The Husband Campaign

by Regina Scott

  “Both,” he said with a charming smile. “Thomas Thomas. We used to call him old Tom Tom for short.”

  She wasn’t about to address a gentleman so familiarly. “And his rank?” she asked, forcing herself to focus on the letter.

  “He isn’t titled.” He shifted closer, and his trouser pressed against her skirts.

  Amelia hitched her chair to the side until she bumped against the silk-papered wall. “I meant his military rank,” she said, repositioning the paper. “I believe it is customary to address an officer by his rank even when he is retired.”

  “Oh, assuredly. I believe he made captain before his unfortunate accident.” He edged his chair up against hers. His smile was far too knowing. “Are you running away from me, Lady Hascot?”

  She did not wish to give him the impression that his actions concerned her; that gave him too much power. “Merely seeking the light,” she said, motioning with her quill to the nearby window. “Now, then, let us begin. ‘Dear Captain Thomas, I am writing for your friend, Major Kensington.’”

  “Davy,” he said.

  She looked up to find his face mere inches from her own. “He always called me Davy,” he murmured. “You could, too, you know. I’d like to think we’ve become good friends.”

  “You are too kind, Major,” Amelia said. She handed him the quill and pushed back her chair, forcing his arm to fall away from her. “Perhaps you should write this letter after all, if he is such a dear friend. Excuse me while I see what’s keeping my husband.”

  She hurried from the room before he could protest.

  In the corridor, she paused and took a deep breath. What behavior! No doubt he was simply so used to flirting that he forgot himself around a married woman, but she refused to allow him such familiarities. From now on, she’d make certain she was never alone with the fellow. That ought to keep his attentions on the proper plane.

  She instructed a footman to wait upon the major’s needs and retired to the lap desk in her room to write to her mother. But even in the quiet that was broken only by the whisper of Turner’s skirts as she put away some clothes in the wardrobe, Amelia could not decide how to continue. Her mother had always overseen all of Amelia’s activities. Which part of their situation could Amelia relate without expecting a scold in return?

  Turner had headed for the corridor with a bundle of soiled linens, but as soon as she opened the door, she slid it part of the way shut again. She shifted this way and that, peering through the gap.

  “What are you doing?” Amelia couldn’t help asking, putting away her unused quill.

  “Shh,” the maid cautioned.

  Amelia shook her head as she rose. “Turner, there’s no need to spy on the other servants. I’m persuaded we have a good group in place now.”

  The maid glanced at Amelia over her shoulder. “It’s not the servants that worry me, your ladyship. It’s the other Lady Hascot.”

  “Turner,” Amelia scolded, coming to the door. “She is our guest.”

  “Mighty funny guest if you ask me,” Turner said. “You look out there and tell me what you see.”

  Something in her manner warned Amelia she would not like the picture in the corridor. Dread gathered at her throat. Could she have been wrong about John? Was he even now telling the other Lady Hascot how much he still admired her? She could not keep herself from peering out the crack.

  But instead of her husband beside Caro, Major Kensington stood close and familiar, one hand on the shoulder of Caro’s lavender evening dress.

  “You’re taking your sweet time,” he said to her.

  Amelia thought he must be talking about the lady’s habit of sleeping late, but Caro waved a hand. “I told you he would not be rushed. John is nothing if not methodical. If you wish his cooperation, you must earn his trust.”

  John’s cooperation? Why did the major require his cooperation? Amelia knew she should close the door to avoid overhearing a private conversation, but she couldn’t seem to move.

  “And how am I to earn his trust when he spends all his time with his cattle?” Major Kensington complained. He pulled back his hand to adjust his stock. “I prefer to expend my efforts on the wife. She might be useful, and she’s far more entertaining.”

  Amelia stiffened, but Caro rapped him on the arm. “Stop that! She has no influence on him. If she had, she’d have convinced him to consummate the marriage by now.”

