Beatrice was sitting in a chair by the window reading a novel. A slight improvement over the bed. But her color was bad and she seemed devoid of strength, wrapped in a shawl and lap blanket in spite of the warm day. Amelia’s suggestion sounded patently ridiculous to her own ears. Her mother wasn’t going anywhere. Amelia swallowed down the bubble of sorrow and fear and forced a bright smile for her mother’s sake.
“Oh, no, I’m too tired to manage the train trip alone, never mind all those house party gaieties. Oh, but Amelia...” She reached out her hand and Amelia crossed the room to take it. Her fingers were ice-cold, and her grip was barely there at all. “How I remember the fun of house parties when I was your age. Promise me you’ll enjoy yourself.”
“I’m sure I will, Mama.” She very much doubted that was true, but if imagining her frolicking with a bunch of Society prigs in Kent gave her mother some comfort, she wasn’t about to dissuade her.
“Will any young men be in attendance?” her mother asked with a conspiratorial smile.
“I believe so. One or two.”
“Anyone you like in particular?”
Amelia’s thoughts went instantly and unhelpfully to Nate. Radwill was the point of this tedious house party. Radwill was her mission and she mustn’t forget it. “Perhaps. But there is nothing definite.”
“Oh, Amelia, if I could see you settled soon, darling...”
“I know, Mama. I do. And I will try.”
“I want to see you happy.”
What her mother wanted for her would never make her happy, but it was impossible to tell her so, not when her eyes lit up with such a hopeful gleam.
“I’m worried about leaving you here alone,” she said, to change the subject.
“Oh, I’m not alone. I have Mrs. Wickett and Constance,” Beatrice said with a dismissive wave, referring to their trustworthy head housekeeper and her lady’s maid, who acted as more of a nurse than a maid. “And Dr. Price is going to look in on me every day, just to be safe. They’ll cable your father if anything at all is amiss. The last thing I want is for you to miss out on this opportunity to stay home and fuss over me. Now go and have a good time.”
“If you’re sure...”
“Positive.” She tucked a wayward curl behind Amelia’s ear. Amelia’s curls always seemed to be wayward. “Now off with you. Write and tell me all about your adventures.”
“I promise I’ll tell you everything interesting.” Even if I have to make it up, she amended silently.
“Amelia, they’ve finished loading the trunks,” her father said from the doorway. She rose to leave, giving her father a private moment to say goodbye to her mother. As she reached the door, she glanced back. He’d lowered himself to one knee, no easy feat with his old injury. He was holding her mother’s hands in his and smiling into her face with a look of tenderness only her mother seemed to raise in him. For all his faults, he did love her so. He might be heavy-handed with Amelia on the subject of marriage, but in the end, that was for her mother’s sake. Amelia’s titled match was something he knew would please her.
In all other ways, he’d been rather liberal with Amelia. She’d had a first-rate education and he’d spent a fortune on her finishing with Genevieve. He never quibbled with her over money for new dresses or books or anything else she wanted. He’d made it clear that, upon her marriage, he’d settle a vast sum on her and buy her a town house in London. Truly, she was a most fortunate young woman. All they asked of her was this one thing. It was the least she could do to fulfill their wishes, and give her mother the one thing she wanted, before it was too late.
* * *
Tewsmere, ancestral home of the Earl of Tewsbury, was half a day’s journey by train from London, somewhere in the hinterlands of Kent. Amelia had stopped paying attention when the train left the station but her father remarked on every mile of their journey, finding something to admire in every rural lane and hedgerow. He saw this invitation as a mark of great honor, a sign he was finally ascending into the rarefied circle of the aristocracy. She didn’t have the heart to tell him they’d probably been invited so the young ladies could giggle at all the inappropriate things she was sure to say.
Lady Evelyn’s father, the Earl of Tewsbury, sent coaches to gather up the guests as they arrived at the train and ferry them back to the estate. Leaving Fantine and her father’s valet behind to arrange the luggage, they made their way to the group of fellow guests awaiting transport. Their little group consisted of Lord and Lady Selby, their son, Anthony Batchelder, Lord and Lady Watting, their son, Robert Ponsoy, and their daughter, the dreaded Kitty Ponsoy.
