Danice Allen Page 28

  “I did not bring you here to speculate about my future, Jack. There’s another matter I wish to discuss. As you know, I’ve been helping Miss Darlington with her sister, Samantha.”

  “Yes, you’ve been driving out to Surrey several times a week.” Jack suppressed the pang of envy. He wished he were as welcome at Darlington Hall. “How is the little hellcat?”

  “As impudent and obnoxious as ever,” Julian drawled. “She’s extremely bright, however, and has what I can only describe as a certain spirit about her that if properly guided—” He shook his head and frowned, stumped for words. “In short,” he resumed, “if she would only cooperate and put a little effort into it, she could easily be turned from the proverbial sow’s ear to a silk purse.”

  Interested, Jack nodded. “You don’t say? But will she cooperate?”

  “So far she’s driven to distraction every tutor Miss Darlington has engaged to educate the ungrateful little baggage.”

  At another mention of Amanda, Jack couldn’t resist asking, “Do they get along?” His voice unconsciously softened. “Sam and Amanda, I mean. Is Amanda happy she rescued the girl? It was so important to her to make amends to Sam for her father’s neglect.”

  “They seem to have developed a measure of trust and do sometimes talk with a degree of amiability between them. However, Sam frequently does things for the sole purpose of annoying Miss Darlington.”

  Jack smiled, satisfied. “Sounds like siblings to me.”

  “But I’m apparently the only one that can get Samantha to apply to her studies, to concentrate on improving her language, her comportment, her social graces … as it were.”

  “And who better than you, Julian? You wield a double-edged sword. You are the arbiter of social graces in the haut ton, and—forgive me for saying so—you are as intimidating as the devil himself. You’d be the perfect instructor for the chit.”

  “Exactly. But I dislike traveling to Surrey so frequently. That’s why I’ve induced Miss Darlington to take a house in London till Christmas.”

  “What?” If Jack wasn’t completely sober before, he was now.

  “I found her charming lodgings in Mayfair. Very respectable.”

  “But—”

  “That way I can see Samantha regularly and terrify her into the silk purse we earlier used as an analogy. I’ve been bored lately, and the idea of performing such a miracle amuses me.”

  “Are you saying—?”

  “At the same time, I’ve encouraged Miss Darlington to enjoy what’s left of the little season. Naturally she’ll pay outward respect to the passing of her parents by wearing the darker colors of half-mourning.”

  “As long as she doesn’t drape herself in black again,” Jack said gruffly.

  “No, indeed,” Julian agreed. “That won’t be necessary. She won’t dance, of course, but I dare say it will be perfectly acceptable if she attends other sorts of gatherings.”

  “But, Julian—” Jack tried to interrupt.

  “As for Sam, she’ll be kept out of sight till she’s respectable. As she isn’t ‘out’ yet, no one will think to inquire about a schoolroom miss. Excursions will be brief and controlled. She’ll have to do without acquaintances beyond her family circle till her official coming-out in the spring. We’ll introduce her as Amanda’s orphaned cousin. Conveniently, Amanda had an aunt and uncle in Cumbria who died childless several years ago. He was a curate … poor as a mouse, but respectable, she tells me.”

  “Dash it, Julian, I want to know—”

  “By the start of the season, I fully intend Sam to be worthy of presentation in the best drawing rooms in London. With the handsome dowry Amanda has generously set aside for her, and with my sponsorship, she should be able to make quite a respectable match.”

  Jack leaned forward, grabbed Julian’s lapels, and said wonderingly, “Amanda is coming to London?”

  Julian produced a lazy smile. “Haven’t you been listening, little brother?”

  “She told me her first and only season was a catastrophe.” Jack leaned back, his brow furrowed. “Are you sure she means to go out in society?”

  “I’m quite sure. She’s much more confident now. Back then she was a green girl just out of the schoolroom. And I gather her parents raised her rather too priggishly. She’s got past that, I think. I’ve arranged for Sally Jersey to send her a voucher for Almacks and have already secured her an invitation to the Cowpers’ for a musical evening.”

  “Bloody hell,” was Jack’s only comment.

