by Sarah Ladd
Her body shivered from cold, and her wet cape clung uncomfortably to her limbs. Was this really going to happen? Renewed excitement surged through her body, dancing in her stomach. She would marry Captain Sterling and be free from Edward. Most importantly, Lucy would be with her always. She whirled around in the shadowed vestibule and allowed her hood to fall to her shoulders. Not even the dampness of her clothes or the chill in her bones could quench the joy in her heart.
Faint moonlight slid through a tiny window on the staircase. She gathered her skirts and started up the stairs, pausing at the narrow window and peering through the wavy glass. She watched the captain’s black silhouette stride toward Sterling Wood and disappear into the night’s murky mist. A strange sensation danced in her stomach. Despite her protests, Captain Sterling had insisted on seeing her back to Winterwood. Never before had she walked alone with a man, let alone in the quiet of dark. She knew it was improper. But it didn’t feel improper.
As quietly as she could, she continued up the servants’ staircase. Every creak in the ancient wooden stairs made her pause. Amelia considered climbing higher still to Lucy’s chamber. How she wanted to scoop the child in her arms and never let her go. Now she could be certain that Lucy would never be alone and would be loved always. She would not know the pain of a motherless childhood. Amelia just had to wait a little longer, until the captain returned from obtaining the license for them to wed. But she reminded herself to remain cautious. Much could happen in that time.
Deciding against waking the baby, Amelia stopped at the landing next to her bedchamber and peeked down the hall. Quiet. All of Winterwood was asleep. She moved to her door and cracked it open just far enough to slip through. The fire the maid had laid earlier had died down to embers, and she blinked, allowing her eyes to adjust to the faint glow. Tossing her cape on the chair next to the door, she turned around toward the bed and jumped to see a dark form sitting there.
“Where have you been?” hissed Helena. “I had a devil of a time trying to come up with a believable excuse for you. Are you even aware of the hour?”
Amelia jumped. “Helena, you frightened me. What on earth are you doing in here, sitting in the dark? You should be asleep.”
“As should you, dear Cousin.” Helena’s dry tone hinted at emotion simmering just below the surface. She crossed her arms over her chest. “You failed to answer my question. Where have you been?”
Amelia’s elation faded to discomfort. She reached for a candle on the small table next to her bed. A halfhearted excuse would not satisfy Helena, and the captain had asked her to keep their agreement secret until they could speak to her family together. “I needed some air.”
“Air?” Helena prodded. “It’s raining. It’s cold. You have been out in the weather this entire time? Alone?”
Awkward silence hovered between the women. Amelia leaned down to the fireplace to light the candle from its dying embers. “Damp air is the best.”
A flame flared on the tallow candle’s wick, and Amelia rose. As she turned to place the light on its stand, Helena lifted her hand. A small parchment letter rested between two fingers.
The captain’s note!
Amelia lunged forward and snatched it. “Where did you find this?”
“It appears you weren’t entirely alone.”
Amelia could not mask the defensive tone of her voice. “I don’t know why you act so surprised. I made you fully aware of my intentions, and now you are surprised that I am following through with them.”
“Yes, you told me your intentions, but I never in my wildest dreams expected you to act on them, especially after what happened in the drawing room the first day Captain Sterling arrived. Have you no shame, Amelia? How could you do this to Edward? He loves you, and this is how you acknowledge his regard?”
“Loves me? Quite the contrary, Helena. Edward loves Winterwood, and the fortune that goes with it.” She paused, carefully choosing her words. She’d been mistaken to take Helena into her confidence on this matter. How she missed the old Helena, her beloved companion. “This situation, and whom I choose to marry, is not your concern.”
A pained expression flashed across Helena’s delicate features, but she straightened and lifted her chin. “Is that so? Well then, I fault myself entirely for the misunderstanding. I’ll not deny our relationship has changed over the past several months, but I thought you might care to know my thoughts on something as important as your future husband.”
