The Earl's Betrothal Page 7

  “Any ability I have I owe to my mother. It was she who taught me.”

  “And a fine job she did too,” he said, “but you have a natural gift as well.” More and more Miss Clarke was showing herself to be a puzzle that piqued Anthony’s interest. She read Robbie Burns and played the pianoforte beautifully. Her manners were impeccable.

  Of course his mother wouldn’t have chosen a companion who was not accomplished. That wasn’t the puzzling part. As the daughter of a vicar, Miss Clarke would have received a decent enough education, but she was well read, not merely literate. And music lessons to the extent Miss Clarke had obviously received would have been a luxury of time in a vicarage.

  Her father’s livelihood meant he very likely could have been the younger son of a nobleman. It was a common career choice for many younger sons. It also meant her mother was probably gently born. And yet Miss Clarke claimed no other family, none beyond her now-deceased parents. But if her father had been an only child, he would have inherited his father’s title. It raised questions in Anthony’s mind.

  “It seems your childhood was an idyllic one,” he said, hoping to gather more clues from her as subtly as possible.

  “It was,” she said. “My parents doted on each other and on me too. I loved tagging along after my father as he saw to the needs of the parish.”

  “The parish of?” he casually asked, holding his breath.

  “Little Brenchley,” she said, and Anthony exhaled. “It’s a tiny village in Kent,” she continued. “And a lovely place. Mama began teaching me my letters when I was quite young, but I begged and begged to be allowed to attend school with the other children. I thought spending all day with them would be much more fun than staying home with Mama.” She sighed. “If I’d known she’d be gone so soon, I would have chosen differently.”

  “No one can foresee something like that.” He thought of Alex and all the other deaths he’d witnessed on the Peninsula. “Anyway, I’m sure she was happy to see you run off to school every day and learn along with your friends.”

  “Perhaps,” Miss Clarke said. “And she did teach me a great deal. The piano, for starters, although my skill pales in comparison to hers. Embroidery—which I detest, quite frankly. I cannot, for the life of me, seem to make the needle and thread go where I intend them, and I am forever tangling things into the worst imaginable knots.”

  Anthony chuckled. “I would dearly love to see a piece of your needlework, Miss Clarke, to judge it for myself.”

  “I can assure you with all gravity that you would find my work dull, my lord, unless you look at the back, in which case you will not be able to find an adjective to describe what you see.” Her green eyes twinkled.

  On impulse, Anthony sat next to her, facing the opposite direction she was. The bench wasn’t large, which meant they were pressed together, thigh to thigh. It had been a long time since he’d been in the company of a genteel young woman, and the intimacy surrounding them was both calming and exhilarating—an irresistible combination for his empty, hungry soul.

  She did not shift, which meant she had a bit of steel inside her, but he’d rattled her, nonetheless, he knew, as she had become as still as a rabbit being hunted by a fox. He’d surprised himself, frankly. But he liked that she held her ground and did not let him intimidate her.

  He leaned back against the piano’s wooden frame, putting him nearly face-to-face with her. She hadn’t been using any music—she had a true gift—but now it meant she didn’t have anything to look at except him.

  He smiled at her, out of practice though he was at the expression.

  * * *

  He was smiling at her.

  Sitting so close they were literally touching, he was smiling as if it were the most normal thing in the world for him to do, when it most assuredly was not since the smile did not reach his eyes.

  He was also scrutinizing her too closely.

  It seemed to Amelia as if Lord Halford had made some sort of strategic move, like he might have done under General Wellesley, and that he was waiting now to see how she would counter his move.

  Well, she thought, she would not retreat, despite the logic that strongly urged her to do so. Nothing would result from his flirtation, if that was what this was about.

  He leaned back against the pianoforte and stretched a long, muscular arm across the top of it—right in front of Amelia’s eyes. This brought him even closer to her and deepened the sense of intimacy between them.

  Oh, but she needed to be careful. He was impossibly attractive.

  “You do your parents credit,” he said. “It’s not every vicar’s daughter who has impeccable manners, exquisite musicianship, and a kind, generous heart.”

  She wondered if he could hear the pounding of that heart. “Thank you, Lord Halford. My parents were my world; I would want them to be pleased.”

  “Miss Clarke,” he said, “I know we have only known each other a short week, but please call me Anthony. My brother was Halford. Perhaps in time I will wear the title more comfortably, but for now it conjures only sadness.”

  Anthony. It was so tempting to do as he asked . . . “I cannot be so familiar, my lord,” she said reluctantly. “It would be improper.”

  “I don’t see why,” he said. “The older retainers do. I’m Master Anthony to them. Sometimes I’m even referred to as ‘that young rascal.’”

  Ah, his smile nearly reached his eyes that time. They were so blue they deserved to sparkle like the sky on a sunny day, but Amelia could see shadows lurking in them still, despite his effort to be lighthearted. She wanted to take those shadows from him.

  “Well then,” she said, “I shall call you ‘that young rascal,’ and you may call me Miss Clarke.”

