The Gentleman's Promise (Daughters of Amhurst) Read online

He did, after all, have a promise to his mother to fulfill. One that necessitated he remained in good standing with the majority.

  But surely, popular opinion would side with him and have compassion for the girl. After all, her remorse was clearly evident and she had discontinued her scandalous behavior. Why should she be continually punished for a sin long ago committed?

  “What benefit is there in having a bit of power if you do not use it for good?”

  Sarah’s eyes widened.

  And Jonathon found himself swimming in their golden depths. Blood rushed through his veins, collecting in areas of his body that demanded immediate attention. Shifting his stance, he reached for a flower and prayed to God both women were too busy staring at his face to notice the swell in his breeches.

  “How do you intend to implement your plan?” Olivia asked. “It is autumn. The Season has ended, and we are not in London.”

  “True, but we do have this.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out the invitation that had brought him to Olivia’s preferred sitting room in the first place.

  “A piece of foolscap?” she asked.

  “An invitation to Lord Vincent’s run,” he replied, dourly. “He has pups training for the hunt and thought to make an event of it before the official start of fox season. It will be a casual, informal affair, perfect for regaining Sarah’s foothold into Society.”

  Olivia glanced at Sarah before turning to him. “While unexpected, and indeed intriguing, if it is such an informal event, will it be enough to return Sarah into the ton’s good graces?”

  “I do not know the extent of the guest list, but I do know Lord Vincent and his close circle. I’m certain that, with a few words, all this will be put to rest and her sins forgiven.”

  Sarah laughed, a light tinkling sound that did little to relieve the swelling in his breeches. A brisk walk in the garden was in order. Directly. Perhaps the chill of the perpetual drizzle would cool his misdirected ardor.

  “And did this invitation include my name?” she asked. Both women peered at the foolscap in his hand.

  “I don’t believe Lord and Lady Vincent are aware of your stay here,” he admitted.

  Sarah shook her head, her fingers tightening on the shawl’s tassel. “Then I cannot impose. It would be incredibly presumptuous of me to accept—”

  “Whilst you dwell at Covenan you are a member of the House of Annesley, and therefore a welcome addition to Lord Vincent’s guest list.”

  “There is no sense in arguing with him, Sarah,” said Olivia. “I’ve done so to no avail. When my brother insists, the heavens part and will his command.”

  He bit back a smile. “It is true. When I insisted my next sibling be a girl, my mother bore Olivia. I’ve been directing fate ever since.”

  Sarah nibbled on her bottom lip, rolling the pink flesh between her teeth. And setting his blood aflame. His pulse raced as desire, quick and fierce, surged through him with a long-forgotten familiarity.

  With a nod, she relented and said, “I suppose, if you stand behind your invitation…”

  “I do.” He clenched his jaw, willing his body to behave. He was a healthy man of seven and twenty. Not some green lad with no control over his appendages. “We leave on the morrow before dawn. Barrington Park and the marquess await.”

  He set down the bit of foolscap and left to relieve his stiff lower half in the frigid stream behind the gardens.

  Chapter Two

  Two weeks at Lord Vincent’s estate demanded more trunks than Sarah thought necessary. Truly, the mounds of luggage and accouterments stacked neatly on top of the two carriages were far more than required for a mere informal gathering of friends. But then, as Olivia had politely suggested, albeit with gentleness, that along with their warm woolens and serviceable muslins, the best of their evening silks would not go amiss at a party where the main intent was to impress a smattering of society’s elite.

  Glancing out the left carriage window, she chanced a peek at the sky. Gray as ever and with thick dark clouds shielding any stray bit of sunlight; pleasant conditions for their long journey north to Essex and Lord Vincent’s family seat at Barrington Park would be highly unlikely.

  Olivia jabbed her in the side. “Do not start with your uncanny observations, Lady Sarah Beauchamp. I see your eyes. I know what you are thinking and it is bad luck.”

  “Luck has nothing to do with what one can discern with the naked eye. The odds the weather will hold are minimal at best,” Sarah said.

