he felt for a pulse.
‘Is there other family we can call?’
She shook her head.
Just her and just Papa. The horror of loss ran through her like sharpened swords and her teeth had begun to chatter, shock searing into trauma. For a moment the next breath just would not come.
* * *
Daniel kneeled down before her, hoping the panic he could see in her eyes might allow her more of an ease of breath. ‘Anything that can be done for your father will be, Miss Cameron. MacKenzie, my physician, is the best doctor there is in London. Do you understand?’
Her eyes focused upon him, a tiny flare of hope scrambling over alarm.
‘Already with the blankets and the fire he is becoming warmer and the blueness is leaving his lips.’
This time she nodded her head, one slow tear leaking from her left eye and tracing its way down her cheek.
Both of the Camerons looked as pale as the other and as thin. He had not noticed her thinness until this moment, when devoid of her coat in the bright light he could see her arms and her collarbones and the meagreness of her waist.
She did not court fashion, that much was certain. Her boots were sturdy leather and well worn, as though they had covered many a mile, and still had some life left in them. But sitting there in the grip of tragedy, there was a fineness about Amethyst Cameron that was mesmerising. All he wanted to do was to hold her away from the hurt and make things better. To protect her against a world that was often cruel, complex and dishonest. To shield her from pain, duplicity and scorn.
When the doctor gestured him over he stood.
‘Mr Cameron will need to be watched, my lord, but I think we have passed the worst of it. All his vital signs are settling and I should well imagine that he will recover from this turn.’
Daniel knew Amethyst had heard the given words even though she was a good distance away. He also knew that if he stayed in the house without a chaperone for any longer then tongues would begin to wag. It was late after all.
‘I will leave the doctor with you then, Miss Cameron, and hope your father has a good night.’ He met her eyes only briefly and her countenance was one of worry, no glimpse at all alluding to the kiss they had shared less than an hour earlier. He was pleased for it.
‘I appreciate your help, Lord Montcliffe.’
So formal and distant, he thought, as she escorted him to the front lobby, one of the servants finding his coat and hat. Her hair looked odd too, the front of it hitched askew in a strange fashion. Nothing about this woman seemed to make sense to him and he was relieved to slip through the door and into the coolness of the night air.
* * *
Leaning against the portal and closing her eyes for just a moment Amethyst listened to the Montcliffe carriage pull away. ‘One second, two seconds, three seconds,’ she counted, holding the world back from all that was crashing in upon her. Her mama had taught her this years before, a small space of time in which to collect one’s thoughts or feelings. The feeling of Daniel Wylde’s kiss snaked into her consciousness even as she tried to shut it out.
When at length she gathered herself, Amethyst caught her reflection in a mirror opposite and horror and laughter mingled on her face in equal measure.
Her wig had been snagged at some point and was sitting at an angle on her head, the right side dragging the left down and giving her an appearance of someone out of sorts with the world.
With care she readjusted the hairpiece. Had this just happened or had Lord Montcliffe seen it as well? The whole evening had been tumultuous; her father’s strange malady counterbalanced against the Earl of Montcliffe’s unexpected kiss.
Wiping her forefinger along the lines of her lips, she then held it still, the impression of flesh sending small shards of want into a sense that had long been dormant.
She was known for her composure and her unruffled calm. She seldom let things bother her and always managed people with acumen and honesty.
Unflappable Amethyst. Until Lord Daniel Wylde.
He made her think of possibilities that would not come to pass. She was ruined goods and she was plain. Without the Montcliffe financial problems and the collection by her father of the extensive Goldsmith debts, he would never have given her a second glance.
She could not allow herself to be one of those pathetic women who didn’t see the truth of their loveless marriages and held on for year after year for something that was impossible.
Two years was what she could give him. Two years in which her father would not be sad or worried or unhappy. If he even lived that long, which was doubtful.
The Earl of Montcliffe would not love her and she would not let herself love him. But together they could manage. The kiss had thrown her, that was all, an unexpected chink in the armour she had long pulled about her.
Liar. Liar. Liar. The words ran together as a refrain as she hurried back to her father.
* * *
Lucien Howard, Earl of Ross, sat beside Daniel in the card room of White’s an hour later. Smoke swirled around in curls and the smell of strong liquor filled any space left as some patrons won a little and others lost a lot.
‘I hear you bought those remarkable Arabian greys at Tattersall’s?’ There was a good measure of curiosity in his friend’s query.
‘You know enough about my present circumstances, Luce, to know I could never afford them.’
‘Then why are they in your care?’
‘Have you heard of the trader, Mr Robert Cameron?’
‘No. Who is he?’
‘A man who sells timber to the world.’
‘Lucrative, then?’
‘Very. He wants me to marry his daughter.’
Brandy slopped against the side of the glass as Lucien lurched forward. ‘You agreed?’
‘The matching pair of greys came as a sweetener. Montcliffe Manor is bankrupt and it will only be a matter of months before the rest of the world knows the fact.’ He raised his glass and then swallowed a good part of the contents of the bottle he had ordered. ‘If I do nothing, it will all be gone.’
Lucien was quiet for a moment, but then he smiled. ‘What does the daughter look like?’
‘Passable.’
‘Your bastard of a father must be laughing in the afterlife then. At least he was a man of his word. I remember him insisting that you wouldn’t inherit a farthing of his fortune and he meant it.’
‘The curse of the Wyldes?’ Daniel’s thoughts fell into words.
‘How long do you have left, do you think, if you sat it out and did nothing?’
‘It will only be a matter of weeks before the first creditors arrive.’ Leaning back against soft leather, he ran his hands through his hair. ‘I have had word that they are already circling.’
‘I’d lend you money if I had any, but my situation is about as dire as your own.’
‘Your grandfather wants to disinherit your side of the family again? I heard about it from Francis before he left for Bath.’
‘Where he has gone to try to sort out his own financial woes, no doubt. Seems he has a cousin a few times removed there causing him some trouble.’
Daniel smiled. ‘The three of us have our problems then, though mine could be solved before the month is up.’
‘You will go through with it? This betrothal?’
‘Marriage or bankruptcy? I have little choice.’
‘It wasn’t supposed to be like this. We were all going to travel to the Far East and make our fortunes, remember? God, that sort of innocence seems so long ago.’
‘The naivety of youth.’
‘Or the hope of it. Marriage is a big step, Daniel. Is this bride-to-be at least intelligent?’
‘Undeniably.’
‘Does she simper?’
‘No.’
‘An heiress who has brains and is not prone to whining? Perhaps you have made more of a match than you imagine. What colour is her hair?’
‘A dull mouse.’
Lucien began to laugh. ‘And her eyes?’
‘Brown.’
‘Is she fat?’
‘Thin.’
‘Short?’
‘No.’
‘Mama was always certain you would marry the moody but beautiful Charlotte Hughes. She is back, you know, from Scotland and without the husband.’
‘Spenser Mackay died by all accounts.’
‘But in doing so he left her a fortune which she probably needs about as much as you do. The ton likes to think you were heartbroken when she left, Daniel.’
‘A good tale is often more interesting than a truthful one.’
‘Have you told the Countess about your upcoming nuptials?’
‘I haven’t.’
‘But you will?’
