by Sarah Ladd
Graham nodded, grateful for the attempt at humor. “Thank you for your advice. I’ll keep that in mind next time.” He met Amelia’s eyes and a look of triumph passed between them. Littleton was gone—for now. But how long would he stay away?
William slapped Graham’s shoulder, sending sharp pains up his neck and through his injured jaw. “My little brother, master of Winterwood Manor. Impressive.” He stared dramatically at the ceiling. “Does this mean you will be keeping your feet firmly planted on land now that you have a beautiful bride to cherish and love?”
The words cherish and love hung awkwardly between them. Amelia looked down at the floor. Graham straightened his jacket. “I’ll return to the war as soon as the ship repairs are done, as planned.”
“Seems a shame.” William moved toward the door and then turned back to Amelia. “It’s late. Miss Barrett, it was a pleasure to see you, even under these peculiar circumstances.” He bowed. “Graham, are you coming?”
“I’ll be there straightaway.”
“Then I’ll get the horses. That is, if your beast of an animal hasn’t managed to wander off.”
Graham shifted his weight as the heavy front door closed behind William. “Will you be all right?”
The trembling in Amelia’s lips belied the confidence in her voice. “I should think so. Winterwood is my home, after all.”
“I doubt you shall see any more of Littleton tonight, but perhaps it would be more prudent for you to stay at Eastmore Hall for the time being.”
Amelia raised a blond eyebrow. “Me? At Eastmore Hall? Thank you, no. What would people say?”
“I would think it is a little late to consider the opinions of others.”
She flinched at his comment but said nothing. She gathered her hair and absently wrapped her hand around the thick locks.
“Your cousin would be welcome to accompany you, of course.”
She shook her head no, so Graham headed for the doorway, where James had appeared with his hat. He didn’t want to leave her, not just yet, but he could hear William with the horses on the front drive and weary shadows smudged Amelia’s smooth cheeks. “It’s been a long night. You need rest. I will be by first thing in the morning and attempt to settle things with your uncle.”
“Thank you, Captain Sterling.”
He tucked his hat under his arm, bowed slightly, then lingered in the doorway for a moment, memorizing the look of her—the long, lustrous hair, the gentle mouth, the sapphire eyes. He suspected those eyes would haunt him from that moment forth.
Graham didn’t know if his throbbing jaw or the awkwardness of his position awakened him. With slow, deliberate movements, he pushed himself off the brocade cushion. Every muscle ached, and salty dried blood lingered on his lip.
When had he finally slept? Last he remembered, he’d returned from Winterwood in the black of night, opened Eastmore Hall’s library window for some air, and sat on the plush settee to nurse his wounds. Now the sun’s long morning rays reached into the room, bathing the space in a yellow glow.
Graham shook sleep from his limbs. He distinctly recalled explaining his and Amelia’s engagement to William, careful to withhold any indication that she had proposed to him. He must have dozed off after that, and apparently his brother had done the same, for William’s lanky frame slumped in an overstuffed wingback chair across the room.
Graham was like that too—able to sleep anywhere. Hammock or wooden deck, inside his cabin or under the stars, it didn’t matter. His old captain, Stephen Sulter, always said that easy sleep was a sign of a clear conscience. Graham wasn’t so sure.
He yanked off his boot and flung it in William’s direction. It bounced off his brother’s knee and thudded to the oriental rug. William didn’t budge.
Graham removed his other boot and stood, grimacing as he stretched the kinks in his back and shoulders. He walked over to the open window, where heavy emerald drapes billowed in the wind, and closed it. Then he stepped over one of William’s sleeping hunting dogs to stoke the pitiful fire. His muscles protested the movements, and he rubbed a protective hand over his ribs. Judging by the sensitivity, he must have taken more blows than he remembered.
It had been awhile since he’d engaged in a fight like that—many years, in fact. In his youth, however, a fiery temper and love of drink had plopped him right in the middle of brawl after brawl. Then Stephen Sulter led him to the Lord and helped Graham put an end to his dissolute ways. But now, after years of loss and disappointment, he found himself wondering about the God who rescued him from a life of rebellion. He did not actually doubt the Father’s presence, but he hadn’t felt it in a long time.
