“Perhaps it will come all right in the end.” Amelia sighed in relief as the tea arrived. Now she would have something to do other than sit like a bump on a log. “Sugar and milk, Kate?”
“Milk, no sugar, please. Let us leave others’ problems to themselves. Lord knows, our own will be quite enough for us to conquer. Anyway,” Kate paused to take a sip, “neither Mrs. Doyle nor Miss Sharpe were in attendance at the wedding breakfast.”
“Nor Lady Burgess nor Lady Scops,” Celinda added. “Which truly surprised me. She usually attends every wedding breakfast, christening, confirmation, and wake within a five mile walk of her house.”
“Oh, dear.” Amelia had slopped the tea over into the saucer. This sounded so dire. What if they could not persuade the ladies of the ton to accept her back into their ranks? Not only would it dash the hopes of her sisters for a Season next year, but it would reflect poorly on Nathan to have married such an undesirable.
“Do not worry, Amelia.” Celinda had taken the teapot from her hostess and was pouring her own tea. “Between the five of us, we will come up with a scheme that will bring the ton around to the conclusion that you are not the wanton they believe you are.” Lady Celinda stopped, apparently realizing the import of her words. “I beg your pardon, Amelia, but I am certain you know what I mean.”
“Nathan and I were discussing that last night.” The image of them lying naked in her bed, talking about how to scotch the scandal brought heat rushing to her cheeks. She clapped her hands over her face. “Has it gotten warm in here?”
Kate smothered a smile, while Celinda seemed to ignore her question. “Did you come up with some solution? I daresay you had a similar discussion with your parents when the rumors first surfaced ten years ago.”
“Yes, I told Nathan as much.” She gulped and continued. “My parents tried every way they knew of to refute the slanders to me, but nothing worked. After the maid told another servant that she’d found blood on my sheets when I’d been ill, the gossip intensified. I tried to explain it was my courses, but they didn’t want to listen. People came forward and falsely said that I’d confided to them about my plight.” The anger at those who’d unabashedly lied about her had never quite left her. “I never confided anything to anyone. There was nothing to confide.”
“Nothing?” Stirring her tea, Kate leaned toward her. “Surely you spoke to someone other than your mother about your relationship with Lord Carrington?”
Sadly, Amelia shook her head. “I was still distraught over the defection of your brother. That was why I accepted Lord Carrington so quickly, to soothe myself that someone wanted me, loved me enough to marry me. I didn’t talk to anyone about Lord Carrington because there was really nothing for me to tell. I was going to marry him so I could be married and perhaps forget about Nathan.”
Celinda cocked her head. “I was wondering, after all this fuss about you anticipating your wedding vows, did Lord Carrington ever actually ask you to do such a thing?”
“He certainly did.” Amelia rolled her eyes, making the others giggle. “Almost from the moment I accepted him. He had not struck me before as a man with that voracious an appetite, but I assume once he thought I belonged to him, even on the strength of the settlements, he thought I should act like we were married.”
“Did Lord Carrington ever correspond with anyone about your marriage?” Bouncing on the edge of her chair, Celinda held her teacup out so it wouldn’t splash onto her green and gold gown. “A friend he may have confided in that you were not behaving toward him as you should, or some such nonsense?”
“What nonsense are you coming up with now, cousin?” Nathan had sauntered up, followed by Marcus.
“We are trying to ascertain whether or not either Amelia or Lord Carrington ever corresponded with someone to whom they may have poured their hearts out.” Dropping two goodish lumps of sugar into her cup, Celinda stirred and sat back down next to Amelia.
“Did you, my love?” Nathan settled into the chair next to Amelia’s. “Write to anyone?”
Wracking her brain to remember, she finally shook her head. “I do not recall writing to anyone during that time, save to Jonathan himself.”
All their gazes turned to Amelia, she shrank back in her chair. What had she said?
“Amelia, you wrote to your betrothed?” Even Kate looked shocked.