‘No. The wedding is in a few weeks’ time. Mother would need at least a month to get ready for it and even that might not be enough. Would you be the best man, Luce?’
‘I would be honoured to.’
‘Francis will be the usher, I hope. I sent a message to Bath yesterday telling him of the plans. The announcement will be in The Times next week.’
‘A few more hours of peace, then. When can I meet your intended?’
‘I’m calling on her on Monday. Perhaps you might accompany me?’
A furore at the other end of the room caught their attention and Lord Gabriel Hughes, the fourth Earl of Wesley, strode in, a tall stranger hanging on his shoulder and pushed off with a nonchalance that was surprising.
‘London is not as it was, my lords. Nordmeyer insists that I insulted his sister and wants to call me out for it.’
‘And did you insult her?’
‘She sent me a note arranging a meeting and he found it. I hardly think that was my fault.’
‘But you would have met her if the letter had arrived?’
‘Undoubtedly.’
Laughter was as good a medicine as any, Daniel thought as Gabe ordered a drink. A few years ago he and Gabriel Hughes had been good friends, but he hadn’t seen much of him lately. Charlotte’s influence, perhaps. The women in the family had always been surprisingly persuasive.
‘I hear you were the one who bought the pair of greys showing at Tattersall’s a few weeks back, Montcliffe. Richard Tattersall had designs to procure them himself, but it seems you beat him to it with an irrefusable offer.’
Daniel wondered where this story had originated. Robert Cameron, perhaps, for the man was as wily as he was rich.
‘The Montcliffe coffers must be in good shape, then, for they would have not come cheap,’ Gabriel remarked. An undercurrent of question lay in the words. ‘And speaking of good shape, my sister is home again and had hoped that you might call upon her?’
‘I saw her today. In Regent Street.’
‘How did she appear to you?’ The heavy frown on Gabriel’s forehead was worrying.
‘In good health. Your mother was with her.’
‘She seldom allows Charlotte out of her sight. I think she is worried that grief might get the better of her.’
‘Grief for the death of her husband?’
The short bark of laughter was disconcerting. ‘She realised that Spenser Mackay was a mistake before she had even come within a cooee of the Borderlands.’
‘Another man, then?’ Lucien joined in the conversation now.
But as if realising he had said too much, Gabriel Hughes gestured to the waiter and ordered another drink.
‘I propose a toast to our bachelorhood, gentlemen, and long may it last.’ As Lucien lifted his glass Daniel caught his eyes and the deep humour obvious in the blue depths was disconcerting.
Chapter Five (#ub8a770ca-9628-5db0-b61b-d1566b4cd026)
Daniel Wylde and she were in bed at Dunstan House, candlelight covering their bodies and her hair to the waist.
‘Love me for ever, my beautiful Amethyst,’ he said as he brought his lips down upon her own, hard and slanted, desire moulding her body into his, asking for all that she knew he would give her. His fingers framed her face, tilting her into the caress, building the connection. ‘Love me as I love you, my darling, never let us be apart.’
And then she was awake in her own chamber at Grosvenor Square, the moon high outside. Alone. The dream of Lord Montcliffe dissolved into a formless want and the need that she had no hope in wishing for dissipated. He would not love her like that, he could not.
Pushing back the covers, she stood and lit a candle before crossing to the bookshelves on one side of the room.
Here behind a row of burgundy leather tomes she found what she had hidden. Her diary. A narrative of Gerald Whitely and their time together, every emotion she had felt for him penned in black and white. And in red, too, her blood smeared across one page mixed in troth with his. A small cut below the nail of her thumb. Sometimes she felt it with the pad of her opposing finger. He had laughed at the time and told her she was being melodramatic. Then he had stopped laughing altogether. The small book fell open at one of the pages.

I hate him. I hate everything about him. I hate his drunkenness and his anger. I hate it that I was stupid enough to become his wife. I think Papa suspects that there is something wrong between us and I hate that, too.

As she riffled through to the end of the book, there seemed to be a myriad of variations on that theme and she remembered again exactly what hopelessness felt like.
After his death she had not trusted anyone except for her father. After Gerald the world of possibility and expectation had shrunk into a formless mist, her big mistake relegated to that part of her mind which refused to be hurt again, but even thirteen months later the horror had left an indelible mark.
The business of making money had been healing, saving her from the ignominy of venturing back into the pursuit of another mate. Oh, she had gone to Gerald’s funeral and attended his grave, placing flowers and small offerings because it was expected. She had also worn her mourning garb for the obligatory year because she could have not borne the questions that might have occurred otherwise. Even in death she had not betrayed him.
A single tear dropped upon the sheet below, blurring the careful writing.
A blemished bride. Then and now. Granted, she came to this next union with a dowry that was substantial and with the means to save a family on the brink of devastation. It must count for something.
But the kiss Daniel Wylde and she had shared was worrying because in it were the seeds of her own destruction.
Not like Gerald Whitely. Not like him at all.
The voyeur inside her who had been watching others for years was threatened, the safe distance she had fostered shattered by a hope she had never known, for when Lord Montcliffe had taken her hand and then her lips something in her had risen and his gold-green eyes had known it had.
Looking back, she could not understand just what had led her into the mistake of marrying Whitely in the first place. Loneliness, perhaps, or the fact that the years were rushing by. Certainly it had not been a blinding love or even a distilled version of affection. No, she had married Gerald because no one else had ever given her a second look and she was starting to feel as if spinsterhood was just around a very close corner.
Her father’s respect for his business acumen might have also made a difference. Amythest wanted to marry a man whom Robert would regard with fondness and Gerald had arrived at the warehouse with glowing references and a comforting confidence. A man who at first brought her flowers and pretty handkerchiefs and professed that he had never in his whole life seen anyone as beautiful as she was.
When the nasty side of him had surfaced a month or so before their marriage she should have cut her losses and run. Her father would have understood and there was no one else whose opinion she cared much about. Yet still she had persisted in believing that she could calm Gerald’s anger and gently soothe all the problems he seemed to have with others.
Marriage had changed that. The admonishments had been verbal at first, just small criticisms of her dress and her hair. Then he had used his fists.
Fear had held her rigid and distant, the shame and the anger at her stupidity buried under a carefully constructed outer mask. She could not believe that she had been so gullible and foolish as to imagine a wonderful life with a man she had barely known. When he had died sixteen months later Amethyst had not seen him for a good handful of weeks before that and her heartfelt relief added to the guilt of everything.
* * *
Four mornings after the kiss she had shared with Lord Montcliffe she felt full of anxiety. Her intended was waiting downstairs in the Blue Salon and he had brought a friend with him. To see what trap the Earl had tumbled into, she supposed, the sour taste of trade balanced by a wife who was at least wealthy enough to save Montcliffe.
After nights of poor sleep and lurid dreams Amethyst felt exposed; pinned to a board like a butterfly in some scientific laboratory, wings outstretched and colours fading into dust. No possible defences. No protection against the disdain he surely must be feeling.
At least the wig felt like armour and the dark purple bombazine in her gown was sturdy enough to withstand any amount of derision. As she opened the door of the salon they had been directed to, the smile on her face was tight.
‘My lord.’ She did not allow Daniel Wylde to take her fingers or to touch her as she inclined her head.