Helena’s argument fanned Amelia’s frustration. Nobody knew better than Helena how to twist words to their advantage. How could she make Helena see beyond Edward’s façade? “Helena, don’t be absurd. Of course I value your opinion. But you must trust that I know Edward’s character better than you do, and I am acutely aware of the possible repercussions of my actions.”
Helena tossed her russet braid over her shoulder. “Have you really considered what will be said if you cut Edward loose now? Father will be furious. Surely you don’t expect me to lie to him and pretend that—”
“I’m not asking you to lie. Can’t you see what I am trying to do? Can’t you see why this is important? I promised Katherine—”
Helena jumped up from the bed, her fists balled at her sides. “Will you stop falling back on that excuse?” Helena’s sudden passion on the subject caught Amelia off guard, rendering her almost speechless. “Are you prepared to throw away your reputation, your chance at happiness, your very future, for someone else’s child? For a promise made when your sensibilities were weakened with grief?”
Amelia took Helena’s hand in hers, half expecting her to pull it away. She did not. “I know you don’t understand what I am doing, but trust me. And as far as Edward is concerned, believe me when I say that he is not the man he professes to be.”
Now Helena jerked her hand away. “Unbelievable. How quickly you turn on those who care for you.” She pushed past Amelia and headed toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
“To bed.” She stopped at the threshold, placed her hand on the knob, and turned back to Amelia. “But know this, Amelia Barrett. I will no longer be party to this misguided plan of yours. You are on your own.”
Amelia put her hand on the door. “You must tell no one of this, Helena. Not yet. Please.”
Helena hesitated. “I will not, for I hope you will have a change of heart. But do not forget, Amelia, that I, too, hope to marry one day soon. What will happen when news gets out that my own cousin called off her engagement so close to the date? We—I—will be the joke of society. I’ll have little chance of an advantageous match if my family is involved in such scandal.”
Without waiting for a response, Helena left.
Amelia’s ears rang. She didn’t know whether to be angry or hurt. But as Amelia stared at the empty space where Helena had been, she realized the truth to her cousin’s words. The repercussions would certainly extend to those closest to her, and Helena might well suffer most from the consequences of Amelia’s actions. The thought of causing her cousin pain brought a pang of regret, but Amelia was too far down the path for a change of heart now. She had no choice but to marry the captain.
After returning Captain Sterling’s note to her book of Psalms, she peeled the damp dress from her body and pulled her nightdress over her head. She curled up next to her fireplace and, with her poker, prodded the fire back to life. Unease and uncertainty pushed at the joy in her heart. She stared unblinking at the leaping flames.
Dear God, I have done the right thing . . . have I not?
With buoyant steps, Graham strode out of the Doctor’s Commons building in London. His journey had been long and tiring, but well worth the effort.
The need to minimize scandal and the delicate time frame made it impractical to wait for wedding banns to be read, so a special license from the Archbishop of Canterbury was the only viable option for marrying Miss Barrett. Unfortunately, Edward Littleton had announced plans to obtain a special license for himself withi
n the next few weeks, and Littleton was currently in London on business. Concern that the man might already have applied for the license had nagged Graham every mile of the journey from Darbury. But the application process had proceeded without a hitch. He had beaten Littleton to the punch.
With the special license in hand, Graham and Miss Barrett could now be wed at any time, by any member of the clergy. He only hoped he could return to Darbury and marry Miss Barrett before Mr. Littleton paid his own visit to the Archbishop’s offices and learned what had transpired.
Graham waited for a barouche to pass before stepping into the cobbled streets, dodging a heap of straw that had fallen from a passing wagon. London’s labyrinth of avenues stretched out in unfamiliar twists, but he’d memorized the way to his hotel. It was just a short distance away. He’d walk.
Rounding the corner to Bracket Street, he nearly tripped over a small boy. Soot smudged the child’s cheek, and ragged clothes hung limp on his scrawny frame. He stopped Graham with his expressive brown eyes and extended his cap. Graham stared at him for several seconds before realizing he wanted money.
