Rescued (Flowers of the Bayou) (14 page)

Searching for some sign Amelia mistook his own doubt and confusion for disgust and turned away. “I see.” She whispered trying in vain to hold back the tears that threatened to fall, and wiped away at her eyes furiously. Never had she felt so stupid so humiliated as she did right now. Tugging up her dress she rammed her arms into the sleeves.

“Amelia” he started.

“Please just leave me alone.”

Amelia gathered up as much dignity as she could muster and hid her wounded pride.

Jordan watched her retreating figure, feeling even lower than he had thought possible. He couldn’t let her leave this way. “Amelia.”

Her better judgment told her to keep on walking and for once she listened, it was his steel-like grasp that brought her back. “Why can’t you just leave me alone? You’ve made a big enough fool of me today.” Twisting out of his grip Amelia walked on to the path and away from him, away from today and everything else that included Jordan Bradford.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Jordan didn’t like walking around in his own home feeling out of place, yet that was what he’d been doing day after day since his incident with Amelia. They were at an impasse, and it was awkward as hell. She was no longer just a servant and he could never again be just her employer. Amelia was doing her best to make that fact known.

Whenever he was near her he was now treated to a completely new facet of her nature he’d grown to loathe. Where was the Amelia with the warm smile and golden eyes, because he was getting a little tired of this new creature’s icy stares and crafty ways to responding to any of his requests—in truth it was becoming utterly frustrating. He’d ask. “How are you Amelia?”

“We ought to mind our own business Mr. Bradford.” She’d respond moving by.

“You look lovely today Amelia.”

“Sorry I can’t say the same, coffee Mr. Bradford?”

He’d spent the day frowning after that remark, but still he persisted. Trying the honest approach the next time he saw her he’d simply said. “I’m sorry Amelia.”

“You’re an ass Mr. Bradford.”

That one had been a little surprising and after she had gotten that out of her system the strategy changed. It would go on like this for a week. “Good evening Amelia.”

“It’s noon.” She’d blandly state dusting the shelves of the library, the copy of Longfellow standing out like a sore thumb on the side of the table.

“Amelia it’s gorgeous out today.” He would say.

“It’s dreary.” Was her drab response but Jordan had expected it and it was almost becoming a game to see what Amelia would say to him for the day. So he would test the waters again and again.

“Garden’s starting to bloom.” He had mentioned.

“I don’t believe it is.” She’d say.

“What do you think of my new painting?” he asked.

“It’s vile.” Amelia had said.

It really was a decent painting the woman in it reminded him of her, but yet again he wasn’t surprised at her reaction. She would do something different every week prior to this week’s deafening silence. She’d seen fit to char every dress shirt, pair of trousers and overcoat he owned. Of course she apologized profusely not knowing how she could be so careless so many times. She’d put such prominence in the pronunciation of the word so it made him laugh right in her face yet he’d accepted the joke of an apology while informing her he would deduct from her pay weekly until they’d been replaced. Needless to say from then on his shirts were white and crisp.

The silence though was different; it was the sheer indifference it evoked. It was offensive, more than that it was unnerving, and yesterday he’d decided she was going to talk to him. “Amelia I need to speak with you please.” He popped his head out of his office only long enough to be acknowledged but not dismissed.

Taking his seat, he waited and dutifully if not haughtily she sidled in the door frame neither in nor out. She looked at him with a blank expression and he waived her in to take the chair across him at his desk. “Amelia.” Jordan began and watched as she shifted in her chair and stared at the grandfather clock with interest. “This cannot go on.”

She watched him, wishing him harm the whole time. She was angry and she didn’t want to hear what rubbish he wanted to spew. “Mmhm.” She muttered.

“I’m very sorry, you know this and I’ve tried for almost a month to try to get you to see it so now I’m just going to flat out ask. Ms. Marriott I must know so that we can go on coexisting, when do you plan on letting this go and forgiving me?”

Never, she thought but she didn’t say that, instead Amelia regarded him carefully. And reclining in her chair she looked off as if in deep thought. “I reckon I’ll do both when pigs fly and if that ever happens Mr. Bradford I’ll be happy to eat mud pie.” Amelia rose then and stalked out.