  If Amelia had ever considered a friendship with the woman, the hope died right then. How could Caro tell another person, especially a gentleman, about the secret she only suspected? It was as if she had tossed Amelia’s shame into the air for all to see.

  “I wouldn’t blame that on her,” Major Kensington answered. “Any man who could resist such a beauty is obviously touched in the head, which doesn’t bode well for our chances of success.”

  Caro patted her golden curls. “Doesn’t bode well for your chances. If you give me time, I’ll bring him around.”

  Amelia felt cold all over, but Major Kensington bent his head. “I’d estimate that you have at most two days before our mutual acquaintance loses patience and comes to Hollyoak Farm himself. Is that what you want?”

  She jerked back. “I’m not afraid of him.”

  “Indeed. Then why are you doing his bidding?”

  She shrugged, but Amelia thought the gesture too contrived. “I’ve already spent his money, and there will be no more unless I make good on my promises.”

  His money? Was Caro short on funds? Had John taken money from the estate to support the changes Amelia had requested at Hollyoak Farm? If so, the woman’s need to find alternative funding was at least partly Amelia’s fault.

  “Hascot seems to think you were left well-off,” the major informed her.

  As Amelia frowned, Caro put a hand on his cheek. “Well-off for one is insufficient for two, my sweet. I would prefer to be able to keep you in style.”

  He bent his head then, and Amelia started to close her door.

  Caro jerked. “Is someone there?”

  Major Kensington whirled, and for a moment the charming smile slipped to be replaced by a fury that made Amelia suck in a breath.

  Turner pushed past her. “Pardon me, ma’am. Just going out with the dirty linen. Didn’t wish to disturb you.” She bent to tuck up some of the hanging pieces. Only Amelia could see her face. “Carry on as usual,” she advised in a whisper. “I’ll fetch the master. I warrant he’ll have something to say about the two of them being thick as thieves.”

  Amelia allowed her to shut the door, then leaned against the panel. It was clear Major Kensington and Caro wanted something from John, and it sounded like money. For some reason they felt they had to trick it out of him. And who was this other acquaintance, the one Major Kensington seemed to think Caro should fear?

  She could only hope Turner could prevail upon John to join them, for she wasn’t sure even her highly trained hostess skills were up to this sort of thing, and she couldn’t hide in her room for long.

  * * *

  “You’re hiding,” Fletcher said.

  John drew himself up from where he’d been examining Magnum’s right fore pastern at the back of the stable. It seemed to him the black had favored the leg on their ride through the rain, but he’d found no sign of a stone in the shoe.

  “I have work to do,” he told his veterinarian, reaching for the cloth he used to rub down the stallion.

  “Your staff has work to do,” Fletcher countered. “And by your leave, they are very good at doing it. You are likely needed inside.”

  John grimaced as he rubbed Magnum’s coat, and the stallion’s muscles relaxed. He knew he was avoiding his guests. He doubted his refusal to sell his horses to the military had gone over well with Major Kensington. He wasn’t about to change his mind, but he didn’t think A
melia would be pleased if he started an argument in her lovely new withdrawing room.

  Then there was Caro’s confession the previous evening that she still loved him. Why had she bothered to tell him? Surely she knew him well enough to realize he would never be unfaithful to Amelia. Why stir things up now?

  “Is Amelia having trouble?” he asked the veterinarian, hanging the cloth on the stall to dry.

  “Your bride is a lady through and through,” Fletcher assured him. “She would never complain. But I’m certain your aid would be greatly appreciated.”

  John puffed out a sigh. “I cannot like it, Fletcher. I feel like one of my foals in training, forced to go this way or that simply to please another.”

  Fletcher shrugged. “And yet we both know that training improves the horse, fits it for its intended duty.”

  “And we both know some horses fight to the bitter end,” John countered with a nod down the stable to where Firenza had kicked over the box of grooming implements about to be used on her.

  “By your leave,” Fletcher said, “you are not a horse, my lord.”