  Julian stood up, crossed his arms, and peered down at Jack with a sardonic expression. “That means—just in case you’ve lost track of what day of the week it is—you’ve got exactly eight-and-forty hours to pull yourself together, brother.”

  Jack frowned up at Julian. “You don’t really think I’ve got a chance at changing her mind about me, do you?”

  “There’s only one way to find out, Jack. If you make it your business to attend the same social functions she does, and you strive to be as charming as possible, maybe she’ll unbend a little. I don’t think she’s an unfeeling girl. In fact, I think she’s quite the opposite. I like her, Jack.”

  “That’s praise indeed,” Jack said with a dry chuckle, then sobered. “But I don’t think charming her will have as much to do with winning Amanda’s favor as proving she can trust me again.”

  “You know her better than I do, Jack. Use your own judgment.” Julian hesitated, staring at the floor as he seemed to consider whether or not he should say more. Suddenly he looked up and said, “And follow your heart. Matches forged by genuine affection are extremely rare. Don’t let true happiness slip away, little brother.” Then, as if he were embarrassed to have expressed such sentimental views, he turned abruptly on his heel and exited the room.

  Jack smiled and shook his head. Julian terrified most people. If they only knew how human he was beneath that jaded, imperious facade. But Julian didn’t want anyone to know, and Jack was bound by an unspoken pact between brothers to keep his secret.

  Filled with new resolution and hope, Jack stood up and braced himself with a hand against the back of the sofa till the room quit spinning. He smiled like a May Day fool. In two days he would see Amanda. How would she look? he wondered, and his heart replied, like an angel.…

  “How do I look, Sam?” Amanda pirouetted in front of the cheval mirror in the bedchamber of her London town house. “Will I do?”

  Sam sat in the middle of Amanda’s canopied bed, engulfed from neck to toe in a demure white nightdress, her feet tucked beneath the flounced hem, her arms wrapped around her updrawn knees.

  She cocked her head to the side, her shiny crop of golden curls tumbling over one eye. Clean and plumped up a bit after three weeks of regular meals, Sam looked decidedly more feminine than she’d appeared when Amanda first clapped eyes on her on Thorney Island.

  Her figure was lithesome. She had a tiny waist, small pert breasts, delicate hands and feet, a slender, swanlike neck, and a gamine face. Except for her eyes, which were more gray than blue, her features were very similar to Amanda’s. They looked like sisters and would pass very easily as cousins.

  “Well, Sam?” prompted Amanda. “You aren’t saying anything.”

  “Don’t know what to say,” Sam finally admitted. “I don’t know what a fancy female should look like when she goes go to a musical evenin’.”

  She said “musical evenin’ ” as if it were a contagious disease, making Amanda laugh. “You’ve looked at several lady’s magazines.”

  Sam grimaced. “Only ‘cause you and that dressmaker lady made me.”

  “How does my gown compare to the other evening dresses you saw in La Belle Assemblée, for example?”

  Sam considered for another long minute while Amanda nervously smoothed the skirt of her midnight-blue evening gown. The waist was very high, coming to just below her breasts. The heart-shaped neckline was demurely cut, showing the merest hint of cleavage. The sleeves were puffed and edged with bl
ack lace. The skirt flared at the bottom to touch the floor in an elegant sweep when she walked, and it, too, was decorated with several rows of black lace.

  Her black gloves came to just above her elbows. She wore blue satin slippers that exactly matched the color of her gown. Her jewelry was simple, consisting of a sapphire pendant around her neck on a delicate gold chain, sapphire earrings, and a black velvet ribbon that wound through her hair, which was braided in the back and coaxed and crimped into ringlets at her temples and forehead.

  Amanda felt like a butterfly emerging from a dark cocoon. She was eager and afraid and quivering inside, but she was determined to have another go at enjoying a London season, even if it were only the little season, which fewer people attended in the autumn, and even if her activities were limited. And no matter how many times she told herself Jack had nothing to do with the excitement that thrummed through her veins, she couldn’t quit wondering if she’d see him tonight. If he’d approach her, talk to her …

  She gave herself a stem mental shake and told herself that she had no business fantasizing about Jack. He’d done his duty by proposing marriage to her, and she’d rejected him. They’d parted on less than amiable terms. He’d probably completely dismissed her from his mind by now and was enjoying the favors of a new mistress.

