“I was not dreaming of Nicholas.” Amelia could feel the heat scalding her cheeks. As much as she loved her sisters, they really could be too much sometimes.
Julia kicked aside the rug and kneeled to peel it back. “Could they have slipped through the floorboards?”
“No, they were in a bundle.” Amelia paused and looked around her messy room. It looks as though a strong wind had blown through. Catherine pulled back the bedsheets then began gleefully tearing away the under sheet.
“Enough.” Amelia threw up her hands. “They’re not here and they’re certainly not under my sheets.”
Catherine pouted. “I thought you might have kept them under your pillow. To be close to them…”
With a huff, Amelia began hustling her sisters out of the room. “I’ll look myself. You lot are making things worse.”
“We’re only trying to help,” Julia objected. “You know if they were bundled up then they might have been…”
Amelia gave her sister a push on the back and all three of them spilled out into the gallery.
“They might have been picked up by one of the servants,” Julia suggested as the three of them straightened themselves out.
“No, surely…” Amelia paused. Her heart sank into her stomach. “Mrs. H. would know not to but…”
Catherine propped her chin on Julia’s shoulder. “We have a new laundry maid. She’s very eager to please. Maybe she picked them up.”
“Oh no.” Amelia put a palm to her face.
“Does it really matter?” Julia asked. “Just ask for them back. She’s so sweet there’s no way she would have read them. She likely picked them up and realized they weren’t really for sending and has not had the chance to put them back yet.”
“No, you don’t understand.” Amelia released a long breath. “I’d addressed them to Nicholas.”
Emma pushed past Julia much to their sister’s annoyance. “But why would you do such a thing?”
“Oh, I don’t know. It just felt right. I wanted to make it as real as possible. To trick myself into believing that I was really going to write to him and tell him all my feelings.” Her sisters shared a look. “My old feelings of course. I am thoroughly over him.”
“Well, Flora”—She swung a look at her sisters—”It was Flora, was it not?—will probably still have them.”
“And if she does not…” Amelia pinched the bridge of her nose. “Nicholas will know everything.”
“Everything?” they all asked.
“I wrote them under my pen name.”
“Well, there we go. You’re saved.” Catherine grinned. “He will simply wonder why this stranger is sending him love notes and forget about it.”
Amelia shook her head. As much as she hoped that was true, she could not risk it. If Nicholas had been sent those letters there was a chance he could realize it was Amelia and connect her to her pen name. Then there would be more scandal than ever. Her sisters would be well and truly ruined. It was all very well marrying a bluestocking but marrying a bluestocking whose sister writes tales to make the ton look awful would be a stretch. If any of them were ever to have a chance on the marriage mart, she had to ensure Nicholas never looked at those letters.
“I need to speak to Flora. And if she has sent them, I need to get them back.“ Amelia eased past her sisters. She had to find that new maid.
“He might be flattered,” suggested Emma.
“He loves Lavinia. That will not change.”
Chapter Three
The door to his office creaked open. The butler, Mr. Morris, did a terrible job of trying to sneak across the creaky oak floorboards. Nicholas put down his pen and looked Morris’ way. The butler froze, as though he were a little boy caught in the pantry by cook. Which Nicholas had been many, many times, so he recognized that expression.
“Forgive me, my lord. I did not mean to intrude. I know you have plenty of work to do.”
Morris was almost the same age as what his father would have been had he not passed away two years prior but he was a portly man. It meant sneaking was near impossible. His belly threatened to pop the buttons on his waistcoat and he was forever dabbing at his forehead with a handkerchief. Some days Nicholas wanted to insist he retire and relax but the man had worked in Uxbridge Manor for most of his life and refused to even consider such a thing. What would I do with myself if I retired? Morris always asked.
Nicholas could think of many things he’d rather be doing than working but it seemed Morris didn’t feel the same.
“It’s fine.” Nicholas motioned to the tray. “Put it on the table over there.”
He indicated the side table near the fireplace. His eyes were beginning to hurt and his back ached from having been in the office most of the day, answering letters and checking the estate accounts. A cup of tea and something to eat would be a welcome break.
He glanced out of the tall window. At least the weather wasn’t nice. There was nothing worse than being stuck inside while the sun was shining.
Morris placed down the tray and picked up the stack of letters on the side of the tray. He brought them over to the desk and put them on the side. Nicholas scowled. More letters. The last thing he needed. Being a titled lord wasn’t all fun.
Nicholas unbound the string tying them all together and spread them out while Morris poured the tea. There was a set with the same writing, one—four altogether by the looks of it. There was something familiar about the writing but he could not think what.
“Have a break, my lord. You work too hard.”
Opting to ignore the letters, he shook his head and smiled. “There are many who would say otherwise.”
“There are many who do not know you well enough.”
Somehow, he had gained himself a reputation for being, well, in pursuit of pleasure. And not necessarily the usual pleasures. The truth was, his love of fast horses and anything adventurous had tainted him since inheriting his title. Not that he cared. His tenants were content and the estate was prosperous under his hand. Even if the ton did not think he was able to balance his duties, he had full confidence he could manage quite well.