  John chuckled. “Don’t tell Magnum.”

  Just then, John spotted Turner coming along the center aisle of the stable. Standing on her toes to see over the boxes, the maid glanced this way and that, and John knew by the way her face hardened when she’d spotted him.

  “Begging your pardon, your lordship, Dr. Fletcher,” she said as she hurried up, “but her ladyship requires your assistance inside.”

  The veterinarian raised a brow at John as if to say I told you so. “I’ll be right in,” John promised her.

  He took the time to push his hair off his forehead, then ventured indoors. The footman directed him to the withdrawing room, where Amelia, Caro and Major Kensington were taking tea.

  John paused in the doorway and realized the tableau was everything he hated about Society. Major Kensington sat so stiffly he might have been posing for his portrait. Caro refused to look at him, and the swing of her skirts as she sat on one of the chairs told John that her toe was tapping, most likely in vexation, against the carpet.

  Amelia was as serene as always, dispensing the brew, commenting consolingly on the weather, offering cakes and delicate biscuits.

  “I imagine today has been too staid for you,” John said, coming into the room. “But, take heart. The skies should clear by evening.”

  Caro brightened, and she patted the seat of the chair beside her. “John, darling! Come sit by me and have a cup.”

  John went to Amelia, who hurriedly poured for him. He could see the tremor in the cinnamon-colored liquid as she handed him the cup. He put his hand on her shoulder and remained standing beside her as he took a sip.

  “I’ve been wanting to speak with you,” Amelia said.

  He would have thought she’d fired a pistol for how quickly Caro and the major reacted.

  “Yes, Hascot, so have I,” Kensington said, setting aside his cup. “I see you have a very fine chessboard here. What about a game?”

  “Don’t be silly,” Caro said, rising in a rush of silk. “John would much prefer a ride. Allow me to accompany you, my lord. It will only take me a few moments to change.”

  How had he become so popular? “Amelia?” he asked, glancing down at her.

  To his surprise, there was a decided twinkle in her blue eyes. “You see how your guests have missed you, sir? You know what people can get up to when left to their own devices.”

  Kensington’s laugh reminded John of a frightened neigh. “Indeed. If not chess, old man, what about giving me a look at your breeding book? I imagine it’s a fascinating read.”

  John wasn’t about to fuel that fire. “In my experience,” he returned, “such books are fascinating only to the breeder.”

  Major Kensington held up a hand. “Say no more. I’ll simply have to console myself with your wife’s company.”

  Amelia’s blush appeared, a deeper red this time, and the twinkle in her eyes vanished.

  “You do that,” Caro all but purred, strolling toward John and bringing the scent of roses with her. “I’m sure John and I can find some other way to pass the time.”

  “I would never be so rude as to abandon my own wife,” John returned. He purposely reached for Amelia’s hand and clasped it in his own. Her fingers were stiff.

  “Certainly not,” Major Kensington agreed. “Why, if I had such a treasure, I’d never let her out of my sight.”

  “What gallant gentlemen,” Caro proclaimed, an edge to her voice. “But I’m afraid I simply cannot sit around like a hothouse palm. Who’s for a ride in the rain?”

  John shook his head. “I prefer to remain indoors. Kensington?”

  The major stretched his legs across the carpet. “Give me a warm hearth and a kind hostess any day.”

  John had never seen Caro’s face so tight. “Very well. I’m sure I can find a groom to attend me. Excuse me while I change into my riding habit.” She swept from the room.

  “Do you play chess, Amelia?” Major Kensington asked.

  “Not well enough,” Amelia admitted, busying herself with putting away the tea things. “I’m sure John would give you a better game.” Her glance up to him all but begged him to trounce the fellow.

