Martin blinked, his mouth partially falling open in an expression of confused insult.
“Martin!” Francis snapped, jolting his son into action.
Clearly displeased, Martin got up and joined Amelia on the settee, though he made sure to sit as far away from her as possible. He leaned an arm against the armrest in a slovenly fashion, jigging his leg in agitation.
How does it feel, Martin?Amelia smiled, relief sweeping through her like the heat of a fireplace on a frosty day.
Lionel settled himself down in the vacated armchair and glanced at Amelia for a moment. Instinctively, she went to bow her head, but caught the faintest shake of his head. It was subtle but undeniable, and though it went against her very nature, she kept her chin up and held his gaze a second longer.
“Have you had tea already?” Lionel asked, returning his attention to Francis.
Amelia’s father seemed transformed beneath Lionel’s stern, cold gaze, becoming a flustered, fumbling creature; the likes of which Amelia had never seen from her father before. Indeed, though Francis was a Duke, and outranked Lionel, one could have been forgiven for thinking it was the other way around.
“Goodness, no. We have not. Would you care for some?” Francis replied, ringing the small bell on the side-table next to him.
“I thought you would never ask,” Lionel said, not smug in his control of the situation, but quietly confident. He had said nothing to outright embarrass Francis, making subtle suggestions that got the point across instead.
Quite a skill,Amelia mused, wondering if it was something someone was born with, or that someone could learn. Then again, he had not become the wealthiest gentleman in England without having some talent for persuasion and authority.
The butler hurried in. “Yes, Your Grace? How may I be of service?”
“You have left myself and the Earl without anything to refresh ourselves!” Francis said curtly, diverting the blame. “Have a tea tray and cakes brought at once.”
The butler blinked. “Of course, Your Grace. Immediately.” He bowed his head to Lionel. “My sincerest apologies, My Lord.”
“They will not be necessary,” Lionel replied courteously. “I was not expected; how were you to know to expect me.”
For a moment, the butler looked like he might faint, but whether it was due to the remarkably kind words or the fact that he would be punished later for not doing his job, Amelia did not know. Either way, the butler rushed back out in pursuit of refreshments.
In the servant’s absence and the brief silence afterward, Amelia could not help but stare at Lionel. He was even more handsome in the daylight, with a strong jaw, sculpted cheekbones, a straight and sloping nose, full lips, and eyes that she now knew to be the color of the fir trees that grew in the grounds of the Lisbret Estate. A dark and earthy green, so remarkable that she would have liked to admire them a little longer.
Kind to servants, bordering on impudent with my father, able to evict my brother from his armchair…If she had not already proposed marriage to him, she would have done so there and then.
“Now, to the matter at hand,” Lionel announced. “I mean to marry your daughter, so if there are any obstacles that might hinder such an event, I suggest you get rid of them. I know you to be a powerful and capable gentleman, so I doubt you shall have any difficulty.”
Martin rocked forward, almost propelling himself off the settee. “Pardon me, My Lord, but… I do not understand. Why would wish to marry my sister?”
“Will you sit back and be quiet,” Francis retorted, shooting an icy glare at his son. “Let the Earl speak, for goodness’ sake.”
Lionel inclined his head to Francis. “Very gracious, thank you.” He paused. “I wish to marry her because she is the only lady of society I deem suitable to be my Countess. She is quiet, she seems to cause no trouble, and she seems to know how to behave herself. What more could a gentleman ask for?”
Amelia’s eyes widened, hearing her own words echoed back to her. Her cheeks warmed with mild embarrassment, but as he turned his gaze toward her, they flamed with the fire of something else entirely. His green eyes met hers with an intensity that closed her throat and stirred up her nerves, for though it was not the look of a man who harbored any sort of affection, it was certainly the look of someone determined,someone who had seen right through her. And was doing it again.
“Quite right!” Francis crowed. “As for any… obstacles, there are none, Lord Westyork. None whatsoever.”
Martin put up his hand. “But, what about?—”
“Another word from you and I shall send you from this room,” Francis hissed, staring at Martin as if he were an idiot. “As I said, Lord Westyork, there are no obstacles. There was a minor show of interest from a terribly unworthy fellow, but it was not an official pursuit, and he was not at all suitable for my dear daughter. It will cause no disruption to you, I promise.”
Lionel was still looking at Amelia, but he turned at that. “Excellent, then I shall proceed with acquiring a special license.”
“Pardon?” Francis furrowed his brow.
“It is my intention to marry her by the end of the week,” Lionel replied casually. “I rarely like to spend the winter in London, and if I do not have to stay longer than necessary, I shall not. I trust that is acceptable to you?”
The end of the week!Amelia’s heart dropped, for that was no time at all. She had hoped for at leastthreeweeks, in order to spend as much time as possible with Valery and Isolde while she could. And she had definitely not expected to be leaving London before the Spring.
“Why… certainly, it is.” Francis clapped his hands together, his face a picture of dazed delight, as if he had just been handed a rare and precious gift.