  He laughed outright. “I believe that perhaps you are the rascal, not I. Very well, Miss Clarke, I concede. Whatever you choose to call me, I shall answer. But you know my wishes in this matter.” He took her hand in his and raised his eyes to hers, and Amelia’s breath caught in her throat. His eyes were blazing now, and he held her gaze while he turned her hand over and kissed her palm and then her wrist.

  The feel of his lips was so unexpected, so exquisite. “Oh,” she breathed. She’d never been kissed like this before. Never been tempted to allow kisses like these before. This was not at all like the cautious gentlemen and unappealing suitors of Little Brenchley.

  Lord Halford brought his face close to hers then, his beautiful, masculine mouth a mere inch away, and she wanted to close the distance, fought not to close the distance, afraid he was going to kiss her, panicked he would not.

  “Amelia,” he whispered, and then his lips found hers.

  The sensation was delicious and subtle and electrifying. He cupped her cheek with his hand, and Amelia felt cherished in a way she hadn’t since losing her parents and her home. His lips were soft, and they caressed and explored hers, and then inexplicably her hands were in his hair, and she drew his head closer to get more of him. She was on fire, and her heart thundered loudly in her ears.

  Too soon he drew away from her. “Amelia,” he said again. “Amelia.” He ran his hands gently down her arms and took hold of her hands, placing them over his heart. It was a touching gesture, and he looked handsome and vulnerable, yet so very strong. His hair was mussed now, so she pulled one hand free and smoothed it down, feeling off-balance and a little shocked, frankly, that she had reacted so intensely to him.

  He stood and offered her his hand. “Undoubtedly it would be wise for me to leave, but I find I am reluctant to do so just yet. Would you care to stroll in the garden with me?”

  “I think I would, thank you,” she said, feeling much as he did.

  “Shall I call for a maid to join us?”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Amelia replied. “I am not a young debutante who must be protected from scandal. I am a spinster, on the shelf for so long
I have collected a distinctive layer of dust.” To illustrate her point, she brushed a hand over her sleeve.

  “You are nothing of the sort, Miss Clarke,” he said, chuckling. “I take great exception to your description of yourself. Shall we, then?” He extended his hand to her.

  Once she rose from the piano bench, she immediately released his hand. Touching him would only reignite the flames inside her. Better to extinguish them with cool formality.

  He held the door to the music room for her and walked beside her, his hands clasped behind him, until they reached the formal gardens at the back of the house.

  “I am interested in your stories of Little . . . Brenchley, was it?” he said as they strolled past the marchioness’s roses, which were in full bloom and particularly fragrant this afternoon. “It sounds delightful. You must miss it dreadfully.”

  “Yes, Little Brenchley. It was indeed a happy place to grow up, as I am sure Ashworth Park was as well.”

  “True enough.” Lord Halford—Anthony—pointed to a cluster of oaks growing nearby. “You see those trees? In the past, they served as a pirate ship, a carriage, and a jungle of darkest Africa for two daring young boys.”

  She smiled. “And those two boys would have been you and your brother, of course. What of your sister? Was she allowed to join you on your daring adventures?”

  “No, not at all. She was a mere infant in our eyes, not to mention a girl.” He shuddered dramatically. “We could not have our masculine refuge overtaken by such a beastly creature, you know. Alex and I were very young ourselves, and our opinion of the fairer sex was not as appreciative as it became when we grew older.”

  Amelia was only too aware of how appreciative he could be.

  “Eventually our lives were filled with tutors and school and university. Alex had the added responsibility of being the heir, and I realized early on that I must find a suitable living for myself for my own sake and sanity. The law held no interest for me and the church even less. That left the military, which sounded dashing—much like our escapades in the oak trees.” The bleak look was back in his eyes again.

  “But you did not find it so,” she said.

  “No, Miss Clarke, I did not. Far from it, in fact.”

  He said no more on the subject. They strolled quietly side by side, eventually reaching the path that led past the oak trees in question toward the lake. Here he offered his arm once again since the path was uneven. She placed her hand in the crook of his elbow and fought back the urge to draw closer to him.

  “It was in the army where you met Mr. Jennings, I take it,” she said, redirecting her thoughts away from his physical person.

  “No, actually,” he said. “Lucas was a year behind me at Cambridge, although he left after a year and enlisted. He actually has more years in the army than I do, and yet as an enlisted man, he was a mere corporal to my own rank of captain by the time I met up with him. When I recognized him, I asked to have him assigned to me as my personal servant. We were able to keep an eye on each other that way.” He became silent again.

  He seemed reluctant to speak much about his time in Spain, and Amelia didn’t want to press him on an uncomfortable topic. “You studied at Cambridge? And yet your family seat is here in Oxfordshire.”

  “Oxford was not for me, my dear Miss Clarke, or for Alex. Young men in university do not wish to be too close to their parents. I was for Cambridge.”

  They had reached the lake, and he left her and walked to the shore.

  “There used to be rowboats on the lake,” he called back to her. “I will check with the head gardener to see if they’ve been stored somewhere on the estate. It would be good to have them out again, and they would be a nice addition to the festivities everyone is so occupied with planning.”

