The Heiress of Winterwood (8 page)

Uncle George dabbed his mouth with his napkin and let it fall to the table before clearing his throat. “I know my wife is eager to get the ladies off to the drawing room, but before you all leave, I have wonderful news to share.”

A rush of whispers circled the table.

Uncle George’s ruddy face flushed, a broad smile crinkling his eyes. “As you know, my lovely niece will soon be joined in matrimony to Mr. Edward Littleton, a first-rate young man. But what you do not know—what even my niece doesn’t yet know—is that once he and Amelia wed, Edward Littleton will become a full partner of Barrett Trading Company.” George Barrett held up his goblet in a toast. “Welcome to the family and the business, my boy.”

A burst of conversation exploded from the guests. Edward, who could barely contain his enthusiasm, reached for Amelia’s hand and squeezed, nearly knocking over his glass in the process.

More was said, but Amelia did not hear. Piece by piece, the puzzle came together. Her uncle’s sincere yet emphatic insistence on the union. Edward’s constant talk of expanding Winterwood’s worth. Yes, Edward had professed his love—repeatedly. He had done it so often and so enthusiastically that at times she had doubted his sincerity.

Suddenly, she doubted it completely.

She needed air.

Amelia survived the next several minutes until the ladies were excused to the drawing room. At a moment when she was certain no one was watching her, she slipped away from the guests, made her way to the empty library, and pushed open the terrace door.

The cool November air welcomed her. She crossed to the railing, intent on a few moments of privacy before returning to the hustle of entertaining. But after several minutes of attempting to process what she had heard, the door from the library flew open.

“There you are.” A grin flashed across Edward’s chiseled features. His footsteps echoed on the stone beneath him, his unsteady walk explained by the goblet in his hand. “I’ve looked everywhere for you. Isn’t this a nice turn of events?” He leaned next to her against the rail. “I do believe that we are headed in the right direction, dearest Amelia.”

She nodded. The wool of his jacket rubbed her arm through the loose weave of her shawl. She drew the shawl more tightly around her. She wrinkled her nose at the pungent stench of brandy, surmising that his drinking had begun hours before the gathering. “You startled me. I thought you would stay behind with the gentlemen.”

He ignored her statement, a habit of late. “Ah, you’re wearing the necklace.” He traced the chain with his finger, allowing it to linger on her skin. “Sapphires suit you. But in the future, they shall be diamonds.” His breath brushed her neck.

Amelia shifted uncomfortably under his touch, then swallowed. She had better get used to his taking such liberties. “It is beautiful indeed.”

“You must imagine my astonishment at our last-minute guest.” The change of subject was abrupt. Edward dropped his hand from her and took a swig from the goblet before setting it on the railing.

“I assume you mean Captain Sterling?”

“Of course I mean Captain Sterling.” Edward’s nostrils flared at the mention of the name. “If he has returned, why is
she
still here?”

He did not need say more for Amelia to understand his meaning. “Lucy is just a baby, Edward.”

A sneer tugged his full lips. “If it is babies you want, I can give you all the babies you desire. Just give me five more weeks.”

Amelia ignored his suggestive comment. He was leaving tomorrow, and she needed to broach the subject of Lucy before it was too
late. “I fail to understand why Lucy cannot continue to live with us. Once we are wed, that is. What is the harm of it? Winterwood is so large, and—”

Edward’s string of curses interrupted her. “I’ve told you—I just won’t have it, and I’m weary of you pestering me about it.”

A creeping panic gripped Amelia. She had seen Edward under drink’s influence before, but something was different about tonight. He had always spoken of Lucy dismissively, but the closer they came to their wedding date, the more intense his opposition became.

“How can you not see it, Amelia? How can you be so oblivious?” Something like a laugh gurgled from his throat, and he dragged his hand over his face. “It pains me to be so blunt with you, but someone must be. Captain Sterling is taking advantage of you, Amelia. He is playing you for a fool. The entire Sterling clan is. And I won’t have it.”

Momentarily stunned by the accusation, Amelia shook her head. “That is a falsehood. The captain never asked me to care for Lucy. It was my idea. I was the one—”

Edward silenced her by stepping so close that the warmth from his body filtered through the filmy silk of her gown. “The child has family, Amelia, or have you forgotten? She is not destitute. It was her uncle’s responsibility to take her in after her mother’s death, though apparently that never crossed his mind. Now her father is home, and his financial success is no secret. It is up to him to provide for her.”

“But, Edward, I—”

“It is time, Amelia. Past time. You have more than amply fulfilled the promise you made to her mother, and it does you credit. Now it is time to move on to the next stage. Your life with me. With our children.”

Amelia did not trust herself to look up into the eyes that were now so near to her own. She opened her mouth to speak, to defend
herself, to share the arguments she had so carefully prepared. “I—I cannot help but disagree. You say I am being taken advantage of—well then, so be it. We have more than enough money, more than enough room, I—”

Edward grabbed her forearm. Startled, she snapped her mouth shut. “You may not care about it, Amelia, but I do. I care a great deal. I will not allow another man to prey on my wife’s fortune or good nature, regardless of how he disguises it.”

With a sudden jerk, he dropped her arm, straightened, and smoothed his cravat, which the wind had disrupted. His hard glare bore down on her, the wildness in his expression frightening her. “Consider your motivations, Amelia. You are acting on emotion, not reason. But I will not allow him to exploit you. Exploit
us
. My mind is made up. I will not subvert my children’s inheritance to raise another man’s child, especially when that man is fully capable of doing so on his own. I will not be taken advantage of like, like—”

His words stopped short. He cut his eyes away from her, lifted the glass to his lips, and tossed the liquid down his throat. His body swayed.

