A Jewel In Time; A Sultry Sisters Anthology Read online

  Could no one love her for herself?

  So she spent the better portion of her days knitting scarves, which she sold to help support navy widows. It was a modest charity, including about sixty society ladies, but it gave Amanda a sense of purpose, when the superficial trivialities and false facades of the peerage shrouded her spirits in a miasma of deceit.

  At that instant, Helen’s boisterous mirth broke Amanda’s reverie. To her amazement, Mark and Helen had their head’s together, as two conspiring pranksters. Mark whispered in her ear, and Helen burst into laughter. How could that be, given Helen’s understanding of Amanda’s wishes? They had struck a bargain. Amanda quarried her prey, and Helen delivered the fatal blow.

  “Lady Amanda, I took the liberty of fetching a plate of pork and apples.” Samuel Clarendon, a particularly persistent Second Lieutenant in the British Army, claimed the seat beside her without asking permission.

  “How very presumptive of you, Lieutenant Clarendon.” She wrinkled her nose, as her appetite had waned the second he opened his mouth and with good reason. Braced for the impending assault, she stiffened her spine.

  “How many times must I remind you, Lady Amanda?” The grasping schemer had the nerve to rest his arm on the back of her chair. “You must call me Sam. And I should dearly love to be free with your name.”

  “You are too bold, sir.” She had a sneaking suspicion he endeavored to be free with much more than her name, and she was in no mood to indulge him. “But I thank you for the food.”

  “I have no use for your gratitude, Lady Amanda.” He leaned near, and she almost choked on his foul breath, which reeked of a putrid combination of cheap brandy, stale cigars, and spoiled milk. “Have you spoken with your father concerning my platoon assignment?”

  “You forget yourself, Lieutenant Clarendon.” She scooted her chair to the right. “As I told you, I do not presume to meddle in my father’s affairs, as I lack military experience.”

  “But one word from you could make my career, gentle lady, as I simply must command the Royal Marines aboard Captain Nelson’s Boreas. You do wish me to promote, do you not, as we are so close to an understanding?” The scoundrel made an improper advance, and she stood before he cornered her into a compromising position. “No doubt your father could plead my cause.”

  “I know of no understanding, sir, and why would you want to sail on the Boreas?” She recalled that was Mark’s ship. “Does it signify?”

  “Oh, yes.” Clarendon pursued her, even as she retreated a step. “Only the best serve Nelson, and I should be counted among his ranks. If you--”

  “Amanda, I need you.” Helen snapped her fingers. “You simply must come here, at once.”

  “I beg your pardon, Lieutenant Clarendon.” Amanda dipped her chin. “But family calls.”

  With anger-driven tears threatening, she all but flew into her cousin’s safe haven. As would a gentleman, Mark vacated his seat, which he offered to Amanda. “Thank you, Lieutenant Douglas.”

  “You are most welcome.” To her surprise, Mark stood at attention. “And may I sit beside you, Lady Amanda?”

  “Please, do so.” How polished were his manners, compared to Clarendon’s. “But this is your plate.”

  “You did not eat, Lady Amanda.” Mark inclined his head and frowned. “Shall I collect your meal, or would you prefer a sweetmeat?”

  “How very thoughtful you are, Lieutenant.” Amanda sighed in relief, as she needed his kindness just then. “I would favor a Shrewsbury cake and, perhaps, a glass of champagne, if it is not too much trouble.”

  “It is no trouble at all, my lady.” He smiled, and her heart skipped a beat. “I shall return, fair Helen. And you should share the events of your recent hunting expedition with your cousin, if you have not done so.”

  “What an impressive specimen,” gushed Helen, after Mark traveled beyond earshot. “He listened to my complaints of gout with a great sum of compassion and suggested a shipboard remedy. What offense did he commit to land him in my trap?”

  “Oh, do not be fooled, Helen.” Amanda sneered. “He was unforgivably rude until he discovered my parentage.”

  “No. I do not believe you.” Helen appeared crestfallen. “You must be mistaken, as he was a vast deal more than civil, even when I detailed the pain in my big toe.”

