The Earl's Betrothal Page 10

  She quickly looked back at her plate and sliced away at the pheasant. Had he sensed her watching him? Oh, she hoped not! How mortifying that would be!

  “Miss Clarke,” he said loudly enough to be heard at her end of the table—and to silence the other conversations taking place. “The Duke of Marwood has just said something of note, and I should like another opinion on the subject. A lady’s opinion.”

  For him to single her out and refer to her as a lady amongst this lofty group set Amelia’s hands to shaking. She gave up on the pheasant, set her utensils down, and placed her hands in her lap.

  “Well, I should be happy to respond,” Sir Frederick said. “Whatever His Grace has said, I’m sure it’s quite correct, and I shall go on record as saying so.” He smiled ingratiatingly at the duke.

  Lord Halford ignored him completely. “Miss Clarke?” he repeated, his eyes locked on her.

  How could he put her on the spot like this? She was but a companion, not quite a servant, but lowly when compared to the others present. She was seated at dinner only by virtue of the marchioness’s affection for her, and yet Lord Halford now wished her to offer public commentary on a duke’s point of view. “I should do my best to offer an opinion, my lord,” she said, “except that I did not hear what His Grace said.” She was tempted to say she had been busy discussing bloodletting with Dr. Samuels, but she would do nothing that would reflect poorly on her parents or the marchioness—or Lady Walmsley, for that matter.

  Mostly, though, she hoped her answer would excuse her from any further reply.

  “Would you care to repeat what you said, Your Grace, or shall I paraphrase for the lady and the others?” Lord Halford asked.

  Drat the man.

  The Duke of Marwood flicked an elegant hand at Lord Halford. “You may speak, Halford. And she may reply, though I doubt we shall hear anything more riveting than has already been offered on the subject, which is to say, nothing at all.”

  The Duchess of Marwood and Lady Putnam looked decidedly put out at the duke’s remark, while Lady Elizabeth stared squarely at her plate. Charlotte Putnam was busy helping herself to more food, oblivious to what was going on around her.

  Harriet, however, glared hotly at Amelia. Why she did, Amelia was not entirely sure, though she could speculate. Amelia had certainly not volunteered for this attention.

  “His Grace’s comments came about when the subject of the education of women arose, Miss Clarke,” Lord Halford said. “Kit here—excuse me; I mean Lord Cantwell. I am afraid old habits die hard—mentioned the cleverness of some of the French émigré ladies he has become acquainted with in London. He wondered if perhaps the English were doing their daughters a disservice in their formal upbringing by comparison.”

  “A disservice, bah,” the duke said. “A man’s education is unnecessary for a lady and only serves to upset delicate female sensibilities. My Elizabeth here is the very epitome of English womanhood; she is accomplished in all the gentle arts and is a diamond of the first water as a result.”

  The lady in question blushed beautifully—not a splotchy red, Amelia noticed, but a delicate pink that only enhanced her appearance.

  “And so she is,” Lord Cantwell said smoothly. “I would never wish to imply otherwise. But perhaps other young ladies may benefit from a slightly more comprehensive education.”

  “Radical thinking,” Dr. Samuels said, dabbing at his chin with his napkin and staring at Amelia as though she were the tasty pheasant being served.

  “It is the responsibility of highborn parents to ensure their daughters are trained in all the genteel arts, as the duke says,” Sir Frederick said. “We English have excelled in this regard. One only has to visit the Continent to recognize the superiority of our womenfolk, flowers of the upmost grace and deserving of gentlemen’s protection and guidance. My own daughters are fine examples and are held in the highest esteem by the best of families.”

  Harriet and Charlotte preened at their father’s observation.

  “There is no need,” Sir Frederick said, “for young ladies to worry themselves over masculine subjects that will strain their tender sensibilities. It is a gentleman’s duty to see to such matters.”

  “You see where things stand, Miss Clarke,” Lord Halford said. “It seems to be the general opinion that we gentlemen are foresworn to protect our fair English ladies above all else. They are the weaker sex, you see, and in need of the strong hand and guidance of a man’s greater intellect in order for civilized society to succeed.”

