Brandon’s gaze snapped back to his friend. “That’s why I asked you here. Even though Amelia is of age, you’re her closest male relation. I want your consent.”
Huntingdon sighed. “As far as I’m concerned, you have it. But I need to speak with Eliza. For once, I’m not looking forward to talking with my wife.”
…
“You have to marry him,” Eliza said.
Amelia sat on the bench seat of her bedchamber wringing her hands. Her sister paced the Brussels carpet and stopped to glare at her. “Huntingdon told me everything. The portrait. The copy of the Cuyp landscape. Everything.”
Just splendid. Her secrets were revealed in glorious fashion. She’d hoped to confess to her sister one day in the future.
But her choices were limited now. Everything had changed in an instant. They’d been discovered in a highly compromising position by a duke, and she was truly ruined. Her only option was marriage.
But if Brandon married her, he’d lose his land and the textile mill. He’d be financially devastated. Could she do that to him?
Worse still, he might come to regret the decision. He might even resent her for his choice. Could she live with the guilt, or heaven forbid, with a husband who grew to blame her, a man who didn’t love her?
Her reputation would be in tatters if she refused him, but his would remain intact. Brandon’s title, along with his grandmother’s influence, would ensure that he would be unscathed by the scandal. He could still marry Minerva or another heiress.
Anguish seared Amelia’s heart. Why did it have to hurt so much?
Eliza sat beside her on the bench seat. “You must not refuse Lord Vale’s offer,” she said softly.
Amelia stared at her hands in her lap. “No one can force me to say my vows. I had different plans for my future.”
“Your art, I know.”
“If I must give up part of my dream, then I had hoped to do it for a man’s love.”
Eliza sighed and smoothed a stray lock of hair from Amelia’s cheek. “I must have been blind not to see it, but it is clear to me now. Vale cares for you greatly, Amelia.”
Amelia twisted her fingers in her skirts. “Perhaps he cares, but he does not love me. There is a difference.”
“Men are slow to acknowledge their emotions, especially love. They fear it will weaken them.”
“What about Huntingdon?”
The corner of Eliza’s lips curled in a smile. “He was no different. Most strong-willed and dominant men need to be hit over the head before they recognize an emotion as overwhelming as love for a woman.”
Amelia laughed softly. “You make them sound dimwitted.”
“Never,” Eliza said. “They are highly intelligent. They are just afraid.”
“Of what?”
“Love is all consuming. You willingly put another before yourself. You aren’t happy unless they are. It’s as frightening as it is invigorating.”
“I’m not certain Vale feels that way.”
“He loves you,” Eliza insisted. “Speak with him.”
“I don’t know if I should see him again.”
“You must. It isn’t just your reputation at stake, but Chloe’s as well.”
Amelia had the same frightful thought in the music room beneath the duchess’s hateful glare.
“The scandal wouldn’t just harm your reputation,” Eliza said, “but Chloe’s. You know how badly she wants to marry. Not just any man, but an aristocrat. You wouldn’t do anything to harm her, would you?”
Eliza knew just how to strike a nerve. Amelia loved her sisters. She’d do anything for either of them. Could she be so selfish? Especially when she loved Brandon?
“All right,” Amelia said softly. “I’ll speak with Lord Vale.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Amelia slept fitfully and woke tired. Last night had been a disaster. Brandon had been locked behind doors with Huntingdon, and Amelia hadn’t been able to speak with him alone.
It didn’t help that the household had been in an upheaval.
She’d learned that the duke and his family had left Rosehill early that morning. Their servants must have been in a frenzy packing their belongings late into the night in order to be ready to travel so quickly.
Amelia summoned a maid and hurried to dress. She was hungry, but decided to skip breakfast. She needed to speak with Brandon privately and discern his intentions. Did he truly love her or was his hasty proposal due entirely to the scandal they’d caused? Her future course of action depended on his answer.
