The Heiress of Winterwood (9 page)

The wind calmed. Miss Barrett paced with slow, decided steps, her shimmering gown billowing behind her and glittering in the faint light from inside.

“When her time came, the midwife told us it was too soon. Katherine should have carried Lucy for another month, but she couldn’t . . .” Amelia paused, her head lowered, as if gathering her thoughts or calming her emotions. She sniffed, fixed her eyes on the ground, then went on. “She labored for days. Then, after Lucy came, Katherine succumbed to puerperal fever.” She pointed, directing his attention to a narrow window in a far wing. “There. That was her room while she was at Winterwood. She died in that room.”

Graham rubbed his hand over his face and let it settle over his mouth. Katherine,
his Katherine
, had been in pain. Snippets of memories bombarded him. Her smile. Her hair.

He looked over at Miss Barrett. She had stayed with Katherine to the last. Without her, who would have been there for his wife? His indebtedness to this wisp of a woman ran deep indeed.

Graham forced words through his tightened throat. “That must have been very difficult for you, Miss Barrett. Thank you for your kindness. I am grateful she did not die alone.”

Amelia fixed her eyes on her hands. “As I have told you, Katherine asked me to care for Lucy. I promised, and I do not give promises lightly. Ever since that day, Lucy has never been out of my care.” She hesitated. “And forgive me for speaking on such a private matter, but I intend my words to be a comfort. Katherine loved you so very much.”

Words failed Graham. The more details he heard, the more difficult they were to hear. To absorb. He had hoped that knowledge would soothe the unsettled ache in his chest, but the answers only caused further turmoil.

Drops of rain blew in with the wind. A shout echoed from inside Winterwood, and Amelia cast a nervous glance toward the door. “I must go now, Captain. Edw—Mr. Littleton—will be looking for me.” She bobbed a curtsy, but instead of heading toward the drawing room door, she moved to the stone stairs leading down to the lawn.

“Where are you going?”

Her glance back at him was incredulous. “You do not suggest that I go back through those doors after being alone with you out here?”

He shook his head. “Do not be absurd. It’s been raining for days! You’ll slip and do yourself harm in all that mud.”

“Captain Sterling, we have shared this terrace for more than a
quarter of an hour, and there may be guests in the library. If someone should notice that we walked in at the same time—no, I thank you. I will go around.”

He trailed her as she moved farther into the darkness. “It’s starting to rain. You will be soaked through. We’ll go in through different doors, and surely no one will see.”

She stopped and turned so quickly that he almost ran into her. “I do not think you understand.” She fretted with the edge of her shawl. “Mr. Littleton is not a man to be crossed. If he should even think that you, um, I mean, that I . . .”

Her words faded, and she diverted her eyes.

Was she frightened of Edward Littleton, or were her words a warning? And if the latter were true, did she think the man intimidated him? Graham stifled a snort. “You don’t know me very well, Miss Barrett.”

Miss Barrett jutted her chin into the air. “And you do not know me, sir.”

He stepped closer to her, almost enjoying the interchange as a welcome relief from the somber nature of their discussion. “Your Mr. Little-whatever-his-name-is is a pup compared to the men I deal with every day.”

She matched his step with a backward one of her own. “Well, you do not have to live with the man. I am to be married to him in a matter of weeks. I would consider your discretion a personal favor.”

“It’s none of my business, but—”

“You are right,” she cut him off. “It is none of your business. So if you’ll pardon me . . .”

This was ridiculous. He could not, would not, let her or any other woman go stumbling blindly into the dark night.

The rain’s intensity increased. The drops plopped on his cheeks and brushed his eyelashes. “Very well,” he grumbled, waving his hand toward the door. “Go inside if you must. I’ll go around.”

She hesitated, but as a fresh gust of wind brought stronger rain, she ducked her head and looped her shawl over her hair. “Thank you, Captain Sterling. If you round the corner there, you’ll find the kitchen entrance.”

He covered sarcasm with a huff. “I think I can find it.”

“I will see you inside.”

She disappeared through the door. Staring at the empty door frame, he flipped up his collar and descended the stairs to the lawn.

Headstrong woman. Headstrong, determined,
intriguing
woman.

Graham slipped back inside Winterwood Manor and followed the sound of voices to the billiards room, where the men had gathered. The room was dim and close. The smoke from the fireplace escaped and curled toward the molded ceilings, obscuring the multitude of landscape paintings adorning the dark green walls. Laughter abounded. He took a seat next to the fire, hoping the warmth would dry out his soggy boots.

“Mr. Littleton is not a man to be crossed.”
Miss Barrett’s words echoed in his mind. He stared at Littleton, who stood next to the billiard table, cue in hand, laughing a little too loudly. The man’s arrogant manner irked Graham. So did his obviously drunken state.

“Well, well, where have you been?” William sauntered toward him with a glass in each hand. Another sight Graham had seen more times than he cared to admit. William handed him a goblet of port.

“Needed some air.” Graham considered downing the drink, but instead swirled the tawny liquid in his glass and watched it splash against the sides.

“Why are you wet?”

“You would not believe me if I told you. What’s going on in here?”

William leaned back and balanced himself on the arm of the sofa. “Billiards. You play?”

“Of course.”

