by Regina Scott
She understood the flurry. Bellweather Hall, which stood at the entrance to the dale, was the ancestral home of the Duke of Bellington. A carriage from there must be transporting a member of his family, and by the sound of it, Mr. Hennessy was certain it was the duchess. The ranking member of the local aristocracy and one of the highest ladies in the empire, she would be a power to court.
“Give me five minutes,” Amelia told her butler. “Discover her preferences for refreshments, and tell Mr. Shanter to have them ready.”
“Right away, your ladyship.”
She had put on a blue-striped morning gown earlier; it ought to be suitable for callers, even one as exalted as the Duchess of Bellington. Amelia took only enough time to make sure her hair was sleeked back in the bun at the nape of her neck and draped a cashmere shawl of sunflower yellow about her shoulders. Then she went to meet her guest.
Instead of merely the duchess, however, she found two women waiting for her in the withdrawing room. One reminded her of her mother—sturdy, silver-haired, with double chins pressing against the white ruff at her throat and ample curves filling her gray lustring gown. That must be the duchess.
Her companion, however, was more slender. She had a pinched nose and sallow skin made worse by the saffron-colored embroidered muslin dress she wore.
“Your Grace,” Amelia said, coming forward and dropping her best curtsy, “we are honored to have you with us.”
Lady Bellington waved a plump beringed hand as if to grant Amelia the right to sit in her own home. “As the senior lady in the district, I see it as my duty to welcome the new brides.” She hitched her own shawl closer as Amelia sat on a spindle-legged chair nearby. “Of course, neither Rotherford nor Danning waited upon my visit before taking their wives elsewhere. This is my daughter, Lady Prudence.”
Lady Prudence sniffed, and it took Amelia a moment to realize it wasn’t in distaste. “A pleasure to meet you,” she said, her voice coming out high and cracked. “Please, forgive me. I always seem to develop a corpulent inflammation of the sinusoidal membrane when we return home.”
“It’s all in your head,” her mother insisted, then she turned to Amelia. “It’s all in her head. I’m convinced she proves no danger of contagion, for I spend a great deal of time with her, and I never take ill. Do I, Prudence?”
“No, indeed, Mother,” Lady Prudence replied before coughing into her glove.
Lady Bellington was watching Amelia. “Now, tell me,” the duchess demanded. “Have you met Rotherford’s wife?”
“I haven’t had the pleasure,” Amelia admitted.
Lady Prudence snorted into a lace-edged handkerchief, a phlegmy rattle in her throat, but her mother brightened.
“She was his governess!” she declared in ringing tones.
“I believe,” Lady Prudence put in, “that she was his daughter’s nanny, and a gentlewoman fallen on hard times.”
“Yes, yes,” Lady Bellington said with another wave. “And what about Danning? I hear he enticed two ladies of good family to join him at his lodge and then chose a cit!”
Amelia knew she was blushing and hoped the duchess would put it down to embarrassment over the gossip. She wasn’t about to admit she had been one of the two ladies of the ton.
“Lord Danning is not the sort to make empty promises,” Amelia said instead. “And his new wife, though of common birth, does him great credit.”
Lady Bellington perked up. “Ah, so you know her! What does her father do? Barkeep? Hangman?”
“He’s a jeweler!” Amelia protested.
“Oh.” Her Grace looked positively disappointed.
“Have you seen much of Dovecote Dale, Lady Hascot?” Lady Prudence asked as if oblivious to the fact that she was changing the subject.
“Only a little,” Amelia confessed. “I’ve been busy setting the house to rights.”
Lady Bellington leaned forward. “Why? What was wrong with it? A madwoman in the attics?”
“No, certainly not.” If she stayed in this room another moment she might end up the madwoman in the attics! She rose. “Goodness, where are my manners? May I offer you refreshments?”
Lady Bellington relaxed back in her chair with a sigh. “If you must.”
“Not for me,” Lady Prudence said with another sniff. “My physician has me on a diet of watercress and sugar cubes.”
“Oh, I’m sure we can find a sugar cube somewhere,” Amelia promised her. After all, John had to reward his horses! “If you’ll excuse me for a moment.”
Out in the corridor, she took a deep breath. She could simply have rung for Mr. Hennessy or one of the footmen, but she needed a moment to collect her composure. Like the duchess, her mother had had a way of making pronouncements that required all of Amelia’s skill to deflect. Either Amelia had grown rusty or the ladies from Bellweather Hall were more demanding, because she felt the need for reinforcements.
“Bring the refreshments,” she instructed the butler, who had been waiting just down the corridor for her call. “And send someone for Lord Hascot.”
In the act of obeying her first command, Mr. Hennessy froze. “Lord Hascot, your ladyship? Are you certain that’s advisable?”
“It may not be advisable,” Amelia said, “but it is necessary.” With a nod of conviction and a prayer John would be amenable for once, she returned to her guests.
Somehow, she kept the conversation going until the footman brought in a laden tea cart. She met Mr. Hennessy’s gaze where he stood in the doorway, and he shook his head. Was John out in the pastures or too busy to heed her call for help?