‘Miss Cameron.’ There was a slight hesitation in his greeting. ‘I hope your father has had a few comfortable nights and is feeling better after his fall.’
‘He is, my lord, thank you, though he is under strict instructions to stay in bed for a few more days yet. Your doctor was most insistent about that. Perhaps I should have informed you,’ she added as an afterthought, suddenly uncertain of the rules around being unchaperoned even in her own house.
‘We will not stay long. May I introduce my good friend to you? Lucien Howard, Earl of Ross, this is Miss Amethyst Amelia Cameron, my intended.’
The man who stood by the mantelpiece watched her carefully. With hair as pale as Daniel Wylde’s was dark, he held the same sort of stillness and menace. She also thought she saw a hitch of puzzlement in his eyes.
‘Montcliffe has told me all about you, Miss Cameron.’
‘I should not think there would be much to say, my lord.’
Unexpectedly Lord Ross laughed. ‘Actually, I am more surprised by all he didn’t.’
Glancing over at Daniel, Amethyst wondered how much honesty he would allow. She decided to test him.
‘It is a truism that great wealth holds a loud persuasion. As a good friend of Montcliffe’s you must realise this.’
The stance of relaxed grace did not change a whit, but Lord Montcliffe had moved closer and Amethyst felt that same sharp jolt of shock with an ache. She did not look her best today, she knew it. The wig itched unremittingly and the red around her eyes from poor sleep did her no favours whatsoever. She had tried to assuage the damage with some powder she had asked her maid to fetch from the pharmacist yesterday, but the application was difficult and she wondered if instead of hiding the problem she had accentuated it. She wished now that she had simply wiped the powder off before entering the room.
‘Miss Cameron runs the books for the Cameron timber company, Luce. According to her father she is irreplaceable in her knowledge of the trade.’
Was the Earl criticising her? His words did not seem slanted with distaste so mayhap this was another example of her not comprehending the ways of the ton. His friend’s face was carefully schooled to show as little emotion as Montcliffe’s did, allowing her no way of understanding the truth.
‘I have heard it said that you have a knowledge of horseflesh too, Miss Cameron? Your father’s pair of greys were the talk of the town a few weeks back and, when I went in to look them over, Tattersall mentioned your name on the ownership deeds.’
‘Papa and I generally consult on new purchases, my lord. That particular pair was procured on a trip we made to Spain together three years ago.’ She stopped, thinking perhaps she sounded boastful.
‘I see. Montcliffe raised horses when we were younger too. Before the war took us into Spain and they were lost to him.’
‘You were in the army, as well?’
‘It is the curse of an estate of great title, but little in the way to support it, Miss Cameron. ’Twas either that or the church and the stipend in religion is miserable.’
As he said the words Lucien Howard turned and the light from the window directly behind him fell across a large swathe of scarring at his neck. Averting her eyes, Amethyst hoped he had not seen just where her interest lay, though when she glanced over at Daniel she knew a momentary consternation. The easy-going lord of the realm seemed replaced by another, hard distance coating his every feature, memory overlaid by anger.
War wounds. She had seen the soldiers from the Peninsular Campaign as they had stumbled up the quayside of all the ports between Falmouth and Dover the previous year in the final days of January. She had been in the south with her father, checking on a new timber delivery, and the filthy, ill and skeletal men had been a shocking sight. Thirty-five thousand men had crossed the Spanish frontier to march against Napoleon and eight thousand had not returned. Lord Montcliffe and his friend Lord Ross had no doubt been amongst those on the crowded transports in the Bay of Biscay storms. She could barely imagine what nightmares such a journey would have brought.
Daniel was a stranger to her, all the pieces of his past unknown and the sum of his whole unchartered. The cold thought clawed into consciousness but she shook such a musing away, colouring as she realised her guests were looking at her as though expecting an answer to a question.
‘I am sorry, I did not hear what you asked.’
‘Lucien wished to know if you would allow his younger sister to help you get ready on your wedding day.’
‘Oh.’ Amethyst did not quite know how to answer this. She had always been surrounded by men in the business of trading timber and had seldom had the time to foster any relationship with women.
The Earl of Ross took up the conversation now. ‘Christine lost her betrothed in the march up to La Corunna and she is a little depressed. Helping in the preparation for a wedding might be just the distraction she needs.’
‘I should imagine your sister would find me most dull.’
‘She loves hairstyles and dresses and decorating homes.’
Amethyst’s heart sank.
‘And she can make an occasion of anything.’
Hard to make an occasion with the two participants pressed into a union neither wished for. Placing a false smile on her lips, Amethyst nodded.
‘Then I would be most thankful for her help.’
Montcliffe appeared as though he was about to laugh, but the arrival of the maid with an assortment of small cakes and lemonade put paid to that expression. Pouring three generous glasses, she handed one to each of them and invited them to sit down.
‘The speciality of the house is this lemon syrup. I hope you will enjoy it.’ The lemonade was cold and sour, exactly the way she and her father liked it, yet both men looked to be struggling with the taste. Even yesterday she might have been mortified to think that the beverage was not quite right, but today for some reason the fact made her smile.
The control she seldom lost hold of had seemed to slip of late and the small victory was welcomed. She knew, of course, that they would be far more at home with some alcoholic drink, but it was only just midday and the hour seemed too early to be serving something as strong without Papa present.
When Lord Montcliffe stood she was certain that he would be taking his leave, but he walked across to the window instead to observe a view of the park opposite.
‘This house is well situated. Do you take exercise there?’
‘Sometimes I do, my lord. More normally though I ride my horse in Hyde Park in the late afternoon.’
‘Will you be there tomorrow?’
He had not turned, but she felt a palpable tension as he waited for her answer.
‘I shall. I take a turn or two around Rotten Row most days.’
‘Good.’
At that Lucien Howard also stood and both men gave their leave and were gone within a moment. When the door shut behind them Amethyst remained very still. Had Daniel arranged a meeting between them for tomorrow or not? The two almost-full glasses of lemonade stood on the table and she picked up the one Daniel had used and sipped from it. Ridiculous, she knew, but he made her feel that way: girlish, breathless, terrified.
Her father’s bell was ringing. Papa was waiting for an account of the meeting, she supposed, but still she did not move. Would Daniel ride alone tomorrow? Her maid always accompanied her to the park, but stayed on a seat near the gateway. Would this allow them some privacy? Did she want it?
Gerald had been disappointed in her so very quickly. She had held his attention only briefly before he had ventured forth to find other avenues of satisfaction. He had found her gauche and stiff. He had told her that the night he had left for the last time, a wife who was nothing like he had imagined she would be, but she could not dwell on it. ‘I deserve to be happy, and so does Papa,’ she muttered to herself and caught sight of a small bird on a branch outside.
‘If I close my eyes and count to ten and it is still there, then all shall be fine.’
When she opened them the sight of an empty branch greeted her, the buds of new leaves shivering with the motion of its parting.
Signs. She looked for them everywhere now, good and bad, but the hectic tinkle of her father’s bell had her moving from the room and up the wide oaken staircase.
* * *
She absolutely had to tell him. Today. Now. This minute. The early evening light sending redness into his raven hair and the green of the oaks all about them.