“Miss Ponsoy!” Amelia cried, just to throw her off. “How lovely to see you again!”
Kitty scanned her from head to toe in an examination that verged on rude. “Miss Wheeler. I’d forgotten you were coming. How amusing this shall be.”
There it was: confirmation Evelyn and her crowd expected Amelia to be the sport of this party. She’d be damned if she’d give them the satisfaction. These silly Society girls never learned. Not one of them was a match for a Portsmouth street urchin when it came to making mischief.
“It’s a lovely day for traveling,” Amelia observed.
“Indeed. You were smart to wear something so serviceable, Miss Wheeler. I’m afraid my new French traveling suit will be quite crushed after the trip.” Kitty preened, stroking her sea-foam-green skirt, heavily trimmed with braid. Amelia looked her over. Aside from being a rather cheap copy of a Paris original, it didn’t suit her at all. The enormous puffed sleeves of her jacket were larger than her head. She looked as if she was being devoured by a green wool sea monster.
Choosing to let the insult slide, she gave Kitty a serene smile, not even a hint of an outrageous comment. Kitty looked very disappointed.
A footman appeared to sort them into coaches. Amelia and her father were shuttled off with the Batchelders, as the Ponsoys, all quite large save for Kitty, took up an entire carriage themselves.
Tony Batchelder dropped onto the seat next to Amelia, scarcely attempting to keep from crushing her skirts. He was a handsome young man, with an elegant face and an expressive mouth. Sleepy dark eyes framed by long lashes rendered him almost pretty. His brown wool suit was quite fine, and his yellow patterned necktie bordered on flashy. “It’s Miss Wheeler, right?” he asked, slanting a grin at her.
It was an alarmingly casual introduction, bordering on rude, but Amelia rather preferred it to the malice thinly veneered with friendship she faced from the young ladies of the party.
“Yes, Amelia Wheeler. It’s Mr. Batchelder, isn’t it?”
He swept a heavy lock of silky brown hair off his forehead, only for it to fall forward again. The effect was rather poetic, as she suspected he intended. “Lord, no ‘mister.’ It’s Anthony. Or better still, Tony. After all, we’re all about to be cooped up in the ancient Tewsbury manse together for a week. Might as well get friendly.”
“If you say so.”
“Do attempt to behave, Anthony,” Lord Selby sighed as he settled in across from his youngest son. He was in his late fifties, but still an imposing, good-looking man, with distinguished silver hair and heavy sideburns. “There may not be much expected of the youngest son, but one does hope for basic civility.”
“Oh, come on, Pater, it’s meant to be a festive event, not another dreary session in the House of Lords. I declare that we shall get up to no good for the whole of this house party. Are you game, Miss Wheeler?”
Lady Selby, Lord Selby’s much younger, very pretty second wife, sighed. “Anthony, please.”
Tony threw his stepmother a wicked smile. “Oh, come now, Mother, I’m only having a bit of fun. Don’t let Father’s starch rub off on you.” She grew flustered and dropped her eyes to her lap.
“Anthony...” Lord Selby warned.
Gen was right ab
out this young man. He was trouble. “I’m sure there will be plenty of amusement for everyone,” Amelia replied, trying to offset the tension.
“And if Evelyn doesn’t supply it, I will. I’m always good for a laugh.”
“And not much else,” his father muttered under his breath.
Tony threw his head back and laughed.
Mr. Wheeler cleared his throat and leaned across Amelia to address Lord and Lady Selby. “Lord Selby, was your train ride enjoyable?”
Tony smirked at Amelia but when Lady Selby began to offer her opinions of the deplorable state of the British rail system, he grew bored and fell asleep. Amelia chose to stare out the window and leave their parents to their tedious conversation. Ten minutes in and she already wanted to flee. This would be a very long week.
