Page 5 of The Ruin of Miss Amelia Burrowes (The Matchmaker’s Ball #4)

After a night spent tossing and turning and a morning filled with growing dread, Amelia had regretfully dressed in her best blue carriage gown, trimmed with rosettes of the same color, and a matching bonnet and taken up her station in one of the chairs in the downstairs receiving room of the townhouse her father had taken for the Season. She hoped the small amount of Pear’s Almond Bloom she’d applied to her face helped hide her haggard look. It would not do for Lord Ainsley to believe her drooping appearance was due to sleeplessness caused by him. Even if it was true.

There’d been so much upheaval last evening that she’d lain awake going over every moment until the wee hours. First there’d been Mr. Burke’s introduction and subsequent kiss in the library. Then Lord Ainsley’s startling appearance. Who would’ve thought he would materialize after such a long time, at the very worst moment, then offer to take her driving as though his absence during the last ten years had never occurred? But the worst had been Mr. Burke’s reaction to the outing with Lord Ainsley. Mama had calmed him, apparently, but he’d protested loudly on the way home, until Amelia was left at her doorstep with a terrible headache.

So today she was determined to tell Lord Ainsley, in no uncertain terms, that she would not jeopardize her possible future with Mr. Burke just to satisfy his curiosity about her. That was all it must be. That she remembered their budding romance all those years ago did not mean he did, certainly not when he’d left without a word to her. She’d been devastated, waiting day after day for him to arrive at the townhouse to speak to her father about a formal courtship. Night after night, she’d searched each entertainment for him, until finally she’d overheard two gentlemen talking about Lord Ainsley and learned that he’d left for Italy the previous week.

Somehow, she’d gotten through that horrible evening, although once she’d returned home, she’d cried until dawn.

Never again would she cry over this man. She’d send him off with a large flea in his ear this very afternoon, marry Mr. Burke, and be content with her lot. Hopefully, her life would be better than it had been so far, if she worked at pleasing her husband. Not the marriage she’d imagined having all those years ago, but at least she’d be a wife and respectable again.

The front door opening brought her up out of the chair, her stomach quivering. A murmur of voices in the corridor, and her mouth went as dry as if she’d swallowed cotton. She clutched the strings of her reticule, steeling herself.

Their butler appeared in the doorway. “Lord Ainsley, miss.”

Suddenly the butler was gone, and he was there, tall and handsome as ever. Dressed impeccably in pale trousers and an excellently cut walnut brown coat, wide at the shoulders and impossibly narrow at the waist, his lordship could’ve just stepped out of a bandbox.

“Miss Burrowes, good afternoon.” He smiled and bowed, his gaze taking her in from top to toe.

“Good afternoon, my lord.” Hoping he couldn’t see her trembling, she curtsied and nodded toward the door. “Shall we go? I am certain you have more pressing things to attend to this afternoon than an outing with me.”

“None that I can think of.” His gray eyes twinkled as he offered his arm. “But I will take the hint. Let us be off.”

After handing her into his curricle, a sleek black and yellow vehicle, pulled by a matched pair of grays, he jumped aboard and took the ribbons with very sure hands.

“Are they always this tiny?” The vehicle seemed too small to carry them both. Perched on the seat with the top back and no sides to hold her in, Amelia expected to be ejected from the carriage as soon as they hit a rut or bump in the road. She clutched what little of the side there was in a death grip.

“This is the standard size for a curricle, Miss Burrowes.” The wretch smiled as he started the team. “I believe I detect a lack of confidence in my ability to drive this rig.”

“Oh, dear.” Amelia gritted her teeth as they turned the corner at a trot. She clung to the side as best she could, but even the slight speed made her dizzy. “It is not my lack of confidence in your driving, my lord, but my lack of faith in my ability to stay in my seat.”

“You have never ridden in a curricle before?” He chuckled and adjusted the reins.

Wretched man.

“Never.” And never would again once they returned home.

