“Yes, well, Amelia has been known to hold a grudge. You were the convenient receptacle for her anger. It’s the way of the world. No one envies the men who bear the news of death during war. But in answer to your appeal, rest assured I won’t tell her your secret. She would blame you then.” Charles snorted as he sat heavily in his chair once more. “There is a reason she’s throwing this house party.”
“Ah, aside from causing me anxiety?”
“Aren’t you full of yourself? I rather doubt she ever thinks of you,” came his friend’s callous reply. “No. She means to match her niece during the Christmastide festivities. The girl is of age now.”
Cornelius’ eyebrows raised. “Peter’s daughter?” He well remembered the pride the man had when speaking of the child.
“Yes. Rebecca resembles him.”
“God, it really has been an age, hasn’t it?” Never had he felt every day of his nine and thirty years more. On Christmas Eve, he’d gain his fortieth birthday. “I would like to see the girl after all these years, perhaps tell her a few stories about Peter she hasn’t heard yet.”
“Now that would be a scandal.” A ghost of his old smile lit Charles’ face.
“It would.” For a moment, Cornelius could forget Peter was dead. “By the by, my son told me that he also received an invitation. It was addressed to his title.”
Yet another part of the scattered puzzle pieces.
Charles nodded. “No doubt Amelia hasn’t made the connection the boy holds one of your lesser titles.” He chuckled. “She must want young ton blood in attendance for her party. No sense marrying off the girl to a pauper.”
“Or men our ages.” That was another depressing thought. He and his friends were now considered old men. Then he looked sharply at Charles. “Since when does Amelia consider herself a matchmaker?”
“She says it’s time for Rebecca to settle down, and I say better your son than me. You know if she’s successful with the niece she’ll turn her attention on me.” He swallowed the remainder of his drink. “Does that information sway your decision?”
“Not quite.” Cornelius looked between his own empty glass and the sideboard. “I truly do detest Christmastide. If I accept the invite, I’ll turn forty while there.” It was merely another reason to avoid the holiday. “You aren’t far behind.” His thoughts turned to the missions he’d run over the years. I was never supposed to survive, never supposed to hold the title, never supposed to fail... at everything in my life.
Perhaps what hurt the most was knowing he and Amelia had had a connection all those years ago, but he’d chosen his career over her.
Yet, they were both not married once again...
“Well past time for us to set up our nurseries, eh Winchester?”
“For you? Yes.” Cornelius shifted in his chair. “I did that as a young man. I’m beyond that now.” He refrained from groaning when he shifted in the chair. Damnation, but he was tired.
“Unless your equipment is wonky, you could start a second family,” Charles replied with a devil-may-care grin.
“Ha! There is nothing wrong with my health, so no fear about that if I wished to marry a third time.” Did he? It largely depended on the lady. His previous wives had been everything life partners should be. Yet he’d been a horrible husband to them due to this military connections and work as a spy. Despite his genuine love for his wives, they’d never burrowed under his skin or set his blood aflame with instant desire or constant distraction as Amelia had. Never had he forgotten those three forbidden, emotion-laden nights when they’d channeled anger and grief into blind passion and lust. It had been an outlet for them both.
Did he feel the same way about her now? Did she? And would she even wish to marry again if they were to resume a relationship? He’d come to her with a title now. It made a difference, and he’d been a rubbish husband before. Under no circumstances did he want to treat her as he’d done his previous spouses.
It wasn’t fair to either of them, and the next time he married—if he chose to do so—he wanted to do it right.
“You’re a man who needs someone, Winchester.” The sound of Charles’ voice yanked him from his thoughts. He alone knew Cornelius’ truths, of how he’d neglected his marriages due to the Crown. “Perhaps a third marriage might be the one that you settle into like an old shoe.”
“I’ll consider it. Now, about this invitation.” Cornelius stared into the fire as he waved the paper. “It would upset your cousin to see me again.”
Charles shrugged. “Time has passed. She has grieved. Other deaths have occurred. If she asks you to leave, at least you’ll know, but if she doesn’t, you’ll be among people. That is what you need in your life; you’ve been alone for far too long.”
“I suppose I have become a recluse since being decommissioned.” His work had been a source of friction between him and Amelia. She’d asked him to stay, so they could mourn together, but he’d left in the dead of night like a coward.
Because adventure beckoned and the thought of becoming domestic or assuming the title so soon after his brother’s death had terrified him.
It still did, but for different reasons.
“Incidentally, I’ve tendered my resignation to the Home Office. Training young bucks to become spies is not where my heart lies, and definitely not where their attention is.” He met his friend’s jaded gaze. “They want the glamor more than putting in the work.”
There were no more obstacles between him and Amelia.
“How well I understand their outlook.” His chuckle held a note of bitterness.
Cornelius nodded. “Now I’ll have more time to attend to my title, and to think.”
“That’s always a bad idea.” Charles finished his drink. He shifted his gaze away. “It must give some relief to know there is no one after you any longer.”
“I appreciate not looking over my shoulder.” Being a spy had meant everyone in his life was in danger and could be used as leverage. So, he’d lied his arse off and left everything behind... to keep them safe.
