unnecessary.
Julian's
mouth curved into a grim smile. "I’m afraid our meeting is a bit of a
shock for your guests, Simon. We have not enjoyed one another’s company for a
number of years. Indeed, it seems that I have come at an inopportune time.
Please accept my excuses. I will depart within the hour."
"No."
All eyes turned toward Amanda. "I would not dream of forcing a change in
your plans," she said, surprised to realize that she meant it, surprised
that her initial flash of anger at his presence had given way to only a rueful recollection
of her own foolishness so long ago.
Sir
Thomas, meanwhile, moved to her side. “Amanda?”
“The
past is in the past, uncle,” she said quietly.
Still,
he scowled at Julian. "My niece is a grown woman who knows her own mind. If
she agrees to your remaining here, Claridge, I will not demand otherwise. If
you give her cause to regret her decision, of course, I will have to kill you.”
Amanda
shot her uncle an amused look. She was glad he had respected her wishes. It was
best to forget the embarrassing episode in her past, especially now, when the
atmosphere in the castle should be one of celebrating Felicity's betrothal.
“I
would expect no less, sir,” Julian said. “My errand here should keep me out of the
way of civilized company. For now, please excuse me. I am rather dusty from my
travels.”
He
didn’t look dusty in the least, thought Amanda, but a sense of relief as he
left the room was inescapable.
Lord
Sommersby had the good manners not to inquire publicly about the mysterious
conversation that had occurred, and for that Amanda was thankful. But some time
later, as he ushered them in to dinner, Amanda felt the burning speculation in
that crystalline gaze.
***
Jeffers's
ungainly backswing generated too large an action, leaving the batman
off-balance and, as usual, exposed. Simon took full advantage of his
vulnerability to move in and, in a swift attack, thrust the tip of his foil
against the base of Jeffers's throat.
"My
lord," Jeffers croaked, "I believe I have had quite enough."
The
batman's pale features fueled Simon's guilt, as he had subjected Jeffers to a
particularly savage workout. Somewhat sheepishly, Simon withdrew his blade.
"My apologies. My mind has been elsewhere. As always, I am grateful for
your tolerance."
Shooting
his employer a speaking look, Jeffers gathered his things. Simon could not
blame him for being out of sorts. He himself had been in a foul mood all
evening, thanks to the effect of Julian's arrival on the company and, most
especially, upon Miss Fitzhugh.
That
Julian and Miss Fitzhugh were acquainted, and that it was an acquaintance that
caused her awkwardness, suggested — nay, could only mean — that it also
involved more than passing familiarity. The atmosphere in the dining room
tonight had been rich with undercurrents of emotion, none of it reflected in
the very polite discourse occurring at the table.
When
the ladies had retired, leaving the men to their port, Sir Thomas abruptly
absented himself as well, evidently having no inclination to linger in the same
room with Claridge. Julian bore the disapprobation as if accustomed to such
reactions, which, Simon suspected, he was. Simon wondered how Miss Fitzhugh had
become involved with the man and what, precisely, the extent of that
involvement had been.
Had
Julian been responsible for the fact that she "did not take," as she
had put it, during her Season? Had he been the reason she had abandoned the
social whirl for a more solitary life? If so, that could only mean one thing.
Miss
Fitzhugh had been one of Julian's conquests.
Had
he seduced her? Had he found it necessary to use all of the wiles at his
disposal? Or had she fallen into his arms like a ripe plum ready for the
picking?
Neither
possibility fit with the image he had of her as a strong, independent woman
impervious to the wiles of a confirmed rake like Julian. But perhaps strength
had come afterward. Perhaps it
Julian's
mouth curved into a grim smile. "I’m afraid our meeting is a bit of a
shock for your guests, Simon. We have not enjoyed one another’s company for a
number of years. Indeed, it seems that I have come at an inopportune time.
Please accept my excuses. I will depart within the hour."
"No."
All eyes turned toward Amanda. "I would not dream of forcing a change in
your plans," she said, surprised to realize that she meant it, surprised
that her initial flash of anger at his presence had given way to only a rueful recollection
of her own foolishness so long ago.
Sir
Thomas, meanwhile, moved to her side. “Amanda?”
“The
past is in the past, uncle,” she said quietly.
Still,
he scowled at Julian. "My niece is a grown woman who knows her own mind. If
she agrees to your remaining here, Claridge, I will not demand otherwise. If
you give her cause to regret her decision, of course, I will have to kill you.”
Amanda
shot her uncle an amused look. She was glad he had respected her wishes. It was
best to forget the embarrassing episode in her past, especially now, when the
atmosphere in the castle should be one of celebrating Felicity's betrothal.
“I
would expect no less, sir,” Julian said. “My errand here should keep me out of the
way of civilized company. For now, please excuse me. I am rather dusty from my
travels.”
He
didn’t look dusty in the least, thought Amanda, but a sense of relief as he
left the room was inescapable.
Lord
Sommersby had the good manners not to inquire publicly about the mysterious
conversation that had occurred, and for that Amanda was thankful. But some time
later, as he ushered them in to dinner, Amanda felt the burning speculation in
that crystalline gaze.
***
Jeffers's
ungainly backswing generated too large an action, leaving the batman
off-balance and, as usual, exposed. Simon took full advantage of his
vulnerability to move in and, in a swift attack, thrust the tip of his foil
against the base of Jeffers's throat.
"My
lord," Jeffers croaked, "I believe I have had quite enough."
The
batman's pale features fueled Simon's guilt, as he had subjected Jeffers to a
particularly savage workout. Somewhat sheepishly, Simon withdrew his blade.
"My apologies. My mind has been elsewhere. As always, I am grateful for
your tolerance."
Shooting
his employer a speaking look, Jeffers gathered his things. Simon could not
blame him for being out of sorts. He himself had been in a foul mood all
evening, thanks to the effect of Julian's arrival on the company and, most
especially, upon Miss Fitzhugh.
That
Julian and Miss Fitzhugh were acquainted, and that it was an acquaintance that
caused her awkwardness, suggested — nay, could only mean — that it also
involved more than passing familiarity. The atmosphere in the dining room
tonight had been rich with undercurrents of emotion, none of it reflected in
the very polite discourse occurring at the table.
When
the ladies had retired, leaving the men to their port, Sir Thomas abruptly
absented himself as well, evidently having no inclination to linger in the same
room with Claridge. Julian bore the disapprobation as if accustomed to such
reactions, which, Simon suspected, he was. Simon wondered how Miss Fitzhugh had
become involved with the man and what, precisely, the extent of that
involvement had been.
Had
Julian been responsible for the fact that she "did not take," as she
had put it, during her Season? Had he been the reason she had abandoned the
social whirl for a more solitary life? If so, that could only mean one thing.
Miss
Fitzhugh had been one of Julian's conquests.
Had
he seduced her? Had he found it necessary to use all of the wiles at his
disposal? Or had she fallen into his arms like a ripe plum ready for the
picking?
Neither
possibility fit with the image he had of her as a strong, independent woman
impervious to the wiles of a confirmed rake like Julian. But perhaps strength
had come afterward. Perhaps it
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