He pulled the cord anyway. Perhaps a mouth full of food would derail her tirade.
She marched over to the cord and jerked it repeatedly. “Happy, Tub? How can you enjoy a meal when I’m miserable?”
He pried the cord from her fingers and grabbed her upper arm to lead her back to the settee. “Sit.”
She crossed her arms and glared at him, but at least she was confined to the settee for the moment.
He ran a hand over his brow. “What has gotten into you, Fi? You are raving like a lunatic. If anyone heard you, you would be locked up. Explain your obsession with the lady.”
Fiona’s jaw jutted forward. She had inherited their father’s stubbornness.
“Very well. Keep your lunacy to yourself. I care not.”
A footman presented at the drawing room door.
“I will break my fast in the breakfast room. Lady Banner may join me if she wishes.”
The servant bowed and left to do his bidding.
Jasper turned to his sister, who continued to sulk upon the settee. “Consider this fair warning: If you bring up Lady Kennell to me again in a negative light, you will no longer be welcome at Norwick Place. Whatever misinformed opinion you have of the viscountess, you should take pains to have your facts checked. Lady Kennell is a kind and generous soul. Why, I’ll have you know, she has given a sizable donation to the foundling hospital renovation without seeking any recognition.”
He stalked to the door but wheeled around once more. “She gives out of the goodness of her heart only. You and the other ladies of that pompous charitable society cannot say the same.”
He didn’t wait to see if his sister had a reply. He had heard enough from her for one day.
***
Amelia clutched the deplorable missive from the foundling hospital board against her chest. Since receiving it that morning, she had read it enough times to memorize it, but the words still made no sense. “We have the funding to move forward with the renovation. How can they postpone the project?”
Mrs. Hillary stopped pacing and swung to face her. “Let me read it again.” She stalked forward, holding out her hand.
Amelia surrendered the letter.
Mrs. Hillary’s face flushed as she held the parchment up and scanned the contents. “Poppycock!” With a flick of her wrist, she snapped the letter back to Amelia. “Jake will get to the bottom of this nonsense.”
Jake had left Hillary House nearly three hours earlier. Had Amelia realized his errand would take this long, she would have returned to her own house to wait. Surely Bibi had called on her at Verona House by now and would wonder where she was. Perhaps Mrs. Hillary would allow her to send Bibi a message.
Before she could act on the thought, Jake sailed into the drawing room.
“Good heavens!” Mrs. Hillary hurried forward to grab his arms and pull him toward the settee. “I thought you would never return.”
Jake’s dark brows sank low over his eyes, hinting at the bad tidings to come. “Colburn had a late showing at the club.” He gently extracted himself from his mother’s grasp and assumed the spot beside Amelia. His knee brushed against hers, and she longed to hold his hand.
Mrs. Hillary stood over them, twisting her fingers together and swaying.
Jake looked up at his mother, seeming to follow Amelia’s line of sight. A soft smile graced his lips. “Mother, would you like to take a seat while I share what I learned?”
Mrs. Hillary’s eyes flew open in alarm. “Is everything truly that bad? Should I recline on the fainting couch?”
Jake stood, tucked his mother’s arm through his, and escorted her to a chair. “Nothing is beyond repair. There’s no need for swooning.”
Once he had settled her, he placed a kiss on her cheek before moving back to the settee. Amelia’s gaze had followed him, noting each kindness he showed his mother. Her eyes misted as love for him flowed over, around, and through her with every breath. The intensity of her feeling sometimes bordered on madness, a heart-pounding, energizing obsession that had been her companion day and night these past few days. How had she survived this last year without him?
Jake took her hand in his when he lowered to the settee. “A complication has arisen, but it is not insurmountable.”
Amelia dropped against the seat back with a soft sigh. “I knew you would know how to make sense of everything. What must be done so we may get on with the renovation?”
He grazed his thumb over the back of her hand. “As you may or may not know, Mr. Ettinger, the board president, is related to Sir Davenport.”
