Lady Amelia's Mess and a Half

by Grace, Samantha

  Jake allowed shock to show in his expression. “Sir Davenport, you’ve lost close to three thousand pounds this evening. Don’t you wish for a chance to win back your blunt?”

  Davenport swallowed, his eyes bulging. “Three thousand pounds?” His voice was a hoarse whisper.

  Jake pushed all of his chips into the middle. “Play me for my entire winnings. One hand for five thousand pounds.”

  Forest grunted in disapproval. This wasn’t part of his plan, but Jake had his own version to execute. He focused on Davenport.

  “But I don’t have five thousand pounds to match your bet, Mr. Hillary.”

  “Perhaps there is something else you can offer.” He leaned forward, his face hard. “My five thousand pounds to your renewed support for the foundling hospital renovation. If I win the hand, you instruct your brother to approve the renovation.”

  Davenport shook his head. “I can’t.”

  “Very well,” Jake said, slouching on the chair. “I’ll call on you tomorrow to collect. You do have three thousand pounds at your disposal, do you not?”

  Sweat appeared on the man’s forehead, and his face flushed pink. “Of course I have the funds. But it may take a while to-to gather that amount.”

  Jake waved his hand. “Don’t worry overmuch about the money.”

  “Truly, sir?”

  “Please, don’t give it another thought.”

  Davenport wilted upon his chair. “Mr. Hillary, you are too kind—”

  “I’m certain you have belongings of equal value in the home. Perhaps a piece of Lady Davenport’s jewelry. I will require an appraisal, of course, but we shall find a way to settle your debt. I imagine your wife can advise me on which piece she believes is worth the amount you owe. I’ll come by when Lady Davenport is receiving callers tomorrow.”

  “No!” Davenport jumped to his feet. “Please, you cannot intrude on Lady Davenport and her guests.”

  “Then what do you propose, Sir Davenport?” Forest said. “Mr. Hillary’s offer sounds more than generous to me.”

  “I suppose I could improve upon the offer.” Jake looked to his brother-in-law. “How much did you lose to Sir Davenport?”

  “Four hundred pounds.”

  He blinked. “Four hundred? Does Lana know?”

  “I intended to recover my losses,” Forest said through clenched teeth.

  “There’s no need to get in a temper.” Jake returned his attention to Davenport. “Let’s forget about playing another hand. You ensure the renovation is approved, and I’ll return two thousand pounds to you. Your wife will never know you almost lost her property.”

  “Wait one moment,” Norwick said. “I’d like to add something to the negotiations.”

  Jake gestured to the earl. “By all means. Please, say your piece.”

  “Not only will you make certain the renovation goes forward, you’ll escort your wife to a dinner my sister will be hosting in a show of support for the project.”

  “Lady Banner is hosting a dinner in honor of the renovation?” Forest asked. “I was unaware she held such good intentions.”

  “As is she,” Norwick said.

  Davenport shrugged off his jacket. Sweat rolled down his face and soaked into his cravat. “Lady Davenport will be furious if I go back on my word.”

  Jake raised an eyebrow. “Will she be pleased when I arrive on the morrow to collect her jewelry?”

  Davenport shook his head. He looked as if he might burst into tears at any moment.

  Forest stood and slapped his back. “Davie here is no henpecked husband, if that’s your meaning. He’s a man of influence, power. He isn’t one to be dominated by the fairer gender. Tell him, Davenport.”

  The man glanced up at Forest. “N-no. I’m not.”

  Moving behind his seat, Forest grabbed Davenport’s shoulders. “Ol’ Davenport is going to march into his home and remind his lady wife that he makes the decisions. No clinging to the skirts for this fellow.”

  “Yes,” Davenport said in a voice growing stronger. “It is my house. I won’t cling to the lady’s skirts.”

  A mischievous glint in Forest’s eye spoke of his devilish side. “Why, Davenport will tell his wife just how it’s going to be from now on. She will do his bidding, submit to his wishes.”

  “Yes, she will.”

