“He certainly should have! All you have to do is ask him!”
“You just said he’s out of town.”
Amelia felt inordinately frustrated in her attempt to warn him. “Well, he’s bound to be back, and when he is, you have only to ask him. In the meantime it would probably be best if you didn’t see Mlle. Chartier.”
“I’m escorting her to a masked ball this evening.”
“Two nights in a row? Oh, Peter, you shouldn’t.”
He regarded her with steady eyes. “I have no choice. And besides,” he said as he rose from the table, “I want to escort her.”
Amelia’s shoulders slumped as she watched him stride from the room.
* * * *
There was no way to tell if he had taken her message to heart. He might have, even though he’d scoffed at it. Perhaps, even while he escorted Mlle. Chartier, or stood up with her at dances to which he hadn’t escorted her, or brought her refreshments at musical evenings, he was only pursuing further information on her and her brother. Amelia didn’t really believe that, of course, but it was painful for her to watch Peter become more and more enamored of the young woman. If only Verwood hadn’t disappeared from town before he spoke to Peter, this might not have happened.
Amelia developed an annoyance with the viscount that grew with each passing day he didn’t show up again in London society. This had nothing to do with how insipid her entertainments seemed when he wasn’t there to challenge her. It was entirely based on what she could see of Peter’s mental state, which was deteriorating rapidly. He was absolutely smitten with the Chartier girl, with her sparkling eyes and her enthusiastic chatter. Personally, Amelia wanted to hate the Frenchwoman, but found it impossible. Almost as impossible as it was to believe there was any subterfuge in her. Her perpetual
joie
de vivre
was infectious rather than irritating, her beauty so unaffected as to be stunning.
In addition to Peter, several other gentlemen were vying for Mlle. Chartier’s affections. She was, in fact, very much in demand. M. Chartier stood on the sidelines and smiled enigmatically at all this interest, looking more confident than concerned. He carefully skirted Lady Amelia, but made no attempt to ward off the Earl of Welsford’s attentions. Amelia almost wished he would, though it might have gone some ways toward proving he wasn’t the French spy she suspected. Far rather would she have been proven wrong than find her brother married to a woman who was not at all what she seemed.
Trudy was no help in the matter. She went around the house murmuring, “Charming, charming!” Not for a minute did Amelia believe this referred to herself. Though Trudy had no more reason than Peter or Amelia to approve of the French, she seemed completely taken with Mlle. Chartier.
“You don’t think perhaps she’s a little young?” Amelia asked one morning as they sat together in the Velvet Drawing Room, each engrossed in a mending project of her own.
“Young? My dear child, she’s eighteen. Hardly a sophisticated eighteen, I grant you, but more than mature enough to find herself in front of an altar before long.” Trudy snipped a loose thread and held the napkin she’d been edging with lace out in front of her for a final inspection. Dissatisfied with the way the lace bunched at one corner, she patiently set to work at it again. “The earl is very fortunate she seems to favor him, you know. A charming girl.”
“Yes, charming,” Amelia agreed. It wouldn’t have occurred to her to share her suspicions with her Aunt Trudy, and Mlle. Chartier
was
a charming girl.
“I wonder what has become of Lord Verwood,” Trudy mused next, as though there were some possible connection between the two thoughts. “We were used to see him everywhere we went. I do hope his leg isn’t still bothering him.”
“I believe he’s out of town.”
“At this time of year?” She gave a tsk of disbelief. “Mrs. Shipton was saying just last night that Geoffrey Lovell was recently come to town, and that he was in the army with his lordship. Lord Verwood would hardly leave just when a great friend of his was due, would he? No, I shouldn’t wonder if it is just a ploy to see if absence makes the heart grow fonder,” she suggested, coyly eyeing Amelia over the spectacles she used when doing handwork.
“Out of sight, out of mind,” Amelia sniffed, stabbing her needle unnecessarily violently into the handkerchief she was monogramming.
Chapter 11
Trudy’s mention of Geoffrey Lovell did not escape Amelia’s attention. Nor did the fact that Lord Verwood had managed to leave London just on his old friend’s arrival. Here again was a highly suspicious circumstance which, when mentioned to her brother, only made him shake his head at her and wander off to his library. Amelia determined to meet Colonel Lovell without delay.
This proved a little more difficult than she had expected, and eventually she had to go to Clarissa Shipton to discover where he was most likely to turn up of an evening.