I have been married before. My husband died in a brothel because he could no longer abide the pretence of me in his marriage bed. It was not a successful union and by the end of it we hated each other.
That was what she should have said. Out loud. With conviction. Let Daniel run before the knots tied them irrevocably together and the blame game began. But she stayed silent as she watched him rein in his steed and move beside her. The time to confess everything about her tawdry past was not quite right and she wanted just for this moment to enjoy his company. Next time. She would definitely tell him of her unfortunate mistake next time they met.
‘I did not think you were coming,’ he remarked.
‘Papa passed a fidgety night and I have spent the day reading to him as it makes him relax. I was not certain you would wait.’
‘Then we both have much to learn about the other, Miss Cameron, for I have the patience of a saint.’
He didn’t look like anything celestial with his wild black hair caught in an untidy queue and his snowy cravat highlighting the darkness of his skin. Nay, today atop the power of his steed he looked like a soldier who might rule the world and use it in whatever way he wished.
The wickedness of his smile and the dancing pale green in his eyes took her form in, a scorching languid perusal that made her glance away. If she had been braver, she might have laughed into the sudden breeze and used his words as a challenge. She might have even thrown back her own. But the days of her certainty had long gone and the battered ends of the mouse-brown wig flew against her face, making her eyes water.
This is me now, this person, small and damaged and scared. A man like this is not to be played with, not to be taken lightly. The weight of the Cameron fortune was heavy on her shoulders and her father’s sickness heavier again as she stayed silent.
‘Our marriage notice will be in the paper tomorrow morning. I just thought to warn you of it.’
‘Warn me?’ She could not quite understand his meaning.
‘Society has the habit of being ingratiatingly interested in those who gain a title.’
‘Unexpectedly, you mean?’
‘A new countess is everybody’s business, Miss Cameron. It is the way of the world.’
His focus suddenly centred on a small group of mounted women on the path, the stillness in him magnified as he muttered something under his breath.
‘It is probably prudent to say nothing of our upcoming nuptials at this stage.’ He stopped his horse and waited and she did the same. ‘The ton is a small group, but their propensity to gossip is enormous and one wrong word can set them into a frenzy.’
* * *
Lady Charlotte Mackay and Lady Astoria Jordan were exactly the pair Daniel had no inclination to meet. Dressed in the finest of riding attire, they looked the picture of well-heeled perfection as they slowed down to chat. Amethyst, on the other hand, seemed to have drawn into herself, lips pursed and eyes dull. The light on her hair did nothing to help her appearance either. For the first time since he had met her he wondered if she wore a wig, ill fashioned and dreary. The thought was surprising.
Charlotte’s beauty, on the other hand, seemed to radiate around her, the soft blond of her coiffure under the riding cap catching the light and falling in an unbroken line to her ample bosom. A tinkling laugh completed the picture.
‘Daniel. I knew it was you.’ His name curled from her tongue as an invitation, the intimacy that they had once shared drawn into the words. Her glance took in the woman he was with and his bride-to-be stilled perceptibly.
‘Lady Charlotte Mackay, this is Miss Amethyst Cameron.’
‘Amethyst. An unusual name, I think.’ A frown marred the space between Charlotte’s sky-blue eyes as she tried to place the family. ‘Are you of the Camerons from Fife in Scotland or those closer?’
‘Neither, Lady Mackay.’ Amethyst’s answer was quietly given and then she smiled, deep dimples evident in each cheek and a knowing humour across her face.
Strength and honour had its own allure, Daniel thought, watching her deflect the other’s interest with such acumen. Out here in the open with the promise of a ride before them and a beautiful summer’s evening foretelling a hopeful outlook, Charlotte looked overdressed and overdone. However, as if realising that she would have little more in the way of conversation from Amethyst, she turned her attention towards him.
‘I will be here tomorrow at the same time. Perhaps we might enjoy a ride alone.’ Her hand closed over Daniel’s sleeve and in her inimitable style she leaned across to him, the riding habit she wore cut as low as it could be. ‘For old times’ sake. For the world that was before it all turned different. For us,’ she whispered closely, the breath of her words across his face daring more.
Once he might have smiled back his assent and followed her to the ends of the earth. But that was then and this was now. Amethyst Cameron had looked away, her eyes on the trees far in the distance as the horse below her shuffled.
Tipping his hat to both ladies he disengaged Charlotte’s grasp and made his steed walk on. When they were out of earshot he tried to explain.
‘Lady Mackay is lonely and—’
Amethyst interrupted him. ‘I don’t require an explanation, my lord. I won’t be that sort of wife.’
He laughed, but the sound was not humorous. ‘Then what sort of wife will you be, Miss Cameron?
She did not answer, but the red flush of anger on her face was telling and what had been a comfortable and easy meeting was suddenly difficult. But he needed to explain to her honestly so that she did not imagine he would be a philandering husband.
‘We were lovers for three-and-a-half years between the stints of my army duty.’ Now she looked around at him. ‘I was twenty-seven when I met Charlotte and thirty when she ran off and married Lord Spenser Mackay. He was an extremely wealthy Scottish landowner, you understand, and I was a second son and a soldier.’
‘So she broke your heart?’
His laughter this time was much more genuine. ‘At the time perhaps I thought that she had.’
‘But now...?’
‘Now with the wisdom of distance there is the greatest relief in the realisation that we would never have suited.’
‘I got the impression that she thinks exactly the opposite.’
‘Then she is wrong.’ The distance had returned to his voice. ‘Do you have a ball dress?’
‘Yes. Why?’
‘There is a ball on Saturday night which will be well attended. I hope you might accompany me to it?’
‘Would your family be there?’
‘No. Mama has a slight cold and my two sisters are still young.’ He hesitated for a moment. ‘I thought you might have known all my particular familial circumstances when you made me your choice of groom?’
For the first time he heard Amethyst laugh as though she meant it. She simply tossed her head back and sounded happy. He was mesmerised.
‘I left the snooping to my father, my lord.’
‘And I passed muster?’
‘It was the time you spent with Sir John Moore in La Corunna that sealed it for my father, I think. It was said that you were quite the hero on the heights of Penasquedo and he has always admired those who might lay down their life for crown and country, you see.’
‘And what of your choice?’
The good humour vanished in a second.
‘I no longer trust myself enough to make wise decisions.’
‘Which implies that you have made some foolish ones?’
‘People change on you when you least expect it, my lord.’ She looked at him directly now, the dark of her eyes marked with a softer gold.
‘Aye, that they do. Lady Mackay became a woman I did not recognise, but I wouldn’t say her intransigence was my problem.’
The small show of her dimples heartened him. ‘The blame was hers, you mean.’
‘Entirely.’
‘And you moved on without looking back?’ she asked curiously.
‘I did.’
* * *
This conversation was taking a surprising turn. Honesty was something she favoured and Lord Daniel Wylde had not held back about his past or lied about it.
Unlike her.
Such knowledge shrivelled her good mood, though their kiss of the other day still lingered below each glance and word. A scorching and undeniable truth embracing neither logic nor reason.
Passing into a narrower path, he took the reins of her horse and pulled them both to a stop. ‘Even given the unusual circumstances of our union, Miss Cameron, I want us to be friends.’
