by Regina Scott
The veterinarian frowned, but he hurried forward to check on the major while Caro stood by, wringing her hands. Ordering a footman’s help, Dr. Fletcher brought Kensington into the house.
“What happens now?” Amelia murmured to John as they brought up the rear of the procession. Just having her husband near made her erratic pulse slow, her breath come more evenly. Small wonder he was so good with the horses!
“I hope Fletcher can bring him around swiftly,” John replied, “if for no other reason than I’d like to knock him down again.”
“I’m more interested in what he can tell us,” Amelia replied, stopping John just short of the door to the library, where Dr. Fletcher had the major sit on the chair, with Caro perched opposite. “He said he was under orders, John. He and his master seemed to think that kissing me would cause a scandal and coerce you into selling your horses. I don’t understand.”
“I do.” His face was grim again. “I may not recognize certain actions, but I know betrayal when I see it. Kensington could have put it about you wanted his attention. Anyone knowing you would be unlikely to believe it without proof. He gambled on servants talking.”
Amelia shuddered. “And Caro knew about why we married. Apparently it’s the talk of London.”
John shook his head. “All the more reason for people to accept I wasn’t a devoted husband. Kensington would have given me a choice—continue to see your name blackened, myself made a fool, or exchange my horses for his efforts to protect your reputation.” He frowned suddenly.
“What is it?” Amelia asked.
“The pattern reminds me of another situation,” he said. “Don’t be concerned. I’ll deal with it.”
“My lord?” Dr. Fletcher called, and Amelia saw that Major Kensington appeared to have recovered his wits, for he touched the side of his shoulder and winced.
“You, Lady Hascot,” he said as John and Amelia moved to Fletcher’s side, “have a wicked right.”
John broke from Amelia and hauled the major to his feet. “You haven’t felt mine.”
Kensington didn’t flinch. “Go ahead. I won’t fight you.”
“Why?” Amelia demanded, taking a step closer. “You were quite willing to fight me.”
Caro hopped to her feet. “What is all this about? You make it sound as if Major Kensington is the villain when I assure you he is the victim.” She shook her finger at John. “You should have that brute of a horse put down, John. He cannot be controlled!”
“Caro,” John said, “return to your coach. Now.”
She stiffened. “Well, I like that! You, sir, will beg my forgiveness before I speak to you again.” She raised her chin and stalked from the room.
John’s crystal focus was narrowed on the major. “Who put you up to this?” he demanded.
Major Kensington glanced at Amelia, then back at John. “Might we keep this conversation between gentlemen?”
“How?” Amelia said, hands on her hips. “Only one of you is a gentleman!”
John pushed him toward Dr. Fletcher, who caught the major and kept him from falling. “Bind his wound and lock him in the cellar,” John ordered.
Dr. Fletcher eyed the major, who was easily a stone heavier in muscle. Just then, Mr. Hennessy, who had at least two stones on either of them, stepped into the room, and the veterinarian smiled.
“How long shall we hold him?” he asked John, beckoning to the butler.
“Until I am satisfied I have answers.” John moved toward the doorway. “There are others I must question.”
Amelia waited for Major Kensington to protest Caro’s innocence, but he looked away and submitted himself to the butler’s less-than-gentle ministrations.
She hurried after John. “Let me come with you.”
He stopped in the doorway and looked her in the eyes. His dark gaze was once more solemn, the planes of his face sharp enough to cause damage.
“I’ll have Mr. Hennessy send you Turner and Reams,” he said. “Stay here and lock yourselves in.”
Amelia raised her brows. “Do you expect a siege?”
“I don’t know what to expect,” he said. “But I won’t allow you to come to harm. Open the door only to me, Mr. Hennessy or the doctor.”
She would have thought she was a queen in enemy territory, or one of his horses being made safe in a boxed stall. “Surely this isn’t necessary.”
“Perhaps not,” John said. “But until I am satisfied I have an answer, I will take no more chances.”
*
John found Caro waiting impatiently, pacing back and forth beside the carriage, the passing of her skirts raising a dust. Seemingly oblivious to the scene that had just been enacted, Lord Wesworth had already climbed inside his own carriage, and a groom was folding up the step in preparation for closing the door.
John moved to stop him, motioning Caro over with one hand.
“Major Kensington is a dastard,” he pronounced when he thought he had both of their attentions. “He attempted to make me believe he was having an affair with Amelia. I want to know which of you put him up to it.”
Caro put her hands on her hips. “And how can you be so quick to put the blame on him? He can be quite charming, unlike other men I know.”
“Lord Hascot has no understanding of how things are done in Society,” Amelia’s father said to her. “Or he would not presume to speak this way to either of us.”
“Society.” John shook his head. “You cannot use that excuse this time. Whatever Society appears to condone, I know Amelia would never betray me.”
Caro dropped her arms and shut her mouth.
“Amelia is nothing if not loyal,” Lord Wesworth agreed. “You will remember, however, that I warned you she would feel the consequences of your decision not to sell your horses.”
