The Earl's Betrothal

by Tuft, Karen

  Amelia’s heart began to thump in her chest. It could not be . . .

  But Lady Walmsley’s eyes had a faraway look in them, as if she were seeing people and scenes long past. “Not Clarke-Hammond, young man. Carhart.”

  She continued to caress the brooch as gently as she would a child. Neither Amelia nor Anthony spoke, the silence in the room thick with what remained unspoken.

  Finally Lady Walmsley raised her eyes to Amelia. “I know this brooch well. It is the one Joseph Carhart gave my sister at the time of their betrothal.”

  Amelia groped for Anthony’s hand and held it tightly. “What exactly are you saying?” she whispered.

  “Amelia, my dear, dear child,” Lady Walmsley said, tears streaming down her face. “You have my niece’s brooch, and yet your father told you it was from your mother. But as sure as I live, it is the same brooch.”

  Amelia was stunned and unable to speak.

  “Are you truly sure, Lady Walmsley?” Anthony said. “There could be many such brooches. What makes you so certain this is the brooch of which you speak?”

  “The jeweler was impressed by it,” Amelia said quietly. “He made quite a fuss over it.”

  “Look here,” Lady Walmsley said, holding the brooch out so Anthony could examine it more closely. “This is an Indian design. Joseph intended to prove he had made his fortune and brought it back to England with him, along with a few other pieces.” Then she turned the brooch over and pointed to one of its corners. “Do you see that?”

  “Yes,” Anthony said. “There is a small engraving. A J and an—”

  Amelia squeezed her eyes shut.

  “F, for Frances. My sister,” Lady Walmsley said.

  Amelia bounded from her chair and walked to the window, staring out, seeing nothing. Her mother’s brooch wasn’t her mother’s brooch anymore. Anthony followed her there.

  “Are you all right, my love?” he asked gently.

  She shook her head and leaned back against him, relieved to have his strength and support. She had never even noticed the small engravings before, so focused she had been on the brooch’s colorful face. Her mind was buzzing with the questions and coincidences Lady Walmsley’s pronouncement raised.

  But Amelia could barely think on those right now, for of all the things Amelia had endured—public humiliation and a physical attack—this seemed to tear at her heart the most. It took her mother from her again.

  Anthony left her briefly and returned with a small amount of amber liquid in a glass. “Drink this.”

  Numbly she took it from him and swallowed, the liquor burning a trail down her throat. She coughed, and her eyes burned, and he took the glass from her. “If you can,” he said, “I think we need to hear what Lady Walmsley has to say.”

  She nodded, so he led her back to her chair. She already knew some of the story though, having already heard part of it from Lady Walmsley herself when they had first arrived in London.

  “Joseph Carhart was a fine young man,” Lady Walmsley said. “Very much in love with my sister, Frances, and unusually ambitious. He went to India to seek his fortune, promising Frances he would return for her. He kept his promise to return and gave her this brooch, in addition to a betrothal ring, as a sign of his love for her and to demonstrate that he had made his fortune after all. After they were married, he took her back to India . . . and I never saw them again. I did, however, see the brooch again—when my niece, Julia, returned to England for school. Her mother had given her the brooch.”

  “What happened to Julia?” Anthony asked.

  “Ah, my poor, poor Julia,” Lady Walmsley said, her eyes bright with tears. “I did my best, but she never quite got over the separation from her parents. When she decided to return to India after her second unsuccessful Season, I put her on the ship myself. But before she could have arrived there, I received word that her parents had died. It was all a terrible mess.”

  “You looked for her, surely,” Anthony said.

  “Of course I looked for her!” Lady Walmsley cried. “She was my whole life and my only family by then. I even went to East India House in Town to ask for help in person. Unfortunately I was told there was not much they could do, although they assured me they would forward my inquiry to Calcutta. Lot of good that did,” she said bitterly. “After several years of hearing nothing, I had to conclude Julia had died there, except that here is her brooch with Amelia.” She held it out in her palm.

  At the sound of her name, Amelia looked up. “It was my mother’s brooch, and yet I never saw her wear it. My father only gave it to me before he passed away. He is the one who told me it was my mother’s. He was the one who told me to go to you for help when he died. It did not dawn on me—”

  “That the mother he was referring to . . . was your natural mother,” Anthony finished her sentence softly.

  “Oh,” Lady Walmsley breathed. “And if that is true, then you are truly my niece’s child. Why did she not write to me? Why did she not come to me if she needed help? I loved her so very, very much!”

  “We may never know the answer to that,” Anthony said. “Perhaps by the time it was too late and she suspected she would not survive childbirth, she knew Edmund and Sarah Clarke would lovingly raise her child as theirs.”

  “There may be truth in what you are saying,” Lady Walmsley said. She turned the brooch in her hands, moving it this way and that to catch the light. “I would have been too old to care for a newborn by then.” She sniffed and dabbed her handkerchief at her nose. “Julia missed her parents dreadfully. I am sure she would have wanted her child to have a mother and father who would be able to see to her care personally.” She smiled sadly. “And she was right, of course. Look how well you turned out.”