* * *
Tewsmere dated to the eighteenth century and was spacious and elegant. It sat on a hill, which made for a lovely approach from the road. The house’s spare, classical proportions settled perfectly in the early autumn hillside framing it. A wide, sweeping gravel drive fronted the house and by the time their carriage came to a stop, Lady Evelyn and her mother and father, Lord and Lady Tewsbury, were waiting under the portico to greet them.
The Ponsoys’ carriage was already there, discharging Lord and Lady Watting, Robert and Kitty out onto the gravel drive.
Kitty flung herself into Evelyn’s arms with a squeal and a flurry of ruffles. Their effusive reunion took many minutes. Lord and Lady Tewsbury greeted each guest as they reached the portico in a blustering, genial way that made Amelia think they weren’t quite sure who their daughter had invited.
“Lord Tewsbury,” her father enthused as he shook the viscount’s hand. “We are honored to be here.”
Lord Tewsbury looked vaguely uncomfortable. “Well, well, yes... Welcome to Tewsmere. Do make yourselves at home.”
The man had scarcely any idea who they were. And why should he? Her father might have loads of money but in the end he was a Portsmouth factory owner and Lord Tewsbury was an earl. Every person at this house party was likely titled in some way. All the men sat in the House of Lords with the earl. They most decidedly did not belong.
When the earl turned to her, Amelia refused to be cowed, channeling every lesson Genevieve had ever given her, and dropping into a perfect curtsy. “We’re delighted you asked us to visit, Lord Tewsbury.”
He smiled benignly at her. “Yes, yes, come in and have some refreshments. Evelyn, come and greet the rest of the guests, my girl.”
“Oh! Do forgive my abominable rudeness,” she laughed. “Kitty does distract me so.” They exchanged a look and burst into giggles.
Lady Evelyn made her round of greetings and when she got to Amelia, she hooked her arm through Amelia’s and began to propel her into the house. “Thank heavens you’ve come, Miss Wheeler. May I call you Amelia? We’re all sure to be the closest of friends by the end of the house party, aren’t we?”
“Oh, not too close, I hope. Wouldn’t want to get stuck that way.”
Lady Evelyn let out a high peal of laughter. “Oh, Amelia, you do say the funniest things. Doesn’t she, Kitty?”
“So very droll,” Kitty drawled, looking anything but amused.
“Come, Mr. Batchelder!” Evelyn commanded. “We’re desperate for a little fun inside and you’re the man to provide it.”
Tony presented her with his arm. “Enough with the ‘Mr.’ I beg you. It’s Tony, and I’m at your command, Evie.”
Evelyn’s eyes sparkled and a hint of blush raced across her cheeks as she beamed at Tony Batchelder.
“Very well, Tony. Let’s be off.”
“Lead the way, my lady.”
“Robbie,” Kitty whined, turning on her brother. “Fetch my bag out of the coach, will you? I’ve forgotten it.”
“What do I look like, Kitty, a footman? Fetch it yourself.”
“It’s the least you could do after crushing my skirts for the whole trip.”
Robert Ponsoy laughed and chucked his sister under the chin before following Tony and Evelyn inside. Kitty fumed. Amelia didn’t wait around to see who she exploded at next. She scurried after her father into the house.
A small army of servants met them in the entry hall, divesting them of coats, hats and valises. The newly arrived guests were shunted into the parlor where some earlier arrivals were already partaking of the “light refreshments” provided. A long table groaned under an impressive spread of food and drink.
Among the guests who’d arrived earlier were Lord Hyde and Lady Julia, Lord and Lady Spalding and their son, William Thistlethwaite, and—unfortunately—Mr. Cheadle. Lord Spalding and his son, Will, were cut from the same cloth, both whip-thin and extremely tall. They both fancied expensive tailoring, although the father’s suit was a great deal more conservative than his dandified son’s. Lady Spalding, in contrast, nearly disappeared next to her impressive husband and elegant son, a birdlike woman lost in an elaborate dove-gray gown.
“Amelia, this is a most impressive gathering,” her father murmured into her ear. “These young men are all from highly esteemed families. Show them your best, girl.”
Amelia thought the boys all seemed like a lot of badly behaved children looking for mischief but she didn’t say so. “I always do, Papa.”