He rubbed his hands together and blew warm air against his cold palms. He needed a hot drink to dull the effects of the chill in the room. Graham turned from the fireplace and looked for the bell to call the servants.
He shuffled through the strewn papers and letters on his brother’s desk in search of the elusive bell. How could William ever find a thing with this mess? He had begun to pile the papers when words scrawled across the top of a parchment caught his eye. Receipt of sale. He picked up the paper and read further. He glanced over at William, who still snored in the corner chair, then returned his attention to the document. At the bottom were two signatures: William Sterling and Edward Littleton.
The sight of Littleton’s name hit with the power of another fist to the jaw. Hungry for the meaning, he skimmed the document, unable to read it fast enough. He forced himself to read it again. Could this be true? Had William sold part of Eastmore to that scoundrel?
The room’s chill vanished. His arms and chest burned with exasperating intensity, and a million thoughts bombarded him. Did Miss Barrett know about this purchase? When had it happened? Was there a way to revoke it?
He stepped over to William and nudged his foot. “Wake up.”
At the gesture, William drew a deep breath and opened his eyes, squinting in the sun’s light. He covered his eyes with his hand and frowned. “Go away.”
“What’s this?”
William’s face scrunched. “What’s what?”
Graham held the document in the air. “It says ‘receipt of sale.’ It’s signed by Edward Littleton.”
William groaned and scratched his scalp as he pulled himself up to a seated position. “I sold the west fields to Littleton about a week ago. Leave my personal affairs alone.” He lay his head back and closed his eyes. “Now go away and let me sleep.”
Graham kicked his brother’s foot again. “Were you going to mention this? Or just let me wake one day to find Edward Littleton practically in my lap?”
William opened his eyes again. With a sudden burst of energy he jumped up from his chair and grabbed the document from Graham’s grip. “Yes, I was going to tell you,” he spat. “Call me inconsiderate, but I didn’t think last night would be the most opportune time to enlighten you, what with all of the yelling and punching.”
“You told me you had no intention of dividing Eastmore.”
“Of course I didn’t want to. What fool would? But I did what I had to do. I needed the money, and Littleton wanted to buy the land. So I sold it to him.”
The snippet of conversation from a few days ago about William selling his horse flickered in his mind. “Why do you need money, anyway? What happened to all of it?”
“Do you mean Father’s money,” William huffed, “or mine?” He stuffed the document in a desk drawer. “Either way, it is none of your business. I did what I needed to do.”
“Why didn’t you come to me?”
“What, go crawling to my baby brother? I can handle the affairs here on my own.”
“That’s preposterous.”
William slammed the drawer shut. “You think it’s easy, managing an estate this size?”
“I think it’s easy to make foolish decisions.”
“Ah, I see. Any financial trouble that has befallen the great Eastmore Hall must be of my own doing. Perhaps you forget that I
inherited this monstrosity and all the worries that accompany it. You, on the other hand, have been conveniently absent from any family issue, small or great.”
William’s sharp retort sounded suspiciously like an accusation. Graham squared his stance. “It was not my choice to leave. Or have you forgotten?”
William whirled to face his brother. Gone was his customary lighthearted nature. His response was one of a cornered animal, ready for battle. “You think you could have done better? I did the best I could with what I had, and I’ll not apologize for it. When someone wanted to buy some of my land—my land—especially the man I thought was to be my neighbor, I was well within my rights to do so. How was I to know you were going to sweep his betrothed out from underneath him?”
Graham shifted his weight as he contemplated his response. A million retorts fired in his head about responsibility and discipline. But now wasn’t the time. “Eastmore, and what you do with it, is your business. I have no say in it. What matters to me now is keeping Littleton away from Winterwood.”
William leaned against his desk. The hunting dog rose and trotted to her master, and William scratched her ear. “You know, there is a very simple solution.”
