Danice Allen Page 17

  The little frown seemed stubbornly fixed on Amanda’s face, however, as she stood up and moved to the table. As Jack took her hand and helped her to her seat, scooted her chair in, and walked around to his own seat on the opposite side of the small square table, her air of preoccupation remained. If she was having suspicions, she might try to catch him in another error. But why would she suspect him of faking amnesia? Even Jack was amazed at himself for the ruse he was practicing just to stay close to a woman he barely knew.

  Julian would think he was crazy. And maybe he was … Jack’s older brother was never far from his thoughts, which could possibly account for nearly mentioning him just now. Jack knew Julian, and he knew he was out looking for him at that very instant. Julian was beastly clever, too, and Jack was well aware that time was limited before his brother tracked him down. All the more reason to avoid the hub of Chichester and any place very public.

  Mr. Tebbs and two female servants entered the room and began placing numerous covered dishes on the pristine white tablecloth, and Jack and Amanda sat, silent and polite. Jack could only guess at Amanda’s thoughts, but his thoughts had progressed from his brother to Charlotte Batsford, his fiancée.

  Actually, he’d been thinking a great deal of Charlotte all afternoon. He was sure she’d been distraught to discover that her groom had disappeared on the very night before their wedding! She was an affectionate girl, and he truly believed she cared for him … not very passionately, of course, but enough to be sorry if he’d fallen into a deadly scrape of some kind. He’d certainly feel the same sort of compassion and concern for her.

  Lady Batsford, of course, would be in the boughs, stewing and wailing and fretting and swooning, with a vinaigrette under her nose and a handkerchief soaked in lavender water to bathe her brow. The brunt of the embarrassment attached to the aborted wedding would be felt by Charlotte’s shallow and ambitious mother, rather than Charlotte herself.

  Of course, Jack had every intention of returning to London as soon as he’d made sure Amanda was safely back in Edenbridge. Then he would make amends with Charlotte, explain his absence due to amnesia, stoically endure the wedding, and make everyone happy….

  Everyone, that is, except himself. If there was one thing Jack had learned by butting heads with a rock, it was that he was not ready to get married. If he weren’t already bound by honor to marry Charlotte, Jack would happily wait till he was in his dotage to tie the nuptial knot and have children. And even if he didn’t come through with a spare heir in the event that Julian didn’t marry, it was really his older brother’s duty to perpetuate the Montgomery line, not his.

  When Mr. Tebbs and his helpers had bowed themselves out of the room, Jack shook off his heavy thoughts and lifted his goblet of wine as if he were about to propose a toast. “Miss Darlington?”

  “Yes?” said the lady, looking up from the process of arranging her napkin over her skirts.

  “I have a proposition.” He smiled roguishly. “Are you interested?”

  Amanda’s eyes widened. “I suppose that depends on what you … er … propose, John.”

  He lowered his glass and leaned forward. “I propose that you and I have a delightful dinner.”

  “That is a reasonable hope—” she began, gesturing toward all the covered dishes.

  “I don’t mean let’s simply enjoy our food, Miss Darlington,” Jack scoffed with a grin. “I mean, let’s forget all our troubles for tonight and concentrate on simply enjoying ourselves. You seem quite burdened down with serious thoughts, m’dear, and that just won’t do!”

  Amanda blushed and fidgeted with her cutlery, fussily lining up the forks with the spoons and knives. “I will admit I have been thinking of Charity since the storm, but don’t imagine, sir, that I’m overly beset with worries. I have nothing to worry about!”

  Brave girl, thought Jack. Nothing to worry about, indeed! Nothing but an illegitimate child to collect and a hostile society to face down once you return to Edenbridge.

  But he kept his thoughts to himself and said, instead, “That’s what I mean, Miss Darlington. You’re very tense and depressed about Charity, and since I will probably regain my memory any day … any moment … I propose we enjoy tonight as if it were our last night together. I know I’ve been a royal pain in the … er … neck since we nearly collided on the road three nights ago, but I’m eternally grateful to you for nursing me back to health and have actually quite enjoyed your company in the interim. I hope you have sometimes found me amusing, Miss Darlington?” he finished, lifting his brows hopefully.

