by Rose Gordon
Marge's cheeks flushed a darker red. “It's so nice to meet you! It's about time this one took a wife.” She lowered her voice to a stage whisper and said, “Between yous and mes, I didn't think he'd ever find a young lady to settle on. I was gittin' worried, I'd have to marry him meself.”
Amelia grinned at her, sending a jolt of desire straight through Elijah. He loved seeing her happy. Genuinely happy, not forcing herself to be. And for some reason, she'd found great humor in Marge's words and he didn't dare take that away from her.
“Tell me, dear, is e bein' a good husband?”
Before Amelia could answer, and lead them into an uncomfortable conversation for all, Elijah spoke up. “We've come for sandwiches.”
“Takin' yer bride on a picnic, is ye?”
“That was my plan. But first we need the sandwiches.”
Marge screwed her face up and wagged a finger at him. “Ye best not be forgettin' yer manners now or ye'll be gittin' a few extra ingredients on yer sandwich.”
Elijah's lips turned up in disgust. There were few things he hated to eat more than horseradish and cabbage. Both of which Marge knew he hated. “I'll be good, I swear it.”
“Very well,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron. “Why don't ye and yer lovely bride sit o'er there and wait. It'll just be a few minutes.”
Elijah pulled the chair out for Amelia before taking a seat himself. “This won't take too long.” Her face was still flushed and her hair was beyond repair. From the corner of his eye he saw Mr. Goodman, a reputable messenger from the area, sitting in one of the tall chairs at the counter. He'd suspected it was Goodman who'd left the random missives for him at Watson Estate, but knew better than to question the man about whom they'd come from. Likely, he didn't know and if word got back to the original sender that Elijah had been sniffing around for information, the messages might stop coming. And that was the last thing he needed. “Wait here, I'll be right back.”
Amelia nodded and fiddled with the strap of her reticule.
“Goodman,” Elijah said by way of greeting, clapping him on the back.
The other man jumped nearly a foot in the air, his green eyes wide with curiosity, or perhaps panic? He'd always been a bookish sort. He wore old, scuffed-up spectacles and always had a tome thicker than a brick with him when not out carrying messages. He usually kept to himself, never speaking unless spoken to. And even then, he'd use the fewest amount of syllables possible to answer.
“Two lemonades, please,” Elijah called to Marge.
“Aye. I'll put them in yer hamper.”
Elijah glanced back over at Amelia. She didn't look any better now than she had when they left Ian's. She needed to go home. “I'll take them now. I don't think we'll be going on a picnic today. Just bring the food over to us when you finish.” He made his way behind the counter and walked back to the ice room.
“What do ye think yer doin'?” Marge demanded.
Elijah flashed what he knew to be his most charming smile at her. “Getting my wife some lemonade.” He picked up two glasses and quickly filled them with the cool lemonade from the silver pitcher she stored in the ice room.
“Well, as long as it's for yer wife.”
Elijah grinned at her again, then picked up the two glasses and walked out of the kitchen. He caught Mr. Goodman's gaze and nodded to him as he took the glasses over to Amelia. “It shouldn't be much longer,” he said, taking his seat. “I told her we'll just eat here and go home, but while we wait, you should drink this, it will help you feel better.”
With no regard whatsoever to any sort of manners befitting a young lady of her station, Amelia wrapped her fingers around the glass so tightly her fingertips turned white, then lifted it to her mouth and took three large gulps before setting the now empty glass down.
He'd never admit this to her, but he was rather impressed with the way she'd consumed her drink. It was enough to make any boy jealous. But he also knew she hadn't done that in an attempt to best him or issue a challenge. He picked up both of their glasses and switched them.
Amelia darted her pink tongue through her lips and reached for the glass he'd given her. “Thank you.”
“I'm sorry.”
Amelia's hand froze, the glass halfway to her lips. “Pardon me, did you say something?”