“Yes, and Sir Davenport made a large contribution to the foundling house renovation. I would think his involvement would help our cause unless—” She sat up straight. “Oh, dear. They aren’t engaged in a family feud, are they?”
“Quite the opposite. From all accounts, Mr. Ettinger holds his older brother in high esteem, so much so that he allows his brother’s opinions to color his judgment. Sir Davenport has insisted on a halt to the project as new information has come to light that causes him grave concerns.” Jake issued a weary puff of breath. “I am quoting Colburn, mind you. Sir Davenport’s concerns are ridiculous in my estimation.”
Mrs. Hillary bolted from her seat. “If Lady Davenport has anything to do with this, she is in for a proper scolding.” She slapped her upturned hand against the palm of her other hand. “The children will not be attired in tiny matching hats and made to sing and dance for our entertainment at the dedication ceremony. Her suggestions grow more outlandish with each meeting.”
Jake drew back, his mouth opening once before snapping shut. If the situation were less dire, Amelia might laugh.
“She did not…” He glanced to Amelia as if seeking confirmation.
“She did. It was one of her better ideas.”
He pushed aside a lock of hair that slipped down on his forehead. “I see. Well, you may rest assured the children will do no such thing, Mother. If I may beg your indulgence, I would like to speak in private with Lady Audley. I’ll share the details with you later.”
“Of course.” If Mrs. Hillary was offended by Jake’s dismissal, she exhibited no outward signs as she bustled from the drawing room.
Once they were alone, Amelia turned back to Jake. “Are you saying Mr. Ettinger can hold up the renovation indefinitely simply based on his brother’s opinion?”
“I’m afraid that is the crux of it.”
“He is but one man. The board can overrule Mr. Ettinger, can they not?”
“The man’s temper is legendary. He will make the board members’ lives as unpleasant as possible. No one wishes to cross him.”
“What are they, sheep? Do they have blasted wool for brains?”
A corner of his mouth inched up. “I would not be the least bit surprised to discover this is true. Don’t be discouraged, sweetheart. I promise your project will come to fruition.”
“But how long must the children be kept waiting?” She sat back and crossed her arms. “Tell me what concerns Sir Davenport has.”
“Apparently, he has learned of Lady Kennell’s involvement in the project, and he is making a show of disapproval.”
“Disapproval? Whatever would give him cause for disapproval? She has made a generous donation. More than he has pledged.”
Hooking a finger between his cravat and neck, Jake yanked to loosen the knot and cleared his throat. “Sir Davenport has it in his mind that Lady Kennell is wanton and proposes she intends to exert her influence over the children. He is also fearful his wife’s reputation will suffer if it becomes widely known she has joined in a venture with Lady Kennell.”
“How preposterous! Bibi has no interest in the children beyond funding a decent place for them to sleep. And Lady Davenport has done nothing worthy to attach her name to the project. What is Sir Davenport thinking?”
“Gentlemen rarely believe themselves required to engage in logical thought when it comes to ladies.” He tapped a finger against his head. “You know, wo
ol for brains and all.”
His attempt to lighten the situation had little effect. Ire buzzed around in her mind like a thousand bloodthirsty mosquitoes. “What does he propose?”
“It matters not what he thinks.”
“Tell me, Jake.”
He sighed, his shoulders sinking on the exhale. “He has insinuated the project could move forward if Lady Kennell distances herself.”
“She’s a silent partner, or was a silent partner. How much more removed could she become?”
Jake frowned and rubbed his forehead. “He has suggested the matter could be put to rest if the project leader distances herself from Lady Kennell as well.”
“In other words, he wants me to abandon Bibi, to give her the cut direct.” Amelia jumped up from the settee, grabbed her reticule from the side table, and marched for the drawing room door. “Lady Banner is behind this and I won’t allow her to win.”
Jake caught her by the shoulders before she escaped and turned her around to face him. “Where are you going? We need to discuss this further.”
“There is nothing to discuss. I won’t do it.”
