“Oh, I am all a dither when I should be attending you.” That was a sure testament that she was worried out of her mind. Mary was never slacking in her duty.
“Well?” The arch word spurred them into action. The undergroom collected the reins of the horse from her and the rest backed away systematically. Amelia hated having to use a haughty tone with her household, but more than anything they had to refrain from their thread of conversation. She couldn’t risk Lord Windon appearing and facing their speculative eyes. She had grown up with most of them and nothing could persuade them to leave her alone if she pandered to their concerned enquiries even for a single minute.
“Let me go see to your bath.” Mary answered with a nod and she hurried off with that suggestion ringing in her wake.
“Lord Rochester?” The question was understood by Simmons.
“Your father, his lordship. has no hint that you did not return earlier. He was quite tired and spent the day indoors and retired early,” Simmons supplied with a look of reproach, but Amelia ignored it. Only the head groom could take such liberties with her.
“I am pleased. Make sure this does not reach his ears,” she ordered as she turned away from him. She was unwilling to witness the cool reproof in his eyes. The orders were strange to say the least, but Simmons was too well trained to show his disapproval with more than a discrete look.
“Rub down the horses. Give them plenty of fresh hay and warm mash,” she threw over her head. “And Simmons?”
“Yes, milady?” His disapproval was a solid cloud on his brow now.
“He must not hear a word of this, Simmons. The household will hold its tongue or suffer my wrath.” In an uncharacteristic move, she swept into the house regally. Even if she wore wrinkled clothes and her person was a trifle rancid, no one could mistake Amelia St Clair for anything other than gentry. She wore her station well.
Chapter Ten
Lord Windon returned a little slower than her. While she was eager to return to the bosom of home and the familiarity of her hall, he tried to take his time thinking on what had happened and what steps he would take now.
In equal amounts of self deprecation and slow reminisce, he replayed the events of the night before. That was his first mistake. The emotions raised and the ghost of the passion drove him to shudder, spooking his horse into sidestepping nervously. Even faraway Amelia proved again and again how easily she could unman him.
He had woken up with doubt ringing in his head. The ghost of that voice telling him the words he had tried to outrun all his life. Even from the grave his father haunted him. He had gone off to school and stayed there, walking the straight and narrow, avoiding excess emotion. Here he was dubbed the ‘Black Corinthian’ for all his endeavors.
The horse could not be kept from the stable any longer. It called out, and at the answering neighs it increased its speed into the courtyard of the stables. The grooms accepted the reins from him and when he gave them instruction to rub down the two horses and feed them with warm marsh he was told that Amelia had given the same instructions before she walked into the house. He nodded and made his way into the manor feeling suddenly bereft.
She was ashamed of him, of them. She couldn’t bear his presence, but he had to do the right thing. It didn’t matter if she hated him. He had to look beyond his first flush of emotion and do his duty by her. What if a child had resulted from their union? She would be ruined beyond repair. He had introduced her to the pleasures of the flesh. No, that was too cold for what had transpired between them. They had made love. And now even the friendship of the day before was lost. But there were serious implications of their union, a child could result from it. He couldn’t be sure if the idea made him shudder in fear or shiver in pleasured pride.
No matter her aversion to him, her silence and her—it pained him to admit—possible regrets, he would do right by her. He would do his duty by her. It was a matter he had to set to right.
“Your Grace, I have laid out your morning apparel and a bath has been drawn.” His valet interrupted his thoughts.
“Excellent Giles. How is Lord Rochester?” he asked with a slightly interested tone.
“He is at breakfast. He has no idea the lady has not spent the night in the household. The news among the servants is th
at he is not to be told,” the valet informed him in a bland tone.
“Hmm,” he answered as he stripped the wrinkled dirty clothes from himself. So she wanted to hide the truth of it. If it was noted they had spent the night in close quarters he could be forced to marry her, even if nothing had passed between them. But they were no strangers to each other. It galled him especially to have her prefer ruination to being saddled with him in marriage.
He stepped into the tub and steeped for a while.
His valet gathered the clothes off the floor, his brow rising when he found them to be perfectly dry, but Lord Windon was not a person one asked such questions.
"Should I have a tray brought up to you?" Dashed deuce, Giles had caught him in reverie again. It was fast becoming a habit this morning, and a pair of green eyes bore the blame. Windon lifted his face to find his valet regarding him with a more peculiar expression than ever before.
"No, I shall go down to breakfast," he informed the dratted man.
"Of course, Your Grace. Very good," was the bland reply.
"Have Lord Rochester’s solicitor summoned as soon as possible. I have business of a delicate nature that I wish to discuss with Lord Rochester after the morning repast," Robert ordered with more bite that ever.
"Of course, Your Grace. I shall have a servant summon him," Giles answered.
"And can all this be done without alerting the servants or the lady herself?" Robert added as an afterthought. He knew she would love to thwart him, and he was very aware that more their pride was on the line.
"Very well," the valet answered without a hint of how absurd he found the request.