Once Amelia would have said yes without hesitation. Those were all of the things she wanted, and had believed she needed. Now, she was not certain. The loss of everything had been a shock, but she hardly thought of her old life now, it seemed as if it belonged to another girl; a silly child. Her country home, now her Uncle Declan’s, had seemed alien, while Samuel’s family’s country home was warm and comfortable. Still, she wanted to clear her father’s name, and if he was truly murdered as she thought, she wanted that murderer caught and punished. But nothing could bring him back to her, she thought. She could only go forward, only which way was that?
“No, but that is what people will believe of me,” she said at last, and hoped he would leave it at that. She wanted justice for her father, and for herself, she wanted love. Real love; she had lost that when her father died and she saw now that it was all she truly desired.
Had she meant what she had said, about not needing the most extravagant life? Samuel wondered. His father would certainly not begrudge him one of the smaller estates in the country, and he could afford a modest townhouse, but it would not be what she had grown up with. If she could truly be happy with just… what was he thinking? He could not even think of a wife, any wife, until he at least made captain, and even if she was content with less, she would not wish to be the wife of a naval officer. Lady Amelia was not the type of woman to be alone for months at a time. No woman would want that. He had come to grips with that long ago. Still, he could not help imagining returning home from the sea and seeing her at the front door, perhaps with a child in her arms.
“What is this place?” she asked as the carriage stopped again.
“You will like this one,” Samuel had said to Amelia He had, against his better judgement instructed the driver to go to the address Percival had given him; the address of the townhouse that already belonged to his brother. It was a classic white brick with a balcony and wonderful lattice work. Flowers in boxes seemed to bloom just for them. For just a moment, Amelia stood spell bound, a small o on her lips. It was still small, but quite elegant. He had wanted to impress her, and he supposed he had.
“Oh,” she said again, and started up the stairs to the door. The interior was as beautiful as the exterior, and once Samuel saw the intricate woodwork inside he began to suspect that he would not be able to afford this townhouse at all on his commander’s stipend. Percival must have spent a fortune on it. As Amelia walked through it exclaiming about the beauty of this room or that, he wondered how he was going to tell Amelia. Then he thought, it was all a ruse anyway. She would never marry a simple commander. What did it matter?
~.~
Chapter Six
Samuel and Amelia had just returned to Aunt Ebba’s and had not even had time to refresh themselves when a servant brought a letter on a silver tray to Amelia. She frowned. She wasn’t expecting any correspondence.
“It is from your uncle, The Duke,” the servant said, having recognized the seal. “It came earlier this afternoon.”
Amelia looked at it herself, feeling a slight shiver as she broke the wax seal. This morning with Samuel, she had almost managed to forget about her Uncle Declan. Her knuckles went completely white as she read and she sank down into one of the straight backed parlor chairs.
What is it? Samuel asked.
“He has invited me for tea,” she said. “Summons, really, and he says since you will be speaking to him about our engagement on the morrow, I should take up residence at his townhouse.”
“Well, we shall just tell him you prefer to stay with Aunt Ebba.” Samuel held out his hand, and she passed the letter to him, and he read for himself. “I will accompany you,” he said.
“He didn’t extend an invitation to you,” Amelia said.
“I don’t suppose you could send him your regrets,” said Samuel.
Amelia shook her head. “I don’t want to antagonize him.”
Samuel caught her hand. “It will be alright. I was going to see him upon the morrow. It appears we shall merely have our discourse a bit early. That is all.” Samuel turned to the footman. “Have my man ride to my father’s house, and tell The Lord Blackburn and Lord Beresford that our plans have changed. Lady Amelia and I will be having tea with the Duke of Ely today rather than on the morrow.”
Amelia had freshened herself, but no amount of powder or cool water could stop her unease. She hoped that Samuel only thought of it as a sort of glow, but she herself felt as if her dress were limp with nervous perspiration. She held no illusion that her uncle was summoning her simply because he missed her company. No. What was particularly vexatious was that he wanted her at his townhouse, and under his thumb. She was nearly terrified. “He killed my father,” Amelia told Samuel. “I know he did.”
“I am afraid you may be right,” Samuel said. “I had hoped to spare you this meeting.”
“I know,” she said.
“How well does your uncle know you,” Samuel asked after they resettled themselves in the carriage.