“My word, Amelia, you’ve done nothing this entire season but try to track down various gentlemen! It won’t do, my dear.” Clarissa twirled a bracelet around her wrist, inspecting it for any loose stones. “First Lord Verwood, now Colonel Lovell. I can’t imagine what has possessed you. If you’d wanted to marry so badly, there was Lord Ashley last season. But I think you were wise to turn him down. He’s much more interested in horses than he is in people. And Rollings won’t do, of course. Still, this passion you’ve developed for military men in quite inexplicable.”
“I have
not
developed a passion for military men,” Amelia protested. “My aunt mentioned that Colonel Lovell was in London and I simply thought I should like to meet him. You seemed the most logical person to ask where I might find him.”
“Not I! Mama perhaps, but then, she knows where everyone is, doesn’t she?” Clarissa grinned at her. “Well, she did say she expected to see him at the Earnleys’ tomorrow. I suppose you could just pop in there on your way to the Swinbrooks’.” Clarissa lowered her eyelids demurely over brilliant blue eyes and murmured, “He’s quite striking in his regimentals, Amy. I cannot say when last I’ve been so struck by a gentleman’s appearance. A great deal more polished than your Lord Verwood, too.”
“He isn’t my Lord Verwood, and I would be the first to point out his deficiencies to anyone who cared to hear of them.”
Clarissa offered a sly wink. “Many a gentleman has been known to smooth his ways for the sake of the right lady. I dare say even Lord Ashley would have made some effort.”
They were sitting in the Shiptons’ drawing room sipping languidly at cups of tea. Amelia helped herself to a rhubarb tart. “I can’t think Aunt Trudy would mind stopping in at the Earnleys’. Will you be there?”
“Oh, yes. Mama is convinced Colonel Lovell is an eligible parti. A younger son, but from the Suffolk Lovells, who are without a doubt one of the most prominent families of the county. To say nothing of being one of the wealthiest.”
Amelia laughed at her companion’s mockery. “Ah, yes. An important point. Promise to introduce him to me, Clarissa.”
The young lady sighed. “Well, I will, if you will promise not to dazzle him with your dimples.”
“I don’t have dimples,” Amelia retorted, dusting her fingers on the minuscule napkin with which she’d been provided.
“That’s true. It’s your nose that intrigues them.”
“My nose?” Amelia asked in astonishment.
“It twitches,” Clarissa explained kindly. “When someone has caught your interest.”
“Nonsense.”
“But it does. I shall watch to see what your nose does tomorrow night.”
* * * *
Colonel Geoffrey Lovell might have made nine noses out of ten twitch, but Amelia was interested in him only for what he could tell her of Lord Verwood. It was true that the colonel was an attractive man: medium height, with wavy brown hair and sincere brown eyes, regular features, and a warm smile.
When Mrs. Shipton sailed into the room beside Clarissa, she immediately took note of where he stood with a group of gentlemen and nodded in satisfaction. “I told you he would be here,” she whispered (rather loudly) to her daughter.
“Yes, Mama,” Clarissa agreed, not allowing her own eyes to stray to the group.
As Colonel Lovell detached himself from the other men and headed in her direction, she waved Amelia over to join her. During the introductions she paid particular attention to Amelia’s nose, which remained quite unmoved by the signal honor, and she smiled with relief. After soliciting Clarissa’s hand for the first set, the colonel politely requested Amelia’s for the second. A very satisfactory arrangement to both young women.
Colonel Lovell was an accomplished dancer, possessing a grace which Lord Verwood might well have envied, had he been of such an inclination, which Amelia doubted. Since there was little time to lose, she began her interrogation immediately, with no diminution of her skill in managing the boulanger.
“I understand you are well known to my brother’s friend Lord Verwood,” she remarked, smiling pleasantly at him.
“Yes, indeed. It’s the greatest ill-luck he should have been out of town when I arrived.”
“Did you serve with him in Egypt?”
“I was there when he took the ball in his knee. Lord, he was lucky not to have the kneecap shot right off. Does he still have trouble with it?”
“A certain amount,” Amelia said dryly.
Colonel Lovell apparently didn’t notice her skepticism. “They weren’t sure it would heal properly. I dare say he limps.”
“When necessary.”
“Not all the time?” the colonel asked, surprised.