“My love, why did you not tell me this before? This may be our salvation.” Nathan grabbed her hands. “Do you have the correspondence at your parents’ home? If he wrote to you about his demands…”
“He did.” Amelia puckered her lips. “Nearly every one of his letters had some kind of insinuation or outright suggestion that we become intimate before the ceremony. By the time we ceased the correspondence I dreaded receiving the letters at all.”
“Then here is the proof!” Nathan grabbed her up out of the chair and hugged her. “These letters show without a doubt that you did not succumb to his persuasions.” He tilted his head back and forth, his puzzled expression deepening. “Why did you not show the correspondence when you were accused before?”
“Because I do not have it, my love.” Amelia hung her head. She’d gone through this with her parents all those years ago.
“You burned the letters?” Celinda had clasped her hands, almost in a prayerful attitude.
“No, I never possessed them.”
“What?” Her husband spoke, but all her friends looked the question as well.
“I’ve begun this badly. It is a little involved, as many requests of Jonathan’s tended to be. Please, my dear, sit down.” She seated herself and picked up her now cold tea. “Let me ring for more.”
“I’ll ring for tea.” Marcus waved her back into her seat. “Begin your tale, my lady. I am all ears to find out what the devil went on.”
“Very well.” Amelia sat with her hands primly folded in her lap. “Our correspondence began almost as soon as the ink had dried on the settlement papers. I was surprised and pleased to receive the first one, which was most flattering as I recall. But soon after they became much more amorous and he began to suggest assignations where we might meet to become more…intimate.” It had been difficult enough to confess all this to her parents; however, to be stating it all so baldly before her husband and his family… She closed her eyes against tears. It had been her own folly not to inform her mother about the content of the letters. She must pay the piper yet again, it seemed.
“Please continue, my dear.” Nathan had gathered her hand in his and had threaded their fingers together.
Nodding, she summoned her courage once more. “To discourage him, I told him I was afraid my mother might intercept the letters and intimated that she would read my correspondence from time to time. I hoped this would curb his epistolary efforts, but instead he came up with a plan to circumvent my scheme. He arranged with a former housemaid of his, who now lived in London, to receive our letters. The scheme was for her to hold my letters from him until I called for them. I would read them and leave them with the maid, Mary Adams. I would also leave any letters for Jonathan with Miss Adams to pass on.”
“So where is this Mary Adams now? How may we locate her?” Nathan leaped to his feet, so animated she believed he might try to fly around the room.
“My parents tried, but after Jonathan’s death everything was in disarray for a month at the least. Then when the rumors began, they questioned me and I told them about Mary Adams.” She looked from Nathan’s hopeful face to Celinda’s more cautious one. “I gave Father her address, but by then she’d left the place where I’d received the letters. No one there knew where she’d gone. Father even questioned Lord Carrington’s other servants, but the maid had been gone for some time and they could not hazard a guess where she might have gone.” Amelia shrugged. “So you see, the letters are well and truly lost, either thrown away, which I think is most likely, or still with the missing Mary Adams.”
The silence around the room would deafen her in a moment.
“Well, this seems discouraging and particularly futile.” Celinda spoke up, the only one of them not looking like grim Death had come to visit. “Still, I think we may as well do some ‘sleuthing’ as stay home feeling helpless.”
“Celinda is correct, Marcus.” His wife reached for his hand and he gave it to her immediately. “We can still do something, even if there is not much evidence left. We must make a start.”
“Then we are agreed we shall try to locate Mary Adams?” Nathan rose and the others followed suit. “Marcus and I will approach Carrington’s family. See if they or their servants remember anything of Mary. Also if they have any other correspondence belonging to Carrington. It’s long odds, but it won’t hurt to ask.”
“We three will return to the lodgings where Mary lived ten years ago. Perhaps neighbors will remember her still or have some idea where she may have gone.” Amelia sighed. “These are not odds I would wager very much on, my dear.” She gazed up at Nathan, love for him warring with the dismay of fighting the same losing battle once more.