Graham snatched up his boot. “And what is that?”
William shrugged. “You will soon be marrying the answer to both our problems.”
Graham glared at his brother. “What are you suggesting?”
“Oh, come on.” William rolled his eyes. “Toss a little money at Littleton and buy the land for yourself. Make Littleton an offer he cannot turn down, and he’ll sell you the land.” A twinkle shimmered in his pale eyes. “And as for Eastmore, when you marry, we can use Winterwood’s money to set Eastmore’s finances right. All of our problems will be solved.”
Graham didn’t need time to consider his response. “No.”
William’s eyes widened in shock. “No? Why?”
“It’s not my money to give. I promised Amelia I’d not touch Winterwood’s money.”
A short laugh burst from William. “What are you, a fool? Well then, buy the land yourself. Your prize money is no secret. Surely you have such funds. And while you’re at it, perhaps you can help me a little.”
Graham snatched up his other boot and tailcoat. The dark blue wool wrinkled under his grip. “How significant is your debt?”
“Significant enough that I had to sell the west fields. That I am selling my best horse. Who knows what’s next?”
Graham paused and looked out the window. “If you want me to help, then I need to know a number, William. How much do you owe?”
William’s face blanched, but he set his jaw. “Seventeen thousand pounds.”
“Egad, William, how did you get yourself into such incredible debt?”
William’s eyebrows twitched. “You don’t know how it’s been. I—”
Graham shot his hand into the air to silence William, but he lowered it immediately. “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know, and quite honestly, I don’t care.”
An awkward silence hovered between the men. Graham tucked his coat under his arm. “I’m going to Winterwood to talk to George Barrett. We’ll discuss this later.”
William stepped forward, blocking the threshold. “Like it or not, this is your family home too.”
Brother stared at brother. Unspoken words balanced in the empty space between them.
“I’ll help you if I can,” Graham finally said. “But Winterwood’s funds are off the table.”
The fresh scent of toasted bread, plum cake, and coffee met Amelia as she descended the stairs to the main hall. Whispers and clinking silver swirled in the morning air. The normally inviting smells of breakfast turned her stomach, and the tone of the voices tempted her to run back to her bedchamber.
When had her beloved Winterwood grown so cold?
Resolved to at least attempt to mend the rift between her and her family, Amelia forced one foot in front of the other. Her kid slippers made little sound as she stepped toward the breakfast room’s threshold. Her deliberately slow steps afforded her precious moments to attempt to hear the conversation. Uncle George’s strained voice reverberated from the room, but his words were undecipherable. She smoothed the pale pink sarsnet gown and adjusted the ivory fichu around her neck before stepping over the threshold. The sun’s bright light flooded through the window and bounced around the breakfast room, reflecting from the gilded mirror to the silver service to the sparkling ruby at her aunt’s neck.
Amelia squeezed a greeting through her constricted throat. “Good morning.”
Her uncle didn’t acknowledge her. Her aunt glared at her. Sympathy balanced in Helena’s red-rimmed eyes, but she said nothing. Amelia sat down in her chair, and immediately Sally was at her elbow with tea. She sipped the steaming liquid, hoping its warmth would soothe her mounting anxiety.
Tension hovered in the air, daring someone to be the first to speak. Finally, her aunt’s biting voice stopped Amelia midsip. “Since no one will address what has transpired, I shall.” She turned and thrust the full brunt of her glare onto Amelia. “I hope you are satisfied. In one night you have destroyed everything your uncle and I have worked so hard to create for this family. Everything!”
Uncle George snapped his paper closed and let it fall to his lap. “Don’t bother, Augusta. She has made her decision.”
Amelia snuck a glance at Helena, hoping to garner support, but Helena stared at her lap.
Aunt Augusta’s face reddened and trembled as she spoke. “Indeed she has, with little concern for the welfare of those who have sacrificed for her.”
Amelia’s Wedgwood teacup clattered against the saucer when she set it back down. Her shoulders slumped. How many times must she defend her cause? Would anything she said make a difference? She forced strength to her voice. “I hope that one day, Aunt, you will be able to understand why I have made this decision.”
