Amberley

By B. L. Dodson

Before Magdalen had time to consider what was happening, she felt herself pulled to the other side of the carriage and hauled into the circle of Lord Amberley's arms, his hard thighs making brutal contact with her unsteady legs as he settled her in his lap.  She had a glimpse of glittering dark eyes boring into hers before his head descended swiftly and his mouth closed over hers, the pressure of his hands increasing to bring her closer to him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9781590883426

Book preview

One

Amberley Hall, Leicestershire

O h dear, Leydon cannot abide it when people aren’t punctual, fretted Lady Pembroke, adjusting her shawl around her plump shoulders. Really, it is most inconsiderate of this young man, don’t you agree, Geoffrey? I am certain he sent word he would arrive before eight.

It’s not yet eight, Aunt. The coach doesn’t arrive until half past seven, and you know it takes exactly a quarter of an hour from the village to Amberley.

Yes, I know, but he should have come on the earlier coach, the old lady insisted. I should think everyone knows it is common courtesy to arrive before dark.

He could have been detained by the weather, her nephew suggested lazily from his reclining position in the window seat.

Outside the rain came down in a torrent, pounding furiously against the windows. Occasionally a few drops fell through the chimney, causing the strong blaze in the fireplace to crackle and smoke.

This does not bode well for Leydon, in my opinion, Lady Pembroke said with a nervous sigh. I told him he must always ask for a reference, but does he listen to me? No, he was determined to do things in a rush, and now I fear I will be right and this Mr.... Mr.—

Morland, her nephew supplied.

Yes, Mr. Morland. The man has no references and he lacks punctuality. Well! He simply is not acceptable and I will tell Leydon so.

His application was the best by far that Leydon received, Geoffrey said, yawning in boredom. "Though I must admit there cannot be many of any merit who would want to shut themselves away in the country to work on some moldy old journal."

"You seem to have no objection to shutting yourself away here," came a gruff male voice from the doorway.

Leydon Villiers, Viscount Amberley, stood surveying the scene in front of him. His aunt reclined on a divan in front of the marble fireplace, while his indolent cousin, Geoffrey, whose fair, curly locks and handsome features had served to capture all the young girls’ hearts in the neighboring countryside during his two month visit, made an effort to rouse himself from his habitual lethargy. Leydon had been observing them for several moments, unwilling to join their irritating company, but necessity demanded that he be present when his new employee arrived.

I say, Leydon, you have the most annoying habit of sneaking up on people, Geoffrey said, not bothering to defend himself or to apologize.

One never knows when stealth may serve a useful purpose. Leydon sauntered into the room and threw himself into the nearest armchair, followed obediently by his sleek greyhound who curled up at his booted feet. He reached down and absent-mindedly stroked the dog’s silky ears.

What’s put you in such an ill temper tonight? Geoffrey asked indifferently.

Leydon’s response was a growl.

My goodness, I cannot think what is taking so long, Lady Pembroke broke in with an anxious glance at the window. "Geoffrey, are you absolutely certain you saw Dixon depart in the carriage for the village?"

Yes, Aunt Augusta, the young man answered wearily. He shifted in his seat and looked out the window, then sat upright. By Jove, I can see the carriage lights coming down the drive right now. He rose and left his comfortable perch, pausing to lightly kick his cousin’s booted leg. Will you not be polite and rise to greet your new employee?

I’ll let you do the honors instead, he said, giving him a forbidding scowl at being told what to do.

Don’t be rude, Leydon, Geoffrey replied, appearing not the least bit intimidated. You look so grim you’ll scare the poor chap away.

A moment later Pinter, the somber-faced butler, appeared in the doorway next to a tall, black-cloaked but decidedly feminine figure. Ah... Miss Morland has arrived, he announced as an ominous clap of thunder sounded from outside.

MAGDALEN MORLAND STOOD poised on the threshold, aware that three pairs of eyes were looking at her in utter astonishment and dismay. They had expected a man, and she was clearly not a welcome substitute. But she had come so far and she knew it was too late at night for them to turn her away. At least she hoped it was.

