by Tuft, Karen
“And Amelia’s mother?”
“Now, there Viscount Winfield had a right to question the union. The young lady, a Miss Sarah Rigby by name, was a scholarship student at a girl’s finishing school in Somerset, which is apparently where Edmund met her, as that is where the Clarke-Hammonds hail from. Local lads mingling with the schoolgirls at a village fete or some such, I would imagine, although Abbott’s letter from Kent did not address their meeting. Apparently the girl was well known for her exceptional singing voice and was recommended to the school as a scholarship student, which allowed her to advance her musical training.”
Amelia had mentioned that her mother had taught her piano. Considering how accomplished Amelia was, what Swindlehurst said made sense.
“The marriage caused quite a row, from what Abbott was told. Winfield was furious with Edmund and disowned him, while the young man in turn calmly renounced his family in favor of his chosen bride and changed his name, to boot—all while the poor girl and her family stood by watching.”
“That does not explain why her family, at least, did not stay in touch with Amelia’s parents through the years. It is surprising enough Winfield did not eventually reconcile with his son.”
“We have not uncovered a reason for that last bit. As to Sarah’s family, the locals say it was not so different from what happened to Edmund. They were never entirely comfortable with their daughter going off to school, ‘developing airs,’ as it were. The distance between her and her family grew wider each year, and when the son of a viscount offered for her, they told her she was too important for the likes of them and cut themselves off. Bacon-brained, the lot of them.” He shook his head in disgust.
“All those years wasted,” Anthony said. “I do not want your investigator to get in touch with any of her family personally, at least not yet. I want to ponder this news for a day or two.”
“I shall inform him, my lord.”
“Thank you for your time, Swindlehurst.” Anthony rose to leave and then paused. “Do you mind my asking—what would your opinion be on this matter? Are you a family man yourself?” Strange, he had never thought to ask the solicitor that question before.
“Why, yes, sir, that I am. Married to Mrs. Swindlehurst for nearly twenty years now, with four daughters and a son. Delightful, each and every one of them.”
“I am happy for you all. And so, then, if you were in my shoes? What advice would you give me?”
“Well, my lord,” Swindlehurst said. “I have always thought that blood was thicker than water, and quarrels should be got over. But I have also learned as a solicitor that people don’t always act as they ought.”
“Wise words, though they have not exactly cleared things up in my mind.”
“It’s a sticky business, to be sure, my lord.”
“You will let me know if your investigator learns anything helpful, then,” Anthony said, taking up his hat.
“Certainly.”
“Good. I will be at Ashworth House while I am in town.” He had given up his bachelor quarters when he had bought his commission and would need to stay in the family townhouse for the time being.
“I will be in touch, my lord.”
Anthony left the premises and tapped his hat into place, hoping he was giving Amelia a true gift by locating her family, and not doing her a huge disservice.
Only time would tell.
* * *
Amelia was at once excited and apprehensive about being in London. Having never been to Town before, she was eager to see the sights she’d read about, and what few landmarks they’d passed on their way to Lady Walmsley’s house had only served to pique her interest even further.
Anthony had bid Amelia and Lady Walmsley good-bye on the steps of Lady Walmsley’s London residence, saying he would escort both ladies to the theater that evening, which offer both ladies happily accepted.
However, the realities of London society were foremost in Amelia’s mind. She knew gossip spread like wildfire here; word of Anthony’s betrothal to a paid companion would certainly have reached Town already. During the trip, Anthony had outlined his strategy for dealing with the scandal, and he had sounded every bit the former army captain while doing so.
They would make an appearance at a few public locations first: the theater, Hyde Park, and the like. Then they would attend a few minor social gatherings. He was sure he would receive invitations, he had told them, probably more than usual, considering the circumstances. And he assured them he would not subject Amelia to anyone he suspected to be less than accepting of her.
That last bit had not reassured Amelia much.
“Would you like a tour of the house so you will feel more comfortable knocking about while you are here?” Lady Walmsley asked Amelia after luncheon.
“I would like nothing better,” Amelia said. A tour would be just the thing to keep her mind occupied with something other than her appearance at the theater tonight.
After guiding Amelia through the various parlors and sitting rooms and studies, Lady Walmsley led her to the portrait gallery.
“Most of the family portraits of any significance are with the current Lord Walmsley,” Lady Walmsley said. “But there were a few I was particularly attached to, and so I brought them with me before he took residence in the family seat.” She pointed to one portrait in particular. “That is my dear husband. How I enjoy seeing his gruff old face.” She gestured to the painting next to it. “There he is again, painted twenty years earlier. Why would I let the new earl keep them? He barely knew the man. He is more than welcome to them when I die, but not before.” She ran her fingers fondly down the cheek of the younger man. “He was such a lovely rascal. I fell for him the moment I laid eyes on him, although it would never do to tell him that. He had to work to get me, I will have you know.”
Amelia studied the painting in which the Lord Walmsley was standing next to his horse. “I imagine you had plenty of beaus to choose from.”
The old woman gave Amelia a saucy look. “I had my share. I was quite popular.”
