It Started at Waterloo

by Lynne Connolly

  Amelia swallowed. That fierce temper of hers subsided as quickly as it came. The color drained from her face. “Thank you, Lady Buchanan,” she said tonelessly. “It is very kind of you.”

  Will led her away to a sofa and insisted on fetching her some wine instead of tea, which the maid had delivered.

  No doubt word of the dispute would travel from kitchen to garden to basement in very short order. He did not care what they said. He was proud of his wife.

  In the carriage on the way home, he tried to tell her, but she shook her head. “I should not have spoken so. I could have lost us everything we both wish for. There is nothing to be gained in raised voices and fierce temper.”

  At home he accompanied her to her bedroom and gave her into the hands of his maid. She drooped, and when she said she had a headache, that news did not surprise him in the least.

  Although she had fired him up with her behavior earlier and filled him with a determination to resume marital relations, he would be a beast of the first order if he did so now. She did indeed appear sickly.

  “Sleep well, my dear,” he bade her, brushing his lips over her cheek.

  Chapter Nine

  Her wretched temper had led her into trouble again! As soon as she had calmed, Amelia realized exactly what she’d put at risk. She and Will had decided to claim his title and standing in society to gain a voice, to spread the word about his discoveries. But she had risked everything when she’d stood up to one of society’s most formidable women. She did not credit herself with Lady Buchanan’s turnabout, but the entrance of the men. Her ladyship probably did not want to cause a scene.

  Then she’d said she had a headache, although truthfully it was not much of one, and Will had bade her goodnight. Again. Everything was out of control.

  Sighing, she turned a page of the household accounts. A married woman should always monitor the accounts personally, but truthfully they were as dull as dishwater. She could see no fault in them, so she initialed each page and put the books aside.

  Perhaps she’d earned an hour with a cup of tea and a book.

  Her other occupation was lost. Will had sallied forth to St. Thomas’s Hospital today. He wanted to meet all the people in charge, the better to approach them later.

  They had been in London nearly a week and she had achieved very little, as far as she could tell. She had not even begun to write the notes she had taken in a more legible form. Every night she’d made them in a journal previously given over to tracking army positions and the activities of certain young men. Not that she had expected anything from them except friendship, but she had hoped for more.

  But not even her husband found her worth bedding, apart from the one time. Last night he’d seemed friendlier, like his old self, but by the time they’d arrived at the house, he had resumed his air of coolness.

  As she picked up the little handbell on her desk to call the maid, the doorbell clanged. She sighed and stayed where she was. However, the servants found her out, and as the footman opened the door of the bookroom, the voices of her family drifted through the door.

  They had found her. She had intended to visit, but she had packed her days with the necessary tasks of arriving and setting herself up as a countess. Who would have known there was so much to do?

  “Take them to the drawing room and have tea served, please,” she said without looking at the piece of pasteboard on the tray. She didn’t need to see it to know who had arrived.

  Her mother’s voice trailed up the stairs. “Very grand. Are these ancestors?” She must be referring to the portraits on the wall opposite the stairs.

  Amelia gave them a few moments, and then followed.

  Yes, the portraits were ancestors, fairly recent ones judging by their costumes, but she had no idea who they were. She really should know. Perhaps her husband would tell her.

  Feeling conspicuous in her new emerald-green gown, Amelia went upstairs. Although she was more finely dressed than she’d ever been, that didn’t help her change the way she felt inside. Her mother still intimidated her. The sheer force of her presence made Amelia feel inadequate. She wished her husband was at home, but he was on yet another hospital visit. Without her.

  Pausing at the mirror by the drawing room door, she checked her appearance and smoothed her curls. She’d been playing with them. The curls were still a novelty and she was enjoying them, but short hair could become tousled as easily as long hair could.

  Lady Hartwell was occupying nearly the whole of the sofa set before the window, the central one in that seating arrangement. She had invested in new clothes, too, and she looked much finer than Amelia could remember her.

  She’d brought Mary, and her husband, Sir Henry Torrence, with her. Sir Henry appeared less corpulent than when she had last seen him, but that was explained when he stood to make his bow. He creaked. The ladies were not the only people in this room wearing stays. He must have invested in new ones.

  She presented her hand and he bowed over it. He actually touched his lips to the skin in a way society frowned upon. Perhaps bending in what was obviously whalebone was proving more difficult than he’d anticipated. Fortunately, a curtsey did not require such bending, and as usual, Amelia was wearing the lightest of stays under her gown.

  She bobbed a small curtsey and took her seat, selecting a chair by her mother.

  “Indeed, Amelia, you have come out of this affair much better than I had suspected,” her mother said. She viewed the room with a satisfied smile. “You will be a wonderful help settling the girls.”

  Amelia was afraid of that. “You want me to bring them out?”

  “How can you not?” her mother demanded. “You must admit it is your duty to do so.”

  “Ah.” She couldn’t deny it, but she didn’t look forward to the prospect. “I’m still accustoming myself to the change in circumstances.”

