by Sarah Ladd
Aunt Augusta pushed herself to her feet in a rustle of burgundy taffeta. “You girls should have told me of this immediately!”
Amelia thought she saw a hint of a smile flash on Helena’s lips before her cousin looked down at her plate. “I am sorry, Mother. I thought you were aware.”
Aunt Augusta tapped her forefinger to her lips. “I suppose no harm is done. After all, this is good news, is it not? Lucy’s father will make arrangements for her, and you and Mr. Littleton will be left alone, as newlyweds should be.”
Amelia felt faint at the words. She did not want her aunt—or anyone—thinking that Lucy would be leaving. She straightened her shoulders. “It is my desire that Lucy should remain here, even after we wed.”
“Here? At Winterwood Manor?” Aunt Augusta’s laugh echoed from the high plastered ceilings. “My dear Amelia, you need to focus on starting your own family now. Besides, has Mr. Littleton not forbidden it? You cannot go against his wishes. ’Twould not be right.”
Amelia shook her head. “I am sure I can persuade him. Winterwood is a large estate. He need never even know she is here.”
“I declare, Amelia, I do not understand you. Why can you not just enjoy your life with Mr. Littleton? The child’s father has returned. He will see to her.”
Her aunt gave a firm nod, calling a close to the conversation.
Amelia glanced at her cousin, who continued to stare down at her plate. She had hoped that Helena would come to her defense, help convince Aunt Augusta that she was right. It would hardly be the first time the cousins had allied themselves in such a fashion. But this time Helena remained silent.
Whether the room was indeed suffocating or it just felt that way, Amelia managed to survive dinner. It was clear she had more difficult decisions ahead of her. Her family might not understand her now, but she could only pray they would come to share her perspective. She still cared for Edward. But his refusal to allow Lucy to remain at Winterwood was forcing Amelia to choose between a future with him and her commitment to Lucy.
And that was really no choice at all.
The next morning every muscle in Amelia’s body tensed as she waited once more in the drawing room, listening for the sound of carriage wheels. This time, instead of waiting for the captain, she waited for Edward Littleton. And yesterday’s optimism had faded to a nervous melancholy.
Helena, dressed in a silk-embroidered gown of jonquil satin and with glossy hair coiled tightly to her head, rose from the settee with practiced poise and moved to stand beside Amelia. Concern creased her flawless brow as she laid her hand atop Amelia’s arm.
“I do hope you are not upset with me for mentioning Captain Sterling’s return to Mother. You know her disposition, and she would find out about the visit sooner or later. Far better it is for her to find out from you or me than from another source.”
Amelia drew a deep breath and looked toward the window, fearing that if she looked her cousin in the eyes, her true feelings would be evident. Perhaps Helena’s intentions had been innocent. But her cousin’s behavior had been unpredictable since Amelia’s engagement to Edward had been announced several months prior. Amelia had hoped that sharing her plan to propose to the captain might restore the closeness between them, but unease remained.
Amelia released the breath she’d been holding. Harboring resentment toward Helena would do nothing but steal her energy. “Think nothing of it.”
As if content with Amelia’s response, Helena patted her hand. “Good. Now, let us forget the entire thing.” A pretty smile brightened her cousin’s narrow face. “After all, the captain declined your offer, did he not? I shall never mention it, and the captain, if he is any sort of gentleman, would take it to the grave. So it will be as if your little indiscretion never happened.”
Amelia fought to hold her tongue. Indiscretion? She turned away to reach for her shawl. Would she never be able to persuade Helena that she’d proposed out of pure necessity?
Did Helena’s approval even matter?
At the sound of a shout and a carriage on the drive, Amelia lifted her head. Her uncle—and Edward Littleton—had arrived.
“Do you hear that?” Helena left Amelia’s side and lifted the velvet curtain. “There, see! Father and Mr. Littleton are here. I’ll have Mother call for tea. Amelia, be calm now.”
Amelia smoothed her skirt and pinched her cheeks. Edward would be a guest at Winterwood for a little more than a day before traveling on to London for business. In that time she had to convince him to open their home to Lucy. She had little other choice.
