Lord Rochester settled into bed affably, two thoughts consoled him greatly. One, that his machinations had borne fruit even if they hinged on the honor of one man, and the other? He was damned pleased to be heading for the country on the morrow. London was a necessary evil, and he was happy to leave its heavy fog and unpleasant humors in the far distance.

He waited with bated breath for what the morrow would bring.  He was hard pressed to find a better match for his child. Lord Windon was ideal in his willingness to accommodate her educated mind and fierce opinions. His title was a perfect cover to make her eccentricities acceptable. He had been offended at the mention of her dower lands, always a sign of good breeding and manners.

––––––––

Amelia had had the luxury of many days to repent of her manner. She had thought on it with equal amounts of guilt and righteous anger. She was chagrined that she had lost her good manners in front of a person who could ruin her with words, notwithstanding her emotions had gotten the better of her and made her rash. But she couldn’t very well smile in the presence of so grave an injustice.

She had resolved to apologize, an easy decision to ease her guilt since she would likely never see him again, and it was forbidden for a maiden to write to a man. He had not been intentionally wicked, he deserved her forgiveness. She missed their seamless conversation and his dry wit. However all her charitable thoughts would fade into pure indignation when she was summoned to her father’s study in the morning.

Lord Rochester had a complexion ruddy with health. He was enjoying the gardens, as he had frequently since they had returned from London. The improvement in his health eased her very much, although his doctors cautioned that his lungs were not recovering, just less irritated. 

Her father waved her to a chair and dismissed his steward, the first sign that the matter required delicacy.

“You will be pleased to hear that Lord Windon will be joining us for a few days. I hope you will make every effort to make his stay a pleasant one.”

“Papa!”

“You found him pleasant company before.” He looked so pleased with himself. “I only plead that you be kindly.”

“Papa, I cannot stomach these boldfaced machinations.” She turned to avoid his plea.

“Yet, you have not heeded my entreaties for your own sake.”

“Papa...”

“Hush, child. I only seek to rescue you from an unkind fate. I am not much longer for this world and I will not rest easy if I have not done my duties by you.”

“Papa, what if he does not desire this union?”

“Then I shall apologize for my bold manner but not the intent. I only ask you to cease your battles and be willing to try.” The words were spoken softly but it was also clear Lord Rochester did not believe that would happen. Angry at not having a say, she  composed herself enough to acquiesce to her father’s demand. Then she clenched her teeth when he informed her that one of his outriders was already come to announce that Duke was a quarter an hour away.

She had pulled her hands down to hide the trembling but smiled at him. By then he was looking at her with something akin to remorse. Lord Rochester nearly suggested that she freshen up, but at the mutinous look on her face he restrained himself.

She was quite determined to meet Lord Windon stinking of the stables in her riding habit. And if his sensibilities were injured, that was his problem.

Now, standing on the steps waiting for Lord Windon to take her hand and give it a perfunctory kiss, she finally admitted to herself that she had been foolish. She looked hoydenish and smelled a trifle rancid. Standing in the sweltering heat with the stench of horses on her person she wished she had managed a sponge bath at least. Lord Windon did not balked at her person when presented. He kissed her wrist as airily as if she were attired for Court. The blatant apology in her father’s eye over an errant daughter galled her bitterly.