The Ardent Lady Amelia

by Laura Matthews

  No one disagreed with her. Peter nodded amiably and Trudy helped herself to a second portion of salmon, saying, “You don’t get fish this fresh in London.”

  It was only midafternoon when the carriage bypassed Rye to turn toward Winchelsea. Margrave was located approximately halfway between the two towns, set off the military road, and hidden from it by an enormously high hedge.

  There was a broad piece of water beyond the hedge, where the Brede was adapted as part of the Royal Military Canal, with elevated banks designed as defensive works. The road crossed the water by a bridge, where most traffic doubled back to mount the height to Winchelsea — and a secondary road turned to the left, where it eventually passed through the gates of Margrave, seat of the Earls of Welsford for more than two centuries.

  The date 1601 was carved above the east doorway, which had been the entrance front until forty years previously. Possibly the building would have appeared flat, with its three superimposed tiers of enormous mullioned windows extending across a facade almost two hundred feet wide and ninety feet high, but there were subtle changes like the porch and wings, or the Flemish-type gables, or the shallow bay windows at the ends of the wings, that gave it a real excitement. And there were the marvelous Elizabethan pavilions flanking the original forecourt, purposeless but beautiful, in which Amelia and Peter had played as children.

  It was the west front they approached now, however, the brilliant conception of their grandfather. He had bought the porch and ornamental features of a late-Tudor house in the area that was about to be torn down, and fitted them between the two wings of the west front. Not only was the stone a perfect match for that of Margrave, but the detailing was so exquisitely similar it would have taken an expert to tell the difference. The adaptation was not only a work of beauty, however. By adding it to the front of the building, the third earl had achieved internal corridors on the first and second storeys where previously one had had to pass through one bedchamber to reach another.

  There were still inconveniences in the place, of course, such as the seventy-yard walk from the kitchens to the family dining room, but the house was wonderfully light and airy, for all its heavy stone. Each huge room had huge windows, where sunlight glinted through the glass at marvelous angles, making everything sparkle within. Amelia could see the light flashing off the diamond-shaped panes as they drove up to the porch, and she was the first one to leap down from the carriage and rush up the three shallow steps to the front door just as it was opened by Bighton.

  Amelia grinned at him, knowing he must be as delighted as she to once again be at Margrave. “How does everything look, Bighton?” she asked, casting a loving glance about the Great Hall. The hardwood floors shone, the ancestral portraits gleamed in the light from the windows at the end of the room.

  “As always, Mrs. Lawson has everything in perfect shape, Lady Amelia,” he replied. “She’s already preparing the extra chambers.”

  “Extra chambers?”

  Trudy and Peter had followed her into the hall and watched her confusion with perfect equanimity. When Bighton made no attempt to enlighten her, Trudy said comfortably, “Yes, we’ll need the rooms by tomorrow for M. and Mlle. Chartier.”

  “And Verwood, of course,” Peter added, allowing Bighton to relieve him of his gloves and hat.

  Chapter 12

  From any one of the four windows in the library, Amelia could see the carriage drive that led to the west front of Margrave. She felt sure the eager Chartiers would be the first to arrive. The Carsons wouldn’t arrive by the carriage drive at all, of course, but by the back road that would take them around to the smattering of cottages nearer the old Camber Castle ruins. Robert had arranged for their transportation, and was to accompany them all the way from London. Amelia wasn’t likely to hear of their arrival until they were settled into their new home.

  It would have been quite enough for Amelia to cope with the Chartiers’ unexpected visit without the added burden of knowing that Verwood was coming. She stared at the rainbow created on her hands by the colored glass armorial bearings in the upper rows of the windows, wondering how on earth she was to behave with the viscount. Surely he would think Peter had invited him to court her, and the very thought made Amelia cringe with despair. Even if he gave no such interpretation to the invitation (and Amelia supposed that was possible, considering his total lack of social finesse), what in the name of all that was dear was she supposed to do with him while Peter spent his time with Mlle. Chartier?