“So how did the Dowager Lady Hascot take the news of your wedding?” Lady Bellington asked as she accepted tea in a delicate floral cup from Amelia.
Amelia didn’t know who she meant. She was certain John had said his mother had passed away.
“Oh, look, Mother,” Lady Prudence said with a nod to the tea cart. “Here are those apricot tarts you so adore. A shame they give me a petrified dyspepsia.”
Lady Bellington ignored her, eyes glittering as if she’d found something much more savory to enjoy. “Lady Hascot, his brother’s widow,” she informed Amelia. “She very nearly married him before switching her allegiance to the older twin brother.”
“Twins,” Lady Prudence said rapturously. “I hear they feel the same things, even when they’re ill.”
Amelia’s bewilderment must have been showing, for Lady Bellington positively chortled. “He hasn’t told you! Very likely he still can’t bear to talk of it. They say it broke his heart. He never courted again, never so much as looked at another woman. How did you entice him to offer?”
Merely by falling asleep in his stable. And only because he was a gentleman had he done the right thing to spare her scandal. Small wonder he refused her attempts to grow closer. He had given his heart to another. Her company, her care, would never be preferable.
“Mother,” Lady Prudence scolded. “You have only to look at Lady Hascot to know her husband must dote on her. She is sweet tempered, kindhearted and lovely, everything a gentleman might want.” She sighed as if she wished for such attributes.
Amelia raised her head. “You forgot one mark of character some gentlemen prize over all others—loyalty.”
Lady Prudence beamed as if she thought herself capable of that, at least.
Her mother, however, frowned. “You had better pray he values loyalty, my dear, for Lady Hascot is a widow. I had heard it said she regretted her marriage and wished she’d made another choice. There is nothing to stop her from staking her claim once more.”
Nothing but a band of gold. John had always struck her as an honorable man. Yet how could he be true to his vows when he loved elsewhere?
* * *
John heard about Amelia’s summons the moment he came in from the fields.
Something must be wrong that she wished his company to entertain visitors. He left Magnum with a groom and started for the door of the stable only to find Marcus Fletcher blocking his way.
“By your leave,” the veterinarian said, laying a hand against John’s navy coat, “you may want to reconsider. Her ladyship has visitors from Bellweather Hall.”
“The Terrors,” one of the grooms murmured with a shudder as he passed.
John had heard the unkind name the locals had given the Duchess of Bellington and her daughter. It was all too easy to understand the reason. The mother collected every bit of gossip like a dragon hoarding treasure, and the daughter had never found an illness she couldn’t like. At times he pitied the duke.
“I can’t leave Amelia to them,” he told Fletcher.
His friend shook his curly head. “She’s likely to fare better than either of us,” he insisted. “You may not have noticed, but your wife is quite clever.”
She was more clever than he had a right to expect. “I don’t doubt her intelligence,” he said. “I merely dislike seeing her put upon. Excuse me.”
He knew he had to go carefully as he drew up to the rear door. He’d given Amelia charge of the house after all. But she had felt comfortable joining him in his domain, and with her help, he thought he might be able to stand on his own in hers. And surely if he could find a way to converse with the Terrors, he could converse with anyone.
Unfortunately, he reached the front of the house in time to see her Grace and Lady Prudence being draped with their wraps by the door. Lady Prudence, in fact, was frowning at the footman.
“He looks a great deal like a fellow who works for us,” John heard her tell Amelia as John approached from the back of the house. “Is he a twin?”
Her mother peered closer. “He doesn’t look familiar to me. I wouldn’t have such a common fellow on staff.”
“What a blessing each house has its own character,” Amelia said as the red-faced footman backed away respectfully.
“And what a blessing a wife is to this house,” John said, seizing the opening. He came up beside Amelia and nodded. “Forgive me for not joining you sooner, my dear. I didn’t realize we had company.”
And not too welcome company by the pallor of Amelia’s face. “Her Grace and Lady Prudence were just leaving.” She stepped forward as if to usher them out the door herself.
“You have a lovely wife, my lord,” the duchess pronounced. “Tell me, do you intend to keep her with you out here in the wilderness?”
Amelia stiffened. So much for polite conversation. John could think of only one way to answer the woman.
He leaned forward and met the duchess’s bright gaze. “Until my dying day, madam.”
She sagged as if he’d destroyed a dream, then jerked upright again. “And how close is that? Your brother passed away only last year. How are you feeling?”
“Never better.” He strode to the door and held it open himself. “Do not allow me to detain you. I’m sure you have others to regale with what you’ve learned here.”
She scowled at him. “I haven’t learned anything of merit. Your wife, my lord, is remarkably closemouthed.”
And thank You, Lord, for that!
Amelia lowered her gaze, but Lady Prudence ambled toward the door. “Come along, Mother,” she said. “Lord and Lady Hascot are on their honeymoon, if you recall. We may well impose.”
The duchess pounced on the idea. “Oh, the honeymoon. Of course! Wait until I tell Bell. If Hascot can set up a nursery, he certainly should be able to, as well.” She turned to Amelia and shook her gloved finger. “I expect to be the first to hear when you are increasing.”
