“Is this becoming a common activity with the gentlemen your age?” Aunt Ebba asked.
“It is. A leisurely boat ride, an excuse to spend an entire day outside,” said Percival.
“I would hardly call it a boat,” Samuel said, under his breath. He had demolished his bowl of soup and was working on his glass of wine. “But I suppose beggars cannot be choosers.”
They were interrupted by the clearing of the first course and the arrival of the second, a glazed pheasant stuffed with berries and vegetables. The footman carved the meat in paper thin slices, and served portions to each as they spoke.
“He waxes eloquent about his time at sea, but he is always very eager to eat a proper meal,” said Percival. “So I do not believe it is the glamorous life that he insists it is. All adventure, all of the time, and no mention of seasickness nor the close quarters nor the need to survive on hardtack alone.”
“You would not switch roles?” Patience asked. “No latent desire to walk in the other’s shoes?”
Samuel and Percival replied in unison, “No!”
All three of the women laughed. Percival and Samuel both looked horrified at the idea of such a thing.
“I would be bored to death in two days,” said Samuel, scoffing. “What does a lord do all day? Little. What does the heir of a lord do all day? Even less.”
Percival shook his head with the look of a man who had had this argument many times before. “If you were forced to live my life, brother, you would not be bored, you would be overwhelmed. It is great responsibility, and we both know that is something you cannot abide— something or someone needing you.”
“But that cannot be true,” said Amelia. She shot a furtive glance at Commander Beresford, who was looking at her with an intense, dark gaze. “For at the ball we attended, you spoke of your desire to one day become a captain, and that is also a role that must involve a great deal of responsibility. Not only are the men beneath you dependent upon you, but the ship as well. If something were to go wrong, the ship were to sink or the men to fall victim to plague, it would be on your head, would it not?”
“Lud,” Patience exclaimed. “Plague?” She shuddered. “Amelia, that is too awful to think about.”
Commander Beresford leaned toward her. His leg brushed against hers beneath the table, she could feel the heat of him through his breeches, through her skirts. Amelia resisted the desire to pull away, knowing it would satisfy him to know he had affected her, so she looked him straight in the eye and refused to move. She was gratified to see his eyes widen in surprise, but a moment later his knowing smile was back.
“You are looking at it all wrong, as my brother always does,” said Samuel. “All of the glory, all of the success! That is mine to claim as well, if I were a captain.”
“I am sure you do your duty well,” Aunt Ebba interjected placidly. “We are all grateful for our Royal Navy and their exploits and daring.”
“Glory for your country? Glory for the Royal Navy? Or glory for one Commander Samuel Beresford?” Amelia asked, with an eyebrow raised. “Are not the navy and navy men, even captains duty bound to serve King and Country?”
“Do not censure me, Lady Amelia. As your good aunt points out, for whom but King and Country am I chasing down the privateers that run contraband to the French? Assisting that devil Napoleon and giving him succor. If not for our fine ships, we would find the blackguard at our border, dear lady, attempting to take England as he has thought to run over the continent.”
“Oh dear,” said Patience.
Samuel took a drink of wine. “I have brought many to the King’s justice, or to a watery grave.”
“Samuel, I expect this is not fit discourse for the ladies. My brother is ever the seaman. He forgets himself,” Lord Beresford said.
“Of course,” said Amelia. “I’m sure he is a fine officer who keeps us all safe. There is nothing wrong with being proud of one’s accomplishments.”
“Just so,” Lord Beresford said.
Amelia took a small bite of her pheasant. She noticed that both Lord Beresford and Patience had hardly touched their food.
“Truly,” Commander Beresford said. “I would not expect you to understand. Have you ever had anything to be so proud of? Something you can call your own?” Samuel asked, shaking his head as if to already dismiss her answer. “I did not think s—”
“Yes, as a matter of fact,” Amelia broke in. “I play the piano, and I am most proud of my abilities.”
