The carriage door swung open and Aunt Ebba in a long pelisse coat of black bombasine climbed inside, huffing. “The incompetence is astounding, truly astounding. I should have brought a second carriage, if I had only been thinking properly. Tuck your legs in girls, there you are.”
A servant slid a suitcase on the floor between the seats; then stacked another on top of it.
“Really Aunt Ebba, is this necessary?” said Amelia, wedging herself into the corner so she might have some space. Patience was nearly in her lap. “We will only be there for a week. You have brought enough clothes to attend Court for a month.”
Aunt Ebba sniffed. “In order to look one’s best; one must have choices, even in mourning. Moreover, I thought we might share, but if you would rather not…”
“It is a wonderful idea to have brought so many options,” said Amelia, forcing a smile to her face. She had been lusting after her aunt’s wardrobe since she was old enough to walk.
“I thought so,” said Aunt Ebba.
The carriage set off. Amelia felt sorry for the horses; they had probably never pulled such a heavy load before. At least it was not a long journey, as the Beresford’s country estate, Stanherd Residence, was only ten miles away. Crammed in as they were, however, ten miles might as well be one hundred. It was evening by the time the carriage slowed, and Amelia’s body was protesting the tight quarters and the jarring of the carriage. She clambered out the moment it halted and sucked in the fresh air. Patience tumbled out after her.
“Is my bonnet disheveled? It cannot have survived that journey,” said Patience, fretfully. She fussed with the flowers, making more a mess of them than they had been. Amelia swatted her hands away.
“Let me do it,” she said, straightening the flowers and tugging a few curls loose to hang around the other girl’s face. “Now stop worrying and smile. Do you not know that is your best feature?”
“Why are we dawdling out here? Come on, inside,” said Aunt Ebba, shooing them both toward the house.
“Are you ready?” Amelia asked. She looked back at her luggage, which would be brought to her room by a servant shortly, but she did not like to have the book far from her for even that long.
Patience nodded, shooting Amelia a nervous grin. “I think so.”
Looping their pinky fingers, Amelia and Patience marched up the steps.
~.~
“Percival, are you ready yet?” Samuel called from the other side of Percy’s bedroom door. He rapped his knuckles against the wood for the third time. “Are you feeling ill again?”
Samuel glanced at his watch. The women would be at the house within the hour and he did not want to meet them alone. Did not want to meet them at all, in fact, but he would do what he could for Percy, as any good brother would.
“Yes,” came Percival’s reply.
“Yes you are ready, or yes you are feeling ill?” Samuel asked, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling. He had been dressed and ready two hours ago and had already broken into the brandy.
“Yes to both.” The door opened and Samuel stepped back as Percival walked out. His brother’s face was ashen, but his clothes cut a dashing figure and he did not look as if he had been ill for weeks. “I think this was a terrible idea. We should send them away.”
“I am not the heir of an Earldom and even I know that would be unspeakably rude of us,” said Samuel. He took Percival by the arm and steered him down the hall and down the staircase. “Just have a drink and perk up, you are about to meet your future wife! Or something like that.”
“You are not very good at this, you know,” said Percival.
Samuel poured them both two fingers of brandy. Percival accepted the glass but took a cautious sip as if the fine brandy was vinegar.
Samuel took a healthy swig from his own glass. “Oh, do slow down, Percy,” he said. “I do not want you passing out before the ladies arrive. Three of them and one of me.” He put on his best lecherous grin.
“You are a scoundrel, Sam,” said Percy, shaking his head and putting the glass aside just as the call came from their butler.
Samuel straightened Percy’s cravat and gave him an encouraging slap on the shoulder.
“Off we go then,” said Samuel, pushing him toward the door. “Go and greet your guests, oh Lord Beresford.”
“Did I forget to tell you? I poisoned your brandy,” said Percival, as he walked to the door. Samuel supposed that he should be grateful Percival could joke about poisoning, but the words only made a shiver run down his spine, like someone walking over his grave. They had not found the person who done the deed or why. It gave Samuel no rest
“Your threats would be far more convincing if I did not know how badly you need me here,” said Samuel “These women would have you tongue-tied in moments, if I were to suffer an untimely demise.”