Her bottom lip quivered and she bit down on it. Dreams of building the new wing for the children had kept her sane when she had longed for Jake with a pain so gaping and deep she never thought anything could fill it. How could she abandon everything now? But to betray Bibi…
Jake trailed his fingers along her cheek and over her traitorous lip. “You do not have to choose between Lady Kennell and the children. I will find another solution. I swear it to you, Amelia.”
***
Bibi was toying with the lace curtains draping Amelia’s drawing room window when a phaeton carrying Amelia and Mr. Hillary rolled to a stop outside Verona House. Why must the man be Amelia’s constant shadow?
Bibi frowned. This afternoon had been allotted to her, and alternating time with Amelia had worked wonders in her ability to get on with Mr. Hillary tolerably well.
She headed toward the foyer to snatch her dear friend from Mr. Hillary’s sticky clutches, but skidded to a stop the moment she spotted Amelia’s expression.
“Whatever is the matter? You look horrendous.”
“I attribute it to my new bonnet.” Amelia’s grim smile did not lighten Bibi’s concern.
“Are you ill?” she asked, stepping forward.
“Simply tired. Will you allow me to bow out of shopping today, dearest?”
Bibi scrutinized Amelia’s pale complexion and red-rimmed eyes as Mr. Hillary led her to the drawing room. She trailed close behind.
“Your well-being is more important than Bond Street.”
Amelia’s butler presented at the drawing room entrance.
“Bring tea,” Bibi and Mr. Hillary said at the same time.
“And biscuits,” Bibi added to prove her higher level of devotion to Amelia. It was petty, she knew, but she felt bereft in their presence and didn’t know where she belonged anymore.
Bradford closed the door behind him as he left the room.
When Amelia lowered to the Grecian couch and said nothing, Bibi looked to Mr. Hillary for answers. “Tell me what has happened.”
“The renovation project has met with resistance, but it is not insurmountable.”
Amelia offered a halfhearted smile. “Everything will be fine. It may just take some time.”
Amelia and Mr. Hillary exchanged a lingering look. Bibi glanced between them, her eyes narrowing. They kept something from her, a secret shared by the two of them. A burning lump formed within her belly, and acid climbed the back of her throat.
“I want to know what it is you both are privy to.” Her voice was rising, growing louder. “I’ll not be left in the dark.”
“Please, have a seat.” Mr. Hillary stepped forward and reached for her arm. She jerked away.
“And I will not be herded like a stray lamb.” Crossing her arms, she lifted and squared her jaw.
Amelia sighed. “Very well. I will tell you, but you cannot run off half-cocked. We will figure out a solution.”
When Amelia nodded toward a chair, Bibi complied with her unspoken request then shot a defiant glare at Mr. Hillary. She wanted to blurt, See? We have a secret language, too. The depth of her immaturity hit her, and she lowered her head.
Amelia filled her in on the situation with Mr. Ettinger, the board chairman, and his brother, Sir Davenport. Bibi’s fingers gripped the armrests as the account drew to an end.
Amelia’s blue eyes flamed and her face hardened. “Sir Davenport’s veiled threats will have no bearing on my allegiance.”
“And if you refuse, the children’s wing will not be built?” The room was closing in on her. This could not be happening. She could not be responsible for spoiling Amelia’s dream, but to be all alone again… Holding tight to the anxiety trying to uncoil inside her, she took a deep breath.
“The renovation will be completed,” Mr. Hillary said, inserting himself uninvited into their conversation. “I’ll find another way.”
The pompous man. Always thinking he could come to the rescue.
“You must do as Sir Davenport demands,” Bibi blurted.
Red infused Amelia’s ivory skin. “I will not. Sir Davenport and the entire foundling board can go hang.”
Bibi waved her hand dismissively, but her hand shook. “Do as he asks and get on with the project. Would you deny the children a place to sleep to avoid insult to my person? What do I care what others think?” Her bravado was slipping fast.
