was entitled to be loved for herself. Phipps was too honest to lie, and to admit that he would marry her because he could see no other way out of his debts would be to insult her. She did not deserve to be so shabbily treated! He believed that more than one unscrupulous fellow had already made the attempt and been sent away with his hopes dashed.
Phipps would find that extremely humiliating!
Suddenly, the funny side of it struck him. He could not insult Miss Hamilton by asking her to wed him, and, though he might attempt Miss Langton, he believed his efforts would be doomed to failure.
No, he must simply make some economies. Perhaps if he sold both his horses and his commission, and returned to the country for a few months he would come about—and who knew, he might fall in love with a girl who just happened to be rich. Jack had fallen in love despite the odds, why not Phipps?
He had no time to dwell on his problems now, for he was engaged to Brock for an evening at his house: dinner, cards and music was promised and it would be a popular event, for Lord Brockley’s elder son was much sought by hopeful mamas, though they hunted in vain. Brock was an avowed bachelor and had recently won a large bet with Jack Delsey over which of them would marry first.
Brock’s aunt was hosting the party at his large town house that evening. She was a cheerful, hearty widow who laughed loudly and resembled a horse, but was a good sort who neglected nothing in the comfort of her guests.
Emerging from his dressing room clothed in shirt and evening breeches, Phipps allowed his valet to help him struggle into a velvet coat that fit like a second skin. His hair combed into a style that was known as windswept and suited his dark locks to perfection, he allowed his valet to hand him snowy-white cravats that he then, by dint of lowering his chin, formed into perfect creases. It was not quite a waterfall, Phipps thought, but a very creditable arrangement of his own design and beginning to be followed by the young dandies that desired to be all the crack.
As he thanked his man, then left for the evening, Phipps thought that he might sell his commission. The sum it raised would not settle his debts by a long way, but he might pay the most pressing and then perhaps some clever ploy would present itself.
Phipps did not cast a look towards the small pile of letters awaiting his attention. Time enough for that tomorrow...
* * *
Amanda saw Lieutenant Phipps enter the salon. She and Miss Langton had positioned themselves on a small sofa at the far end of the room so that they might see the guests as they arrived and also be seen. However, the room had filled up considerably and their view was sometimes blocked by ladies and gentlemen lingering to talk in the centre of the room.
Her heart beat very fast as she saw Phipps look about, his gaze finally coming to rest on her. He smiled and began to walk leisurely towards them, his intent obviously to greet Miss Langton and Amanda. She schooled her features to a polite smile as he came up to them, refusing to let her pleasure leap into her eyes as she was sure it must if she did not keep them lowered.
‘Miss Langton.’ Phipps bowed. ‘Miss Hamilton. I look forward to the music this evening. Shall you play cards later?’
‘I do not much care for cards, unless it be whist,’ Miss Langton replied, giving him a smile of welcome. ‘What do you play, sir?’
‘Oh, I do not think I shall play this evening,’ Phipps said. ‘I came merely for the music and the company...’
‘I love to play whist for small stakes,’ Amanda said. ‘I do not see the need for huge pots when it is the skill of the game that counts.’
‘Then perhaps we should make up a set,’ Phipps said. ‘If Miss Langton would play—and who might make a fourth?’
‘I say, do you speak of whist, Phipps?’ a man’s voice asked from behind him. ‘If you play for small stakes just for amusement, then I’m your man. I see no point in risking a fortune when, as Miss Hamilton says, ’tis the skill of the game that counts.’
Amanda smothered a sigh as she saw Lord Johnston. The young man was a pompous bore, but admitted everywhere in society on his infrequent visits to town. He lived in the country and bored everyone by talking about his Jersey cows that produced such rich milk. The prospect of hours spent in his company was not appealing, but what could Phipps do other than bow his head?
‘Splendid,’ Lord Johnston said and sat down next to Amanda. ‘I hear the guest singer this evening is Madame Bonniceur, a remarkable soprano. I believe her voice to be unmatched by any.’
Amanda held her groan inside. Whenever the young man was present at one of these affairs he would find his way to her and monopolise her company for as long as he could. She’d hoped that Phipps might take the seat beside her, but he had moved to sit beside Cynthia and she was left to make the best of Lord Johnston’s company.
He was one of the few gentlemen not in need of a fortune to regularly seek her out at parties and she was always a little apprehensive, for she could not be unaware that he was showing some partiality towards her. If given the least encouragement, she feared that he would propose to her—or, worse, approach her papa and ask for his permission. Lord Johnston was exactly the kind of gentleman that her parents would welcome as a suitor. If not as rich as some here this evening, he was not in want of a fortune. Precise to a fault, well bred and the owner of a large country estate, where he spent most of his time, Papa would not object to his making her an offer.
She must be very careful not to give him the least encouragement. Yet she was a polite and generous girl and she could not be rude or imply boredom and thus hurt his feelings.
At that moment Lady Mellors called her guests to attention, asking them to gather in the music room for the recital. Amanda rose, as did Miss Langton, Phipps and Lord Johnston. Caught in the general movement towards the music room, Amanda was forced to take her companion’s arm. He would of course take a seat near to her and that meant she must endure his company for the whole of the evening. However, Miss Langton led the way to a small two-seater sofa, which left the gentlemen with no choice but to stand behind them or move away. To Amanda’s relief Lord Johnston bowed his head, murmured that he would see her later and moved away to find a seat.
Phipps was more resourceful. He saw a single chair and whipped it up before anyone else could take it, bringing it back to place it just by the side of the sofa. Miss Langton nodded to him and smiled, clearly approving of his action.
Amanda caught his eye and the triumph in it made her laugh. He inclined his head, a look of mischief passing between them. She wished that she might have been close enough to congratulate him on the adroit move, but the music was about to begin.
As the liquid notes of the beautiful aria filled the room, Amanda’s throat seemed tight. It was a song of love...of a young man pining for a girl so far above him that he could never hope to possess her. The achingly tender words and the thrilling music made tears come to her eyes. She thought that she would give every penny of her fortune to be so loved, but knew that it would never happen, and the pain of realising that she would never feel a man’s love made tears slide down her cheek.
Flicking them away with the finger of her white gloves, Amanda found her glance going towards Phipps and the look in his eyes made her feel hot all over. She would swear that he understood her feelings and was sorry for her. A surge of despair followed by anger surged through her. How dare he pity her?
She turned away, concentrating on the music. It had changed now and was a rousing song of war and honour, which soon swept away her foolish sentimentality.