She knocked softly on his study door, but found it empty. She searched the billiard room, the library, and even the conservatory, but found them vacant as well. She decided to head to the stables and ask a groom if Lord Vale had gone riding when she turned a corner and spotted him in the vestibule. Smithson was handing Brandon his hat and gloves.
She halted beside the Chinoiserie vase on the vestibule table. “Where are you going?”
Brandon tugged on a leather glove. “Is something amiss?”
She was surprised at the question. Her world had unraveled after last night, but Brandon appeared as if nothing untoward had occurred. Her fingers twisted behind her. “I’d like to talk.”
His eyes met and held hers. “I apologize, but I was on my way to settle last minute business at the factory. I realize last night was unsettling, but can we speak when I return?”
Her fingers twisted in her skirts. The prior evening was much more than unsettling, but there could only be one reason he’d go to the factory the morning after the ball. He planned to tell Mr. Begley and the employees that he would soon lose ownership of the textile mill.
She started forward. “Wait. I want to go with you.”
His mouth was tight. “It’s not necessary.”
“It is to me,” she countered. “I’ve often thought of the children after my visit to the mill.”
If Brandon was going to lose the factory because he was marrying her rather than Minerva, then Amelia wanted the chance to speak with Mr. Begley herself. Perhaps she could persuade the man to look after the children. She might be able to make a difference.
The lines around his mouth tightened a fraction more. “It will be a grim meeting.”
She nodded briefly. “I’m aware.”
“Amelia—”
She raised her chin in determination. “I also want to speak with you. Alone.”
“It’s not appropriate.”
She managed a choked laugh. “After last night, I hardly think a chaperone is necessary.”
He hesitated, then nodded. “Come along then.”
He helped her into the carriage, then took the seat across from her. His muscular frame dominated the space, and his thigh brushed her skirts. Now that they were alone she didn’t know how to broach the subject of what had occurred at the ball. Or how to make him acknowledge his true feelings for her.
Leaning forward, he touched her hand. “Amelia, I apologize for last night.”
She bit her lip in dismay. “Do you regret it then?”
His eyes darkened with emotion. “You misunderstand. I’m sorry for what you had to go through, but I don’t regret asking you to marry me.”
“What of the factory and the land? I don’t want to marry a man out of obligation,” she said in a voice that seemed to come from a while off.
“Is that what you think?”
Her eyes rose to his at the intensity of his voice. “What else am I to think? You mentioned honor more times than I can count. After the debacle at the ball, you feel honor bound to salvage my reputation.”
“I’ve done a good job of ruining things, haven’t I?”
“Last night wasn’t entirely your fault, my lord.”
“No, it wasn’t. But I’m glad for it. You are more important to me than a dozen factories or any amount of land.”
She froze, her heart pounding.
He cradled the side of her face with his large hand and searched her eyes. “I love you, Amelia. I
’ve been a fool for not acknowledging it sooner.”
She froze, stunned to hear the words. “Truly?”
“Yes. Truly. With all my heart.”
Warmth crept back into her body, and her heart sang with delight. “Oh, Brandon, I love you, too.”
“Thank God.” His hand slid to her nape, and he pulled her close and kissed her tenderly, leaving no doubt in her mind that he meant his words. Happiness bubbled inside her, pure and sweet.
He pulled back to look in her eyes. “I was wrong and selfish to say you can’t paint what you wish under your true name. When you have your exhibition, I’ll be proud to stand beside you.”
She took a quick sharp breath of joy. “But what of your sisters and the dowager?”
“My sisters are strong, independent women, and they would be thrilled to have you as a sister. As for my grandmother, I suspect she wants grandchildren above all else and she will accept and love you as my countess.”
She recalled Eliza’s wise words of advice that when a man truly loves a woman, he wishes her happiness above his own. Amelia would never again doubt Brandon’s love for her.
“Say you’ll marry me and make me the happiest man in the world.”
“I will.” She kissed him with all the pent up longing she felt, and his arms eagerly tightened around her.
