Page 6 of The Ruin of Miss Amelia Burrowes (The Matchmaker’s Ball #4)

Mulling over Miss Burrowes’s story, trying to reach a decision as to her innocence or guilt occupied Nathan much more than he would’ve thought over the next several days. He’d been certain when he’d asked for her explanation that he would be able to instantly ascertain the truth of the matter, but the facts as they’d been presented by both Lord Haversham and the lady herself seemed extraordinarily plausible. The crux of the matter seemed to come down to that passionate kiss they’d shared under the cherry tree. Would a woman who had welcomed such a moment with him—before even an official courtship had been established—be more likely to have allowed similar kisses and more with a man to whom she was betrothed and expected to marry?

He needed to make up his mind and quickly, for time was of the essence. Mr. Burrowes would surely complete his arrangements for the marriage of his daughter to Mr. Burke soon if Nathan did not speak to him. And the more he thought of that eventuality, the less he liked it. Much to his surprise, his reacquaintance with Miss Burrowes had brought back the feelings of their brief but intense association those years ago.

To say he was still attracted to the lady minced words indeed. In fact, he’d thought about nothing but Miss Burrowes ever since they’d met at Lady Hamilton’s earlier in the week. The sight of her, the knowledge that she was not married, and that her reputation had been ruined had actually kept him up these past nights. Damned inconvenient when he had business that needed attending to, but he’d been totally unable to help himself. If not for the uncertainty about her character that ate at him constantly, he’d have already met with her father and likely come to an accord with the lady herself.

So this evening he was on his way to dine with Haversham and hash out every objection to putting forward his suit for her. His friend would likely have very loud, very strenuous protests, but he cared not a jot for that. Deep down in his soul, he wanted her, believed he belonged with her. If his friend could talk him out of that belief then so be it. The ensuing discussion would likely be lively, to say the least.

Upon being announced, Nathan entered the drawing room in Haversham’s townhouse to find he was not the only dinner guest this evening. Lady Letitia, Haversham’s sister, was in attendance, of course, but so were Marcus’s aunt, Lady George Pye, and his own aunt and uncle, Lord and Lady Ivor and their daughter Celinda. Both Celinda and Letitia were out this Season, which must be the reason for the small dinner party. Perhaps a session in strategy for the young ladies had been planned. Still, he could speak to Marcus while they were having their after-dinner port.

“Ainsley, well met.” Marcus greeted him with a smile.

“Haversham. Good of you to invite me. How goes the courtship?” Nathan couldn’t help deviling his friend a bit. He’d begun his courtship of Nathan’s sister Kate a few days prior after losing a large wager. Nathan had been so consumed with thoughts of Miss Burrowes he’d neglected to monitor his friend’s progress.

Haversham rolled his eyes. “So far so good, although your sister could try the patience of a plaster saint sometimes.” He glanced around and lowered his voice. “She’s actually been quite good company, although I’d not have believed it. We went for Gunter’s ices today and discovered we both particularly like the lemon ones.”

“A match made in heaven, then.” Nathan chuckled. “By way of the gaming tables. I am very glad to hear it, Marcus. Carry on.” As his friend was about to step away, he grasped his arm. “We need to speak later, alone. About Miss Burrowes.”

“Lord God, Nathan.” His friend’s sudden menacing scowl almost made Nathan chuckle. “What the hell do you mean?”

“After dinner.”

Haversham groaned softly but nodded and turned back to his duties as host. “Shall we go in?”

The seating arrangements were not strictly conventional, and Nathan again assumed they were for the purpose of the parents and guardians of the girls needing to discuss the prospects of their charges. Marcus and his sister sat at head and foot of the table, Lord and Lady Ivor together on Marcus’s right, Lady George, Nathan, and Lady Celinda on his left. As the first course began, Lady Ivor leaned her head toward Haversham, and Nathan turned to Lady Celinda. His cousin was a particular friend of his sister. Perhaps she could shed some light on Kate’s perspective of Marcus’s courtship.

“Kate tells me you’re being particularly wicked this Season.”

Nathan froze. Dear God, had Kate found out about his wager with Marcus?

Celinda laid her napkin primly in her lap, as though she’d just remarked on the weather rather than that volatile opening volley. “I do hope it’s true. We’ve never had a true scandal in our family. I cannot help but think it will be most exciting. Of course, the most exciting thing will be my marriage to Lord Finley, but that will not be a scandal. At least I don’t think it will.” She paused to consider, her soup spoon poised above her bowl.

“Has Lord Finley declared his intentions toward you already?” The Season had just begun. He’d not even scraped an acquaintance with the man yet, although Marcus had.

“Oh, not in so many words, no. But we’ve gotten along famously since we met at Lady Hamilton’s ball the other night, where he danced the supper dance with me.” She smiled gaily. “It’s only a matter of time before he approaches Papa. Oh, I know what I was about to say. About the scandal. I haven’t planned for Lord Finley and me to be the object of gossip, save the good-natured kind—remarks on how handsome a couple we are, or how happy we look together. But one never knows.” She took a bit of soup then nodded toward him. “Just look at Miss Burrowes. I’m certain she never dreamed of becoming an example of a ruined woman when she first came out.”