An imposing old dowager leaned forward and raised an accusing, bejeweled finger. But—but you’re a girl! she sputtered.

Magdalen only nodded, her hands clasped in the folds of her cloak to hide their shaking.

A disbelieving shout of laughter came from a slim young man with a crown of fair curls. I say, this is fantastic! What d’you think, eh, Leydon?

But the dark-haired man to whom the question was directed did not reply. He was watching her from the recesses of his armchair, a keen spark visible in his heavy-lidded eyes. She had a sudden, uneasy impression that not much escaped his notice.

"We were expecting a man—a Mister Morland, the old dowager said stoutly, refusing to accept the unexpected turn of events. My nephew most assuredly did not hire a young woman to be his editor."

Magdalen was conscious of an inner rebellion and lowered her eyelids to conceal her thoughts. They certainly were not about to make it easy for her.

I believe my application was signed M. Morland, not Mr. Morland, she explained, making an effort to assume a deferential expression. I am sorry there has been a misunderstanding.

But can you really have the qualifications the work requires? the older woman asked in amazement.

Yes, I believe I do, Magdalen replied, though all of a sudden she wondered what madness had possessed her to come here. How could she have ever believed she could pull it off?

Extraordinary! Really, quite extraordinary. Well, there is nothing more to be done tonight, she said decisively. Do come in, Miss Morland, and warm yourself by the fire.

She beckoned with a resigned, imperious wave of her dimpled hand and Magdalen advanced into the room, taking care to avoid meeting the eyes of the dark, taciturn man who was watching her so intently.

The fair-haired young gentleman came forward to receive her, taking her cloak from her shoulders and ushering her toward the fire. How unfortunate that you had to make the journey in such a violent storm, Miss Morland, he said, giving her an engaging smile. I hope you’re none the worse for it.

No, not at all, she replied, returning his smile gratefully.

Please sit down, he invited, indicating a chair near the hearth. You must be exhausted coming all the way from Derbyshire.

I am not so delicate as that, she demurred, choosing a wing-backed chair in red brocade. She perched on its edge and reached up to pat her hair to make sure no unruly strands had escaped her chignon.

A hot cup of tea should warm you up, he went on, ringing for the maid. By the way, I am Geoffrey Fraser, this is our aunt, Lady Pembroke, and that silent, forbidding character over there is my cousin, Viscount Amberley. He hardly ever smiles, so don’t think it’s your fault.

A slight smile hovered at the corners of Magdalen’s mouth as she gave a comprehensive nod to all of them, her gaze lingering unwillingly on the Viscount. He met her eyes coolly, without a hint of greeting or warmth. From what his aunt had said, she reasoned that he must have been the one who placed the advertisement in the Times. She had expected someone older, but she had to admit there was an air of command about him that was rare in a man who could not be much past thirty.

There was a moment of awkward silence, and Magdalen had a feeling that they were all waiting for the master of the house to speak. But he did not deign to utter a word. So she sat quietly, her hands clasped in her lap, and tried to ignore the fluttering in her stomach. Her eyes roamed round the drawing room, noting the fine, almost regal furniture, the gleaming dark tables with their faint scent of beeswax, the huge tapestry of a hunt covering one wall. She had never been in such a grand room. It made the Knatchbulls’ drawing room at Summerhill seem quite small and insignificant in comparison.

A young maidservant in frilly white cap and apron entered the room and was told by Lady Pembroke to bring tea for the new arrival. When she disappeared all attention was once again focused on Magdalen.

I understand you edited a journal in Derbyshire, Miss Morland, Lady Pembroke said, adjusting the pillow behind her back. It is rather an unusual undertaking for a young woman.

Yes, it is, Magdalen agreed, smiling inwardly at the old lady’s skeptical expression. But it was my uncle’s journal and I very much enjoyed being able to help him as he had much to do. He was also the vicar of Bakewell.

And what is the name of your uncle?

It was Mr. John Stanley—he died over a year ago.

Oh, dear me. And whereabouts in Derbyshire are you from?