  “Yes, you are sometimes quite amusing, John,” she admitted with a faint smile. He thought he noticed a slight easing of her shoulders as she smiled, a less rigid way of sitting. That was good.

  Encouraged, he grinned and raised his glass again. “Then I propose that for tonight you and I forget about any troubles we might have … past, present, or future. I propose we forget that there’s another world outside this pleasant room”—he made a sweeping gesture—“or that there’s another day coming to vex us in a few hours. Let’s forget what everyone expects of us, or who everyone thinks we should be. Let’s quite simply forget for a few precious hours, Miss Darlington … who we are.”

  Amanda smiled, shook her head ruefully, and lifted her own nonalcoholic drink … milk. “All of which is quite easy for you to do, John. You don’t know who you are. Or have you forgotten you have amnesia?”

  Jack put his finger to his chin in a playful pose, saying, “I have amnesia? Dashed if it didn’t slip my mind!”

  They both laughed and touched glasses, the cheerful chink of crystal sounding through the room. Amanda took a sip of milk, and Jack watched her appreciatively. She looked lovely tonight. That colorful shawl added warmth and a glow to Amanda’s delicate complexion. And her hair … she’d arranged it differently. It was softer, more feminine and flattering.

  And perhaps most telling of all, the top two buttons of her gown were undone. Amanda Darlington’s prodigious use of buttons to secure her garments had become a symbol of chastity to Jack … and possibly a figurative safeguard against temptation for her as well. After all, she had given in to temptation once and was perhaps frightened to do so again. So what exactly did the two undone buttons mean? Maybe it was best he didn’t know.

  “What do you say. Miss Darlington? Will you agree to forget who you are for a few hours?”

  Amanda felt as though she’d been knocked on the noggin with a wand wielded by a well-meaning but misguided fairy godmother. Of course she wanted to forget who she was for a few hours. She’d been wishing as much all day. But was it wise?

  “Don’t think about it. Just make your decision and dive right in, m’dear,” John advised.

  “But you once advised me not to be too impulsive, sir,” she reminded him.

  “So I did,” he began with mock seriousness, but then the expression in his eyes became sincerely sober. “But what if I promise to be the gentleman, no matter how giddy and impulsive you become? If you’re worried that I’ll compromise you, m’dear, I’ll pledge my honor that that won’t happen.”

  Amanda had very mixed feelings about John pledging his honor. Part of the charm of forgetting who she was was the excitement and danger naturally attached to such a daring idea.

  “Very well,” Amanda suddenly agreed with a happy smile. “For tonight I’m not myself.”

  “Bravo!” John lauded her with a friendly wink as he uncovered the first of the dishes. “Now, how shall you begin this experiment, Miss Darlington? I say … do you like peas?”

  “No, I don’t,” Amanda declared roundly. “I’ve never liked peas, but I’ve always eaten them because Mr. Grenville, our apothecary, says they’re very good for me. Miss Amanda Jane Darlington is always very attentive to her doctor’s instructions, but since I’ve quite forgotten I am Miss Amanda Jane Darlington, or what that lady usually does when faced with a bowl of those green mushy things, I refuse to eat a single pea!”

  “
Very wise. Very wise, indeed,” said John. He leaned forward, his face alight with mischief. “This is a very promising beginning. I like peas, you know, but I don’t like them half as well as I like custard with caramel sauce. And I’ve asked Mr. Tebbs to prepare a large dish of the stuff.” He gave her a significant look.

  Amanda caught on and very obligingly helped John along to his desired end. “But aren’t you sometimes a little too full at the end of a meal to enjoy your custard with caramel sauce?”

  “Yes, sometimes I am,” John admitted with an exaggerated sigh.

  “Then perhaps you should have it as your first course!” Amanda said with the air of one having just conceived a brilliant idea.

  “You’re not suggesting that I eat my dessert first, are you?” said John in a horrified voice.

