The Virtuous Ward

CHAPTER Three


"Well, miss, iffen you ask me this is the only one what's fit to wear," Emily said. It was apparent that Amity's new abigail was not impressed by the items in her wardrobe. With pursed mouth and narrowed eyes, she had examined each dress, deciding that the singular possibility for the evening was a blue and green plaid wool with a high waist and a touch of white lace at the neck.

"Would you suggest I burn the rest?" Amity asked.

"Gor, miss!" Emily whirled around, shocked by the thought of such dreadful waste. Her brown eyes took in the wide grin on her mistress' face and she blinked. Catching the joke, she snorted aloud, hiding her laughter behind her hands. "Not that they don't deserve a proper funeral," she said when she could catch her breath.

"I know most of them are awful, Emily, but there was not much need for fashion in the north. Warmth was much more important."

"Makes good sense, miss," Emily agreed as she closed the doors of the wardrobe. "Soon you'll have new things, much more fittin' for London. Mrs. Trilby says iffen I suit, I'll be your abigail while you're at Edgeworth."

"I'm sure we'll do fine together," Amity said. She had been pleased by the arrival of the cheerful, efficient girl. She was bony and plain of face but her eyes, for all the sharpness of her glance, had the softness of a doe. Though younger by a year, Emily had an experienced quality about her that convinced Amity she would be wise to heed the girl's suggestions.

She put herself in the servant's capable hands and soon the room looked inhabited and she was dressed for dinner. The only disagreement they had was at the abigail's suggestion of a more elaborate hairstyle than she was used to.

"I'm sure it would be grand, Emily, but I'd rather not put it up. My hair's so long that by the end of the evening, I have a pounding headache." Amity sat at the mirrored vanity and caught the disapproving expression of her new abigail. Coaxingly, she added, "I promise you can concoct some fanciful creation at another time."

The girl's frown disappeared and she brushed the long swath of hair until the red curls shone in the candlelight. "I have ever so many ideas, miss," Emily said. "You have beautiful hair, but it could use a might of trimming."

"This time I know you're right," Amity said laughing. "I've not been in society and so there's never been a need. This is just an informal dinner so I'm sure no one will mind if my hair is undressed."

"The sash looks right perky." Emily's voice sounded as though she felt her new mistress needed encouragement.

After a cursory glance in the mirror, Amity stood up and shook out her skirt, searching the material for stray dog hairs. She had always liked the plaid dress; it was warm and comfortable. It had been perfect at Beech House with its long cold corridors and drafty rooms. Granted it was several years out of date but then she had never cared that much about the current fashions. For the moment, it would have to suffice. She knew her hair was neatly brushed and her face was scrubbed clean. She suspected that due to her nervous state, her skin was paler tonight so that the freckles would stand out even more than normal. Shrugging, she turned to the dog sprawled in front of the door.

"Come on, Muffin," Amity said. As if annoyed, the dog pushed himself upright, his tail wagging in triumph at his accomplishment. He pressed his head against her knee, and Amity reached down to rub his neck. "Well, old friend, we don't want to make a bad impression by being late."

Thanking Emily for all her help, Amity opened the door and started out into the hall. Although Muffin swung his head to follow her movements, the rest of his body remained rooted to the floor. Returning, Amity grasped a handful of hair at his neck and kneed him toward the hall. Soulful brown eyes lifted to her face and then, accepting the inevitable, the dog padded beside her toward the stairs. Peter, the helpful footman, was on duty in the foyer and he indicated the double doors to the yellow salon. Two other footmen threw open the doors and Amity braced herself, her hand tight in Muffin’s fur for support.

When the doors opened, Max thought for a moment that he had been transported back in time. Framed by the carved lintel, Amity looked like an ancient warrior queen, her hand resting on some noble beast. Crystal blue eyes, flashing with courage and intelligence, shone out of her white face. Burnished curls crowned her raised head and fell in a cascade down her back. Max blinked and the magical vision was gone.

The girl hesitated in the doorway, her sparkling eyes flashing around the room in curiosity. Max was amazed that this was the same girl he had seen eleven years ago. His ward was not the pink and white debutante so much in fashion; she was a far more exotic creature. Her skin was too pale, her hair too red. Her mouth was too generous and her eyes too large. Each feature was discordant but together they blended in a harmony of perfection. He wondered what had happened to the scrawny, clumsy child.

