The Husband Campaign

by Regina Scott

  He cocked his head. “Was he pressuring her?”

  “No,” Amelia replied with a frown. “At least, not about money. Why would you assume him to be at fault?”

  He straightened. “Forgive me. I should not make assumptions about people’s behavior. I have a history of misunderstanding. But it seemed to me that Kensington was short of funds and hopes Caro will make up the difference.”

  His theory aligned with what she’d heard. “You may be right, my lord. However, it seemed to me that Caro is also short of funds and hopes you will make up the difference.”

  He shrugged. “I’m willing to listen to reason.”

  Perhaps too willing, where Caro was concerned. “I’m not sure she intends to use words to persuade you.”

  Now John frowned as if he didn’t understand. Would he make her say it aloud? “She is pretty, John.”

  “She is lovely,” John agreed, and she wanted to yank a horseshoe off the mare that was passing and throw the iron at him. “That isn’t the point. Either she has a reason for her request, or she doesn’t. Neither a pretty face nor winsome words will sway me.”

  “Of course,” Amelia murmured, dropping her hold on him.

  Still, she could feel him watching her. “What troubles you, Amelia?”

  This was the perfect time to do as he had encouraged and state her opinion. “I cannot understand why she is here at all,” she admitted. “She complains we have no Society, lives by town hours and doesn’t care a jot about the horses.”

  He stepped aside to allow a groom past with another of the mares, drawing Amelia with him. “She is here because she has nowhere else to go at the moment. She’s rented the town house, and the Hascot seat isn’t habitable.”

  Amelia threw up her hands. “And doesn’t that strike you as convenient?”

  “No,” John said. “It strikes me as remarkably inconvenient, for us.”

  Amelia sighed. “I wish I could believe it merely inconvenient, John. I feel as if we’re being manipulated.”

  The familiar glower settled over his features. “That I will not countenance. I’ll keep a closer eye on them, Amelia. Together, we will manage.”

  Amelia could only hope he was right.

  Dinner was a quieter affair, as if both Caro and Major Kensington expected to be evicted at any moment. When they all adjourned to the withdrawing room with no pronouncement from John, the two relaxed sufficiently to play another game of whist. But both found reasons to make it an early night. Amelia was almost loath to see them go, for more time alone meant more time for them to plot further ways to hurt John or her.

  * * *

  She was relieved to find the next day bright. At least now she could move her guests out of the house. She felt a little guilty for hoping John’s prediction would prove true, and their scheduled visit to Bellweather Hall that day would convince Caro and the major that they much preferred London Society.

  The distance down the dale was far enough and the occasion formal enough that they took John’s carriage. Caro attempted to seat herself next to him, but he shifted across to Amelia’s side. How could Amelia doubt him when he went out of his way to show her his preference?

  Yet the more John drew away, the more Caro seemed intent on capturing his attentions. She fluttered her lashes, nudged his boot with her slipper. Amelia had to fight the urge to stomp on her instep.

  Even worse, with John seated beside her, Amelia was left looking at Major Kensington, who smirked and winked his way through the trip. He claimed she looked like a ray of sunlight in her butter-yellow spencer and told her he had rarely seen a woman sit so serenely through every bump in the country road. She refused to acknowledge him with more than an indifferent smile.

  But smiling at all became much more difficult when they reached Bellweather Hall. Amelia had seen the magnificent country house at a distance when she’d visited the Earl of Danning’s fishing lodge nearby. Up close, the hall was even more splendid, with a fountain shooting as high as the white marble colonnaded portico in front of the sweeping wings.

  Her mother had assured her the hall boasted more than two hundred rooms, each lavishly appointed. Certainly the entry hall, floored in marble inlaid with gold, lived up to Amelia’s expectations. However, while her father’s London house was as well decorated, Bellweather Hall was more welcoming, with bright clusters of arranged flowers and portraits of smiling ancestors.