“She is excellent,” said Patience, her voice trembling. She looked from Samuel to Amelia and back again. “Perhaps she would play for us after dinner?”
“Do you keep a piano?” Amelia asked, jolted from her rancor by the idea.
Aunt Ebba breathed a sigh of relief, which Amelia pretended not to hear.
“We do,” said Percival. “It should even be in tune. Our mother plays.”
“Is Lady Blackburn in London?” Aunt Ebba inquired.
“No,” Percival said. “She is currently in Bath with her sister. She prefers the air there to London .although I am surprised she did not travel back to chaperone when she heard we were to have guests.”
“Oh, I did not tell her,” Samuel said flippantly. “Anyway, the ladies lovely Aunt Ebba is here for that.”
The rest of dinner passed with the usual sort of friendly talk, mainly between Lord Beresford and Aunt Ebba. Commander Beresford was sitting, sulking really, in silence apart from the occasional jab he snuck in toward his brother, and occasionally glancing at Amelia when he did not think she was looking. His leg had not moved away from hers. Patience, flustered by the near-argument between Amelia and the Commander, did not speak much, but every time Lord Beresford looked at her she broke into a smile.
After dinner, the group made their way to the piano room and took seats on the plush sofas and chairs. Lord Beresford ordered the fire brought up to life to take off the evening chill and after dinner drinks were served, while Amelia adjusted the position of the stool to her liking and familiarized herself with the piano.
Of course, they were all fundamentally the same and any amateur would say there is no difference at all, but Amelia knew every detail of her pianos and believed that each one had a unique personality. The Lady Beresford’s had a voice more like her own piano at the country house. The one she played in London, was considerably newer with a richer deeper sound. Her first chords were experimental, testing the sound to see how it differed. It was in tune, but the keys did not have the well-played feel of a frequently used piano. It had the lonely feel of an instrument that seemed to have sat for some time, untouched.
Commander Beresford was standing by the fire, leaning against the mantle just far enough from the others that he would not be expected to join in their conversation. When Amelia began to play he walked over to stand beside her, at her shoulder. Amelia, who was used to being watched so by her previous instructors, did not fumble, though she believed he had hoped to make her do so. He was close enough that she could smell the scent of his cologne.
“Do you not require sheet music?” he asked, just loud enough to be heard over her playing.
“I have many songs memorized,” Amelia replied, sitting up a little straighter. She prided herself on her ability to do so. “I have been playing since I was a small child, and the music comes naturally to me. How long has it been since your mother has played?”
He thought for a moment. “I don’t know. As a child, I remember her playing often, but more recently, she likes to spend her time in Bath or London. She rarely comes here. I am afraid this piano has been sorely neglected.” He turned the glass in his hand and he seemed melancholy.
She wanted to raise his spirits. “Not so neglected that it is out of tune,” Amelia said. “Your father must be a kind man to keep it tuned for your mother.”
Amelia felt Commander Beresford stiffen beside her, the fabric of his jacket rustling.
“Oh,” Commander Beresford said. “It is not for her. My fath
er is simply a man who likes everything to be just so…in tune, I suppose. At least, neatly in its place,” he finished uncertainly.
“And what about you, Commander Beresford? Do you like things to be in tune, also; in their proper place?”
“Oh, no,” he said with a spark in his eye. “I am the discordant note in this house. You shall see, Lady Amelia.”
He moved away from her before she could comment, but her stomach clenched with nerves.
In losing her father, she seemed to have lost some of her manners. Chastened, she focused on her playing. It was nothing more than guilt over not being a proper guest, she told herself. It did not mean anything else.
~.~
~Part 3 ~
Unlikely Engagement
Chapter One
Lady Amelia Atherton was the first to wake. The pale light of the day had just begun to creep into the room, and Amelia, always an early riser, felt anxious to begin her day. She lay in bed as long as she could, thinking about the mysterious book she had found in her father’s office. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she was that her father did not just die in a carriage accident. He had been killed. How could she sleep when she had such thoughts?
