Chapter 12 #3
Of course de Warenne didn’t want to marry her; she had never expected him to want her as a wife.
She had been stupid enough to fall in love with him and she had yearned to be his lover, even for a while.
But he was a man of honor, the kind of man she hadn’t really believed existed until she had met him.
He was being noble now. He had chosen to become her protector on the island, and now he had chosen to be her guardian, when he owed her nothing at all.
He could cast her out; instead, he was providing her with a generous dowry so she could marry well.
It hurt, but she was also grateful. The image she had been entertaining recently filled her mind, somewhat altered.
Now, clad in a beautiful dress, she saw herself polished and proper, sitting with Cliff de Warenne in a rose garden, and he was smiling fondly at her.
But they were only good friends—because she was someone else’s wife.
“Look at this ivory and coral,” Eleanor was saying, holding up a sprigged pattern. The coral was a faint vein in the sprigs. “With your hair and eyes, this will be lovely on you.”
Amanda realized the other woman was regarding her with sympathy and concern.
She started, for swatches of fabric were piling up on the bed.
She blinked. She had never seen so much silk, satin, chiffon and cotton.
Cliff had taken her into his home, he was giving her a dowry and he was providing her with a wardrobe fit for a princess. “Surely, these fabrics aren’t for me?”
“You will have any and all that you like,” Eleanor announced with a smile. “Cliff is well off and we should take him for every penny that we can. He can be such an insensitive lout!”
“He is a great man,” Amanda whispered, somehow meeting Eleanor’s eyes.
Eleanor handed the ivory and coral sample to the couturier, touching Amanda’s hand. “You are terribly in love with him, aren’t you?”
Amanda jerked out of her reverie, flushing.
“Of course not! I am so grateful to him for all he has done, for allowing me to stay here in your home, for giving me so much opportunity to better myself.” She meant it.
She couldn’t go back now. Even if it meant becoming his ward, marrying someone else and settling for his friendship, she wanted to become a lady, at least in appearances, if she somehow could.
“My brother,” Eleanor said slowly, “has a bit of a reputation. He is not the marrying kind—”
“I know!” Amanda managed a wide, bright smile.
“I have seen him on the deck of his ships for years, or on the deck of a prize he has taken. I have seen him strolling on the streets of Kingston, and I have watched real ladies making fools of themselves in the hopes of attracting his attention. Everyone in the islands knows Cliff de Warenne.” Even as she spoke, she began to realize that she was not the first woman to fall in love with Cliff de Warenne and find herself rejected.
He had probably left a trail of broken hearts all around the world.
Now, she would have to ignore her own protesting and wayward heart, as well.
“He is very handsome, very charming and very wealthy. I can imagine how easily a woman could fall for him. But do you know, I have never seen him quite so attentive. His affairs are usually very brief and he has never brought a woman home.”
Amanda hugged herself. She wasn’t certain she wanted to have such an intimate discussion with Eleanor O’Neill.
“I am not dimwitted enough to be thinking of marriage to your brother, Mrs. O’Neill.
In fact, he is right to be arranging a marriage for me.
The other choice would be for me to return to the islands, and while I love the sea and I love sailing, I can’t go back. ”
Eleanor plucked her hand. “You are being so brave!”
They were on safer ground now. “Brave? I am not brave. Bravery is being alone for months on end, uncertain where your next meal is coming from. Bravery is watching your ship come in—and not knowing who is alive and who is dead.”
Eleanor’s eyes were huge and Amanda turned away, wishing she hadn’t spoken so openly.
But it was true. More often than not, Papa’s cruises had gone on far longer than planned, and now she could face the truth: he hadn’t provided very well for her.
In those last months before his death, she had had to fish in the cove, gather mangoes and beg and steal to survive.
Once, he had been imprisoned in Cyprus, and he had been gone for over a year.
She had been thirteen years old at the time.
She had been alone, lonely and afraid. And every time the sloop had crept into the harbor, she had been terrified that Papa would not be on her decks.
There was no decision to make. She desperately wanted the life Cliff was offering her.
Maybe the estate he was buying would have a rose garden; if not, she could plant one herself.