In fact, when the door opened and the three women were showed inside, it was Samuel who could not find his voice. Lady Amelia Atherton stood in the doorway, framed by the sunset, and looking lovelier than he remembered. Samuel’s heart did something it had never done before except in the midst of a battle; it skipped a beat.
~.~
Chapter Five
Side by side, the two brothers looked almost identical. Commander Samuel Beresford was a broader, more muscular, and Lord Percival Beresford was an inch or two taller, but there was no mistaking their family resemblance, even though Lord Beresford had lost weight in his illness. Once the brothers moved and talked, their mannerisms and demeanor could not have been more different. Amelia had seen a little of Samuel’s character at the ball, his bravado and carelessness, but his elder brother was the opposite. Percival was gentle and almost anxious in his speaking, and he reminded her at once of Patience. If the shy pair did not spend the entire time getting in each other’s way, they would be a splendid match. As it was, they could not make eye contact without blushing or breaking into nervous smiles, so there was much work to be done.
Amelia realized she was focusing on Lord Beresford and his greeting of Patience because she was trying to avoid thinking about Commander Beresford. She knew he was staring at her though, could feel the heat of his gaze, but she refused to acknowledge it. Did he harbor a mistaken belief that she felt something for him, just because of their brief interaction at the ball? She would need to correct that assumption straight away. If only she could manage to look at him, or better yet, say anything. The words seemed to die on her tongue. Patience must have rubbed off on her during the carriage ride because there was a traitorous flush on her cheeks whenever she dared to glance at Commander Beresford.
Aunt Ebba, her earlier annoyances forgotten, was the only thing saving the room. She was warm and friendly, slipping into the role of chaperone with ease. Once all of their belongings had been taken upstairs, the three women followed them up to their guest rooms.
After a quick glance in her bedroom, Amelia met with Patience and the two girls huddled into Aunt Ebba’s room.
“Is this your first outing?” Aunt Ebba said, as she smoothed the wrinkled creases of her dress. “You two are acting like nervous debutantes, afraid to step away from the wall. I thought this was your idea, Amelia, and I have never seen you anything but the perfect guest. Pray tell me what is the matter?”
Two maids knocked on the door, and Aunt Ebba bade them enter with their basins of scented water.
Aunt Ebba gave the perfumed basin of water over to Patience, gesturing that she should wash, and then turned back to the vanity and studied her own face. She wiped it with the damp cloth and then turned back to the girls.
“I am sorry, Auntie,” said Amelia, digging for an excuse. She did not even know how to explain it herself. “I think I am still grieving Father, and it catches me off guard at the oddest times.”
“Sit down, Patience,” said Aunt Ebba, giving up the pouf at the vanity. “Well, I hope you will overcome Amelia and not leave dear Patience with the burden of socializing on her own. You must support her. Lord Beresford is a perfec
t match for her, and we must put our best feet forward to help her make it.”
The maid silently straightened some of Patience’s red curls, but her hair just would not smooth. Amelia almost felt sorry for the poor girl. Aunt Ebba brushed her away and repined some of Patience’s curls herself. Then she began applying powder to Patience’s face.
“Those are freckles, not blemishes,” Patience protested, when Aunt Ebba, frowning went over them with the powder yet again.
Aunt Ebba stepped back to inspect her work, lips pursed. “An improvement, at least.”
“She means you look beautiful, Patience” said Amelia, frowning at her aunt as she wiped sweat and dust of the journey from her own face and neck.
Patience did not look convinced.
With a jolt Amelia remembered the cypher book she had smuggled from home. It was not truly her home anymore at all anymore. The estate was Uncle Declan’s, and although she doubted she would have much time to peruse the strange book here, she could not leave it behind. Not if the book might be of some help in discovering what her father was doing, especially if it contained some clue about his death.