Nathan’s soup got caught halfway down his throat. He had to calm himself, risk embarrassing himself by spewing the white soup everywhere, or drown in it. The rock-hard discipline he’d learned at Jackson’s salon, to push through pain or surprise, came to his aid. Slowly, he relaxed and managed to get it down, though he went into a fit of coughing afterward.

Good-naturedly, Celinda pounded him on the back while every eye in the dining room turned on him.

“Are you quite all right, Ainsley?” Haversham called from his end of the table.

“Never better, thank you,” he croaked. Clearing his throat helped, followed by a long sip of the good Bordeaux Marcus always served. He smiled at everyone around the table and when they resumed their animated chatter, turned back to Lady Celinda. “What are you up to, imp? Has Kate put you up to killing me? And how do you even know anything about Miss Burrowes?”

Waving her hand, Celinda laughed merrily. “Kate is much too taken up with Lord Haversham at the moment to think about you, Nathan. I believe they will make a match of it, and sooner rather than later.” She leaned over toward him and lowered her voice. “I have known of Miss Burrowes ever since Mama began preparing me for my come out. Her story was the example used to frighten me into behaving as decorously as possible where gentlemen were concerned. Never be alone with a gentleman, even one to whom you are affianced, or people will assume the worst and ruin your reputation the first chance they get.” The light-hearted Celinda actually shuddered. “I’ve known what happened to her for years as a caution against folly.” She arched her eyebrows at him. “And I daresay the poor lady would just as soon hide as go riding in your curricle, cousin, for all the ton to see.”

Blast. Who had seen them in the park? He’d been so careful. “I wished to speak with the lady privately and thought a ride might be a pleasant outing for both of us.”

“And, of course, you had a tendre for her once as well.”

Thankfully, he’d not taken another sip of his wine yet, though now he wished for something a lot stronger. “What are you talking about, Celinda?”

“Your father told my mother about it, apparently just after you went on your Grand Tour. She told me of it when she warned me about Miss Burrowes and her plight.”

His cousin knew damn well too much for her own good. “I knew the lady that summer, yes. I wouldn’t go so far as to call it a tendre .” Although, truth to tell, his feelings had run much deeper than that. That was the problem now. He wanted desperately to believe her, but how could he?

“ You didn’t ruin her, did you, Nathan?”

“Celinda!” The child was impossible. Heads had turned toward them again. “Your sense of the dramatic will land you in trouble one of these days, mark my words.”

“It has stood me in good stead until now.” Smiling sweetly, she lifted her wine glass. “And you neglected to answer my question, cousin.”

“Of course I did no such thing. I wanted to marry her. If only I’d been allowed to stay in London, I would have.”

“Do you wish to do so now?” His cousin stared at him frankly, much too knowing for one of nineteen.

“The situation is more complicated, as you must know. I have no way to know if she’s trying to deceive me about the matter.” And likely never would unless they did marry. By which time, it would be too late if the worst turned out to be the truth.

“Does it truly matter so much after all these years, Nathan?” All teasing aside, Celinda looked earnestly into his face. “If she did make the mistake of which she is accused, can the behavior not be excused? I had this same conversation with Mama, who was totally unsympathetic. But really, the whole ton knows such behavior goes on and little is done to discourage it. I daresay when Lord Finley proposes we, too, shall anticipate our wedding night. I shall be disappointed if we do not. It seems almost the fashionable thing to do.”

“Celinda, your parents must be considering locking you up and having all your courtships handled expressly by post.” His cousin was totally out of control to be proposing such wild behavior. Not that she wasn’t correct in her estimation that the ton turned a blind eye to the behavior of betrothed couples. Nor in her observation that such behavior, while officially condemned, was nevertheless unexceptional.

“They may try, but I doubt they will succeed. There is a tall tree just outside my bedroom window, and I have been good at climbing ever since I was in leading strings. But, Nathan,” she sobered again, “can you honestly tell me that had you been engaged to Miss Burrowes, you would not have pressed her before the wedding night?”

Nathan sat back, his plate still untouched. He didn’t even recall it being placed before him, so the footman had likely gotten an earful of their conversation. But Celinda’s words struck very close to the bone. As he remembered that night under the cherry tree—and he remembered it very well indeed—the idea had flitted through his mind to persuade Miss Burrowes to come away with him to a nearby bower and seal their accord with the joining of their bodies. If only he had done so, much would’ve been different.

“You should also take this into consideration, cousin.” Having gotten no response, Celinda had decided to forge on with her plea. “Whether or not Miss Burrowes and Lord Carrington anticipated their wedding night would have mattered not a jot had he lived long enough to marry her. Another week, and she would’ve been his widow, and absolutely none of this would’ve mattered. She would’ve been pitied then and now rather than reviled for so long. Is the lack of that single action worth throwing away your happiness again?”

