Lady Amelia's Mess and a Half

by Grace, Samantha

  “Ah, the trouble with chaperones,” Mr. Tucker commiserated. He glanced back over his shoulder before offering a cocky grin. “Of course, we have no one telling us how to behave today. What do you say to a rematch with Mr. Hillary? I could stand in for the other gentleman.”

  Amelia smiled politely. “You Americans are sadly uninformed when it comes to the ton. Just look around. We have more people watching us now than ever. The gossips nearly swoon from holding their breath in anticipation of the newest scandal.”

  “Is that the cause of all the swooning?” Mr. Tucker flashed a good-natured grin. “And you uptight English refer to us as silly.”

  The gentleman really was a likable sort. He conversed on many topics with ease and possessed a good humor. She could understand Jake’s desire to further their acquaintance.

  A rider entered the track ahead and stopped his horse, appearing to scan the area. As their party rode closer, Amelia recognized the gentleman as well as the tension in his rigid posture.

  “It’s your brother-in-law,” she said softly to Jake. “Something is amiss.”

  “Please excuse me a moment, Lady Audley. Mr. Tucker. I shan’t be long.” Jake tapped the sides of his roan stallion, riding ahead to reach Lord Andrew.

  From the gentlemen’s expressions, one might never realize something was wrong, but Amelia had always been more in tune to others’ moods. She sensed disquiet in the air.

  Jake turned his horse and met her and Mr. Tucker as they rode his direction. He eased his horse alongside Amelia’s to speak softly. “It seems Forest could use my assistance. It’s Lady Gabrielle. The groom lost her on the morning ride.”

  “Oh, dear,” she whispered in return. “Your sister must be beside herself.”

  Jake’s gaze landed on Mr. Tucker and he offered a pleasant smile. “Could I impose upon you to provide escort for Lady Audley, sir? I fear I have a family matter to attend to without delay.”

  “It is no imposition, Hillary. Go about your duties. The lady will remain safe in my care.”

  Jake tipped his hat. “I’ll return as quickly as I am able.”

  Amelia worried her bottom lip as Jake rode away. Lana had enough to occupy her without adding concern for her husband’s sister to the list.

  Mr. Tucker shifted in his saddle and adjusted his hat to cast a greater shadow over his face, blocking out the intense morning sun. “I’m beginning to understand the need for chaperones in this country,” he teased. “You English girls are a reckless bunch, but your secrets are safe with me.”

  “I suppose you couldn’t help but to overhear. Allow me to caution you against forming an opinion on my story alone, sir.”

  “Never, Lady Audley. I’m privy to other stories. I assure you I have formed my opinions based on those tales.”

  “You must have a talent for compelling others to confess their reckless acts. How long have you been in England?”

  “A few weeks, but I cannot pretend to have said talent. I have an acquaintance in New Orleans who recites anecdotal stories for entertainment. He is an English gentleman, nobility I suspect, although he has never admitted to it.”

  Their horses continued a slow lope along Rotten Row, the warm sun now at their backs.

  “Of course, I’m skeptical of his outlandish tales. They are always told with exaggerated flair, and only when he is foxed.”

  Amelia smiled in encouragement, hoping he would choose to share one of these outlandish tales with her.

  “He recounts a story about a house party, too. I do wish for the opportunity to attend one of these notorious soirees. They sound positively wicked.”

  “That depends on the company you keep, Mr. Tucker.”

  He chuckled. “I have no doubt which crowd I would gravitate toward. The wicked are much more entertaining.”

  Having grown accustomed to Bibi’s frank talk, her escort’s lack of propriety didn’t offend Amelia. His manner emboldened her instead. “Tell me the story, Mr. Tucker. I’m beyond curious now.”

  “At your insistence, my lady. My gentleman acquaintance tells this story about his wife.” Mr. Tucker scratched his head, nearly knocking his hat off before setting it to rights again. “Now that I think on it, he never has said what happened to her. I suppose he is a widower.” Mr. Tucker waved a hand in the air. “But his marital status has no bearing on the tale really. To hear him tell it, his wife was a young girl of thirteen, not yet old enough to participate in adult entertainments. Are you certain you aren’t easily offended, Lady Audley?”