  Amanda shrugged. “I wouldn’t usually make such a shocking suggestion, but since I’m not myself tonight, I highly recommend that you eat your fill of custard before you even consider taking the merest nibble of a pea.”

  John immediately summoned the landlord by ringing a bell placed handily at his elbow and informed him when he appeared that dinner was to be served in reverse. Mr. Tebbs was initially surprised and perplexed, but John assured him that they’d just taken a notion to do things backward for once, and would he be a Trojan and put up with their nonsense for the evening?

  Mr. Tebbs was an amiable man and not unfamiliar with the sometimes strange fetishes of the aristocracy. Lord and Lady Thornfield, though friendly and not too toplofty, were obviously of the aristocracy and, therefore, entitled to fetishes. He shrugged and agreed to the strange request without further ado.

  As Amanda and John luxuriated in the creamy sweetness of custard with caramel sauce, Amanda leaned across the table and said, “You know you’re probably going to have a devilish case of indigestion on the morrow.”

  John rolled the custard around on his tongue, his eyes closed in dreamy pleasure, before answering. “You forget, m’dear. We agreed that we would behave as though there is no tomorrow. If tomorrow doesn’t exist, I have nothing to fear from a sour stomach.”

  “You’re so right,” she said with a decided nod.

  John grinned and Amanda giggled, truly amazed to find herself involved in such a silly game. But for all its silliness, the game was just what she needed at the moment. She wanted to forget about tomorrow, not just for the sake of her stomach but because tomorrow the authorities would arrive and take John down to the office to question him, then employ bureaucratic interference in helping him regain his identity. He’d be furious, of course, but it was for his own good. And her own good, too.

  Amanda thrust away these intrusive thoughts. By thinking so seriously, she was disobeying the rules of the game. She smiled at John as they next tackled the roast leg of lamb.

  “What are you thinking now, m’dear?” John asked her, carving away.

  Amanda pinched a crispy piece of meat off the plate and put it in her mouth. “I was wondering, John,” she said, as she licked her fingers in a most unladylike manner, “do you know how to waltz?”

  John concentrated, then announced, “I don’t know, but I daresay if we had a go at it, I’d remember enough to get by.”

  This was good enough for Amanda, who had never waltzed before in her life and was thinking that dancing with John would be a perfect after-dinner activity … and a blissful experience to store away with her other memories.

  They continued the meal with an air of festive abandon, savoring the food and the conversation. It was a strange, lopsided conversation, however, since John’s amnesia limited a great many topics and sources that he ordinarily could have drawn upon for something to say. As a result, Amanda was drawn out to talk about herself. She found herself telling him all about her aunts and their endearing eccentricities and fervid charity work, her large farm at Edenbridge, her love of reading and painting, and even her disastrous season in London.

  She was relating a story about a clumsy partner at Almacks who stepped on her demi-train and apologized at least eighteen times before she implored him to stop, and then swung her during a country dance smack into a potted palm.

  John laughed till mirthful tears leaked from his eyes. Amanda laughed, too. “At the time, I didn’t think the incident so amusing,” she confessed, gasping and holding her side. “But in retrospect I suppose it does seem rather ridiculous!”

  “Time and distance give us perspective,” said John, smiling and wiping his damp cheeks with the back of his hand. “And you do have a knack for telling stories, Miss Darlington. I find it hard to believe that you weren’t an instant success in London.”

  “I told you I was reserved and shy,” she reminded him.

  He waggled a brow. “But you’re not shy with me.”

  She poked out her chin in a charming pose of rebellion and said, “And I’ve resolved never to be shy again!”

  “I gather your parents were reserved?”

  Jack had noticed that when Amanda told about herself, her home, and her family, she omitted any comments about her parents. Resentment toward them for denying her the right to keep her illegitimate child could account for this, of course, but he found himself curious to know more about Amanda’s upbringing. He wished, too, that she’d confide in him about the real reason for going to Thorney Island. It would make it a lot easier to include himself in the final journey and reunion if Amanda trusted him.