And while she remained afraid of society, maybe it wouldn’t be that bad.
After all, Cliff’s family was of the highest rank and look at how they had received her.
No one had looked down on her, at least, not yet.
Maybe the London ton wasn’t as bad as the island society.
Besides, this was going to be different from wandering Kingston’s streets.
She hadn’t really grasped that until now.
She was going to be launched on Cliff’s arm while in the midst of his elegant and powerful family.
I can do this, Amanda thought. I have to do this!
“No wonder,” Eleanor said softly, “Cliff looks at you the way he does.”
Amanda didn’t hear her. She walked over to the bed, Eleanor following.
“I only need one dress,” she said slowly.
But she took the coral and ivory silk from the bed and held it to her bosom, trembling.
It was so pretty, so feminine. Suddenly she wanted it the way she had wanted the nightgown which she had destroyed last night.
“Do you think I will be pretty in this?” she asked slowly.
“You will be the most beautiful woman in the room, and Cliff will have trouble controlling his desires, indeed,” Eleanor said with a gleam in her eyes. “And you need a dozen gowns, Amanda. One will never do.”
Amanda could barely believe she would need so many dresses, just as she could barely believe the turn her life was taking.
Maybe this was better than becoming Cliff de Warenne’s lover.
After all, she had never had a secure and safe home of her own.
They had struggled to make ends meet at Belle Mer, and there had always been the threat of selling it to pay off their debts.
Papa had lied to her, but he would be so happy for her now. He would want this life for her.
As for Mama, one day they would meet. Amanda would make it so, and when they did, Mama would see an elegant lady with a handsome husband and an estate of her own, not a pirate’s daughter, and she would never guess at the hurt and pain she had caused.
Because Amanda would hold her head high and smile as graciously as the countess would.
And as for Cliff? They would be friends, maybe even dear friends, and while she might love him forever, it would be from afar, the way she had admired him from a distance on the island. Eventually, she hoped, it would not hurt so much.
Eleanor was holding up a pink-striped ivory. Amanda looked at her. “Tell me what you think I should choose.”
LADY HARRINGTON, sole heiress to the huge Harrington fortune, was in her drawing room in Greenwich, their spacious London home, with two callers, her old and dear friends, Lady Bess Waverly and Lady Felicia Capshaw.
She sat on a gold velvet settee, a small, dignified woman of twenty-five with porcelain skin and striking blue-green eyes.
Her pale, nearly platinum-blond hair was pulled tightly back into an unfashionable chignon, but it was the no-nonsense style she preferred.
Although she was very wealthy, her dark blue gown was almost severe, and she wore but two small diamond earbobs and one diamond ring with no other jewelry, as she did not like to flaunt her wealth.
Her friends, however, wore frilled and flounced gowns.
Bess was sporting a huge ruby necklace, the gift from her most recent lover, a visiting Russian count, while Felicia wore more emeralds than any young widow should ever wear.
But her recently deceased husband had left her a small fortune and she was flashing it as she could, desperately hoping to attract her third husband.
And it seemed that she had a viable candidate in mind. Felicia had spent the past hour telling her about an elderly earl, also twice widowed, who had called four times in this past week. “What do you think, my dear?” Felicia asked eagerly. She was a voluptuous brunette.
Blanche smiled quietly at her friend. “Do you want me to tell you what you wish to hear, or what I really do think of all of this?”
Felicia sat up straighter.
Bess laughed. “She wants your approval, Blanche. God, if only we could be as indifferent to life’s foibles as you!”
Blanche carefully smiled, not offended but not about to share the truth with either friend.
If only she could care about life’s vagaries.
She sighed. When she was six years old, she had witnessed her mother’s brutal murder in a rioting mob.
She could not remember that event or any day prior to it, and ever since, she had calmly accepted every twist and turn life offered.
“You do not care for Lord Robert,” Felicia pouted.
Blanche patted her hand. “I care for you, my dear. Do you really need to jump into wedlock again, so quickly? Can you not carefully choose your third husband?”
Felicia appeared annoyed. “I am not like you, Blanche, with ice in my veins. It is either Lord Robert or a lover, for like Bess, I dearly miss the passion of the marriage bed.”