“Not well,” Amelia admitted wrapping one gloved hand over the other and wringing them together. “I’ve only spoken to him once since father’s death. Before that, we barely saw one another. As a child, I saw him perhaps only half dozen times. He and my father were not close.”
“Good,” Samuel said squeezing her hand and stilling it. “Then he doesn’t know how resourceful you are. You are the diamond of the Ton,” he reminded her. “You are strong and smart and beautiful. You can do this.”
“I thought men didn’t like smart women,” she blurted just as the carriage lurched to a halt. She gave a little squeak of fear.
“Just be calm. I will not leave you there.” He gripped her hand tightly. “I swear it.” His eyes were very serious, and she wished she could just hide her head against his strong shoulder. Amelia could not think how he would be able to help her if her uncle demanded her obedience.
“Just remember that The Duke also doesn’t know that Percy is well, or in London. That is also to our advantage.”
Amelia nodded and lifted her chin as if she were about to do battle. She supposed she was.
The parlor was just as she remembered it, furnished with somber elegance. The high-backed chairs where her father had sat and read her fairy stories before the fire, were unmoved, and the gilded ceiling that had impressed both friends and suitors alike still bespoke of home, and yet, it was no longer home.
Her Uncle Declan was as she remembered him too, impeccably and conservatively dressed. The grey in his hair gave him a dignified look that was so much a sham. He should have looked worn and weary, as her father did on his last days. Amelia felt a tremor of anger pass through her. Only Samuel’s hand at her elbow kept her grounded.
Her uncle looked at her as if he held her in contempt, and it was all she could do to remember her manners. She dropped into a short curtsey, her black crepe rustling as it brushed the floor. “Your Grace.” She murmured the epilation that belonged to her deceased father, bitter on her tongue.
“I thought we would take tea in the morning room,” The Duke said. Her uncle directed them to sit and called for refreshment as if this were a social call.
“Your invitation was unexpected,” Samuel said, as if he had actually been invited.
The duke did not correct him, only a slight frown forming on his brow.
Amelia felt a hard knot beginning to form in her stomach as they spoke. Her eyes traveled across the room to the hateful figure of her uncle and endeavored to cover her loathing with a small smile.
Pleasantries were exchanged, Samuel speaking condolences for the death of The Duke’s brother and The Duke did the same for Samuel’s brother, Percival, but his glowering façade never changed.
“Is Lord Beresford expected to recover?” The Duke asked of Samuel, and Amelia looked up interested. The Duke had taken the bait then. Now, all they had to do was catch the fish. She knew Samuel had some plan, but she did not have the details of it, and her heart was racing with fear.
Amelia perched nervously on the edge as her uncle’s man brought the tea service. A second servant brought cakes. Amelia knew neither of them.
“Permission?” said the duke sourly. “It would seem you have eschewed my wishes entirely. I thought you had already announced.”
“Nothing of the sort,” Samuel said as he stirred his tea. “You know how women are. One letter to a friend and the whole of London knows.”
“Is that the truth of it?” the duke asked glaring at Amelia.
“I beg your pardon,” Amelia said. “I was only so overwhelmed with joy.” She forced the teacup to her lips, thoughts of poison dancing in her head.
“So a love match?” the duke inquired of Samuel. Her uncle looked incredulous.
Amelia sucked in her breath wondering how Samuel would answer. He shrugged off the question.
“Would that surprise you, Your Grace?” Samuel asked.
“Truly yes. When half of London’s whelps were howling at her skirts just a few months ago, and yet you were absent then. But now…now after the Livingston’s Ball you come snooping around my niece and ward.”
She was not yet your ward at the ball,” Samuel said.
“No, she was not,” her uncle replied silkily.
“Now, you are asking my permission not to court her, but to marry her?” her uncle repeated. “Does it not seem hasty? Now, when all of London already knows of your intentions—all excepting me. You think to force my hand? To foist yourself upon my family?”
Amelia thought that considering how poorly The Duke treated his family, she couldn’t imagine anyone voluntarily wishing to be a part of it, but Samuel didn’t reference her father’s death directly. She shifted furtively out of The Duke’s direct line of sight. She hoped that he had forgotten her.
“Oh, you mistake me,” Samuel said evenly. “I would have sent word to you sooner had I known the extent of my lady’s friendships and their nattering. Indeed, I am very pleased to officially ask for the hand of your niece…” he paused meaningfully. “And of course to thank you, Your Grace.”
“Thank me? For what, pray?”