  A footman in a powdered wig and gold braid across his shoulders led them down a long corridor lined with alabaster statues and suits of armor to a withdrawing room laid out in shades of jade. The duchess and her daughter were seated on gilded chairs next to a hearth carved from serpentine marble. Each wore frilly muslin gowns that dripped lace, and Lady Prudence had confined her mousy curls inside a white satin turban with a pearl-studded band that seemed too ornate for an afternoon visit.

  Both ladies smiled as John introduced his guests, but the duchess positively beamed as she met Caro.

  “Ah, the Dowager Lady Hascot,” she declared. “I warrant you have some interesting tales to tell. Come, sit by me.”

  “Yes, do,” Lady Prudence insisted with a sniff. “I seem to have come down with distemperate anemia, but I don’t believe it’s contagious.” She blinked rapidly, and Amelia realized she was attempting to flutter her lashes at the major. Though his smile remained charming, he adjusted the stock at his neck as if feeling the noose tightening. Already she could feel a similar tension in John. Surely she could think of some better way to pass the time than sitting around being uncomfortable with each other.

  “I wonder,” Amelia said before anyone could position for seating. “It is a lovely day today, and I understand you have beautiful gardens, Your Grace. The turning paths might be quite conducive to conversation.”

  Lady Bellington and Major Kensington both looked intrigued by the idea, and soon everyone had followed the duchess out the double doors at the end of the room. Caro linked arms with John and made sure to walk beside him. Amelia shook her head. Would the woman never leave off?

  Her frustration made it hard to pay attention to the blooms along the graveled path. Unlike the boxed-in formal garden at her father’s estate in London, the gardens at Bellweather Hall were a riot of colors and shapes, with curving paths wandering past flowering shrubs and into grottos with pools of water.

  Amelia was more concerned about their guests. Lady Bellington commandeered Caro, and their heads were soon close together as if they whispered secrets. Major Kensington anchored himself beside John as if requiring reinforcements. Amelia found herself walking beside Lady Prudence and resigned herself to commiserate on a host of complaints.

  “You cannot allow her to win,” Lady Prudence said, dabbing at her nose with a lace-edged handkerchief.

  Amelia blinked. “Forgive me, but I’m not sure what you mean.”

  Lady Prudence nodded toward the front of the column where Caro’s laughter floated on the breeze. “Lady Hascot. She is far too bold.”

  Amelia managed a smile. “I’m sure she seems so to many.”

  “You will think me quite forward,” Lady Prudence confessed, pausing to blow her nose, “but you have been kind to me, and I would not see you ill used. That woman is attempting to eclipse you.”

  Amelia stared at her. “Do you sense the competition, as well?”

  “It is not obvious,” Lady Prudence assured her. “You are far too gentle natured and far too well-bred to let your frustration show. But I have been in your position, you know. My brother Bell is widely sought after, and not always with the best of intentions.”

  Amelia glanced at her. Though the lady’s face remained pale under the parasol she had brought with her, there was nothing infirm in her step. Indeed, she marched down the path as if intending to claim it for her own.

  “And how does your brother de
al with such difficulties?” Amelia asked her.

  Lady Prudence tucked away her handkerchief. “Bell is generally good about seeing intentions. But he tends to give the ladies the benefit of the doubt. I’m afraid I’m much more cynical. I refuse to smile while danger creeps up on family.”

  Amelia stared at Caro, who had paused to admire a rose climbing up the lacework of a trellis. “Do you think Lady Hascot to be dangerous?”

  “To you physically? Perhaps not. But to your marriage, definitely. You must use all your wiles to protect your husband. You must show her that you are Lady Hascot.”

  Her wiles. Over her two Seasons, she’d only resorted to such measures twice, batting her lashes and murmuring sweet words to convince a gentleman to see things her way. The first time had been to sway a Parliamentarian to support something her father wanted, earning her a rare compliment from him. The second time had been to help Ruby Hollingsford in her campaign to win the earl. Both times Amelia had felt dirty, deceitful afterward. It was one thing to be her best self in a situation. It was another to use her beauty to influence a man’s actions.