Needless to say, yesterday had not been a success which was why Jordan now stood in the middle of the foyer arms folded over broad chest face set in determination. “Amelia!” he bellowed and he was sure that wherever she might be in the house she should have heard him.

Pushing the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbow he waived an incredulous Vivian off as she came rushing to the spacious hall.

“Have you gone mad Mr. Bradford?” She gasped in slow retreat.

“I very well might have.” He began to yell Amelia’s name once more but halted when she appeared, coming down the hall near the library.

Amelia let her jaw drop but quickly brought her hand to her lips to cover both her shock and the laughter that threatened to escape.

“I thought you’d prefer peach cobbler over mud.” Jordan grinned triumphant because hanging from the sturdy chandelier, he’d managed to suspend—two feet from the floor with secure rope—two piglets squealing and all.

“That’s not really safe for the pigs now is it?”

“They are flying Amelia.” He winked.

“It better be good cobbler.” She gave in heading toward the kitchen.

“You could be having mud.” He smirked.

CHAPTER TWELVE

There was a dangerous game being played in the Bradford house and Vivian did not approve. They didn’t think anyone saw, or better yet he didn’t but Vivian was well aware of what was happening and she planned on warning Amelia away from danger.

For days now she watched Amelia skipping about on a cloud. Just yesterday while she’d been dusting, Mr. Bradford had stopped beside her to move a wisp of hair behind her ear and she beamed at him. If it had been any other woman she could have played it off as nothing maybe even playful flirtation. However it wasn’t any other woman it was Amelia and Amelia was colored so to the world it might be viewed as much more, it could be viewed as indecent.

The signs were subtle, a meaningful glance, a caress that lingered, the blush that was constant on the younger woman’s cheek. If Amelia was in a room you could count on Mr. Bradford showing his face soon after. He sent Mitchell to gather her in the morning and Mitchell also saw her home. That however was a welcome change because having Amelia walk home in the dark would not be acceptable.

It all started with those pigs and she didn’t want to even know what that was about. However it was noted that the ill-tempered sour mood they’d both been in had ended with the strange display.

Watching Amelia hum blissfully Vivian frowned at the tiny floral bunch she twirled about in her fingers. It consisted of one brilliant Louisiana Iris and two fragrant Magnolias tied together by a green satin bow. They’d been left on the wooden table when they’d come into the kitchen, and Amelia had clutched them to herself since.

Earlier she’d caught Jordan leaving out the kitchen and she highly doubted he’d been cooking, it was another inappropriate gift. She was sure Amelia would add it to the table where she kept a book of poetry and a dried rose. “I want you to throw it away.” Vivian looked at Amelia sternly. “If I care about anyone it’s you, you’re the girl I never had and I love you very much so listen to me when I say throw that pretty fistful of trouble out and do the same with any others that may come your way.”

Amelia stopped humming, and looking at Vivian and she knew she was serious. Placing the flowers on the counter she gave the woman who she thought the world of her full attention.

“This has to stop.” Vivian declared snatching the flowers up and tossing them in the waste basket.

“What does, I’m sorry I don’t know what you mean.” She wanted to run and grab the pretty bouquet up but stilled her hand.

“Jordan Bradford should be ashamed of himself and you are smarter than this.” She said motioning over to the discarded flowers and Amelia.

“Amelia you are worth more than flowers plucked from the roadside, your value far exceeding any hand me down book. You are special Amelia, you deserve more. I want you to have more.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about Vivian.” She half lied.

“Don’t play daft. Jordan Bradford won’t do anything for you but bring you sorrow.”

“Oh that, you are worried about that! “Amelia laughed. “Mr. Bradford is just kind.”

“Mr. Bradford is being the definition of the wolf in sheep’s clothing.” Vivian spat.

“No I promise you he is just being kind.” Amelia sobered and she was sure he was. He’d been nothing but kind to her as of late and she been short of evil. Jordan had apologized profusely about both incidents and explained that he’d simply been out of his head. Explained that he only wished to become friends and she agreed. “He is truly just being nice. I adore poetry you know that, so he gave me the book as a friend and the flowers are probably for Georgia you know he brings her flowers every day.”