Three weeks before, Graham might have walked past the urchin with little thought. Today thoughts of Lucy made him pause. This boy was someone’s child. He fished in his pocket, pulled out some coins, and dropped them into the hat. The boy peered in, and a smile spread ear to ear. He turned and, like a shot from a cannon, disappeared into the sea of horses, carts, and people.
Graham allowed himself a gratified smile. He had helped a child and found a satisfactory arrangement for his own little one as well. All was going well. In just a short time—a week or two at most—he could return to his ship with a clear mind.
Graham wove through the throng of people who had braved the chill of the day, pausing once to allow a group of ladies to pass. His thoughts transitioned from his daughter to his soon-to-be bride and from there to his late wife.
Eighteen months had passed since he last saw Katherine, and even then, their time together had been brief. He had loved her with unequaled passion, but if he were to add up all the time he spent in her company, it came to less than six months. Indeed, the passing of time had made her seem more like a lovely memory than flesh and blood.
During those many months at sea, he had often imagined the life they would share—a life free of war and struggle. He had feared that battle might claim his life before then, never dreaming that hers would be cut short. But she was gone, along with all his hopes for their life together. Lately when he envisioned his future, he saw Lucy. And now, Miss Barrett.
As the days crept by, he was growing accustomed to the idea of marrying once again. But he still must guard himself. As Amelia had reminded him many times, this was an arrangement, not a romance. He could not—would not—begin to think of her in such an impractical way.
He straightened his hat and turned down Binkton Street. He needed to rest well tonight. It was a long way back to Darbury. And he had a stop to make along the way.
Weary from days of travel and lost in the unfamiliar streets of Sheffield, Graham almost passed Henry Carrington’s door completely. He backtracked and rapped on the door. Within seconds an elderly man appeared.
“Captain Graham Sterling to see Mr. Carrington.”
The butler ushered Graham through a narrow hallway to a small office. Graham ducked to miss the library’s low threshold and sidestepped to miss a haphazard pile of empty crates. Burgundy paper covered the walls, and thick brocade drapes blocked out the day’s light. Only a single sliver of light pressed through the curtains, illuminating tiny specks of dust hovering in the air.
At the butler’s announcement, Mr. Carrington looked up from behind an untidy stack of papers and fixed startling blue eyes on Graham. The old man’s gaze traveled from the top of Graham’s head to the brass buttons on his tailcoat to his gray pantaloons and Hessian boots. He pushed his spectacles down on his nose and squinted, making no attempt to hide his assessment. His gruff voice cracked the silence. “Captain Sterling. Come in.”
Graham stepped over a sleeping bloodhound and moved to the desk. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”
Carrington nodded toward a carved chair. “Pay no heed to the crates. Moving from one town to another is maddening business. Sit down there.”
Graham followed the man’s instruction, removing a dust cloth from the back of the chair before sitting.
Carrington leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m here to discuss Winterwood Manor.”
Carrington waved a dismissive hand and dropped his spectacles to his desk. “Any discussions related to Winterwood Manor will need to be addressed to George Barrett or Edward Littleton. I no longer manage its affairs.”
“Actually, Littleton is one of the reasons I am here.” Graham waited for the man to look back up from his papers before proceeding. “There’s been a change of plans regarding the future of the estate.”
The man’s unkempt eyebrows lifted. “You have my attention, Captain Sterling.”
Graham slid the letter confirming his license application from his leather satchel and held it in the air. “I’ve just applied for a marriage license.”
Carrington chuckled. “Getting married, are you?”
“Yes. To Miss Amelia Barrett.”
The old man jerked. His smirk dissolved. He pushed himself back in his chair, and a very different sort of smile crossed his round face. “Well, this is interesting. Interesting indeed. What happened to Littleton?”
Graham opened his mouth to speak, then snapped it shut. The less said, the better. “Let us say that circumstances intervened.”
