The Heiress of Winterwood (6 page)

“Mr. Littleton.” Amelia looked up. She had not noticed her cousin approaching. Helena’s voice, as always, was steady and sure. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”

Edward stood. “Ah, Miss Barrett!”

“What news from Leeds? Surely you saw someone of our acquaintance?”

Edward shook his head. “I fear I cannot satisfy your curiosity. The bulk of our trip was spent tending to business affairs. However, I am on my way to London in a day or two, and I hope to bring you news from there.”

The overwhelming scent of rosewater signaled Aunt Augusta’s approach. Before another word could be uttered on the matter, she rested her hands on Helena’s shoulders. “Have you not told Mr. Littleton of our news here in Darbury?”

A sinking feeling pulled at Amelia, and she cast a desperate glance at Helena, hoping her cousin would be able to sway the conversation when she herself could not find words. But even that was too late, for her aunt’s words tumbled forth. “While you were gone, we have had a most interesting development here.” She leaned forward, clearly enjoying the game she was playing. “You will never guess who has returned to this county.”

Edward, still standing, leaned back against the chair and crossed one booted foot over the other. “Well then, Mrs. Barrett, you will have to enlighten me, for I cannot even begin to guess.”

The older woman fluttered her fan, raising a breeze that stirred the trim on her gown. “Why, Captain Sterling of course! Little Lucy’s father.”

Edward snapped to attention at the words, his features brightening. “You don’t say!” Amelia winced as he directed his words toward her. “Why did you not tell me right away? This is truly a fortuitous development—and not a moment too soon! Now he can take responsibility for that child of his.”

Amelia bristled. When would they see Lucy as someone other than a guest? “Actually, the captain is open to the possibility of Lucy remaining at Winterwood.”

Edward’s demeanor sobered. “We have discussed this, Amelia. The child is welcome to stay until we are wed. But not after.”

Amelia stiffened at the finality in his tone but willed herself to
hold her tongue. Pushing him too hard at this moment would get her nowhere. But she couldn’t help wondering how Edward could love her, really love her, yet be so quick to reject the one person in the world who meant the most to her.

Oblivious to her agitation, Aunt Augusta began to chatter about tonight’s dinner and the menu for the wedding breakfast. But Edward moved in so close that she felt his legs brush the hem of her dress. “Come, Amelia,” he murmured in her ear. “There is no need to get upset. Everything will be fine, you will see.”

So like Edward—eager to smooth things over with nary a commitment one way or the other. She was about to respond when his arm snaked around her waist and held a small wooden box in front of her.

Amelia frowned. “What is this?”

He circled around to look at her, a crooked grin on his face. “You will have to open it to find out. I was going to wait until later to give it to you, but I sense you could use cheering up now.”

Amelia pressed her lips together. She was in no mood for gifts. But she took the box in her hand, the polished teak smooth and cool beneath her fingers. She unlatched the small clasp and flipped the lid open. Her breath caught. There, gleaming in a nest of fine white satin, was a sapphire pendant set in gold.

“Do you like it?” Edward reached into the box, his long fingers grazing her own. He lifted the necklace, the chain uncoiling with the action. “The color reminded me of your eyes.”

She looked up. His own dark coffee eyes gazed intimately into hers. But to her, they were the eyes of a stranger.

Later that same afternoon Edward and Uncle George took a ride over the grounds with Mr. Carrington, Winterwood’s steward.
With several hours left before their engagement dinner, Amelia wanted—needed—to spend time with Lucy.

She had asked Mrs. Dunne to bring the baby to her in the morning room—a smaller, warmer chamber with pale coral walls, white frieze and cornices, and a wide white fireplace with a cast-iron grate.

Amelia sat on a small sofa in a pool of fleeting sunlight, intending to bide her time with her needlework until Mrs. Dunne arrived. Try as she might, she could not keep her mind on the intricate pattern. Finally she sighed and set the frame down beside her. Patting her foot with impatience, she turned her attention to two familiar portraits flanking the fireplace.

On the left hung a portrait of her father as a very young man. It had been there for as long as she could remember. The portrait did not show the smile she had loved, but it perfectly captured the kindness in his eyes. Even though he had been gone for well over a decade, she recalled his face with vivid detail. What would he think of her engagement to Edward?

On the opposite side of the fireplace hung the only portrait of her mother. More than one guest had mistakenly assumed it depicted Amelia, so great was the resemblance. The artist’s strokes had captured her mother with the bloom of youth, fair hair loosely gathered around a narrow face and large, watchful blue eyes. As a child, standing before the painted image, Amelia used to imagine that her mother could actually see her. How she wished she had a mother to guide her now.

Mrs. Dunne breezed through the door with Lucy propped on her hip. Amelia jumped from her seat, casting aside melancholy thoughts. “There is my girl!”

When the baby saw Amelia, her chocolate eyes grew wide. She waved chubby fists in the air and thrust herself toward Amelia, causing Mrs. Dunne to nearly drop her.

“Whoa, Lucy!” Amelia laughed at the child’s enthusiasm. “You’re going to fall!”

The child scrambled into Amelia’s arms, and Mrs. Dunne laughed. “She’s been out o’ sorts all morning, lookin’ for you all over.”

The words, delivered with Mrs. Dunne’s lilting Irish brogue, warmed Amelia to the core. “Oh, Lucy, I am so sorry.”

The little girl giggled, showing her dimple. She squinted her eyes and batted her hand against Amelia’s face. Amelia laughed, feeling the weight of uncertainty slip from her mind. Time seemed to stand still when she was with this child. When they were together, she could forget her worries.