Friends. As she had been at first with Gerald Whitely. She hoped he did not see the consternation on her face because what he was offering was honourable.
‘I certainly would not wish for two years of bickering.’
She shook her head. Everything he said made perfect sense and she had come into this betrothal only with the expectation of filling the last months of her father’s life with happiness. But the kiss they had shared had skewed things, made them different and she could not help but hope that he might eschew convention and take her in his arms, here in the most public of places. That he might kiss her again, show her it had not been all a figment of her imagination, fill in the empty fears with a warm certainty.
But of course he did not, he merely called his horse on and challenged her.
‘You ride well, Miss Cameron. At Montcliffe after we are married I would deem it an honour to pit my horse against your own.’
She gave him a smile, her roan shimmying as she let her attention wander. With Montcliffe beside her and the summer breeze in her face Amythest felt the sort of freedom that she had missed for months now.
‘I think for a fair competition you would have to allow me a starting distance. Your mount looks as if he might beat anything he was up against.’
He laughed and the sound was honest and true. ‘Deimos here was well blooded in the Peninsular Campaign in Spain.’
‘Deimos?’ she repeated the name. ‘The Grecian spirit of dread and terror?’
He smiled. ‘Not many would know that.’
‘You took him to the Continent?’
‘I rode with the Eighteenth Light Dragoons under Lord Paget.’
‘Is that where you hurt your leg?’
‘On the last day at La Corunna. The medic couldn’t get the bullet out.’
‘So it is still in there?’ she asked, horrified.
‘And hurting like hell.’ Unexpectedly he smiled. ‘I don’t usually talk about the injury and certainly seldom admit to any pain.’
‘Why do you not simply have the shot removed then? Here, in London?’
‘The surgeon said that it lay near an artery. If they accidentally severed it during the operation, I should lose either my leg or my life, so at this stage the option of doing nothing is the sensible one. Besides, to complete my side of the marriage deal I still need to scare people away from your father, Miss Cameron.’
‘I think you could do that anyway, Lord Montcliffe, with one leg or two.’
‘Do you?’ His demeanour had changed. Now he leant towards her, taking the bridle to hold her mare still. She felt the blood in her cheeks rise as it never had before, so red that her whole face throbbed with the consternation.
‘I like it when you blush.’
Daniel Wylde was lethal. With just a few words he could make her forget everything and believe in fairy tales with happy endings against impossible odds.
Better to remember the way Charlotte Mackay had looked at her with that innate snobbery so prevalent in the English upper classes as she had sniffed out the presence of trade like a bloodhound. Tomorrow when the notice of their intention to marry went into the papers Amethyst could hardly bear to think of what the repercussions would be. But the very worst of it was that she wanted this man before her, wanted his kisses, his smiles and his compliments, no matter what.
‘The ball you speak of, would it be very formal?’ she asked apprehensively.
‘It would indeed. Did they ever teach you how to dance at your Gaskell Street Presbyterian Church School.’
‘They taught me what they knew, though there were times when I wondered just how much that actually was.’
‘Did you learn how to waltz?’
‘No.’
‘A pity, for they call it the dance of love.’ Now his amusement was easily seen. ‘If you like, I would be most happy to teach you the steps.’
* * *
He loved the way she was so easily flustered, this woman of commerce and business and brusqueness, though his attention was caught by a series of heavy pins around the line of her hair that had been dislodged by the movement of the ride.
‘Do you wear a wig?’
Her fingers instantly came up to where it was he looked, pushing the dull brown hair forward in one easy swipe.
‘I do.’ Her hand shook as she tried to secure the loosened clips.
‘Why?’ Surprise at her admission had him frowning.
‘The accident in the carriage that we told you of. I had my head shaved so that the surgeon could drill into my scalp to release the pressure on my brain.’
My God. No simple accident, then, but an operation that could have so easily killed her. He tried to hide his concern and concentrated on the fact that she had survived. ‘What colour is the hair beneath?’
‘Not this shade.’ The lowering sun radiated on her face, altering the plain sallowness of her complexion. ‘It is lighter. And curlier. I did not think it would take this long to grow back, though, so I retrieved this old hairpiece from my mother’s things. Now I regret it. But on saying so I do not wish you to think I am vain, it’s just that....’ She stopped, her teeth worrying her bottom lip and confusion sending her eyes away from his.
Sometimes she looked so unexpectedly beautiful that for the first time since he had met her he allowed himself to imagine something finer between them, his sex swelling with the promise. Amethyst Amelia Cameron was honest to a fault and forthright and direct. She did not simper or lie or pretend. He was so very sick of the deceit of women, that was the trouble. Charlotte Mackay had for ever cured him of liars and his sisters and mother had done the rest with their duplicity and falsities.
He wished they were somewhere else, somewhere quiet and private, some place that he might bring her up against him and reassure her that he did not think she was vain, but the pathways of the park were filling with more riders and the crease on her forehead told him that she was as astonished as he by their candour.
‘We should go back.’
She glanced away from him and nodded, her fingers tense on the leather reins and every nail bitten to the quick. He wondered why she did not wear the riding gloves he could so plainly see tucked into the fold of her belt.
* * *
The dream came again that night of the carriage turning over, the scream of the horses and the cold of the day. Her hand had been caught by her thick woollen glove against a seat that had come loose and she could not free herself and jump to safety as her father had done.
Over and over and over, in the slow motion of fear. She had not lost consciousness when her head slammed against the roof or lapsed into a faint as her wrist had broken. No, she had lain there as the dust settled, the bright stream of blood turning the day to red and listening to the last dying breaths of one of the horses.
Her father had reached her first and by his expression she knew things must have been bad. ‘My broken doll,’ he had whispered, words so unlike his usual diction she had thought she must already be dead.
But the pain came later, as did the fear of heavy gloves, and carriage speed and long-distance travelling. Unreasonable, she knew, but nevertheless there. She had seen Daniel look at her bare hands and wonder.
Her fingers went up to feel her hair. It was finally growing, a good amount of curl now covering the pink baldness of her scalp. She could have almost dispensed with the wig altogether, but it had become a sort of disguise that she liked in the time since she had put it on and now she was loathe to simply do away with it. People did not notice her as they once had. She blended in more, the colour of the hairpiece picking up some tone in her skin that kept her hidden. She could walk amongst a crowd and barely feel a glance.
Her tresses had once been her crowning glory. Gerald Whitely told her that time and time again before she had married him. Afterwards he had barely mentioned it, the long silences between them hurtful and unending.
A light tap on her door had her pulling the neck of her nightgown up.
‘Come in.’
Her father walked forward, the silver cane the only vestige of his fall the other evening, though he leant on it with quite some force.
‘I saw the light under your door.’
‘You could not sleep either?’
He shook his head. ‘You seem out of sorts lately and I keep wondering whether this marriage agreement is the cause of it? Lord Montcliffe is after all quite forceful and if you should wish to nullify—’
‘No, Papa.’ She cut across his words and watched his face light up. ‘I am quite happy with things as they are.’
‘It is just the marriage notice will be in the paper tomorrow and I should imagine after that things might change a little.’
‘Lord Montcliffe said the same this afternoon when we were riding. He asked me to a ball on Saturday evening, a formal occasion with much of society in attendance.’