She leisurely outfitted herself in a simple morning dress of black dyed muslin and a redingote with a high backed collar that opened to a vee at the front and fastened just under the bosom; to ward off the morning chill. Once dressed, she dithered with impatience. Her Aunt Ebba would sleep past noon unless something dire occurred; and if it did, she would wake so grumpily, everyone would wish she had been allowed to stay abed. Lady Patience, Amelia’s friend from London, was also still abed. Her soft snores were audible through her door, so Amelia tiptoed past. She stopped at the top of the stairs, listening, but all below was silent. She felt a bit self-conscious creeping about at the early hour since she was a guest at Stanherd Residence, the Beresford’s country home. Lord Percival Beresford would not mind she decided, but Commander Beresford…She thought about meeting Commander Samuel Beresford at this early hour and blushed. Still she found herself creeping down the stairs, tucking her father’s book with its strange symbol beneath her arm. From a distance, the book would look like any other, she thought, and she wanted to see it in sunlight in case the brighter illumination revealed something she had missed on prior inspections by candlelight.
A few servants were awake. The fires were lit and she could hear them clanking about in the kitchen below and occasionally a burst of raised voices, but the second floor of the house was empty apart from her. She did not ring for a maid to attend her, though she was thinking fondly of tea with lots of cream, or even a warm cup of milk. It would not do for them to take special interest in her or what she was doing. The book, she knew from the secret niche, where she found it, should remain undisclosed. She went to the piano room. It seemed the abode of comfort for her, even in this unaccustomed place. Seating herself in one of the armchairs Amelia opened the book on her lap. The leather was soft from countless fingers touching it. Again, she was confronted by the sight of words, legible, normal words, but that was all they were. They were not arranged in any sentences of sense.
She tried angling it to catch the light from the window, but nothing changed on the page. It had been a farfetched hope, she knew, but this puzzle was driving her mad. None of the papers or letters in the drawer with the book had appeared to be a key to the code, but perhaps there was something she had missed. Or was she thinking far too deeply into this, and imagining a conspiracy where none existed? Could it be just a book of gibberish? Just random words in a book? No, she decided, there would be no point to that, and this book clearly took a large amount of effort to make. Someone put great care into it, and there was a reason for it. Furthermore, her father had hidden it away in a secret drawer, and that was reason enough for suspicion. Her father had never seemed a secretive man in life. Now in death, it seemed as if she may have been mistaken.
Amelia ran her fingers over the words, missing him. Oh Father, she thought. How can you be gone? How could you have left me so suddenly with no recourse? Surely you did not gamble your fortune away. There must be some logical answer, and some logical person to blame. I will find them, she promised her father’s ghost. I will.
She looked at the book again. There was no texture, apart from the normal amount of indent from the printed words. She flipped to the back of the cover page; then leaned back, holding it above her head and turning the book one way, and then the other letting the early morning light shine on it. Nothing. Sighing, she lowered it again, and her heart stopped.
Commander Samuel Beresford was there, standing in the center of the doorway with a cup of something steaming lifted halfway to his mouth. She took him in in a moment. His jaw was unshaved and his hair somewhat rumpled. He was in his shirt sleeves with them rolled up past his elbows. His forearms were tanned and muscled. He wore no cravat. His Adam’s apple moved as he swallowed. He seemed as surprised to see her as she was to see him.
Amelia slammed the book shut and tried to tuck it against her side, hidden from view by the side of the armchair. She shoved it into the crevice between the cushions. Belatedly, she realized how guilty a gesture that was, and quickly folded her hands in her lap. Samuel’s eyes were fixed on her as he carefully sat the cup on a side table and busied himself with rolling down the sleeves of his shirt.
“Good morning, Commander Beresford. You are up early,” she said, leaning against the arm of the chair in feigned nonchalance. “Is that a trait of naval life? I suppose you must get used to all sorts of odd hours, is that correct?” Her voice felt unnaturally high. Maybe he hadn’t seen the book.
