“Oh, look,” Amelia said, pulling him away from his thoughts. She was jumping up and down a bit, like a child ready to open up a large present on Christmas morning. “They’re getting ready for the gangplank. How do I look?”
Her cheeks were flushed from the wind and cold, her blue eyes sparkling, and he didn’t think she’d ever looked more beautiful to him. “Like a picture,” he said, and she smiled.
“A nice one, I hope,” she said, teasing him. “Oh, I’m so nervous. Why am I so nervous? You’re the one who should be jumping out of his skin, not me. Are you nervous?”
He laughed out loud. “If you want me to be.”
She grabbed his arms and leaned into him, seeming utterly happy. “I can’t believe we’re home. I just can’t believe it.”
Boone wished he could capture this moment when Amelia was purely happy, and he realized in all the time he’d known her, he’d never seen her this way before, bubbling over with joy. This was what her brother had meant when he’d told him all those weeks ago that Amelia had a joy about her. He was finally seeing the girl she truly was, the girl Carson couldn’t resist. Boone knew he certainly couldn’t resist her. So right there, in front of her brother and anyone else who happened to look toward them, Boone pulled her in for a long kiss.
“My,” she breathed.
And then he pulled her toward the gangplank, toward the rest of their life.
Boone drew his coat a bit closer, eying the rich-looking coach that would bring them to Meremont. The coach, a burgundy red, stood out against the mist-washed backdrop of Liverpool like a red poppy in the prairie. A man in an odd uniform stepped down at their approach and knocked on the coach’s door with a sharp, efficient rap.
And then Lord Hollings emerged, wearing an overcoat with a fur collar, boots that gleamed from polishing, and a derby hat. He stepped down and embraced his sister, then shook Boone’s hand.
“Welcome to England,” he said, looking up at the gray sky. “Sorry about the weather.”
“I don’t mind,” Boone said truthfully. Right now it was the sheer differentness of England that he most appreciated. There was nothing to remind him of Small Fork and his past.
Lord Hollings handed his sister into the coach and waited while Boone climbed aboard. Inside, Boone was again struck by the luxury of the vehicle, its leather seats, thick velvet curtains, and brass fittings. The walls were paneled with a dark wood, and an inlay design of the type he’d seen only once in the home of an acquaintance from school.
“I hope your trip was good,” Lord Hollings said after they’d all piled into the roomy carriage. “Those Atlantic crossings can be perilous, even this time of year. My wife was in a shipwreck, you know.”
“It was horrible,” Amelia said. “But she was so brave about it. She not only sailed back to England, she got right on a ship in search of me. I never did thank her for that. But our sailing was lovely, even if it was interminably long,” Amelia said, a silly grin still on her face. “I cannot wait to get to Meremont and get settled in. I feel as if I’ve been gone for years.”
“Speaking of home, I’ve found a couple of houses for you to look at that would be suitable for you,” Lord Hollings said. “They’re both rather small, but I think they’ll do for now.”
“How small?” Amelia asked.
“We don’t need much room,” Boone said at the same time. Anything would do, as long as it had a bedroom, sitting room, and kitchen, and a place to set up his practice.
“I suppose you’ll have to determine what small means when you see them. In the meantime, you’re both more than welcome to stay at Meremont.”
“It would be lovely to be in our own home by Christmas,” Amelia said. “We shall have a large tree and perhaps a Christmas dinner. I have so many friends that I haven’t seen in so long, I just know they’ll want to visit. Of course, I don’t know whether everything will be ready this year. We’ll have to hire staff and that can take time. Unless we borrow some of yours,” she added, teasing her brother.
“Staff?” Boone asked.
“You cannot run a proper home without servants these days,” Amelia pointed out.
Boone had a feeling that Amelia was in for a bit of a shock when she realized a doctor’s salary likely would not be able to pay for staff, never mind a home big enough to hold them. But it wasn’t until they had reached the Meremont estate boundary, then continued to drive another half hour, that Boone realized the extent of Lord Hollings’s wealth.