Stunned, Nathan stared at his full plate. Celinda’s arguments were persuasive, the most convincing being the last. Had Miss Burrowes been married to Carrington, no matter how briefly, she would’ve been fussed over and prayed for, would’ve been given the status of grieving widow, and no one would’ve given a second thought to what they’d done before the vows were spoken. Given all Miss Burrowes had gone through, it seemed about time she was accorded the status she should’ve been given years ago. By him if by no one else in the ton .

A footman moved in to take away his plate, but Nathan stood up, making the man dance backward.

“My abject apologies, Haversham, Lady George, Aunt, Uncle, Lady Letitia, Lady Celinda.” He smiled down at his dinner companion. Hopefully, he’d soon be able to dance at her wedding. She deserved her happiness if she’d set him on the straight path to his own. “I find I have most urgent business to attend to that will not wait.”

“What has happened, Ainsley?” Marcus rose and made as if to accompany him out.

“A revelation, Haversham. Like Paul on the road to Damascus, the scales have fallen from my eyes. Wish me luck, old chap.” He bowed to the company, who all looked at him with amazement.

“Don’t tell me it has to do with—”

“It does.” Nathan started for the doorway.

“But you can’t—”

“Oh, yes, I can, and I do, and I will.” With that somewhat cryptic statement, which Marcus likely understood perfectly, he hurried from the room in search of his hat and stick. After consulting his pocket watch, he was inclined to believe he might just interrupt Mr. Burrowes’s dinner, but he cared for that not at all. He had a message to deliver, and the devil himself wouldn’t be able to stop him tonight.

* * * *

Dinner had wound down, thank goodness, and Amelia looked forward to her mother rising to retire to the drawing room without the gentlemen. Her father and Mr. Burke had talked incessantly about fox hunting, which seemed to be a most popular sport in Derbyshire. Amelia rode tolerably well, of course, but she could not hunt, and so the topic held little interest for her. Her time at dinner had been spent listening to the sighings of her mother because Lord Ainsley had not put in an appearance since he’d escorted her home after their ride two days ago.

She’d tried to tell Mama that they would be seeing no more of the viscount, but the woman was obsessed with the belief that he wished to renew his attentions to Amelia. Perhaps once she and Mr. Burke had signed the register, Mama would accept that she was not going to marry Lord Ainsley. From the looks of things, that would be in a little over two weeks. She’d not formally accepted Mr. Burke yet, but that would likely occur in the next day or so, in enough time for the banns to begin this Sunday. Mama had insisted that she be married after the banns and not by special license. Under no circumstances should it look like they were rushing to the altar.

The door opened, and the butler entered. “Mr. Burrowes, there is a gentleman to see you. I tried to tell him the family was at dinner, but he was most insistent. I have put him in the front receiving room.”

“Who the devil would call at this time of night?” Annoyance filled her father’s face, his scowl sweeping around the table as if looking to them for the answer.

“Lord Ainsley, sir.” Meyers’s straight-faced answer left everyone’s jaws agape.

The chair on which Amelia sat seemed to waver, or perhaps the room itself dimmed for a moment. She blinked rapidly several times then turned to her mother to find the woman clasping her hands to her chest, cheeks red, eyes two wide blue pools of joy. “Come, Amelia. Let us retire this instant with Mr. Burke. We will await your father’s report in the drawing room.”

Amelia shot to her feet, her ears roaring so she had to grab the back of her mother’s chair to steady herself as she left the room. What did this mean? Why had Lord Ainsley come? There was truly only one explanation, though she refused to believe it. Not until she heard the words from his lordship himself. Speeding behind her mother down the corridor toward the back of the townhouse, Amelia prayed as she had not for many years. Not since Lord Ainsley had gone away so long ago.

She and her mother entered the room, in silence still, and Mama dropped into her favorite high-backed chair. “Ring for tea, please, Amelia.”

In the process of going back to the bell pull beside the doorway, Amelia was brought up short when Mr. Burke arrived. They came face to face, his grim visage thinly veiling his outrage. Apparently, he also thought he understood what Lord Ainsley’s presence at this time of night meant. Lord, but the evening had turned into quite an explosive affair.

After giving the bell a sharp pull, Amelia skittered away from him, seating herself on the chaise next to her mother’s chair, imploring the Almighty to direct Mr. Burke to the chair opposite them and not beside her. Either God had heard her or her face had warned the gentleman to stay away, for he paced instead, muttering to himself.

“Beastly inconsiderate of the man to interrupt a family dinner at this hour of the night. Gentlemen with a title believe themselves free to do whatever they please, without thinking of the inconvenience to anyone else. Ought to speak a word to him about common decency.” As his agitation increased, his strides became faster, more erratic, until Amelia’s head spun with the whirlwind motion.

She dropped her head into her hands to steady herself. The door creaked open. Thank goodness. Nothing would soothe her better at this moment than a cup of hot tea. Raising her head, she stared into Lord Ainsley’s gray-eyed gaze, trained directly on her. Amelia gave a squeak and sat up straight on the chaise, transfixed as a mouse caught in the steely stare of a hungry cat.

“Good evening, Mrs. Burrowes, Mr. Burke.” Lord Ainsley nodded to the others but came forward and bowed to her. “Miss Burrowes, I know it is late, but at long last, I have come to speak to your father.”