Max coughed to remind the girl of her duty. She lowered her eyes and came to stand in front of him. He was surprised at her height; somehow he had expected she would be tiny. The top of her head came above his shoulder and he was six foot tall. He coughed once more and she extended her hand, dropping into a curtsy. As Max bowed over her hand, she bobbed back up, her head crashing into his chin with a jolt that rattled every tooth in his head.

"Blast!" Amity said, blinking through the tears of pain as she held the sides of her head. Looking up through her blurred vision she saw the pained look on the face of her guardian. And she had so wanted to make a good impression. Suddenly she was overcome by the humor of the situation.

As the pain of the blow began to wear off, Max glared at the clumsy girl. She had changed little since last he saw her. Visions of endless broken vases and knocked over tables flashed before his eyes. Her come out would be a debacle. He was much too old for such humiliation. He glowered down at the girl and watched the expressions flit across the too-open countenance: horror, embarrassment and then, of all things, amusement. When she started to laugh he was surprised at the soft lilting quality of her laughter.

"Only a harum-scarum girl would find amusement in such a social disaster." Max tried to keep his lips from twitching but could not control the twinkle in his eyes.

"I am most sorry, your lordship." Despite the sincerity of her words, Max noted the laughter in the crystal blue eyes. "Perhaps we might start over. Although I fear I must warn you I am not very expert." To her credit, she controlled her expression and dipped into a slightly more graceful curtsy, peeking up at him through a fringe of lashes.

In the woman grown, Maxwell remembered the steady blue eyes of the child. Now there was a sheen of laugh-tears that gave them an uncanny brilliance and he found himself disappointed when she lowered her lids, hiding them from him. He shook his head, narrowing his eyes at the taking child.

"Welcome to Edgeworth, Endurance."

"Thank you, my lord," Amity replied. She liked his deep voice that was rich and melodious for all that his words were stilted. She willed herself to say something else but no words appeared in her mind so for once she remained silent. A snore interrupted her and she fought down another bout of giggles as she looked down at Muffin.

When Amity dipped into her curtsy, the traitorous dog took it as a sign that he could relax. He had flopped down in front of Max who was now trapped against the fireplace. Amity nudged the dog with the toe of her slipper knowing from experience that it was a useless gesture but hopeful nonetheless. As expected, Muffin merely snuffled in his sleep.

"I'm sorry about Muffin, my lord. He's getting old and the journey tired him out. He's not much used to travel," Amity defended.

"Where did you get such a mangy beast?" Max asked, curious despite himself.

"He was abandoned on the roadside and near to death. He needed a home," she finished as if it were the most natural of occurrences.

"It is of no consequence," Max said waving his hand. With caution, he stepped over the recumbent figure and grasped Amity's elbow. He turned her toward the other occupant in the room and his ward made another shaky curtsy. "Cousin Hester, this irrepressible child is my ward, Endurance Fraser. Lady Grassmere will be your chaperone during your stay here and during your come out. With any luck the three of us will survive the enterprise," he amended drily.

Grey dress, grey face and grey hair. So self-effacing was Lady Grassmere that Amity thought it would be difficult to remember she was there. She noted the gentle kindness in the woman's brown eyes and resolved to treat the older woman with great respect. She suspected Lady Grassmere would find the experience of chaperoning her a rather wearing affair.

"And I also bid you welcome to Edgeworth, my dear," Hester said. Her soft voice was just above a whisper and had the insubstantial quality of a summer breeze. "I met your mother many years ago. A beautiful woman. I must admit, Endurance, that you are nothing like I had pictured."

"I'm sorry, milady." Amity hung her head in embarrassment. "I am overused to my looks so that I forget what a disappointment I am to those who knew my mother."

"Disappointment, child?" Hester stared at the burnished head, wondering if she had heard correctly.

"I am nothing like my mother," Amity admitted.

"No, my dear, you are not," the old woman agreed. She had thought the girl's mother lovely but shallow in the extreme. By the look of intelligent curiosity she had seen in the girl's eyes, Hester suspected the child had far greater depth. "You are, I would guess, quite unique."

Max was much struck by the interchange and it took him several minutes to take in the import of his ward's remarks. He opened his mouth to comment but, before he could speak, dinner was announced. Giving an arm to each of the ladies he led them into the dining room.

The dinner progressed well and Max led the conversation to discover the extent of Amity's education and deportment. It appeared as though the governesses he had provided had done well by the girl. She was well read, her conversation showing she was a gently reared young lady. He noted she entered the discussions with perhaps a dash too much enthusiasm but for the most part, Max was well pleased with the girl's manners and ease of speech.