He stood and winced as a muscle in his back pulled. “One was not designed to sit in a chair all day, Morris,” he said when the butler gave him a curious look.
“No, corroding to you, one was designed to sit on a horse all day, my lord.”
“Now that would be a pleasure indeed. Much better than letters and accounts.” He took the cup of tea and remained standing. The idea of sitting down once more made his body ache all over again.
It was true, though, he had always been active, ever since he could run really. Once he’d discovered horse riding, there was no stopping him.
There was nothing better than the thrill of galloping across the land faster than anyone else. He was, he concluded, not the sort of man to sit around and drink whisky in Boodle’s or spend hours at the poker table. He could gain far more of a thrill from the outdoors.
“You do not need to remain, Morris. I am quite capable of drinking tea alone.” He gave the butler a look as the man lingered in the office, making a show of tidying things here and there.
“I just wanted to ensure you took a break.”
“You are not my nursemaid. Besides, Frederick is popping over shortly to spar with me.”
A shudder ran through the butler’s large body. “Why you must insist on using real blades, I do not know. One day you shall have your arm chopped off and then where shall we all be?”
“Morris, you are not my mother. Anyway, I’d expect you to understand better. If one cannot have a little excitement in one’s life, then what is the point?”
Morris’ expression turned stiff. “To work hard, of course.”
“You’re beginning to sound like those ladies at Almack’s who think me wholly irresponsible.”
“I do not sound like a lady, my lord,” he protested, his cheeks turning red.
Nicholas grinned. Morris was far too easy to t
oy with. “Besides, you know how to have fun do you not, Morris? I know you have bested many of the servants at whist recently. Made a pretty penny too.”
“I…” He released a frustrated puff of air. “I…well, yes, but—”
“You like to gamble, I like to fence. It’s as simple as that.”
“My lord could fence with blunted swords, though. There is nothing dangerous about a game of whist.”
“I’m sure your pocketbook disagrees.”
A glint entered Morris’ eyes. “My pocketbook always agrees with me winning whist.”
Morris’ good luck and skill with cards was well known by the staff at Uxbridge. Why they continued trying to best him, he did not know.
“Well, I have never lost a sparring match and I do not intend for that to change.”
“One does not need to lose to be injured,” Morris told him primly. “You have no heirs as yet, my lord, it is—”
Nicholas lifted a hand. “I’m well aware I have no heirs, Morris. I endeavor to work on that in the near future.”
“If I were you, my lord, I’d work on it right now.”
“Are you giving me romantic advice?” Nicholas peered at the butler whose cheeks reddened. Morris had known him for so long that they had few secrets so it was not unusual for him to nag but it was rare they talked about his romantic life. Not that he really had one.
Not since Lavinia.
Lavinia who was likely listening to bagpipes and eating sheep’s stomachs as they spoke. Well, good luck to her. What English woman in their right mind would marry a Scotsman over an English lord?
He grunted to himself.
“Sorry, my lord?” Morris asked.
“Never mind.”
“No wife would tolerate you fighting with real blades, you know.”
“Then she would be no wife of mine.” Nicholas finished his tea, snatched up a cake, and sat in front of his desk. Perhaps if he pretended to work, Morris would let this conversation be. He didn’t much like being reminded of Lavinia and his failure to woo her. A failure that had been talked about for far too long by many members of society. He was sick of it.
“You are determined to frighten every eligible woman away, are you not, my lord?” Morris pressed.
Nicholas motioned a hand around the room. “I see no eligible women for me to frighten away here.”
Morris’ lips twitched. “You know very well what I mean. Since Miss Chadwick—I mean Mrs. Campbell married, you have been getting more and more reckless. You will not prove to her that she missed out if you get your arm chopped off.”
“I have no intention of proving anything. I’ve practically forgotten the woman.”
Morris gave him a knowing look. Damn the man. Could he not put the whole mess aside and move on?
“I have,” he insisted and turned back to his desk. “Tea was lovely, thank you, Morris. Now I had better delve into those letters.”
A bell rang through the house as he reached for the stack.
“That would be Mr. Selby, my lord. Here to fence.”
“Excellent. And do not fear, there shall be no severing of limbs, I promise.”
Morris gave a heavy sigh and left the room to answer the door. Nicholas peered at the cake in his hand and put it aside. His appetite had gone. All because of Lavinia. She was still causing him frustration, even though she was hundreds of miles away in cold old Scotland.
Perhaps he had been keeping women at bay. He’d avoided attending too many events in London recently. The gossip surrounding him did not help, but neither did having everyone’s daughter shoved into his face as a possible bride. None could compare to the beautiful, sweet Lavinia he had concluded.
Morris was right, however. He needed an heir at some point. Unlike many, he had no male cousins or uncles to pass things onto. He had hoped Lavinia was going to be the one to give him sons but as soon as that blasted Scotsman arrived in Hampshire, Nicholas had no chance. What was it about Scotsmen and their rough accents and eating of sheep’s stomachs that so appealed to women anyway?
