The Heiress of Winterwood (12 page)

Amelia nodded, resisting the urge to look at the ground.

Aunt Augusta shook her head. “I declare, I do not know what has gotten into you the past few days. You’re as flighty as I don’t know what. And sullen. Poor Mr. Littleton has traveled all this way to see you, only to be told you will not be at dinner because your head aches?”

Amelia clasped her hands behind her like a child being scolded. “I suppose nerves are getting the best of me.”

Augusta tapped her long fingers on the gossamer overlay on her sleeve. “Very well. Against my better judgment I will give Mr. Littleton your regrets.” She turned to leave but paused at the threshold. “I’ve never attempted to mother you, Amelia. Perhaps I was wrong in that. But I’d be remiss if I did not remind you what a fortunate young woman you are. Mr. Littleton is well worth having, not to mention well connected. You’re close to changing your situation for the better. Consider your actions. Do not give him cause for doubt.”

And with those final words, her aunt disappeared in the hall.

Amelia almost laughed. Consider
her
actions? Not give
Edward
cause for doubt?

She had no fear Edward would break the engagement. He would not risk the scandal . . . or the money. But her aunt’s words held truth. Whether Amelia liked it or not, time was running short. She would turn twenty-four in just shy of two months, and if she was not married by that time, Winterwood would pass to another. At this late date, she had little choice but to marry Edward.

Amelia moved to the desk, thinking of Jane’s advice.
“Accept that God’s hand is in all things.”
But it had never been that simple for her.

She retrieved her father’s Bible and moved to pick up her book of Psalms, but the smaller book was not in its normal place. She felt around for it deeper in the drawer but could find it nowhere. Assuming she had left it in her bedroom, she tucked the Bible under her arm and took the servants’ stairs to the second floor.

The day’s sun had warmed her bedchamber, and the warmth remained as night descended. She flung herself on the high bed and stared at its elegant draped canopy, trying to sort out all the thoughts and feelings that bombarded her. Nothing came clear, so she sat up again and picked up the Bible. The worn pages fell open, and she pictured her father sitting at his desk, poring over the same words that now stared up at her.

“Have faith, dearest.”
She attempted to thrust Jane’s words from her mind. They refused to be ignored.

But hadn’t she asked God repeatedly for his help? He either had not been listening or cared not. She slapped the Bible closed and flung it down beside her. How could trusting in a plan that might or might not exist bring her anything but heartache?

Tears welled. She’d considered every detail. But was she any closer to getting her way? Fighting for control had only cinched the noose tighter. Weary of fighting and planning, she wanted rest. She wanted to feel peace. Could it really be as simple as trusting God?

A rap on the door interrupted her thoughts. She bolted upright from the bed.

“Amelia, it is Helena!” Knuckles tapped the door again. “Open the door!”

Amelia did not move.

“Whatever’s the matter with you?” Helena’s voice held urgency. “Mr. Littleton is in a terrible state. I’ve not seen him like this before.”

Amelia pressed her hand to her mouth, willing her cousin to leave.

“Amelia? Are you awake?” Helena jiggled the door’s handle. A
few long seconds of silence ensued, then Amelia heard the soft pat of Helena’s slippers moving away from the door.

Amelia waited until she was sure Helena was gone before drawing the curtains for the night. Outside, clouds were gathering.

“I want to trust you, God. But I don’t know how.” Amelia’s chin trembled. “If you have a plan for me, please make it known. I cannot do this alone.”

William poured himself another glass of brandy and leaned his arm against the library mantel. “I’ll tell you what you need, Graham, and that is a distraction.”

Graham looked up from the letter he was writing and frowned. “No, what I need is to find a nurse for Lucy.”

“Doesn’t she have a nurse already? That Irish woman?”

“I can hardly hire Mrs. Dunne while she’s employed by Miss Barrett. And I need to have someone in place before I bring Lucy here. The situation at Winterwood Manor is becoming untenable.”

William took a long swig and shook his head. “Never did care for Littleton. Now I care for him even less. And to think I was even considering selling him the west fields.”

Graham lifted an eyebrow. “I think you’d be wise not to enter into any agreement with that fellow.”

“No doubt you are right.” William dragged his fingers along the fireplace’s fluted lintel, then pushed himself away from the mantel. “But back to the distraction I was speaking of. Jonathan Riley over at Wharton Park is hosting a hunting party on his grounds. Nothing extravagant, just gentlemen who like to follow the hounds and fancy some cards and a drink or two afterward. I depart in the morning and will likely stay a few days. Riley’s estate is only an hour or so away by horseback. Join us.”

Graham considered the offer. The idea of a few days spent in mindless diversion tempted him. But too much of his youth had been wasted away in “distraction.” He had left such pastimes locked in his past, and he was not about to revisit them. “Thanks, but no. I’ve things to do.”

“Suit yourself. I still think it would do you good.”

William moved to exit the room, but changed his mind and dropped into a chair. “Of course, it is none of my business, but it seems a shame that Miss Barrett’s marrying Littleton. She’s so attached to Lucy that she would probably marry you just to keep the child with her. If Littleton was as disrespectful as you claim, she’d probably be grateful for it.”