  If only she could forget him just as easily … Even if something as miraculous as male admirers materialized during her stay in London, Jack had ruined her for anyone else. Not only was she no longer the virginal maid most men demanded of their proper brides, but she had this unshakable feeling that she actually belonged to Jack now. She couldn’t imagine being intimate with another man.

  “Why’re you so dreamy-eyed all of a sudden? What are you thinkin’ about?”

  Amanda jerked out of her reverie and looked at Sam. Her sister’s large eyes were fastened on her with a keen inquisitiveness that made Amanda decidedly uncomfortable. Sam might be lacking in education, but her mind was as sharp as a hatpin.

  “I—I wasn’t thinking of anything, really,” Amanda lied with a smile. “I was just imagining how the evening will be, and … and waiting for your opinion on my appearance.”

  Sam raised her tawny brows disbelievingly but tactfully refrained from saying what was really on her mind. Where had the little ragamuffin learned tact? Amanda wondered. Or was it really cunning she was displaying? She could certainly believe Sam had learned to be a little devious while struggling to survive.

  Sam cocked her head to the side again and surveyed her older sister from head to toe. “I think you look like what I always imagined an angel from the Bible would look like,” she said at last in a matter-of-fact tone that Amanda was inclined to believe was sincere. After all, Sam had never tried to flatter her before. She felt her cheeks glow with gratification.

  “But shouldn’t angels be dressed in white?” she demurred modestly.

  “You’re an evenin’ angel,” Sam said consideringly. “Your gown’s the color of dusk.”

  “Why, thank you, Sam,” Amanda said earnestly and with a warm smile. “How kind of you to compare me to an angel.”

  Now it was Sam’s turn to blush. She hated to be thanked or fussed over. And she didn’t want anyone to think she had a kind bone in her body.

  “Ah, don’t make a to-do over it,” she grumped, waving her hand. “What do I know, anyway?”

  Wisely, Amanda did not pursue the subject but secretly savored her satisfaction as she collected her black beaded reticule and her ivory-handled blue fan with ostrich feathers, and moved to the door. Just as she was about to exit the room, her aunts bustled in.

  “Hurry, Amanda Jane!” exclaimed Aunt Prissy, holding her dove-gray silk skirts high above her small feet as if she were about to make a sprint down Bond Street. “We’re going to be late!”

  “It’s fashionable to be late,” Nan admonished her sister. “Besides, Amanda is ready to go. If you’d quit twittering about, you’d see for yourself, Pris!” Then she smiled with pleasure as she took in Amanda’s appearance. “And she looks lovely. Don’t you think so, Samantha?”

  Sam shrugged, not about to be caught being nice again. “What would I know?”

  With a tiny, almost indiscernible shake of her head and a meaningful glance, Amanda dissuaded her aunts from giving Sam a lecture for being impolite. Miraculously they caught the hint and maneuvered themselves out the door and down the stairs without a single scolding word, Amanda following just behind.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Amanda looked up at Sam, who was leaning over the railing with what appeared to be a rather wistful expression. Was it possible that Sam truly wanted to dress up and play the lady, and her recalcitrant act was only a front? Amanda wondered.

  “You’re going straight to bed, aren’t you, Samantha?” Nan called up.

  “S’pect I will,” she said in a surly tone. “Ain’t nothin’ else to do.”

  “I’ll tell you all about the party tomorrow morning at breakfast, Sam,” Amanda promised her as the footman helped her with her winter wrap, a black velvet cloak trimmed at the hood and hem with swan’s down.

  Sam shrugged, ducked her head, and nonchalantly kicked her bare toes against the wooden banisters. “If you want to,” she mumbled, then slid her eyes up and inquired, “Will there be dancin’?”

  “None is planned,” said Nan, pulling on her gloves. “And that’s just as well, because Amanda Jane can’t dance.”

  “Do you still dance … when there’s dancin’, Aunt Nan?” Sam wanted to know.

