by Sarah Ladd
He ignored her statement, a habit of late. “Ah, you’re wearing the necklace.” He traced the chain with his finger, allowing it to linger on her skin. “Sapphires suit you. But in the future, they shall be diamonds.” His breath brushed her neck.
Amelia shifted uncomfortably under his touch, then swallowed. She had better get used to his taking such liberties. “It is beautiful indeed.”
“You must imagine my astonishment at our last-minute guest.” The change of subject was abrupt. Edward dropped his hand from her and took a swig from the goblet before setting it on the railing.
“I assume you mean Captain Sterling?”
“Of course I mean Captain Sterling.” Edward’s nostrils flared at the mention of the name. “If he has returned, why is she still here?”
He did not need say more for Amelia to understand his meaning. “Lucy is just a baby, Edward.”
A sneer tugged his full lips. “If it is babies you want, I can give you all the babies you desire. Just give me five more weeks.”
Amelia ignored his suggestive comment. He was leaving tomorrow, and she needed to broach the subject of Lucy before it was too late. “I fail to understand why Lucy cannot continue to live with us. Once we are wed, that is. What is the harm of it? Winterwood is so large, and—”
Edward’s string of curses interrupted her. “I’ve told you—I just won’t have it, and I’m weary of you pestering me about it.”
A creeping panic gripped Amelia. She had seen Edward under drink’s influence before, but something was different about tonight. He had always spoken of Lucy dismissively, but the closer they came to their wedding date, the more intense his opposition became.
“How can you not see it, Amelia? How can you be so oblivious?” Something like a laugh gurgled from his throat, and he dragged his hand over his face. “It pains me to be so blunt with you, but someone must be. Captain Sterling is taking advantage of you, Amelia. He is playing you for a fool. The entire Sterling clan is. And I won’t have it.”
Momentarily stunned by the accusation, Amelia shook her head. “That is a falsehood. The captain never asked me to care for Lucy. It was my idea. I was the one—”
Edward silenced her by stepping so close that the warmth from his body filtered through the filmy silk of her gown. “The child has family, Amelia, or have you forgotten? She is not destitute. It was her uncle’s responsibility to take her in after her mother’s death, though apparently that never crossed his mind. Now her father is home, and his financial success is no secret. It is up to him to provide for her.”
“But, Edward, I—”
“It is time, Amelia. Past time. You have more than amply fulfilled the promise you made to her mother, and it does you credit. Now it is time to move on to the next stage. Your life with me. With our children.”
Amelia did not trust herself to look up into the eyes that were now so near to her own. She opened her mouth to speak, to defend herself, to share the arguments she had so carefully prepared. “I—I cannot help but disagree. You say I am being taken advantage of—well then, so be it. We have more than enough money, more than enough room, I—”
Edward grabbed her forearm. Startled, she snapped her mouth shut. “You may not care about it, Amelia, but I do. I care a great deal. I will not allow another man to prey on my wife’s fortune or good nature, regardless of how he disguises it.”
With a sudden jerk, he dropped her arm, straightened, and smoothed his cravat, which the wind had disrupted. His hard glare bore down on her, the wildness in his expression frightening her. “Consider your motivations, Amelia. You are acting on emotion, not reason. But I will not allow him to exploit you. Exploit us. My mind is made up. I will not subvert my children’s inheritance to raise another man’s child, especially when that man is fully capable of doing so on his own. I will not be taken advantage of like, like—”
His words stopped short. He cut his eyes away from her, lifted the glass to his lips, and tossed the liquid down his throat. His body swayed.
Amelia shrank back into the corner, hunching under the protection of her shawl, as if it could protect her from the bluntness of his words.
Even in cover of darkness, she could see the anger in his dark eyes. “I care not how it is done, but that child will leave my house.”
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and nodded toward the door, a silent indication he was done with their discussion. “Do not stay out in this air. You will catch a chill.”