‘And you agreed?’
‘He made it difficult to refuse.’
Her father sat down on the chair opposite and wiped his brow. ‘I am uncertain of the ways of all this. Perhaps we should employ a chaperone for you, Amethyst, so that we don’t get things wrong.’
‘I do not think it will be necessary, Papa. We will repair to Dunstan House as soon as we are married and then we need not worry at all.’
‘Montcliffe is amenable to that?’
‘He once told us that he would be. Besides, a friend of his, the Earl of Ross, asked if his sister might be able to assist in the preparation for the wedding. Perhaps I could also ask her for a little assistance with the ball as well. It seems she is most creative with these things and I have a few gowns that could be altered to make them more fashionable without too much trouble.’
The smile on her father’s face was bright with relief. He looked happier than he had been in a long while.
‘If we had some notion of how many people would attend your marriage ceremony, that would also be of a help. The contract stated the marriage would take place before the end of July and the weeks will run away if we do not get it all in hand.’
‘It will be a small group, Papa. No more than twenty.’
‘But the Montcliffe family will be there?’
‘I am not sure, Papa. They all seem distant from one another.
‘A shame that, for family is all you have to rely on in the world when it comes down to it.’
‘I am uncertain Lord Montcliffe would agree as he seldom speaks of his.’
‘Well, I shall send them invites, nonetheless, for it is only good manners.’
A sense of dread began to play in Amethyst’s mind. Would the Montcliffes be difficult? Would they accept her? Would they come? Only a few weeks until her wedding and she still had not procured a dress. Tomorrow she would send a note to Lady Christine Howard to see if she might consent to help her.
* * *
‘You are marrying whom?’ His mother’s voice was shrill and disbelieving.
Both his sisters sat very still at the dinner table, their eating utensils poised to listen.
‘Miss Amethyst Amelia Cameron.’
‘And you say her father is a man of trade?’
‘Mr Robert Cameron is a successful timber merchant and is far wealthier than the Montcliffes have any hope of ever being.’
He hated that he should have to qualify his choice of bride in monetary value, but it seemed such an explanation was all Janet Montcliffe understood. She looked furious.
‘Amethyst? What sort of name is that?’
‘Hers.’ Daniel was tired of being careful and polite. His mother’s frown deepened.
‘We will be the laughing stock of the ton.’
‘I doubt that sincerely, Mother.’
‘Do you love her, then?’ This question came from his oldest sister Gwen, the sort of light shining in her eyes that could only belong to a naive and unworldly girl.
‘Of course he does not.’ His mother answered for him. ‘The interloper has simply tipped her cap at the title and managed to do what a hundred well-brought-up daughters of society have not been able to. She has brought your brother to heel and he will regret it, mark my words. You are marrying well beneath your station in life, Daniel, but any remorse afterwards will be useless. You will be tied to the upstart for life.’
‘I am taking it that you will not be attending the wedding ceremony then, Mother?’
‘None of us will be. I could not bear to look on Miss Amethyst Cameron’s face and see the gleam of victory within it. The girls should not be allowed anywhere near such...tradespeople either.’ She almost spat the word out. ‘As for your grandfather, he is sick and hasn’t the energy for all this nonsense so you are alone in your foolish choice of bride. I had such high hopes for you, too.’
Daniel stood as the resulting silence lengthened. ‘Then I shall bid you goodnight.’
With that he simply walked to the door and left.
* * *
He found himself lingering in the confines of Grosvenor Square. The Cameron house was dark save for a light on the second floor where the curtains had been drawn. The shadow of a woman caught in candlelight moved in a way that made him frown. His wife-to-be was dancing alone in her room and the outline showed no sign of the shape of her wig. A waltz, he determined by the beat of steps she took, a practice of the dance of love.
The tension he felt began to lessen and lighting a cheroot he leant back and watched. Janet Montcliffe and her bitterness had been a constant in his life, the anger and the rancour almost normal.
Amethyst Cameron, unlike his mother, was a logical and reasonable woman and one who held to the tenet of wording differences of opinion in a sane and sensible way. She did not whine or moan or berate. He liked her smile and her dimples and the low timbre of her voice. Her clothes might be shapeless and ill-formed but when the wind had caught her riding attire and pressed the material against her body he saw that there was a surprisingly shapely form beneath. He was intrigued by the description of her hair. Light and curly. Velvet-brown eyes would complement such a shade admirably.
After the scene at the dinner table tonight he wished he was anywhere but in London town. A different life was one he had been dreaming of for quite a while now. He smiled as the shadow drifted closer to the window and hoped she might pull the curtain back to look down and see him.
He liked talking to her. He liked her blushes and the quiet way she had dealt with the snobbery of Lady Charlotte Mackay. He liked her father.
Breathing out heavily, he wondered what all this meant.
He had always felt homeless, but Amethyst Cameron had had the effect of anchoring him. His father had been a man who was melancholic and weak and as his bitterness grew he had sworn that no offspring from his unhappy marriage would ever see a penny of the family money. An unhappy coupling that had brought out the worst in both of them, Daniel suddenly reasoned, and the thought made him drop his cigar beneath his boot and stomp out the embers. Nigel and he had been caught in the crossfire of their parents’ shortcomings. The spending of great sums of money and long holidays apart had dammed up the resentments for a while, but even that had not altered their basic dislike of each other. When his father had fallen from his horse after a long drinking binge his mother had buried him with a smile on her face.
Daniel did not look back as he strode into Upper Brook Street and hailed a passing cabriolet.
Chapter Six (#ub8a770ca-9628-5db0-b61b-d1566b4cd026)
‘No, this is a far better colour on you, Amethyst. See how the gold brings out the shade in your eyes.’ Lady Christine Howard smiled as she wound a darker gold band about the neckline. ‘With just a bit of manoeuvring we can lower the bodice and attach it. If I fashion it carefully, it will fold like this to show off your curves.’
Lord Ross’s sister was like a small whirlwind, her clever fingers pushing the fabric into a shape that was indeed flattering.
‘You do not think it a little daring?’
‘Absolutely not. Compared to some of the other gowns on display you will look like a novice newly released from a French convent.’ Christine laughed loudly and Amethyst joined in. Nowhere at all lingered the depression or sadness that her brother had spoken of, though the large ruby ring she wore on her marriage finger alluded to a lost betrothed.
‘The trick of it is to believe you are the most beautiful woman in the room and act like it.’
Amethyst’s face fell. Such a thing sounded impossibly difficult.
‘Your hair will need to be done differently, of course, to have any hope of pulling it off. The wig must go.’
‘You knew I wore one?’
‘Does not everybody? You could look so much prettier than you do now with it gone and I love the art of dressing hair.’
Like a shop dress form, Amethyst was pulled this way and that and the strangest thing of it all was that she was beginning to actually enjoy the unfamiliar pampering and the rapid conversation.
‘Your husband-to-be has most of the women of the ton panting after him and why would he not, for he is beautiful.’
‘Too beautiful for me.’
The words were out before she realised she had said them, but Christine appeared completely unfazed.
‘You hide what you have, that is the trouble, but it is time to come out from the shadows. More importantly you have a fortune and is that not what all of the men of the ton need these days? I know Lucien does. It is a great pity you do not have a sister for then he could marry her and we would be related and no longer poor. I do hate how money, or rather the lack of it, defines one.’