  The maid entered after a slight tap at the door. She wielded a tray of tea that must have considerable weight. As well as the service, she had a spare pot of hot water, the teapot, a plate of bread and butter, and another of small cakes.

  She placed the tray on the table at Amelia’s elbow. Of course she was the lady of the house and she would have to deal with this bounty. She nodded her thanks to the maid and set about pouring. At least that gave her something to do.

  Nervousness made her clumsy, and she overfilled the first cup. Her mother tsked, but said nothing aloud. It might have been better if she had, for her next effort was worse. With an apologetic smile, she passed them to the maid, who poured the excess into the slop basin.

  Amelia had never found simple domestic tasks easy, particularly when people were watching and judging her efforts. Perhaps she should pretend she was pouring tea for patients, although she would have never given them the delicate, flower-decorated china cups she was using today.

  She managed the third cup without spilling it, and the fourth. The maid distributed the tea, and then Amelia dismissed her. She would no doubt to return to the kitchens and gossip about her mistress’s gauche manners.

  Her mother was off. “Imagine our surprise when we heard that the Countess of Rothwell was my very own daughter!” Lady Hartwell tittered, a sound that never failed to irritate Amelia.

  The reaction washed away her embarrassment. “I meant to call on you, Mama, but we have only been in London a few days. When did you arrive?”

  “Yesterday, after the most appalling journey. The oldest gig in the world took us to the ship, which hardly seemed seaworthy, but it was that or wait another week, so we accepted the places offered.”

  Amelia had travelled on a privately commissioned packet.

  Her mother rattled on. “Then the stage from the port, which took two days to reach London. By the time we had unpacked and settled in to our house, we were exhausted. This is our very first opportunity to visit. It took us a time to locate you, but when we did, we discovered that town is agog with news of you.”

  “Indeed?” she said faintl
y. “I am sorry for the journey. Will arranged ours, but we did not know when you were planning to return.” She reflected guiltily on the private and comfortable coach that had conveyed them to London.

  “We asked for Mr. Kennaway and discovered that the earl had returned home. Of course we knew he was related to the earl, but not how closely! Who would have thought that a man we had known as an army surgeon would be in possession of such an exalted title?”

  Amelia wanted her mother to stop, but nothing of the kind happened. She clasped her hands together in her lap, ignoring her tea. She daren’t pick it up, although she had been ready for it before her mother had arrived. She would be bound to spill it over her lap. Her mother always had that effect on her, made Amelia edgy and nervous.

  “Did you know when you married him?” her mother asked her.

  “No,” she confessed. “But he said the title was not important to him, and we could go on the way we always had.”

  Which had turned out to be monstrously untrue.

  “Improvements for the better.” Lady Hartwell gazed around the room speculatively. “You must have room in this house for a regiment!”

  Amelia doubted that, but her mother’s intent was obvious. Their house was on the other side of Tottenham Court Road, an area inhabited by professional people and the gentry. She would much prefer to live in Mayfair. How could Amelia escape this one? She must not give her mother an opening.

  She did not resent helping her sisters, but she wouldn’t do it until she had become accustomed to company herself. She could not imagine throwing a ball, for instance. Not yet. But her mother, always keen to accomplish tasks quickly, would want everything now, if not yesterday.

  “It’s larger than I expected,” was all she could manage, while her mind worked frantically. “I have barely been out myself.”

  “But you have managed to visit a dressmaker,” her mother said with a certain amount of ice in her voice. Perhaps she’d expect Amelia to take her sisters on her next visit. She would not object to that, but she doubted she would need to go again for some time.

  For the first time she understood the term “encroaching.” But she also understood duty, and what she should do. Her parents had sacrificed—no, they had not. They had gone on with their lives as best they could. Short of sending their children to orphanages, they had not moved themselves a great deal.

  Amelia’s spirit rebelled. No, she would not allow her mother to crowd her with guilt. She owed her mother nothing other than duty and respect. She would show that. And she would help her family, but she would do it on her own terms.

  Her sister smiled brightly, but Amelia detected evidence of strain under Mary’s expression. “How is the house you hired?”

  “Perfectly charming,” her mother said before her sister could say anything. “A little small for our needs, unlike this residence. With just the two of you, you must be rattling around like peas in a baby’s rattle.”

  Lady Hartwell was growing more insistent. She took a sip of her tea and stared over the rim at Amelia, her eyes sharply observant.

  “We have the servants,” Amelia murmured. “In time, we may have more.” To help with the children they would have.

  But not if her husband refused to visit her bed. The longing for him was becoming worse, and she had no idea how to approach him.

  If she kissed him and he did not respond, she would die of shame. After that first night, he had not returned and as far as she could tell, he showed no sign of wanting to.

  Occasionally she caught him looking at her, an expression in his eyes that she couldn’t interpret, but that was all. Perhaps he was wondering why he’d married her. Why he’d allowed the woman sitting opposite Amelia now to persuade him into marriage.

  “But we are considering moving to our own establishment,” Sir Henry said. “Not in London, unless the War Office should require my services, but I have a tidy estate in the country. If you recall, I mentioned it to you.”