  “Would that I were.” In minutes, Amanda described the first waltz with Lieutenant Douglas, his shabby treatment, and his original refusal to dine with her. “And I thought him the first viable candidate of the Little Season. It was humiliating, Helen.”

  “But what do you suppose caused him to behave in such a crude fashion?” Helen tapped her cheek. “When he has been the soul of genteel congeniality?”

  “I know not.” Amanda shrugged. “But thank you for rescuing me from Clarendon.”

  “The shameless blackguard.” Helen curled her lip. “He is so low that when he passes to the hereafter, the gravediggers will have to dig up to lay the bastard to rest.”

  “Cousin.” Despite propriety, Amanda giggled. “Dearest Helen, what would I do--”

  “And here is your Shrewsbury cake and champagne, Lady Amanda.” Mark set the requested items on the table and slid to his seat. “So what are you fine ladies whispering about, or have I interrupted a matter of great importance and secrecy?”

  “Actually, I believe you can relate to our conversation, Lieutenant Douglas.” She had almost forgotten about her erstwhile suitor, yet her disappointment chilled her to the marrow.

  “Oh?” He shifted his weight. “Do tell, my lady.”

  Amanda caught him in her sights. “We were discussing men with nefarious motives.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Two days later, Mark brought his curricle to a halt before the London residence of the Marquess de Gray. Built in the Palladian style, the grand home boasted an impressive portico, the highlight of which was an ingress façade featuring a pediment with a tympanum sculpture by Sir Robert Taylor, supported by six Corinthian columns. Only one thing could entice him to visit such an imposing structure. In short, Lady Amanda held court that afternoon.

  “First Lieutenant Mark Douglas to see Lady Amanda.” He handed his card to the butler.

  “Of course, sir.” The manservant bowed. “This way, please.”

  At a double-door entry, a mature woman loomed as an imposing sentry, and she bore a striking resemblance to his lady. “And what have we here?”

  “First Lieutenant Mark Douglas for Lady Amanda, your ladyship.” The butler presented Mark’s card.

  “We meet at last, First Lieutenant, and the mystery is solved.” She dipped her chin. “I am Lady Eleanor, Marchioness de Gray and Lady Amanda’s mother.”

  “Lady Eleanor, it is an honor.” He stood at attention, as he wished to make a good impression. “I am but an undeserving member of Lady Amanda’s legion of callers.”

  “And you are the young man who upset my daughter at the Northcote’s ball.” Lady Eleanor arched a brow, even as she chuckled. “She speaks of little else, so I must assume you had quite an effect on her.”

  In that instant, Mark almost revisited his lunch. “My lady, I am truly--”

  “Relax, First Lieutenant, as you do not disappoint.” To his infinite surprise, the marchioness patted his cheek. “My Amanda is notoriously picky when it comes to her suitors, and she is also ruthless with her admirers, so she would not have mentioned you had you made no favorable influence.”

  “Indeed.” Mark breathed a sigh of relief and pocketed that gem of information for future reference. “May I see her?”

  “Oh, yes.” Again, Lady Eleanor stunned him, when she clutched his arm and marched him into the fray. “I shall announce you, myself, as I would not miss this for the world.”

  “Your eyes are like limpid pools of new fallen rain. Upon my heart they have etched a permanent stain.” A clumsy oaf dressed in gentleman’s attire postulated from the center of the drawing room, as Amanda, with an expression of terminal boredom, recline
d at one end of a sofa and yawned. “And your teeth are of the purest white. I should--”

  “What an original oratory, Lord Stein. And so refined.” The marchioness cleared her throat. “My daughter has another caller. Please, welcome First Lieutenant Mark Douglas to our humble gathering.”

  A sea of chairs, occupied by an estimated twelve prospective swains, littered the comfortable drawing room, which boasted oak paneling with leather inserts. And both branches of the military, as well as the peerage, were well represented.

  “Lieutenant Douglas.” Amanda snapped to attention, leaped from the couch, and all but bounced as she met him. With a glowing smile, she half-curtseyed. Just as quick, she masked her enthusiasm behind an imperturbable visage, which might have succeeded had she not trembled. Oh, she was a veritable spitfire. “It is unfortunate there are no open seats, as you are late.”