  “Anthony,” the marchioness warned.

  “Precisely,” the Duke of Marwood said. “And so, Miss Clarke,” he said, dripping with condescension, “what have you to add to the subject?”

  “I would tell you what I think,” Lady Walmsley muttered, “but it would leave you with indigestion for a month.”

  “And yet the French ladies of my acquaintance acquit themselves very well and are a source of pride for their husbands,” Lord Cantwell said.

  “But they’re French,” the duke said. “They count for nothing with the English. Speak, Miss Clarke. We are gasping to have you enlighten us.”

  Amelia took a moment to choose her words wisely. If they were going to insist she speak, she may as well share her true feelings and not pander to those with an opposing viewpoint, especially the Duke of Marwood. Later she would also share a piece of her mind with Lord Halford for subjecting her to this embarrassment. “I am no philosopher, Your Grace,” she said, trying to hide the tremor in her voice. “I do not possess your worldly knowledge, nor do I claim to. I have only my own experiences, and so I can speak only to them. Women have few choices in life, and after the death of my parents, my circumstances were bleak, except for the kindness of Lady Walmsley and Lady Ashworth.”

  “You are well worth it, my dear,” Lady Walmsley said. “As anyone can plainly see if they would only look.”

  “Thank you, my lady,” Amelia said. “Despite my good fortune, I confess I have found it difficult to be dependent on others for my survival, and I suspect many women share my feelings in this regard. I can only be grateful, therefore, that my father was generous in sharing his education with me despite my being a daughter and not a son. It is my knowledge I may rely on in the future, should I need it, as any man would rely on his for securing his place in the world.”

  The duke only raised his eyebrows and drank from his goblet.

  “You compare yourself to a man. I wonder at your lack of decorum,” Lady Putnam said.

  “But no gentleman would do business with you, Miss Clarke. It would be most inappropriate,” Sir Frederick said.

  “I thank you for your honesty, Miss Clarke,” Lord Halford said. “While there may be those present who disagree with you, I am sure we can all appreciate the courage it took to give such an honest answer.”

  “Not an honest answer at all,” the Duke of Marwood drawled, sitting back in his chair. “A self-serving one. It is this kind of rebellious thought that threatens the very fabric of our society, putting ideas into the minds of wives and daughters—and sons—and pushing them toward disobedience.”

  “Hear, hear,” Sir Frederick said, lifting his glass, as did Dr. Samuels. Lady Elizabeth set her utensils down and pushed her plate away. And yet the Duke of Marwood had not been looking at his daughter as he spoke but at Amelia.

  He had called her dishonest and self-serving.

  Amelia should say nothing. He was a duke, she a mere paid companion. And yet her father’s voice came to her unbidden in that moment: The hotter the flame, my dear, the stronger the steel. Remember that.

  She stepped into the flame. “I would ask, Your Grace, if it is more self-serving to want to improve one’s mind in order to improve one’s circumstances, or to keep others from doing so in order to maintain power over them?”

  The room fell silent, and all eyes turned toward Amelia. The d
uke glared at her. “How dare you—”

  “Well,” Lady Ashworth said, standing abruptly and interrupting him. “What an invigorating conversation! I am sure everyone would agree. Perhaps this is an excellent time for the ladies to remove to the sitting room and leave you gentlemen alone to your port. Ladies?”

  The gentlemen rose as the ladies departed the room, despite the fact that they hadn’t been served the dessert course yet. Amelia immediately sought out the marchioness. “Lady Ashworth,” she said in a hushed voice. “I am truly sorry if what happened just now gave you distress.”

  “It was very bold of you, my dear,” Lady Ashworth replied. “And yet I am not sorry, at least not entirely, and so I would not have you be sorry. I am only perplexed at Anthony’s intentions.” She laid her hand on Amelia’s arm. “But you must beware, my dear. You have not endeared yourself to His Grace this evening; quite the contrary. Indeed, you may have made an enemy.”