As they approached a large two-story stone home with mullioned windows and a well-kept garden, Boone was slightly relieved. The house wasn’t much grander than those he’d seen in Fort Worth and New Orleans. They passed by the house without slowing and Boone frowned.
Apparently seeing Boone’s interest in the house, Amelia said, “That’s the caretaker’s cottage. I’ve always loved it.”
Boone tried not to look stunned, but he sat back in his seat and grasped his thighs almost painfully. “Just how big is your brother’s home?”
Amelia seemed almost reluctant to answer. “It’s quite large, actually. I thought I told you.”
“No. You didn’t.”
“I wouldn’t be overly impressed by its size,” Lord Hollings put in. “It was simply one of my ancestors’ ways of proving his worth to the aristocracy.”
And then the carriage turned a corner, and sitting on a small crest was Meremont, the grandest home Boone had ever set eyes on. He’d seen huge plantation homes in Louisiana, and grand homes in Texas, but this was as large as a New York hotel. It made him purely ill to look at it.
“What the hell,” he said softly, and let the velvet curtain drop.
“What’s wrong?” Amelia asked, her overly innocent tone making him believe that she’d been purposefully vague about Meremont. What had she said? That it was a “big old house by the sea.” Yes, he thought, seeing the glimmer of the Irish Sea in the distance, it certainly was that.
“You never told me you lived in a palace,” he said, feeling anger wash over him. How the hell was he going to make Amelia happy in a tiny cottage when this was what she came from? No wonder she’d been so bewildered when she’d first arrived in Texas.
And he’d been ready to have her live behind the store in that rundown little apartment. He’d been so proud of his little fountain and garden. His face turned ruddy when he remembered showing her his flush toilet.
The carriage wheels sounded loud on the cobblestone drive as the horses were brought round a huge fountain that looked more like a large pool. The house itself was a three-story, soft yellow stone building with intricate gables and a slate roof that bespoke history and money. The shrubbery was pruned to perfection, rounded and sculpted as if even the leaves had agreed to convey an impression of vast wealth.
A huge two-story bay window dominated the left side of the building, giving it an almost homey look. If it was any building other than the home his wife had come from, he would have thought it beautiful. But the sight of it only served to prove to him that he was about as out of place as a tumble-weed in New York City.
“I thought you said Meremont was relatively small,” he said, nearly choking on his words. He didn’t want to sound like a country bumpkin, but that was exactly what he felt like.
“It is. Relatively speaking, that is,” Amelia said, giving Meremont a worried look, as if she was just now realizing that Boone was less than happy. “You should see the Duke of Bellingham’s house. It’s truly a palace.”
“And this is?”
“A country house,” she said with forced nonchalance, smiling as she looked out her window. “Oh, it’s far grander than the home I grew up in. That house was much smaller and not nearly as lovely, was it, Edward?”
“We English like to do things rather grandly,” Edward said, sounding almost apologetic. “As I said, don’t let the size of the thing intimidate you. We only use a few rooms. Many of our homes have been sold or let out to help pay the debts of the estate. Times are
difficult, even for the titled.”
“That’s why the duke married an American,” Amelia said.
Edward made a sound.
“Oh, shush. I adore Her Grace and you know it, but it’s the truth. All these titles and all these houses, and not enough to support them.”
“And no one to buy them, either. Many are entailed and cannot be sold, you see,” Edward explained.
“What does entailed mean, exactly?” Boone said, feeling quite lost among these English rules.
“It means a property must be passed on to the next heir,” Edward explained. “It’s a way to prevent properties from being broken up, leaving some poor sap homeless because of a relative’s misdeeds. You see, I was untitled, being the son of a second son, but inherited the title and the entailments when my uncle died without a direct heir. I was saved from disaster only by the intelligent investments my uncle made. He was a man ahead of his time.”
