CHAPTER 1
A melia’s heart lightened as Lady Sarah sashayed into the drawing room clad in lavender and ivory taffeta. Her full skirt rustled as it cleared the doorway. The dress complemented her blonde hair and accentuated her violet-hued eyes. Amelia could not help but admire her beauty and vivacity. She was always so alive. Full of the very essence Amelia found herself quickly losing.
Sarah traipsed across the room, arranged herself in the chair directly across from Amelia, and smoothed her taffeta skirts. “I came the very minute I finished reading your note. I must admit you caused me quite a fright. What is so terribly wrong that it could not wait?”
Amelia drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. “Uncle Lewis has ordered me to move to America. He says that I must board a ship this Monday.” Amelia watched as the concern on Sarah’s face deepened into utter shock.
“One week? It is not feasible. What about your servants and properties? You need time to grieve and prepare. Not even a full month has passed since you buried your father.”
“That is precisely what I told him, but he would not hear any of it. As my guardian, he expects me to do as I have been told.” Amelia’s chin quivered as she battled with her fresh wounds. Uncle Lewis had been stern in his command, storming from the room when she attempted to sway him. She drew in a deep breath. “Tell me there is something we can do.”
Amelia fixed her eyes on Sarah’s and waited for her to speak. With every fiber of her soul, she willed Sarah to find a solution.
“What if we could secure a chaperone to watch over you? Do you think he would grant you more time?”
Amelia smiled for the first time in over a fortnight. “Sarah, you are an angel. That may well work. Leastwise it will provide a good temporary solution.”
Sarah’s eyes twinkled when she looked at Amelia. “What about Her Grace, the dowager Duchess of Abernathy? She’s widowed with no pressing responsibilities and is a friend of your family’s is she not?” She stopped speaking long enough to draw a breath. “Perhaps I can appeal to her on your behalf?”
Amelia’s heart soared as her hope rekindled. She clasped Sarah’s kid glove covered hands. “This will work. The duchess has attended every social affair my family ever hosted. She sponsored my introduction to society, and even presented me to the Queen. But of course you already know all of this. The request would be harder for her to deny coming from my own lips. I must ask Her Grace myself.”
As Sarah stood and moved to the hearth, her earrings danced with the movement. “That is outlandish. You are in mourning. It would make for a grand scandal if you went about visiting. You already created a small scandal by attending your father’s burial. Every tongue in London would be wagging if you went out calling.”
Amelia could not argue with Sarah’s reasoning. It would not do any good to feed the gossip mills--not yet, at any rate. She needed Uncle Lewis and the duchess to honor her request. No doubt a grand scandal would have the opposite effect on their sensibilities.
“What if we take your carriage to the widow’s townhouse? No one will suspect I am inside. Even if they do, they will not have any proof. Not if we keep the curtains drawn.”
“We can send your calling card to the door alerting Her Grace to your presence. With any luck, she will come join us in the carriage,” Sarah replied, a conspiratorial sparkle lighting her eyes.
“It is settled then. I will ring for our coats, and if anyone asks, we will say we are going for a ride in Hyde Park.
* * *
The ride to the duchess’s passed without event. Amelia failed to notice the sounds and smells of London as they traversed down Piccadilly Street. She only took notice of their arrival when the carriage halted on St. James Square in front of Abernathy House.
Sarah knocked on the window behind her, then handed her footman both of their calling cards before dispatching him to the widow’s door. Her Grace’s grand townhouse towered three stories high, with large windows and a beautiful garden sprawling around it. Amelia studied the exterior of the townhouse through a crack in the curtain, ornate with various types of embellishments and a slate roof. One would be hard-pressed not to realize her wealth and station based on its appearance alone. Her stomach knotted with anticipation. What if she refused Amelia’s request? She looked at Sarah for a distraction.
Sarah fiddled with her skirts, a worried expression pulling at her features. “I do hope she joins us out here in the carriage.”
Amelia worried at her lower lip.
The duchess had plenty of experience with the rituals of mourning and proper decorum. She would come out. If not, Amelia would go in. What other choice did she have?
Relief swept through Amelia as the carriage door opened, admitting the Duchess of Abernathy, Grace Stratton, who promptly seated herself directly across from Amelia. Concern clouded the duchess’s brown eyes, and she patted her strawberry blond tresses gathered at the back of her head. “Good day, ladies. I would ask how you are doing, Amelia, but I fear I already know. Instead let me ask, how may I help?”
Amelia’s palms became tacky, and her pulse hastened as she willed the words to come. “Your Grace, it is with deep respect that I have come to ask for your support in an imperative matter,” She paused to collect her thoughts.
Grace nodded and reached for her hand. “Please go on, dear. Out with it.”
Amelia risked a glance at Sarah, who gave her the slightest nod. She directed her attention back to the duchess. “I would be forever in debt to you if you could see it in your heart to assist me. You see… my Uncle Lewis has ordered me to move to America.”
“Oh my. That is dreadful. And so soon to boot.” Grace’s hand fluttered to her chest.
Amelia swallowed and bowed her head, unable to focus on the duchess. “He says I must leave in one week’s time.”
“Oh dear.” She squeezed Amelia’s hand. “Tell me, how I may be of help.”