“Then I am delighted to be the one to introduce you to the pleasures of a brisk ride.” He grinned at her as they sped through the gates of Hyde Park. As soon as they rolled onto the dirt bridle path, he did something with the ribbons and the horses picked up their pace.

The grass, trees, and flowers along the path became a colorful blur as Amelia held onto her bonnet with one hand and the curricle with the other. The wind rushed over her face, which actually felt exquisite. Still, she feared they would come to mischief any second.

After an interminable time, he slowed the horses again, this time to a sedate walk, and turned to her. “Did you enjoy your first curricle ride, Miss Burrowes?”

On the tip of her tongue to tell him it had been horrible, thank you very much, she glanced at him and stopped, arrested by the hopeful look on his face. He really wished to have pleased her. Something inside her shifted, and she smiled back at him. “It was like nothing I’ve ever experienced before, my lord.”

“I wanted to come here before the fashionable hour just so we could take the path at a good clip. One cannot do that when so many people are about.”

Amelia glanced around and, true enough, only a handful of walkers and one gentleman on horseback were in evidence. Fewer people to recognize her as well. Had that also been on Lord Ainsley’s mind?

“There is an offshoot of the path up ahead. I thought we might stop a moment.” He steered the willing horses toward a smaller opening in the trees and suddenly they were inside a bower of greenery, quite secluded, where he slowed the horses until they stopped.

Her pulse raced. Why had he brought her here? Had he finally heard the stories the ton whispered about her and thought he could take advantage of her lack of reputation? The memory of their kiss beneath the cherry tree surfaced, and her resolve suddenly faltered. Would she indeed allow him the liberty again?

“Miss Burrowes, first, I would like to apologize most abjectly for the way I treated you, going away without a word all those years ago.”

Of all the things she’d imagined he’d say today while tossing and turning last night, that had not even remotely crossed her mind. She blinked, not knowing how to respond. “Thank you, my lord. I do appreciate that, even though it was quite a long time ago.” She sighed. “A lifetime ago, it seems.”

“Indeed, it does seem that way.” He gazed ahead, pointedly not looking at her. “I want to tell you what happened.” Suddenly, his piercing gaze was trained on her, the sorrow there almost a palpable thing.

She drew back, unsure if she wanted to listen to an explanation that brought so much pain to him. Still, if he needed atonement, she would hear him.

“You said you remember that evening underneath the cherry tree?”

Nodding, she looked away. Although time had dimmed the pain of his defection, that kiss still lingered bright in her memory.

“I promised you I would speak to your father about a formal courtship, and I had every intention of doing so the next day. That night when I arrived home, I sought out my father to apprise him of my intentions toward you.” Lord Ainsley’s cheerful countenance had grown grim, his mouth drawn, the skin under his eyes suddenly darkened. “Unfortunately, he was not particularly enthusiastic about the news. His reasons had nothing to do with you, my dear, but with me. My age, specifically. I was only twenty-one that summer, an age, he told me, when I should be off seeing the world, experiencing new places, new ideas, steeping myself in the ancient cultures of foreign lands. Not leg-shackled to a lady I’d only just met.”

Teeth clenched to hold her tongue, Amelia sat with her hands clasped in her lap, fuming. His father had been the one to sunder their budding affection for one another. Had he not done so, what might her life have been like these past ten years?

Lord Ainsley closed his eyes and clenched his fists. “I should’ve argued more stringently for the courtship, but again, I was young and in the habit of taking my father’s advice.” He opened stormy gray eyes to gaze on her. “I wish to God I had not, but I did. We set off the very next morning for Portsmouth to arrange passage on a ship to Italy, to commence the Grand Tour I’d always wished to take. I wanted to send you a letter, explaining what had happened and asking you to wait for me, but Father wouldn’t hear of it. He said a clean break would be best, that I couldn’t expect you to wait years for me to return.”