  “I assure you my sensibilities are not easily disturbed.”

  Mr. Tucker nodded, his brow wrinkled with uncertainty. Nevertheless, he continued the tale. “The girl wasn’t old enough to take part in the festivities, but she was in residence. Her aunt and uncle planned a house party to celebrate Christmas. There was nothing debauched intended, I assure you.”

  A slight sense of uneasiness churned in her belly, but she dismissed it as the effects of a disagreeable breakfast. As Mr. Tucker had mentioned earlier, England boasted many country parties. Surely more than one involved a thirteen-year-old girl visiting relatives during Michaelmas.

  “Go on,” she urged.

  “The day the party guests arrived at the manor, the girl’s female cousins stole into her chambers and took her dresses while she bathed.”

  Amelia’s head spun slightly, and she gripped the reins tighter to steady herself in the saddle.

  “My lady, are you unwell? You appear pale.”

  “I-I’m fine, sir. Perhaps too warm is all.”

  Mr. Tucker frowned. “Let’s rest in the shade.”

  She followed him to a sprawling oak, the cooler shade making no difference in the fuzziness of her thoughts or rate of her heartbeat.

  “Should I try to find something to drink?” he asked.

  Amelia shook her head. “Really, I’m fine. Please, finish your story.”

  A fine line formed between his brows as if he questioned the wisdom in continuing. “If you are certain you’re not easily offended, my lady,” he said at last. “Actually, the cousins didn’t leave her with nothing to wear. They had placed a maid’s uniform in her wardrobe.”

  “Indeed?” She tried to force a swallow down her dry throat. Could there truly be two such similar occurrences in England?

  “Oh, and I forgot to mention that the precocious duo sent the servant attending her away and informed all the other servants to ignore her call as they were engaged in a game of pretend.

  “When the girl climbed from the tub without assistance—the servant didn’t answer her call, of course—she discovered her clothes were missing. She pulled the bellpull repeatedly, but no one ever came. Finding only the maid’s attire in her wardrobe, she knew the mischief-makers were her cousins. She was upset.”

  Upset was an understatement. Amelia had been furious with her haughty contemporaries. “Did she put on the maid’s dress?”

  Mr. Tucker chuckled. “I think you might see where this story is headed. Yes, she did don the outfit and marched from her chambers to find her cousins. She intended to give them a piece of her mind. Before she could locate them, an older maid, with some authority it seemed, waylaid her. She scolded the poor girl for her sloppy appearance then shoved linens in her arms and ordered her to prepare one of the chambers. The curmudgeon wouldn’t allow her to explain. She swatted her on the backside and pushed her toward the chambers.”

  Amelia’s chin lifted. She was still indignant over the shabby treatment she had received from the servant.

  “Not knowing what else to do, she hurried to follow the older woman’s orders. She completed the task, but before she could return to her own chambers, the woman snatched her and gave her another chore.” Mr. Tucker cocked his head. “Only I never understood how the older servant didn’t recognize the young woman.”

  “She was hired special for the party.”

  His eyes rounded. “You know this story?”

  Did she know it? It was her st
ory. One she had only ever repeated once, to her husband, but he’d obviously betrayed her confidence. That was the only explanation for some gentleman being in possession of her story.

  “It’s a common practice. Mr. Tucker, who is it that told you this tale?”

  “All is saved,” Jake called as he rode toward them.

  Thank goodness, she didn’t have to endure the part of the story where the lecherous gentleman had attempted to become better acquainted with her in his guest chambers. Amelia had barely escaped unscathed, and then only because the overbearing maid had come to investigate what was taking her so long.

  Once Jake reached Amelia’s side, he dismounted his horse then assisted her from Clarabelle. “Unless Lady Audley protests, I would like to walk Sinbad for a bit.”

  She glanced at Mr. Tucker, desiring one more moment alone to ask him a few questions about his friend, but that wasn’t to happen.