Amelia shrank back into the corner, hunching under the protection of her shawl, as if it could protect her from the bluntness of his words.

Even in cover of darkness, she could see the anger in his dark eyes. “I care not how it is done, but that child will leave my house.”

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and nodded toward the door, a silent indication he was done with their discussion. “Do not stay out in this air. You will catch a chill.”

Edward staggered back inside. Watching him go, Amelia could not help but recall the day she had met him. Handsome, self-assured, attentive, he had drawn her to him effortlessly. His every word had held tenderness and a promise.

How had he become . . . this?

How could she possibly marry a man who would treat her so?

But what choice did she possibly have?

Tears threatened. Amelia stared into the black, starless night, pulling her shawl ever tighter around her, as if such a simple action could shield her from the uncertainty of her future.

G
raham stepped into the broad hallway, determined to go unnoticed by the handful of guests who had gathered there. A quick sweep of the space confirmed Miss Helena Barrett’s absence. He exhaled. The woman had babbled all evening. Her incessant prattling had kept him from seeking out Miss Amelia Barrett, his true reason for attending in the first place.

He made his way down the hall to the library in time to see Edward Littleton stumble in through an outside door. The inebriated man shuffled past without seeing him. Graham released a breath. He wasn’t fond of Littleton. But if the person coming in had been Helena Barrett and he’d been forced to endure one more tale about purchasing Indian muslin or German lace, he would have thrown himself from one of Winterwood’s towers.

He watched Littleton stagger past a side table and nearly knock a candle to the planked floor below. So far, what he had seen of Amelia Barrett’s intended had been unimpressive at best. Graham had every intention of watching him more closely as the evening
progressed, but first he needed a minute alone. He stole behind the couches, careful not to draw the attention of a small group of men who had gathered in front of the fireplace. Twisting the door’s ornate brass handle, he stepped out onto a wide stone terrace. The breeze carried a hint of rain, and the frost’s spicy scent invigorated his senses. He stretched and inhaled deeply. He still missed sea air, but this was preferable to the suffocating rooms within.

“Are you looking for something, Captain Sterling?” The voice was soft. Feminine.

He turned to find Miss Amelia Barrett standing behind him. He glanced back over his shoulder. She had been alone with Littleton. He bowed. “Miss Barrett. I wasn’t aware you were out here.”

“If I did not know better, I would think you were following me.” Her words were an obvious attempt at lighthearted conversation, but her face told a different story.

“I deserve that. I apologize for my behavior in the cemetery yesterday. I had no intention to intrude or offend.”

Miss Barrett stepped from the shadows. The yellow light filtering through the tall drawing room windows slanted over the gentle slope of her nose and highlighted the curve of her cheek. “It is I who should apologize, sir. It was impolite of me to leave so abruptly.” She lowered her voice, as if taking him into her confidence. “You see, as a general rule, I prefer not to cry in front of other people. Especially people I do not have the pleasure of knowing well.”

You will not cry in front of a stranger, yet you would propose to one?
The words bubbled near the surface of his mind. But he said nothing.

The breeze carried strains of a pianoforte from somewhere in the house, and she glanced toward the door. “I should return. If you will excuse me?”

Without a thought for decorum, Graham reached out and touched her arm. “Wait.”

She turned, her eyes flitting from his hand on her arm to his face. “Yes, Captain Sterling?”

He shifted uncomfortably. He was alone with her. Would not now be a good time to speak with her as he had intended? With his time in Darbury limited, he did not have the luxury of waiting. “I wondered . . . I have been meaning to ask . . . You see, I know very little about my wife’s final days.” He hesitated, pausing to interpret the shadow crossing her face. “Might I trouble you for a moment of your time to ask you a few questions?”

She hesitated, interlaced her fingers, then nodded. “Of course. You have my permission to ask me anything.”

“I received only three letters from Katherine after she moved to Darbury. I have no doubt she wrote more frequently, but as you can imagine, the post did not always extend over the sea. How did you and Katherine become acquainted?”

After an awkward silence, Miss Barrett spoke. “We met after she moved to Darbury, to Moreton Cottage. That was almost a year and a half ago. Jane Hammond—that’s the vicar’s wife—told me that I had a new neighbor, and as I am sure you can imagine, we do not often receive new neighbors in Darbury. I called upon Katherine; we grew fond of each other and soon became fast friends. We spent nearly every day in each other’s company. She was, of course, with child when she arrived, but a few months after her arrival, she fell ill. Since she was all alone at Moreton Cottage, with only two servants to tend to her, I insisted she stay at Winterwood for her lying in.”

Graham could no longer hold back the question. “Did my brother not offer any assistance?”

Miss Barrett’s lips parted in what could only be surprise at his directness. Heavy silence blanketed the space before she spoke. “If I remember correctly, Mr. Sterling was out of town for most of the time Katherine was in Darbury.”

Graham masked his annoyance. He would deal with his frustration toward his brother at another time. Right now there were other things he needed to know. “What was it . . . That is to say, how did she . . . ?” He stopped himself and tried again. “What were the circumstances surrounding her death?”

Miss Barrett stepped to the railing, as if trying to put distance between them.

Graham closed the space she created by joining her at the balustrade. “I don’t mean to upset you, but I beg of you . . . I must know.”

She stared away from him into the blackness. “How much do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

A sharp gust swept over the terrace, and Miss Barrett shivered. She gathered the hem of her shawl and ran the fringe through her fingers. He adjusted his stance, preparing to hear whatever might pass her lips.

“From the beginning of her confinement, it was clear that something was amiss. She was confined to bed early on. The midwife advised that if she was too active, she could lose the baby.”