“I do not doubt it.” Amelia chuckled and strolled to look at a portrait of a young couple wearing the fashion of a generation past, the man in silk breeches and ruffles and wearing a wig, the lady seated before him in a resplendent gown of lavender satin. “Who are they?” she asked.
“That is my sister, Frances, and her husband, Joseph Carhart. I told you about her before, if you will recall. They married and went off to India, and that was the last I saw of them. This was their wedding portrait.”
“They were a beautiful couple,” Amelia said. And indeed they were—dressed in their finest. There was a twinkle in Frances’s eye and a slightly raised eyebrow the painter had caught that Amelia had seen on Lady Walmsley’s face a time or two.
“And here,” Lady Walmsley said warmly, “is a small portrait of their daughter, Julia. I had it done soon after she arrived from India.”
The girl in the painting had a strong resemblance to her mother, although her overall coloring was fairer. There was a sadness to her countenance despite the smile on her face that Amelia could understand. Julia had left her home and parents and traveled to an unfamiliar land. She must have felt alone and missed them terribly.
“And here I am with Walmsley shortly after our marriage.”
Amelia turned to view the painting in question. “You were a beautiful bride, my lady.”
“It seems like only yesterday. Life is to be seized, my dear—a much more difficult endeavor for us ladies than it is for the gentlemen, unfortunately.” She pointed at Amelia. “Do not be put off by the opinions of others, Amelia. If Halford is the man you want, then marry him, and the sooner, the better. If he is not, cry off and be done with it. Either way, you must retain what little power you have as a woman, or you are lost.”
It was quite a declaration but was much easier said than done, in A
melia’s opinion.
“Halford seems the sort of gentleman who would not be intimidated by a clever wife,” Lady Walmsley added. “That is a rare quality in a man.”
“My father was such a man.”
“Of course he was. Otherwise you would not be you, would you? Now Marwood, on the other hand . . .” She left the remainder of her comment unsaid, which was just as well.
Amelia was not keen to reflect on the disparaging remarks the duke had made about her. “Do you have a garden here, Lady Walmsley?” she asked, determined to change the subject.
“A small one, not too impressive, I am afraid, but a pleasant little spot. Come, I will take you.”
They went through the house to the back and to a garden boasting golden yews and hardy blooms that would require only minimal upkeep. “It is lovely,” Amelia said.
“Enjoy it all you like,” Lady Walmsley said. She let out an inelegant yawn. “Goodness me! I had better lie down for a spell before we head out to the theater tonight, especially if I am to keep up with you young people. Can you find your way around without me?”
“I am certain I can, although I only intend to remain for a few minutes.” Amelia also needed rest herself in order to prepare for the evening ahead.
She enjoyed some quiet time in the garden and then returned to her room. She even slept for about an hour before it was time to dress for their evening at the theater.
Because Amelia had only the two evening gowns, Louisa had generously given Amelia some from her own wardrobe.
“Nonsense,” Louisa had replied when Amelia had attempted to refuse. “I have more gowns than I can ever hope to wear, and at any rate, I cannot wear any of these now.” She had laid a hand over her rounded belly. “Someone may as well get some use out of them.”
Amelia had eventually accepted, and she and Jane had spent the day before they had left for London altering them to fit Amelia’s shorter height and smaller frame.
The gown she had chosen for tonight was ivory lace. It was simple and elegant, and Louisa had assured her that it would serve as a demure contrast to the daring gowns that were the current fashion.
Amelia washed and dressed, making sure to give Jane plenty of time to style her hair.
“That gown looks ever so nice on you, miss,” Jane said as she pinned up Amelia’s thick tresses. “Especially with this hair of yours. I wish my hair took the curl the way yours does.”
Amelia had fretted over her hair for years, which curled naturally and fought staying in the practical chignon she usually wore. Now, as she studied herself in the mirror, she tried to see herself through Jane’s eyes.
Jane had piled Amelia’s hair into a tumble of curls at the top of her head, allowing a few loose strands to coil gently at her neck. It was a soft style that appealed to Amelia and matched the artistic simplicity of her gown perfectly.
“Jane,” Amelia said. “You are a genius.”
“Oh, no, miss,” she answered, blushing furiously, obviously pleased at the compliment. “It is because your hair is such a wonder, ’tis all.”
“And yet I can never recall my hair looking as fine as it does right now,” Amelia said. “That is your doing.”
“Thank you, miss.”
The only thing Amelia lacked was jewels, though she cared little about that. It would be nice to be able to wear her mother’s brooch at some point, and that was something she intended to remedy while in Town. She would locate a jeweler near the shops she and Lady Walmsley would be visiting and have him repair the brooch. Perhaps she would also look for a small, suitable gift for Anthony.
As it was, she would face the world unadorned. But thanks to Jane’s work and Louisa’s generosity, Amelia felt she could stand next to the members of the ton and not be looked upon poorly.
She rose from her seat in front of her dressing table and smoothed her skirt. It was time to join Lady Walmsley for dinner before Anthony arrived to take them to the theater.