  “Lady Amanda, you are more exquisite than I remembered.” He grasped the hand she had not offered, pressed a chaste kiss to her gloved knuckles, and smiled when gooseflesh covered the skin bared by her short-sleeved dress. “A thousand pardons for my oversight.”

  “Humph.” She sniffed. “And what have you there?”

  “Roses.” He inclined his head. “A meager offering to your beauty.”

  “My favorite.” She accepted the bouquet and buried her nose in a delicate bud. “They are lovely.”

  “They are but flowers.” He shifted his weight to conceal his discomfit, as the woman worked on him in ways he could not have anticipated, and his Jolly Roger had just run up the colors. “You are lovely.”

  “Mama, will you have these put in water and set them on my bedside table?” She met his gaze for a scarce second and then winced. “Given the other serviceable pedestals are already taken.”

  “Of course.” Lady Eleanor glanced at Mark and winked.

  “And what is in the parcel?” Amanda bit her lip, and he fought the urge to taste her.

  “Ah, yes.” He sketched an elegant bow and presented her with the box. “A modest token of my affection, Lady Amanda.”

  With unchecked vigor and a squeal of delight, she plopped on the sofa in what he suspected was for her a rare breach in feminine deportment. Again, she reversed course, stiffened her back, and presumed an air of ennui, which had not fooled him for a minute. “I suppose you may sit beside me, Lieutenant Douglas, as it is the only vacancy, due to your astonishing lack of punctuality.”

  “My sincerest apologies, that I should neglect you, Lady Amanda.” He clamped his tongue to keep from laughing, settled at her left, and studied her profile. “Perhaps my gift will persuade you to accept my expressed regret.”

  “We shall see.” With that, she lifted the lid, parted the brown paper, and her icy chill melted before his eyes. “Oh, how charming.”

  “What is it?” a perturbed potential paramour probed.

  “Will you help me, Mark? As I would not damage it for anything in the world.” It had not escaped him that she used his first name, in what polite society deemed a shocking display of intimacy, even as he grasped the edges of the container, so she could retrieve the item. “It is the Boreas.”

  A miniature, exact replica of his ship, complete with sails, rested in her palm. She turned it left and then right, before peering at him with the softest, sweetest angelic countenance.

  “You serve Nelson?” a lobster inquired, and Mark recognized the chap.

  “I am Captain Nelson’s first lieutenant.” Mark recalled the soldier was, in fact, the very same man from whom Helen had rescued Amanda at the Northcote’s ball. “And I do not believe we are acquainted, sir.”

  “I am Second Lieutenant Samuel Clarendon.” The unshaven, rumpled reprobate clicked his heels. “You should remember me to your captain, as my family is well-known in loftier circles, and such mention would be to your credit.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant Clarendon, for your generous offer.” Mark nodded an acknowledgement, even as he ached to smite the rogue’s costard. “But I make my own way.”

  “I would wager you do.” The miscreant attempted to smooth a wrinkled cuff, even as he delivered a clumsy insult, neither facetious nor serious.

  “You may depend upon it.” Mark stared the louse straight in the eye until the coward flinched. “Nelson’s men do their duty.”

  “Well, of course.” Clarendon coughed into a handkerchief. “And I must away, Lady Amanda. Need to prepare for the Promenade, you know.”

  As an awkward armada, of sorts, his competitors cast off, but Mark lingered in their wake, until he alone remained in the drawing room. With patience that should qualify him for sainthood, he tamped his temper, while the would-be-wooers made their farewells. At long last, Lady Amanda returned, and she started when she discovered him.

  “Lieutenant Douglas, I did not know you were still here.” She glanced over her shoulder and then faced him.

  “I preferred it when you called me Mark, and I must speak with you about an urgent matter.” He chuckled, held out his hands, and flicked his fingers in entreaty. Nonplussed, he swallowed hard when she rested her palms to his, without reservation. “Lady Amanda, I owe you an explanation and an apology for my unforgiveable behavior at the Northcote’s ball.”