  “I did not expect the duke to ever acknowledge my existence and would have preferred that it stay that way. I am certain I will be nonexistent to him once again.”

  Lady Ashworth nodded. “Hopefully you are right. In the meantime, you have my permission to take Anthony to task over his presumptuous question if you like.”

  “Perhaps I shall. May I be excused now, my lady?” Amelia asked. She’d had enough excitement for one evening. “I should like to be well rested for tomorrow’s activities and am a bit tired.”

  “Of course, my dear,” Lady Ashworth replied. “And good night.”

  Amelia hurried to her room, grateful that the marchioness was so forgiving of her reply to the duke. She knew she herself would lay awake into the wee hours of the night, despite her best efforts to sleep, thinking of little else.

  * * *

  “What were you thinking to put Miss Clarke on the spot like that?” Lucas hissed to Anthony as the gentlemen exited the dining hall and made their way to the sitting room to rejoin the ladies. “You may as well have drawn a target on her back.”

  “I realize that now,” Anthony replied. “I acted rashly, and now I must be certain Miss Clarke does not suffer any consequences for it.”

  “I repeat, what were you thinking?” Lucas said, taking him by the elbow and leading him down the hallway, away from the others.

  “You heard the tone of the conversation among the men—Marwood braying on in that pompous way of his, the older men slavering over his pronouncements like hungry lapdogs. I do not understand how the ladies seated around him did not stand up and whack him on the head with the nearest plate available.”

  “Many of the ladies agreed with his point of view, as would most of society.”

  “Undoubtedly true, but I cannot get the images—” He stopped and ran a hand over his face. “Forgive me, Lucas. You were there. You know better than anyone else what it was like.”

  Lucas clapped his hand on Anthony’s shoulder. “Tony, you take on too much of the responsibility for what happened there. You were one captain amongst many, the others all officers and men of good conscience. I will wager Wellesley does not flagellate himself over it as much as you do.” He slapped Anthony on the back. “Now, you must go entertain your guests. I, on the other hand, am a guest who has decided he is done for the night.”

  “Deserter,” Anthony whispered, but Lucas only raised his hand in farewell.

  The minute Anthony entered the sitting room, his mother hurried to greet him. “What were you thinking, Anthony?” she whispered as he leaned in to kiss her cheek.

  “You are the second person to ask me that question in as many minutes,” he said, nodding to the Villiers, who had acknowledged his return.

  “I do not doubt it. You stirred up a veritable hornet’s nest. Make amends, and quickly.” She drew him over to the Duchess of Marwood’s side. “Your Grace, here is our returning hero again. Perhaps he would be willing to share some of his more entertaining war stories with you. I must see to Lady Walmsley.” And then she deserted him just as Lucas had done.

  He deserved his fate, he supposed.

  “Your Grace,” he said in his most solicitous tone, “I hope you are enjoying your stay at Ashworth Park so far. Your rooms are acceptable?”

  “Yes, yes, everything is fine in that regard.” She waved his questions away with her hand. “We are in the rooms we always stay in when we visit. But I cannot understand why you chose to address that servant at dinner just now. Marwood was not happy about it at all. And I do not believe your father would be pleased either . . . were he to be informed of it.”

  Was the lady attempting to threaten him? The idea was ludicrous. Her emotional blackmail might work on her poor daughter, but it would not work on Anthony. He had dealt with too many hardened soldiers to be intimidated so easily—even by a duchess.

  “The lady in question is a family friend,” he told her as politely as he could. “I am sure you are equally as solicitous of your friends. Now, I hope you will excuse me. I am afraid I am neglecting our other guests.”

  The duchess seemed mollified for the moment, and since his mother had drawn Lady Elizabeth into conversation with Lady Walmsley and he intended to avoid the Putnam ladies with a vengeance, he searched until he spotted Louisa and Farleigh speaking to Kit and Phillip and joined them with a sense of relief.