“I said I'm sorry,” he repeated hoarsely. He hadn't meant to make her unwell. He'd just wanted to have a peaceful and enjoyable day with his wife, not make her ill.
“For what?”
He blinked. “For not noticing you weren't feeling well sooner and taking you out of there.” Had he been paying a bit more attention to how she might be feeling and not so concerned with impressing her with his talents (or enjoying the way her body felt pressed against his, if he were to be completely honest), he could have gotten her out of there sooner and she wouldn't be ill.
She didn't respond. At least not with words. Her eyes were wide with wonder, her head cocked slightly to the side, and her eyebrows knit together. She looked almost as if she'd just witnessed a dog walking down the street, standing upright on his hind legs and was trying to puzzle out how such a thing was possible. Unfortunately, for how much time he'd spent reading people's facial expressions in an effort to know what they were thinking or planning, he hadn't a single idea what would make her look that way.
“Why are you staring at me that way?”
“Because I just witnessed a miracle.” She set the glass of lemonade back on the table with a soft thud. “That, or the heat from that room has baked my brain.”
He grimaced. “I hope not.”
“I do, too. The prospect of witnessing a miracle is far more preferable.”
“And what miracle would that be?”
“You just issued an apology without the word 'if'.”
Elijah stared at her, dumbfounded. “How is that a miracle?”
“A miracle is a rare and inexplicable event that happens only by some sort of higher power, and that seems to fit the description of your apology.”
“No, not a miracle. Sincere.”
“Aha!” Her silver eyes sparkled with amusement. “I knew you'd never meant any of those other apologies.”
“Do you blame me?” He withdrew his handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped up the ring of water her glass had left on the table before she got her gown wet. “My mother used to make me apologize for the silliest things.”
“Silliest things, you say? I don't seem to recall finding it silly when you tied a stick in my hair.”
He couldn't help but laugh at the memory of seeing her stand up after one of her many impromptu picnics she insisted on bringing out to him and Henry only to find a long, thick stick swaying from the end of her braid.
“Or what of the time when I was fifteen and Henry asked to see my book and removed a page while you plagued me with ridiculous questions about why my eyebrows were a little darker than my hair and if I was sure my hair was naturally this color?” She grabbed a fallen lock and brought it before her face. “And how could I have possibly turned my hair this color?”
“I don't know.” Elijah shifted in his seat. How many times as a boy had he considered her hair such a mundane color as brown, or even worse: mud brown. Neither of those adjectives did her beautiful hair justice. It was a deep, rich mahogany. And truth be told, his fingers itched to touch it. “If we were so beastly to you, why did you keep coming around?” He swore under his breath. He had no right to ask her that. She'd told him the answer to that so many times back then and it was for his own selfish reasons now that he'd asked her again. Just once more to hear her tell him that she loved him then, even if she didn't now. His stomach knotted; painfully so.“Never mind.”
She offered him a wobbly smile and looked just past his left shoulder. “I suppose I thought you two teasing me all the time was better than having no friends at all.”
The way her lower lip quivered as she said those words tore at his heart. How could he have been so careless
and cruel to her? Instinctively, he reached across the table and took her hands in his. “Amelia, I'm sorry. So very sorry. I—I—I—” He racked his brain for the right thing to say, but nothing seemed adequate. He'd never dreamed he'd actually hurt her. “I never meant to hurt you. Please know that. I only did those things because— Are you crying?” he choked. Gads this was worse than he thought.
She shook her head, but said nothing; her eyes glistened with unshed tears.
He had the strangest urge to reach across the table and pull her onto his lap. He wanted to hold her and reassure her that he hadn't meant any harm. What had once started out as boyish behavior had one day turned into something else. Wait. He scanned her face. Her eyes were red with two rivulets of tears streaming from the corners now, her cheeks were red, and her lips were moving as if she were fighting to hold her composure. Odd, she wasn't sniffling... “You're having me on!”
Amelia pulled her hand from his and wiped her eyes with the tips of her fingers. “Yes, I was, and if I made you feel even a speck of remorse, then it was worth it!”