  “He’ll not have it any other way.”

  Davenport hammered his fist against the table and rose from his chair. “No, I won’t. Martha is going to listen to me for once. And by God, she will honor her wifely duties, or else.”

  Forest balked. “After you woo her, of course.”

  “Well, yes,” Davenport agreed, peering at his companion. “I suppose wooing is important?”

  “Immensely,” Jake said. “You may wish to start with a bath.”

  Forest sniffed the man and drew back. “Egads.” He put distance between him and Davenport. “Brilliant suggestion. Listen to Hillary. And you mustn’t forget to compliment Lady Davenport.”

  “On what?”

  “Why, on her hair and eyes. They are her most pleasing features.”

  Jake nodded. “Bring her flowers at least once a week, then a trinket on anniversaries.”

  “And be gentle,” Norwick said. “No need to rush in like a Norman storming a castle.”

  Davenport’s head swung to each of them as they spoke. “Should I be writing this down?”

  “Perhaps,” Forest said, unable to hold back a grin.

  By the end of the negotiations, Jake had exactly what he wanted. Amelia’s project was saved. Forest had his four hundred pounds returned. Norwick acquired Sir Davenport’s promise that his wife would attend his sister’s dinner. And Lady Davenport was in for more than one surprise. Hopefully, at least one of those would be pleasant.

  Jake stood and stretched. It was too late to share the good tidings with Amelia, but early on the morrow he would visit Verona House and bask in her joyful appreciation.

  When he reached Hillary House, however, his good mood vanished. Waiting upon his desk was a letter written by Amelia’s hand.

  My dearest Jake,

  By the time you read this, I will have already left London. I must sort through the complexities present in my life now. While I do not doubt my love for you, I am uncertain if my feelings will be enough to overcome the obstacles that accompany becoming your wife.

  I understand the reasons you dislike Bibi. Yet she has sustained me through the hardest moments of my life. I need her as much as she needs me.

  Following the disagreement outside the theatre, I realized the truth. You will never be able to tolerate Bibi, because she will never allow it. Therefore, our days will be filled with endless arguments and hurt feelings. I cannot continue in this manner.

  I wish it could be otherwise, that you and Bibi could respect each other even if you cannot foster a fondness for one another. But I fear it will never come to pass. This is my dilemma. How do I choose between you when you both hold equal value in my heart? Do I choose a husband, a father for the children I so desire, my lover, or do I choose undying loyalty and a friendship that has brought me much happiness? I have no answers, so I must seek them away from both of you.

  Please respect my need to be alone. I will contact you when I have reached a conclusion.

  Yours truly,

  Amelia

  “No.” Jake threw down the offensive letter. She couldn’t do this to him. She couldn’t deny him the chance to prove himself. He wouldn’t allow it.

  The sky hinted at a sunny day as he stalked from Hillary House to find the steed he had ordered readied for him. Amelia’s childhood home, the estate left to her by her father, was a short distance from Town. She had to be at Merrimont, because she had nowhere else to go. In less than two hours, he would plead his case before her. She would see she had judged him wrongly. And Amelia would know whomever she loved, Jake would also make room for in his heart.

  Twenty

  Warmth enveloped Amelia as she s
lipped outside into the twilight. She breathed in the earthy, country air. Fireflies danced on the breeze, beckoning her to join in their merriment, but her heart was too heavy for celebration.

  After two days with nothing to do besides ruminate on her troubles, she hadn’t sorted out anything. How to save the renovation project. What to do with Bibi.

  And then there was Jake to consider.

  Amelia missed him with a wretched hunger that made her dream of him at night, to reach out for him in a drowsy haze only to remember moments later where she was. The Audley family home, occupied by the current Marquess of Audley, his wife, and Amelia’s precious niece and nephews, couldn’t compare to being with Jake.

  How would she ever let him go? She didn’t know if she could any more than she could give up Bibi. There was, however, something she needed to release.