  Even from a distance, he was irresistible, and she was weaker than she realized. She rose and joined him on the shore. “That sounds fun. I have never been in a rowboat before. There was a small stream outside Little Brenchley, and my father took me fishing there a few times, but nothing as large as this.”

  He picked up a stone and sent it skipping across the water. “Another talent to add to your growing list: fishing. I’m impressed.”

  “Yes, well, it is not such a surprise when you realize I was a substitute son for my father on many occasions. We definitely fished, and the fish tasted all the better for our efforts.”

  “Well done, Miss Clarke. My father took Alex and me fishing on several occasions as well. I wonder which of us is the more skilled angler.”

  “I cannot say,” she replied archly, enjoying herself, “but I am inclined to believe it would be me.”

  “There is a challenge if I ever heard one,” he said. “In the meantime, I think we shall see who is better at skipping stones.”

  They spent several minutes searching for the best stones before taking turns letting them fly.

  Lord Halford was the more accomplished of the two, without question.

  “I hope you feel better having bested me,” Amelia said. “Although, considering you grew up with a lake upon which to practice, while I did not, it comes as no great surprise. I applaud you for your masculine superiority.”

  “Cheeky wench,” he said, holding back a laugh.

  “I intend to thrash you soundly when it comes to fishing. You will see.”

  “Name the place and weapon,” he replied, winking at her.

  She smiled.

  He pulled his watch from his waistcoat pocket and checked the time. “Blast, just as I thought. I must return to my duties. Shall we go back together, or would you like to remain here for a while?”

  “I will return with you.”

  He seemed contemplative on the walk back to the house, and Amelia chose not to disturb him. It was a pleasure simply to be in his company.

  When they reached the house, he bowed over her hand and kissed it. “Adieu for now, Miss Clarke,” he said. “I thank you for your music and your company. You have lightened my heart this afternoon.” He turned and strode down the hallway toward Lord Ashworth’s study, no doubt to work with the steward.

  Amelia watched him until he disappeared from sight. She would treasure their kiss in the music room and the time they’d spent together this afternoon, and she was glad she had been able to do something to ease the burdens he seemed to be carrying, but it could not be repeated. She was growing too fond of him, which, when added to her growing attraction to him, was a disaster waiting to happen. And it would be she who suffered as a result. In the meantime, she would do all she could to make the fete a wonderful occasion for him to enjoy.

  She was suddenly reminded of the letter from the vicar’s wife in her pocket. And the scone.

  Heavens, she had forgotten to ask him about judging the baking contest!

  Chapter 5

  For the next few days, Anthony was extraordinarily busy, spending nearly all his time with Fawcett. His father was getting stronger with every passing day, thankfully. Strong enough to prod Anthony much too frequently about the necessity of filling his nursery quickly.

  “I have seen my own mortality, and that of my sons,” he’d said—again—to Anthony only yesterday. “There is no time to lose.”

  “I already gave you my word, Father,” Anthony had said. As soon as this infernal celebration concluded, he was off to London on that particular errand, if Lady Elizabeth or the other young ladies who would be attending the fete did not suit.

  He thought of the kiss he’d shared with Miss Clarke, and guilt twisted through him. He should not have kissed her, knowing he must most likely face this year’s crop of debutantes in the Marriage Mart very shortly.

  And yet he could not be altogether sorry either. For too long, the hollow-eyed look of the Spanish women and girls he’d encountered had haunted him. How he was to flirt with the innocent darlings of London society with those images in
his mind, he did not know. He’d been reassured by his encounter with Miss Clarke. He didn’t want to lead her on with his overtures, but he at least now knew he could probably manage to court someone when he arrived in Town since it was expected of him.

  The guests would begin arriving today for the dinner this evening and the day-long festivities tomorrow. He would play host and be at his mother’s side and receive them so his father could be rested enough to attend the dinner.

  Anthony had just finished washing and dressing and was on his way to find his mother when he heard a commotion coming from the entry hall.

  “Mother!” he heard a musical, familiar voice sing out. “How is Father? Is he much improved? And where is—Oh, Anthony! Anthony!”

  He hurried down the stairs, and then Louisa was in his arms, weeping and laughing and hugging him as tightly as he was hugging her.

  He realized there was a distinct roundness protruding from her middle. “My dear Lady Farleigh,” he said. “You are looking well, and it seems you are to present me with another niece or nephew in a month or two or three.”

  “You rascal!” Louisa said. “You’ve never called me Lady Anything before. You always had some terrible nickname for whatever the occasion called for. But you have guessed we are again in the family way. Farleigh, look! It truly is my despicable brother back from the grave. When I received Mama’s letter, I could not believe it. Then Farleigh said, ‘But surely your mama would not tease about such a matter.’ And he was right, the dear man, and here you are. Oh, my dear, you have played with our affections most cruelly.” She sniffed and rummaged in her reticule for her handkerchief.

  Anthony retrieved his own from his pocket and handed it to her. “Darling little sister, I would never wish to add to your suffering, and I apologize most profusely for the pain this has caused you all. William, good to see you, old man.” He shook his brother-in-law’s hand firmly. He and William Barlow, Viscount Farleigh, had been schoolmates at Eton.