The Fortune Hunter Page 0,27

carry this fortune-hunting thing too far, Amethyst" she said. "A bird in the hand, and all that. He's doubtless warm enough to keep you in comfort and to help your sisters along a bit. Don't be greedy."

Amy sat down at the table, feeling as if she'd stepped back into a quagmire after a few brief hours of relief. "Even if that were so," she said, "how could we all marry and go away, leaving Jasper here at a Stonycourt crippled with debts? And the Prettys must have their pension," she continued, "and you, Aunt, should have enough to live in comfort in London near your friends."

"That would be nice," admitted Lizzie. "You're a kind, thoughtful girl really, Amethyst." She brought over the tea, and the three women sat down at the table. "Are you sure they're not rich?" she asked.

Amy realized she didn't know for sure, but she wanted to squelch these notions. "Not particularly," she answered firmly. "They all will have to wait years before they are in control of their fortunes. They aren't in a position to pour money into the estate or provide dowries."

"You mustn't worry about us, dearest," said Beryl. "Truly, I am quite resigned to being a maiden aunt. I will dote on your children. I will look after Jasper until he finds a bride and then go where I can be most useful."

She was being completely honest, thought Amy, which made it even worse. Beryl the dreamer had bravely scaled her dream down to fit her circumstances. Amy was determined she should have more. "Beryl, that is all nonsense," she said briskly. "I have no particular interest in any of my rescuers, or they in me. In fact, in Mr. Crisp's case, it was refreshing to encounter one male who did not lose his wits over me. That dratted storm ruined my plan to meet Mr. Staverley, but I will think of another." She looked ruefully at the dress. "I am sorry about this, Beryl."

Beryl drained her cup and got to her feet. "All in a good cause," she said. "It's time you stopped wearing your usual dismal clothes anyway. Let's have it off you and see what can be done. It has at least held its shape."

Amy followed her sister upstairs. "I'm afraid it's beyond repair, dear."

Beryl looked at the dress again. "We'll see. I think I'll dye it a darker shade and put a flounce around the hem to hide the stains. You'll be surprised."

In her room Amy stripped off the hard-used garment and passed it over. She wouldn't be surprised if Beryl managed to revive it. She was very good at that sort of thing. She saw Beryl looking at her shift in surprise. "That isn't yours."

"No," said Amy praying that she wouldn't blush. "It belongs to the daughter of the farm where I stayed the night. Mine was completely ruined."

"I don't see how it could be more ruined than the dress," Beryl said with mild disapproval. "I'm sure I could have mended it. Really, Amy," she said as she left, "sometimes you just aren't very practical."

Amy collapsed on the bed in giggles.

Eventually she sobered. She'd left her shift in Harry Crisp's house, and it was monogrammed. Beryl insisted on embroidering their initials on all their personal garments. What would happen if it were found?

Piers Verderan, Lord Templemore, was in the stables of Hume House when Harry, Chart, and Corny rode in. He was studying the gait of a fine gray thoroughbred which was being led around by a groom. Verderan, as he still preferred to be called, was a handsome, elegant man with crisp, dark curls, which gave him a distinctly devilish look and contributed to his nickname of the Dark Angel.

He looked at the trio with a sigh, but there was a smile in his deep blue eyes. "Can't be the faulty roof this time," he said.

"Faulty servant," said Chart blithely as he swung off his horse. "Broken leg. If it ain't convenient, Ver, it don't matter. Melton will be pretty empty this time of year."

Verderan smiled, an open smile which would have startled his acquaintance a year ago. "But life's been so dull these last weeks," he said. "Renfrew was our sole hope of enlivenment, but he's buried in his plans for this place. Once we remove, he's to take it all in hand." He turned to the groom holding the gray. "He looks fit, Pritchett. Put him in the paddock."

Another groom came forward to take the guests'