by Sarah Ladd
His dark eyes flicked from her to the door and back to her again. “Is this what it has come to, Amelia?”
He took an unsteady step toward her. She clasped her hands protectively in front of her and stepped back. He advanced on her again.
And then something shifted within her.
She thought of Captain Sterling’s bravery. His strength. He might not be here, but she could be strong on her own.
She must be strong.
She stood her ground, daring him to come closer. “Why did you visit the Hammonds?”
Edward extended his palms toward her. “Look at me, Amelia. I haven’t eaten. I haven’t slept. You’ve driven me to desperation. Please release me from my misery. I—”
“You have not answered my question.”
“Why do you suppose I went to the Hammonds?” His short laugh sounded almost like a sob. “Regardless of what you think of me, Amelia, I am not a fool. I know you hold Mrs. Hammond’s counsel in high regard. I thought if she talked to you—”
“That I would what? Change my mind?”
He smoothed his ebony hair, then tugged at his striped waistcoat, the same one he had worn the previous evening. “One could only hope. Do you think I like this? Pleading for your uncle to let me into his home so I can beg you to reconsider? I admit that I’ve behaved poorly. I said things I shouldn’t have. But I love you. That has not, nor will it ever, change.”
“It’s too late, Edward. What’s done is done. My decision is made.”
He took another step toward her. She tensed but did not back away. “I know you, Amelia. You don’t mean that.”
“On the contrary, Mr. Littleton. You don’t know me at all.”
“Mr. Littleton?” His head jerked back as if she had slapped him. “Such formality. Is that how it is to be?”
“It is.”
A flash of anger sparked in his eyes, but then his expression softened. “Apparently I did not realize how much you cared for the child. I can admit I was wrong. If you’ll reconsider, she can stay with us as long as you like. Please, darling Amelia, reconsider.”
“I’m sorry, Edward.”
Another laugh. “So I am to believe the captain has truly caught your fancy, hmm? What line of lies has he fed you? Or perhaps he’s showing you the ways of the world?”
He took yet another step in her direction. Every muscle in her body poised to move quickly if need be. “Mr. Littleton, I want you to leave.”
He lunged forward, grabbing her hands and pulling her toward him. “No, I will not leave. By my honor, I will continue to fight for you, Amelia.”
Amelia had heard enough. “I believe you mean you will fight for Winterwood.”
Edward dropped her hands. “What?”
“I heard you and Uncle last night in the library, before I came in. You were talking about Winterwood, about the money. About my father’s will.”
“You misunderstood.”
“No, I do not believe that I did.”
He staggered back. “And do you think this man—this captain—is any different? Of course he wants to marry you. You are beautiful. Wealthy. And you will take care of his child. He is manipulating you.”
Amelia shook her head. “I am sorry if I have caused you pain. I truly am. But circumstances change. People change. I have grown to love Lucy as if she were my own. Her happiness and security are my happiness and security. And I have no faith that either of us will be happy or secure with you as master of Winterwood. So you must understand. My decision is final.”
“This is preposterous.” Edward’s voice escalated. “Do not think for a minute that I—”
“James!”
Confusion fell across his features, then a wary smile. “Oh, come on, Amelia. You don’t think—”
Her second cry was louder. “James!”
The older man popped his gray head through the door, his expression concerned. “Yes, miss?”
“Mr. Littleton is leaving. Immediately. Please call for his carriage, or horse, or however he came.”
James stammered. “But Mr. Barrett said—”
Her voice hardened. “I am my father’s daughter and heiress to Winterwood Manor. Please see that Mr. Littleton has his coat and have him escorted to the gate.”
Edward rolled his eyes. “Amelia, this is ridiculous.”
Ignoring Edward, she turned to the butler. “Thank you, James. And when you are done, please send Elizabeth up to my chamber.” She gathered her skirts and brushed past James without so much as a glance back at her guest.
After a nap and a warm bath, Amelia dressed in a gown of brown cambric embroidered with small white roses along the hem. She sat at her dressing table as Elizabeth worked to brush the stubborn tangles from her hair. Every stroke aggravated her aching head, so she dismissed Elizabeth and decided to perform the task herself.