“I will be back in a moment,” she said, rushing off to her bedroom.
Thankfully, her luggage was sitting beside the bed, not yet unpacked. The maids must have started with Patience’s or Aunt Ebba’s things. She opened the latch of the larger trunk and retrieved the book from its hiding place in her shift. Then, she tucked it beneath the mattress, closed her luggage, and left the room. That had almost been a major mistake. Any servant unpacking her things would have been immediately suspicious of the way the book was packed; clearly intended to be hidden. Those were not questions she could afford, nor gossip she wished spread. Amelia chastised herself for her carelessness; it was most unlike her.
As she hurried from the room, she nearly collided with a maid coming to unpack her trunk and collect her dress for dinner. The slight girl reddened and curtseyed. “Your pardon, M’lady, I have just come to unpack. Is there something you needed?”
“I was just looking for…nothing. It doesn’t matter,” Amelia said.
“Did you have a preference for which dress you would like to wear for dinner?”
“Bring the dinner dress with the curved borders at the bottom.”
“What was all of that about?” Aunt Ebba asked, when Amelia scurried back into her Aunt’s room a minute later. She was standing behind Patience, fiddling with the poor girl’s hair again. It looked painful, from the expression on Patience’s face.
“I wanted to see if they had unpacked my tortoiseshell comb,” Amelia lied, touching a hand to the top of her hair. “But they have not, and I did not want to search for it. Oh well, I will have to go unornamented into the fray.”
“Hmm,” said Aunt Ebba. She had finished with Patience, who now backed well away against the wall in case Aunt Ebba should decide to attack some other matter of her appearance. “I think I have something for your hair, but first, sit down Amelia. You could do with a little color in your cheeks and you have dark circles under your eyes.”
“Surely not,” Amelia said, bringing a hand to her face, but before she could protest further, Aunt Ebba steered her by the shoulders onto the pouf and set to work.
“I do not need any of that,” Amelia said, trying to swat her aunt away. “I have never worn any powder before.”
“You look tired,” said Aunt Ebba, in a no-nonsense tone. “Trust me. Now sit still or it will take longer.”
When Aunt Ebba had finished, Amelia had to agree there was a noticeable difference to the better. She had not realized how much the events of the past weeks had affected her, until the shadows below her eyes were covered and a little life was brought back to her cheeks with Aunt Ebba’s pinching. Grief, worry, all of those things took a toll.
Amelia thanked her aunt just as maids came in with their dresses for dinner. Even in mourning Amelia felt she cut a figure. Her black silk dress, worn over a sarsnet slip, had two crescent shaped borders with tiny bows at the points. It was cut low and square around the bust and trimmed with a tucker of crepe and black bugle beads. Aunt Ebba was just as elegant in a gown made tight at the throat, with crepe ruff at the collar and a cap of black feathers. Though Patience was truly the light of the evening in the emerald green gown. It was a light tulle with puffed sleeves and hem; trimmed in white satin around the bust gathered with tiny green rosettes. Patience wore a necklace of glittering topaz with a matching haircomb and white satin gloves; while Amelia completed her ensemble with black kid gloves and a simple string of jet black pearls.
These reminded Aunt Ebba of the hair ornament she spoke of for Amelia and it was another ten minutes after they dressed for Aunt Ebba to find and place a black beaded band to her liking, in Amelia’s hair. Then ten after that before she declared the three of them acceptable to go down for dinner. By that time, the brothers were probably wondering if they had fallen asleep, for it had taken well over an hour for the whole ordeal.
Indeed, the brothers were waiting in the parlor. Commander Samuel Beresford had a brandy glass in hand and Lord Percival Beresford was seated with a book. He rose when they entered. Samuel did not, though his gaze was fixed like the barrel of a gun on Amelia, shamelessly staring. She matched it, but he did not flinch back, nor look away. In fact, the man grinned at her with a twinkle in his eye. Grinned!