The carriage rolled to a stop, and Brandon lifted her head to look out the window. “Damn, but we’re here.”
She touched his cheek. “I’m sorry for what you must do today. I know how hard you worked to make the factory profitable and fair for the employees.”
“My hope is that the new owner retains Begley as the manager. He will have some influence over the laborers, especially the children.”
“You are a good man, Lord Vale. Let’s speak with him together,” she said.
Brandon hopped out of the carriage and helped her alight. Amelia tucked her arm in his, and they entered the factory together. Just as last time, the heat engulfed them like a wet woolen cloak, and the noise was deafening. Workers rushed to man the spinning jennies and equipment. Bits of thread settled on her shoes and clothing. Brandon escorted her farther into the building, but there was no sign of Mr. Begley.
Brandon stopped a muscular middle-aged man with an armful of threaded bobbins making his way up to the power looms on the second floor. “Where’s Begley?”
“Last I saw ’em, ’e was up there,” the man said.
Together, Brandon and Amelia climbed the wooden stairs to the second floor where the power looms were operating, but Begley was nowhere in sight. After asking more workers, Brandon learned that Begley was headed to the bowels of the factory to inspect the coal burning furnace.
Amelia was perspiring from the oppressive heat, and her stomach grumbled, reminding her that she’d skipped breakfast. Her hunger, combined with the heat, stench, and noise from the machines, made her feel ill. As Brandon escorted her downstairs, she glanced at the door leading outside longingly.
Brandon looked at her in concern. “You’re pale. Are you feeling ill?”
“I’m fine,” she insisted. “I fear I missed breakfast and the heat—”
Concern flickered across his features. “Go outside and wait in the carriage. When I find Begley I promise to meet you and we can all talk together.”
“Thank you.” Amelia trusted he would do as he said, and there was no sense in her searching the lowest level of the factory alongside Brandon if she was at risk of fainting.
She gulped cool air deeply into her lungs as soon as she stepped outside. The driver and carriage were waiting in the distance beneath the shade of a large oak tree. She longed to rest in the carriage and lean her head against the padded bench. Stopping long enough to retrieve an embroidered handkerchief from her reticule, she wiped her damp brow.
A flash of white at the far corner of the building drew her attention. Squinting, she raised a hand to cover her eyes from the bright morning sunlight. A man, who had the same muscular build and dark hair as Mr. Begley was heading toward the rear corner of the factory.
“Mr. Begley!” she called out.
He didn’t hear her and kept walking until he turned the corner and disappeared. Amelia picked up her skirts and hurried to follow. She halted as soon as she turned the corner. Several paces ahead, a heap of old broken factory equipment blocked her path—cracked bobbins, a hand loom with a missing shuttle, rusted oil cans, and random machine parts had been haphazardly tossed to make a mountain of refuse. Rotten wood brooms with brushes missing and splintered ends stuck out from the pile.
She caught a glimpse of Begley’s white shirt as he walked swiftly around the pile. She started after him and picked her way around the discarded equipment. She intended to call out Begley’s name again, but halted when she spotted a second man in the distance. Well-dressed with a jacket and striped waistcoat, he was a heavy-set, balding man. He looked out of place at the factory, and she wondered what business he had with Begley.
Instinct raised the hair on her nape, and she crouched low behind a broken loom.
“Lord Vale doesn’t suspect anything,” Begley said.
“Are you certain? Vale can never learn the truth,” the second man spoke.
What in the world? Amelia caught glimpses of the two men between gaps in the old equipment from her hidden position.
“I’m certain, Mr. Arnold. Lord Vale thinks I’m on his side,” Begley insisted.
Mr. Arnold? The name barely crossed her mind before a recollection followed. Brandon’s butler had mentioned that a man named Edward Arnold had arrived to speak with Brandon the day of the picnic. She surmised he was the moneylender who would soon take the factory and the unentailed Rosehill land.
So why was Mr. Arnold at the factory speaking with Begley?
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Amelia stayed hidden behind the broken loom and listened to the two men.
