"I might shoot you myself if you don't leave me to die in peace."
Miss Carville, Rex was informed by a very superior ladies' maid when he scratched at Amanda's door, was resting after her recent indisposition, on Lady Royce's advice.
Advice? It was more like an order, Rex would wager. So it was to be the two of them alone, mano y mano, or man and madre, except for the army of servants the countess seemed to employ. He'd faced French cannons and British turncoats, his enemies' fear and fellow officers' disdain. Hell, he'd faced a room full of matchmaking mothers. Surely he could get through one luncheon with the woman who had given him birth.
As loath as he was to make his commanded appearance, he prayed the countess had not made Amanda feel as uncomfortable or unwelcome. Lud knew he had nowhere else to take her. He was the one at fault anyway, since he was older, wiser, not ruled by emotions, and not in fear of his life. He was prepared to acknowledge that much and swear to Amanda's virtue, unless Lady Royce had insulted her. Then he would take Amanda to the first inn he could find and to the devil with the gossip, and to the dustbin with the meal.
They were everything polite in front of the servants in the formal dining room, seated at opposite ends of a long table. Rex forced himself to eat the excellent food in front of him, although he tasted nothing.
The countess turned down most of the dishes. When Rex raised an eyebrow at her nearly empty plate, she said, "I fear a recurrence of stomach disorder I suffered in Bath. I would have left for London as soon as I heard of Amanda's situation otherwise, of course."
Now Rex had the taste of humble pie in his mouth for thinking the countess had selfishly abandoned her goddaughter. "Ah," was all he said, but he did bear more of his share of the conversation after that.
They discussed his father's health, Daniel's sister's planned come-out next Season, and the weather. Oh, and the condition of the roads between Bath and London, as if he gave a damn. Finally the countess indicated that the meal was over. "Will you take tea, or port if you prefer, with me in the drawing room?"
He followed her, and the line of footmen and maids carrying the tray and the decanter and the countess's shawl and her needlework. Drooling, Verity followed closely behind the footman who was bearing a plate of biscuits.
"I did not invite that monstrous, ill-behaved creature into my home," were the first words Lady Royce said when the last servant bowed and shut the door behind him.
"I am sorry. I thought Daniel would be better off here than in the stews where I found him."
She raised her eyebrow, but a glimmer of a smile touched one corner of her mouth. "Your cousin is welcome, of course. And you." She broke off a bit of biscuit for the dog, who sat by her chair, gazing up adoringly. The countess, meanwhile, stared at Rex, then at yet another boyhood portrait hanging on the wall.
Rex said nothing, silently berating the dog for another act of treason.
His silence must have unnerved the countess, he thought, if anything could, for she set her cup down too hard, making a clatter. She cleared her throat, as if wondering where to begin. Start twenty-some years ago, he wanted to shout, but did not.
She looked at the portrait again. "I thought you appeared different the last time I saw you. Your nose…"
"A recent misadventure. It will have its own shape in a week, I assume. The scar on my cheek is permanent, but fading."
"And your leg?"
He tucked it back under him, instead of stretched out in front. "Quite well, thank you. Better every day."
She nodded, accepting that he would not share more than impersonal facts. "Thank you for bringing my godchild to me."
"It was my-" He almost said pleasure, but caught himself. "My honor to be of service." That did not sound right, either, reminding him of a stallion servicing the mares, but he could not retract the words.
The countess inferred no double meaning. "She is a lovely young woman. Wrongly charged, of course."
He gazed at the ruby-colored wine in his goblet, the color of dark lies. "You believe her innocent?"
"Naturally. I have known her since her birth, and her mother was one of my best friends since our own childhood. Amanda could no more shoot a man in cold blood than she could fly to the moon, no matter how deserving of it that man was. More importantly, do you believe she is innocent of the crime?"
She was not asking for his supposition, Rex knew, but his certain knowledge. "Yes."
"Ah, then you should have no trouble proving it."
"How, by telling people that I see blue when she speaks?"
She ignored the anger and frustration in his voice and tapped her lips in thought. "It just might do."
"What might do?" Not his declaration of insanity, surely.
"Why, your marrying her, of course. A handsome young viscount-at least I trust you will be more handsome once your nose is no longer so red and swollen-with a romantic scar and a limp well earned in bravery, to say nothing of a vast fortune, and a beautiful, well-bred young woman. The families have been connected for generations, and wholeheartedly approve. When the ton sees how happy I am over the match, they will trust in Amanda's innocence. I am known to be extremely particular in my acquaintances."
"I shall not marry her."
"After spending days-and nights-unchaperoned together? Of course you will. Nanny taught you manners. Your father taught you honor."
"She was ill, and there was no alternative. If you had been here to rescue her yourself, there would be no problem."
"I was too ill to travel, to my regret."
Rex could see the truth of that, and not just in her drawn features and pallid complexion. He changed the topic. "Shouldn't Amanda, Miss Carville, be here for this discussion? She knows my views and accepts them."
"She had a tray in her room. Now she is too busy getting ready to go out."
"Go out… where?"
"Why, on social calls, a stroll through the park at the fashionable hour, shopping perhaps. She has to be seen, and be seen unconcerned, to quell the gossip."
"She is accused of murder, not of tying her garters in public! You cannot counter such charges with a social sugarcoating."
"That's how much you know of polite society." The countess poured herself another cup of tea. "But you might be right. An engagement announcement would be better."
Rex scowled. "There will be no announcement, no betrothal, no match."
"You used to be such a charming little boy."
And she used to be a loving mother, until she left. Rex helped himself to more wine.
The countess added sugar and stirred her tea. "Do you think you can refute the charges?"
"I am going to try my damnedest."
"But you might fail?"
"I might."
"Then I shall make plans to take Amanda abroad. I know the war has affected travel, but ships leave daily. Surely one goes somewhere livable."
"You would help her escape?"
"I would save her life if you cannot."
"I suppose I should not be surprised. When things are not to your liking, you always run off, do you not?"
She set her cup aside and reached for a handkerchief as her eyes filled with tears. Rex looked away, lest he be swayed by her distress. Nanny had wiped his eyes, not this woman sitting across from him.
Lady Royce gathered her composure, tucking the delicate handkerchief away and feeding Verity another biscuit. "I thought you would understand by now."
"I understand that I gave my parole for Amanda's appearance. I pledged my honor, if honor means anything to you."
"Stop this nastiness. You were a child when I left. You are acting like a child now and I will not tolerate it."
He stood.
"Where are you going?"
"We have nothing to say."
"I have a great deal to say. Are you mature enough to listen?"