Edward staggered back inside. Watching him go, Amelia could not help but recall the day she had met him. Handsome, self-assured, attentive, he had drawn her to him effortlessly. His every word had held tenderness and a promise.
How had he become . . . this?
How could she possibly marry a man who would treat her so?
But what choice did she possibly have?
Tears threatened. Amelia stared into the black, starless night, pulling her shawl ever tighter around her, as if such a simple action could shield her from the uncertainty of her future.
Graham stepped into the broad hallway, determined to go unnoticed by the handful of guests who had gathered there. A quick sweep of the space confirmed Miss Helena Barrett’s absence. He exhaled. The woman had babbled all evening. Her incessant prattling had kept him from seeking out Miss Amelia Barrett, his true reason for attending in the first place.
He made his way down the hall to the library in time to see Edward Littleton stumble in through an outside door. The inebriated man shuffled past without seeing him. Graham released a breath. He wasn’t fond of Littleton. But if the person coming in had been Helena Barrett and he’d been forced to endure one more tale about purchasing Indian muslin or German lace, he would have thrown himself from one of Winterwood’s towers.
He watched Littleton stagger past a side table and nearly knock a candle to the planked floor below. So far, what he had seen of Amelia Barrett’s intended had been unimpressive at best. Graham had every intention of watching him more closely as the evening progressed, but first he needed a minute alone. He stole behind the couches, careful not to draw the attention of a small group of men who had gathered in front of the fireplace. Twisting the door’s ornate brass handle, he stepped out onto a wide stone terrace. The breeze carried a hint of rain, and the frost’s spicy scent invigorated his senses. He stretched and inhaled deeply. He still missed sea air, but this was preferable to the suffocating rooms within.
“Are you looking for something, Captain Sterling?” The voice was soft. Feminine.
He turned to find Miss Amelia Barrett standing behind him. He glanced back over his shoulder. She had been alone with Littleton. He bowed. “Miss Barrett. I wasn’t aware you were out here.”
“If I did not know better, I would think you were following me.” Her words were an obvious attempt at lighthearted conversation, but her face told a different story.
“I deserve that. I apologize for my behavior in the cemetery yesterday. I had no intention to intrude or offend.”
Miss Barrett stepped from the shadows. The yellow light filtering through the tall drawing room windows slanted over the gentle slope of her nose and highlighted the curve of her cheek. “It is I who should apologize, sir. It was impolite of me to leave so abruptly.” She lowered her voice, as if taking him into her confidence. “You see, as a general rule, I prefer not to cry in front of other people. Especially people I do not have the pleasure of knowing well.”
You will not cry in front of a stranger, yet you would propose to one? The words bubbled near the surface of his mind. But he said nothing.
The breeze carried strains of a pianoforte from somewhere in the house, and she glanced toward the door. “I should return. If you will excuse me?”
Without a thought for decorum, Graham reached out and touched her arm. “Wait.”
She turned, her eyes flitting from his hand on her arm to his face. “Yes, Captain Sterling?”
He shifted uncomfortably. He was alone wit
h her. Would not now be a good time to speak with her as he had intended? With his time in Darbury limited, he did not have the luxury of waiting. “I wondered . . . I have been meaning to ask . . . You see, I know very little about my wife’s final days.” He hesitated, pausing to interpret the shadow crossing her face. “Might I trouble you for a moment of your time to ask you a few questions?”
She hesitated, interlaced her fingers, then nodded. “Of course. You have my permission to ask me anything.”
“I received only three letters from Katherine after she moved to Darbury. I have no doubt she wrote more frequently, but as you can imagine, the post did not always extend over the sea. How did you and Katherine become acquainted?”
