The Prodigal Daughter (3 page)

“Of course. And repudiated all connection. Few people even remember your existence.”

Amanda suppressed a shudder. She had expected no better. “But he remains a slave to duty,” she commented as if mentioning that the sun rose in the east.

Lady Thorne nodded.

“Then I will see him..” She turned to leave.

“Sit down, Amanda,” commanded her ladyship.

Amanda raised her brows in question.

“I believe the shock has receded enough that I can actually take in the fact that you are here. I have prayed for you every day since you left, my dear. Thank God you are safe..” Her voice broke.

Tears were suddenly streaming down Amanda’s face. She stumbled forward to join her grandmother on the settee. For the first time in her life, Lady Thorne pulled her into her arms and wept.

* * * *

“You are in mourning?” her ladyship asked at last, noting the nondescript black gown, the thin figure, and the signs of hardship around Amanda’s eyes.

“Jack died at Waterloo..” Her voice cracked on the name. The unexpected outburst of emotion had penetrated some of the armor that normally protected her heart from pain.

“You loved him, then?”

“Yes.”

“You look poorly, and that dress is hardly worthy of a servant.”

“True, it is not one of my better gowns..” But it had served its purpose. Traveling on the stage, she had not wished to draw attention, though if she were honest, none of her blacks were much better.

“Are you ailing?  You seem thin.”

“Do not upset yourself, Grandmama. I suffered a rather nasty chill last winter, but I am completely recovered.”

“What is that on your skirt?”

Amanda looked down. She had forgotten, not that she could have done anything about it. “Blood.”

“What?”

“The inn I stayed at last night burned down. I was helping the injured. One of them needed to have his leg removed..” She shrugged.

Lady Thorne blanched. “Why was a well-bred young lady dabbling with such things?”

Amanda almost laughed. “Grandmama, I am no longer young. I was married for eight years and followed the drum the entire time. There is little I have not seen. I often worked with the surgeons, especially after Waterloo.”

“Lady Amanda should be above such things..” Hauteur filled her voice.

“I have not used that title from the time I left home until speaking to your butler just now. It has no place in the life I have chosen. I am Mrs. Morrison, widow of a soldier.”

“Nonsense.”

“Do not think that I have come back to stay, Grandmama,” warned Amanda. “I need to speak with my father. Then I will return to London. It is useless to push me into a mold I cannot fit. Besides, unless he has changed beyond all recognition, the Marquess of Thorne will never allow Lady Amanda to enter society.”

Lady Thorne pursed her lips in thought. “I never approved of the Sterne character,” she finally admitted. “But I was powerless to change it. Very well. But at least promise me that you will keep in touch. I wish you had done so earlier.”

“I dared not,” admitted Amanda. “Father could have caused trouble for Jack with his superiors. I hoped that he would either bid me good riddance or be unable to trace us. That is why I was so vague.”

“I do not know how hard he pursued you,” said her grandmother. “But there were so many young men who left to join the military at that time that he let it go in the end.”

Amanda smiled. “Good. Jack was not one of them, though I implied such in my note.”

Lady Thorne widened her eyes in surprise, but Amanda was not disposed to discuss her marriage further.

“May I change into something better than this old gown before I go to see my father?”

“It would be inadvisable to call tonight,” warned Lady Thorne. “He is hosting a house party and is doubtless at dinner. The gentlemen are riding early tomorrow. Perhaps you can see him when he returns.”

Amanda sighed. “Very well. Is Hudgens still there?”  The butler was one of the few servants who had supported her, though never openly.

“He retired two years ago, shortly before Lady Thorne died.”

Her head shot up at that news. “So he is alone again?”

“And will remain so. Everyone is home just now except Englewood, who went to Brighton for the summer.”

A frown creased Amanda’s brow. Turning the topic, she asked, “What is the house party?”

“Emily made her bows this spring, attracting a great deal of attention, as was inevitable. Her breeding and dowry were unmatched, and her looks are beyond passable. Her most eligible suitor is due to arrive today. Thorne expects an offer for her hand.”

