by Sarah Ladd
“Shall I take the child, sir?”
Graham looked up at the sound of a strong Irish brogue.
“I’m Mrs. Dunne, nurse to young Miss Lucy.” The plump woman, white cap over dark hair, stood ready to take the child. He’d lost track of how long he’d sat with his daughter. Miss Barrett had said she would return right away. Where was she? Careful not to wake the sleeping cherub, he stood and gently handed the child to her nurse.
“Don’t worry, sir. I’ll take good care of this one, I will.”
He smiled as she laid the child in a wheeled baby carriage, then started along the path toward the house. As he watched, he thought he heard rising voices carried by the wind. He furrowed his brow and listened.
Graham scanned the surroundings. William and George Barrett were still on the far side of the lawn outside the stables, apparently having forgotten about their port. Helena Barrett and her mother, whom he recognized from the dinner, sat at the table, sipping tea. It wasn’t them. Then he spotted a flash of yellow. It swirled out from behind the terrace wall and then vanished from sight.
Curious, he walked back to the terrace steps. As each silent footfall brought him closer, the muffled voices grew in intensity.
Littleton’s deep voice reached his ears first. “I will not have this discussion again. I think I have made myself very clear regarding my expectations on this matter. As my wife, you will comply.”
Miss Barrett’s response was immediate. “I am not yet your wife. How can you presume so? Do not think I—”
Littleton’s words crushed her protest. “I’ll hear not another word about it. You heard what I said, and you know what I meant.”
“Or what?” Her voice held a power that surprised Graham. It held a challenge, as if daring Littleton to continue.
“Of all the impudence. I should think—”
Miss Barrett’s voice sounded strained, as if pushed out through clenched teeth. “So help me, Edward, I’d sooner see Winterwood Manor in a stranger’s hands and be sent to the poorhouse than turn my back on someone I love.”
Littleton laughed. “Someone you love? So you love Lucy more than you love me, is that it? Well, you’re too late for that realization, Amelia. If you call this off now, what do you think will happen? Your inheritance will pass to another, and it will happen soon. What will you do then? Do you think your uncle will continue to care for you? Allow you to live in his house? He is as invested in this union as I. Don’t think for a moment that—”
The tones were harsh and escalating, and Graham recalled the hint of fear in Miss Barrett’s eyes when she spoke of Littleton. He had heard enough. He took the terrace steps two at a time and rounded the wall. Littleton held Miss Barrett’s arm in an awkward grasp. The knuckles of Miss Barrett’s clenched fist showed white, and her sapphire eyes were wide. Her chest rose and fell rapidly with each breath.
Graham stepped closer, his boots heavy against the smooth stone veranda. “May I be of assistance, Miss Barrett?”
With a surprised jerk, Littleton spun around and glared at Graham, his eyes no wider than tight slits. “What in blazes are you doing here?”
“I heard shouting.”
“This is not your concern. I’ll thank you to mind your own affairs and leave us to ours.”
Graham took another step. “Be that as it may, Littleton, you make it my business when I see a woman being treated in such fashion. I must ask you to release her arm.”
Amelia seized the opportunity afforded by Littleton’s break in concentration and twisted from his grip. She stood rubbing her wrist, her eyes like those of an animal caught in a snare.
Edward forced a casual smile that teetered on a sneer. “She is not your concern.”
Graham glared at Littleton, daring him to look away. “Miss Barrett, Mrs. Dunne is looking for you.”
For a moment nobody moved. Asserting the authoritative tone that he used with his crew, Graham lied again. “Miss Barrett, Mrs. Dunne needs your assistance.”
Without a word she gathered her yellow skirts and scurried from the terrace.
Littleton tugged at his cravat. A smug smile coiled his lip. “I know your angle, Sterling.”
“And that is?”
“You are exploiting Amelia’s affection for your child, sir.” Edward stepped forward, his words suspending a challenge between them. “What is it that you want, sir? Her money? Her land? Or just . . . her?”