  Nan tittered behind her hand. “Oh, dancing’s not for old duennas like me and Pris. We watch the dancing and flirting and folderol from afar and play chaperon. Tonight Pris and I will be watching to make sure no young buck gets out of line with your sister.”

  “Aunt Nan!” exclaimed Amanda, laughing. “As if anyone would!”

  “You underestimate yourself, my dear,” Pris murmured dryly. “You may find that even two chaperons aren’t enough to keep the scoundrels at bay.”

  Amanda simply shook her head and smiled.

  “Does Julian dance, do ya think?” Sam asked, reverting to a subject that seemed uppermost in her mind.

  “I’m sure he does, but only if he wants to,” Amanda answered with a smile. “Why do you ask, dear?”

  “Well, isn’t Julian old?”

  Pris gave a most unladylike whoop of laughter, then covered her mouth with her hand and said coyly, “He’s not too old for dancing … or for a great many other things, I daresay. Such a well-looking man,” she said with a giggle. “And Jack, too!”

  Nan gave Pris a hard, repressive stare from under her bonnet. Then, while Amanda fumbled confusedly with the ribbons of her cloak and averted her blushing face, Nan smiled up at Sam and said, “Shall I tell Lord Serling you said hello, my dear?”

  Again Sam assumed a careless attitude. “If you want to.”

  “I will, then,” Nan assured her with a decided nod. “Good night, my dear.”

  “Yes, and sweet dreams!” Pris added.

  Amanda recovered her wits, which had been scattered by the mere mention of Jack’s name, and managed to say goodnight to Sam, too. But the minute she walked out of the house and boarded the carriage, her thoughts became focused on one thing and one thing only.

  Would she see Jack tonight?

  Sam ran to the window and watched the carriage drive away to Lady Cowper’s musical evening. She braced her elbows on the window ledge and gazed dreamily at the foggy nimbus of light surrounding the street lamp directly in front of the house, listening to the clatter of horses and carriages going to and fro.

  Sam wasn’t sure if she liked London or not. It was quite noisy and very closed-in compared to the only two other places she’d lived in her seventeen years. She missed Thorney Island because of the sea and the endless beaches. The serenity and beauty of dusk there, with her and her dogs sitting by a fire as they watched the sunset, was something she frequently pined for. But she didn’t miss the constant hunger
and the loneliness.

  Darlington Hall was nice. She’d rode a sweet horse at the Hall, a frisky mare named Hollyhock. She’d had her dogs there, too, and they’d run and run on the acres of ground that were part of her rich sister’s vast estate. The food was plentiful and the servants were kind. For that matter, Amanda and her aunts were kind, too … although she supposed Pris and Nan weren’t really her aunts because they were sisters of Amanda’s mother. But since they insisted on claiming her as an adopted niece, she had come to think of them as relatives, too.

  She’d even grown rather fond of bathing and liked the fresh scent of her clean sheets when she tumbled into bed at night. All in all, she was getting accustomed to her new life but had a sinking sensation that the hard stuff was yet to come.

  At Darlington Hall, she’d managed to frighten away the fuddy-duddy instructors Amanda had hired to help her become “an educated lady” by being as coarse and stupid in their company as she dared. She didn’t want them to teach her. She wanted Julian and only Julian telling her what to do.

  Sam smiled, her cheeks cradled in her hands and her bottom sticking up in the back as she continued to linger at the window. The very best thing about coming to London, the one thing that made it bearable to leave her precious dogs behind at the Hall for a few weeks, was the fact that she saw Julian almost every day!

  Sam pushed away from the window and walked to the full-length cheval mirror Amanda had used to check her appearance. She stared at her reflection, and decided that in a voluminous nightgown that didn’t show her figure to the least advantage she looked like a rather tall child. She frowned. Certainly that was the way Julian treated her … like a child.

  But was Julian really so much older than she? When she’d asked Aunt Prissy about Julian’s age one day, she’d told her she supposed he was somewhere around five-and-thirty. In this modem day and age, Sam suspected that five-and-thirty was rather old. It certainly sounded old to her. But in the days of Methuselah, Julian would have just begun to live. And he’d have had several wives and a bevy of pretty concubines to keep him spry and happy.