  Olivia sat beside her, tucked neatly under a heavy woolen blanket, a warming pan fresh and hot beneath her feet. “Pessimism is not attractive.”

  “But honesty is a virtue,” Jonathon said. He lifted his head from the latest edition of The Times. Snapping the paper shut, his knees near knocking Olivia’s from his seat on the opposite bench, he leaned forward and ventured a glance heavenward. “Given the condition of the skies and the fact that for the last week and a half we have had nothing but rain, I would say Sarah’s prediction was a fairly accurate one.”

  “Oh, not you, too,” Olivia said with a touch of asperity. “Bad weather at the start of the trip does not bode well for its remainder.”

  “I fail to see how the weather in Kent has any bearing on the outcome of a party clear in Essex,” argued Jonathon.

  “It doesn’t,” said Sarah. “But it does make one a tad anxious about the expeditiousness of our trip. Where were you hoping to overnight?”

  He adjusted his long frame on the bench’s firm cushions. “I had hoped to make it to Gravesend, though the conditions of the road may prevent us from reaching our destination.”

  Her lips quirking, Sarah turned to Olivia. “If thoughts alone were responsible for the distance traveled, we’d be at Barrington before luncheon.”

  “Wouldn’t that be grand,” Olivia said with a yawn. Leaning against Sarah, she closed her eyes.

  “Would it?” Jonathon asked, a hint of altruism in his voice. He eyed Sarah with a note of interest, a sand-colored brow lifting above his left eye.

  “If you are inquiring after my emotional state, Jonathon Annesley, then no, I would not define the anxiety unsettling my nerves at the idea of meeting the marquess and marchioness without their specific address to be a pleasurable one. Though it might be a bit more bearable if you would allow me to read The Times after you have finished.”

  His gaze slid to the newspaper as a winsome smile spread his lips wide. The Times was not a woman’s newspaper, but then, Sarah had unusual reading habits and he had indulged her interest in the paper before, casually leaving it out for her perusal. Her mother certainly did not encourage such reading and the earl had been careful not to leave his copy out for curious eyes. He folded the paper. “Let us make a wager, then.”

  His wagers were legendary for making her appear the fool, and she had never been able to win a single one. She tore her gaze from the paper to his face. A lock of his light brown hair had fallen over his right eye, lending him a roguish air. She’d be foolish to indulge him.

  And yet, The Times was so deliciously close… “What do you propose?” she asked warily.

  “Nothing nefarious,” he said with a laugh. “I shall give you The Times…if you will answer a question and not think me impertinent or prying for asking.”

  What harm could be wrought from a simple question? She’d allow him several for the privilege of reading the paper, even if his inquiry threatened to be more personal than socially acceptable. She settled against the cushions as Olivia let out a snore. “Ask away.”

  “Why do you want a husband?”

  Her stomach fluttered as the carriage passed over a particularly large dip in the road and Olivia’s bonnet dug into her side. His question didn’t border prying—it was meddlesome.

  Sarah frowned. She hadn’t thought he would touch upon the crux of the trip. She simply wanted him to remove the bit of tarnish from her name, not dig about and ask specifically why. Though why she was embarrassed to admit to him what s
he had openly confessed to her friend was curious. They were a trio, the three of them. She should have known he would guess why she wanted the spots polished.

  “The same as any woman,” she said. “Security.”

  Jonathon let out a snort and slapped The Times on top of her knees. “Rubbish. That’s the biggest pile of codswallop I’ve heard in a long time. A daughter of Amhurst does not marry for security.”

  “They do if they are the last daughter to be married.”

  “Amhurst may have confided a few details of your father’s will, including that whomever is in possession of the title must also concede Rosehearst is yours to live in so long as you require it.”

  He knew more than she had wagered. A lot more. “And who is to say the next earl will be as obliging?”

  “The law, that’s what. Your father made certain you were not wanting in this life or the next and had the legal documents made to prove it. Security is a feeble excuse hiding a far deeper truth.”

  She lifted her chin in indignation. “You think too much.”