The click of the door’s latch echoed through the halls, followed by the sound of rain pounding the stone steps outside. Then Edward’s hearty laugh filled the room. She eased at the sound. He was in a pleasant mood.
The moment Edward stepped into the drawing room, his eyes sought her. She could not help the girlish smile creeping over her lips or the flush rushing to her cheeks under the directness of his gaze. Even after the turmoil of the past weeks, she could not deny the pleasure his exuberant attentions afforded her.
He was certainly feeling exuberant today. He barely acknowledged Aunt Augusta or Helena before brushing past James, ignoring the butler’s attempt to take his belongings. He simply peeled off his wet greatcoat and dropped his beaver hat on a wingback chair before hastening in Amelia’s direction. His smile stretched wide as he grabbed her hands and pulled her toward him. The scent of rain still clung to his person. Amelia cast a quick glance over at her aunt. Aunt Augusta would never approve of such a blatant display of affection, but she was too engaged in welcoming her own husband home to pay heed to her niece.
Amelia attempted to remove herself from Edward’s grasp, but he tightened his grip on her bare hands and pulled her even closer. His lips were so close that his breath moved a curl next to her ear. “Tell me, dearest Amelia, that you missed me, even a little bit, and I shall be put at ease.”
She tried to tame her nervous smile and finally freed her hands, the intimacy of the interaction making it impossible for her to look him in the eye. She said what she knew he wanted to hear. “Of course I missed you.”
“Well then, I am relieved.” He straightened, his handsome smile continuing to light his face. “For not a moment passed that I didn’t wonder what my dear little Amelia was up to.”
His voice sounded devoid of hidden meanings, but guilt clenched Amelia’s stomach. She hurried to change the subject. “Come over to the fire, Edward. You must be chilled through.”
He did not object. Instead, he picked up her hand once again and looped it through his arm. The heat from the fire and the closeness of the man nearly suffocated her.
He kept his voice soft. “You wore the blue gown. Periwinkle, I believe the young ladies call it? You know how I adore you in this shade.”
She had grown accustomed to his lavish praise of her appearance, but today his quick flattery made her blush. “You mustn’t speak so. Aunt Augusta will hear you.”
He leaned forward and smoothed the broad lace ribbon lining the outer rim of her neckline. “Let her hear me. What does it matter? I will shout it from the rooftops. I’ve nothing to hide.”
“I know, but I beg of you. Propriety.”
He stared at her for several moments, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. Then he allowed his hand to fall to the side. “Very well. If it is what you desire, then so be it.”
Amelia exhaled and directed him to a chair—the very chair, she couldn’t help but notice, to which she had directed the captain the previous morning. He sat down and adjusted his stark white neckcloth. The rain had darkened his hair to almost black, and with his hand he slicked the damp locks off his face. The long side-whiskers framing his high cheekbones accentuated the noble slope of his nose. His dark eyes, always alert, seemed able to delve into her very soul—a thought that made Amelia avert her gaze.
What if he learned of her proposal to Captain Sterling? She feared his reaction as a child fears an impending puni
shment. For all of Edward’s winning qualities, his temper was no secret. Everything with Edward was an extreme. He was like a whirlwind: passionate and determined, impatient and headstrong. But his propensity to charm overshadowed any lapses of decorum. He could win the approval of almost anyone—and earn forgiveness just as quickly. Until recently, she had found him all but irresistible.
“Mr. Littleton.” Amelia looked up. She had not noticed her cousin approaching. Helena’s voice, as always, was steady and sure. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”
Edward stood. “Ah, Miss Barrett!”
“What news from Leeds? Surely you saw someone of our acquaintance?”
Edward shook his head. “I fear I cannot satisfy your curiosity. The bulk of our trip was spent tending to business affairs. However, I am on my way to London in a day or two, and I hope to bring you news from there.”
The overwhelming scent of rosewater signaled Aunt Augusta’s approach. Before another word could be uttered on the matter, she rested her hands on Helena’s shoulders. “Have you not told Mr. Littleton of our news here in Darbury?”