“Do not fret, love.” He pulled her into his arms, and she reveled in the comfort she found just from his touch. “We will find a way to vindicate you and restore you to Society where you deserve to be.”
“And if we cannot?”
He sighed and held her closer. “Then we will cross that stream when we come to it.”
CHAPTER TEN
Nearly two weeks later Nathan sat in the taproom at an inn near Luton, only a mile from the Carrington ancestral estate. He’d been knocking around the area for several days, gathering as much information about the estate and its inhabitants as possible and had finally had a piece of luck last evening. Answering his question about the estate servants, the barmaid had told him he should speak with Giles Saunders, who used to be the coachman for young Lord Carrington who died. Nathan had managed to send a message, via the lass, and now sat drinking a pint, waiting for the man to appear.
Weary with the search, but determined to see it through, Nathan prayed for the man to have real information. He’d heard from Amelia that she and the ladies had found nothing in Mary’s lodgings in London. The nearby tenants had all changed from ten years before and even the landlord didn’t remember a Mary Adams after so long. Marcus had remained in London to continue his chaperonage of his sister but had made inquiries about Carrington to several of his friends at his club who remembered the man but had turned up nothing useful. Mr. Saunders looked more and more like their last hope.
An older man, tall and a little stooped, entered the taproom, peering about the dim interior as if looking for someone.
“That’s him, your lordship.” Molly, the barmaid, had come up behind him. “Mr. Saunders,” she called to the man, who smiled at her when she beckoned him over. “Lord Ainsley, this is Mr. Saunders who worked for Lord Carrington’s nephew, the young Lord Carrington who died. This here’s Lord Ainsley, Mr. Saunders.” She smiled encouragingly at the man, whose gaze shifted nervously from her to him.
“How do you do, Mr. Saunders. May I buy you a drink?” Nathan nodded to Molly who hurried away.
“Why do you wish to speak to me, your lordship? I’ve not worked at the Carrington estate for more than ten years. Not since the young master died.”
“And before that how long had you been with the family?”
“All my life, my lord. I started there as a stable lad.”
“But you left? Why?” Nathan had sized the man up as a decent chap but would have assumed he’d remain in a good post with the family he’d served so long.
“New master brought his own coachman and grooms. Turned the whole lot of us off.”
“Ah,” Nathan nodded. That did happen from time to time. “I am sorry to hear that. You found another position I trust.”
The man shrugged. “I’ve made do the last few years.”
“I am glad to hear it.”
Molly set a pint of ale on the table and Nathan nodded to Mr. Saunders, who took a cautious sip.
“Mr. Saunders, I’ve come to ask you if you remember a housemaid who worked for Lord Carrington, a Mary Adams? Molly here seemed to think you might know something about her.”
“Why’re you asking, my lord? She’s not in trouble is she?” A keen concern appeared on Saunders’s face.
“No, no trouble. I simply need to talk to her about a service she may have done for my wife some years ago. She was Miss Burrowes who was betrothed to Lord Carrington.”
“Ah, Miss Burrowes.” Saunders smiled and nodded, suddenly more at ease. “She was a sweet lady, my lord. My master was very fond of her indeed. Shame he died before they could wed.”
“Yes, it was unfortunate.” Nathan pressed on. “Do you remember Mary Adams, Mr. Saunders? It would be particularly helpful to my wife and me if we could locate her.”
“Oh, aye, my lord. I remember Mary well. I was sweet on her until she left the family’s service.”
Praise God, perhaps their luck had changed. “And you wouldn’t happen to know where she went when she left?”
“Aye, my lord. Mary told me she was going to London. Said she’d have better opportunity for work there.” Saunders’s eyes shifted away from him. “Said she’d got a better prospect than marriage to a coachman.”
Closing his eyes, Nathan sighed. All roads led to London as far as Mary Adams was concerned, and there they all stopped. “We have inquired at her lodgings in London, Mr. Saunders. Unfortunately, she’s not been there for almost ten years. No one remembers her.”