As the minutes ticked, her reflection in the glass grew murky. Now that autumn had slipped into winter, night fell early over the moors. She abandoned the task completely and shifted her attention to the window, which framed the purple twilight blanketing Sterling Wood. A chill traveled along her spine. She stood, crossed to the window, and told herself to draw the drape, but couldn’t resist looking for a shadow outside. She’d never actually seen Edward leave.
She returned to her dressing table and lifted the note that had arrived from Jane that afternoon. Her friend was planning to host a dinner on Wednesday night to celebrate Amelia’s forthcoming union with Captain Sterling. Amelia shook her head in amazement. Only Jane could organize such an event on such short notice.
Would it accomplish its intended purpose? No doubt news of her dissolved engagement with Edward had already spread to every corner of the village. She imagined every idle tongue wagging outside the dressmaker’s and butcher’s shops. But surely Jane was right. If Mr. Hammond gave the union his blessing, others would follow.
Amelia rubbed her hands over her arms, hoping to generate a little more warmth. The dress seemed pitifully thin for the weather, or perhaps it was the dampness of her hair on her back that made her shiver. She pulled a thick woven shawl from her wardrobe and wrapped her fingers around the candlestick. A visit with Lucy was just what she needed.
Amelia made her way through the labyrinth of stairs and hallways to Lucy’s room, where a cheery fire danced in the wide stone fireplace and bathed the room in a warm glow. Two rocking chairs flanked the ornately carved mantel. In the chair to the left sat Mrs. Dunne, her back facing the door, her figure shadowy against the fire’s glow. She sang softly as she rocked. A lullaby! Amelia searched her memory, unable to recall anyone singing such a song to her. She stepped closer, straining to hear.
“Sing hushabye loo, low loo, low lan. Hushabye loo, low loo—”
Mrs. Dunne turned with a start. Lucy was nestled in her arms, her eyes closed in peaceful sleep.
“Forgive me, Mrs. Dunne. I’ve no wish to disturb you.”
“’Tis no trouble, miss.” A welcoming smile dimpled Mrs. Dunne’s rosy cheeks. “Just singing to young Miss Lucy here. It’s tired out, she is.”
Amelia pulled the other rocking chair closer to Mrs. Dunne and sat down. “That was a beautiful song you were singing.”
“Me mam sung it to me many years ago. I sang it to my own sweet babes, and now I’m singin’ it to this little mite.”
Amelia leaned over and brushed Lucy’s curls from her forehead. “You must miss seeing your own children every day, Mrs. Dunne.”
“Aye, that I do. But this angel won’t be needin’ me too much longer, and then I’ll be back to my own. I daresay they’ve managed well enough without me, what with my oldest girl almost grown herself.”
Amelia looked down at her hands, a familiar guilt tugging at her heart. How much had Mrs. Dunne sacrificed to care for Lucy? “We’ll miss you, Lucy and I, when the time comes.”
“Oh, we’ll see each other from time to time. ’Tis but a short walk from our farm to here.” The older woman stared into the fir
e, her round face rosy in the firelight. “When we love someone, we do what is necessary to provide for ’em. I know ye’ll do that for Miss Lucy here.”
Amelia leaned back and began to rock, feeling peaceful for the first time all day. From their first meeting, the nurse’s pleasant attitude had drawn Amelia in. And they would never have met if not for Katherine. Mrs. Dunne’s reputation for midwifery was unparalleled, and when the difficulties arose with Katherine’s pregnancy, Mrs. Dunne had offered advice and guidance. Then when Katherine died and Lucy required a wet nurse, Mrs. Dunne, having recently weaned a child of her own, had filled the role seamlessly. Despite the differences in their stations, these days she sometimes felt Mrs. Dunne was her only friend in the house.
“Speakin’ of returning to family.” Mrs. Dunne looked down at the sleeping baby. “Might I ask if the captain’s made any decisions with regard to Lucy’s future?”
