The Husband Campaign

by Regina Scott

  “Indeed. But only someone close to you would understand. I am not attempting to change you, my lord.”

  He cocked his head, dark eyes watchful. “Aren’t you? Can you truly say you accept me just as I am, Amelia? That you have no regrets in marrying me?”

  “My regrets,” Amelia said, “are not with the past, my lord. My regrets have to do with the future.”

  “There is no sense worrying about the future,” he countered. “What will be, will be. It’s up to us to make the best of it.”

  * * *

  She was to remember those words the next day. She’d thought hard and prayed harder about how to win her husband over. She felt as if she was missing some piece of the puzzle that was John, some aspect of his character that would unlock his heart. A campaigning general, after all, required reconnaissance. Perhaps a consultation with the veterinarian was in order. He clearly saw more of John than she did. Accordingly, she asked Marcus Fletcher to attend her when he had a moment.

  “Dr. Fletcher,” she said when he made his bow where she sat at the little secretary that afternoon, “I would like your advice.”

  He glanced around the room as if looking for a place to hide. Fortunately for Amelia, it was no longer the shadowed cave it had been when she’d arrived at Hollyoak Farm. Bright paintings of country landscapes graced the walls, and filmy curtains let in the light from the two windows. As if he realized that he could not escape her question, the veterinarian ventured closer.

  “How might I be of assistance, your ladyship?” he asked, tugging down on his paisley waistcoat.

  “You have worked for my husband for quite a while, have you not?” Amelia returned.

  “Since he purchased Hollyoak Farm,” he confirmed. He cocked his head, gaze going to the parchment in front of her. Like Turner, he seemed inordinately interested in what she had written, but she knew the veterinarian could read.

  “I would imagine you’ve spent a great deal of time together,” Amelia continued with a smile. “He must greatly admire your efforts.”

  He stood a little taller. “I like to think so. And I admire his, your ladyship. He has a way with the animals, an understanding, if you will. I’ve never seen its like.”

  That yearning was rising up inside her again. Why should even horses know affection when it had been denied her?

  “He has a gift,” she agreed. She faced the veterinarian fully. “I have come to greatly admire him, as well, Dr. Fletcher. I’ve tried to make things pleasant for him.”

  “Oh, you have, your ladyship,” he assured her. “You’ve only to look at this room to see that.”

  “But is he happy?” Amelia protested. “Do you see him smile more often?”

  Fletcher ran a hand back through his hair, fingers sticking in the red curls. “By your leave, your ladyship, he isn’t a man to smile all that much to begin with.”

  “I know.”

  Her sorrow must have been evident, for he hurried forward and knelt beside her, putting his face on a level with hers.

  “Now, you mustn’t blame yourself, your ladyship,” he said, gray eyes earnest. “That’s just his nature. I’ve read it’s even in a man’s spleen, whether he’s happy or melancholy.”

  He was a doctor, but she found his theory difficult to believe. “I’ve always thought that happiness is more of a choice, sir,” she said. “We are born with a temperament, to be sure, and our surroundings shape it. But we can choose to be content in our circumstances. Didn’t the Apostle Paul say so?”

  “He did,” he acknowledged. “But he’d never met Lord Hascot.”

  Amelia couldn’t help laughing. “That I cannot argue. But I wish I knew what more I could do to please him.”

  He sighed. “I’m hard-pressed to say, your ladyship. Except, perhaps...”

  Amelia leaned forward. “Yes?”

  “Give him a little time?” He ducked his head as if he knew she wouldn’t like the suggestion. “He’s a proud man, a determined man. He doesn’t change easily, even when he knows it’s for the best.”

  Amelia nodded, leaning back. “So I have noticed. It’s just so hard to wait!”

  He patted her hand on the desk. “I know.” He climbed to his feet. “But you’ve made a big difference already. Just keep at it, and I promise you won’t be disappointed.”

  She wished she could believe that. She was about to thank him for his time when Reams rushed into the room.