He rose to go and greet Frederick. Nothing like a bit of sparring to make him forget Lavinia.
Chapter Four
“If he does not come soon, we shall get rained upon.” Amelia glanced fearfully at the darkening skies.
“He shall come,” insisted Catherine, swinging her legs from her perch upon the gate.
Amelia plucked a lone flower and rested against a post. She picked away the petals much as she did as a child. “Blast,” she muttered.
“Loves me not?” Catherine asked.
Amelia lifted her gaze to her sisters. “I was not even doing that.”
“Liar.”
“I was not.”
“You can deny it all you want but you are as in love with Nicholas as you ever were. Those letters prove it.”
Those letters…those blasted letters. Why had she let her sisters persuade her to do such a thing? Why had she written them as though they were real? And why had she even left them out for anyone to read or take…or bloody post?
“Those letters prove nothing. I write fiction, remember?”
“You’re a good writer, Amelia, but you’re even better when you’re not making things up. Every word you have ever penned about Nicholas has been real.”
Amelia lifted her chin and eyed her youngest sister. She ought to give her a scolding for being so brash. “Once, I loved him, that is true. But there is only so long one can pine for a man who will never love her. I am well and truly over Nicholas, I swear.”
Catherine snorted. “We shall see.”
“We shall,” she said, determinedly. “If he ever arrives.”
“He will. He still rides this road to the farm every day, I am told. Prudence Collins saw him only a week ago, riding as though the devil were chasing him.”
Amelia sighed. That sounded like Nicholas. He always rode as though it were his last ride and he must enjoy every second of it. She rather envied him that freedom. There was no chance of riding like that when one must ride sidesaddle.
“You never know. Maybe he’ll read your letters and fall desperately in love with A. Hardwick.”
“Or he shall figure out exactly who A. Hardwick is and I shall be exposed.” Along with the rest of her sisters. But Amelia would not mention that. It had not seemed to occur to them that her job put them all in danger of being cast entirely out of society. It was bad enough that most thought them too radical and outrageous as it was.
She snorted to herself. What a world they lived in when a thinking woman was considered outrageous. Catherine could admittedly be a little brazen with her tongue but all her sisters were wonderful women who deserved a happy ending. If she could never have hers, they at least merited a chance.
Who would marry the sister of such a shocking novelist though?
No one, she was certain of that much.
“Nicholas might keep it quiet, you know. If he has read the letters,” her sister suggested.
“It’s not a risk I am willing to take, and let us hope he has not. After all, he has only been in possession of them for but a morning. They might not have even been handed to him yet.”
“In which case, we shall retrieve them, and all will be well.”
Amelia could not share in her sister’s positive outlook. How they were to even get the letters back, she did not know, but Catherine and her sisters had been determined that she should at least try to recover them.
She plucked another flower and picked away the petals. She discarded it when she realized where it would land. Loves me not. Well, she didn’t need a flower to remind her of that. And it didn’t matter anyway. She was over Nicholas and had been for a long time.
She glanced up and down the empty road then up at the steely sky. “He is not coming.”
“Patience, Amelia.”
Amelia blinked at Catherine’s tone. Usually it was her saying such things to her sister, not the other way around. As the oldest, it had been her duty
to keep all the girls in line. Catherine, in particular, had always needed a little extra nudging in the right direction.
“Perhaps we should call at Uxbridge instead.”
Catherine shook her head. “We all agreed. It would look suspicious and rude.”
“Since when do you care about being rude?”
“When my sister’s heart is on the line of course.” Catherine grinned.
“My heart is not on the line,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Very well, your pride then.”
Amelia drew in a breath, feeling her stays tighten around her ribs. “Yes, my pride is certainly on the line.”
Oh, how she hated herself for writing such drivel. What had she been thinking?
Catherine pushed a red curl out of her eye as a breeze picked up. “If we had turned up unannounced without mother at our side, it would have been odd indeed. We have not seen him in over six months.”
Amelia was well aware of that. Six months and twelve days, to be precise.
“If he has read the letters, our appearance at the house might make him suspicious,” Catherine continued.
“And our appearance here will not?”
Catherine gave her a look. “What choice do we have, Amelia? By the sounds of it you would rather go home and let him read those letters and figure out who you are and your feelings for him.”
“Feelings I no longer have.” Amelia wrapped her arms about herself as the chill began to bite through her pelisse. She put a hand over Catherine’s. “I do appreciate you helping me, even if it is a fool’s errand.”
She couldn’t think what chance they had of really getting the letters back, but they had to try. If she did not, she would regret it.
“Oh.” Catherine straightened. “I think that’s him.”
Amelia’s heart nearly leaped out of her throat. She narrowed her gaze at the rider and her mouth dried. “Nicholas.” She breathed the word and hoped her sister had not heard it.
Moving far too quickly, Nicholas rode his horse as though he were born to do so. It was not the first time she’d witnessed his skill with a horse but it still had her feeling to urge to pull out her handkerchief and dab at her forehead.
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