  Since Trudy had had an obvious part in the underhanded scheme, she could be the one to entertain both M. Chartier and Lord Verwood, for all Amelia cared. All her clever plans were going awry and there didn’t seem to be a thing she could do about it. Except spend a great deal of time with the Carsons, helping them adjust to their new surroundings. But Amelia couldn’t really imagine they would need much assistance from her, or that they would welcome her interference.

  A distant clattering of hooves made Amelia raise her head and sigh. She rose and walked to the largest of the windows, where she could see out beyond the green parkland to the gates. A carriage was just coming through them, but it wasn’t the travelling carriage she had expected. It was a curricle drawn by a pair of fine-looking bays.

  Now, how had he managed that? she wondered. Those were never post horses. He must have spent the night on the road and driven only a stage or two this morning. As he drew closer, she could see that he wore a drab driving coat with two shoulder capes, a rather elegant piece of apparel—for him.

  She did not intend to go down and greet him. Let Trudy or Peter be the one to welcome him to Margrave. Heaven knew she wasn’t glad he was here. But the patter of footsteps rapidly approaching the library ended in Trudy bursting into the room, an enormous smile on her face. “He’s here!” she announced almost breathlessly. “I heard the carriage from my room. Come along, dear. You look lovely.”

  Did she? Amelia managed to catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror above a mule-chest in the hall. There was still some color in her cheeks from her early-morning ride and the jaconet muslin gown’s shade of pale blue looked satisfactory on her, she supposed. There wasn’t time to do anything with her hair, if she was to follow Trudy’s clattering progress down the broad stone staircase. Her aunt hadn’t stopped talking since she poked her head into the library.

  “Imagine his being so early! I had no idea anyone would arrive before this afternoon.” She swung around to impress a coy look on Amelia, who was several steps behind her. “It just shows how eager he is to be here. I hope you’ve been thinking of ways to entertain him, Amelia. After the bustle of London, a gentleman expects a little diversion.”

  “He hasn’t spent much time in London recently,” Amelia grumbled, nearly tripping over the skirts of her gown on the quarter-landing.

  “Well, he was certainly back in time for Peter to invite him, wasn’t he? And accepted with alacrity, I haven’t a doubt in the world. Now, you’re not in the habit of being especially pleasing to gentlemen, my dear, and you’ll have to take my advice in how to handle him. I should have sat up with you last night to go over a few things, but, there, I was so tired from the journey. Never mind. I’ll just coach you as the visit progresses.”

  Amelia conscientiously held back a sharp retort. As they had emerged from the north staircase into the hall, Lord Verwood was just being shown into the house. He looked devilishly handsome in the driving coat with his unruly black hair barely tamed by the hand he drew through it as he removed his hat. Trudy twittered happily as she trotted over to him.

  “How nice it is to see you again! You’ve never been to Margrave, have you? Well, we’ve set aside one of the loveliest suites for you, Lord Verwood. There’s a view of the water, of course. Your own property is inland, so I thought you would especially appreciate that.”

  “Thank you, Miss Harting, that’s very kind of you.” His gaze moved back to the foot of the staircase, where Amelia still stood, and he inclined his head in a
cknowledgment of her.

  She found herself piqued at this small gesture and moved stiffly forward to say, “I hope your knee is no longer troubling you, Lord Verwood.”

  “Very little. I’ve had the opportunity to rest it for the last week or so.”

  Amelia found this a very unlikely story, and her cool stare told him as much, but he merely grinned at her. “So long as you don’t have me chasing any more thieves, I dare say it will heal entirely in no time.”

  “I wasn’t the one who set you to chasing thieves,” she reminded him. “That was your own idea of proper conduct under the circumstances.”

  “You’d have had me let him get away with your purse?” he asked rhetorically as he drew that item, carefully laundered, from the pocket of the voluminous driving coat and extended it to her. “I think you’ll find everything intact.”

  As Amelia reluctantly accepted her property, Trudy swung a suspicious gaze between the two of them. “Thieves? You don’t mean to say someone tried to steal Amelia’s reticule when you went to that distressing area of London?”