“In that, I believe he was correct, my lord.” Much as she’d have liked to refute it, she could not. While she would’ve been content to wait two or more years for Lord Ainsley to return, her parents certainly would not have. They’d expected her to make a good match that first Season.

He shook his head sadly. “I set sail with the image of your face in my mind, determined to write to you when I first made port. However, the ship was delayed, becalmed off the Canary Islands, so when I arrived in Rome, I was met with a letter from my father that had come more swiftly overland. In it, he mentioned your betrothal to Lord Carrington.” Lord Ainsley sat straighter on the seat, shifting the ribbons from one hand to the other. “I sent up a prayer for your happiness and turned my thoughts to enjoying the Tour, although for the first month, at least, I was miserable company for the group of fellows I joined.”

“I see.” Tears pricked her eyes, and she blinked them back. He had truly cared for her that long-ago summer. If not for his father’s misplaced meddling, this man might’ve been her husband all this time.

“Last night, I learned you did not marry after all, and today,” he paused, his lips going quite white, “I heard about the circumstances that followed your betrothed’s death.”

Oh, God, he did know. Somehow, his solicitous behavior toward her today had suggested he hadn’t learned of her shame. She raised her head and looked him in the eyes. “And having learned about the gossip that ruined my reputation, I suppose you wish to revile me as well?”

“No, Miss Burrowes.” The hard planes of his face made him seem distant and unapproachable. “I wish to hear your side of the story.”

* * * *

From the way her eyes widened, that request had been unexpected. Nathan clenched his jaw. Had no one ever asked for her explanation of the events surrounding her betrothal and the aftermath of Carrington’s death? Gossip and rumors were often no more than that, but just as capable of ruining a lady or gentleman’s reputation. He wanted to hear it from the lady herself. He owed her that. If he’d stayed in England and married her, none of that unpleasantness would’ve occurred. And he found he wanted to retain the untarnished memory of their brief time together. He’d believed her a true lady then; he wanted to believe it now as well. “Please tell me if the rumors are true.”

“You are bold, my lord.” A steely blue-eyed gaze pierced him. “Why should I tell you anything, as it does not concern you in the least?”

“I think it does concern me, Miss Burrowes.” Grasping her hand, he clasped it between both of his, the sudden warmth assailing his senses. “It concerns me that you may have been reviled all these years unjustly, due, in part, to my folly. I beg you, tell me what happened.”

Her shoulders slumped, and she shook her head. “The truth matters very little. The ton will believe what it will.”

“But I will judge for myself what I believe is true, if you will tell me.” He wanted the rumors to be false. Wanted it badly. So he could believe in her still.

For a long moment, he doubted she would. The bleak look on her face spoke of her distress then she dragged her gaze away from him.

“When you did not appear again that Season, I was angry and hurt. I had believed you honorable and even fancied myself a little in love with you. So when I found you were gone, with no word as to why, I was determined to forget you, to get on with my Season and finding a man who would care for me. Lord Carrington and I were introduced a week or so after you disappeared. He was tall and handsome, had some wit in his conversation, and was very attentive to me from the beginning of our acquaintance. It took almost no time for me to believe myself in love with him, so when he proposed, I accepted him.” A ghost of a smile played across her lips. “He was a good man, and we seemed to suit tolerably well. The wedding date was set, and we continued to appear together at entertainments, for all the world like a happy couple.”

The story so far was as Nathan had expected. Her last words, however, pricked his interest. “You seemed like a happy couple, yet you were not?”

“You know the prevailing thoughts on how a proper young lady should act, do you not, my lord?” She arched an eyebrow. “I’m certain you also are aware that many betrothed couples consider themselves married from the time the proposal is accepted.” Pink deepened the roses already on her cheeks. “Lord Carrington was one of those proponents. He begged me to…surrender myself to him before the nuptials were spoken, but I refused. We were to be married in a matter of weeks, as soon as the banns could be read. I told him we could surely wait that long.”