  “My parents would never eat dessert first,” said Amanda, absently poking at the cold potatoes on her plate, “even if their lives depended on it.” She looked up at Jack with a wan smile. “And they always ate their peas … every single one.” She sighed. “That about sums them up.”

  “In other words, they were no fun and have no business being discussed on such a jolly occasion,” Jack said, sorry he’d allowed his curiosity to put a damper on Amanda’s happy mood and eager to get things back to a proper footing. He stood up and bowed gallantly. “Did I hear you mention something about waltzing, Miss Darlington?”

  To Jack’s delight, Amanda’s face immediately lit up. “Yes,” she said eagerly, clasping her hands together like an excited child. “But there’s no music, John. Do you think it would be utterly ridiculous of us to dance without music?”

  “I have a vague recollection of the ability to carry a tune, Miss Darlington,” he informed her gravely as he extended his hand for hers. “I’ll hum.”

  Amanda laughed, took Jack’s proffered hand, and stood up.

  “Maybe you should take off your shawl,” he suggested. “It is quite lovely, but waltzing is an energetic activity and might make you feel rather warm.”

  Amanda readily complied with this suggestion, folding the shawl over the back of her chair. Jack considered telling her to undo a couple more of the buttons that marched up her throat, but decided he’d be pressing his luck.

  The parlor was small, so Jack pushed the dining table and other pieces of light furniture against the walls to make room for dancing. The resulting racket drew the attention of Mr. Tebbs, who entered the room, blinked once or twice in surprise, shrugged, then obligingly cleared the table of the dirty dishes before bowing himself out with a smile and the assurance that he’d “leave you two newlyweds alone.”

  Jack pretended not to notice Amanda’s resulting blush but moved to the center of the room, held out his arms in a wide arc, and said with a commanding air and a huge smile, “Come here, Lady Thornfield, and dance with your husband.”

  She hesitated for a second, like a timid child standing at the entrance doors to Astley’s Royal Circus but afraid to go in. He watched her come, her hands pressed against her diaphragm as if she were willing herself to breathe, her eyes alight, her cheeks flushed, and her lips smiling. Even the black dress showed her to advantage tonight, countering her pale porcelain beauty and accentuating the smallness of her waist and the firm shape of her breasts.

  He gritted his teeth even as he smiled, telling himself he must remember not to embrace he
r and kiss her when she got near enough but simply assume the usual position for waltzing—one hand at her waist and the other lightly holding her hand aloft—and behave as he promised he would … like a gentleman.

  As she walked into John’s outstretched arms, Amanda felt as though she were entering the pearly gates of heaven. He chastely curved his long fingers around her waist, took her other hand in his, and extended it in the usual position for the waltz, but if he’d been bolder, if he’d taken liberties, she’d have been helplessly in his power. Thank goodness he had pledged his honor.

  “Just follow my lead, Miss Darlington,” said John in what Amanda thought was a strangely husky voice. Then he began to hum, and they began to move.

  He had a wonderful, deep melodic voice. Its resonance thrummed in Amanda’s blood, stirring it up. She glanced shyly up and saw the strong curve of his jaw. If she stood on tiptoe, she could kiss him there, if she dared….

  “Who composed this tune, I wonder?” she asked, seeking safety in conversation. His light hand at her waist seemed to burn right through her garments to set her skin on fire.

  “I don’t know,” he replied. “I’m sure it’s something I’ve danced to.”

  “I’m sure it is,” she agreed, feeling jealous of all the other women he’d held in his arms like this … and in other ways, too.

  “I suppose your parents didn’t allow you to waltz?” said John.

  “The Lady’s Magazine had an article in it cautioning all young women to beware the dangers of waltzing. It was their scholarly opinion that human nature is so depraved that even men of great purity cannot be trusted in such close proximity to the female sex. My mother agreed with their opinion.”

  John leaned back to look down at her. “Your mother was wrong. Here we are, dancing quite closely together, and I’m behaving very properly. Wouldn’t you say so, Miss Darlington?”