“I see. So the house is full of young men and women. He will not keep me waiting for an answer then. It would never do to expose his guests to my undutiful influence.”

“Just so.”

Amanda accepted her grandmother’s offer of room for the night but would not commit herself beyond the morrow. They dined in style, something Amanda had not done since Brussels. But she did not mention it. In fact, she spoke little of her marriage or her life since leaving home, and not at all of her errand.

* * * *

The Thornridge Court butler glanced at the note she carried and frowned. It was from Lady Thorne.

“Follow me, ma’am,” he ordered, a hint of reluctance in his wooden voice.

Amanda tried to ignore her surroundings as they traced their way to the library. Little had changed in nine years. The Court had always been an austere showcase rather than a home. Suits of armor lined the marble hall; the main drawing room was expensively ornate, but cold; the formal dining room remained as dark and forbidding as always. Even the morning room they had just passed felt cheerless. Thorne’s unyielding character had imprinted so firmly on the house that she doubted anyone would ever be happy there.

But the library.... She almost quavered when the butler showed her in and closed the door. The room was empty of all living creatures save herself, but ghosts pressed around her, leaving the air hot with anger and hatred and rebellion. All hers, of course. Thorne considered any show of emotion to be beneath his dignity. Time rolled back to the last time she had seen this room....

She had obeyed his summons. One did not defy the Marquess of Thorne no matter how much one wanted to. At least not to his face. What had she done now? she wondered as she approached the library. It was his favorite room and the one in which he always meted out discipline. That nearly all punishment landed on her was too old a truth to even register. Was it her latest visit to Granny Gossich?  The woman was the area healer. She had also been Amanda’s only friend for many years, and her teacher. Much of her knowledge of herbs had been learned from Granny. And it was through Granny that she had met Jack.

The older Amanda shook her head, trying to dislodge the memories. Her position would be weakened if she succumbed to the anger of their last confrontation. But the library was too oppressive, her nine-year-old fury too intense. She could not stop the images from parading before her eyes or the voices from echoing mockingly in her ears.

“It is time you wed,” Thorne had announced once the door closed.

The seventeen-year-old Amanda tingled with anticipation. Was she really to go to London at last?  She had never traveled farther than Middleford, the market town only a few miles from the Court, but she longed to see more of the world, to meet ladies and gentlemen of her own station. But of course, Thorne did not have that in mind. She should have known better than to hope. His next words shattered the dream.

“I cannot chance you mocking your breeding by misbehaving in town,” he announced coldly. That had been a continuing complaint since her birth. Her conduct was inconsistent with her exalted position in society – lacking dignity, lacking propriety, and above all, lacking the condescending devotion to duty that formed the mainstay of Thorne’s life. “You will wed Mr. Anthony Fontbury next week. The settlements are already signed.”

“No!”  Her scream of anguish reverberated from the walls. She knew better than to counter him, of course, but this was too much. “You cannot do this to me!  Even you cannot be that cruel. He is hateful!  I won’t do it. I won’t!”

“Stop this!”  A hard hand smashed across her face, bringing her back to the reality of the library. “I have had enough of your intransigence. You are a disgrace to the family. God knows I have tried hard enough to teach you proper conduct, but you refuse to learn. You are a child of the devil, right enough. Fontbury has the sense to keep you from embarrassing us all in public.”

It was the death-knell. She had met the man only once, but she knew enough about him to understand what the future held. He was a penniless younger son who would have jumped at the fortune Thorne must have offered, even if it meant taking Amanda with it. Fontbury would keep her locked on his estate until he had beaten her into submission, and probably afterward as well. Billy had needed all of Granny’s skill and a month of bedrest to recover from Fontbury’s single visit, and even then he could not return to his position as stable boy.

The six-and-twenty-year-old Amanda discovered that her hands were pressed tightly to her ears, as though they could stifle the echo of her father’s voice. He had continued his tirade for a good ten minutes, listing every fault that had come to his attention since his last lecture. But her real crime was inheriting her mother’s disposition.