“I paid Vale a visit and called in the IOU. He was arrogant. A lofty earl who thinks he’s smarter than all of us,” Arnold said.
Begley ran a hand down his face. “Take care. He’s not like his father. I’m told the old man was a drunk. The son is not. He suspects luddites could have a hand in the break down of the power looms.”
Arnold guffawed. “Luddites? Good. Then he won’t look under his own nose.”
“I don’t like deceiving Lord Vale. He took a chance on me and made me manager of the mill,” Begley said.
Mr. Arnold poked a finger at Begley. “Your mother’s sick, isn’t she? That fancy London doctor costs quite a bit. Do as I say and there will be enough money to pay for the surgeon, understand?”
“Aye.”
“Keep the power looms breaking down. He has no choice but to turn over the land and the factory. He has no idea there’s coal on Rosehill land,” Arnold said.
Coal! Amelia stifled a gasp. She needed to get back to find Brandon and tell him that Begley was conspiring with the moneylender Mr. Arnold. If there was coal on Rosehill’s unentailed land, it would be worth a fortune. Brandon could pay back all his father’s debts. He could save the land and the factory.
She wanted to turn and sprint back toward the factory doors, but she knew any abrupt movement might alert the two men. She glanced back to judge the distance. She’d have to round the corner and make it to the factory doors.
She stood, her eyes never leaving the men, as unaware of her presence, they continued to speak. She took a step back and stepped on a broken bobbin. She cried out as she turned her ankle and pain shot up her leg.
“What was that?” Begley’s voice asked.
“Go see,” Arnold ordered. “No one can know I’m here, understand?”
Panic rioted within her. She was familiar with that type of warning in a man’s voice. She’d heard it on the streets before fisticuffs broke out. They meant her grave harm if they caught her eavesdropping.
She took a small step, but her ankle throbbed painfully. She knew she’d never be able to outrun them. He
r gaze wildly scanned the heap of broken equipment for something…anything that could be used as a weapon. She reached for one of the broken brooms, its handle old, cracked, and missing the brush. The end was sharp, splintered wood.
Grasping her skirts with her free hand and the broom handle with the other, she turned and ran as best as she could.
“Stop!”
Fear spurted through her, but she kept onward. Her ankle throbbed with each step, a jarring pain that radiated from up her calf, nearly crippling in its intensity. Her skirts hindered her flight, and her chest felt as if it would burst inside her tight corset. Footsteps sounded behind her, growing closer and louder by the second, and a man’s hoarse breathing echoed in her ears. Ignoring the pain shooting up her leg, she continued to run. But her pursuer was fast and agile, and with sudden fear, she realized she wouldn’t make it around the factory to the doors.
“Don’t let her get away!” Arnold cried. “Kill her if you must. The bitch must never tell Vale I was here.”
Sheer black fright swept through Amelia. Thoughts shot through her mind. She couldn’t die. Not right after Brandon had told her he loved her, not when her heart’s desire was so close within reach.
Her fingers tightened around the broom handle, and a splinter pierced the flesh of her palm.
Suddenly she felt her hair grasped from behind, and she cried out as sharp pain tore at her scalp.
“Stop!” Begley shouted.
Anger overrode her haze of panic. She was a fighter, a survivor. She refused to let Begley prevent her from reaching Brandon. Brandishing her makeshift weapon, she jabbed the sharp, splintered end where it would do the most damage—deep into his groin.
“Fuck!” Begley bellowed as he doubled over.
She didn’t stop to see how far away Arnold was, but took off hobbling as fast as she could. She rounded the corner of the building and ran straight into a hard, impregnable wall and screamed.
“Amelia!”
She froze, her eyes focusing on the dark face looming above her.
“Brandon!”
“My God! What’s wrong—”
Just then Arnold appeared from around the building, followed by a pale-faced, and limping Begley. Both men froze at the sight of Lord Vale.
Real Earls Break the Rules (Infamous Somertons) Page 20