  Verwood nodded and Trudy dredged up a prodigious frown with which to regard her niece. “You see? Didn’t I warn you it wasn’t safe to go there? And you never mentioned a word of all this to me.”

  “There wasn’t the least need for you to concern yourself. Under Lord Verwood’s protection,” she added, her voice rich with irony, “I was never in any danger. Why, you would have been enormously impressed with how heroic he was, Aunt Trudy. The child who grabbed my purse stood almost to his waist. A dangerous ruffian, I promise you. And his lordship strained his knee in giving chase to the lad. Truly a commendable act of bravery.”

  “You exaggerate, Lady Amelia,” Verwood protested, a gleam of amusement in his eyes. “I doubt the child came up to my waist.”

  “Perhaps not,” she conceded graciously.

  Not knowing quite what to make of this story, Trudy asked the viscount, “Did you press charges against the brute?”

  “No. I consigned him to the care of Lady Amelia’s reverend friend, Mr. Symons. When I returned... That is, when I was able to speak with him, he suggested such an arrangement as Lady Amelia has with the Carson boy, to keep him off the streets and in school.” He turned a benevolent smile on Lady Amelia. “I told him I was sure you’d wish to undertake the matter, perhaps even move his whole family down here, as you’re apparently doing with the Carsons. There are fifteen of them, I understand.”

  “You didn’t!’ Amelia cried, before she realized, by the rueful twist of his lips, that he was teasing her.

  “No, I didn’t... Actually, I did agree to arrange for some of his older brothers and sisters to be trained for household service, and for him to go to school. He seems young to be a hardened case, but the reverend didn’t hold as much hope for him as for Tommy Carson. He’s learned a great deal from the older boys, I gather.”

  “What,” Trudy asked faintly, “has Tommy Carson done?”

  Her niece glared at Lord Verwood, but said, “He tried a little pickpocketing. It’s not uncommon for boys in the Rookery.”

  “Well, it is most uncommon for boys in Sussex, and I hope you will tell him so.” Trudy pressed a handkerchief to her perspiring brow and upper lip. “I shan’t feel comfortable with him around, wondering when he’ll nab my pocket watch.”

  “He stole to support his family,” Amelia assured her, “and since there will be no need for that here, you may be sure he’ll behave quite decently.”

  Verwood looked skeptical. “To be on the safe side, I’ll keep an eye on him while I’m here, shall I?”

  Just as Trudy was saying, “Oh, yes, please,” Amelia was saying, “That won’t be necessary.” She glared at both of them. “The poor child has enough to concern him without being spied upon. I think we can safely let him be.”

  “Well, well, we shall see,” Trudy placated. “In the meantime, I’ll have someone show Lord Verwood to his chamber. We’ve kept him standing here in the hall far too long. Peter will be back from Rye by early afternoon, my lord. We didn’t expect you this early. Perhaps after you’ve had a chance to freshen up you’d like Amelia to show you around the house and the grounds.”

  “That would be... charming,” he agreed, his black eyes alight with mischief. Before she could find some excuse, which she certainly intended to do, he followed a footman up the stone staircase.

  * * * *

  Amelia was waiting, alone, in the Summer Parlor when Verwood entered the room. Trudy had refused to stay with her, insisting that she was needed to show Mrs. Lawson precisely what she wanted done with the winter draperies from her bedchamber. Though most of the rooms at Margrave were paneled, the Summer Parlor had cool apple green plastered walls and light curtains at its windows, and French doors. The doors were open at the moment, allowing a warm breeze to play through the room, carrying on it the scent of mowed grass and salt water. Amelia looked up from the book she hadn’t been reading when the viscount strolled into the room.

  His outfit was far less formal than she’d heretofore seen him wear—buckskin breeches with top boots, and a navy short-tailed coat that had the comfortable flavor of a shooting jacket. The walking stick he carried was a whimsical affair, carved so intricately that one doubted it was the least use in sustaining any amount of weight. He sported a Belcher handkerchief instead of a cravat, and he was smiling.