Throughout the meal Max's eyes were drawn to the shining face of his ward. He was surprised at his own feeling of well being since he had originally resented the appearance of the girl in his bachelor life. There was something appealing about the girl as he watched her fiery curls nod at a question from Lady Grassmere. He had been worried about sponsoring the girl but considered now that it might not be such a regrettable experience. After her initial painful curtsy, he recalled as he rubbed his chin, she had at least not knocked anything over. If she could remain seated through her come out, he might fire her off with little damage to vases, porcelain figurines and other assorted bric-a-brac.

The dinner was a novelty to Amity, used to the plain, nourishing fare that had been served up at Beech House. At each remove she questioned the footman about each dish, tasting a little of everything until she thought she might burst. She answered Max's questions and entered into the conversation on books and history. It was at the end of the meal that the subject turned to a discussion between Lady Grassmere and her guardian over the latest opera fare. Amity was pleased to be excluded since it gave her the opportunity to study Lord Max.

She was pleased that her memory of him as a young man had not been faulty. He had been handsome then with his fine features and wavy brown hair, but now his face had more character, a pride in himself that had been absent in his youth. He was tall and lean without appearing effete. He wore the black satin jacket and pantaloons with an air of elegance that owed nothing to his tailor. His waistcoat and linen were blinding white. All his raiment was simple and without doubt expensive.

His eyes don't match, Amity thought to herself. Everything about him was extremely proper, almost arrogant. His words were sarcastic and at times carried a cutting sneer. It was only in his green eyes that Amity found a wariness, a hesitancy that surprised her. Although earlier she suspected that he might have found her amusing there had also been puzzlement. It was almost as if he were unused to laughter.

After dinner Lady Grassmere sank into a chair beside the fireplace and took out her needlework. While she stitched, Max explained some of the plans that he had developed to launch her in society. She would remain at Edgeworth for several weeks while Lady Grassmere smoothed out some of her deficiencies in the art of social graces. Then they would remove to Max's townhouse in London for the season. Amity listened with curiosity, interjecting an occasional excited question. She was pleased when he mentioned that his particular friend Honoria would stand as her friend.

"I will try very hard not to give her a disgust of me, milord" Amity said, her blue eyes serious for once.

"Just act natural, Endurance, and I am sure in a few days you will be bosom bows," Max answered. "Have you any questions?"

"At the moment, your lordship, my head is whirling with excitement," Amity admitted. "Although there is something that I would like to ask. Would you find it pushing of me if I changed my name?" At the surprised look on her guardian's face, she hurried into speech. "My second name is Amity and I much prefer it. Would it be quite honest if I used that name, your lordship?"

"Lord love you, child," Max said, chuckling at the request. "It shows you have much sense. Endurance, indeed. I will take great pleasure in erasing the name from my memory. And in turn you shall call me Max. Every time you say your lordship I feel weighted down by another twenty years."

Amity smiled at her guardian, liking him very much better than she had expected. A snore from the direction of the fireplace alerted her to the fact that her chaperone had nodded off over her stitchery. Her eyes twinkled up at Max and he responded in kind.

"Perhaps you would care to walk in the long gallery?" Max asked, extending his hand. "I find myself restless after dinner and have a need to stretch my legs."

She accepted his invitation and soon they were strolling in front of a row of imposing portraits and Max was entertaining her with a history of his family. Amity could see that her guardian had inherited much of his good looks and was pleased that so many of his ancestors had his unusual green eyes. She stood before the portrait done just after Max had inherited and smiled at the slim, arrogant figure.

"Even then you were quite fierce, Max," Amity said.

"Fierce? Never say," Max drawled, enjoying the girl's concentrated gaze on his portrait. "I like to think I was feeling soulful elegance."

"That too of course, but there is the look of a rat terrier."

Max's chin raised in hauteur and he was just about to bite out a choice set down to the bold chit when he caught the gleam of laughter in her eyes. His own softened and he reached out to tweak her chin. "What a wretched child you are. With such an acid tongue, how am I ever to find a man to bring up to scratch?"

In the silence that followed, Amity's forehead puckered in concern. Taking her courage in hand, she asked the question that had been worrying her since she left Beech House. "Do you think someone might offer for me?"

"No need to fear, child," Max said, touched by the look of strain on the girl's face. "I will not marry you off to the first eligible parti. You will have plenty of time to enjoy the season."