  “I fear that isn’t in my nature,” she confessed.

  Lady Prudence sighed. “A shame. I fear it would be entirely too much in my nature, only I haven’t the arsenal you do.” She sniffed. “Perhaps that was the Lord’s plan. He knew I would be too controlling to be a beauty.”

  “I did not consider you controlling,” Amelia assured her.

  “Ah, but I am.” She took out her handkerchief again. “I like attention. If you cannot use your beauty, I advise you to find a reliable disease or two. The device has worked wonders for me.” She raised her voice. “Mother, I think all this light is affecting a bilious extrusion upon my chin. Would you come look for me?”

  The duchess immediately turned from Caro and trotted back to her daughter with a long-suffering sigh. “Oh, let me see. No, no, dear girl, you are fine. Come up with Lady Hascot and me. She was just relating a most interesting story about the Count of Kurion and a certain Russian princess.”

  With an arched look to Amelia, Lady Prudence moved to the front of the cavalcade with her mother.

  Amelia shook her head. Pretending to fictitious diseases might serve to win Lady Prudence a moment of attention, but it had helped alienate the pair from the rest of society. It was also manipulative, a fault she quite agreed with John to be abhorrent. And what if one of Lady Prudence’s physicians actually attempted to cure a fancied ill? The treatment might kill the woman!

  Yet Amelia could not fault Lady Prudence’s skill. Within short order, the young lady had switched places with John, putting herself at the major’s side. Whatever conversation she initiated soon had Major Kensington’s handsome face turning red. Amelia detoured around a bush to avoid intervention.

  Unfortunately, she found herself requiring intervention instead.

  John had stopped, Caro and the duchess before him. He positively scowled, hands fisted at his sides, while Caro’s perky smile faded into concern and Lady Bellington glowed with delight.

  And Amelia knew something was very wrong, indeed.

  * * *

  It had been a miserable morning. First, John had had to endure a quarter hour of Kensington’s egregious flirting with Amelia while John had tried to discourage Caro. Then he’d had to pretend civility with two women who, in his opinion, should be locked in their rooms until they could behave sensibly. The garden was lovely, but he would far have preferred to visit the stables.

  Especially now that Lady Bellington knew his secret.

  “Well?” the duchess demanded. “What have you to say for yourself, sir? Surely you know that every gentleman owes it to his name to sire an heir.”

  “The situation between a wife and husband is not for common conversation, madam,” he managed.

  “Indeed.” Amelia glided around a flowering bush to join them. “How kind of you to take an interest in us, Your Grace. And when might we wish your son happy?”

  How well she did things like that, turning the conversation from difficulty to pleasantness. He could only admire her skill, for it was one he utterly lacked.

  Now Lady Bellington turned her bright eyes on Amelia. “He is to return within the week. You can be sure you’ll be invited to tea, Lady Hascot. And you as well, Lady Hascot,” she said to Caro. “If you are still in the area.”

  “I have no plans to leave anytime soon, Your Grace,” Caro said with a smile to John. “I’m enjoying myself far too much.”

  “How gratifying,” Amelia said. “Perhaps you should spread some of that enjoyment to Lady Prudence. She seems to be having trouble with Major Kensington.”

  “Oh, perhaps he has trifled with her!” Lady Bellington seized Caro’s arm with a grin that suggested she’d be pleased to have her suspicions confirmed. “We must find out.”

  Either Caro was as interested in the answer or she couldn’t protest fast enough, for the duchess bore her off.

  Amelia immediately turned to John. “I said nothing, John, I promise you. I don’t know how people keep surmising the issue!”