Amelia blinked. She’d assumed Mrs. Dunne had heard her news from the other servants. But the woman appeared totally unaware. Amelia leaned back in her rocking chair. “Perhaps you’ve not heard, but my plans have shifted. I have parted ways with Edward Littleton and will marry Captain Sterling this Friday. So your position is secure here at Winterwood Manor if you can continue on.”
Mrs. Dunne nodded. “Aye, miss, I’ll be thinkin’ on that.”
An awkward silence hung in the air, so Amelia promptly changed the subject.
“I cannot believe Lucy is asleep already. Do you think she will wake if you hand her to me?”
Mrs. Dunne’s throaty chuckle brought a smile to Amelia’s face. “I’m of the mind the Lord himself could come with the wind an’ the fire, and it wouldn’t wake this little one. Here.”
Amelia took Lucy in her arms, leaned back slowly, and nestled the child in the crook of her elbow. Nothing compared to the serenity of cradling a sleeping infant. Her rhythmic breathing and soft scent carried away every trace of the day’s troubles.
“Would ye like me to read to you, miss?”
Amelia pulled her gaze away from firelight dancing on copper curls. “That would be lovely.”
“Maybe something from God’s book?”
Amelia tensed, then exhaled. “From the Psalms, please.”
“Of course.” Mrs. Dunne leaned over the side of her chair and pulled a worn leather volume from a lopsided reed basket.
“Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly.” The cadence of the woman’s brogue sounded sweet as any song. Amelia closed her eyes to listen.
“His delight is in the law of the Lord; and in his law doth he meditate day and night. And he shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in his season; his leaf also shall not wither; and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper.”
I want to be like that, Amelia mused. Fruitful. Like a tree by the water.
“The ungodly are not so: but are like the chaff which the wind driveth away. Therefore the ungodly shall not stand in the judgment, nor sinners in the congregation of the righteous.”
The words rang like poetry, but their meaning sliced deeper than words intended to merely entertain.
What makes a person righteous instead of ungodly?
Lucy shifted in Amelia’s arms, and she looked down at the soft curve of the baby’s lips.
I want to be godly. For Lucy. For myself. I want God to be pleased with me.
“For the Lord knoweth the way of the righteous: but the way of the ungodly shall perish.”
You do know my ways, don’t you, Lord? Amelia thought back over the past weeks. When she strung the painful events together in her mind, she could see that none of it had happened by accident or her own doing. Minute by minute, God had indeed been faithful to her.
Hope sparked, glowing at first like a tiny ember. Each word Mrs. Dunne uttered fanned her desire to know more.
Lucy grew hot as she slept, and Amelia shifted the babe in her arms. Her sleeve was damp with Lucy’s perspiration. Fiery locks clung to her forehead, and Amelia sobered. The memory of Katherine’s hair clinging to her forehead flashed before her. The same titian hue.
At the memory a particular passage came to mind. “Mrs. Dunne, would you please read the Twenty-Third Psalm?”
Mrs. Dunne didn’t need to turn the page. The words, memorized, slipped from her lips in perfect rhythm. Amelia straightened. She’d not heard nor read the words since Katherine’s last day. Then she had spoken them without faith. How would she receive them now?
As the familiar verses washed over her, she realized she had a choice. She could continue stumbling forward in unbelief, or she could accept that she had a shepherd—and be grateful.
“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.”
Jane believed it. Katherine had believed it.
In that moment, Amelia chose to believe it too.
Graham sank down into the office chair in the library and rested his forearms on the leather inlay of the desk. He studied the gold embossment adorning the edge. He hadn’t noticed the detail before. The desktop, which only hours ago stood littered with papers and books, was now clear.
He leaned back to open the desk drawer. No ledger either. What else was William hiding?
He reached forward for the writing box on the corner. He needed to write Carrington a note about his intention to anonymously buy the land back from Littleton, whatever the cost, then respond to Lieutenant Foster’s letter regarding the additional ship repairs.