“And I trust you remember my warning, John,” Caro added quietly with a nod toward Amelia’s father.
“Warning?” Lord Wesworth replied. “Yes, I warrant a warning is needed. Amelia is an innocent, whereas you, Lady Hascot, have a history of manipulation.”
“How dare you!” Caro started, chin going up in defense.
“How dare you, madam?” Lord Wesworth countered. “It is clear to me, as it should be clear to Lord Hascot, that you came here intending to poison his relationship with my daughter.”
“That is not the point,” John argued, but Caro would not be silenced.
She glared at the marquess. “And if I did, it was only at the instigation of someone much higher and more powerful.”
“Who?” John demanded, turning on her.
The marquess was not willing to wait for her answer. “And why would you need encouragement to do what you do best? Remind me, how did you convince your husband to marry you when you were all but engaged to his brother, here?”
Now John found he could not intervene as Caro glowered at Amelia’s father.
“Do not imagine you know my feelings on the matter, my lord,” she told him. “You have never faced privation.”
Privation? There had been rumors her father was a profligate, but John had never paid them any mind. And he still could not fault her for being swayed by the promise of the title and all that went with it.
“My imagination is not nearly so vivid,” the marquess returned, yet he was watching John, not Caro. “But I believe Lord Hascot’s is. Can you see her for her true self, my lord? Devious until the very end.”
John waited for Caro to rail at the marquess, to deny his sneered allegations. Instead, she blanched and took a step back, fingers clutching her reticule. She was backing down, running from fear. And what did she fear?
Only the truth.
“Was it a lie, Caro?” he murmured. “Did you care nothing for me?”
She glanced between the marquess and him, biting her lip.
“You see?” the marquess said. “She will not even defend herself.”
“Neither would your daughter, sir,” she cried, “and look how ill you used her!”
; He stiffened, but she rushed up to John. “It was him, John. You have to see that. Yes, I used you to make your brother jealous. Yes, I wanted the security of the title. But I would never order someone to trifle with Amelia! Never!”
How could he believe her? She had set brother against brother, and their rivalry had done the rest. Even now she played on his emotions like a master harper. The woman he thought he’d once loved was a fiction.
But the woman who had won his heart and given him hers was waiting in the house, and she deserved answers.
“Why are you really here, Caro?” John asked. “And no lies this time.”
She glanced at Lord Wesworth and clasped her hands before her as if pleading with John to see her side of it.
“I went through James’s estate too quickly,” she admitted. “There is a cost to remaining at the top of Society, you know. Mr. Carstairs, the solicitor, refused to simply advance me the funds, and as you had recently married without even introducing me to your bride, I wasn’t sanguine about my chances of getting more from you. Major Kensington mentioned he knew someone who would pay a pretty penny for a Hascot horse and even reward the person who made it possible. So we came north.”
She drew herself up. “But it was only after we reached here that I learned it was Lord Wesworth who put him up to it!”
“Another lie,” Wesworth said. “See how easily they roll off her tongue.”
“And yours,” John said.
The marquess frowned, but John turned to Caro.
“We are finished. I will stand by my note to Carstairs, Caro, but you will have to learn to live within your means. I will not receive you at Hollyoak Farm again.”
Her lower lip trembled. “Yes, John.”
He was no longer willing to be swayed by the pathetic look. “If you ever attempt anything like this again, Caro, I will have you put on a very short lead. Do you understand?”
She merely nodded. John pointed her to her carriage, and she went without a backward look.
“While I applaud your actions,” Lord Wesworth said in the silence that followed, “they do not solve the problem. Your insistence on a childish code of honor put Amelia’s reputation at risk. If you cannot protect her, you give me no choice but to take her home with me.”
Did he really think Amelia would stand for that? John certainly wouldn’t.
“Like my horses, you appear to be a creature of habit, my lord,” John replied. “I fear that gambit won’t work on me again.”
“What are you talking about?” the marquess demanded.
“When I originally declined to join your family with mine,” John explained, “you changed my mind by reminding me that Amelia would be the one hurt if I refused. Major Kensington tried a similar approach, but he claimed it was his master’s idea. Now you use the same tactic.”
“If you feel threatened by the truth,” he replied with a curl of his lip, “it is hardly my concern.”
“I cannot prove you ordered Kensington to shame Amelia,” John admitted. “And for her sake, I would not see you jailed even if I could prove it. But I will remind you of something.” He leaned both hands on the windowsill of the carriage and put his face on the level with Lord Wesworth’s. Calculation crouched in the pale blue eyes, but John knew he could counter it.
“I told you that you would be given one of my animals if you were able to treat it and Amelia with respect. You have failed. You will have to go far to earn my trust again, my lord.”
“Is that a threat?” he said, voice all the more menacing for its quiet.
“It is a promise,” John countered. “You are Amelia’s father, and I will honor her wishes should she choose to associate with you. But until you can prove to me that you can treat her with the respect she has more than earned, you and anyone you know will never own one of my horses.”