The first Lady Thorne had been a sad disappointment to her husband. Despite being a duke’s daughter, she had fraternized with people of the lower classes, actually allowing warmth into her contacts with them. She had laughed a good deal, even at herself, and rarely found fault with anyone. She had also committed the unpardonable sin of addressing her maid by the girl’s given name. Amanda suspected that the worst transgression was laughing and calling Thorne a stuffy prig when he chastised her for that last. She had heard the tale from one of the servants. He would never have publicized so mortifying an occasion.

The second Lady Thorne was very much more to his liking, as were their four very proper children. If Amanda had copied their demeanor, they would have accepted her, but she had not. Despite her sunny nature, when it came to Thorne, she perversely dug in her heels and refused to obey his edicts.

Which was exactly what had happened that last day. Upon leaving the study – under orders to remain in her room until Fontbury arrived the next morning – she had fled to Granny Gossich’s cottage, tears streaming down her face at every thought of the wretched future her uncaring parent had arranged. But Granny was not at home.

Hoping that she was tending Jack, Amanda had gone there. She had first met him three months earlier when she’d accompanied Granny on her healing rounds. He was temporarily back from the wars, recovering from wounds. They had become friends, nothing more. But she drank in his tales of the faraway places he had seen and the exciting things he had done. It was so different from her own life. He shared her zest for living and was in the enviable position of controlling his own destiny.

Granny was not there, but Jack took one look at her face and urged her to talk. Between sobs she managed to choke out a confused tale of Thorne’s perfidy, Jack’s handkerchief pressed to her eyes. It was when she expressed the hope that Granny might know of somewhere to which she could escape that he made his own suggestion.

And so they were wed.

* * * *

The rattle of the door handle pulled her attention back to the present. Her heart began to race, but she kept her face impassive. It would never do to let him guess that she needed him.

The Marquess of Thorne paused just inside the door, shock clear in his gray eyes. It was the most emotion she had ever seen on his face. His fading brown hair had turned to dirty gray in the intervening years, but his regal carriage and imposing height remained the same. The lines of stern disapproval were deeper than ever. Several unidentifiable expressions twisted his countenance before it settled into hauteur.

“Well, Amanda, why are you calling yourself Mrs. Morrison?”

“It is my name.”

“So the blackguard married you, even without a dowry,” he scoffed, disbelief evident. “Or was it some other fellow who decided exclusive favors were preferable to sharing his slut with others?”

Anger thrust fear and nervousness aside. She had often wondered if she could have reasoned with him had she not lost her temper that day. Now she knew. And nothing had changed. It had been lunacy to come here. She nearly rose to leave, but Jack’s voice sounded in her ears.
Never retire from the battlefield until you have accomplished your goal or exhausted all options. Only then should you retreat with dignity.

“I’ll not argue with you except to state that my behavior has never been less than ladylike. And as I have no intention of staying here, you needn’t fear for your guests.”

He stared silently as he stalked over to slam a letter onto his desk. The action was so familiar, Amanda nearly cringed, but this time whatever bad news lay in that missive could not concern her – except that she had apparently arrived at an inopportune time. Something else had already put him in a fury. Cold eyes raked her from head to toe, taking in the changes in her appearance.

“Then why are you here?”

“I know what store you set by your name,” she stated baldly. “I have come to a crossroads and felt you deserved a voice in which path I choose, since it may reflect on you. My husband died at Waterloo, leaving me little but his back pay. I have been supporting myself in London by teaching, sharing a house with another widow who was likewise occupied. But Jessie will remarry at the end of the month. Without her contributions, I cannot keep my home. There is no other lady with whom I could live in amity, and so I have two choices. I can advertise my breeding to justify increasing my fees and to recruit a better class of students than the daughters of merchants. Or I can ask you for a small allowance. A hundred pounds a year would maintain my present status.”

Fury was growing in his eyes. Either the double shock of her appearance and that letter had loosened his control, or the years had undermined his rigid composure. His face was more expressive than she had ever seen it.