  “Oh?” She furrowed her brow. “I had thought, perhaps, my connections swayed your partiality.”

  “I suppose I deserve that.” With his thumb, he traced little circles on her gloved knuckles, and she inhaled a shaky breath, which scored a direct hit to his loins. “But my excuse is no less iniquitous.”

  “All right.” She squared her shoulders. “I will hear you.”

  “When I first ventured to the Northcote’s, I overheard a rather puerile but nonetheless cruel conversation, which cast aspersions on my occupation, but I could not identify the slanderers, beyond a unique characteristic born by one of the young women, for the throng. I knew only that females sheltering near a large pedestal, which bore an imposing floral arrangement, professed the uniform beneath them.” He considered his words; as he would not compound his err. “To avoid detection, I navigated the crowd with patience and discretion until I gained an unimpaired view of the detractors, one of whom sported the singular red hair.”

  “Lady Mary Ann and Lady Cynthia, although I would argue otherwise.” She wrenched from his grasp and paced. “Vipers. How dare they?”

  Unprepared for the force of her reaction, Mark found her unutterably appealing, and she earned a measure of respect from him, in that instant. “Lady Amanda--”

  “Well that explains the hushed whispers and silence with which they met my arrival, as they know better than to spout such venom in my company.” Riding a wave of high dudgeon, she whirled about, snorted, and stomped a foot. “My own beloved father is an admiral, and I am a vast deal prouder of his military rank than the peerage, as the one he earned, and the other he gained through birth.”

  “Well said, my lady.” How he loved the fire in her blue eyes and the raw power of her fury. He could only hope that energy lent itself to other, more intimate endeavors. “Perhaps now you can understand--”

  “Oh. You believe me like-minded?” She gasped, clenched a fist to her bodice, and then his valorous heroine broke. With tears welling, and chin quivering, she said in a small voice, “Do you think so little of me?”

  “No.” But he deserved a swift kick in the arse. “Lady Amanda, I should--”

  “Please, you must call me Amanda.” She wiped her cheek, and he cursed himself for making her cry. “If you are going to insult me, I should make you free with my name.”

  “Sweet Amanda.” Oh, she was a diamond of the first water--one he would neither overlook nor take for granted. He would never know why he had done it, but Mark walked straight to his lady and drew her into his embrace, propriety be damned. “I should sooner cut off my right arm than cause you pain. And yet, however unintended, I have hurt you, and I am so sorry.”

  “Well, I suppose I can accept your reasoning.” When he dabbed her heart-shap
ed face with his handkerchief, she favored him with a watery, lopsided smile, and he caught his breath. Then and there, Mark vowed she would be his wife. “Though you really should not have leapt to unsupported conclusions woven from whole cloth.”

  “I am duly chastised.” He whisked a stray tendril and tucked it behind her ear. “And if it makes you feel any better, the injury I caused you is nothing compared to the wound I have inflicted upon myself.”

  “Lieutenant Douglas--”

  “--Mark.”

  “Oh, Mark.” She giggled. “Cousin Helen is correct in her estimation. You are an impressive specimen, though I would add dangerous to the mix.”

  To wit he burst into laughter. “And I would say the same of you, my Amanda.”

  In that moment, she positively glowed. “And am I your Amanda?”

  “If only you allow me the opportunity to set things right between us.” He had not realized he searched for a mate when he had entered the Northcote’s residence, but he was too smart to pass on a golden opportunity, when she so audaciously upbraided his questionable conduct. Yes, indeed, she would be his bride, because when Mark wanted something, he claimed it. And he wanted Amanda. “So what would you ask of me, that I may be your Mark?”

  “My dearest Lieutenant, you were mine from the moment I saw you.” And now she emanated inexpressible joy. “And while I do love the replica and the roses, I have a couple of commissions, which would absolve you of your past transgressions, and we should never mention them again if you succeed.”

  “You have only to ask.” Though the etiquette books frowned on such behavior, Mark tugged off one of her gloves and pressed his lips to her bare palm. For several minutes, they simply stared at each other, as passion shimmered in the air as a gentle spring shower. Then he bent his head, and she tipped her chin--