Her squeezed her elbow before turning away and inserting himself into a conversation with Lord Spalding, standing by the fireplace. Amelia suspected she wouldn’t see him again during this party outside of mealtimes. She’d taken no more than two steps toward the refreshment table when Mr. Cheadle descended on her.
“My dear Miss Wheeler! You’ve arrived at last!”
“It’s only half past two.”
“Time seemed to have stopped as I waited.”
She rolled her eyes. “With all these fine people to talk to? It’s a wonder you even noticed my absence. Especially as we’ve only just met.” She added that last bit to remind him to observe some standards of decorum, but he missed the hint, sidling closer to her and refusing to release her hand, clutching it in both of his.
“I know our acquaintance has been brief, but I feel I know you so well already.”
“Is that so? Remarkable.” She tugged on her hand but his grip was most determined.
“And now we’ll be in such close company for the next week, perhaps you’ll come to know me just as well.”
His voice dropped and he leaned into her, giving her a meaningful look. Amelia finally peeled her hand free of his and took a step back. “I suppose I might. Do you mind excusing me, Mr. Cheadle? I’m positively parched from the journey. I thought I might step over there and—”
“Oh, no, you must allow me!”
Ignoring him, she moved away toward the refreshments table, but Cheadle dogged her steps, insisting on fetching a glass of lemonade for her. She was trying to sort out how she’d extricate herself from him when Lady Julia materialized at her side. “Miss Wheeler, I’m so glad you’ve come. Hello again, Mr. Cheadle.”
To her surprise, Lady Julia sounded entirely genuine. Amelia forced herself to smile at her. Cheadle gave Julia the same forced, too-familiar smile he’d used on Amelia.
“Lady Julia, the delight I felt on discovering you were to be a guest cannot be adequately expressed.”
“You don’t say?” Lady Julia said evenly.
“Indeed. I was about to seek you out.”
“And abandon poor Miss Wheeler?” Julia smirked. The wicked gleam in her eye was directed at Amelia. “Say it isn’t so!”
Cheadle began to bluster, overwhelmed with trying to slather insincere flattery on two wealthy young women simultaneously. Amelia had to suppress her laugh and gave Julia a bit of credit for her handling of him.
“It’s good to see you, Lady Julia,” she said, to forestall any further comp
liments from Mr. Cheadle.
“Please, call me Julia. And may I call you Amelia?”
“Of course you may.”
“Mr. Cheadle, might I steal Amelia from you? I have something terribly important to discuss with her.”
“Of course. I’m sure you young ladies have much to gossip about. But please don’t deprive me of your delightful company for too much longer. Either of you. Both of you.”
The corners of Julia’s mouth twitched. Amelia was already beginning to recognize the subtle signs of Julia’s amusement. “You’re very kind. Amelia, come sit in the window seat with me. It’s quite cozy. You should take one of those cakes first, though. They’re delicious.”
“What did you wish to talk to me about?” Amelia asked as they walked away.
“Nothing. I saw your face. You looked quite desperate to escape, and with good reason.”
“He’s a true terror, to be sure. I’m in your debt. We have to make a proper show of it, though. What should we talk about?”
Julia steered her toward the window seat. “Miss Wheeler, I’ve come to understand you hail from Portsmouth.”
“I do.”
“Did you live anywhere near the harbor?”
Memories of racing through the streets, down to the docks to find Natty, flitted through her mind. “Close enough.”
“Did you spend much time there?”
Now she couldn’t help her fond smile. “Almost all my time, truth be told. They couldn’t drag me away from the docks.”
“I suppose you know your way around a ship?”
“A bit. The sailors usually chased me back ashore as soon as they caught me aboard. They didn’t exactly welcome a young girl.”
“I suppose they wouldn’t.”
“You enjoy the sea?”
“Not particularly, no. Why?”
Amelia blinked in confusion. “Only... You seemed so interested in Portsmouth. I thought you must like the sea.”
“It’s only because of my father’s shipping company,” she said quickly, with a dismissive shrug. “I’ve been hearing about it for years.”
A Common Scandal Page 8