  John thought he knew. Caro was in such a mood to attract attention that she could well have told the duchess her theory. He simply couldn’t understand how Caro had guessed. Oh, he’d seen couples who smelled of April and May, hands clasped, gazes locked so tightly it was a wonder they didn’t trip over each other. However, plenty of lords and ladies wed without such obvious devotion, and they managed an heir within a year. Why didn’t people assume he and Amelia would be among their number?

  “Lady Bellington could find scandal in a nursery,” John replied. “Do not encourage her, and it will all blow over.”

  She bit her lip a moment before answering. “I wish I could believe that. But I fear the only way to stop the rumors is for me to produce an heir, and we both know that isn’t likely unless something changes.”

  Something, she said, as if she was the one at fault. He knew what had to change. It wasn’t Amelia’s temperament or her character. Both, he was committed to believing, were exemplary. Nor were her attempts to fix his clothing or hair a solution. What needed to change was his heart.

  The realization had been coming on slowly, but he knew it for the truth. The day his brother had betrayed him, he’d considered violence, and the blackness inside him had disturbed and disgusted him. He never wanted to feel that strongly again. Certainly he didn’t dare expose a child to such feelings. Since then, he had blamed God for abandoning him, but John had been the one to flee, away from the light that showed his inner darkness.

  He wasn’t sure he was ready to let another see his true self, even Amelia.

  Still, he tried to do his duty the rest of the visit. He stayed at Amelia’s side, nodded when appropriate, answered questions put to him. He escorted his wife to the carriage and sat next to Kensington across from her so she could meet his gaze instead of the major’s. He had as little to do with Caro as his role of host allowed, which seemed to annoy the Dowager Lady Hascot, if her barbed comments were any indication.

  He was congratulating himself on getting through another afternoon when they pulled into the stable yard behind the house, and Amelia turned white.

  “Oh, look,” Caro said, glancing out the window. “You have more company.”

  John twisted to see out the window, as well. A massive travel coach sat on the gravel, with a set of white horses at the front, each exactly fifteen hands high by his estimation. They had good lines and were likely prime goers, but he’d never seen them before. “I don’t recognize the team.”

  “I do.” Amelia’s voice was as faint as an echo.

  John turned to her in surprise. In the shadows of the coach, her face was a beacon of white, her eyes huge. Caro and Major Kensington were both staring at her, as well.

  “It’s my father,” she said.
/>   Chapter Seventeen

  Oh, could this day get any worse? First, Lady Bellington had complained about their marriage, and Amelia was fairly certain the comment had grown out of the duchess’s conversation with Caro and would likely feature largely in any future discussions with Amelia. Now her father had come. Who would blame her for refusing to climb from the carriage?

  Oh, everyone.

  So Amelia allowed John to help her down and walked with him toward the waiting coach, with Major Kensington and Caro behind them. Each step felt as if she was drawing closer to the gallows. John’s arm under her hand was as stiff as a stair rail and as unyielding.

  Her father had deigned to alight and stood beside the door of his carriage. Though he had to have traveled far that day, his top hat, dove-gray coat and black pantaloons were crisp, as if giving no quarter even to inconvenience.

  “Amelia,” he said with an inclination of his head. “Hascot. I expected to find you home.”

  “I would have been waiting,” Amelia assured him, “had I known you were coming.” She glanced inside the carriage, only to find it empty. “Isn’t Mother with you?”

  “She insisted on remaining in London,” he said.

  She found it difficult to believe her mother preferred the miasma that hugged the capital in August, but she supposed the marchioness might have been hoping for a better invitation than to Hollyoak Farm.

  “A shame,” she said. “I believe you know one of our other guests, Lady Hascot.”

  Caro and the major stepped forward. “My lord,” she said with a curtsy.

  “Lady Hascot,” he greeted her. “Kensington.”

  So he knew the major, too. Amelia glanced at the cavalry officer to find that he had paled. Apparently he also had few good memories of her father.

  “And what brings you to our door?” John asked her father.