The note to Carrington took minutes. He dried the ink, folded the parchment and sealed it, and set it aside for a courier, then pulled Foster’s letter from his satchel. As he reread the assessment of damages, Graham cupped his hand behind his neck and rubbed the tight muscles, willing the memories of smoke and screams to retreat from his mind. Would he ever be free of them?
With the wedding scheduled for Friday, he’d make the long trip to Plymouth the following week to oversee the repairs personally. The success of his missions was entirely on his shoulders. It was his ship, his responsibility.
Plymouth. Another rush of memories bore down upon him. He’d said good-bye to Katherine in Plymouth, but the place stood out in his mind for another reason.
Graham rubbed his hand against the rough stubble on his chin. Stephen Sulter. How long had it been since he’d seen the man? Four years? Five? As a lad he’d learned from Sulter everything he knew about running a ship and being a fair leader. And more. He stared at the blank paper, but his quill refused to scratch across the smooth surface. Why had he avoided contacting his former captain for so long?
Graham knew the answer to that question. Pride. He didn’t want Stephen Sulter to know he had failed.
Sulter no longer lived in Plymouth, of course. The man had left the navy for the church and now served as vicar for a parish in Liverpool. Graham knew he should go see Sulter. But if he did, what would he say to the man? That he’d relapsed into old habits? That as a result, nine men died and almost a dozen had been wounded? The thought of admitting that failure to anyone made him cringe. But to tell Sulter, the man who had helped him turn his life around and become a man of God? How could he face that?
He rubbed his face with his hand as memories of that time in his life overtook the others. Such peace had covered him then. Was it too late to get it back? Would God even forgive him after so much time?
Perhaps he would visit Sulter before returning to sea. Or perhaps it was still too soon.
Graham decided to save his letter to Foster for the morning. He retired to his bedchamber. But try as he might, sleep eluded him. He tossed one way, then the other, unaccustomed to such a struggle.
Graham folded the pillow in half and tucked it under his head. If only he were on his ship. The gentle roll of the sea usually rocked him to sleep, lapping waves serving as a soothing lullaby. This incessant ticking of the mantel clock was enough to drive anyone mad.
He yanked
the pillow from beneath his head and hurled it to the ground. During the day he possessed greater control of his thoughts, but at night, in complete silence and darkness, his worries magnified.
After pushing himself up from the bed, he snatched the candle from the nightstand and carried it to the fireplace to light the wick. The flame danced in the drafty room. He moved to the window and lifted the curtain to peer into the night. The outlines of the main stable and the groundskeeper’s shed could barely be seen under the cloak of darkness. A few more hours needed to pass before Eastmore’s grounds would awaken.
He dropped the curtain. Reading would distract him for an hour or two.
He knelt before his wood-and-leather traveling trunk, which had arrived at Eastmore Hall a few days after he had, unlatched the brass lock, and propped open the lid. Inside, his belongings were packed into tight, neat rows. On top lay his uniform jacket and buff breeches, tucked away until he returned to his ship. He smoothed the jacket’s lapel and placed it on the ground, along with his breeches, then grabbed a stack of books. As he did, his gaze fell upon a small tortoiseshell trinket box with ivory inlay.
Katherine’s box.
Gingerly he set the books aside. He picked up the box and turned the key in the delicate lock. Inside, every memento told the story of their romance, and just looking at them transformed his frustration into sorrow. He had not looked inside it since placing Katherine’s letter there two weeks ago. But for some reason, tonight, he felt the need to look at them all, to hold them in his hands. To be reminded. As he anticipated another marriage, even a marriage of convenience, he must find a way to say farewell.
The tiny box was packed as tidily as his traveling trunk. Graham lifted out the pocket watch Katherine had given him on their wedding day. It had belonged to her father. The candle’s light caught the metal surface and flashed into the chamber’s darkness. One day he would give the watch to Lucy, perhaps on her wedding day. He laid it down carefully atop the other items in the trunk. He needed to give it to Amelia for safekeeping. If he never returned, he didn’t want it to find a final resting place on the ocean’s bed.