  Amelia wanted to stand up and cheer. Finally she had a relative that expected nothing from her. It made her quite in charity with Sir Henry. “I’m glad you can. The summer is here and the weather may turn sultry before next month is out.” Although at the moment, there seemed little prospect of that.

  “You knew,” her mother said, tight-lipped. “Don’t you think you should have given your sisters a chance?”

  “As if Will was a target? Something rather than someone?”

  “You speak as if you care,” her mother said, her lip curling. “You played a clever game, offering to help at the hospital, allowing yourself to become indispensable to him, and then allowing him to—” She glared. “Do I have to go on?”

  “Yes.” How dare her mother accuse her of such underhanded behavior? Didn’t she know her daughter at all?

  “I found you utterly compromised. I never knew what a schemer you were.” She paused and glanced up, over Amelia’s head. Her face went white.

  A new voice came from the door. “What a charming surprise! Lady Hartwell, if I’d known you were planning a visit, I would have made a special effort to return home earlier.”

  Horror rose to close Amelia’s throat. How much had he heard? She had opened her mouth, ready to respond to her mother and then ask her to leave, but Will had come in.

  He’d only heard one side—her mother’s. If Amelia responded now, it would seem she was joining in, that she was cut from the same cloth as her mother. It was one thing to try to improve one’s lot in life, but quite another to scheme to that extent. She would never do that.

  She’d thought Will knew her, but it seemed not. She had not known him, for that matter.

  She sat, frozen, not knowing what to do or say.

  Will took a seat in the chair next to her after bows and curtseys had been exchanged. “Have you been in London long?”

  “No, we have not. Evidently it took us longer to reach town than you.” Lady Hartwell smiled, but her eyes remained hard. “I had no idea of your rank, my lord, otherwise I—” She broke off abruptly.

  “Otherwise?” he said mildly. He glanced at her, his blue eyes icy. “Otherwise you would have allowed my wife to spend more time with me?”

  “What else could I have done when I discovered you?” Amelia’s mother demanded. “Honor demanded that I insisted on your marriage! I was not happy with the conduct of my daughter.” Will didn’t remember the events in quite that way, but he let that point pass.

  “Your daughter knew very little that night,” said Will coldly. “She had worked since the battle with less than two hours’ sleep.” He had noticed that? She had thought him preoccupied with his own concerns and that of his patients until she all but collapsed. Not of her. “My fault was caring for her where her parents evidently did not. You should have sent a vehicle for her long before. But you wanted this to happen, did you not?”

  “No, sir!” Lady Hartwell gathered herself together, as if about to leave.

  “If you go now I will not welcome you back into my house,” Will said softly, but the steel in his tone was unmistakable. “I would prefer an explanation, but if you wish, you may leave.”

  Lady Hartwell subsided into the sofa. “Amelia had always been headstrong. I could not control her. When she said she would help at the hospital with the other ladies, I thought at last she would be out of trouble.”

  “Amelia has never struck me as the kind of woman who would willfully create problems.” Still he wasn’t looking at her.

  She had to speak. “It happened just as Will said. I planned nothing. Why should I?”

  “Because you had discovered who he really was?” Her mother raised a brow.

  “I do not care who he is, or was!” she burst out. She really didn’t care if anyone believed her or not now. She needed to tell the truth. So much obfuscation and misunderstanding would not continue. If he did not believe her, then it was his choice. “Will is a dedicated surgeon who cared for the people he tended. I learned so much from him. But after th
e battle, so many men arrived in such distress we could do nothing except work as hard as we could to relieve their suffering. They fought for their country—what else could we do but follow their example?”

  Her husband made a sound, but she didn’t let him interrupt her. Else she might lose courage. “You saw your marriage as advancement, nothing more. You followed the drum in the hope of snaring a husband for one of your daughters. And you found one for me, inadvertently. I knew nothing. I had no idea where I was. I fell asleep where I stood. Where were you? Many ladies came to help with the wounded. Others were writing accounts of the battle or attending to other duties. Why, I heard of some of the highest ranked in the land opening their houses to the wounded.”

  This time Will did get a few words in. “As you would have done, my dear.”

  “Of course! It is the only thing that we could do. But my mother was still only concerned with her primary aim. She would have married Mary off to someone else, but she and Sir Henry were fond of each other.”

  Will turned his attention to the other male in the room. “So why did you wish to address my wife, sir?”

  Sir Henry released a great sigh. “To ask her to intercede for me with Mary. Lady Hartwell would not allow me to address myself to her, but I knew my mind. If she would have me.”

  So Lady Hartwell was not telling the truth when she said that Henry was desirous of marrying Amelia.

  Will nodded. “I doubt she would have allowed me to pay my addresses if I had been mere Will Kennaway.” A smile flashed across his lips, then was gone. “I had no mind to hide behind my title. She would either have me as I was or not at all.”

  His gaze hardened. He appeared every inch the great lord, nothing like the man she’d known. Was he becoming lost to her, and despite what he said, behaving more like the earl than like Will? Could she live up to his expectations?

  He got to his feet in a smooth move. As etiquette dictated, Sir Henry followed in short order.