“Good. I’ve penned my acceptance to Amelia. If you’re uncertain of your welcome, come without a response. We’ll go early enough for arrangements to be made for either your accommodation or dismissal.”
“Very well.” He blew out a breath. “I’ll speak with my son to ascertain his plans. Last we spoke, he and his friends wanted to laze about London.”
“Amelia’s niece is a Diamond of the First Water, though. Worth a look for Edward’s sake,” Charles reminded him.
“Perhaps.” God, why couldn’t he continue to molder alone? He deserved it after giving England everything.
His friend stood. “Send me word when you’ve decided.”
“I will.” Cornelius waved him off.
Once alone, he slumped into his chair and rested the glass on a side table with an ivory top and removed his spectacles. It was time to face his past and the mistakes made therein. He’d already asked for forgiveness from his dead wives; now he needed it from Amelia.
After all, Christmastide was for miracles. Lord knew he needed one.
Chapter Three
December 21, 1818
Amelia stood in the corridor outside the drawing room with her niece. Guests had been steadily arriving all day; she only awaited a few more including a young viscount she hoped would catch Rebecca’s eye.
“I think the house party is already a rousing success,” she mentioned as casually as she could while peeking inside the room.
“For your sake or mine?” A smile curved Rebecca’s pink rosebud lips. Amusement danced in her hazel eyes. With her golden hair and petite features, she could easily become the most heralded debutante of the Season. “I see how the unattached gentlemen look at you. Perhaps romance is in the offing for you, Aunt Amelia.”
“Oh, stop.” Amelia waved the comment away. Golden bracelets clinked at her wrist. “I invited a variety of people—both married and not, younger and older—because I want you to mingle
among the ton and yes, perhaps find a match. It will be good for you.”
“So you say.” The young woman’s tone indicated she thought the opposite.
If Rebecca found someone she got on well with, perhaps she wouldn’t require a London Season, which meant Amelia wouldn’t need the spotlight back on her and she wouldn’t have to deflect notice from would-be admirers in the ton. Of course, if Rebecca did desire a Season, as a debutante no doubt would, then that’s what they would do. Amelia had promised her brother that, but for her own sake and sanity, she hoped the house party would do the trick.
I can’t return to London, to the recollections, to the off chance I might run into the marquess during a society function. It’s bad enough there are parts of this house where memories of him haunt.
Yet where the deuce would she hide if her cousin finally set his domestic affairs in order and utilized the ancestral home here?
“Why me?” The sound of Rebecca’s frank voice tore Amelia from her maudlin thoughts. “I’m nineteen. Well old enough to know my own mind. Perhaps I might wish to spread my wings before marriage.” She tucked a stray tendril of blonde hair back into place while her eyes sparkled in the way only youth had. “You seem to have fun as an unattached female. Why can I not enjoy that sort of lifestyle too?”
Oh, dear. Perhaps I shouldn’t have raised the girl to be quite so outspoken.
“There is a difference between you and me. For one, I am a widow, and I don’t need to find a match. I have money of my own, left to me from my parents, so it isn’t imperative I marry swiftly. While you are starting your adult life and need to marry, perhaps well, in order to secure your future.” Such was the way of the world. “Should you not find anyone who suits during Christmastide, we shall go up to London for a Season to see how you take.”
“As if I’m an oddity or objet d’art which seeks popularity in order for it to have some value.” Rebecca narrowed her eyes. “To see if I’m interesting enough for some man to wed me instead of like me for my own right?”
Yes indeed, she’d raised the girl to be too independent. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing... unless the need to see her married off arose. Amelia pasted on a smile she hoped was serene. “Rebecca, I only want what’s best for you. I promised your father I would see you raised and married. What you say is true, of course, but there are wonderful men out there who treat women well. You need only circulate to find them.”
“Perhaps I don’t want to go husband hunting yet.” Rebecca laid a hand on Amelia’s arm and held her gaze, her own serious. “Papa wouldn’t want me to rush into adulthood, so why are you so anxious to push me there?”
Guilt speared through her chest at the truth, which was purely selfish on her part. She elected to ignore the question. “Your father wanted you happy.” Even after all these years, the thought of her brother Peter, dead upon a forgotten battlefield in Spain, had the power to send prickling tears to her eyes. His only child resembled him, and some days it was a challenge to see her without the pain of loss plowing into her. “I wish you to have a secure future. Is that so wrong?”
“It’s not, but I can’t help but question why.”
Perhaps a half-truth wasn’t out of order. “Charles needs to attend the title, so we shouldn’t add to his burden. If he believes it’s his responsibility to find you a match, he’ll never do what he ought.” She nodded and hoped her niece believed her. “I would rather move away from here knowing that you’ve found your heart’s desire, so I can retire and not worry.”
The girl’s eyes rounded, in surprise or alarm, Amelia couldn’t say. “Are you tired of being with me?”
“Of course not.” Laughter and conversation drifted out of the drawing room, recalling her duties. “I’m merely...” How to explain when she didn’t know the source of the ennui herself?
“Aunt Amelia.” Rebecca peered into her face, concern clouding her eyes. “It is all right if you wish to seek love for yourself again.”