‘In my circle of acquaintances it doesn’t, really.’
‘That is why you are such a refreshing find, Amethyst, and why I like being here to help you.’
Christine reached into the case she had brought with her for another piece of fabric, this time the lightest shade of red and held it to Amy’s face. ‘Next time you buy a gown, choose this shade. See how it suits your skin? What colour is your real hair, by the way, or do you have none?’
Because there was no artifice or malice in the question Amy undid the pins and lifted the dull brown wig away, fluffing out her curls beneath.
‘There was a carriage accident,’ she explained as Christine stood in silence. ‘It has only just begun to grow back properly again.’
‘I did not expect you to be so blonde,’ the other woman finally said. ‘Has Montcliffe seen you without your wig?’
‘No.’
The resulting laughter worried her. ‘Then we will be able to greatly surprise him come Saturday and I for one cannot wait to see the look on Lady Charlotte Mackay’s face when she understands what she is up against.’
‘I have met her already.’
‘Where?’
‘In the park riding the other day. She barely talked to me.’
‘That is because she is formidable and scary and so are all her friends. So be warned, while she is undeniably beautiful, she also finds people’s weaknesses and uses them to her full advantage. Word has it she wants Lord Montcliffe back and will do anything to achieve her goal, so don’t be fooled. Beneath her pale and refined appearance lies a character of pure steel.’
‘She would not have been pleased to see our marriage notice in the paper, then?’
‘Indeed. It is a wonder Lady Mackay has not been around here already saying all that she imagines you would want to hear whilst searching around for the secrets that you don’t want revealed.’
Gerald Whitely.
The thought struck Amethyst with a blinding ferocity. How easy would it be for her to find out about him? A cloud of worry descended, though when Christine brought forth a folded cloth threaded with glass-headed pins, she decided not to think about her many problems.
Gerald belonged in the past and that is where she wished for him to stay. Nobody in the ton had the slightest idea of who the Camerons were and where they had come from. She would tell Daniel, of course, about her first husband and a few of her reasons for being most grateful when he had died, but that was all.
Perhaps she could have a conversation with him about it all at the ball on Saturday. If she asked the Earl to take her home afterwards that might give her a moment of privacy to try to make him understand the nature of her past.
When Christine indicated that she had finished attaching the band of cloth to her gown Amy turned to the mirror and was astonished. The gold in the silken cloth brought out the colour in her eyes and her hair and made her complexion appear almost flawless.
‘I cannot believe that this is me.’
‘It will be even better on Saturday,’ her new friend returned, ‘because I will put your hair up like this and fashion it with flowers.’
Clever fingers arranged the curls in a way that gave the impression of far more hair than she had and Amethyst smiled.
‘See,’ Christine exclaimed. ‘With a simple smile everything comes together in exactly the way that it should.’
* * *
On the evening of the Herringworth ball Daniel Wylde and Lucien Howard waited in the salon downstairs with Robert Cameron.
‘My daughter will be down presently. Your sister, Lord Ross, is helping her to dress as we speak and I have been banned from going anywhere near the upstairs bed chambers.’
Looking at a clock on the opposite wall, Daniel nodded. It was still considered early in society terms and so they had all the time in the world to wait. Besides the brandy that Robert had plied them with upon their arrival was both smooth and rich.
He wondered as he took the first sip whether he should have asked his sister Gwen to help Christine with Amethyst’s preparation for the ball, but dismissed the thought as most unworkable. Perhaps after the wedding he could make certain that both Gwen and Caroline spent more time with them at either Montcliffe Manor or Dunstan House in the hope that his mother’s influence over the young girls might lessen. He envied Lucien for the smooth ease of the Howard family dynamics, in spite of Lucien’s contrary grandfather.
‘I have not known Amethyst to take quite this much trouble with her appearance before.’ Robert Cameron was peering at the clock.
‘It will be the influence of my sister, Mr Cameron, for she is meticulous in her observation of detail. Your daughter will not have a chance to take breath once Christine hits her stride.’
‘Well, people and things have been coming and going all day, my lords. Let us pray she won’t be disappointed with the outcome for her hair is still so...’ He stopped and fidgeted with the brandy bottle, seeming uncertain in the present company as to whether he should go on or not.
‘Short.’ Daniel finished the sentence off. ‘She told me of it whilst we were riding in the park the other day.’
Robert Cameron smiled and leant back in his chair. He was still far too thin, but he looked healthier and more relaxed. ‘Then that is a relief to hear, for I doubt my daughter has confided in anybody else and sometimes I wish she would.’
‘You have no other relatives at all?’
‘None. I was an only child and so was Susannah.’
Daniel thought for a moment how freeing that must be in the light of all the difficulties with his mother. Lucien’s frown had deepened, though. The Howards had generally always been a close-knit family and he was probably wondering at how the Camerons could have been so isolated. Robert, however, was expounding on their aloneness in a voice that sounded worried.
‘The business has taken much of our time, you see, but in the past week I have sold a great deal of it off to a competitor who has always expressed an interest in buying it. I hope now that Dunstan House might be my principal place of residence, a quieter life with the horses, you understand. A home where we might become part of a community.’
Their conversation was interrupted by a butler who appeared at the door. ‘Miss Cameron and Lady Christine have instructed me to tell you that they are ready, sir.’
The rustle of silk was followed by small steps on the marble floor and then his wife-to-be was before him. Daniel could barely recognise her.
Gone was the dull brown lustreless wig, replaced by light blonde curls tucked up into a band of small yellow roses, the honey, straw and gold of her tresses making her dark eyes and eyebrows stand out in a way they had not before. In the light of the candles her skin looked transparent, the previously sallow tone of her skin transformed now into almost alabaster.
Daniel found himself on his feet, speechless at the transformation. Her golden gown clung, too, displaying the curves only hinted at in the shapeless clothes she normally favoured. She filled out the bodice of her dress admirably though her waist was tiny. When she saw where he looked she began to speak immediately.
‘Christine assures me that this neckline is most tasteful and not at all racy and that other women wear far more revealing outfits.’ Her fingers tugged at the darker shade of material that swathed the bodice. Gloves, the lightest of gossamer lace, barely covered the glow of her skin.
‘You look...different.’ He hardly recognised his own voice as the dimples marking her cheeks deepened, her bones elegant and sculpted in the light. Her lips were painted with a quiet pink and it emphasised the fullness of them. He could barely breathe properly with the transformation.
Palms open, she gestured to the dress. ‘This is the result of hours and hours of work on Christine’s behalf, I am afraid, my lord. Tomorrow I shall be just as I was.’
But for Daniel time seemed to stand still, caught in astonishment and trepidation. Before Amethyst Cameron might have been largely invisible in a society ballroom, but now...now the knives could be out and sharper than they might otherwise have been.
When he glanced across he could see the same sort of astonishment on Lucien’s face that must have been evident upon his own. Christine simply looked as though she might laugh out loud.
God, he wished they did not have to go out at all, society and its expectations bearing down upon them with all its infatuation with beauty and grace. Her father was watching him too, eyes keen and his smile broad, giving Daniel the impression that he had known all along how truly lovely his daughter was.