After an awkward silence, Miss Barrett spoke. “We met after she moved to Darbury, to Moreton Cottage. That was almost a year and a half ago. Jane Hammond—that’s the vicar’s wife—told me that I had a new neighbor, and as I am sure you can imagine, we do not often receive new neighbors in Darbury. I called upon Katherine; we grew fond of each other and soon became fast friends. We spent nearly every day in each other’s company. She was, of course, with child when she arrived, but a few months after her arrival, she fell ill. Since she was all alone at Moreton Cottage, with only two servants to tend to her, I insisted she stay at Winterwood for her lying in.”
Graham could no longer hold back the question. “Did my brother not offer any assistance?”
Miss Barrett’s lips parted in what could only be surprise at his directness. Heavy silence blanketed the space before she spoke. “If I remember correctly, Mr. Sterling was out of town for most of the time Katherine was in Darbury.”
Graham masked his annoyance. He would deal with his frustration toward his brother at another time. Right now there were other things he needed to know. “What was it . . . That is to say, how did she . . . ?” He stopped himself and tried again. “What were the circumstances surrounding her death?”
Miss Barrett stepped to the railing, as if trying to put distance between them.
Graham closed the space she created by joining her at the balustrade. “I don’t mean to upset you, but I beg of you . . . I must know.”
She stared away from him into the blackness. “How much do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
A sharp gust swept over the terrace, and Miss Barrett shivered. She gathered the hem of her shawl and ran the fringe through her fingers. He adjusted his stance, preparing to hear whatever might pass her lips.
“From the beginning of her confinement, it was clear that something was amiss. She was confined to bed early on. The midwife advised that if she was too active, she could lose the baby.”
The wind calmed. Miss Barrett paced with slow, decided steps, her shimmering gown billowing behind her and glittering in the faint light from inside.
“When her time came, the midwife told us it was too soon. Katherine should have carried Lucy for another month, but she couldn’t . . .” Amelia paused, her head lowered, as if gathering her thoughts or calming her emotions. She sniffed, fixed her eyes on the ground, then went on. “She labored for days. Then, after Lucy came, Katherine succumbed to puerperal fever.” She pointed, directing his attention to a narrow window in a far wing. “There. That was her room while she was at Winterwood. She died in that room.”
Graham rubbed his hand over his face and let it settle over his mouth. Katherine, his Katherine, had been in pain. Snippets of memories bombarded him. Her smile. Her hair.
He looked over at Miss Barrett. She had stayed with Katherine to the last. Without her, who would have been there for his wife? His indebtedness to this wisp of a woman ran deep indeed.
Graham forced words through his tightened throat. “That must have been very difficult for you, Miss Barrett. Thank you for your kindness. I am grateful she did not die alone.”
Amelia fixed her eyes on her hands. “As I have told you, Katherine asked me to care for Lucy. I promised, and I do not give promises lightly. Ever since that day, Lucy has never been out of my care.” She hesitated. “And forgive me for speaking on such a private matter, but I intend my words to be a comfort. Katherine loved you so very much.”
Words failed Graham. The more details he heard, the more difficult they were to hear. To absorb. He had hoped that knowledge would soothe the unsettled ache in his chest, but the answers only caused further turmoil.
Drops of rain blew in with the wind. A shout echoed from inside Winterwood, and Amelia cast a nervous glance toward the door. “I must go now, Captain. Edw—Mr. Littleton—will be looking for me.” She bobbed a curtsy, but instead of heading toward the drawing room door, she moved to the stone stairs leading down to the lawn.
“Where are you going?”
Her glance back at him was incredulous. “You do not suggest that I go back through those doors after being alone with you out here?”
He shook his head. “Do not be absurd. It’s been raining for days! You’ll slip and do yourself harm in all that mud.”
“Captain Sterling, we have shared this terrace for more than a quarter of an hour, and there may be guests in the library. If someone should notice that we walked in at the same time—no, I thank you. I will go around.”
He trailed her as she moved farther into the darkness. “It’s starting to rain. You will be soaked through. We’ll go in through different doors, and surely no one will see.”