"You mistake me, sir," Amity said. "I am eager to accept any proposal."

"You wish to marry?" Max could not understand why any one should wish to enter that unenviable state. "Why?"

"I would like to have a baby," Amity answered without hesitation. When she noticed the rise of color in her guardian's face, she chuckled and reached out to pat the sleeve of his jacket. "I apologize for my plain speaking, sir, but you did ask."

"More fool I," he muttered under his breath. Drawing himself up he tried to speak as casually as he could. "It is true that when you marry, a child follows thereafter. No need to discuss, any inconsistencies in that rule. Just take my word for it." It would seem that having a ward was not always clear sailing. He removed a spotless handkerchief and mopped his forehead before he could continue. As he returned the handkerchief to his pocket, he noted the amusement on the face of his ward. "Please tell me that you need no further information along these lines," he requested with a raised eyebrow.

At his harried attitude, Amity could not hold back her laughter. His expression changed to one of injury and she tried to sober her own expression to salve his feeling of ill usage. "I promise, Max, I will ask you no more inconvenient questions. It must be a great trial for you to have a ward."

"I am just beginning to suspect as much," he answered, waggling his eyebrows until she burst into a stream of musical laughter. As he looked down at the girl he realized that since Amity's arrival he had only given cursory thought to the disadvantages of sponsoring the girl. For the most part he was enjoying himself, watching the fascinating creature who was Miss Amity Fraser.

"Perhaps we might return to the salon to continue this discussion. I have the feeling I might require something strengthening to drink." Max pulled Amity's hand through his arm and turned her back along the hallway. "The noble Cartwright will bring the tea tray and some brandy and you shall tell me why you are in such a hurry to marry and set up a nursery."

Lady Grassmere woke when the butler brought in the tray and Amity served the old woman, taking time to praise the chair cover she was working. The stitchery was precise but the picture was an unimaginative floral pattern. After several minutes of conversation, she was free to join Max who was sitting beside a chess table. He patted the footstool in front of his chair and she sank down facing him.

He reached out to take the white queen, twirling the little carving in his hand. "Do you play?" he asked.

"A little."

"I shall have to see what I can do to brush up your skills. You seem bright enough to understand the game so it must be that you have not had enough opportunity to play."

Amity blushed at the compliment and vowed to pay close attention to any instructions he should give her. In truth, she enjoyed the game but her governesses eschewed it as a male pastime and she had found few others in the neighborhood who knew the rudiments of the game. Her eyes followed the movement of Max's hand as he returned the queen to her square and lifted a knight, his long fingers caressing the ivory figure. For some unknown reason her face felt hot and she shifted her eyes to the hands in her lap.

"Now, Amity," Max said, placing the chess piece back on the board and taking a heartening sip of his brandy. "What cockle-headed notion have you got that you must needs rush into marriage?"

"Well to be honest I should very much like to have a child. Someone of my own that I might love and cherish." Amity paused, looking up into Max face to see if he understood her words. "And of course the babe would love me," she finished softly.

Max noticed that the clear blue eyes shone with a particular brilliance as she spoke the last sentence. He was reminded again of her interchange with Cousin Hester earlier in the evening. His brows bunched over his forehead as he stared at the grave little figure across from him. Suddenly he thought he suspected the truth and he reached out cupping her chin in his hand.

"What was your mother like, Amity?" he asked, watching with pleasure the startled look at the abrupt change of subject. Her face was so expressive, shrouding few of her thoughts. He wondered if after a year in society she would still be so trusting. He was surprised at the dreamy expression that flitted across her face and the faraway look in her eyes as she remembered her mother.

"She was glorious, Max," she whispered. "Her name was Divinia and the fashionable set called her 'Goddess Divine.' She was petite, almost doll-like, with enormous periwinkle blue eyes and a soft pink complexion. Her hair was golden, as if the sun's rays were caught in each curl. Everything about her was beautiful."

"And did you love her a great deal?"

"I fear it was much like worship. She was everything I wanted to be," Amity admitted, her voice shaky with emotion. "I was a great disappointment to her."

Max stared down at the veil of tears that filled Amity's eyes and cursed under his breath. Remembering the scrawny child Amity had once been, he could guess as to her mother's reactions, but he suspected from the girl's words that Divinia had not been pleased with her child's looks. Amity appeared to have no awareness of her own potential as far above the touch of most pretty girls. Looking down at his ward, he caught a vulnerability beneath her smiling, sweet nature, a feeling that she was unattractive and that no one really loved her.