  “Begging your pardon, your ladyship, Dr. Fletcher,” he managed, body trembling and coat askew. “But we have visitors.”

  Amelia rose. “Her Grace and Lady Prudence?”

  “No, your ladyship.” He visibly swallowed. “Mr. Hennessy says it’s a Hascot coach and a big wagon.”

  “A Hascot coach?” Amelia frowned. “But my things have already arrived.”

  “Only one other person’s allowed to use a coach marked with the Hascot insignia,” Dr. Fletcher said. He met Amelia’s gaze, and dread washed over her.

  “You mean...” She couldn’t bring herself to say the name aloud.

  He nodded, color fleeing. “That’s right, your ladyship. The Dowager Lady Hascot is here, and by the sound of it, she intends to stay awhile.”

  * * *

  John sighted the cavalcade from the field. He’d been out with Magnum, making sure Contessa was behaving for once, and he’d taken the opportunity to check the creek for any more of the water hemlock that had sickened Firenza. As they rode back toward the stables, Magnum had bugled in warning.

  “Buyers,” he told the black with a pat on the horse’s muscular neck. “Never you fear. You’re not for sale.”

  Still, he knew his duty, so he urged the stallion across the grass, jumping this ditch and that wall. It was a show, an exhibition. Gentlemen saw Magnum’s abilities and hungered for a horse of his caliber. He had several hunters ready to take to the field. Perhaps one of these people would be a good match.

  But as he drew nearer, he saw the baggage wagon, piled with trunks and boxes. A maid in a black gown was riding next to the driver, which meant there was a lady in the group. And the gentleman dismounting his charger at the front of the procession was dressed in the blue-and-gold uniform of the 10th Royal Hussars, the Prince’s own cavalry unit.

  John felt his shoulders tightening. Then he caught sight of the carriage.

  His family carriage.

  Caro.

  He felt as if someone had rammed a fist into his gut. Magnum must have sensed the change in him, for the black’s gait stuttered. John reined him in, stroked his neck.

  “I don’t like it,” he murmured. “But we can’t abandon Amelia.”

  Magnum tossed his head as if to argue. The black had never warmed to Amelia, and John still wasn’t sure why. But he had to agree with the stallion that this visit would only mean trouble.

  The cavalcade reached the house the same time he and Magnum did. Amelia and Fletcher had come out onto the steps. She stood tall and proud. Her pleasant smile was so firmly fixed to her lips it might have been drawn on with oil. Her posture only stiffened further as the footman lowered the step and helped Caroline, Lady Hascot, to alight.

  She was as lovely as ever, golden curls tickling the sides of her creamy face below a tiny hat nearly eclipsed by a profusion of feathers and satiny bows. Her rosy lips widened in a smile of welcome as John handed Magnum’s reins to the footman and came forward to greet her.

  “John, dearest!” The musky scent of roses engulfed him as she held out her hand and angled her chin to present him equal opportunity to kiss either location. He refused.

  “Lady Hascot,” he said. “We weren’t expecting you.”

  She trilled a laugh as the cavalry officer attending her stepped to her side. “Well, you always said I was welcome at Hollyoak Farm any time,” she reminded
John. “And you didn’t give me a chance to meet your charming bride in town.” She leaned around John and wiggled her gloved fingers at Amelia. “Oh, but she’s lovely, John. I can see why you offered for her.”

  Before he could respond, she reached for the officer’s arm and drew him closer. “Allow me to present Major David Kensington of the 10th Royal Hussars.”

  Major Kensington extended his hand. “Lord Hascot, an honor. My commanding officer rode one of your beasts into the battle of Waterloo. A magnificent creature.”

  “I’ll be more impressed if you tell me the horse survived the battle,” John said without shaking his hand.

  “Oh, of course. With great distinction, I promise you.” Kensington pulled back his hand and rubbed it along the gold stripe of his trouser as if that had been his intention all along. “I was very glad Lady Hascot suggested this trip, for I’ve long wanted to learn more about your program.” He eyed Magnum over John’s shoulder. “I see you continue to breed the best.”