  “Wonderful old pile,” he declared, walking straight across the room past her to the open doors. “I hate to waste such a glorious day inside. Would you mind showing me around the grounds first?”

  “Not at all.” Amelia snapped the book shut, not bothering to put a marker in it, since she had no idea what it was even about. She rose with her usual grace and glided over to where he stood. “The house was completed in 1601,” she began, stepping out onto the terrace, “and is constructed of stone from a local quarry.”

  Verwood patiently listened to her detailed description of the free-standing columns (which matched the columnar structure of the chimneys above), of the curved cornices and scalloped canopies, of the indentations where terra-cotta medallions had never been placed, of the classical entablatures (including the one with the triglyph frieze).

  He murmured approval of the balustrade with obelisks and the statues of the Nine Worthies. He praised the tawny ochre stone and the grassed forecourt. He strolled off the gravel path to inspect the flowerbeds on the low walls and to study the obelisks and stone lanterns on the balustrade that matched the one on the roof. He was quite overcome with the gracefulness of the pavilions that flanked the courtyard, expressing his admiration of the ogee roofs and the oriel windows.

  “Let’s go in,” he suggested.

  “There’s nothing in them,” she said firmly, suspecting him of mocking her with his abundance of appreciation. Somehow Verwood didn’t strike her as the sort of gentleman who would ordinarily be the least bit interested in the details she was giving him.

  “That’s why I think we should go in,” he retorted.

  Confused, Amelia argued, “But you said you wanted to be outside on such a nice day.”

  “They’re outdoorsy enough for me, sort of like a folly. I want to find out what you can see from them, how Margrave looks through those diamond-paned windows, what the inside of that grotes... the unusual roof looks like.”

  He was regarding her challengingly, daring her to step inside the strange little hideaway with him. Amelia squared her shoulders and marched to the door, rather hoping it would be locked. He reached around her and pushed it open, chuckling at the eerie screech of the heavy oak door that made her shudder. It was years since she’d been in one of the Elizabethan pavilions, or had the desire to enter them. As children it had been fun, a kind of playhouse to explore, but now it smelled musty to her and a sticky cobweb clung to her face and hair as she stepped into the cool, dim interior.

  “Very interesting,” he murmured so close behind her she almost jumped.

  It wasn’t interesting;
it was spooky. She wiped the cobweb off her face and grimaced at the dusty earth floor. There was as much lichen on the interior walls here as there was on the exterior, instead of the creamy satin texture of the stone inside the house. Only the middle of the one large room felt the least bit acceptable to her, with the weak light coming through the dusty panes from all sides.

  Verwood had followed her to the center and stood beside her, his hand falling on her shoulder. “We have a few things to discuss,” he said.

  “I can’t imagine what,” she muttered, moving out from under his hand.

  “First, there’s the matter of Mlle. Chartier. Apparently you spoke to Peter about her.”

  “Well, you certainly didn’t.”

  “No, I had to leave town rather abruptly. It wasn’t my knee, you see…”

  “Oh, I know that,” she sniffed. “Mr. Woolbeding mentioned your travelling carriage and the Shorn Sheep.”

  “My knee was hurting rather abominably that night.”

  Amelia made a face at him. “You’ll never convince me of that again.

  He sighed. “No, I don’t suppose I will. Never mind. I would have preferred your letting me speak to Peter first.”

  “How could I?” Amelia was incensed by his denseness. “Every day he was becoming more and more attached to her. I had to do something to put a rub in his way before it was too late.”

  “I fail to see how this expedition served your purpose.” He regarded her quizzingly, both hands curled easily around the head of his walking stick.

  “They tricked me,” she admitted. “He and Aunt Trudy. We were supposed to come here to separate him from Mlle. Chartier. I thought perhaps if I could keep him here long enough, she would find someone else, and you might turn up something damaging enough against her brother to make Peter see reason. I didn’t know until we got here that they’d invited the Chartiers... or you.”