Max cursed himself for having neglected the child for so long. She must have been lonely on an isolated estate with no family to love her. He could not undo the damage he had done but he could make up to her for all that she had missed. He would show her that her uncommon looks were to be applauded not dismissed. He would be famly for her, love her like a brother and then she would blossom into the beauty he knew her to be. He leaned foreword and pressed a gentle kiss to her soft, white forehead.

At the press of his lips, Amity smiled in contentment and nestled her cheek into the cushion of his hand. "Then you will arrange for my marriage?"

"First things first," Max said, dropping his hand and reaching once more for the brandy snifter. "One needs go slow, my enthusiastic child. You must learn not to dash into a situation. I am relieved to note that you have lost the habit of knocking things over."

Amity laughed, remembering the first time he had seen her. "It seems to happen when I am nervous. My last governess cautioned me to take a deep breath at every quarter hour and then I would not be so prone to knock things about."

"Did it work?" Max asked.

"No," Amity said, her face an embarrassed grimace. "The first thing I hit was the clock and then I never knew what time it was."

Max chuckled at her remark, but then his face shifted to more sober lines. "Perhaps you should strive to think a little before you leap into action. A lady who desires to be married needs to display qualities that will encourage the gentlemen to see her as the perfect wife. Dignity is the cornerstone for elegant behavior."

"Miss Endicott, my governess, would be delighted to hear you thus advise me," Amity said, wrinkling her nose at his words. She sighed in resignation and looked with gravity into Max's face. "I will try, sir, but there are so many temptations for my attention that I sometimes forget my good intentions."

"Well, my dear, both Cousin Hester and myself will be here to remind you of your obligations. Although you were not aware of my presence I was witness to your arrival today."

Amity blushed at his pejorative tone. He patted her shoulder in a reassuring gesture but she suspected she was in for a lecture. In her mind's eye she could picture Miss Endicott nodding with assurance.

"I could hardly approve your arrival since the entire operation lacked the proper dignity. You should have waited to accept the assistance of the footman from the coach instead of scrambling out as though you had been catapulted."

"But I am neither old nor infirm to need such assistance," she argued. "It seems so silly."

"Rules of propriety are never silly," Max pronounced. "When you descended, your bonnet was askew and your hands were bare."

"I lost my mittens," Amity admitted. "I did not think anyone would notice."

"Whether someone will notice is beside the point. A lady is measured by the attention she pays to the details. It may seem like a small affectation but people set great store by these very trivialities. Omissions of small points of etiquette are a signal that one's manners are superficial, not a part of one's character." Max's voice was encouraging as he continued, "Perhaps, if you have a penchant for losing something, you might consider carrying an extra for emergencies."

"I would have to carry a portmanteau, since I am constantly losing things," Amity muttered. She pushed at a lock of hair that had escaped from the ribbon when she bent her head and tucked it behind her ear.

"And never, Amity," Max's voice was stiff with disapproval, "I repeat, never are you to notice, let alone discuss with a servant, the, eh, personal habits of your dog. A lady is above the flesh."

"Life was very much simpler at Beech House."

"You will learn, my dear," Max said as he smiled down at the girl. "Once you begin to think before you leap into action, things will become rather easier. In the meantime you must cultivate a more formal attitude toward the servants. You must not chatter with them as if they are your friends. They are here to serve you, not entertain you."

Amity had begun to believe that she might be able to learn the ways of the born but had not considered she would be asked to make such a sacrifice. She had always had friends among the servants. At Beech House, they were her only friends. She made no comment but she resolved that she would concentrate on her other faults and perhaps this one area might be overlooked. Raising her head, she smiled at her guardian.

"I shall try to improve my behavior, Max. Truly I will."

"Good show," he said, grateful that she had listened to his criticisms. "I realize that you have had few examples to follow but I hope when you meet Miss Waterston you will consider her demeanor and pattern yourself after her. She has a delicacy of mind and grace of manner that is the essence of the refined gentlewoman."

Amity heard the note of approval in her guardian's voice and vowed to copy the behavior of Honoria to a nicety. She could tell by the expression on Max's face that she must be very special. She wondered if he were in love with her. And now that she was getting to know her guardian, she hoped that if he was, Honoria returned his regard in full measure. It would be most romantic if Max planned to marry. On that happy thought, she was eager to go to London and make the acquaintance of the fashionable Miss Waterston.