Samuel did not immediately respond. He picked up the cup and raised it the rest of the way to his lips and took a sip; then he took a step closer to Amelia. She found herself leaning back against the chair, pressing the book deeper down into the cushion.
“Yes,” he said, simply, but he did not back up. His voice was a low rumble. “Good morning Lady Amelia. What is that book?”
Amelia had botched everything. She had wanted to keep the book a secret in case it held some incriminating evidence against her father and then she had seemingly made the book as obvious as if it were painted a bright red. Why had she brought it out of her room? She was a fool.
“I am not sure,” she answered, truthfully.
Samuel raised one dark brow. In the sunlight, she could see that his eyes, so dark she had believed them black before, were in fact a deep shade of brown, like a warm rich chocolate.
“You are reading a book you know nothing about?” he said. “Not even the title? Now that is odd.” He scrutinized her over his tea cup. “Can you read? Or is that not something they teach ladies these days?”
“Of course I have been taught to read,” she spat. “Do you presume the worst of everyone you meet, or is that honor solely mine?” asked Amelia, growing cross. She stood and yanked the book out of the cushion crevice, pulling the cushion with the book. It tumbled to the floor. “Oh bother,” she snapped as he watched her with mild amusement as she replaced the cushion. There was no subterfuge now. She held the book out in front of her. “If you can make any sense of this, oh lauded Commander, be my guest. It is nonsense, and there is no title or author that I can discover. It is only a book of words.”
“Most books are,” he said dryly.
“This book is different,” she said. “But I am, as you know, just a simple woman. Perhaps I am mistaken.”
Samuel plucked the book from her outstretched hands with one of his, palming it easily in his long blunt fingers. He put down his cup and traced the symbol on the cover with the pad of his finger. A crease appeared between his brows.
“I know this symbol,” he said, to himself.
Amelia gasped. She had not expected him to recognize it.
“You do? But how? I have never seen it anywhere else,” she said, leaning toward him to see the cover again.
“I have seen this before. Wh
at are the chances of this?” He whispered, as he lifted his cup again and sipped his tea. He still had not looked at her, nor really spoken to her. She might as well not have been there at all. Amelia stifled the urge to wave her hand beneath his nose to check if she had gone invisible without noticing.
“Slim, I imagine,” she said, terse. “Will you speak to me now or should I blend into the curtain and pretend I do not exist? Pray remember, that is my book, and if you are not going to tell me what it is, you can hand it back right this moment, and I will discover its meaning on my own. I was making great progress before you came along.”
“I doubt that.”
So he was listening to her, he was just choosing to ignore her. Even worse. Amelia grabbed hold of the top of the book and gave it a tug. It did not budge in Samuel’s one handed grip, but he did look up at her at last. He tugged back. She took hold with both hands and wrenched, jostling the tea cup he held in his other hand, sending some of the contents spilling onto the floor.
“I am sorry about that,” said Amelia, not relinquishing her hold. He was looking at her as if she had gone mad, and there was something like amusement on his face. “Let go! It is my book!” She snapped.
“Shh,” he said, holding steadfast. “Or you will wake the house and everyone will know about this book, which I surmise you did not want the world to know of.”
“No, I did not want you to know of it either, but here you are,” said Amelia icily. She gave up on pulling the book out of his hands, they were strong and she had no chance of pulling it free from his grip. Instead she tried to stomp on his toe.
Samuel lifted his foot out of the way. Now there was no doubt about the amusement on his face, he was laughing at her! She tried again to take the book with no more luck.
“You are awful at being quiet; do you realize that?” Samuel asked. He gave the book a quick pull and yanked it free from Amelia’s grasp, then lifted it over his head where she could not reach it at all, teasing her as if she were a child.
The Duke’s Daughter - Lady Amelia Atherton: A Regency Romance Novel (Heart of a Gentleman Book 3) Page 9