“Join us.” With a chuckle, he pushed himself off the furniture. “If you think you can beat me, that is.”

Graham slouched to the left and caught a glimpse through the open door of the drawing room where the ladies had gathered. The pale blue silk of Miss Barrett’s skirts swirled past the threshold. He found it difficult to tear his eyes away. Like it or not, he was bound to the woman. Bound by grief. Bound by the love of a child. And now that he knew the full extent of the service she had done his wife, bound by honor. That connection posed no small amount of difficulty, since it was clear to him that Miss Barrett had no business marrying a man like Littleton.

“Graham!” William’s voice carried above the laughter. “Get over here.”

Rising from his chair, Graham headed toward the table to stand next to Littleton, whose height matched his own. He didn’t speak to the man, nor did the man speak to him. Right or wrong, Graham judged character quickly. He had to. One such misjudgment on board his ship could spell disaster.

His instincts screamed for him to watch this one. And watch him he would.

The morning following the engagement dinner dawned overcast. Settled at a small writing desk in the library, Amelia sought distraction. Her fingers traced the printed words in her father’s worn Bible. She tried to concentrate, but the letters swirled on the page.

Blessed is the man that trusteth in the Lord, and whose hope the Lord is. For he shall be as a tree planted by the waters, and that spreadeth out her roots by the river, and shall not see when heat cometh, but her leaf shall be green; and shall not be careful in the year of drought, neither shall cease from yielding fruit
.

If only she found it as easy to believe the words as to read them. As much as she hungered for the truths in them, her fear-laden heart and mind stubbornly refused to give them credence. She leaned her elbows on the desk and stared through the window’s wavy glass at a vista of wide lawns, manicured gardens, and the moors beyond, still tinged with a remnant of fall’s rich color.

The sun peeked golden from behind the waning clouds, bathing the page in sunlight.
Whose hope the Lord is.
The words called out to her. But somehow she couldn’t bring herself to trust them. Not after all the sadness she had known—growing up motherless, losing her father, watching Katherine die, fearing that Lucy might be taken. In truth, Amelia was beginning to believe that those words were for people like Katherine and Jane. Not her.

Amelia sensed Edward’s presence before she saw him. The fine hairs on her arm prickled as his footsteps approached. After their daunting interaction on the terrace the previous evening, she wondered what to expect in his demeanor.

A finger traced the back of her bare neck, the touch shooting shivers through her body. He rested his large hands on her shoulders, and his lips grazed the top of her head. “Good day, my darling.”

Amelia tensed. His voice sounded as it always did: confident and agreeable. She kept her eyes fixed on the Bible’s page. “Good afternoon, Edward. I trust you slept well?”

He swung around to lean against the desk. His leg, dressed in fine gray pantaloons, rested dangerously close to her arm. “I’ll sleep better when I don’t have to sleep alone.”

She winced at his suggestive remark but decided to ignore it. She had other things to worry about.

Edward drew a deep breath and stretched. “What to do today.” He said it more as a statement than a question. His tone of voice suggested that he either did not remember their curt interaction or did not care to discuss it.

So be it. Regardless of how she felt about Edward’s behavior last night, she was plighted to marry this man in just a few weeks. She must make every effort to be civil.

“Care to take the horses for a ride?” she asked.

“No.”

“Shall I read aloud to you?”

He laughed, his rich baritone filling the small space. He took the Bible from her and flipped through the pages. “Dear Amelia. Dear sweet, good Amelia. Read aloud if you think it will do some good, but I fear I am beyond help from that book or any other.”

“Nobody is good of their own accord,” she reasoned.

“Well then.” He looked at her with eyes still red from last night’s indulgences and all but dangled the Bible in front of her. “Perhaps you can reform me.”

Vexed by his condescension, she snatched the Bible, pushed herself away from the desk, and crossed the room to the window. “A walk, then?”

He gave his head an impatient shake and began to pace. Edward Littleton was a man in constant need of amusement, never content to be still. In Darbury for but a day, and already his restless eyes beamed impatience.

She glanced from the shelves of her mother’s books to her father’s faded chair. She loved Winterwood. It was her home, the seat of her memories. She feared that Edward appreciated the estate purely for the fortune that came with it.

But was she any better? Had she not deceived him only two
days ago by proposing to another man? She bit her lower lip, aware of her wrongdoing. He, however, seemed blissfully unaware of his.

The mantel clock struck the hour. She looked out the window to the front drive. “Mr. Carrington will be here soon. That will be a nice diversion for you.”

Edward studied his fingernails. “I have been meaning to talk with you about Carrington. When your uncle and I returned yesterday, we paid him a visit. I have relieved him of his duties.”

“What do you mean, ‘relieved him of his duties’?”

“Just what I said. Now that I am to be master, I do not need his assistance with our affairs. I will handle Winterwood’s business on my own. I believe the man has already departed the estate cottage for his offices in Sheffield. He will send for his things later.”

She whirled around from the window. Had he intended not to tell her? Had he thought she wouldn’t notice? She forced steadiness to her voice. “Before he died, my father hand-selected Mr. Carrington to handle our affairs. He knows more about Winterwood’s workings than you could possibly imagine. He knows all the tenants by name.
I
don’t even know them all by name. How could you do something like that without discussing it with me first?”