“But…?” Nathan’s heart hurt as though it had been caught in the teeth of a vise.

Her fierce frown took him aback. “There is no ‘but,’ my lord. I did not acquiesce to his demand, no matter what people may have said. We quarreled over it almost every time we met, until I wished for my wedding day just to make the arguments stop.”

“No gentleman should’ve put you through such anguish.” Nathan’s opinion of Carrington, not good to begin with, plummeted. “One ‘no’ from you should’ve been sufficient.”

Her sad little smile tore at his heart. “I am not surprised to hear you say that, my lord. I daresay things would’ve been quite different if the gentleman in question had been you.”

By God, but that was true. From the depths of his heart, he wished for the thousandth time he’d never listened to his father, had instead married this beautiful woman and lived a contented life all these years. Wishes, however, would never make that come true.

“When Jonathan…Lord Carrington fell ill, we assumed it was a trifling sickness. But the nagging cough became pneumonia, the doctor said. I journeyed with my mother to Bedfordshire, to his home seat where he’d gone when the sickness worsened.” Unable to hide her agitation, Miss Burrowes fell to pulling at the strings of her purse. “We kept praying he would recover, and for a while, he did rally. That is when Mama suggested we have the wedding go forward, by special license. Lord Carrington agreed, for he believed he would recover but wanted me to be provided for in the event of his death.”

At least the man had attempted decency in the end. “But he did not recover?”

“No, he succumbed.” Her matter-of-fact tone seemed odd, but perhaps she’d come to terms with her grief.

“And you were grief-stricken for a time, I was told.”

She paused before answering, again unusual. “Yes, I secluded myself for a time, out of respect for Lord Carrington’s passing.”

“And then the gossip began.”

Bowing her head, she nodded.

“Was there anything that might have precipitated it? Other than simply your betrothal?” There must’ve been some reason for the gossip to start, although the ton ’s tongues might wag if a dog died.

With a deep sigh, the lady raised her head, her mouth set in stern lines. “About a month after his lordship died, I became…ill. A slight indisposition only, and one that had occurred before.” Now she avoided his eyes, and her cheeks grew rosy red. “I remained in bed for several days. We believe one of the maids told this to a neighbor’s servant and that is how the tale of a child began. A story that is far, far from the truth, but has nevertheless been believed from that day to this.”

“I see.” Nathan did see how such an indisposition, coming at that particular time, could be construed as a miscarriage. And there would be no way to refute it, save denials. Which would not be believed. The prevailing lax climate that unofficially condoned couples acting married when they were not would be cited as the norm, and the guilt of the lady would be automatically assumed. “Was there anything else?”

She paused then nodded. “I was not with Lord Carrington at his death bed, but people who were there said that he continually asked about…a child. His child.”

Nathan closed his eyes briefly then asked in what he hoped was a normal tone of voice, “What do you make of that, Miss Burrowes?”

“All I can think is that the illness caused him to speak wildly.” Defiantly, she met his gaze. “I can only tell you that I bore him none.”

A disturbing development to say the least. No wonder the lady’s reputation had remained in ruins.

“So now that you know the truth , my lord, what do you intend to do?” Her tone affirmed that she believed he could do nothing.

Likely, she was correct. He’d sought her version of the facts simply to corroborate what Haversham had told him, and to hear it from her own lips, in the hope that he would discover her innocent. But did he believe her tale?

“Thank you so much for your candid words, Miss Burrowes. I know it was not easy for you to relive this episode in your life.”

“On the contrary, Lord Ainsley, I have relived it almost every day of my life since the gossip began. It no longer upsets me as it used to.” She set her jaw, giving her a fierce countenance. “I hope my story has illuminated the situation, although if you are like most people, you must make up your own mind as to my guilt or innocence.”

With a swift nod, he raised the ribbons to start the team. She was absolutely correct. He would need to consider her words, play them against Haversham’s account, and decide which version seemed more likely. And then act upon that decision.