Graham’s jaw clenched at the accusation. “Nothing of the kind. Miss Barrett has shown a great kindness to my family, and I am grateful. But mark my words. I will not stand idly by and watch you or any other man treat a woman, regardless of who she is, with such incivility.”
Edward sneered. “I know you Sterlings. You are all the same—you and your brother, and your father before you. Conniving. Calculating. You may be able to worm your way into Amelia’s good graces, but you will not take advantage of me. I want you and your daughter off my property, and I want you to stay away from my future wife.”
Graham’s temples pulsed. Part of him wanted to silence Edward by telling him of Amelia’s proposal, but he held his tongue. He could not put the woman who had done so much for him in such a precarious position.
He kept his voice low. “It will be my pleasure. But you are warned, Littleton. If I see you with your hands on her, or any woman, I will have no qualms about striking you down. That would also be my pleasure.”
Littleton’s face deepened to a dark purple. More like a spoiled child than a grown man, he flounced through the terrace’s door into the parlor, his coattails swishing behind him.
Graham relaxed his fists and pulled his waistcoat straight. In the distance, he saw Miss Barrett talking to Mrs. Dunne and bending over the baby carriage. She flashed a nervous glance in his direction, then returned her attentions to the baby. As he headed toward them, he no longer heard the sounds of nature or the whistling of the wind. Littleton’s harsh words regarding his daughter, his family, and Miss Barrett echoed in his mind.
At the sound of his boots stomping across the grass, the women looked up. He had no desire to see the embarrassment that painted Miss Barrett’s expression, but he knew what needed to be done.
“Miss Barrett, I am afraid my daughter and I can no longer trespass on your hospitality.”
Miss Barrett’s hand flew to her mouth. “Whatever do you mean?”
He could not look her in the eyes when he spoke the words. “I think it would be best for all involved if we make other living arrangements for Lucy.”
She cried out and took hold of his arm. “If this is because of Mr. Littleton, please, do not give it another thought. I will talk to him. I can get him to change his mind. Please, I—”
He raised his hand to silence her. “Please, Miss Barrett, do not misunderstand. I am grateful for your generosity, but all things considered, I believe this is for the best.”
She circled him, blocking the path to the stable with her small frame. Her rosy complexion had drained to white. “Captain, this is Lucy’s home. Please, I beg you, sir, don’t take her away.”
He had no desire to hurt her, but he wasn’t about to apologize for intruding on her conversation or removing Lucy. He cleared his throat, not accustomed to explaining his actions. “To my knowledge, there is no nursery at Eastmore Hall. So if you would be so kind as to allow her to stay on with you until further arrangements can be made, I would be in your debt.” He hesitated, then looked down at his daughter sleeping in the carriage. Emotion tightened his chest, and he drew a deep breath. “Good day, ladies.”
He bowed, tipped his hat, and moved past the women. The sooner he could free himself from Winterwood and the insanity brewing within its walls, the better he and Lucy would be.
Please be home. Please be home. Please be home.
With every step, the words thumped in Amelia’s head. Faster and faster her feet carried her along the path from Winterwood’s west wall to the vicarage.
Heart pounding, she abandoned th
e path for a shortcut through a copse of trees that bordered the moors. More than once she almost lost her footing on wet leaves and grass. A branch caught her hair and pulled it free of her ivory comb just as she reached the clearing where the vicarage stood. She sprinted toward the house and pounded on the door.
The moment a servant opened the door, Amelia pushed her way in. “Jane!” she cried. “Jane!”
Her friend flew around the corner. “For goodness’ sake, child, whatever is—” She paused midsentence, her mouth falling agape at the sight of Amelia. “What on earth has happened to you? Come in, dearest.”
“He’s going to take her away!” Amelia gulped for breath.
“What? Who? Here, come in and sit down. Over here by the fire.” Jane wrapped her arms around Amelia’s heaving shoulders and guided her to a chair next to the fireplace. “There, there. I want to hear all about it, but you must calm down first. Fainting dead away will not help.”
Amelia stared into the fire, her tears blurring the dying embers’ light. Her teeth chattered, but she wasn’t cold. She inhaled and exhaled, willing the rapid breathing to subside.
