by Laura Martin
‘It’s normal to have nightmares and flashbacks after such a traumatic event,’ Edward said, trying to keep his voice neutral. ‘It will get better with time.’
Amelia looked up at him with such trust and hope in her eyes that Edward felt the weight of responsibility he had for her.
‘You promise?’
‘I promise.’
She didn’t push him as to how he knew, didn’t ask for his personal experience even though Edward suspected she knew more about his circumstances than he’d told her.
Sighing, Amelia rested her head back on his chest and Edward found himself dropping a quick kiss on her tousled hair. It was intimate and immediately he regretted it, but Amelia didn’t seem to notice.
As she relaxed into him, her body growing heavy as she slipped back into sleep, Edward continued to hold her. She wouldn’t sleep unless she felt safe and after the terror of her nightmares she needed to rest.
After a few minutes of Amelia’s steady breathing Edward closed his eyes. He knew he would not sleep, but he tried to force himself to relax. His mind was a hive of activity, thoughts and doubts and self-recriminations.
Amelia shifted in his arms, making a little mewl of contentment as she slept. It felt good to be the one who had made such a difference to her, the one that could make her feel safe. He knew he had become a little self-absorbed during his years of solitude—with only his grief for company it was difficult not to. As much as he grumbled about having Amelia invade his privacy he wondered whether maybe it was a good thing to challenge himself, just for a couple of days.
With these thoughts circling his head Edward settled himself back against the headboard, trying to ignore the warm glow he felt inside from holding Amelia in his arms.
Chapter Eight
Amelia brushed the dust from her hands and stood back to admire her handiwork. Slowly she looked around the room and frowned. Things weren’t going quite how she’d envisioned them.
That morning she’d woken once again in Edward’s arms. Memories of her nightmares the night before had flooded back and she’d felt a supreme sense of gratitude towards Edward for comforting her. When she was a child Amelia had experienced night terrors, awful dreams about the monsters coming to hurt her and her family, and every night her cousin Lizzie had climbed into bed with her and held her until Amelia had banished the bad dreams. The night before had been the worst nightmare she’d ever had, so vivid and detailed it had been as though she were back in McNair’s lodgings, plunging the small blade into his flesh once again.
At the memory Amelia shook herself. Edward had gathered her up and held her close and soon the nightmare had been weakened to a faint echo. She felt inexplicably safe with him and when he’d released her from his grip that morning she’d heard herself suppressing a murmur of protest.
As Edward had slipped away and Amelia had woken fully she had felt a crashing sense of unease. She had wanted Edward to remain holding her all morning, wrapping her in his arms and never letting go. Her body had stirred as he’d moved against her and Amelia felt that familiar heat rising all the way up from her toes.
The last time she’d reacted like that was when she’d fallen for McNair.
Not wanting to examine her feelings too deeply, Amelia had thrown herself into a flurry of physical tasks. Today she was tackling the sitting room. If she was going to stay with Edward whilst Mr Guthry made enquiries about McNair and the authorities then she had decided she would help brighten the place up a little. After the initial disaster in the rose beds yesterday Amelia was not going to be deterred. She had seen Edward’s wistful look as he took in the dust and grime as they’d searched through the bedrooms the day before. He might not know he wanted the house to be spruced up, but Amelia was sure deep down it was the truth.
Not having any budget to work with, or any means of obtaining new furnishings, Amelia had decided to first strip back the room to the bare essentials and then forage around the house for items to brighten the place up and replace what she had removed. In her mind she had pictured a wondrous transformation. The reality was a little disappointing.
Grimacing, Amelia wiped her dusty hand on her dress and swept her hair from her face. She knew she must look a state, but that was one advantage of living such a life of solitude, she did not have to care too much about her appearance. Apart from for Edward, of course.
There it was again, that rebellious thought about her host. There were many emotions when Amelia thought of Edward, gratitude and relief being in the top five, but there was something else, something deeper, too. Considering she had only met the man a few days ago, she felt a connection with him, despite the myriad of obvious differences between them. When she caught him looking at her a warmth swept through her body and he made her feel safe and secure even in these most difficult times. Then there were her reactions to him holding her close, the subtle quickening of her pulse, the warming of her skin. She knew he had only held her to comfort her from her dreams, but it had been so lovely to feel another person’s arms wrapped round her, especially as that person was Edward. It was almost devastating to think none of these feelings could be trusted.
‘Dear Lord, what on earth has happened here?’ Goody gasped as she bustled into the room.
Amelia looked around sheepishly.
‘I wanted to brighten the place up a little, to do something for Edward, Sir Edward.’
Goody patted her kindly on the hand whilst still looking around in horror.
‘Well, I’m sure he will see you have the best of intentions, my dear. That’s what counts.’
‘I want him to know I really appreciate him taking me in.’
‘You should just tell him, ducky. And never forget he is getting something out of this arrangement, too.’
Amelia looked at her, puzzled. As far as she could tell Edward was taking all the risk sheltering her for no real benefit. It wasn’t as though she had any money to pay him for her lodgings, or any contacts in this country to see him justly rewarded for his kindness.