Bakewell, near—

Ah yes—Bakewell. I once attended a ball at Chatsworth. My card was filled for every dance, and the next morning I could barely walk!

Magdalen stole a look at the Viscount and found his acute gaze still on her, making her increasingly uncomfortable. Why had he not yet addressed her? She was grateful for the momentary diversion caused by the entrance of the maidservant bearing a silver tray with the tea service. The girl set it down on a low table beside Lady Pembroke and curtsied before leaving the room.

The old lady busied herself pouring tea into delicate blue-gray Wedgwood cups, her many rings glinting in the firelight. Magdalen rose to accept the cup she was offered, conscious that the eyes of both men were on her, though the gaze of only one of them was disturbing to her. She held the cup and saucer carefully, thankful that she managed to return to her chair without spilling any of the steaming liquid.

Lady Pembroke settled back on the divan and observed her with a sharp, curious stare. Now, what were we saying? Oh yes, we were talking about Derbyshire. Have you any family left there?

Only a cousin.

And is your uncle’s journal in his hands now?

I am afraid not—my cousin had no interest in continuing it after the death of my uncle. My cousin is also a clergyman—he inherited the living at Bakewell—and it fully occupies his time.

Before she could be further interrogated, Lord Amberley moved slightly in his chair, causing the greyhound at his feet to look up at him expectantly. I must ask you to allow me to speak to Miss Morland privately, he said, in a low, commanding voice. He encompassed his aunt and cousin in his glance, his cold tone brooking no opposition.

It was then that Magdalen felt a foreboding that made her heart quicken a beat. She was almost certain he was going to discharge her summarily and she steeled herself for the scene that was sure to follow.

I say, Leydon, it’s rather late, his cousin protested, giving Magdalen a protective glance. Can this not wait until morning?

What I have to say cannot wait. He rose purposefully to his feet and strode over to the fire, his hands clasped behind his back. It was easy to see that the Viscount was accustomed to having people obey him without question and accordingly Lady Pembroke and Geoffrey Fraser rose from their chairs.

How formidably tall and unyielding he looked! Magdalen thought in dismay. She couldn’t imagine a smile ever touching the severe cast of his mouth or softening the sternness of his features. There was even something uncompromising about his attire, from his simple white linen shirt and black frock coat to his chamois breeches and polished Hessian boots. He was clearly not a man who followed fashion and its excesses. Indeed, his athletic build and sun-browned features spoke of much time spent outdoors.

Good night then, Miss Morland, Geoffrey Fraser said with cheerful resignation, turning to assist his aunt. I shall see you at breakfast, I trust.

Lady Pembroke looked at her with some concern, adding, The housekeeper, Mrs. Price, will take you to your room when you are ready.

Thank you. Good evening, Magdalen said, rising from her chair as they left the room. She set her cup on the tea table, then straightened, bracing herself for what she was sure would be an unpleasant confrontation at best.

At the sound of the door shutting, Lord Amberley pinned her with his dark, piercing eyes, penetrating her thin veneer of confidence. Miss Morland, he began, with cold emphasis, I will not mince words. I am sorry to tell you that I cannot possibly honor my commitment to employ you as my assistant. You willfully hid the fact that you are a woman— he paused, his gaze skidding over her from head to foot —which I can only view as a considered deception on your part, and I will not tolerate deception.

You did not specify in your advertisement that you would only hire a man, my lord, Magdalen said, facing him squarely, though from the safety of the other side of the room. Her knees were shaking but she forced herself to go on. I can assure you that I am more than equal to undertaking the task of an editor.

It is impossible for you to remain here, he went on as if she had not spoken. This is a new endeavor for me and I need a man with skill and experience to help with my publication, not a young girl who fancies herself on a lark away from home. With these last words his voice sharpened. He lifted his hand and grasped the edge of the marble mantelpiece, the powerful muscles in his shoulders tensing, then went on in a more measured tone, Your deception has caused me an unexpected delay, and I can ill afford the time it will cost me to hire someone else. But as I made an error in not asking for references, I will grant that I owe you a month’s wages for your trouble.