“The poor duke had to marry an heiress or let his estate go to ruin, you see. But it all turned out well in the end, because they are madly in love,” Amelia said, sounding almost wistful.
The carriage finally came to a stop and the three stepped down. Boone looked up only to see a line of servants forming to greet them all. “Oh, hell,” he said, beneath his breath.
Amelia glanced at him, a crease of worry between her eyes, and she squeezed his hand. “You’ll get used to all this,” she said, as if that would somehow comfort him. The fact was, he wouldn’t have to get used to any of this because he’d be lucky if he could afford a cook, never mind the “staff” Amelia was apparently envisioning.
“You should have told me,” Boone said, close to her ear so he wouldn’t be overheard. “And the fact you didn’t makes me believe that you knew I’d be angry.”
Amelia grinned. “What a silly thing to be angry about. How awful to find your wife is well-to-do.”
“This is more than ‘well-to-do,’ and you know it.” All Boone could think about at that moment was the shack he’d grown up in, the fact that he hadn’t owned a pair of boots until he was ten years old. Amelia had grown up in this luxury. He’d known, of course, that she was used to a finer life than the one he could provide her, but this was far beyond what he’d imagined. And she didn’t seem bothered a bit by it. He remembered her standing in his kitchen, staring mutely at the stove, and he suddenly understood how very lost she must have felt.
About as lost as he felt at the moment, he realized. And yet, Amelia had hardly complained. She’d gamely learned how to light the stove, how to wash laundry, how to be the wife of a poor Texas doctor. He stared at the servants, at the pure wealth they represented, and took a long, bracing breath.
He felt her hand on his arm, and looked down to see Amelia smiling up at him. “Don’t you dare get angry with me, Boone. Look, the stables.” She pointed to a long, two-story stone structure set back from the house. “Edward, do you think Boone could have a horse to ride?” Amelia asked. “I so miss riding. Did you know there were no sidesaddles in Small Fork? Not one. If a lady wants to ride, she must do so like a man. I wanted to try but never got the chance. It’s just as well. It looks quite painful to me.” She grinned widely. “You two will simply have to go out for a ride tomorrow and look at the grounds. I’ll come, too.”
Amelia clapped her hands together. “Oh, I cannot tell you how wonderful it is to be home.”
“She’s only slightly deliriously happy,” Boone said to Edward.
“I’m over the moon,” Amelia said, laughing. “And Boone is, too. Or so he says.”
Boone shook his head, not quite recognizing the vibrant woman next to him. She was talking a mile a minute, smiling and fairly hopping up and down in her excitement. It was difficult to remain angry when she was bubbling with happiness next to him. “I’m over the moon,” he confirmed solemnly. He pushed aside his misgivings. This was what he wanted, a life as different from the one he’d had as he could get, and a happy wife. He’d lived his life in fear, and he’d be damned if he was going to carry it with him his entire life.
Amelia knew she was probably worrying too much about Boone, but she couldn’t help feeling terribly guilty for forcing all this on him. It didn’t matter how many times he told her he was glad to leave Texas, she couldn’t quite believe him. She wished for once he would do something just for himself, and be damned to the rest of the world. She wished he could be carefree, laugh without restraint. Love her without restraint.
It was perfectly awful loving him, knowing he didn’t love her. She’d made the mistake once of thinking physical love was the same as emotional love for a man. Boone was a different person entirely when they were making love. He was full of abandon and almost playful. But he always left her alone in bed, claiming that he couldn’t sleep or was fearful his nightmares would awaken her. On the ship, she would awaken to find him on the floor, sometimes thrashing about in the throes of a nightmare. He wouldn’t tell her about them, and she’d stopped asking.
As they walked up together to their room, Amelia prayed their life would change now they were in England. He certainly seemed happy to be here.
“You should rest before dinner,” he said as they reached the landing, where generations of Hollings earls graced the walls, their portraits looking sternly down at them. Edward had not yet gotten his portrait done, and Amelia intended to request that he smile for his. What an unhappy lot her ancestors seemed.