“Oh, you're good.”
“Thank you.” She brought her hands to her sides and grabbed both sides of her skirt and pulled it to the side a bit and dipped her head, as if to do a mock curtsey.
I love you. He wanted so badly to say it. It was little things like besting him and then boasting about it that made him love her all the more. Instead, he craned his neck as if by doing so, he'd be able to see Marge in the kitchen. “I wonder what's taking her so long.”
“She had to go out back and harvest the cabbage for your sandwich.”
Yes, indeed, he was the besotted fool Ian claimed him to be who loved his wife to distraction.
Chapter Twenty
Amelia placed her hand on her stomach in a futile attempt to make it settle down. All around her, finger foods were consumed, tea was poured and all the ladies of Elijah's relation chatted.
But Amelia wanted none of it. She just wanted to go lie down and pray when she woke up her monthly flux would have started. As it was, she'd been having all the signs of the impending condition without the most crucial part.
Tears welled in her eyes. That could only mean one thing.
“Are you feeling all right, dearest?” Edwina asked, coming to sit next to her.
“Of course,” she lied.
Edwina's brown eyes softened. “Is there something we might be able to do to help?”
At those words, the entire room grew quiet. Eerily quiet, to be exact.
Amelia fidgeted. All eyes were on her now. “No.” She sighed. “It's a female complaint, I'm afraid.”
A couple of ladies nodded their understanding and offered her a polite smile before turning back to their tea.
Edwina wasn't so easily put off. “Come, let's go chat.”
Amelia hesitated. The last thing she wanted to do was draw more attention to herself, but the determined look in Edwina's eyes gave her little choice so Amelia made her excuses to the room as Edwina looped their arms together and led her out of the room and down the hall to the library.
“You owe me, you know,” Edwina said without preamble as soon as she shut the door.
Amelia's eyes widened. “Owe you? What do I owe you for?”
“Saddling me with the nickname of Weenie,” Edwina said with a stoney face and a bit of a frown.
Amelia sputtered with laughter. “I didn't do that. You did that to yourself.”
“I'll grant you I might have overreacted a touch, but it was because of you and your mispronunciation of my name that it came to be.” She made a face to show her utter disgust for the nickname her brothers called her.
“Sorry, Edweeena,” Amelia said, trying not to laugh. Amelia would never forget the day Edwina had first joined her brothers outside to play. She'd been five, six at most, and had insisted her brothers allow her to join their game. They wouldn't of course. Amelia had brought over a picnic that day, and trying to emulate the way Regina had always treated her, Amelia invited Edwina to join her for a picnic instead. Unfortunately, she'd just popped a blackberry in her mouth when she said, “Edwina, won't you sit down with me?”
“My name's not Edwina,” said the little girl with golden curls and a pretty pink dress as she put her hands on her hips and stamped her foot. “It's pronounced Edweena.”
Like older brothers were wont to do, Elijah and Henry had laughed at the absurdity of Edwina's reaction and Amelia had been mortified, rushing to assure her she'd only mispronounced her name because she'd been eating. That only made the girl's older brothers laugh more. One of them, Amelia would never know which, because she was too flustered to pay attention, said, “Settle down, Weenie, we all know—”
His words were cut off when a little waif of a girl ran into him, tackling him to the ground. From then on, she rarely heard any of her brother's call Edwina anything other than Weenie. She'd wondered once or twice over the years if the nickname hadn't come from something else, something that had happened before this incident due to the strong reaction Edwina had had. But never mind what the real story was or exactly how Elijah and Henry explained such an unusual nickname to the rest of their family, as far as Edwina was concerned, it was Amelia who'd been responsible for the awful fate that had befallen her.
“Would you like me to tell Elijah to stop?”
“No. It's far too late for that.” She smoothed her long, blue skirt. “But you can make it up to me another way.”
Amelia's stomach would have roiled if it hadn't done so already. She didn't like where this was going. “What do you want?”