* * *
Anthony ate dinner with Lucas at his club and then returned home to shave and dress. Once again he would be wearing clothes he’d purchased before he had bought his commission.
“You should have tried them on before you left for the solicitor’s,” Lucas lectured him. “You could have gotten one of the maids to alter them, you know.”
“The waistband on the breeches is only a bit loose, is all. No one will be looking at me that closely,” Anthony replied as he studied himself in the mirror. He had been physically fit before heading off to Spain and had gained muscle through his arms and shoulders while there but had lost weight in his midsection following his wound at Badajoz. “The curious onlookers will be more interested in Amelia.”
“They will be interested in both of you,” Lucas said. “The army captain who returned from the dead to become an earl and his middle-class fiancée.”
“Once they get a glimpse of my ‘middle-class fiancée,’ as you so charmingly phrased it, they will be in awe and will forget all about me and whether my clothing fits properly.”
Lucas picked up Anthony’s tailcoat and helped him into it.
“It has been a long time since I was in Town, Lucas, and I dread the Marwoods of the world coming out in force, ready to cut Amelia down for a match she had no say in agreeing to. I would not have her suffer for my faults.” He passed his hand over his eyes, tired suddenly.
“How are you sleeping these days?” Lucas asked, scrutinizing him closely. “Nightmares happening less? I have not heard you cry out lately.”
“I am fine,” Anthony replied. He still had nightmares, but lately he had only awakened with a start, not screaming his fool head off and causing Lucas to run to his assistance like an old nursemaid. “You do not need to sleep on the cot in my dressing room, you know, when you have got a perfectly good guest room to use.”
“But the cot is such luxury when compared to Spanish soil.”
“That is certainly true. But I am doing much better, Lucas, my friend, so you may worry less.” He tugged his waistcoat down and shot his cuffs. “Now, I must be off. I have two lovely ladies to escort to the theater.”
“Enjoy yourself, my lord,” Lucas said, making a theatrical bow.
“Or,” Anthony said, “I could wait for you to change and join us. I am sure Lady Walmsley would enjoy having a handsome escort.”
“No,” Lucas said emphatically. “Besides, I have an engagement of my own.”
“Cards and brandy, is it?”
“Yes, actually, with some of our former army colleagues.”
“Not nearly as exhilarating as the evening I am offering.”
Lucas made a rude noise, and Anthony cracked a smile and headed to the door of his bedchamber.
“Wait,” Lucas said. “You are forgetting the most important thing.”
“Right.” On his dressing table was a small box, a gift he had purchased for Amelia on his way home from the solicitors. He took the box from Lucas and put it in his pocket, then hurried outside, where the coach he had ordered ready awaited him.
Lady Walmsley’s residence was one of the older, more distinguished ones in the city, not many blocks from Ashworth House. When the coachman pulled to a halt in front of it, Anthony took a deep breath before exiting and making his way to the door.
It was all very well and good to convince oneself events would go according to plan—and something altogether different for it to actually happen. He had selected the theater as Amelia’s introduction to society because people would only be able to look, and conversations would be limited to intermission.
And, of course, they could leave at any time if things went awry.
There was always the chance something could go wrong, he thought as he approached the front door. He must be prepared for it and keep Amelia from harm as diligently as he could.
The butler opened the door
and bowed, inviting him inside. “I shall inform the ladies you have arrived,” he said, leaving Anthony in the entrance hall.
Anthony removed his hat and waited, tapping his fingers against his thigh. He stalked over to a painting that hung on the wall and studied it. He brushed invisible lint from the sleeve of his coat. The butler should have shown him to a parlor if the ladies were going to be so late—
“Lord Halford, how dashing you look!” Lady Walmsley’s voice echoed through the chamber. She descended the stairs slowly, holding carefully to the banister.
Anthony hurried to her and assisted her down the remaining stairs, relieved to have something to do.
“Thank you, young man,” she said, beaming up at him when they reached the bottom. “I have it on good authority that Amelia will be down shortly. Ah, there she is now.”
Anthony looked up—and his heart stopped.
Amelia was wearing a creamy confection of lace that flattered her figure in ways her normal day dresses most emphatically did not. Her hair was piled in loose curls on her head, and Anthony wanted to take her hairpins out one by one and run each curl through his fingers and across his lips.
“Miss Clarke, you are a vision this evening,” he said huskily. He took the stairs two at a time to offer her his assistance, his eyes never leaving her. “Allow me,” he murmured, offering her his arm.
Amelia smiled radiantly up at him as she laid her gloved hand on his sleeve. She truly was a vision, with glowing skin and sparkling green eyes and full, soft lips that looked rosy and inviting. Anthony fought not to claim them there and then.
She wore no jewelry, and Anthony was glad he’d had the foresight to remedy the situation. The members of the ton would notice such things.
“I brought you a betrothal gift,” he said.
Those huge green eyes of hers looked up at him in surprise.
“You did? Well, my opinion of you has risen once again,” Lady Walmsley remarked.
He shot the elderly woman a quelling look, but she only cackled and moved to the far end of the hall, where she pretended to study the painting hanging there, the one he had been pretending to study earlier.