‘I think we should ask Lady Christine to help again in the preparation for the wedding day, my dear. You have not looked so pretty in an age and I want a full report tomorrow on all the happenings at the ball,’ Robert said.
Only pretty? Daniel swallowed the words back and looked over at Lucien. There was a definite challenge in his green eyes.
‘I am more than certain tonight shall prove a most interesting experience, Mr Cameron.’ Lucien’s drawl was slow and languid.
* * *
‘Lord Montcliffe, Miss Amethyst Cameron, Lord Ross and Lady Christine Howard.’
As their names rang out across the ballroom the conversations filling the generous space quietened and heads turned their way.
This was exactly what Amethyst had been dreading, this exposure coupled with a public knowledge that she was from the lowly echelons of trade. She held in her breath and wondered if she might ever release it.
‘I always pretend there is a field of grass before me at this moment,’ Christine trilled, ‘and that the colourful gowns are flowers. And I never look anyone in the eye.’
Despite her trepidation Amethyst smiled and the awful horror of being so very visible faded into something she was more able to cope with. Daniel did not look even vaguely nonplussed by all the attention. Rather he seemed almost bored, an Earl who had graced countless ballrooms and endless society functions just like this.
His world, Amethyst thought. His heritage. Today he wore a large ring on the first finger of his left hand. She had not noticed him sport any jewellery before and this one was substantial— the crest impaled with a lion in red on one half and a series of white crosses in gold on the other. The family badges of a noble birth passed down from father to son. Just another small token of an exalted lineage and a further example of how unsuitably matched they were.
She had decided in the end not to wear any jewellery at all, letting the golden gown speak for itself with its intricate folds and detailing, but in this room with all the glamour of the ton she wondered if such lack was a mistake. Here, she felt out of place, the lessons from Gaskell Street leaving her totally unprepared for such opulence. She wanted to take Daniel’s hand and hold it close, an anchor in a world that was foreign and a man who could easily overcome any difficulties. But she did not, of course, for he had moved away slightly, making no attempt to claim her.
As they came to the group of people standing at the bottom of the steps she smiled politely and waited for Daniel to speak.
‘When did you get back, Francis?’ he asked one of the men.
‘This afternoon.’
‘And your cousin?’
‘Was long gone and had left no word of her return.’ His eyes flicked towards Amethyst, the startling depths of hazel guarded and questioning. ‘The ton is abuzz with your news, Montcliffe. Rather hasty, I might add, given that when I saw you last week you made no mention of a would-be wife.’
Lucien laughed. ‘The call of rich and beautiful is a strong one, Francis, as I am sure you must appreciate. Were you not on exactly the same mission in Bath?’
The words were both familiar and strange to Amethyst. Lord Ross could hardly think her beautiful, but she was rich. And was this Francis trying to find his own wealthy intended?
Of a sudden the hazel eyes of the stranger softened and he bowed his head towards her.
A mark of war lashed the newcomer’s left cheek in one cruel and unbroken line, leaving her to wonder at the pain that such a wound must have inflicted. If he noticed her looking, he made no reaction to show that he cared.
‘We were all at school together and followed each other to the battlefields,’ Daniel explained. ‘Overfamiliarity sometimes breeds a contempt of manners, but I am certain my friend will remember his soon.’
This time a true smile creased the ruined face. ‘I beg your pardon for my rudeness, Miss Cameron. My name is Lord Francis St Cartmail, Earl of Douglas, and I am more than interested to know if you have sisters?’
‘I have already explored that avenue, Francis,’ Christine quickly informed him. ‘For my brother, you understand. But sadly she is an only child.’
‘Then we still have to find our own fortunes, Luce.’
Laughter ensued, mirth that was neither embarrassed nor apologetic. The sort of laughter that told Amethyst these were friends who were in it for the long haul, thick or thin, good or bad. And it seemed that each warrior before her was also facing financial ruin.
The war, she wondered, or the war wounds? It cannot have been easy for them to come back into the glittering perfection of the ton from the hell of a Peninsular Campaign. Who would understand what they had been through and what they had seen, save for those who had returned with them. Forging bonds, closing the ranks. There was an ease in shared sorrow.
Compared to these three, the other men here looked effeminate and affected. She also saw the interest of many of the ladies in the assembly stray in their direction, some glances hopeful and shy whilst others were more bold and direct. When Daniel’s arm unexpectedly touched hers she looked down, his large fingers encased in a glove, the fabric of his jacket contrasting against her shimmering gown. A connection, amidst all the movement and chatter, the spark of a vibrating energy running into her fingers. Almost burning.
He must have felt it too because he pulled away, the contact lost, but not before she saw shock in his eyes.
A waltz began to be played by a string quartet stationed at the head of the room. A Viennese waltz played quickly. She had danced to this in her room in Mayfair as a practice. Back-two-three. Back-two-three. Her heart raced even faster when Daniel turned and asked her to dance.
* * *
Daniel found it difficult to know exactly what to make of Miss Amethyst Cameron as she came into his arms, her wheat-gold curls piled beneath yellow rosebuds and the gown of a darker hue sending the shade of her eyes to a burnished velvet.
She did not look as if she belonged here amidst the ton and the ballroom and the vacuous pursuits of those with little else save social soirées to occupy their time. She was so much more than that—an interloper who would bide here for a while just to watch it all.
It was the strength in her that made the others look weaker, he decided, for women who needed men to survive had a certain brittle incompetence that was shown up by Amethyst’s independence. His arms tightened about her.
‘Thank you for coming.’
‘You thought I might not?’
He smiled and led her into the dance. ‘I watched you practising the waltz the other night from the street. Your shadow had fallen against the curtain.’
Her breath stilled, puzzlement making her pull back a little. ‘Why were you there?’
‘I was walking. I walk sometimes when I cannot sleep and when the sense of life is questionable. My wanderings brought me to Grosvenor Square.’
‘Then, given our unusual marriage contract, you must have found yourself exercising a lot of late, my lord. I might add that practice does not make one perfect so I hope my lack of prowess as a dancer doesn’t disappoint you.’
The imbalance was back, clawing into reason, her eyes full of laughter tonight and as close as they had been when he’d kissed her. He wanted to again. God, how he wanted to.
‘This marriage is not all about the money, Miss Cameron. Your father’s offer was unexpected and generous, but...’ He stopped and looked away.
‘You did not have to take it?’
Shaking his head, he brought her closer, but wrapped together in the arms of a crowded room there was so little space to be honest.
He liked the way she smelt and felt, he liked how her head fitted just beneath his chin and how the warmth of her skin came through the gossamer lace of her gloves.
Perfect.
Hell, he was turning into a man he did not recognise, the soldier in him submerged beneath another force. He could feel her breath against his throat, too, and the small intimacy held him in thrall.
‘Your hair looks nice.’ He could have phrased it better, he supposed, could have talked of the colour or the curl or the way it matched her skin, could have used the flowery words that women were supposed to like. But she answered before he could dredge up more.
‘Christine hid the shortness in the flowers.’ Her eyes met his own. ‘It must be exhausting to be a constant part of an assembly such as this, my lord? So much attention upon us and so much expectation.’

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