Amelia repented her flippancy. “I suppose he does limp all the time. One simply doesn’t notice after a while.”
“Of course,” he agreed.
“Have you known Lord Verwood long?”
“For several years. We joined the regiment about the same time. A shame we weren’t sent to join Sir John Moore.” He shrugged. “But then, I suppose we’re both lucky just to be here now. Apparently Fraser’s army has been blockaded in Alexandria.”
“I take it you share Lord Verwood’s admiration for Sir John Moore.”
His eyes lit with enthusiasm. “You bet I do! And I’ve been lucky enough to be reassigned under his command. Alexander will envy me. Do you know when he returns to town?”
“I’m afraid not.” Amelia was trying to find some way to ask a question that would prove beyond doubt that Verwood was or was not the viscount he claimed to be. Anyone could fake an injury, or profess devotion to Sir John Moore. “Did Lord Verwood know you would be here?”
“No. I had intended to surprise him.”
The dance was drawing to a conclusion. Amelia wanted to ask him if Verwood was tall, with unruly black hair and fierce black eyes, but she knew he’d think she was crazy. “Did you stop at his house in South Street?” she asked desperately.
“Oh, yes. His butler couldn’t say when he’d be back.”
“You probably knew the butler from a previous visit.”
“Perhaps.” Colonel Lovell looked thoughtful for a moment. “Alexander didn’t have the house open when we were last in London together. He had rooms in Clarges Street, as I recall. It may have been the same fellow then. I think he recognized me.”
“You mean he called you by name before you gave him your card?”
He lifted his shoulders in a negligent shrug. “Really, Lady Amelia, I don’t recall. Does it matter?”
His amused eyes made her immediately protest, “No, no, of course not. I’m forever in admiration of these old family retainers who can remember a face from one’s childhood, you know. Better than I do, usually.”
“Yes, indeed,” he agreed, giving her a rather skeptical look.
Amelia was relieved to be delivered to her aunt on the sidelines. Lord Verwood probably was who he claimed to be. Certainly he could prove it to her satisfaction by returning to town and facing Colonel Lovell. And she imagined he had every intention of returning to town. Though not to pay any attention to
her.
Which didn’t mean she didn’t look for him at every entertainment she attended. It wasn’t a conscious decision on her part to search the masses of people, looking especially closely when a tall gentleman entered the room. She was only vaguely aware that she did it at all, until she felt the subtle disappointment that the dark-haired fellow would turn out to be Sir John Brewster or Mr. Alistair Hoffing. Surely she had much more important things to worry about than where his lordship had disappeared and when, or if, he would reappear. Amelia forced herself to concentrate on them.
There was Peter, of course. He was becoming more and more enamored of Mlle. Chartier. Not an evening went past when he didn’t stand up with her at least once, usually twice if he could manage it. And Amelia had seen him driving in the park with the young woman on several occasions. M. Chartier was usually somewhere about, hovering within chaperone distance of his sister but never being more than civil to Lady Amelia.
Then there was the Carson family. Dr. Wells had sent Mrs. Carson home from hospital and Amelia couldn’t bear to think of her recuperating in that shabby room in the Rookery, where she would doubtless only work herself into illness again amidst the foul air and unsanitary conditions. What the whole family needed was to live in a place where there was fresh air and decent housing and enough undemanding work for Mrs. Carson to support them. Somewhere in the country, perhaps.
It was after this thought had germinated in Amelia’s mind for a while that she came up with what she conceived as a brilliant solution to the majority of her current worries. She would move the Carsons to one of the cottages on her brother’s estate in Sussex. There was bound to be an empty cottage there, and some work the woman was fit to do. Amelia would insist that she needed Peter’s escort, and would manage to keep him in the country for a while, to let his ardor cool. Perhaps in the meantime some worthy swain would offer for Mlle. Chartier and be accepted.
The other advantage her plan had was that it got her out of London. She was becoming annoyed with herself for her constant awareness of Lord Verwood’s absence. She was thoroughly bored with the London season, which was beginning to wind down in any case. None of her “suitors” had been encouraged, and none had come up to scratch. In the country she might find something useful to do, at least. Rumors of smuggling or invasion were always rife in the neighborhood. Surely Peter wouldn’t mind her doing a little clandestine research on the subject. Nothing dangerous, of course, just something to keep her busy.