  “I merely appreciate the Lord’s work,” John replied. He would have liked nothing better than to send the two to the inn in the village, but he suspected Amelia would want him to at least attempt the social niceties. “Come, meet my wife,” he told them.

  John led them toward the house even as grooms took away Magnum and the major’s horse, a spirited chestnut gelding.

  Amelia inclined her head as they approached the stairs. “Welcome to Hollyoak Farm,” she said, graciousness itself for all that her color had fled.

  John stepped between her and Caro. “Amelia, Dr. Fletcher, may I present my brother’s wife, Lady Hascot, and Major Kensington.”

  Fletcher nodded to both. Amelia inclined her head to Caro and allowed the major to kiss her hand, retrieving it quickly.

  Caro laughed again. “I can see this Lady Hascot business is going to grow tiresome. There is only one thing for it. You must be Amelia, and I must be Caro. We are sisters now after all.” She pushed past John and linked arms with Amelia. “I just know we’ll be the best of friends, as well. You must tell me all about how John courted you. We can compare notes.”

  John moved to intercept, but Kensington blocked his way.

  “Women,” he said with an easy grin as Caro all but dragged Amelia into the house on a rose-scented cloud. “I say, allow me to change out of my travel dirt, and I’d be delighted to see more of your stock.”

  John opened his mouth to refuse, but Fletcher stepped forward. “Allow me to show you around, Major. I am the veterinarian at Hollyoak Farm, so you might say I’ve know each horse from before it was foaled.”

  “Capital!” Major Kensington clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll just be a moment, if you could point out my room.”

  “Lady Hascot will have one waiting for you,” Fletcher assured him, bowing him ahead into the house. As soon as the major was out of earshot, Fletcher turned to John. “This has all the makings of a disaster.”

  “Or a farce,” John replied. “You needn’t trouble yourself. I’ll see to the major after I’ve made sure Caro and Amelia are getting on. Just inform the others that I don’t intend to sell another horse to the military, not after seeing how Contessa was treated.”

  “If I may, that was one misguided cavalryman,” the veterinarian protested. “I’m sure many valiant officers treat their horses better than their friends.”

  “Then they are free to approach me. In the meantime, keep your eyes on Kensington when we dine tonight. I want to know what you think of his character.”

  Fletcher nodded. “And I would counsel you to keep a very close eye on the ladies. Your wife has only begun to feel as if Hollyoak Farm is her home. She won’t appreciate having to share it, or you.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Did the other Lady Hascot have to be so perfect?

  Amelia managed a smile as Major Kensington and Dr. Fletcher laughed at one of the woman’s jokes. Caro sat at the dinner table, head cocked so that her golden curls brushed her cheek, lips curved in delight. She was witty, clever, a born flirt. Amelia felt like a great lump.

  They were taking an early dinner, but that hadn’t stopped Caro and Major Kensington from dressing for the evening. Caro’s gown of russet satin gleamed in the candlelight and was rivaled only by the sparkle of the gold braid on the major’s uniform.

  Amelia was thankful she’d had rooms made up a while ago just in case some of John’s buyers would need to stay overnight. As it was, she had only murmured the locations to Mr. Hennessy, and the butler had directed the various servants where to go. A word to Mr. Shanter had brought out the best salmon for dinner. She could confidently say she’d been a credit to her husband. Somehow, that fact wasn’t as satisfying as she’d hoped.

  “How long do you plan to stay?” John put in from the head of the table. Mr. Hennessy had placed Caro on his right and Major Kensington on his left, with Dr. Fletcher between Caro and Amelia at the foot. She knew it was protocol, but she couldn’t help wishing she was the one sitting next to her husband.

  Now Caro laughed. Everything seemed a happy circumstance to her. A shame Amelia couldn’t see the visit that way.