  “Anthony, you are too bad!” his sister said. “I nearly spat out my food when you asked Amelia to speak. And on the education of women, no less!”

  “Do not get her started, Halford,” Farleigh said. “Louisa has too many radical ideas of her own without your filling her pretty head.”

  “Farleigh exaggerates,” she said, playfully swatting him with her fan. “He adores me all the more because I had two elder brothers and had to learn to hold my own with them.”

  “I am her besotted slave, it is true,” Farleigh said.

  “And yet Miss Clarke was brilliant,” Louisa added in a low voice, checking to make sure the duke was out of earshot. “She landed quite a blow. I wanted to stand and cheer.”

  “My wife, the silent champion of women everywhere,” Farleigh said wryly, taking Louisa’s hand in his own and kissing it.

  “I find myself quite jealous of the two of you,” Kit said. “All this marital bliss makes me want to weep.”

  “Truly,” Phillip chimed in. “I keep encouraging Kit to take a bride and fill his nursery so I may relinquish my role as heir and trip merrily off to deepest Africa—or America, if we could ever cease being at war with them.”

  Anthony laughed along with the others, but the word heir stuck in his mind. It was apparent that the Marwoods considered him Alex’s replacement for Lady Elizabeth—that, at the very least, had become apparent in the dinner conversation.

  But Lady Elizabeth was not for Anthony. He knew it and had known it since his introduction to her. Perhaps even before that. Out of respect for his parents, however, and for Alex, he would not be precipitous in making his wishes in this matter known.

  He looked at Lady Elizabeth once more. She was smiling and nodding agreeably at Lady Walmsley, who was waving her hand dramatically in emphasis of whatever it was she was saying.

  Lady Elizabeth, despite her wretched parents, was kind.

  Anthony determined he would do everything he could to make his marriage preference—or lack thereof—known to her with as much care as he possibly could.

  Chapter 6

  Amelia awoke bright and early, though not as well rested as she would have hoped, washed and dressed, and had a breakfast tray sent to her room. Even so, by the time she went downstairs and out to the garden, the place was buzzing with activity.

  The ladies of the church auxiliary already had their baked goods out for the tasting competition, so Amelia hurried over to greet them. “Ladies,” she said, surveying the cakes and pies on display, “these all look splendid, and I’m sure they will taste equally so.”
>
  “Good morning, Miss Clarke,” Mrs. Villiers said. The vicar’s wife was always warm and friendly, but this morning her demeanor was cool. “May I presume that you asked Lord Halford to be our judge for the event?”

  “I did, Mrs. Villiers. He is looking forward to it.”

  “Yes. Well. That’s good, then. Millie, move those last few cakes closer together. I’m sure we’ll have some late entries. We always do.” Amelia had been dismissed.

  Millie glanced apologetically at Amelia and then set about her task. Amelia realized that none of the other women had greeted her, and most were avoiding eye contact with her.

  Ah.

  Apparently she had been the subject of their morning gossip. Mrs. Villiers was a kind woman but staunchly traditional, and Amelia’s opinion was undoubtedly an extreme one in her opinion. Amelia shouldn’t be surprised, really, but she was hurt by their actions. She had been asked for her honest opinion at dinner, and she’d replied as honestly and circumspectly as she could under the circumstances. At least, until the duke had accused her of dishonesty.

  The words could not be undone, and she had too much to do today to dwell on it. She set her hurt feelings aside as best she could and began greeting the tenants and villagers as they arrived.

  Soon the grounds were filled with friends and neighbors enjoying a day off from their labors. They were used to rising at dawn and would be back in their fields and shops early again tomorrow, but they would spend today fully enjoying themselves.

  Amelia watched men greet each other with handshakes and backslaps, women hug one another, and children laugh and dance about in anticipation of the day’s planned activities. The official guests of the manor would join the festivities later in the day, as most of them weren’t used to rising so early, and Amelia was glad of that. Based on her experience at dinner the night before, she feared their illustrious presence might dampen the spirits of the otherwise jovial crowd.