  Her husband had been dead for over two years, but his hurtful words and disdain lived on in her mind, casting shadows over her ability to judge the sincerity of others. Part of her feared his lasting influence might be driving her to push Jake away, and she refused to allow Audley to hold power over her.

  She headed for the cemetery where she would leave her bad memories at his grave, as she should have done long ago. The family plot rested a little ways from the house. Earlier she had stood at the garden’s edge and watched the shadows move across the graveyard. The larger stones had served as unintended sundials, reminding her of the precious hours she had wasted on him.

  A sugary, sweet scent filled the air, courtesy of the white moonflowers spreading their petals under the approaching night. Reaching the garden’s outer boundaries, she picked her way down the gentle incline toward her husband’s fenced resting ground and that of his predecessors.

  Crickets chirped and blended to create a strident, yet soothing, whir in the air. At various intervals, a deep-throated frog croak punctuated the night, a soloist in nature’s symphony. A breeze brushed her cheeks, expanding the branches of the ancient oak standing sentry by the entrance, the swish of leaves eerily like whispers. The iron gate groaned but swung inward with ease.

  Amelia hadn’t been allowed to see her husband after the accident. It seemed as if he lived on, hunting the land he had favored over her. She wondered if it was difficult for Thomas Audley to believe his brother was gone, too. If not for Lord Henley witnessing the fire, Thomas would have been unable to identify his brother. Did it seem as if he had buried a stranger?

  She took a tentative step, careful with her footing on the sloping ground. Audley’s resting spot lay on the edges of the cemetery, closer to the house. She weaved through the tombstones toward his grave. The cemetery’s desolation seemed both peculiar and fitting. Close to a hundred spent souls lay all around her. Yet, there was no sensation of anyone dwelling there. Perhaps this wouldn’t fulfill her needs after all.

  Her husband’s simple, arched stone stood in contrast to the ostentatious monuments, avenging angels, and towering crosses. Audley’s understated marker acted as testament to his eye for refined detail and high quality. As his spouse, Amelia had owed him authenticity at least.

  She walked over to his gravestone to run her hands along the rougher edges before skimming her palms along the smooth surface. Her finger traced the etching of his name, the letters’ deep grooves within the impenetrable stone.

  She hadn’t cried when she had learned of Audley’s accident. She hadn’t cried when he was buried. For weeks, she had tried to evoke any fond memories or feelings to foster some show of emotion, but she had few of either in relation to her marriage. She had castigated herself for shedding no tears for her husband. A steadfast wife should feel something when losing her spouse, but she hadn’t. And she didn’t now, either.

  But what if it had been Jake? There was a sharp pinch in her chest. She pressed her hand over her heart to subdue the panic welling up inside her. Closing her eyes, she took a slow, deep breath. It wasn’t Jake. He was alive in London, perhaps frantic over her absence.

  Her eyes flew open again in realization. This was her answer, this feeling deep inside her heart. Her body had been speaking the truth for days, but she had foolishly relied on her thoughts, believing logic had anything to do with love.

  She no longer had anything to say to Audley and turned away from him forever. She was going home.

  ***

  Amelia hadn’t been residing at her country home. The servants were unable to shed any definitive light into where she may be staying. The housekeeper had speculated she might be in Yorkshire visiting an elderly aunt and distant cousins, but it was too far to travel without some guarantee Jake would find her at the end of the journey.

  Upon his return to London, he set off for Kennell Place directly from the mews. After hours in the saddle, he welcomed a brisk stroll. If Lady Kennell knew of Amelia’s whereabouts, he must convince her to tell him.

  As he hurried along the walkway, the occasional yipping of a pampered canine sounded from the houses he passed. The playful laughter of children wafted on the air. Carriages drove by carrying well-dressed ladies on their way to make calls. Everyone went about their daily tasks with no sense of how bleak London had become without Amelia.

  He noted a phaeton resting in the circular drive as he neared the viscountess’s residence. The carriage’s red wheel was visible through the manicured hedges beyond the iron fence enclosing Kennell House. A groom spoke of his Sunday plans, presumably to the horses since his conversation appeared to be one-sided.