  “Now, don’t you worry about how you’ll entertain us, John,” Caro said. “Major Kensington is ever so eager to learn more about what you do, and you might even convince me to get into the saddle.” She leaned around Dr. Fletcher to smile at Amelia. “I never was much of a rider. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Amelia is an excellent rider,” John said. “She managed one of my most difficult horses with her voice alone.”

  Amelia’s face warmed with his praise. So, she felt, did her heart.

  Major Kensington raised his glass in toast. “Well done, Lady Hascot. I appreciate a woman who knows how to tame a savage beast.”

  “Particularly when he is her husband,” Caro teased before taking a sip from her own glass.

  John glowered.

  “I would have no need to tame such a considerate husband,” Amelia put in smoothly. “And as for the horse, Major Kensington, Firenza is not nearly a savage.”

  “Firenza?” Caro shook her finger at John. “Another fanciful name, I see.” She turned to Major Kensington. “Do you know he named that black brute he was riding Magnum Opus, as if he was a great composition?”

  “What would you have me name him?” John challenged, eyes narrowing. “Blacky? Save me from such a lack of inspiration.”

  “I do believe,” Dr. Fletcher put in, “that Weatherby’s General Stud Book encourages original names for its registry.”

  Caro bowed over her silver-rimmed plate as if paying homage. “And all hail Weatherby’s. Heaven forbid that we do anything to displease the masters of horse.”

  “You haven’t answered my question,” John said.

  Amelia dropped her gaze to her salmon before her guests could see her smile. Bless John for his constancy! It was becoming very clear, at least to her, that he found their guests far from amusing. She should not take such pleasure in that.

  “I haven’t decided,” Caro told him breezily. “Everyone who is anyone has left London for the Season, in any event.”

  True. Most of London’s elite found country houses to visit during sweltering August. Amelia would never have thought Hollyoak Farm to be among the more sought-after invitations.

  “Will your friends not miss your company?” she tried, earning her a fierce nod of approval from John.

  Caro waved a hand. “I am certain they will survive my absence. Besides, I like being beholden to no one. I come and go as it pleases me.”

  “And the best you could do was Hollyoak?” John demanded.

  She dimpled at him. “Right now, it pleases me to become better acquainted with your charming bride.”

  Amelia wished she could return the compliment. Part of her was curious about the woman
John had once considered marrying. Another part warned her that she would not like what she found.

  * * *

  John had never been good at the sparkling conversation that brightened London Society. He didn’t care about the facile comments and empty praise, could never think of a witty response until the topic had moved on. Quips and jests flew back and forth between Caro and the major, with Amelia occasionally joining in. He found he much preferred a quiet dinner with his wife.

  Yet he had to admit to a curiosity. Why had Caro come calling? She’d said she wanted to meet Amelia, but one-hundred-and-eighty-some miles of dusty roads, a travel carriage, a luggage wagon and an entourage seemed a great deal of effort merely to make an acquaintance. Couldn’t she have waited until John and Amelia went up to London next spring?

  Had Caro been a mare in his stable, insisting on joining another pasture when she had perfectly good grass where she was, he would have said it had something to do with the horses in the other pasture. Was it possible the same motivations applied in this case? It would lend credence to Caro’s claim that she wanted to know Amelia better.

  He watched his sister-in-law that evening after Fletcher excused himself and the others adjourned to the withdrawing room. Amelia suggested whist, and their guests happily agreed. The partners should have been obvious, John with Amelia and Major Kensington with Caro. But before John could reach his seat, Caro linked arms with him.

  “Do partner me, dearest,” she said, lashes fluttering. “You know I haven’t a head for numbers, and I’d hate to make a poor showing in front of your darling Amelia.”

  John glanced at Amelia. That pleasant smile he was coming to dread sat upon her pretty lips, but she seemed to be standing taller than usual, as if her spine had stiffened.

  “Nonsense,” John tried, attempting to remove Caro’s hand from his arm.

  Major Kensington stepped to Amelia’s side and held out his arm. “I’d be delighted to partner our charming hostess.”

  Amelia cast John a look but kindly agreed.