Carrington slapped his hand on the desk. “I’m glad to hear it. Littleton’s a rogue.” His proclamation echoed off the plaster ceiling and caused the bloodhound to lift his head. “A blackguard, he is, not fit to muck Winterwood’s stables, let alone be its master.”
Graham would have enjoyed nothing more than a thorough discussion of Littleton’s shortcomings, but he held his tongue and returned the letter to the satchel. “Miss Barrett and I will wed as soon as possible, and I will return to my duties shortly thereafter. We will need someone to manage Winterwood’s affairs, and Miss Barrett trusts you. I’d like to reinstate you as steward. You will, of course, be able to take up residence again at the estate cottage whenever you are in Darbury. Is that satisfactory?”
“It is, sir. I must say I am gratified to hear of these developments. You will of course let me know if there is anything I can help you with in the meantime.”
Graham stood and held out his hand. “I’ll not keep you any longer. I’ll be in touch in the next few days with further instructions.”
Carrington stood, stepped over the sleeping dog, and completed the handshake. “Of course.”
“Good.” Graham turned to leave, then turned back. “This is not public information yet. It’s crucial you keep this news to yourself for a few days.”
“Will do, Captain. I am at your service.”
Graham quickened his pace as he rounded the corner to Winterwood’s east lawn. Skeletons of rosebushes lined the walk, and his tailcoat caught on the bare, spindly branches. Shells of leaves crunched beneath each footfall as he approached the massive house. He allowed his mind to settle on a thought he had not yet dared to entertain: within the next couple of weeks, he would become master of Winterwood Manor.
The magnitude of such a role had yet to sink in. Ever since he left Eastmore Hall as a lad to make his way in the world, he had accepted that his profession would center around life at sea. He excelled at it and, yes, he enjoyed it. His plan had been to earn enough so that he and Katherine could live out their years comfortably. He had done well enough for himself, but the fortune connected with the Winterwood estate made his wages and prize money pale in comparison.
For the time being, honor and experience bound him to his ship. But should he survive the war, would he continue i
n his profession or return here—to Lucy, to Amelia Barrett, and to this magnificent house?
A quick glance up at the rolling sky and a threatening clap of thunder made him regret his decision to leave his oilcloth coat at Eastmore Hall. With his still-nameless horse in the care of a groomsman, Graham was eager to get inside. At the main entrance, the butler took his hat and gloves and showed him to the library. No fire blazed in the black marble fireplace—odd for this time of year.
Miss Barrett’s smile, however, more than made up for the lack of warmth afforded by a fire. “Captain Sterling!”
Graham bowed toward Miss Barrett before turning his attention to Lucy, who perched on her nurse’s hip. He smiled at Lucy, who regarded him with indifference. He straightened. At least she did not cry. Then she grinned and waved a paintbrush in the air.
He laughed. “Been painting, have you, Lucy?”
She waved it again and held it out to him. He went to take it from her, and she snatched it back, giggling and looking proudly at Miss Barrett.
“You tricked me.” He chuckled. “Will you come to your papa today, or is it still too soon for that?”
He expected the baby to grab on to Mrs. Dunne in protest, but she did not withdraw as he closed the space between them. “Well, this is progress!” He lifted her from her nurse’s arms. “See now, I’m not quite as bad as all that, am I?”
Graham bounced his daughter and kissed her cheek. He looked up, suddenly aware of the two women’s eyes on him. “Miss Barrett, I was hoping to speak with you further about Lucy’s living arrangement.”
“Oh yes, of course. Mrs. Dunne, would you be so kind as to take Lucy to the nursery? I will follow soon.”
Mrs. Dunne dropped a wordless curtsy, her prominent brown eyes assessing him boldly as she took Lucy in her arms.
Once the pair left, Miss Barrett stepped to the door, popped her head out in the hall, and then pushed the door closed before returning. She turned, her face flushed. “We shan’t be disturbed. Uncle George is out, and Helena and Aunt Augusta are calling on the Mills.”