‘He gets your company,’ Goody said. ‘Something he sorely needed,’ she added half under her breath.
Amelia had to smile. Although Goody was very polite to Edward and acted in many ways the good family servant, she did have quite strong opinions about her former master with regard to his well-being.
‘Why don’t we get these dust sheets cleared out of here and you can help me give the room a good airing?’ Goody suggested. ‘After that we can worry about putting things back together.’
Amelia relished the physical work of folding the dust sheets into neat squares which they stacked in one corner and then cleaning and polishing the furniture that had dulled with disuse. As they worked Goody chatted away, talking about life in the village and giving Amelia the gossip on the locals. It made Amelia feel normal for a while and part of her craved this sort of life. A life where she belonged somewhere, where people knew her. In India she had felt at home for many years, she had a loving if distant father and her cousin Lizzie was her closest friend and confidant in the world. True, she missed her mother who had died when Amelia had been just seven, but she hadn’t been unhappy, not until McNair had come along and seduced her with his honeyed words. Then she couldn’t wait to get away, to chase after the man she’d thought she’d been in love with. The rolling green hills and dusty tracks that surrounded her home had lost their charm and Amelia had lost interest in the people who surrounded her. Now, looking back, she could see how self-absorbed she’d been. No wonder her father had despaired and sent her to England for a Season in London.
As she worked she wondered what she wanted from her future. The things that had once seemed so important to her, excitement and adventure, now felt soured and naive. If she could have anything it would be to turn back time, to have never met McNair, never fallen under his spell and never followed him bac
k to England. She would give anything not to have his death on her conscience. No matter what Edward said, she still believed she must surely have killed him.
‘I think that’s enough for today,’ Goody said when they had wiped down all the surfaces and rid the room of dust. ‘Tomorrow we can work on the carpet and curtains. I’ve got dinner to prepare now and you look as though you could do with a bath.’
At the suggestion Amelia almost squealed with delight. A bath would be glorious. She had managed to scrub most of the grime from her body with cold water, but it had not been a pleasant or relaxing experience. Now she was covered in dust and certainly not looking or feeling her best.
‘Would it be possible?’
Goody laughed at her hopeful expression and took her by the arm.
‘It won’t be the most glamorous bath ever, but it’s possible.’
* * *
Edward regarded the house with a critical eye. When he had woken this morning, stiff from holding Amelia in a sitting position all night, he’d felt the need to clear the cobwebs from his head. Donning his heavy boots and a coat to barricade him from the cold, he’d set out to take a walk about the estate. It had been an eye-opening experience.
Although he had left the house in the past three years he had never really done so with an appraising eye. Today he’d forced himself to look at the overgrown garden, the tumbledown portions of the house and the neglected estate, despite the feelings of regret they inspired inside him. Edward knew he’d let things go, stopped caring about what had once been so important to him. For a long while he hadn’t seen the point of worrying about the state of his birthright, his estate, as he had lost his family, the people he had worked so hard to give a good lifestyle. His family would no longer grow up in Beechwood Manor and to Edward that had been a good enough reason to let it fall into disrepair.
Sighing, he acknowledged all the work that needed to be done to get the estate back to its former glory. It seemed almost insurmountable and, if he had been faced with such a challenge even a couple of weeks ago, then he would have retreated back to his rooms and tried to forget about it. But he wondered whether he needed a project to focus on, something that he could be proud of. For too long he had allowed himself to languish and now he could see just how his estate had suffered.
Knowing he didn’t need to make a final decision on what to start with straight away, Edward re-entered the house. Maybe it was enough that he was acknowledging the disrepair and the damage, one day he would decide what he needed to do. The idea of employing a gardener or an architect to fix the structural damage filled him with dread, but part of him wondered if he needed to take the first step to restoring the house he had once been so happy in.
Hearing a soft, sweet melody coming from the direction of the kitchen, Edward stopped where he was and listened for just a second. In all the years Mrs Henshaw had been his housekeeper he had never heard her sing. The dulcet tones must be coming from Amelia.
Suddenly he wanted to talk to her, share some of his plans for the estate. He hesitated, nearly heading for the solitude of his rooms anyway, but decisively he changed direction and made his way towards the kitchen. There was no harm in talking to her about the house and gardens. Maybe Mrs Henshaw would have a plate of warm, buttery biscuits he always remembered so fondly from his youth.
As he pushed open the door to the kitchen the humidity hit him and made him pause. It was a warm, damp heat, not usual for this part of the house. Inside there was a big screen pulled across one half of the kitchen and the sound of soft splashing and Amelia singing coming from behind it.
Edward swallowed, looking around for Mrs Henshaw. She was nowhere to be seen.
The scene was so domestic, so routine, but Edward felt his senses heighten and his blood begin to rush around his body. It was natural for Amelia to be taking a bath. In fact, if he was any kind of host he would have provided her with the means to bathe earlier after her dash over the stormy Sussex Downs. What was not natural was his presence in this room with her. He should leave, slip out before Amelia or Mrs Henshaw found him here.