“I’m sure you care not one whit,” Mr. Hillary said, a soured expression of disapproval transforming his usual handsome face into one she was growing to loathe, “but Amelia would not betray your friendship. She has integrity.”
“And I do not.” She jumped at a chance to shift her attention from the looming threat of being alone in the world to anger at the man partly responsible for her fate. “Is that your meaning?”
He scoffed. “Is there truly any comparison between the two of you, Lady Kennell? You flaunt your promiscuity like a ship flies her colors. It is no wonder you’re a target to sanctimonious boors like Davenport.”
“You mean sanctimonious boors like you?” She bolted from her seat, prepared to do full-out battle since he was willing to engage her. “Perhaps I should be more like you, Mr. Hillary, and allow my lovers to compromise me on the table where guests dine.”
Amelia gasped, drawing the gentleman’s swift attention.
“Mind your tongue,” he warned through gritted teeth.
“Or what? You will throttle me? Or worse, subject me to more of your tiresome lectures?” She turned toward Amelia. “This man is churlish beyond the pale.”
Amelia rubbed her temples. “Stop it, please.”
Bibi couldn’t stop herself. She was like a team of runaway horses on a collision course. “If you consent to marry him, you belong in Bedlam.”
Mr. Hillary crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ll be the one sent to Bedlam if I’m forced to endure your company day after day.”
She jabbed a finger at him. “I knew you wished to tear us apart. Why don’t you speak what is truly on your mind? You want to forbid her from being my friend.”
“I said nothing of the sort.”
Amelia stood. “Stop bickering. You are both acting like children.”
“Go on,” Bibi goaded. “Dare to forbid our friendship, Mr. Hillary.”
“This is ridiculous,” Amelia mumbled and started for the door.
Bibi took a step toward him, every ounce of defiance within her vibrating through her body. “Come now, sir. You know you really want to ban me from your household. So go ahead. Show some ballocks for once.”
“Fine!” He threw his arms wide, his face redder than she had ever seen it. “From the moment Amelia takes my name, she is forbidden from continuing an association with you. No wife of mine will ever foster a friendship with a foul-mouthed wanton with the God-given sense of a chestnut. Is this what you wish to hear?”
“Oh, hell,” Bibi grumbled. “Look what you have done now, Mr. Hillary.”
Eighteen
Jake had tolerated all he could of Lady Kennell and her defiance. If anyone needed a keeper, it was that woman. A generous heart did not make up for her lack of good sense. Since their argument in Amelia’s drawing room the other day, the viscountess had been badgering Amelia nearly every hour to toss her on Davenport’s sacrificial alter.
When he had arrived last evening to escort Amelia to the theatre, her sunken eyes and sallow complexion struck him with the power of a left delivered by Gentleman Jack himself. The entire affair was taking an alarming toll on her. If Lady Kennell would leave well enough alone, Jake would have the renovation matter settled before the end of the night. By introducing the topic of Sir Davenport yet again while she and Amelia had been shopping, the viscountess had stirred the bees’ hive. Of course, Jake hadn’t helped matters when he had taken the lady to task on the ride and instigated another heated row.
Jake rubbed his temple in an attempt to erase last night’s memory. Amelia’s expression had been miserable when she had dashed inside the Royal Theatre, leaving him and Lady Kennell in the carriage to tussle like dogs vying for the same bone. It was no wonder Amelia had ended their evening early. He had behaved with a deplorable lack of restraint.
His carriage turned onto Park Street, headed for her town house. If he were fortunate, Amelia would forgive him the lapse in manners and allow him another chance to prove he could accept her dearest friend, though the viscountess tried his patience beyond what any man should have to tolerate. Still seething a bit over Amelia’s impertinent companion, Jake climbed from the carriage and marched up the stairs of Verona House. He took a cleansing breath, attempting to set his irritation aside, then knocked on her door with calm assurance.
When there was no evidence of anyone answering his call, his patience began to leach away. Jake raised his fist and pounded on the door. Still, there was no immediate response.
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