Lord Wesworth’s eyes narrowed. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”
John straightened. “On the contrary. I am dealing with a man so consumed by the need for approval from those above him that he would sacrifice his only child. How do you think your confederates would feel if they knew? Can a man who lacks loyalty even to his family be trusted in any other matter? Or is there truly honor among thieves, my lord?”
“You wouldn’t dare blacken my name,” he sneered. “You know it would reflect on Amelia.”
“Amelia no longer shares your name,” John pointed out. “And I am convinced she would feel less pain should Society shun her than she does now at your callous treatment.” He stepped away from the carriage, satisfied that he had made his point.
“So you will refuse me,” the marquess said, and something in his tone spoke of surprise and respect. “I would not have thought you had it in you.”
“Your daughter has made a new man of me,” John told him. “Now collect your lapdog of a major, return to London and carry my regrets to your friends. As for me, I have a great deal to do if I am to show my wife how very much she is loved and admired.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Amelia paced about the library carpet, Turner hovering by the fire and Reams standing by the door as if ready to repel all boarders. She had peered out the window, but the bulky carriages blocked her view of the stable yard. She would have given her household budget to know what was happening outside.
John obviously suspected who had put the major up to his attempt to link her name to scandal. Could it have been Caro? The woman was set on clutching all attention to herself and even to swaying John’s opinion on selling his horses, but surely she would not see another woman ruined. And the idea that her father was the instigator hurt too much to consider.
Oh, but she had to take her mind off the matter or she’d go mad! She wandered to the desk, thinking to organize the few papers lying there. But John was an experienced manager, and the staff was competent, so there was little for her to tidy. Then she saw the folded parchment with her name on it. The hand was definitely John’s. She’d seen it on their marriage certificate. Why was her husband writing to her?
She picked it up and opened it. He’d written:
My dearest Amelia,
Sometimes I grow so frustrated not knowing how to express what is in my heart. Magnum can tell by the way my shoulders move whether I am happy, sad or angry. But I have not had such luck with the people around me. That is why I wanted to write to you.
I have come to love and deeply admire you. I have never met anyone who can take something wrong and make it right with only a pleasant smile and a kind word. Yet you do this every day, in countless ways. You are like sunlight piercing the gloom of my life. I can never thank you enough for what you’ve given me.
Hope.
Dear Amelia, you are the world to me. Please never leave me.
John
Tears fell, smearing the ink, and she quickly folded the precious words away. Turner must have noticed her actions, for she ventured closer to the desk.
“Madam?” she asked, head cocked. “Is everything all right?”
Reams was regarding her, too, as if he suspected she’d found something dangerous on the desk. Amelia smiled at them both.
“I’m fine,” she assured them. “Everything is fine. I know that now.”
And thank You, Lord, for that!
She hugged the note to her heart, smile growing. She would keep these words for the rest of her life to be read and reread, memorized and pressed upon her heart like summer flowers tucked away in a book. She had made a difference in his life. She was loved. What more could she want?
Someone tapped at the door just then, and everyone stiffened. Reams returned to the portal to unlock it and crack it open, then swung it wider to admit Dr. Fletcher. The veterinarian’s curls were in greater disarray than usual, as if he’d run all the way from the cellar to tell them his news.
“It’s done,” he said with a reassuring smile. “Major Kensington and Lady Hascot are on their way back to London, and so is your father, your ladyship. I took the li
berty of requesting that the staff move your things back to your room.”
Turner darted forward. “They’ll only make a hash of it. Excuse me.” She hurried from the library.
“And my husband?” Amelia asked, taking a step closer to the doctor.
“Wishes me to convey a message. He will be busy for the rest of the day, but he plans to dine with you this evening if you will accept his invitation.” He held out a folded sheet of vellum.
What could he possibly say that he hadn’t already said? But of course, he wouldn’t know she’d found his beautifully written love letter.
“I believe he’s trying to make amends,” Dr. Fletcher said as if he’d wondered at her hesitation.
“There’s truly no need,” Amelia said, but she accepted the note and opened it.
“My dearest Amelia,” her husband had written.
All matters are settled, and I am convinced that Kensington’s master, whoever he might be, will trouble us no further. I can see, however, that I failed in a greater duty than to discover our foe. I did not support you in your efforts to entertain our guests; I did not protect you when you needed it. Worst of all, I have not honored you as I should. That ends now. I am planning a special evening for the two of us. I hope you will forgive me and consider joining me.
Your devoted husband.
“What shall I tell him?” Dr. Fletcher asked.
Amelia carefully folded the note, knowing that it, too, would find a safe place among her treasures. “Tell him I am delighted to accept his invitation, Doctor, and that I live in anticipation.”
With a smile, Dr. Fletcher inclined his head and left her.
It was an impossibly long afternoon. She directed Turner and the footman on how to rearrange her things, then left them to the matter. She had no wish to treat her staff as if they were incompetent. But if not moving her things, how else was she to fill the time? She was quite caught up on correspondence, except for that letter to her mother that would likely not be written yet for some time, given the current state of affairs. For once, her beloved books held no interest. With no guests to entertain, time seemed to slow. And all she kept thinking about was John.