Almost.

If the captain were to take Lucy from Winterwood, the baby would grow up as she had—motherless. Even with the presence of a doting governess and a loving father, something had been lacking in Amelia’s childhood. When Aunt Augusta and Uncle George came to be her guardians after her father’s death, Amelia had finally identified what it was. Though Aunt Augusta was never actively unkind, her relationship with Amelia was nothing compared to her bond with Helena.

Amelia freed her earring from Lucy’s grasp and sat down on the floor. Mrs. Dunne produced three wooden blocks, and Lucy squealed and began to bang them together. Amelia smiled, trying to set aside the dread that had crept into her awareness. How much longer did she have with her? One week? Two? A month?

If Edward wouldn’t relent, no more than five weeks.

“Bababa ba ba.” Lucy’s cheerful chatter filled the narrow room. Amelia wanted to memorize everything about her . . . the velvety skin, the soft copper curls, the plump, dimpled hands, that delicious baby smell. Amelia felt her chin tremble. Who would love her precious Lucy if she were taken away? Captain Sterling would
be away at sea. Who else would sing to her? Read to her? Brush her hair? Teach her to mind? Teach her how to love?

Lucy lost interest in the blocks and scooted over to Amelia with loose, uncontrolled movements. Amelia gathered her in her arms, untwisting the child from the long white gown. Lucy wrapped pudgy arms around Amelia’s neck and pulled herself up, babbling, “Mama ma ma.” Without warning, tears sprang to Amelia’s eyes.

Last week those sounds coming from the baby’s lips would have thrilled her. Today they brought a joy laced with pain.

In the span of nine months, Amelia had watched the child grow and change. She herself had gone from being afraid of even holding the baby to loving her with an intensity she’d never thought possible. She could not—would not—willingly hand Lucy over. Not even to Captain Sterling.

She peeled a chubby hand from her hair and pressed it to her lips. She needed Lucy as much as Lucy needed her. She kissed the child’s cheek, leaned her head against wispy curls, and whispered, “I will fight for you. You, my dear Lucy, will never be alone.”

Y
ou had better finish dressing.” Helena cut her eyes toward her cousin, holding her head perfectly still so as not to disturb the lady’s maid dressing her hair. “And for all that is good and holy, stop leaning against the wall. You will wrinkle your dress.”

Ignoring her cousin’s direction, Amelia pressed her body against the wall and bent forward, stretching her neck to watch carriages line the front drive. She strained her eyes to count them. “How many guests did Aunt invite?”

“Move away from the window, Amelia!” Helena waved a frantic hand, her head still motionless. “What if someone sees you?”

“Don’t be absurd.” Amelia’s tone was sharper than she’d intended. The brocade curtain slipped through her fingers as she pulled her hand away. “It is far too dark in here for anyone to see in.” She turned to pick up her dress, held it at arm’s length, and tilted her head to the side, admiring the delicacy of the ivory Valenciennes lace and the way the pale azure silk shimmered in the candles’ flickering light. Under any other circumstances, she’d be
thrilled to be dressing in her finest for a formal dinner. But tonight was different.

“Not like that, Elizabeth!” Helena slapped at the servant’s hand as the girl attempted to arrange a feather in her hair. Then she sent the maid on an errand and proceeded to adjust the brightly colored plume herself.

Once the lady’s maid had quitted the room, Helena turned to Amelia. “Why are you so out of sorts tonight? Do not tell me you are still thinking about that captain.”

The lie slid easily from Amelia’s lips. “Of course not.”

“Well, I should think not, especially tonight of all nights. I overheard Mother tell Father that the Simmonses are coming after all, and—” She paused midsentence and looked around, a frown darkening her face. “Have you seen my necklace? The one with the ruby pendant?”

Amelia nodded toward the jewelry chest atop the dresser.

“Ah.” Helena retrieved the gold chain and held it up to her exposed throat. She pivoted, watching her reflection in the glass. “I do believe you have escaped catastrophe, dear Cousin.”

Amelia adjusted her petticoat over her stays as Elizabeth returned to the room. “I do not understand.”

Helena rolled her eyes and returned her attention to the feather. “It is early yet to tell, but I think you are going to come out of yesterday’s episode unscathed. An entire day has passed. If Captain Sterling had planned to expose you, we would have already heard about it. Count yourself fortunate.”

Amelia suppressed a groan. The interchange with the captain in the drawing room had been humiliating enough. Now, after the incident in the graveyard and today’s interlude with Edward, she was practically at her wit’s end. Feeling the need to defend herself once more, Amelia murmured, “As I told you before, it was a business proposition. Nothing more.”

“Well, call it whatever you like.” Helena took the dress from Amelia and handed it to the lady’s maid. Elizabeth helped slide it on over the petticoat, careful not to disturb Amelia’s meticulously arranged tresses. “At least Mr. Littleton hasn’t discovered what you have done.”

Amelia turned to allow Elizabeth to fasten the ivory buttons down the back of her gown. Glancing into the mirror, she straightened the silver netting adorning the bodice. There was no point in arguing. She needed to concentrate on what she would say to Edward, not on persuading Helena, who at any rate would not be swayed.

Once the buttons were fastened, Helena reached for Edward’s sapphire necklace. She dangled the piece in front of her. “I do hope one day my betrothed gives me such lovely tokens of affection,” she said, her voice wistful. The candles’ flickering glow caught the intricate angles of the jeweled pendant, sending slivers of indigo light into the air. Helena draped it around Amelia’s neck and turned her back toward the mirror. “Perfection.”