“I shall take them to the nursery,” Julia said, standing up and helping the girls off the bench. Leah’s skirt caught on the edge, and she began crying again.
Mr. Mayfield rose to his feet. “Let me call Colleen.
“No,” Julia said quickly. Her cheeks colored, and she spoke quickly to soften her reaction. “Only, I know Colleen is very busy. I shall settle the girls and return to say goodbye.” She smiled at Amelia reassuringly, but Amelia did not feel reassured.
“I shall take them,” Elliott said, surprising everyone. He set down his cup and stood, pulling down his waistcoat. In a few strides, he was around the table. “Then you might have more time with your mother.”
Julia protested. Elliott insisted. He smiled and put out a hand for each of them. The girls looked at him skeptically, then at Julia, who nodded.
“I will join you as soon as I can,” she said.
The girls still didn’t move.
“Go with Uncle Elliott,” Mr. Mayfield encouraged.
The girls reluctantly took Elliott’s hands, which swallowed up their small ones. It was impossible not to find it touching to watch such a big man with two small girls. Had Elliott ever wished he’d had children of his own? Amelia could not imagine her life without her children. They gave her so much purpose—and stress and anxiety and . . .
Marjorie looked over her shoulder, and Julia waved her forward. Once they were gone, the three remaining attendees looked between one another.
The clock ticked loudly in the silence.
“I am grateful you were able to come for this visit, Mrs. Hollingsworth,” Mr. Mayfield finally said. “I know it was a difficulty for you to travel so far, but I am glad to have met you.”
“You were very kind to have issued the invitation.” She should say more—something about how glad she was that Julia was part of such a well-run household. Or how grateful she was to see Julia so happy in her position. But she refused to say either of those things as both sentiments were connected to her growing concerns. “You have lovely daughters.”
“Thank you,” Mr. Mayfield said. “Miss Julia is excellent with them. She has a gift.”
Amelia watched a look pass between them before Julia hid her smile by looking at her hands in her lap. The situation was dire.
“I had hoped to walk with you a bit before the carriage comes for me, Julia.”
Julia looked at her mother. “I cannot be gone from the girls for long.”
“Take all the time you need,” Mr. Mayfield said, standing and looking relieved. “Uncle Elliott and I should be able to manage them for a time.”
Julia didn’t look convinced, which caused Mr. Mayfield to smile in a way that showed how disarmingly handsome he could be.
“Thank you, Mr. Mayfield,” Amelia said. Yes, indeed, time was of the essence.
She and Julia left through the front door of the house.
“There is a lovely path to the east that runs alongside a small stream. Would you like to see it?”
“Yes, thank you,” Amelia said. A walk would move them away from the house and afford the privacy Amelia needed for the delicate topic she was determined to discuss.
They walked in silence around the house and through the circle yard, as Julia called it. She pointed out the dog yard to the right, but Amelia barely looked that direction. She would never understand why people would want to invest so much time and energy into smelly, rowdy animals.
“It is lovely country out here,” Amelia said, trying to build some momentum of conversation.
“I adore it,” Julia said. “I walk this path every morning. It is something wonderful to wake up to.”
“It does not seem so different from Halling’s Road.”
Julia turned toward her. “Halling’s Road? This is nothing like Halling’s Road.”
“Both run alongside a stream,” Amelia offered, but she knew she’d chosen a poor example.
“Halling’s Road is always full of wagons going to and from the mill,” Julia said with obvious dislike. “And the cow fields do nothing to improve it.”
“Better cows than dogs.” The words were out before Amelia could stop them.
Julia stopped walking. She said nothing, just stared down at her mother—she was a solid four inches taller than Amelia.
“Why did you come to dinner, Mother?”
Amelia hadn’t expected such a direct question—that was not typically Julia’s style. “Mr. Mayfield invited me.”
“I do not fully understand that either, but why did you come? You do not want me to work here.”
“I have not said that.”
Julia cocked her head to the side, staring hard at her mother. “So you support my working here, then? Working at all?”
Amelia shifted her weight from one foot to the other beneath such direct attention. “I would like you home in Feltwell. I—”
“I have not lived in Feltwell for five years, Mother. It is no longer my home.”
“Do not say that.”
“I do not say it to hurt you, Mother,” Julia said, her tone gentler. “But it is true. Feltwell is not my home; your house is not my home.”
“And this is?” She waved toward the house they could just see above the tree line.
“For now, yes. Is that why you came to dinner, with the hope of convincing me to leave?”
This was not going the way Amelia had hoped. Where on earth had this confrontational side of Julia been hiding all these years? But Amelia had no time to waste, and she did not imagine the mood was going to improve.
“If you must know, I did come for a very particular reason.” She took a breath. Said a prayer. “There is a woman in Brandon who is looking for a lady’s companion. I have corresponded with the woman’s daughter, Mrs. Preston, who is looking to fill the position—”
Julia’s eyebrows shot up. “You have corresponded with someone on my behalf?”