“Oh, I know full well why—because you are a selfish, ungrateful girl!” Aunt Augusta swatted her napkin against the table. “You think you know better than anyone else how the world should be organized, and you consider nobody else’s concerns but your own. Think of poor Mr. Littleton! The man is heartbroken. How can he ever hold his head up in society after such a public disgrace?”
In a fluster, the plump woman pushed herself away from the table and paced behind Helena. “I would wish nothing like it on my worst enemy. And have you given any thought to how this scandal will affect your uncle’s business? The livelihood we all depend upon? I daresay you have not.” She pressed a handkerchief to her nose, and a sob broke her voice. “And I shudder to think of what this scandal will do to your cousin’s chances of making a suitable match when word is out. Selfish.”
Amelia stiffened at her aunt’s biting words and finally found her voice. “Edward will recover—of this I am certain. There is no reason why my decision should affect any business dealings.”
Her uncle huffed, and she turned to find his small eyes fixed on her. “Edward is about to be, or at least is supposed to be, a partner of mine—that is how my business will be affected. Once trust is broken, Amelia, it is not easily repaired. I gave Edward my permission to court you. I gave him my blessing to marry you. Now he has been betrayed in the vilest of manners. I shouldn’t blame the man if he never spoke to any of us again.”
Amelia’s ears flamed, and she tried to swallow. She wanted to tell them that though Edward appeared amiable, he was actually a treacherous man. Couldn’t her uncle see he was only interested in a partnership because of Winterwood’s fortune and would turn on his partner as quickly as he would on his intended? But such arguments would all be for naught. They were determined not to listen.
Uncle George continued, jowls trembling. “Edward is staying at the village inn. I plan to go to him later today to sort out this fine mess and try to salvage what is left of the family name. You may care little for your reputation or that of Edward’s, but this scandal will shed negative light on all of us.”<
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Amelia’s pulse quickened. “Edward is still in Darbury?”
“He departed from Winterwood in the black of night, Amelia.” Aunt Augusta stared down her nose. “Where did you expect him to go?”
Amelia felt as if the air had been stolen from her lungs. How could Edward remain in Darbury after being refused? What if he planned to stay?
Augusta stepped behind Helena and rested her hand on her daughter’s shoulder as she stared at Amelia. “If you are fortunate, by some miracle Mr. Littleton will be willing to look past your lapse of judgment and reconsider a future with you.”
“No.” Amelia jumped up from her chair. Her skirt caught on the table, and she stopped to free the flowing fabric. Tears gathered in her eyes, and she quickly blinked them away. She refused to give them the satisfaction of making her cry. “I am determined to marry Captain Sterling and to raise Lucy. No amount of—”
Her words broke off as horse hooves pounded outside the window. She skirted the table and rushed to the window. A thought clenched her mind, and like a wild dog violently shaking its prey, it refused to loosen its hold.
What if Edward returned to Winterwood? What would he do?
Helena jumped up from the table and joined Amelia at the window. “Who has arrived?”
Amelia’s tense shoulders relaxed as Graham’s strong profile became clear. Her confidence surged at the very sight of him. Her knees nearly buckled with relief.
Helena said the words that Amelia’s mouth could not yet form. “It’s Captain Sterling.”
“Despicable man,” huffed Aunt Augusta. In a swirl of pale blue muslin, she returned to her seat at the table. “And arriving at this early hour? Ridiculous.”
The wind billowed the captain’s black greatcoat as he pulled his horse to a stop. Amelia watched as the groom came round to take his horse. She was happy to see him, and was even more grateful to see that he had come alone. The fact that his brother accompanied him the previous night had surprised her, but William Sterling’s repeated visits to Winterwood confirmed her suspicions that he’d been too intoxicated on the occasion of his impropriety to recall it later. If he did remember it, he did not seem ready to acknowledge it, and she would not remind him. She only hoped that the captain would never find out. It was a secret she did not relish keeping. But for the sake of those involved, she must.