Graham turned toward William, suspicious that he might have somehow heard about Miss Barrett’s proposal. But William’s expression was innocent. “You think a woman would marry a man just for a child?”

William shrugged and propped his boot over his other leg. “Maybe not most women. But Miss Barrett is wealthy in her own right, so she has no need to concern herself with the sorts of things that motivate other women.” He brushed at his coat. “I would’ve asked her myself, but I believe at one point in the not-so-distant past, she referred to me as a self-absorbed blubbering idiot. Not exactly a match ordained in heaven.”

Graham chuckled. Miss Barrett was indeed a woman who would speak her mind. He could almost hear the words slip from her lips. “Well, she’s engaged to Littleton, and I’ve no intention of marrying. So that is that.”

William slapped his knee. “Wise man. I’ve no desire to be saddled, myself. Well, maybe for the fortune that would come with the likes of Miss Barrett, but you understand.” He stood and grabbed his riding crop from the corner of the desk. “I’m leaving after breakfast, should you change your mind about Wharton.”

“I’ve no intention of marrying.”
Graham’s own words resounded in his head as his brother took his leave. Was that the truth?

He refused to leave Lucy in a questionable environment when he rejoined his crew. So far, every option he had tried had proved unsatisfactory, and he would need to report back to his ship within the month. The only person he trusted with his daughter at the moment was Miss Barrett. And she had named her price.

Graham studied the edge of a book on the desk without really seeing it. Amelia Barrett. Headstrong, determined, intriguing Amelia Barrett. Her passion was contagious, her dedication admirable. And the thought of Edward Littleton harming her sickened him.

He opened the desk for a piece of paper and grabbed the quill from its holder. He prided himself on being a man of swift, sure decisions. Once his decision was made, he would not waver.

He flexed his hand, dipped the quill in ink, and began to write.

“Dear Miss Barrett . . .”

E
dward’s hot breath grazed Amelia’s cheek. “My temper got the better of me, dearest.” He cupped her shoulder, then ran his hand down her arm, smoothing the thin cambric sleeve. He paused at her wrist and then lifted it to his lips. “I’m sorry. You forgive me, do you not?”

Amelia didn’t move. His eyes, dark as coffee, bored into her, as if spying on her soul. A few months ago she would have believed his repeated attempts at contrition. Now his empty pleas echoed hollow.

“Come, let’s not quarrel.” He caressed her cheek. “We’ll be married soon, and none of these petty details will matter.”

What choice did she have? He was bigger, stronger, and would soon be Winterwood’s master. She squeezed the lie through her teeth. “I forgive you.”

A triumphant smile lit his handsome face. “Good.”

She eased away from him and pretended to study the view out the window. Sounds of the servants packing the carriage carried from the drive. “How long do you intend to stay in London?”

“Eager for me to return, are you?” His grin was almost a smirk. “I plan to be gone a fortnight, give or take a day or so. Then I shall be here for good.”

Thunder growled. “You’d best not delay here too long. I fear the heavens will open up on you.”

Uncle George’s voice entered the drawing room before he did. The older man slapped a heavy hand on Edward’s shoulder. “Are you off, my boy?”

Edward bowed slightly and then turned to acknowledge Aunt Augusta as she sauntered in behind her husband. “Yes, sir. Best be off before the rain starts and the roads get muddy, eh?”

Uncle George’s raspy laughter filled the room. “To be sure. Blasted rain.”

“We’ll miss you at the morning service, Mr. Littleton.” Aunt Augusta’s lips curved in a trite smile as she handed Edward his scarf. “Our family’s pew will not be the same without your company.”

James, the butler, stepped forward and extended a black beaver hat. Edward took it and tucked it under his arm, then led the way out to the carriage. The servants lined the drive to see their guest off. Edward barked instructions to the driver and then turned back to his soon-to-be family. He bowed. “Farewell, then.”

A sigh of relief slipped from Amelia’s lips as she watched the carriage start down the drive. She had never been quite so happy to see a carriage depart.

Graham tapped his fingertips against the oak pew. The very sight of the worn wood summoned long-forgotten memories.

White. His mother always wore white on Sundays. He shut his eyes, forcing the recollection to subside.

Cold air rushed through the window across the aisle, carrying
with it the scent of impending rain, and a rare shiver shook him. He shouldn’t have come to this service. He was a relative stranger in the area. He didn’t belong to this parish. But something had drawn him to church on this November Sunday.

Something . . . or somebody.

As the vicar’s voice echoed off the stone walls and stained glass windows, his gaze drifted toward the Barrett pew. Littleton was absent. Next to Amelia Barrett sat her cousin and aunt and uncle. And nestled in Miss Barrett’s arms was his little Lucy. Her eyes were closed in slumber, and even from this distance he could see the soft flush of her cheeks and the pink of her parted lips. Downy titian hair curled from under her bonnet in bright contrast to her pale skin. There was no doubting Lucy was Katherine’s daughter.