She made it sound so meddling. “You would be closer to home, and—”
“Feltwell is not my home. And I am not a lady’s companion, I am a governess.”
“But you do not have to be,” Amelia said, throwing her hands up in frustration. “You do not need to be so far away and disconnected and under some man’s control.”
Julia took a breath, then let it out. “We should return to the house.” She began walking, and Amelia hurried to keep up with her.
“Julia, please consider this. You would have more freedom as a lady’s companion, and I want to see you, be a part of your life. I want to know you are safe.”
“I am safe, Mother, and I enjoy my position here very much.” She did not stop walking. “And I am not under Mr. Mayfield’s control. I have my freedom here.”
How could she see this as freedom? “Caring for his dogs whenever you are not caring for his daughters? You are little more than a laborer, Julia.”
Julia turned to face Amelia, who also came to a stop. They were at the bend in the pathway that led back to the house. She could see the trees that rimmed the circle yard and smell the dogs. Julia’s expression was tight, her eyes angry, as she stared at her mother.
“How do you know Lord Howardsford?”
Amelia startled. “Wh-what? I—”
“Is that why you came? To see him?”
Amelia flushed. “No.”
“Then what is his part in this? I saw the looks between you, and I know there was something unspoken during last night’s dinner.”
The women looked at one another, Amelia struggling to organize her thoughts that had been scattered like so many feathers from a pillow. Julia did not look away or provide rescue. Amelia felt heat rush into her cheeks and considered a dozen different responses, ranging from telling the whole of it to pretending she did not know him. She settled for basic truth. “I knew him many years ago, in London.”
“How?”
“Through our navigation of society.”
Julia looked confused. “What does that have to do with me?”
Amelia looked away and folded her arms over her chest. “Nothing.” The lie felt heavy, but she held to it because trying to explain everything would not only be complex, it would interfere with the point of this conversation. “But I do not have a good opinion of him or his family.” That was true enough. “Their family does not have a good reputation, Julia. Do you know what has been done by those who bear the Mayfield name? Do you know the ruin they have caused to others and themselves?”
“I know Mr. Mayfield, and he is a good man,” Julia said. “His family’s history is none of my concern.”
“It should be your concern,” Amelia said bluntly. “You should know the type of family you are connecting yourself to.”
“The family I am connecting myself to includes only Mr. Mayfield and his daughters.”
Amelia clenched her teeth and let out a huff. “You are being stubborn.”
“And you are being judgmental and cruel. You are trying to take charge of my life. Again!”
Amelia’s mouth fell open. This was her daughter? Talking to her this way?
Julia took a breath and relaxed before she met Amelia’s eye again, her expression calmer. “Why is it so difficult for you to trust me to make my own choices, Mother? I do not want the life you want for me. I have no desire to hurt you, but that is the truth.”
“Why don’t you want that life, Julia?” Amelia had never asked the question directly, but it had haunted her for nearly a decade, and this conversation seemed to have torn down all pretenses between them. Why would Julia not find a good man and settle down? What was it about the life Amelia had lived, and Louisa and Simon, that made Julia not want it? None of that had anything to do with Elliott and his nephew.
Julia wrapped her arms around her stomach and looked at the ground.
Amelia waited, her nerves growing tauter by the second.
Quietly, Julia said, “I want to make my own choices.”
What? That was all? It didn’t even make sense. “I don’t understand.”
“No,” Julia said softly in a sympathetic tone that made Amelia even more defensive. “You wouldn’t understand, and I’m not sure I can explain it in a way you could understand. A parent makes choices for their children, and a husband makes choices for his wife. I want to be in charge of my own future the way a child and a wife does not get to be.”
“But being a servant does?”
Julia nodded. “Yes.”
“You take care of a man’s children and his dogs!” Amelia’s voice was too sharp, but she could not help herself. This entire conversation was infuriating. “That is not you making your own choices.”
“Yes, Mother, it is. I choose how I spend my evenings. I choose when I arise in the morning. I choose whether or not I take a morning walk, or wear the blue or green dress. I choose how I do my hair and what shoes fit me best. I choose who I like and who I don’t like, and I answer to no one for those things. I also choose to take care of two beautiful girls who need me, and dogs that give me purpose. All of those things are my choice, not yours.”
Amelia took a physical step backward as Julia’s words moved around her, sounding like an accusation. She remembered the structured evenings she managed after Richard died and how important it was to her that the children arose at seven o’clock every morning, no matter the day of the week or month of the year. She had chosen Julia’s clothes and shoes because Julia did not seem to care. She’d thought Julia had enjoyed having Amelia do her hair. But Julia had just accused her of controlling her through such things. Was that how she saw it?
Julia softened her overall tension, then stepped forward and took both of Amelia’s hands in her own. “I love you, Mother. You have taken good care of me and loved me as best you could. I hold no grudges, but I want to make my own choices, and the truth is that I can only do that when I am not living beneath your roof. I am happy here, very happy, and I would like you to be happy for me too.”
Amelia felt tears rising in her eyes, but she could not speak.