Magdalen watched him as he spoke, noticing the play of light from the fire on his hard features, which appeared carved in granite. He was a man who did not like to be crossed, and she guessed he was not crossed very often. He might see her as a stone that had been thrown in his path, but she would not be kicked aside so easily.

If I may be so bold, my lord, she said, determined to stand up to this cold, implacable man, I assume you hired me because I was the most skilled and experienced applicant. My being a woman has nothing to do with my capabilities, as you would realize if you would only give me a chance. I have come a long way and you have said you have no time to search for someone else—

Enough!

If he expected her to flinch at his command, he was mistaken. Magdalen merely lifted her chin, inquiring, Am I not permitted to speak, my lord?

You can have nothing to say that is of interest to me, he said briskly, his eyes narrowing. I have made up my mind, and once I do so nothing and no one can change it.

Then I am sorry for you, she said heatedly, not caring any longer what he thought of her. It was all finished anyway.

Sorry for me? Why?

You said you had no interest in what I had to say, she reminded him.

It was merely a rhetorical question, he said indifferently, averting his gaze and snapping his fingers to summon his dog. Robert! Come.

He moved past her, tall and forceful, the greyhound following respectfully at his heels. At the door, he paused and half-turned to her, his dark eyes slicing the distance between them.

I will send Mrs. Price to show you to your room. I expect you to leave on the eleven o’clock coach tomorrow morning. Good night.

Magdalen heard his boot heels clicking on the hardwood floors as he left the room accompanied by the tapping of the dog’s nails. In a daze, she went to retrieve her cloak from where it rested across a chair, pausing to pick up the cup of tea she had set down earlier.

She brought it to her lips with trembling fingers and took a sip of the now lukewarm brew. Tiredness swept through her aching bones. She hadn’t eaten a morsel since breakfast, but she wasn’t the least bit hungry. Still, she forced herself to finish the contents of the cup just before Mrs. Price came to show her to her room.

The housekeeper was a middle-aged woman of very neat appearance, her bound gray hair covered by a widow’s cap. This way, miss, she directed, regarding Magdalen curiously, but not unkindly. Her ample form led the way out of the drawing room, the candle in the glass globe she held casting a dim light that extended only a few feet in front of them.

Down a long passage they walked, the hem of Magdalen’s gray gown gliding across the lustrous parquet floor. She had a glimpse of armorial armchairs placed at regular intervals against wood-paneled walls before they turned and went up a short flight of stairs and through an oak door that led to a small gallery. The housekeeper paused at the first door they came to in the hallway.

Here is your chamber, miss, she said, opening the door and standing aside. She lit a lamp resting on a small table just inside the room. Your trunk has already been brought up. To be sure, ‘tis a nice room, and I hope you will be comfortable.

I am sure I shall. Thank you, Mrs. Price.

Magdalen stepped inside and closed the door, her eyes widening at the sight of the spacious bedchamber decorated with exquisite taste and rich furnishings. Everything smelled clean and freshly aired. Pale blue drapes hung at the tall windows, accenting the matching bedspread on the canopied bed and a chintz-covered chair. A thick tapestry rug nearly covered the dark wooden floor and a cheery fire in the small polished grate gave the room a cozy warmth.

She began to remove the pins from her hair, letting its heavy coppery mass tumble around her shoulders. A quick glance through the window showed her that the storm still raged unabated.

She moved to the dainty dressing table and sank down on the velvet cushioned bench in front of it. Someone had thoughtfully unpacked her meager toiletries and she reached for her brush to give her hair its customary hundred strokes before going to bed. Her face in the looking glass was tense and white, her eyes like dark holes. She knew she could be attractive, but the strain of the past few weeks had left its mark and now she looked exactly like what she was, an impoverished gentlewoman.

Her mouth lifted in an ironic smile. After what had happened at the Knatchbulls, she had felt it necessary to subdue whatever beauty she possessed by adopting a plainer style of dress and repressing her abundant hair in a severe chignon. Well, now it seemed that worry and hardship had accomplished her purpose beyond her aim.