John waited for the pink to spring into Amelia’s cheeks, but if anything, she turned even paler as the ladies exited the house.
“We should see them to the carriage,” Amelia murmured.
“We should not,” John replied, and he shut the door on them.
He thought Amelia might argue, but she stood hunched over, as if she was in pain. The way she kept blinking made him wonder if she were fighting tears.
Why was she treated so shabbily? Couldn’t they see her character, her kindness? He could.
John strode to her side, touched her chin and raised her gaze to his. The hurt behind those blue eyes stabbed at him.
“She’s an old harridan, Amelia,” he told her. “You cannot allow her thoughtless words to hurt you.”
“They were rather thought-provoking words, actually,” she replied. She pulled away from his touch, drew her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. “She informed me of something I wish I’d known sooner.”
Had she been a horse, he would have thought her spooked, ready to leap away and fly from the thing that distressed her. But even as he was coming to know her as well as one of his horses, he could not imagine what sort of gossip the old woman had dragged out that could have brought about such a reaction. He’d never done anything the least scandalous.
“Oh?” John prompted, watching her.
She gazed up at him, and sorrow was etched on every feature. “You were not free to marry me, John. You’re in love with another woman.”
Chapter Eleven
Amelia wanted John to deny that he loved another. Oh, how she wanted him to deny it! For if he had truly placed his heart in someone else’s keeping, she did not like her chances of retrieving it.
“If you are referring to my brother’s wife,” he said, face so still it might have been carved from marble, “it would be inappropriate to feel more than familial affection.”
Inappropriate, perhaps, but not impossible, especially given the circumstances Lady Bellington had related. Amelia was coming to know her husband—he was nothing if not committed. Look at his dedication to his horses. His love, once lit, would not easily be snuffed out.
Perhaps that was why she craved it.
And she did crave it, she realized with a pang. She wanted more than his admiration and respect; she wanted him to love her. When he was troubled, she wanted to be the first one he turned to for counsel and comfort. When he laughed, she wanted to share the joy. That was what a true marriage meant.
She had started her campaign from Turner’s suggestion. She had had a setback, a terrible setback. But surely retreating was not the answer.
Mindful of the footman hovering beside her, she stepped closer to John. “Might we discuss the matter, just the two of us?”
He glanced at the footman as well, then offered her his arm. “Come to the library with me.”
The library was one of the two rooms she hadn’t redecorated. For one, the massive floor-to-ceiling dark walnut bookcases were firmly anchored to the walls. For another, it seemed to be John’s favorite room, and changing anything felt like a sacrilege. Now the solemn colors and the dark wood furnishings seemed to crowd against her, press the very air from her lungs. She broke from him to go open the drapes and let in the light.
Turning, she saw that John was standing by a set of black leather-upholstered chairs near the fire, hair once more fallen onto his brow. One of these days she was going to put it back herself, if only to feel the warmth of those dark tresses. Had the Dowager Lady Hascot touched him so?
He waited for her to take a seat before sitting opposite her. “What would you have of me?” he asked.
Everything. How he felt about the other Lady Hascot, how he felt about her. Yet did she really want to hear him say aloud how little affection he bore her?
“Lady Bellington claimed you were in love with your brother’s wife before they wed,” she said. “Is that true?”
He leaned back from her. “I thought myself in love, yes. She chose my brother instead.”
How calmly he stated the matter, as if Lady Caroline had merely decided upon a different dress that morning. “Were you n
ot hurt by her defection?”
Now his gaze avoided hers, as well. “She was wise to choose the security of the title. Isn’t that what all young ladies are taught?”
Certainly her mother and governess had drummed it into her. “I suppose so,” Amelia allowed. “At the very least, we are schooled to try for the best marriage possible. Still, she is free now. Why did you marry me?”
As if he, too, sought more air, he rose and went to the window. The light etched the planes of his face in sharp relief. “The church frowns upon a marriage between a man and his brother’s wife. I am to look on Lady Hascot as a sister.”
His tone remained dispassionate, removed. It was as if the other Lady Hascot was nothing to him. Why didn’t that give Amelia comfort?
“I’d forgotten that,” she admitted. “So of course you could not marry.” She licked her lips, steeling herself to address the next issue. “That doesn’t mean you didn’t wish it otherwise.”
His answer came immediately. “My wishes are immaterial.” He turned to look at Amelia, and now the light behind him caused his face to disappear in shadow. “I married you, Amelia. I will honor our vows.”
How could she help him understand? Amelia stood and approached him. “And if you cannot? ‘Forsaking all others’ the rector said. Your wife is to have all your love and devotion.”
“And a husband should have all his wife’s,” he replied. “Do you tell me you’ve held nothing back?”
She stiffened. “No, nothing! I’ve never loved another.”
“And do you claim to love me?”
Amelia swallowed, gaze falling to the black-and-green carpet even as she halted a few feet from him. “Perhaps not yet.” Her voice sounded so small. “But I’m trying.”
He moved to close the distance between them and touched her cheek, drawing her attention back to his face. Standing so close, she could see that gold flecks danced in the dark eyes, as if some part of him still clung to light, to hope.