Frowning, Saunders lifted his glass. “She didn’t stay in London then?”
“Apparently not.”
“You might look for her at Toot Hill, in Essex.” Mr. Saunders tipped the glass up, taking a long pull.
Nathan caught his breath. “Toot Hill?”
“That’s the village she came from. Her aunt was in service with the Carrington family. She got Mary her place here before she died. If Mary’s scheme in London didn’t work out, she might have gone back home.”
Hope raised its head.
“I am much obliged to you, Mr. Saunders.” Rising, Nathan put half a crown on the table. “For your trouble, sir. I am off to tell my wife we may find Mary yet.”
“Good luck, my lord.” Mr. Saunders raised his glass to Nathan before downing it.
Stopping at the bar to hand Molly her half crown, Nathan thanked her sincerely for her help and strode out of the taproom. He’d be packed up and on his way in half an hour. Although his first instinct was to go straight to Essex, he’d be in more trouble if he didn’t return to London to inform Amelia and the others. Besides, his wife would need to go with him to persuade Mary, if they indeed found her, to part with the letters. If she still had them. They were still in a hobble, but just perhaps, with a bit more luck, they could find a way out.
As he tossed clothing into his valise, Nathan’s spirits rose. He’d be home by this evening and in his wife’s bed shortly after. His body stirred, showing its approval of that plan. Yes, today had been a good day, with the best yet to come.
* * * *
Two days later Amelia stood with Nathan before a pretty little cottage on the edge of the village of Toot Hill. They’d arrived the previous evening and stayed at an inn in Chipping Ongar then driven the five miles this morning to the picturesque village. An inquiry at the rectory had given them the direction to Mary Carr’s cottage.
“Do you think it’s the same woman?” Amelia straightened her shoulders, trying not to fidget. The fate of her reputation might lie with a woman who didn’t even remember her.
“I think the name is a bit too much of a coincidence for it not to be.” Taking her arm, Nathan gently urged her toward the door.
Out of nowhere, two shrieking little boys appeared, pelting down the dirt road toward the cottage.
Nathan pulled her back as the imps chased one another around the yard.
The door to the cottage opened and a woman perhaps in her late twenties stepped out the door. �
�Johnny! Willie! Stop that caterwauling or Willie goes back to his Da’s.”
The two imps slid to a halt right in front of them. The larger of the two boys, the one with dark hair, turned and Amelia gasped.
“Yes, Mam,” he called to the woman. “C’mon, Willie. I’ll race ya to the big oak tree.”
“Ah, you’ll not beat me again.” The two took off back up the lane.
“What is it, Amelia? You’re trembling.” Nathan took her arm once more.
It couldn’t be, and yet somehow, it was. She shook her head, still unwilling to believe what she’d seen, then turned to gaze at the woman still standing in the doorway. “That’s her. That’s Mary Adams.”
The woman, who had put a hand up to shield her eyes from the late morning sun, apparently recognized Amelia as well, for she clapped her hands over her mouth, spun around and disappeared into the cottage.
“Come on.” Amelia stalked to the door, raised her hand to knock, then dropped it to the latch and stepped inside, Nathan right behind her.
Mary Carr stood in front of the fireplace, her hand over her face, shoulders shaking.
“Hello, Mary.”
Straightening and wiping her eyes, Mary came toward her. “Hello, Miss Burrowes.”
“It’s Lady Ainsley, now. I married not long ago. This is my husband, Lord Ainsley.”
The woman’s eyes rounded and she curtsied quickly. “Beg pardon, my lady. My lord.”
“Do you know why we’ve come, Mary?”
Slowly the woman shook her head. She looked near tears again.
“I need the correspondence you kept between me and Lord Carrington. The letters, Mary. Do you still have them?” Fighting the urge to shake the woman, Amelia held her breath.
“Some. I still have some of them.” She glanced toward a small desk in the corner.
“Thank God.” In his enthusiasm, Nathan spoke a little loudly, causing Mary to jump.
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