  She started to give the brooch back to Amelia, but Amelia could bear no more. She dropped to her knees and pulled Lady Walmsley into a tight embrace. “You are my own family, my lady, my flesh and blood. Oh, I am not surprised that it is so, for I have grown to love you dearly. This is the best of wedding presents!”

  “Who would have expected such a miracle at my age? Please, my dear child, you must call me Aunt Margaret,” Lady Walmsley said. “And you too, young man.” She smiled, her red-rimmed eyes beginning to show signs of a twinkle. “I hardly remember the last time anyone used my Christian name. I think it must be decades. What a delight!”

  “Well, then, Auntie Margaret,” Anthony said, “I believe we should return to the wedding celebration before everyone thinks Amelia and I abandoned them all to begin our honeymoon.”

  “You make a valid point,” Amelia’s new Aunt Margaret said.

  Both of them took a moment to straighten their gowns and check their faces for any telltale signs of splotches that tended to occur after tears were shed. Amelia also repinned the brooch on her bodice. “When I thought the brooch was not my mother’s after all, I was devastated,” Amelia said. “But now I know it is a memento from both of my mothers. It will be twice as special to me now.”

  “And how grateful I am that it has brought my family back to me,” Aunt Margaret said.

  Aunt Margaret! Amelia thought. It was going to take her longer to get used to that than to her own new title of countess!

  When they were satisfied that all was in order, they proceeded back to the music room and the joyous celebration with family and friends that awaited them.

  Epilogue

  Anthony was reading while Amelia sat at the pianoforte playing one of her favorite pieces by Mozart. They spent many evenings like this, content to be at home with each other.

  Peaceful.

  His parents would be arriving tomorrow and staying until after Amelia’s confinement. They were bringing Aunt Margaret with them, who insisted on being present for the arrival of her great-great niece or nephew. Farleigh and Louisa would be arriving a few days later with their young brood: William, Penny, and bab
y Clara.

  Anthony turned another page, then gave up the pretense. He closed the book and placed it on the table beside his chair so he could watch his beautiful wife as she created melodies that lifted his soul.

  He still had bad times, nights when the dreams returned or situations that triggered memories, but they were occurring less frequently now and with less intensity. He had Amelia for support when they happened—the comfort of her warmth when nightmares awakened him, her calmness and practical cheer to remind him each day of what he had been blessed with in his life.

  He watched her fingers move gracefully over the keyboard, forming tapestries of melody and harmony, richly endowed with expression and emotion that was purely Amelia. How fortunate he had been when he had impetuously kissed her and been caught at it, for neither he nor Amelia would have felt worthy to marry the other had they not felt compelled to make the situation right.

  He wanted to kiss Amelia now.

  He rose and walked over to stand behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders as she played her final notes and removed her hands from the keyboard. He kneaded her shoulders, and she sighed.

  “That feels wonderful,” she said, dropping her head down to receive his ministrations. He placed a lingering kiss on her nape.

  “You must be careful not to tire yourself,” he murmured as his hands moved up and down her arms, caressing her.

  “The music does not tire me,” she said.

  “It is everything else you insist on doing, despite the fact that our child is to arrive in but a few weeks’ time. You need to rest more.”

  “Ah, you are using your commanding voice, the one you cultivated so well as an army captain. You tend to use it when you are overly worried, like the time you saw me walking unescorted in Hyde Park.”

  “I was right to worry too, considering what happened the second time you went.”

  “I was expecting to find you,” she said.

  “I know,” he said. He traced the thin white line along her neck, barely visible now, a remnant of her encounter with the Duke of Marwood. Thankfully it was all in the past.

  He sat next to her on the bench. There was not as much room for him there these days; her rounding belly tended to commandeer the space, much to his delight.

  He placed his hand gently there now, hoping to feel the movement of life within. After witnessing so much death, he would never take such joy for granted again.

  She rested her hand on top of his, and together they waited quietly for their baby to make its presence known. They had done this often the past few months, and Anthony never tired of the miracle of it.

  Ah, there it was. A kick. And then another.

  Anthony looked into Amelia’s eyes, love reflected back at him in her beautiful green gaze.

  The future had never been brighter.

  About the Author

  Karen Tuft was born with a healthy dose of curiosity about pretty much everything, so as a child she taught herself to read and explored the piano. She studied composition at BYU, graduating from the University of Utah in music theory, and was a member of Phi Kappa Phi and Pi Kappa Lambda honor societies. In addition to being an author, Karen is a wife, mom, pianist, composer, and arranger. She likes to figure out what makes people tick, wander through museums, and travel, whether it’s by car, plane, or paperback.

  Other Books by Karen Tuft

  Reality Check

  Unexpected

  Trouble in Paradise