A sinking feeling pulled at Amelia, and she cast a desperate glance at Helena, hoping her cousin would be able to sway the conversation when she herself could not find words. But even that was too late, for her aunt’s words tumbled forth. “While you were gone, we have had a most interesting development here.” She leaned forward, clearly enjoying the game she was playing. “You will never guess who has returned to this county.”
Edward, still standing, leaned back against the chair and crossed one booted foot over the other. “Well then, Mrs. Barrett, you will have to enlighten me, for I cannot even begin to guess.”
The older woman fluttered her fan, raising a breeze that stirred the trim on her gown. “Why, Captain Sterling of course! Little Lucy’s father.”
Edward snapped to attention at the words, his features brightening. “You don’t say!” Amelia winced as he directed his words toward her. “Why did you not tell me right away? This is truly a fortuitous development—and not a moment too soon! Now he can take responsibility for that child of his.”
Amelia bristled. When would they see Lucy as someone other than a guest? “Actually, the captain is open to the possibility of Lucy remaining at Winterwood.”
Edward’s demeanor sobered. “We have discussed this, Amelia. The child is welcome to stay until we are wed. But not after.”
Amelia stiffened at the finality in his tone but willed herself to hold her tongue. Pushing him too hard at this moment would get her nowhere. But she couldn’t help wondering how Edward could love her, really love her, yet be so quick to reject the one person in the world who meant the most to her.
Oblivious to her agitation, Aunt Augusta began to chatter about tonight’s dinner and the menu for the wedding breakfast. But Edward moved in so close that she felt his legs brush the hem of her dress. “Come, Amelia,” he murmured in her ear. “There is no need to get upset. Everything will be fine, you will see.”
So like Edward—eager to smooth things over with nary a commitment one way or the other. She was about to respond when his arm snaked around her waist and held a small wooden box in front of her.
Amelia frowned. “What is this?”
He circled around to look at her, a crooked grin on his face. “You will have to open it to find out. I was going to wait until later to give it to you, but I sense you could use cheering up now.”
Amelia pressed her lips together. She was in no mood for gifts. But she took the box in her hand, the polished teak smooth and cool beneath her fingers. She unlatched the small clasp and flipped the lid open. Her breath caught. There, gleaming in a nest of fine white satin, was a sapphire pendant set in gold.
“Do you like it?” Edward reached into the box, his long fingers grazing her own. He lifted the necklace, the chain uncoiling with the action. “The color reminded me of your eyes.”
She looked up. His own dark coffee eyes gazed intimately into hers. But to her, they were the eyes of a stranger.
Later that same afternoon Edward and Uncle George took a ride over the grounds with Mr. Carrington, Winterwood’s steward. With several hours left before their engagement dinner, Amelia wanted—needed—to spend time with Lucy.
She had asked Mrs. Dunne to bring the baby to her in the morning room—a smaller, warmer chamber with pale coral walls, white frieze and cornices, and a wide white fireplace with a cast-iron grate.
Amelia sat on a small sofa in a pool of fleeting sunlight, intending to bide her time with her needlework until Mrs. Dunne arrived. Try as she might, she could not keep her mind on the intricate pattern. Finally she sighed and set the frame down beside her. Patting her foot with impatience, she turned her attention to two familiar portraits flanking the fireplace.
On the left hung a portrait of her father as a very young man. It had been there for as long as she could remember. The portrait did not show the smile she had loved, but it perfectly captured the kindness in his eyes. Even though he had been gone for well over a decade, she recalled his face with vivid detail. What would he think of her engagement to Edward?
On the opposite side of the fireplace hung the only portrait of her mother. More than one guest had mistakenly assumed it depicted Amelia, so great was the resemblance. The artist’s strokes had captured her mother with the bloom of youth, fair hair loosely gathered around a narrow face and large, watchful blue eyes. As a child, standing before the painted image, Amelia used to imagine that her mother could actually see her. How she wished she had a mother to guide her now.