  The gentleman tipped his hat before gathering his horse’s reins. “Very good. I’ll take this opportunity to bid you both farewell. I depart for Edinburgh on the morrow and won’t return to Town for several weeks.”

  No! She had to speak with him before he disappeared. Where was it he was staying again? “Do you know your way back to the Clarendon, Mr. Tucker?”

  Confusion flitted across his features. “I’m staying at the Pulteney, and I believe I can find my way back.”

  “Indeed. What am I thinking?” Amelia shrugged as if self-conscious. “I suppose a world traveler would have no trouble finding his hotel.”

  The gentleman offered a kind smile. “Your hospitality is much appreciated, all the same. Good day, Lady Audley, Mr. Hillary.”

  With a jaunty wave, he urged his dappled gray into a trot and soon disappeared from the park.

  Jake led both horses while Amelia walked beside him. “We needn’t walk the entire way,” he said. “I didn’t want to discuss Lady Gabrielle in Mr. Tucker’s presence.”

  “I don’t mind walking.”

  “Lord Ellis found Lady Gabrielle by the lake and kept her safe until her brother arrived. They are both fortunate no one saw them together, and Ellis is lucky Forest didn’t issue a challenge. He’s protective of his sister.”

  “Thank goodness Lady Gabrielle was unharmed,” Amelia mumbled, knowing this was expected of her, but unable to focus on the girl’s narrow escape from ruin.

  Jake sighed. “Lana is reported to be beside herself. Lady Gabrielle has been their guest for the last week, and Lana is holding herself responsible for granting permission for the outing with the groom.”

  Amelia made the appropriate sounds and nodded, but her thoughts were elsewhere. What type of gentleman stole a story belonging to someone else and presented it as his own? Well, not his own, really, but that of his wife. She needed to speak to Mr. Tucker again to clear up the ridiculous notion that the story was about her. Surely, there were other details to set it apart from her experience, and if he’d had time to finish, her mind would be at ease.

  Jake didn’t seem to notice her distraction. “I’m reminded I haven’t seen my sister for a fortnight. Perhaps I should pay her a call.”

  Amelia snapped from her fog. “Yes, you should see to her welfare. I imagine this has been a troubling day for her.” And Amelia had her own business, that of locating Mr. Tucker and hearing the rest of his tale.

  Twenty-five

  Amelia fretted over what she would say to Mr. Tucker, if he even responded to her request to call on her at Verona House. Her message had simply stated she had an urgent matter to discuss with him post haste, and although she believed it to be life or death, he might disagree.

  When a knock sounded at the drawing room door, her heart paused before beating at an ungodly pace.

  “Enter.” Her voice wavered.

  Bradford appeared in the doorway and glided across the room with a tray in his gloved hands. A cream calling card with black script barely registered against the polished silver. “You have a caller, milady.”

  She plucked the card from the tray. Mr. Isaac T. Tucker. “Please show the gentleman in.”

  Bradford’s slightly pinched face revealed his disapproval, but as with all good servants, he performed his duties without comment. She conceded that her behavior might raise his suspicions about her character. First, she had allowed an overnight gentleman guest and now she not only welcomed a different gentleman, she had summoned him. Nevertheless, Bradford’s suppositions were beyond her concern at the moment, and he had proven himself capable of keeping household gossip at a minimum.

  Mr. Tucker followed her butler into the drawing room and stood at a respectable distance.

  Amelia gestured to a chair farthest from the settee where she sat. “Please, come in and have a seat, sir.”

  The gentleman nodded curtly and strode to the leather wingback before gracefully lowering his lanky frame. “Thank you, my lady.”

  Bradford took up position at the room’s perimeter, doing his best to appear unobtrusive.

  “Thank you for coming on short notice, Mr. Tucker.”

  His brows lowered as he leaned forward. “Your message indicated you had something urgent to discuss. Has a problem arisen with the design for the foundling house? I can relay a message to Mr. Brown.”

  “No, no. Everything is perfect. The children will be pleased with their new home.” She twisted her hands together, unsure how she should broach the subject, but it wouldn’t do to waste his valuable time. “I wish to ask more about your friend in New Orleans.” At his dubious expression, she rushed forward. “It may seem an odd request, but I assure you I have my reasons. You say your friend, Mr…?”