Julia let go of one hand, but kept hold of the other. She turned toward the house, leading Amelia along with her. She did not speak, but she did not let go of her mother’s hand, either.
They came around the front of the house to find the hired carriage waiting for them. Mr. Mayfield and Elliott stood talking with the driver. They turned and smiled. Mr. Mayfield’s eyes were on Julia. Elliott’s eyes, however, were on her. The men strode toward them.
“Your trunk is already loaded,” Mr. Mayfield said, smiling gallantly. “Thank you again for coming. It was lovely to get to know Julia’s mother.”
It was Julia now? Not Miss Hollingsworth, as she’d been last night?
Amelia looked at Julia, who was looking at Mr. Mayfield, and her heart sunk even more. She had failed. Julia would stay here, she would fall in love with Mr. Mayfield, and he would break her heart into a million pieces. Just as Elliott had once broken Amelia’s.
The awareness was so tangible Amelia could only nod her farewell to the man who held her daughter’s future in his undeserving hands. She walked past him and accepted Elliott’s hand to step into the carriage. She settled on the bench and took a deep breath, trying to will away the tears. Her stomach was twisty and hot. Was she unsettled because she had admitted to having known Elliott before? Or was she unsettled because she had lied about how well she’d known him? Her eyes closed, and tears pricked from behind.
“Are you all right, Mrs. Hollingsworth?”
She opened her eyes to see Elliott standing outside the open carriage door, watching her with concern.
She could only shake her head, overwhelmed as she was. She expected him to be a gentleman and leave her to her misery, but instead he turned toward Mr. Mayfield.
“Peter, I think I shall ride a short distance with Mrs. Hollingsworth.”
Ride a short distance? Until she pushed him out on a road in the middle of nowhere?
She didn’t hear Mr. Mayfield’s response, but Elliott stepped inside the carriage and sat down across from her. The footman shut the door, and Amelia leaned against the cushions and looked out the window. The only other time in her life she’d felt so disregarded was when she’d held Elliott’s letter in her hand, the letter telling her that he enjoyed their time together and he wished her happiness. And now they were alone in a hired carriage, and he was looking at her while she fell apart inside.
The carriage jerked forward as it began the journey to the place Julia no longer considered as her home. The place where Julia had apparently been so miserable that she had planned to spend the rest of her life somewhere completely different.
“Amelia?”
She did not correct him on his informal address and instead remembered a night at a ball thirty years ago. She could not remember the hosts, but she and Elliott had danced before going out on the veranda to escape the stifling room. She’d placed her hand on the rail, and he’d put his right beside hers, linking their little fingers. Amelia had worn a blue satin gown with a corseted waist and a full skirt that was the fashion of the day. She looked beautiful, she felt beautiful, and then Elliott—or Mr. Mayfield, as he had been back then—told her she looked beautiful.
“I was so glad to see you tonight, Miss Edwards.”
She had looked at their entwined hands, then into his young, fresh, and hopeful face and thought, I will marry this man.
“Please call me Amelia.”
His smile had widened. He lifted her hand and kissed the back of her glove before turning it over and kissing the palm. Amelia had felt fire from her head to her toes as he’d straightened and winked. “And do call me Elliott.”
In the carriage, she let out a breath, trying to push the memory and regre
ts away. She focused on Elliott sitting across from her, but it took a few moments to remember why an older Elliott was looking at her with so much concern. Julia.
“I have found Julia a position as a lady’s companion near Feltwell,” she said, her voice flat. “She refused it.”
Elliott was silent a moment. “Of course she refused it. Have you not seen how content she is here? This is a good place for her.”
Amelia shook her head. “She is infatuated. With all of it—his children, his blasted dogs, and . . . him. Surely you see that between them.”
Elliott watched her so closely it was as though he could read her thoughts. Not that he needed to since she was spewing words without any prompting from him.
“Yes, actually,” he said, “I do see it, on both of their parts. I do not object, and I do not see any reason why you should object either. They are well matched, they are young, they can find happiness together.”
She narrowed her eyes. Anger and hurt and rejection and loneliness and fear and self-preservation mixed and gurgled and rose like yeast in bread dough on a hot day, bigger and headier and growing. “You are a man, speaking from a position of power and entitlement just as your nephew can.” She waved toward the house that was no longer in view. “He will not marry her. You know as well as I do that he won’t.”
Elliott’s eyes flashed. “You are insinuating—again—that Peter would take advantage of her, which he would not. Was your opinion not the least bit changed after sitting at his table, watching him with his children, and witnessing the respect he has for Julia?”
Amelia looked out the carriage window, which was in need of a good scrubbing.
Elliott leaned forward in his bouncing seat. “Let me tell you something, Amelia. Nearly two months ago, I presented an inducement to Peter that I hoped would encourage him to make a solid match that could repair my family’s fractured past and give him additional security.”
Amelia faced him while he continued explaining his plan that sounded to her like nothing short of bribery. Marriage as a commodity? Matches made for increase? She felt the rage building the longer he spoke.
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