Mrs. Dunne breezed through the door with Lucy propped on her hip. Amelia jumped from her seat, casting aside melancholy thoughts. “There is my girl!”
When the baby saw Amelia, her chocolate eyes grew wide. She waved chubby fists in the air and thrust herself toward Amelia, causing Mrs. Dunne to nearly drop her.
“Whoa, Lucy!” Amelia laughed at the child’s enthusiasm. “You’re going to fall!”
The child scrambled into Amelia’s arms, and Mrs. Dunne laughed. “She’s been out o’ sorts all morning, lookin’ for you all over.”
The words, delivered with Mrs. Dunne’s lilting Irish brogue, warmed Amelia to the core. “Oh, Lucy, I am so sorry.”
The little girl giggled, showing her dimple. She squinted her eyes and batted her hand against Amelia’s face. Amelia laughed, feeling the weight of uncertainty slip from her mind. Time seemed to stand still when she was with this child. When they were together, she could forget her worries.
Almost.
If the captain were to take Lucy from Winterwood, the baby would grow up as she had—motherless. Even with the presence of a doting governess and a loving father, something had been lacking in Amelia’s childhood. When Aunt Augusta and Uncle George came to be her guardians after her father’s death, Amelia had finally identified what it was. Though Aunt Augusta was never actively unkind, her relationship with Amelia was nothing compared to her bond with Helena.
Amelia freed her earring from Lucy’s grasp and sat down on the floor. Mrs. Dunne produced three wooden blocks, and Lucy squealed and began to bang them together. Amelia smiled, trying to set aside the dread that had crept into her awareness. How much longer did she have with her? One week? Two? A month?
If Edward wouldn’t relent, no more than five weeks.
“Bababa ba ba.” Lucy’s cheerful chatter filled the narrow room. Amelia wanted to memorize everything about her . . . the velvety skin, the soft copper curls, the plump, dimpled hands, that delicious baby smell. Amelia felt her chin tremble. Who would love her precious Lucy if she were taken away? Captain Sterling would be away at sea. Who else would sing to her? Read to her? Brush her hair? Teach her to mind? Teach her how to love?
Lucy lost interest in the blocks and scooted over to Amelia with loose, uncontrolled movements. Amelia gathered her in her arms, untwisting the child from the long white gown. Lucy wrapped pudgy arms around Amelia’s neck and pulled herself up,
babbling, “Mama ma ma.” Without warning, tears sprang to Amelia’s eyes.
Last week those sounds coming from the baby’s lips would have thrilled her. Today they brought a joy laced with pain.
In the span of nine months, Amelia had watched the child grow and change. She herself had gone from being afraid of even holding the baby to loving her with an intensity she’d never thought possible. She could not—would not—willingly hand Lucy over. Not even to Captain Sterling.
She peeled a chubby hand from her hair and pressed it to her lips. She needed Lucy as much as Lucy needed her. She kissed the child’s cheek, leaned her head against wispy curls, and whispered, “I will fight for you. You, my dear Lucy, will never be alone.”
You had better finish dressing.” Helena cut her eyes toward her cousin, holding her head perfectly still so as not to disturb the lady’s maid dressing her hair. “And for all that is good and holy, stop leaning against the wall. You will wrinkle your dress.”
Ignoring her cousin’s direction, Amelia pressed her body against the wall and bent forward, stretching her neck to watch carriages line the front drive. She strained her eyes to count them. “How many guests did Aunt invite?”
“Move away from the window, Amelia!” Helena waved a frantic hand, her head still motionless. “What if someone sees you?”
“Don’t be absurd.” Amelia’s tone was sharper than she’d intended. The brocade curtain slipped through her fingers as she pulled her hand away. “It is far too dark in here for anyone to see in.” She turned to pick up her dress, held it at arm’s length, and tilted her head to the side, admiring the delicacy of the ivory Valenciennes lace and the way the pale azure silk shimmered in the candles’ flickering light. Under any other circumstances, she’d be thrilled to be dressing in her finest for a formal dinner. But tonight was different.