  “I’ll take white,” John said, going to the table where the pieces had been laid out. But as Kensington moved to join him on the dark side of the board, John couldn’t help wondering what game Caro and the major were really playing and how they had managed to involve Amelia.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Something was very wrong. Amelia sat quietly in the withdrawing room, her embroidery frame before her and a needle and floss in her hand. She was very glad John and Major Kensington were absorbed in their chess game, or they would surely have noticed that she hadn’t taken a single stitch. Instead, her mind was busy determining how she might manage a private word with her husband.

  When she’d ventured from her room to serve her guests tea, she had hoped to learn that the major and Caro had an innocent reason for their conversation in the corridor earlier. Unfortunately, their subsequent actions seemed to prove otherwise. They had gone out of their way to be pleasant to her, Caro even offering to share a set of gloves that would perfectly complement Amelia’s gown. Amelia could not help thinking it was a bribe to ensure her silence. They did not know how much Turner had heard in the corridor, and they could not be certain the maid had not gone carrying tales to her mistress.

  Their behavior with John had only confirmed the fact. Neither wanted her to speak with him, which only made her more determined to do just that.

  She waited until the clock on the mantel chimed the hour, then rose. “I suppose we should change for dinner.”

  John frowned at her. He hadn’t done more than swap his boots for evening pumps the previous afternoon. Major Kensington looked just as surprised, even though he had effected an entire change in clothing the other nights.

  “I think I’ll remain in civilian clothes,” he said. “Hollyoak Farm has spoiled me that way.”

  Of course he found an excuse! “My lord,” Amelia tried again, “a word about the menu.”

  John’s frown deepened. “Whatever you prefer is fine.”

  “Indeed it is,” Major Kensington assured him. “Your wife is an uncommonly fine hostess.”

  And an entirely frustrated one. Was there nothing she could do for a moment alone with her husband?

  Father, how can I attract his attention without swishing my tail like a horse!

  Inspiration struck. “John,” she said, “I’m worried about Firenza. She seems off her feed.”

  John rose. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Where’s Fletcher?” He started from the table.

  “Check!” Major Kensington proclaimed, leaning back in his chair as i
f from triumph. He was too much the soldier to show his panic, but Amelia thought his face had paled. “I have you now, my lord.”

  John, dear John, waved a hand. “I’ll finish the game another time. Come with me, Amelia, and tell Fletcher exactly what behavior you’ve seen. I won’t lose that horse.”

  “Of course, my lord,” Amelia said, hiding her smile.

  Major Kensington jumped to his feet. “I’d be happy to be of assistance.”

  “No,” John flung back over his shoulder as he moved to the doorway. “Firenza won’t abide strangers. We’ll see you at dinner.”

  The major slumped back into his seat as Amelia followed her husband.

  John’s stride ate up the corridor to the back of the house, and Amelia could barely keep pace. But she waited until they had reached the stable yard before calling his name. He jerked to a stop and stood until she had reached his side.

  Amelia put a hand on his arm. “I’ve already spoken with Dr. Fletcher. He feels she is merely expressing her displeasure at our recent training.”

  “I’d prefer to check on her all the same,” John said.

  Amelia glanced back at the house in time to see a curtain twitch in the library. Was a servant cleaning, or were she and John being watched? She took her husband’s arm. “What a very good idea, my lord. I’ll join you.”

  The stable was its usual busy place, with grooms preparing the horses for evening. Firenza stood in her box, head already buried in her feed trough. John watched her from the side, his face still, as if every sense was tuned to look for problems. Amelia knew she shouldn’t interrupt, but she was finding patience more difficult by the moment.

  Finally, he stepped back to Amelia’s side. “She’s fine, but it’s best to be watchful.”

  “I quite agree,” Amelia said. “And the same might be said for our guests.”

  Now he turned that intent gaze on her. “Why? Surely they can see to their own needs.”

  Amelia took his arm and drew him back a little ways from the grooms. “That is entirely the problem, my lord. I’m concerned they are seeing to their own needs, to the detriment of yours.” She took a deep breath and plunged in. “I overheard Caro and Major Kensington talking about finances.”