She had no doubt she would be sent away in the morning and the thought brought a lump to her throat that she hastily swallowed. It would do no good to cry; it would not change her situation in the slightest.

How could she have expected to succeed? It was a terrible sin to lie. She had willfully omitted the fact she was a woman on her application. She had taken a chance and it had failed, that was all there was to it.

But how could Lord Amberley advertise that he ran a liberal publication when he refused to employ a woman? Oh, if only the younger, friendlier Geoffrey Fraser had been her prospective employer instead of his rigid-minded cousin!

She mentally counted the money she had brought with her, refusing even to consider taking the offered month’s wages from Lord Amberley. She had enough to pay for her needs for a month or more if she were frugal.

Her fingers squeezed the heart-shaped gold locket she wore around her neck and she realized she had been clutching it unconsciously. She turned the locket over and glanced down to read the engraving on the burnished gold: R.G. to M.M. Would she ever know who R.G. was?

For a brief moment she wondered how much the locket would fetch, then immediately drove the treacherous thought from her mind. How could she think of selling the only thing she possessed that had belonged to her mother? She would work as a scullery maid before she would do that.

She knew she shouldn’t wish her youth away, but it seemed she would never turn five-and-twenty. Five more months. Five more long months until she came into the small inheritance her mother had left her. Though it would serve only as a supplemental income, it might tide her over until she found a suitable situation, if she were careful. If she could just hold out that much longer.

Already she began to make plans. Tomorrow she would find a room in Leicester, the nearest city, and immediately set about looking for employment. No one would know her there and she could begin anew with a fresh slate. Almost anything would do. She could not be choosy any more about accepting a position as governess or lady’s companion. Any decent work was better than nothing.

Magdalen undressed for bed and tried not to think of the future. But what else was there to think about? It yawned before her like a black abyss.

With a long, shaky sigh she blew out the candle and drew the coverlet over her, listening to the sound of the unending rain and staring at the lively fire behind the grate that seemed to mock her with its cheerful blaze. An almost irresistible exhaustion overcame her, but still she could not sleep. Tonight she was safe and sheltered from the outside world, but where would she be tomorrow?

Two

Magdalen adjusted the frayed white cuffs of her dark blue merino gown as she made her way along the second floor gallery toward the stairs. Somber paintings of past Amberley viscounts and their viscountesses lined the dark wood-paneled walls, looking down their long, arrogant noses as if to intimidate her. She paused to peek through the gallery windows and saw a quadrangle courtyard below her. The house was even larger than she had thought, with wings extending in an L-shape on either side.

Rain still pounded down unremittingly, gathering in muddy pools on the green lawn. A howling wind had come up during the night and had not abated with the morning. And she would have to leave in this appalling weather today.

She ran her hand along the gleaming oak handrail as she descended the staircase, her gaze following the curving wall with its trompe l’oeil paintings of windows looking out on leopards and deer in a forest. She would love to have time to explore this great old house. There must be many more such treasures.

A manservant on the ground floor directed her to the breakfast room, and taking a deep breath, she opened the door and ventured inside. She was relieved to see that Geoffrey Fraser was alone in the room.

He rose as she entered, his face breaking into a welcoming smile. You’re looking remarkably refreshed this morning, Miss Morland, he greeted her. You slept well, I trust?

Yes, thank you, Magdalen lied, unable to resist returning his friendly smile. She glanced round and inquired, Where are the others?

Oh, Leydon is hard at work in the library, as usual, he said, resuming his seat, and Aunt Augusta always takes her breakfast in bed. But that won’t be for hours yet. She is a firm believer that rising before eleven is bad for the health.

And is there a Viscountess Amberley? she asked, helping herself to shirred eggs and a rasher of bacon from the sideboard.

Viscountess Amberley? Geoffrey seemed amused. No, Leydon’s quite the merry bachelor—or perhaps merry isn’t quite the word, he amended with a chuckle.

No, indeed, Magdalen agreed privately, a smile curving her lips. She would feel sorry for any woman who would marry such an unpleasant man.