Jane removed the comb hanging from Amelia’s hair and brushed the locks with her fingers. “There now. What is wrong?”
“Captain Sterling. He said he plans to make other arrangements for Lucy.” Amelia’s pitch elevated. “He’s taking her from Winterwood! What am I to do?”
Jane’s voice was calm and controlled. “Where is Lucy now?”
“She is still at Winterwood, but the captain was very clear. He is making other arrangements.”
“Tell me what happened.”
Amelia hesitated. “I am not certain, to be honest. The captain and his brother were visiting Lucy. While they were at Winterwood, Mr. Littleton and I had a bit of a . . . disagreement. Captain Sterling intervened. I think the captain and Edward had words.”
Jane grabbed her own lace shawl from the sofa and draped it around Amelia’s shoulders. “If that is the case, then the captain’s decision likely has more to do with Mr. Littleton than you.” She reached out to pat Amelia’s hand, but when she saw the red marks from Edward’s tight grip, she pulled the hand closer. “Mercy’s sake! How did this happen?”
Amelia drew her hand back and tucked it under the shawl. She should take this opportunity to tell Jane everything. About the changes in Edward’s personality and her doubts about his motivation. About her proposal to the captain. About her heartbreak over losing Lucy. But the words just would not form.
Jane didn’t push her. “This must be very distressing to you. I know how much you care for Lucy. But sometimes things happen that are beyond our control. But God has a plan, dearest. He has a plan for you and for Lucy.”
Amelia sniffed and shook her head. “I don’t believe it. How could that be so? God would take a child away from the one person who loves her?”
“You assume Captain Sterling doesn’t love Lucy?”
“How could he?” Amelia retorted. “He’s barely met her. Besides, he’ll be gone for months—years—at a time! Katherine knew that. That is why she had me promise—”
“This is where trust comes in. You have done everything you can possibly do. You must accept that God’s hand is in all things. He will not leave you nor forsake you, Amelia. He will not leave nor forsake Lucy.”
Amelia bolted from her chair and crossed the room. She wanted to believe Jane. She did. Her Bible reading from earlier in the day rushed to the forefront of her mind. But what if she did trust God and Lucy was still taken from her? She could not take that chance.
Jane stood and crossed after her. “Calm yourself, dearest. Things may not be as dire as you think. The captain, by all accounts, is a fine, respectable man, and he seems to be a good one as well. I feel certain he will listen to reason.” She produced a lace handkerchief from a drawer and handed it to Amelia. “Dusk will fall soon. You need to go home, get a good night’s sleep. Then we will sort this out together. All right?”
Amelia nodded and allowed Jane to fold her into an embrace.
“Have faith, dearest,” Jane whispered. “You are not alone.”
It was not a falsehood. Not exactly.
Aunt Augusta crossed her arms over her ample bosom and glared at Amelia. The last rays of the setting sun filtered through the drawing room’s west window and sparkled on the topaz pendant about her aunt’s neck. “A headache?”
Amelia nodded, resisting the urge to look at the ground.
Aunt Augusta shook her head. “I declare, I do not know what has gotten into you the past few days. You’re as flighty as I don’t know what. And sullen. Poor Mr. Littleton has traveled all this way to see you, only to be told you will not be at dinner because your head aches?”
Amelia clasped her hands behind her like a child being scolded. “I suppose nerves are getting the best of me.”
Augusta tapped her long fingers on the gossamer overlay on her sleeve. “Very well. Against my better judgment I will give Mr. Littleton your regrets.” She turned to leave but paused at the threshold. “I’ve never attempted to mother you, Amelia. Perhaps I was wrong in that. But I’d be remiss if I did not remind you what a fortunate young woman you are. Mr. Littleton is well worth having, not to mention well connected. You’re close to changing your situation for the better. Consider your actions. Do not give him cause for doubt.”
And with those final words, her aunt disappeared in the hall.
Amelia almost laughed. Consider her actions? Not give Edward cause for doubt?