“And you’re a fool if you believe that. You are beautiful Amelia.”

“I am not.” She stopped her from continuing.

“You are and the only reason you don’t believe it’s so is because you have an aunt who’s convinced you otherwise so that you will marry an old man who’s lusted after you since you were a child and has vowed to see that she’s taken care of if she delivers you to him. I want you to open your eyes. Jordan is up to no good and you deserve far better than Morgan.” Rising from her seat Vivian tossed down her napkin to her plate and left.

Amelia was silent, what could she say as Vivian stalked out of the room. Sliding from her chair she followed suit, appetite lost. No sooner had she exited the doors had she seen Jordan pretending to be blind to the fact she walked in the opposite direction.

Jordan quickened his pace and soon fell in stride beside her. “What have I done now? Every other minute a woman in this house is upset with me if it’s not Georgia, it’s you, and if it’s not you it’s Vivian.” He chuckled.

“You’ve done nothing Mr. Bradford if you’ll excuse me please.”

Jordan stopped in his tracks. “Now I know something is wrong seeing as I’m now Mr. Bradford again.”

“It’s only proper.”

“We are beyond proper we are friends.”

“We cannot be friends Mr. Bradford.”

“Why is that Amelia has some decree spread across the land forbidding it?”

“There’s been a decree for years.” She said somberly moving past him.

Jordan stood in the foyer a grimace on his handsome face. “To hell with all the women in this damn house.” He muttered exasperated. What did he care anyway all she did was give him a headache. He wouldn’t try anymore. He’d tried once before an all it got him was a whore for a wife.

Lovely Regina Riley, London’s favorite harlot. She had been the most breathtaking woman he’d ever laid eyes on when he’d met her at the age of eighteen and she knew it. At twenty-nine she was older and to Jordan she was perfection and could do no wrong.

A high breed English lady with flowing blonde hair and bright blue eyes. She was sweet and kind and swore she loved no other than him. Being naïve he’d believed her and spent weeks campaigning toward her father for her hand, and had finally been able to win his favor. They were married no less than a month later.

It was then that he found out that she along with her father were nothing more than money hungry cruel social climbers, but she took the cake for not only was she money hungry, but a heartless whore. She slept with any and everything that moved. he found himself forgiving her countless times; he loved her so much, though his heart never trusted her again, and no one could blame him for that. But as the years went on he found that not even love was enough and sought divorce. That had been when she’d come up with the greatest caper of all.

Sitting at his desk he poured a glass of Port, downing it and reveling in the slow burn. Following with another shot he almost missed the form of his new headache at his study door. Taking out a cigar he went to cut the tip. “What is it now Miss Marriott?”

“Would you like some coffee Mr. Bradford? It’s far better than Port especially at this hour.” She smiled

“Mr. Bradford!” Jordan mocked and rising he stood in front of her. “Mitchell!” Bellowing the stable hand’s name, he didn’t care if the man was in the house or not someone would see he got word. “Ready Colossus I’m going into the city.”

“No coffee Mr. Bradford?” Amelia tried to confirm.

“No coffee, and you Amelia can ride your broomstick straight to hell.”

She frowned. “Right after you Mr. Bradford.” She countered before stalking off.

*

He wasn’t one to get drunk, and in fact it was no easy task but last night he and Jasper had done just that. He’d apologize to Margaret for sending her husband home in such a state later.

Reaching for his pocket watch he wasn’t shocked that it was already nightfall again. He’d only stumbled through the doors of his room that morning. Rubbing his temple he swung his legs over the side and began to pull on his wrinkled clothing. The euphoric effect of the liquor was only lingering and already Jordan almost regretted last night’s excursion. But last night he had needed a drink. Hell he’d needed a few.

Regina’s wretched memory hadn’t helped but it was Amelia for some reason that was his true undoing and he wanted to drown the witch out of his memory for a short while the only way he knew how. For God’s sake he’d made pigs fly for her and she said she couldn’t be his friend it was offensive. Yet all the drinking he had done and he didn’t feel any better. Amelia still occupied his thoughts