“I hope your rooms were acceptable,” said Percival, with a warm smile he shared with all three women, but widened when looked at Lady Patience. “Dinner is ready, if I may escort you ladies to the dining room.”
“Please do, Lord Beresford” said Aunt Ebba. She laid her hand on Percival’s arm, and Amelia and Patience fell in behind them.
Commander Beresford still did not rise. Amelia raised her voice loud enough for him to hear, but aimed the question at Percival, “Will your brother not be joining us?”
“Oh he will, he will,” said Percival, voice tight. “He just… likes to do things in his own time. And his own way. Younger brothers, you know. Or perhaps you do not. Do you have any siblings, Lady Amelia?”
He was babbling, a trait Amelia found quite annoying in a man but somehow, knowing it was due to Patience’s nearby presence, became rather endearing.
“I do not,” she replied. “I am an only child.”
“Count yourself lucky,” said Percival dryly.
“I did hear that,” said Samuel, from not too far behind them.
The dining room was lit by candlelight, a grand crystal chandelier hung above the table and its four tiers danced with the orange flames. The covered trays of food had filled the room with savory scent that made Amelia’s stomach rumble. She clasped her hand over it, embarrassed.
“A long journey, excuse me,” she said. What part of her would rebel next? First her mind, then her complexion, and now her stomach! She was falling apart. A servant pulled out her chair and she sat down upon it before her body could find some new way to embarrass her.
Just as everyone else took their seats, Commander Beresford strode in. He did stride, not walk, nor glide. It was a purposeful movement, as if he had to be certain of each placement of his foot before deciding to take the step. Stopping by a servant, he handed off his empty brandy glass and, after sitting, picked up his wine glass straight away. Somehow, the alcohol did not seem to be affecting him, though any other man would have been glassy-eyed from the amount of brandy. Amelia sniffed primly and looked away.
“Will The Lord Blackburn be joining us?” Aunt Ebba asked Percival, interrupting the awkward tension that had built during the late entrance.
Lord Beresford shook his head, and gestured for the servants to begin the dinner service. He picked up his wine glass but did not sip from it, using it more, Amelia thought, as a way to keep his hands busy while he talked.
“I am afraid not. My father returned to London for the remainder of the season,” he said. “Normally, I would have stayed in town with him, but I have only recently recovered from a …an i
llness. Do not fret; the doctor promises me it is not catching.”
“A good thing too,” said Samuel. “If you had only seen him,—”
“Thank you, Samuel,” Percival cut in.
Samuel tilted his glass toward Percival.
“Well, I am so happy that you have made a full recovery,” said Patience, her voice unnaturally high. “The countryside truly is the best place for convalescence. I find it so refreshing, particularly in the spring time.”
“Indeed. Though I confess, I am not accustomed to spending so much time out here and have found myself searching for things to do, though of course there are countless activities,” Percival said.
“We did try fishing,” said Samuel.
“And how did that fair?” asked Amelia, trying to imagine Commander Beresford sitting still long enough to catch anything. He was constantly moving, shifting, as if he could not get comfortable in his own skin. “As a Naval man, I would expect you could handle a fishing skiff with ease.”
“Oh he handled the punt just fine,” Percival replied. “It was the fishing itself that tripped him up.”
“I beg your pardon,” said Samuel, sitting his glass down on the table with a clunk. Luckily, it was empty. “I believe I caught a fish, which is far more than you managed.”
“Well, that sounds like a successful fishing trip to me,” said Patience, trying to calm the situation. Her freckles were standing out beneath the powder, a clear sign of her rising nerves. “If the whole goal is to a catch a fish?”
Samuel held a hand palm out toward Patience. “As the lady says. A successful fishing trip. For me. The one who caught the fish.”
Percival snorted. “My dear brother neglects to mention that I was still convalescing at the time and, wrapped in a blanket, did not have the wherewithal to manage the rod.”
The Duke’s Daughter - Lady Amelia Atherton: A Regency Romance Novel (Heart of a Gentleman Book 3) Page 8