  “Mr. Canaan,” he supplied.

  “You say Mr. Canaan told you the story you shared today, that it was about his wife.”

  Mr. Tucker nodded.

  “There was more to the story, wasn’t there?”

  He sat up straight. “What makes you think there is more?”

  She folded her hands together to keep from picking at her Indian muslin skirts. “The story sounds familiar, but I may have Mr. Canaan’s tale confused with another I’ve heard in the past.” Lying didn’t sit right with her, but she had never revealed the story to anyone besides her husband. Because of the humiliating nature of the situation, she would rather keep her role a secret. “Please, tell me what happened to the girl.”

  Mr. Tucker made a show of adjusting his jacket and avoided her eyes. “I apologize, Lady Audley, but I never intended to share anything more. It is inappropriate for polite company.”

  He was correct, but she had to know.

  “Did a gentleman…” she paused, not sure how to word her question. “Did he ask for a special favor?”

  His eyes rounded. “My lady, I—”

  Amelia shuddered as she recalled the hideous sight of a grown man, well beyond his prime, soaking in a tub. Why, there should be a law requiring gentlemen of such distinction to bathe in full dress. “You may simply confirm with a nod of your head, Mr. Tucker. The girl was saved from the indignity of assisting the gentleman when the head maid searched her out.”

  Mr. Tucker’s face flushed crimson. “Is this one of those Banbury tales I’ve heard gentlemen speak of in coffee houses? I must look like a wet goose.”

  “Not at all, sir.” Amelia wished that were the case, and although she would like to hand the designation of royal ninnyhammer over to Mr. Tucker, it was her crown to wear. “Does Mr. Canaan ever mention his wife’s name?”

  “He rarely speaks of her, but once he mentioned the name Mia.”

  Mia? This couldn’t be true. Audley had betrayed her; he had told another of her humiliation. Had he laughed when he retold her story? Had he called her a stupid girl who deserved ill treatment for being so foolish? He had spoken similar words to her when she had told the story to him years earlier. And she had been a fool, foolish enough to believe sharing would build a bond between her and her husband.

  But why would this other gentleman desire to pass
this tale off as one belonging to his wife? Who was Mr. Canaan?

  “And the gentleman has never mentioned anything more about his wife?” she asked.

  “Lady Audley, I am puzzled by your line of questioning. What is it you desire from me?”

  “I believe I know your friend’s wife. Knew her. We… we were childhood companions.”

  Mr. Tucker’s eyebrows lifted. “So she is deceased?”

  Amelia nodded rather than speak one more lie, although she was developing a talent for it despite Bibi’s claims that she was a horrible liar.

  “Was it a tragic death?” he asked.

  How could she respond? Since he waited for her reply, she offered a sharp incline of her head and held her breath, hoping he would not ask for details. Perhaps she was not as gifted when it came to deception as she thought, because her mind was blank.

  Mr. Tucker slumped against the chair back with a thoughtful look. “It’s no wonder he wanted to start over, leave his past in England. He must have loved his wife a great deal.”

  She made a sympathetic sound and encouraged him to continue.

  “David always has a sad look about him when he speaks of her.”

  Amelia’s spine stiffened. “David?”

  “Yes, that is Mr. Canaan’s given name, although I always thought he resembled a Herbert.” Her thoughts dashed in different directions. The gentleman in New Orleans knew her story, one she had never told another soul. What were the chances his name was also David? And he was an Englishman, probably nobility, in Mr. Tucker’s estimation.

  “No!” She bolted from the settee.

  Her sudden movement startled the American, and he stood too. “Pardon, my lady? Is everything all right?”

  She raced through her catalog of memories. Did David have any identifying marks Mr. Tucker would notice? Heavens, she couldn’t remember. At this point, their separation was longer than their marriage had been.

  Her husband died in a fire, at least two years ago, in Durham. Surely, her thoughts were too fanciful. She took a deep breath. “Could you provide a description of the gentleman?”