With some effort, Amelia glanced up at her. “It is my hope that, by securing a chaperone, I may delay my departure.”
“You most certainly would need one if you were to stay on in England.” Grace’s narrow lips turned up in slow degrees. “Amelia, am I correct in assuming you are asking me to be your chaperone?”
“That is exactly what Lady Amelia is asking,” Sarah answered, her voice filled with mirth.
Grace gave a gentle squeeze to Amelia’s hand. “I would be happy to help, assuming the arrangement is agreeable to your uncle. I do not suppose he knows you are here?”
Amelia nodded her head as guilt panged within her breast. “He hasn’t the faintest idea, nor does he know I am actively seeking a chaperone.”
A slight blush crept across Lady Sarah’s cheeks. “That presents a whole new problem. Now that you have agreed to chaperone Amelia, we must get her uncle on board with the arrangement. However, we cannot tell him she called on you. Due to the impropriety of it, of course.”
Grace tittered. “Let an old hand deal with that. I will call on Mr. Lewis tomorrow. Do not worry your head one more second about it. I am quite certain he’ll agree. I have but one question, dear. How long are you intending to stay in England?”
“Forever.” Amelia’s reply came too hastily, but she could not stop herself. The dowager’s eyes widened and Sarah drew a sharp breath.
“How do you plan to manage it?” Sarah lowered her gaze and plucked at her skirts.
“I intend to find a husband. Amelia looked at them, begging them to understand an idea she did not yet understand herself.
“You could not. It is positively scandalous. Amelia, you are in mourning,” Indignation dripped off Lady Sarah’s tongue.
Amelia’s cheeks heated at the reprimand. She knew her idea would prove risky, but she also believed it could work. She merely had to convince them that the imminent scandal would prove worthwhile.
The duchess leaned forward. “Nonsense, Lady Sarah. If Amelia desires to stay in England, we will help her. And if she wishes to marry, we wil
l assist in that, too. Compared to Amelia’s happiness, the consequences are of no concern.”
Lady Sarah’s eyes widened, and she fixed them on the duchess. “I do not want Amelia moving to America either, but I do not see any other way. How is she to find a husband when she is not at liberty to attend parties, or be called upon?”
“I intend to trap one.” Amelia managed to keep her voice level. “There are many eligible bachelors keeping residence in London for the season. I merely need to decide on one, and then...appear to be compromised by him.”
Sarah’s face paled. “Think of the scandal, Lady Amelia! You will be ruined.”
“And we shall assist her.” The duchess fired a daring glance in Lady Sarah’s direction. “Marriage will put a fast end to any ensuing scandal, so there is no use worrying about it in the first place.”
Amelia pushed out a breath and tried to relax. This had to work. It simply had to.
* * *
As Amelia snuggled in her feather bed, desperately wanting sleep to take her, her thoughts alternated between trying to determine who to make her viscount and how to accomplish the task. Anxious and overtired, she crawled from her bed, donned her wrapper, and headed for Papa’s old office, knowing the cure for her insomnia rested within its walls.
Sudden grief stabbed her heart when her lamplight illuminated the room. Everything remained just as Papa had left it. His mahogany desk still held Mama’s miniature in its ornate brass frame. The office chair was slanted slightly to the side as if he had just exited it. Hunter green crushed velvet drapes were pulled partially open, allowing moonlight to stream into the room, and Papa’s slippers still rested near his chaise. The room even smelled like Papa--a heartrending blend of cigar smoke and spice.
She entered the office and set the lamp down. The sherry decanter beckoned to her. She moved to it, poured herself a glass, and tossed it back. Unladylike, but she did not care. The dark liquid sent a comforting trail of warmth down her throat. After she poured another glass, she positioned herself on the corner of Papa’s desk. No one had entered the room for six weeks. Her father had been too sick for business matters, and hadn’t wanted her to worry about them. He assigned his steward to take care of the accounting and property management tasks during his illness. If she was forced to leave England, she supposed the steward would continue to run her estate.
Amelia took another sip of the sherry, relaxing as it blazed a path into her belly. Picking up Mama’s miniature, she realized she could feel both of her parents in the room. As warm tears rolled down her cheeks, she dashed the dampness away with the back of her hand. Mama had spent a great deal of time in here before her passing.
Staring at Mama’s image reminded her again of just how much she resembled her mother, right down to her curly hair and emerald eyes. With a jagged sigh, she placed the miniature back on the desk.
“I love you.” Her whispered endearment echoed in the room. Standing, she finished the drink and placed her glass back on the serving tray. The liquor spread warmth through her, thawing her chilled marrow. Perhaps she would sleep well after all.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
USA Today Bestselling author Amanda Mariel dreams of days gone by when life moved at a slower pace. She enjoys taking pen to paper and exploring historical time periods through her imagination and the written word. When she is not writing she can be found reading, crocheting, traveling, practicing her photography skills, or spending time with her family.
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www.amandamariel.com
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~Heartwarming historical romance that leaves you breathless~
Table of Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Table of Contents
Also by Amanda Mariel
Foreword
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Epilogue
Excerpt
Prologue
Chapter 1
About the Author
Afterword
Josephine (Lady Archer's Creed Book 4) Page 8