“Your room, missus,” the maid said with a little curtsy. “And the doctor is next door,” she added, looking from one to the other. “Is that awright, then?”
“That’s fine,” Boone said, his cheeks turning red, making Amelia wonder if he were bothered by the separate rooms.
“We can have them move you to my room without a problem, Boone.”
“No, it’s probably better,” he said, not looking at her. “You know I don’t sleep well, and you need your rest.”
“I don’t mind your dreams,” Amelia said hesitantly, and watched as his cheeks grew even ruddier and his jaw clenched in irritation. “I grew quite used to them on the ship.”
“It’s better,” he repeated, then walked to the next door down where the little maid waited.
“Better than what?” Amelia muttered to herself as she entered her room with a frown. This wasn’t her room, her old room. It was the best guest room in Meremont, which only made Amelia feel more depressed. She wanted her old room, her old life, she thought rebelliously. A life without a grumpy husband who didn’t love her, and probably never would.
After the maid left, Boone went to the window and looked out, giving another curse when his eyes met the vast expanse below him. The gardens were immaculate, and the sea shined painfully blue in the distance. The room was large, luxurious, and masculine, with a heavy canopied bed and dark russet bedding. A large, intricately carved wardrobe that looked like it was from the Middle Ages dominated one corner of the room, and a fireplace, with a small fire already lit, gave the vast space a homey feel. Everything he looked at reminded him of everything he could never give Amelia.
He closed his eyes against the hurt he’d seen in her face when he’d said he wanted to have his own room. The truth was, he couldn’t sleep with her, not with the violent nightmares that had been plaguing him of late. They’d always been bad, always terrorized his sleep. He would have thought he’d have outgrown such things as nightmares about the beatings he’d received, but for some reason they’d only gotten worse. And now, in his dreams, he’d begun to fight back, begun to pummel his father. Until he was dead.
They were bloody, horrendous dreams that he awoke from feeling depressed and sickened. In his dreams, he was worse than his father, slowly choking the life out of him, relishing the old man’s terror. He’d awoken from one such dream grabbing his pillow in his fists, twisting viciously, as he’d twisted his father’s neck in the dream. And Amelia had lain sleeping next to him, oblivious to the fact that it could have been her beneath his hands and not simply a pillow.
My God, he’d already struck her once, leaving an ugly bruise that made him sick to see. She’d shrugged it off and laughed, told him not to be silly. She knew he didn’t mean it, and of course, he hadn’t meant to hurt her. But he had hurt her, and next time it could be much, much worse.
The dreams were a shameful reminder of where he’d come from, a past from which he could not escape. He’d thought that perhaps having Amelia sleeping next to him would give him solace, but it only seemed to make things worse. Perhaps her soft breathing, her subtle movements triggered something in his sleeping brain that awoke the fear and violence lying dormant there.
He wanted to be with her, wanted to hold her in his arms, but he could not take the chance of hurting her. She would regret their marraige even more if she knew the extent of the brutality in his dreams. Boone was beginning to believe that whatever demons had made his father the way he was also lived inside of him, and simply waited to escape.
“Something’s wrong,” Maggie said that night as she pulled a brush through her long, dark curls.
“You saw it too, then.”
Maggie turned to her husband, surprised he’d noticed that not all was right between Amelia and Boone. “They don’t hate each other.”
“They don’t look at each other. I’ve never seen a couple not look at each other as much as those two.”
Maggie looked at the reflection of Edward, smiled at him. “I hadn’t noticed that specifically. I suppose not every married couple is as in love as we are.”
“Or as Rand and Elizabeth are.”
Maggie gave Edward a troubled look. “I do get the distinct feeling that they are not deliriously happy. At least Boone is not. And it’s more than that he is feeling a bit out of place here. I can’t quite put my finger on it.”
Edward came up behind Amelia and put his hands on her shoulders. “Remember when you returned to England?”
Jane Goodger Page 22