With once last glance at the screen Edward left the room, stopping to rest his forehead on the cool plaster of the wall outside. He could still hear Amelia’s singing, the sweet soft tones drifting from the kitchen and trying to entice him back in like a siren’s call.
Part of him wanted to deny the physical reaction he was experiencing at this very moment, but it was not the first time he had responded in this way to Amelia. That very first time he’d laid eyes on her as her wet dress slipped from her shoulders he’d felt the same. And again each time he’d held her body close to him at night. This was not a one-off.
The cool wall against his forehead was helping to disperse the vivid images racing through his imagination and the pictures of Amelia drizzling water over her naked body in the bath started to fade. Edward stood up straighter, turned and almost collided with Mrs Henshaw.
‘Are you well, Sir Edward?’ the kindly older woman asked with real concern in her voice.
Edward managed an unconvincing nod.
‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
Not seen, Edward thought, just aware of. Everything he did, every decision he made, his late wife’s presence was there with him. He had loved Jane and he had lost her, and now he was defiling her memory by feeling desire for a woman he barely knew.
‘What have you got there?’ Edward asked, trying to distract himself.
‘Three dresses for Amelia. I took the liberty of purchasing them from the dressmaker’s in the village. They’ll be far too big, of course, but I can adjust them.’ She paused for a second. ‘Amelia doesn’t want to be walking around in Jane’s clothes.’
Edward nodded. He supposed he should have thought of it himself.
‘They’re a present from you,’ Mrs Henshaw said with a smile, patting him on the arm in a motherly fashion.
‘How generous of me.’
‘I’ll be serving dinner in the dining room at eight,’ Mrs Henshaw said, opening the door to the kitchen. Edward managed to restrain himself from peering over her shoulder, balling his hand into a fist and digging his nails into his palm.
‘The dining room?’
‘Second door on the left in the main hallway.’
He remembered where it was, he’d eaten in there enough throughout his life.
‘It’s shut up.’
‘Not any more. I cleaned it earlier today. You can’t expect Miss Amelia to take all her meals down here in the kitchen with me.’
Edward thought Mrs Henshaw would likely be better company than him.
‘Anyway, it’ll do you good to dress for dinner. How long has it been since you put on your full dress suit?’
Years. In fact, it had probably been eaten by moths many moons ago.
‘It will be too much trouble for you to make dinner and serve it, after you seem to have spent the day cleaning as well,’ Edward said.
‘Don’t worry, Sir Edward, I’m hardy,’ Mrs Henshaw said cheerfully. ‘Although I wouldn’t say no to an extra pair of hands to help around the place. Maybe a maid or an odd-jobs boy, just someone to do the fetching and carrying my old arms are too tired for.’
There was a mischievous glint in his old housekeeper’s eyes and Edward began to wonder how long she had been planning her assault on his life. Mrs Henshaw had been with his family for more years than he could remember. She cared about him, that he knew, and throughout the years of his seclusion she had insisted in keeping the house ticking over even if he hadn’t kept on any other staff.
‘You wouldn’t want to see me suffer in my old age, would you, sir?’
Was it his imagination or had she become more stooped in the last thirty seconds? He watched as she grimaced and steadied her back with one hand.
‘You are hardl
y old, Mrs Henshaw, I have a feeling you will outlive us all.’
This made the older woman smile.
‘But about that maid?’
Edward had a soft spot for Mrs Henshaw and her overt meddling didn’t annoy him as it would if it came from anyone else.
‘Fine. One maid. But she’d better keep out of my way and not touch my sketches. And make it clear it is only a short-term post, just whilst Amelia remains here.’
Mrs Henshaw immediately straightened and almost skipped with glee into the kitchen. As much as he’d never admit it, it felt warming to have someone worrying about his well-being.
Chapter Nine
Edward struggled with the fabric of his neckcloth and growled softly. He couldn’t remember getting dressed for dinner to be such a complicated and arduous task, but he supposed in the days they’d hosted house parties and had friends over he’d had a valet to ensure he was properly presented.
With a grimace he glanced in the small mirror on his wall, pushing his hair back from his forehead as it flopped into his eyes. He was far from the debonair figure he was sure was popular in today’s society, but he had to admit he did look smart even if his waistcoat was a little crumpled and his neckcloth not completely straight.
As he walked from his room towards the main part of the house he felt a moment of nerves and had to chastise himself softly. This was purely a dinner with the young woman he was assisting in her plight, nothing more. There was no need to worry his polite conversation might be too rusty or his manners too abrupt. Amelia was not some woman he was trying to impress. If he said or did the wrong thing it would not matter.
All thoughts of his lack of social graces fled his mind as he reached the bottom of the stairs and turned to find Amelia beginning to descend behind him. She was dressed in a gown of deep red and, although it was once again too big for her petite frame, tonight someone had expertly pinned it to pull tight against her curves and sit well on her body. Her skin was pink and fresh and her hair still a little damp, with a few stray curls bobbing as she walked.