  What a bloody nuisance to find Lady Kennell entertaining when Jake needed to speak with her. He debated approaching the mansion, but chose to wait outside the gate until her guests left. Leaning against a stone pillar flanking the gate, he wiped perspiration from his forehead with a handkerchief.

  He never paid calls himself, seeing as how the activity was within the domain of ladies mostly. He imagined visits as long, drawn-out affairs. After all, his sister could be long-winded once she warmed up to a topic.

  Jake settled in, wishing he had something to help pass the time, but no sooner had he returned his handkerchief to his pocket than a feminine giggle floated on the air. Peering around the pillar to see which lady called upon the viscountess, he discovered it was no lady paying a call.

  The Earl of Norwick peeled off Lady Kennell’s glove, leaned over her hand, and lavished it with kisses that made Jake blush on the earl’s behalf. Norwick behaved like a besotted fool. Jake could only imagine the gent would suffer a broken heart in the end.

  He ducked behind the hawthorn hedge before they spied him. Lady Kennell’s yellow skirts provided patches of color just on the other side of the greenery.

  “Don’t collect me late for the Pennyworth ball tonight,” Lady Kennell said.

  “Never.”

  The carriage groaned as Norwick climbed to the seat.

  Jake pressed his back against the iron fence as a footman allowed the phaeton to pass through the gate before closing it again. Once Norwick’s carriage disappeared down the cobbled street, and Jake guessed the servant had gone inside, he entered the property. The well-oiled gate swung open, and he stalked across the drive. He lifted his fist to knock, but the door flew open and two heated, brown eyes pierced him.

  “What, pray tell, are you doing lurking outside, Mr. Hillary?” Lady Kennell’s hands landed on her hips. “I suppose you are here to apologize for the other night. Well, be quick about it. I have much to do.”

  “You wish me to apologize? You haven’t exactly been above reproach.”

  “Oh, do be quiet.” She blew the hair from her forehead. “I have no patience for your foolishness. Follow me.”

  Jake held his ire in check. Arguing with Lady Kennell was the cause of his troubles to begin with and would solve nothing.

  The viscountess whirled around and marched across the foyer. For a small woman, she moved quickly. Jake scrambled to catch up, uncertain as to the reason he allowed a woman less than half his size to order him around as if he were a wayward chi
ld.

  “I’m seeking Lady Audley,” he said.

  “Try Verona House.”

  “She left London yesterday.”

  Lady Kennell stopped without warning, causing Jake to ram into her. He grabbed her shoulders to steady her before she fell to the floor. Once she had regained her balance, he realized he was touching her person and dropped his hands to his sides.

  “My apologies, Lady Kennell.”

  Instead of yelling as he expected, she looked over her shoulder with a slight smile. “My, but you are a clumsy one. I suppose Amelia finds this quality endearing, but I’m afraid I would grow tired of doctoring your cuts and bumps and listening to your apologies.”

  Jake ducked his head. Really, how did one respond to such frankness?

  Her frosty demeanor returned. “Did you say Amelia has left London?”

  “I received a letter from her saying as much. Yesterday her butler refused to admit me, stating Amelia was not in residence. I rode to Merrimont, but she wasn’t there either.”

  “She rarely returns to that horrible place. It holds nothing but bad memories.”

  Jake nodded, at once aware that Lady Kennell was more sensitive to Amelia’s feelings than he was. He hadn’t considered that the home where she had lost her mother at so young an age might be the last place she would go. “Could she be in Yorkshire?”

  “No.” A small crease formed between her brows. “Follow me to the rose drawing room, Mr. Hillary, but do keep your distance this time.”

  Lady Kennell floated along the corridor and disappeared through a doorway. Jake took care to leave adequate space between them this time in case she had a notion to halt abruptly again. Entering the room behind her, he paused. Everything delicate and breakable known to man filled the room. He feared breathing.

  She gestured to a pink chair more suited for a chit than a man. “Please, have a seat.”