Edwina's face softened, genuine concern now evident in her brown eyes. “Just tell me what's wrong.”
“I already did,” Amelia said between clenched teeth. “I'm having a female complaint.”
“No, you're not.”
Amelia snorted softly.
“You're not just having female complaints,” Edwina amended. “I've known you longer than anyone else here, excluding my mother and brothers. You were like the sister I never had when we were younger, Amelia. I used to dream of being as witty and clever as you and besting my brothers.” A wistful smile took her lips, then vanished. “I know something isn't right. Just tell me what it is and I'll see if I can help you.”
“You can't.” And that was the truth.
“You don't know that if you don't tell me,” Edwina pointed out. She clasped her hands in front of her. “Did something happen on your outing with Elijah yesterday?”
Yes. She'd fallen more in love with Elijah, a man she could never fully have. “No, nothing like you're thinking.”
Edwina lifted her brows. “And how do you know what I'm thinking?”
It was hard for Amelia to see Edwina as anyone other than the little sister of her only playmates. But she was a lady now, and a married one at that. How ironic the once young girl Amelia had given her old dolls and frocks to was now the more experienced of the two. “I don't know what you're thinking,” she said at last.
“I didn't think you did.” She found a spot on the settee and patted the cushion next to her. “Anything you tell me won't leave this room.”
Oh, her secret would leave this room. Perhaps not today, but soon enough. Amelia sat down and took a deep breath. Who could she trust if not her own sister-in-law? She took another deep inhale. Perhaps telling Edwina would be a good thing. She'd had a child not so long ago, she'd know what to expect. Not to mention, she was Elijah's sister. Amelia might have played with him more as a child than his sister had, but likely Edwina knew him better and might be able to offer her help.
She bit her lip. Was it worth the risk of losing Edwina as a trusted friend? Because that was a very genuine possibility. Edwina might like her well enough now, but when she learned the truth, and how it would affect someone Edwina loved, would she dismiss Amelia? It was a risk, one she needed to take. Keeping it to herself was going to kill her.
“Earlier,” she started, fidgeting, “when I said
I had a female complaint, I might have been misunderstood.”
There, she'd said it, and now she was too nervous to even wrap her hair around her finger, let alone look at her sister-in-law's face! Would Edwina laugh and dismiss her statement, claiming it was far too early for her to know if she'd conceived Elijah's child? Or would she speculate and come to the correct conclusion? If she did, would she cut and scorn her? It wouldn't be anything less than Amelia deserved.
“Are you certain?” Edwina's voice reflected her eyes: no condemnation or pity, only compassion.
Her stomach was unsettled. Her breasts felt swollen and sensitive. Her emotions went from one extreme to the other so fast she was certain she was a good candidate for Bedlam. All the signs that she was pregnant were there and the one indicator that she wasn't had yet to make an appearance. Tears stung her eyes, blurring her vision and she nodded. “Fairly certain, yes.”
Two gentle arms came around her. “It'll all be all right, Amelia, I promise.”
How could she make such a promise? She couldn't. For as much as Edwina wanted to be reassuring, Amelia couldn't be reassured.
“Does Elijah know?” Edwina whispered in her ear.
Amelia shook her head, unable to speak.
“It'll be all right, Amelia, I know it will be. Elijah isn't the kind—” Her words died on her tongue, replaced with a gasp as her body tensed.
Amelia didn't want to look. But she had to. She had, no needed, to know who'd just happened upon them and overheard her biggest secret.
Slowly, she turned her head and almost had an identical reaction to Edwina, only she did more than gasp and tense, all of her blood drained to her toes.
Henry.
She didn't know why, but for some reason it seemed worse that it would be Henry who might have overheard than if Elijah had. Of course it wouldn't have been ideal for Elijah to have heard that way, but at least he'd have heard and her secret would be revealed. Now, even more people knew than she'd intended and she'd be forced to tell Elijah tonight, Henry would demand it.