She stopped and turned so quickly that he almost ran into her. “I do not think you understand.” She fretted with the edge of her shawl. “Mr. Littleton is not a man to be crossed. If he should even think that you, um, I mean, that I . . .”
Her words faded, and she diverted her eyes.
Was she frightened of Edward Littleton, or were her words a warning? And if the latter were true, did she think the man intimidated him? Graham stifled a snort. “You don’t know me very well, Miss Barrett.”
Miss Barrett jutted her chin into the air. “And you do not know me, sir.”
He stepped closer to her, almost enjoying the interchange as a welcome relief from the somber nature of their discussion. “Your Mr. Little-whatever-his-name-is is a pup compared to the men I deal with every day.”
She matched his step with a backward one of her own. “Well, you do not have to live with the man. I am to be married to him in a matter of weeks. I would consider your discretion a personal favor.”
“It’s none of my business, but—”
“You are right,” she cut him off. “It is none of your business. So if you’ll pardon me . . .”
This was ridiculous. He could not, would not, let her or any other woman go stumbling blindly into the dark night.
The rain’s intensity increased. The drops plopped on his cheeks and brushed his eyelashes. “Very well,” he grumbled, waving his hand toward the door. “Go inside if you must. I’ll go around.”
She hesitated, but as a fresh gust of wind brought stronger rain, she ducked her head and looped her shawl over her hair. “Thank you, Captain Sterling. If you round the corner there, you’ll find the kitchen entrance.”
He covered sarcasm with a huff. “I think I can find it.”
“I will see you inside.”
She disappeared through the door. Staring at the empty door frame, he flipped up his collar and descended the stairs to the lawn.
Headstrong woman. Headstrong, determined, intriguing woman.
Graham slipped back inside Winterwood Manor and followed the sound of voices to the billiards room, where the men had gathered. The room was dim and close. The smoke from the fireplace escaped and curled toward the molded ceilings, obscuring the multitude of landscape paintings adorning the dark green walls. Laughter abounded. He took a seat next to the fire, hoping the warmth would dry out his soggy boots.
“Mr. Littleton is not a man to be crossed.” Miss Barrett’s words echoed in his mind. He stared at Littleton, who stood next to the billiard table, cue in hand, laughing a little too loudly. The man’s arrogant m
anner irked Graham. So did his obviously drunken state.
“Well, well, where have you been?” William sauntered toward him with a glass in each hand. Another sight Graham had seen more times than he cared to admit. William handed him a goblet of port.
“Needed some air.” Graham considered downing the drink, but instead swirled the tawny liquid in his glass and watched it splash against the sides.
“Why are you wet?”
“You would not believe me if I told you. What’s going on in here?”
William leaned back and balanced himself on the arm of the sofa. “Billiards. You play?”
“Of course.”
“Join us.” With a chuckle, he pushed himself off the furniture. “If you think you can beat me, that is.”
Graham slouched to the left and caught a glimpse through the open door of the drawing room where the ladies had gathered. The pale blue silk of Miss Barrett’s skirts swirled past the threshold. He found it difficult to tear his eyes away. Like it or not, he was bound to the woman. Bound by grief. Bound by the love of a child. And now that he knew the full extent of the service she had done his wife, bound by honor. That connection posed no small amount of difficulty, since it was clear to him that Miss Barrett had no business marrying a man like Littleton.
“Graham!” William’s voice carried above the laughter. “Get over here.”
Rising from his chair, Graham headed toward the table to stand next to Littleton, whose height matched his own. He didn’t speak to the man, nor did the man speak to him. Right or wrong, Graham judged character quickly. He had to. One such misjudgment on board his ship could spell disaster.
His instincts screamed for him to watch this one. And watch him he would.
The morning following the engagement dinner dawned overcast. Settled at a small writing desk in the library, Amelia sought distraction. Her fingers traced the printed words in her father’s worn Bible. She tried to concentrate, but the letters swirled on the page.