She had no fear Edward would break the engagement. He would not risk the scandal . . . or the money. But her aunt’s words held truth. Whether Amelia liked it or not, time was running short. She would turn twenty-four in just shy of two months, and if she was not married by that time, Winterwood would pass to another. At this late date, she had little choice but to marry Edward.
Amelia moved to the desk, thinking of Jane’s advice. “Accept that God’s hand is in all things.” But it had never been that simple for her.
She retrieved her father’s Bible and moved to pick up her book of Psalms, but the smaller book was not in its normal place. She felt around for it deeper in the drawer but could find it nowhere. Assuming she had left it in her bedroom, she tucked the Bible under her arm and took the servants’ stairs to the second floor.
The day’s sun had warmed her bedchamber, and the warmth remained as night descended. She flung herself on the high bed and stared at its elegant draped canopy, trying to sort out all the thoughts and feelings that bombarded her. Nothing came clear, so she sat up again and picked up the Bible. The worn pages fell open, and she pictured her father sitting at his desk, poring over the same words that now stared up at her.
“Have faith, dearest.” She attempted to thrust Jane’s words from her mind. They refused to be ignored.
But hadn’t she asked God repeatedly for his help? He either had not been listening or cared not. She slapped the Bible closed and flung it down beside her. How could trusting in a plan that might or might not exist bring her anything but heartache?
Tears welled. She’d considered every detail. But was she any closer to getting her way? Fighting for control had only cinched the noose tighter. Weary of fighting and planning, she wanted rest. She wanted to feel peace. Could it really be as simple as trusting God?
A rap on the door interrupted her thoughts. She bolted upright from the bed.
“Amelia, it is Helena!” Knuckles tapped the door again. “Open the door!”
Amelia did not move.
“Whatever’s the matter with you?” Helena’s voice held urgency. “Mr. Littleton is in a terrible state. I’ve not seen him like this before.”
Amelia pressed her hand to her mouth, willing her cousin to leave.
“Amelia? Are you awake?” Helena jiggled the door’s handle. A few long seconds of silence ensued, then Amelia heard the soft pat of Helena’s slippers moving away from the door.
Amelia waited until she was
sure Helena was gone before drawing the curtains for the night. Outside, clouds were gathering.
“I want to trust you, God. But I don’t know how.” Amelia’s chin trembled. “If you have a plan for me, please make it known. I cannot do this alone.”
William poured himself another glass of brandy and leaned his arm against the library mantel. “I’ll tell you what you need, Graham, and that is a distraction.”
Graham looked up from the letter he was writing and frowned. “No, what I need is to find a nurse for Lucy.”
“Doesn’t she have a nurse already? That Irish woman?”
“I can hardly hire Mrs. Dunne while she’s employed by Miss Barrett. And I need to have someone in place before I bring Lucy here. The situation at Winterwood Manor is becoming untenable.”
William took a long swig and shook his head. “Never did care for Littleton. Now I care for him even less. And to think I was even considering selling him the west fields.”
Graham lifted an eyebrow. “I think you’d be wise not to enter into any agreement with that fellow.”
“No doubt you are right.” William dragged his fingers along the fireplace’s fluted lintel, then pushed himself away from the mantel. “But back to the distraction I was speaking of. Jonathan Riley over at Wharton Park is hosting a hunting party on his grounds. Nothing extravagant, just gentlemen who like to follow the hounds and fancy some cards and a drink or two afterward. I depart in the morning and will likely stay a few days. Riley’s estate is only an hour or so away by horseback. Join us.”
Graham considered the offer. The idea of a few days spent in mindless diversion tempted him. But too much of his youth had been wasted away in “distraction.” He had left such pastimes locked in his past, and he was not about to revisit them. “Thanks, but no. I’ve things to do.”
“Suit yourself. I still think it would do you good.”
William moved to exit the room, but changed his mind and dropped into a chair. “Of course, it is none of my business, but it seems a shame that Miss Barrett’s marrying Littleton. She’s so attached to Lucy that she would probably marry you just to keep the child with her. If Littleton was as disrespectful as you claim, she’d probably be grateful for it.”