  “And you don’t trust me enough. I cannot help you if I do not fully understand what is driving you to stay two weeks amongst people whose opinions, only two years prior, meant no more to you than a farthing.”

  Her teeth ground together. He could be altogether too perceptive and needling when he put his mind to it. “You’ve already touched upon the answer. I am in want of husband.”

  “Yes, I deduced that. What I want to know is why a young woman of keen mind and little need of title and wealth, seeks the attachment of a betrothal. Were you content with a life of domestic drudgery, I would say yes. But that is not the Sarah I know.”

  “You act as though I do not know my place.”

  “You know your place. But it is not as a wife to a man who does not appreciate your unique abilities.”

  She scrunched her nose. “And you believe such a man exists? One who would not discourage reading or have a footman first sip his morning tea for fear I might have slipped something foul into the blend? Do not sit there and seek to tell me what is in my best interest when you do not fully understand my circumstances.”

  His expression softened. “That is why I asked. Because I do not know why you wish to marry.” He slouched into the cushions. “And I daresay you do not know, either.”

  “I know perfectly well what I want. I want what my sisters have.”

  “Earls and viscounts? Balls and soirees?”

  She peered out the window. “I want the light that has shined in Albina’s eyes ever since she took the viscount as her husband. I want the glow that somehow infuses Henrietta’s skin and the little smiles of adoration her husband sends her way whenever he thinks no one is looking. I want happiness.”

  Silence pervaded their small space until he spoke again. “A worthy goal.”

  “It is.” She pulled her gaze from the tree-lined road and the scene passing on the other side of the glass. “And one I believe is easily attainable enough, should I follow their examples.”

  His expression darkened. “Which are…?”

  She resisted rolling her eyes. “Marriage. I have physical evidence affirming the acquisition of a husband equates to happiness.”

  He quirked a brow. “Physical?”

  Her heart hammered at the way his tongue rolled over the word, as though it were meant not as an innocent question, but as one with a playful and earthly bent. Her interactions with men were, admittedly, limited. But she had read The Kama Sutra. She was aware of flirtation.

  Unfortunately, she could not easily identify it. At least not outside the pages of a book. The undertones in his voice, along with what she suspected to be sensuality lurking in the depths of his eyes, suggested he posed more than what his inquiry implied.

  Then again, she could be overthinking things. He had asked a simple question and she was actually giving merit to the idea that he may be flirting with her.

  In front of his sister.

  Shaking the absurd from her head, she answered the simple question. “My sisters smile more now than they did before.”

  Jonathon rolled his lips. “They didn’t smile before meeting their spouses?”

  “Of course. Just not as often. It is a rare occasion when I do not see them without some sort of smirk or full-born smile on their faces. Their frequent congenial expressions lead me to conclude marriage is the cause behind them.”

  Jonathon laughed so loud she feared his mirth would rouse Olivia from her slumber. “I know a fair number of men who admit the opposite.”

  While she wanted to frown, she could not glare at his charming smile, even if she believed him patronizing in his response.

  “Come now, Sarah, you don’t truly believe…” His words faded as he studied her face. “You believe contentment is found in the bonds of marriage.”

  “I do.”

  “Do you not think it possible to find complacency alone? Outside the influence of another?” he asked, all merriment gone from his voice.

  “Based on my observations, no. I do not believe so.”

  His eyes clouded as he handed her the paper. “You answered my question.”

  He glanced away as she took the paper from his hands and stared out the window opposite hers. He looked almost disheartened, as if her ideas on marriage were anathema to him.

  Well, he didn’t have to share her views or even like them. He was not whom she was trying to impress. While he was a part of the social elite, he was her friend, though that didn’t mean she couldn’t marry a friend. Why, she could marry a stranger if she wished. Or even a cousin.

  If they proposed.

  But that was beside the point. She didn’t need Jonathon’s approval, for he promised he would assist her without it. She also knew he was far more forgiving than the rest of the ton. Whatever belief of his she had offended, he would speak his position when he was ready. She had only to leave him alone until then.