Leydon’s not such a bad sort, he said, though he can be rather off-putting at times. Perhaps he cannot get used to civilian life.

Lord Amberley fought in the war? Magdalen asked conversationally.

He commanded his own cavalry regiment in the Peninsula, until he was sent home half dead with a saber wound through the chest. It missed his heart by a mere fraction. He gave her an arch look as she took a seat at the table across from him. Now I am afraid he has only Aunt Augusta and me to order about—and a houseful of servants.

Magdalen smiled. From the way he had spoken to her last night, Lord Amberley still must fancy himself a military commander.

But regardless of Leydon’s manner, he went on, he is a titled lord and therefore he can have his pick of the young ladies. His shoulders lifted in mock resignation. Ah, if only I were so fortunate. I have to depend upon my looks and charm alone.

I take it none of the young ladies have tempted him to marry thus far, she speculated, deciding to ignore the reference he made to himself. She couldn’t imagine anyone meeting Lord Amberley’s exacting qualifications for a bride.

Geoffrey had a mischievous twinkle in his eye as he poured tea for her and refilled his own cup. Leydon doesn’t really have a choice, though he would like to think he does. His engagement to Pamela Howard has been more or less taken for granted ever since they were children—her father owns the adjoining property—but he isn’t in any hurry to tie the matrimonial knot.

And why is that? Magdalen asked casually, reaching for the dainty Wedgwood milk pitcher.

He shrugged. I haven’t the vaguest. Pamela’s a splendid girl, everyone thinks so, but Leydon won’t be pushed into anything. And there is really no one to put any pressure on him, is there? He doesn’t give tuppence for Aunt Augusta’s opinion, and she would have loved to see him married long ago.

Magdalen smiled, thinking how absurd it was to imagine the proud master of Amberley Hall being persuaded by his silly old aunt to do anything at all.

Do you and your aunt, Lady Pembroke, live here permanently, Mr. Fraser? she asked, looking out through the long windows that opened onto the wide terrace and the sweeping lawns. Rain lashed the windowpanes, forming puddles along the flagstones of the terrace.

No, we’re both dependent on Leydon’s munificence, he replied with a wry chuckle. We visit when we’re invited, which isn’t very often. Then we try to prolong our stay until Leydon can’t bear the sight of us any longer. But he can’t cast us off entirely because we’re the only living relations he has. His gaze followed hers to the raging storm outside. I doubt that he will turn you out on a day like this, he reflected cheerfully. You’re likely to become stranded somewhere and that would cause a deuce of a problem. Not that he would worry about your welfare, but he does have an investment in the horses and carriage.

There was a knock at the door and they both swung round. Pinter, the sober-faced butler, entered and looked past Geoffrey to Magdalen.

Lord Amberley wishes to see you at once in the library, miss, he addressed her.

Magdalen was surprised by the accelerated pounding of her heart. The worst had been said between them, so what remained? But she assured herself that she was annoyed rather than afraid at the prospect of seeing that detestable man again.

Thank you, Pinter. I will take Miss Morland to the library, Geoffrey said, dismissing him.

Very well, sir.

Her companion gestured to her barely touched plate of food. You had better eat something, he advised. You can’t face my cousin on an empty stomach.

Magdalen shook her head. She couldn’t possibly eat anything. What little appetite she had was gone, replaced by an uncomfortable churning in the pit of her stomach.

Later, then, he said, coming round the table to take her elbow, adding with a touch of irony, Come, you mustn’t keep Leydon waiting. He is most impatient.

They walked together until they reached the formidable double doors that led to the library. He clasped her arm, giving it a slight, reassuring pressure.

Leydon detests scenes, so I beg you not to worry, Geoffrey said with a grin. I am certain he won’t keep you long.

Magdalen was certain he was right. She would probably be told in a brusque manner to be ready promptly for the carriage to take her away, though a servant could have informed her just as well. What more could Lord Amberley want with her?

Thank you, Mr. Fraser, she said, mustering a tiny smile. "You