Clearly the girl misunderstood her hesitation. “It’s not that—”
Rebecca rushed on with her interruption. “Uncle Grant wouldn’t wish you to live the remainder of your life alone. He’d want to see you happy and in love. He adored it when you laughed. That’s where you shine the most... when you’re having a romance. You’re still young.”
She took the compliment and ignored the slight. “That’s a wonderful sentiment, and I did love both of my husbands, but I’m not sure I can put my heart through that sort of pain again.” Her smile faltered. “It takes too much out of a person when something terrible happens.”
“But you’ve always told me that pain goes with bliss. It’s how you appreciate the good in life.” Rebecca squeezed her hand.
“I did say that.” Shortly after Grant passed, yet another forgotten solider on another forgotten field. “I’ll think about dipping a toe back in the Marriage Mart if you will.”
Rebecca nodded. Her heart-shaped face was wreathed in smiles. “I promise.”
“Good.” Amelia wanted to sag from exhaustion. Taking on a spirited young person expended more effort than planning a house party for twenty or thirty people.
At that moment, Mr. Jessup approached them, and Amelia had never been so glad to see the butler as she was then. “My lady, the last of your guests have arrived. I’ve shown them into the blue parlor if you wish to welcome them privately before giving them their room assignments.” Excitement and apprehension lined the man’s face.
Why was he nervous? Perhaps he was overwhelmed with duties. “Thank you, Mr. Jessup.” She glanced at her niece, pleased that the pale pink satin brought out a tiny flush over her cheeks. The girl glowed; she’d turn any young man’s head. “Come with me and say hello to the new guests.” Perhaps she would immediately form a connection with the young viscount. It would be a start and make inroads into showing the girl how splendid flirting could be under the right circumstances.
When she and her niece gained the parlor, Mr. Jessup announced them and then introduced the visitors.
“The Marquess of Winchester and his son, Viscount Tinsley. You, of course, know the Earl of Trenton,” he said with a smile evident in his voice as he nodded at Charles.
Oh, dear heavens. Amelia’s vision darkened slightly at the mention of the marquess, but when the man himself stood and looked in her direction, her knees buckled. “Dear God,” she whispered from a tight throat. She grabbed onto Rebecca’s arm for support.
“Are you quite well, Auntie?” the girl murmured quietly even as she cast an interested glance toward the young man with the tall, proud bearing and light brown hair of his father.
“Yes. A momentary dizziness, due to hunger, no doubt.” Knowing her cousin and Cornelius looked at her with curiosity, Amelia strove for calm, but her heart pounded hard behind her ribcage. Above all, Charles mustn’t ascertain what she’d done with the marquess all those years ago, or what had happened because of it. Straightening her spine, she came into the room a few steps and pasted a smile to her face. “It’s good to see you again, Charles. I’ve been expecting you.”
“Cousin.” He bowed slightly from the waist. “I debated whether to come, for these types of things have a tendency to be contrived.” He came forward, a veritable golden Adonis except for his slightly crooked nose where he’d been clocked one too many times in his younger days. “But when it became apparent that Winchester would come too, it forced my hand.” Always the gallant, he scooped up her hand and kissed the back. Deep affection glinted in his eyes. “You’re looking well.”
“Thank you. As do you.” No matter that she told herself not to glance at the marquess, her gaze kept straying to the man standing a few paces behind her cousin. She ignored the subtle heat twisting through her body as memories flitted through her mind, gave it a valiant effort, in fact, but that languid warmth didn’t cease coming.
“Jessup informed me you’ve run the estate with precision and efficiency while I’ve been in Town,” Charles went on, and her
attention bounced back to him.
“It seems you’re always in Town, when you have responsibilities here.” Amelia swatted him away. “Regardless, it was my pleasure. Trenton Park will always hold a special place in my heart, but you do need to be the earl in every aspect. The tenants depend upon you, and I have other interests that need attending.”
Mainly, the ability to hide from the public eye and grieve as she’d never been allowed to do for having to appear strong for various other people. To discover who she was outside of that grief.
A light of speculation danced through Charles’ brown eyes. “I might not let you go, Cousin. Perhaps I’ll come to my senses and offer for you myself.”
She snorted. “What fustian you speak.”
“Yes.” He glanced at Rebecca, and then kissed her hand. “Let me introduce you to our young viscount. I’m quite certain this year’s house party will not be dull.”
“I would enjoy that very much, Cousin Charles,” Rebecca said with a bright smile as he led her across the floor.
While her niece was engaged in stilted conversation, Amelia surreptitiously devoured Cornelius with her hungry gaze. Her heartbeat raced, but that organ sank because he was here and that would complicate her best laid plans.
Goodness, he hadn’t changed since she’d last been with him all those years ago. Not really. His jacket of navy superfine showcased his broad shoulders. The intricate folds of his snowy cravat brought her focus to his sharp jawline. His trousers and shiny Hessians encased long legs with muscled thighs. Oh, how she remembered the feel of his hard body moving against hers in the dark, the sound of his whispered voice in her ears as they’d made love...
Wrapped in Red (Colors of Scandal, #4) Page 3