  Which was precisely two hours later and three-fourths of her way through The Times.

  “Your happiness will not be found with a man, Sarah.”

  His words carried in the carriage interior, reverberating over one of Olivia’s louder snores. Sarah lifted her gaze from the paper to find him staring at her intently, his expression stony and more than a bit perturbed.

  “I’ll take my chances.” She lowered her eyes, only to have him snag the paper from her grasp. “I am not finished reading the editorial on the formal education of former prostitutes,” she said.

  “I think you’ve read enough of Society’s penitents. It is a long carriage ride that promises to be even longer if it starts to rain.” As though to affirm his statement, Olivia leaned heavily against her, the crown of her bonnet rubbing irritably against Sarah’s cheek. “You may finish reading the editorial if I am granted a moment of your consideration—without the interruption of your objection.”

  She had been quite engrossed in the article, and it seemed senseless to prevent him from saying his piece for so small a price. She gave a slow nod of agreement.

  Relief flitted over his features, replaced quickly by a look of sobriety. “I will follow through on my promise to do my best to sway the opinions of those present and restore what luster I can to your reputation. But I will not assist you in the acquirement of a husband, not when I firmly believe the key to your happiness exists elsewhere. I will not hinder your attempts at seeking a proposal, but I will not encourage them, either.” He took a deep breath and pursed his lips together.

  “Are you finished?” she asked. She kept her tone as somber as his.

  He nodded.

  “Then might I have the paper?”

  “You have nothing to say? No counter? No argument?”

  “You are willing to help people forget my peccadillo. I am grateful for your assistance.”

  “But I will not help you find a husband.”

  “Yes, I believe you said as much the first time you stated the fact.”

  “And you a
re not upset?” he said with a note of disbelief.

  “No, for I did not ask you to help with that endeavor, although the clearing of my reputation will greatly assist me in securing a match.” She held out her hand. “The penitents, Jonathon. I am eager to read how the author believes a formal education will better their lot.”

  “And your happiness—”

  “Will greatly increase should you allow me to finish reading the paper.”

  He pursed his lips and handed her the paper, once again diverting his attentions to the scenery beyond the window.

  Which was just as well. She had an interesting article to read and he had…whatever thoughts were obviously plaguing him to occupy his time.

  She lowered her gaze and returned it to The Times, though all joy in reading the article had been lost. The words, no matter how many times she read them, refused to register, her mind not on the penitents but on the man sitting across from her.

  Irritation plagued her. Jonathon and she had always been friends, and as such, they had their occasional disagreement. But this…this was bigger, and she didn’t like the rift that had settled between them. What’s more, she didn’t like the lines of discord marring his otherwise handsome profile. To know she was the cause of those lines was unsettling.

  Oh, she could say a pretty word or two to set his mind at ease and erase those lines, but it would be a lie, and she had long given up deception. Happiness was ensured with the acquisition of a spouse, and the only way to prove that was to find a husband and show him how much happier she, in fact, was. Until that time? Well, they would have to agree to disagree on the matter.

  Sarah slumped against the back of the cushion and refocused on the paper as Olivia’s head bobbed against her shoulder.

  It was going to be a very long journey to Barrington Park, indeed.

  …

  Jonathon wandered about the quiet inn yard, his limbs still aching from the long hours spent inside the close confines of the carriage. With a good stretch, he lifted his head and stared into the cold night sky. Despite his sister’s predictions and Sarah’s bold assertions, the weather had held. The gray clouds, while threatening deluge, had withheld their fury and allowed them to arrive in Gravesend as originally planned. The expeditious arrival, however, was the only spot of good luck on an otherwise cursed expedition. He kicked at an errant pebble, the toes of his boots dirtied with brown mud. Not only had he lost his one bit of reading material to Sarah’s eager hands, he’d earned her censure, her only spoken words in the several remaining hours of travel those of polite and required exchanges. Even at dinner, she had remained cordial, though detached, her gaze diverting whenever he sought her out. The day and evening had been a silent one, which in turn had led to copious amounts of reflection. Which was utterly dangerous.