“Why for my eminent earldom of course,” Samuel said, picking up the teacup and studying it as if reading the leaves. He paused meaningfully and then looked at the duke. “You know, younger brother to younger brother, I would have been happy with a captaincy, but I suppose my brother was troublesome. He was habitually so. If I can keep your confidence, I thought about poisoning him myself many time, and now the deed is done.” Samuel tipped his cup to the duke as if toasting with champagne. “Thank you.”
“Whatever do you mean?” the duke said glancing surreptitiously at Amelia and committing to nothing.
Amelia buried her eyes in her teacup, playing the demure miss. She could not chance her uncle seeing the loathing in her face.
“I mean my brother was poisoned, of course,” Samuel said.
“I heard something to that effect. Ghastly. An accident?”
“No.”
“How awful. Do you know who did it?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact. I have known for some time now. I have even known why.”
“But I have heard nothing of your brother’s death,” the duke said.
“He lingers,” Samuel admitted. “Poor chap.”
Amelia sat demolishing a sweet cake with her fork, not at all sure she should add to this conversation or even if The Duke remembered she was there. Samuel had sprung his trap all that was left now was to see if The Duke would be caught. His dark eyes were on Samuel, weighing him. Samuel took another sip of tea. It had to have gone cold. Hers was. She always thought Samuel was impatient a man in need of restraint. Now she saw he was not. She was surprised, he seemed to be weighing The Duke just as well and biding his time. The room was fraught with tension, and she dared not move, lest she break it.
“What do you want?” The Duke said at last.
“I would ask to be treated like family, but well, that may not be the most apropos turn of phrase,” Samuel answered dismissively.
Amelia gasped. It would not do to take such chances with The Duke, and she feared for Samuel and his flippantness.
The duke did not look at her. “Amelia,” he said softly, “Your room is ready for you. You should retire.”
Amelia froze momentarily with the unexpected address. Terror rushed through her in a heartbeat. She could not be dismissed. She could not leave Samuel. “But Uncle,” she said with forced brightness. “I have not finished my cake.” She shoved a bite of the broken morsels into her mouth and tried to chew the dry crumbs. It was an inane excuse and she really didn’t expect it to work. Even her uncle could not think she was such a lack-a-wit.
Her uncle ignored her, rang for the servant, and said, “Lady Amelia is tired. Please escort her to her room.”
The dour woman curtseyed. “Yes, Your Grace,” she said, taking Amelia by the arm.
Amelia stood, but shot a desperate look at Samuel. He had said he would not leave her here. He had promised.
“Let your niece go back to her Aunt Ebba’s,” Samuel said, standing and moving to her. “The sweet lady is expecting her. She will worry.”
“It is a simple matter to send a note to her aunt,” her uncle said. “Amelia stays.”
Amelia bristled. She simply could not play the ninny any longer. “You won’t get away with this,” she snapped pulling away from the woman and moving closer to Samuel.
Samuel gripped her shoulder hard and she nearly cried out. Instead, she bit her lip, going silent.
“Pray? Get away with what?” The Duke asked. When she didn’t answer, her uncle said, “Young ladies are not to poke their noses into men’s business, but you did, didn’t you? You found the book. You were never intended to find that, my dear. It is not your concern. You will give it back to me.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Amelia stammered. So he had known of the cypher book and searched for it; not just the study, but throughout the house and came to the conclusion that if it were not there Amelia must have it in her possession.
“Do not try my patience,” The Duke said coldly as Samuel stepped forward and attempted to corral Amelia safely behind him. “You have meddled where you don’t belong, I am afraid,” The Duke continued.
“You are a horrible, odious man,” Amelia snapped.
“Careful little one,” her uncle said, catching her arm. “Your fate is tied with mine now. I am The Duke.”
“I have the book,” Samuel interrupted. “She knows nothing. She is only a woman, and as expected, she brought the book to a man for advice. Let her be.”
“If you want Amelia,” her uncle said succinctly, “I want the book.”
“Done,” Samuel agreed. “Amelia, go to the carriage.”
Her uncle did not release her. “No, no,” her uncle said. “She stays right here.”
“You can’t keep me,” Amelia said.
“Oh on the contrary, little one, I can do whatever I like with you. You are my niece and my responsibility since the demise of my dear brother. If I want to lock you up in your room or lock you up in Bedlam, it is my right.”
Amelia blanched and then anger boiled up in her. She leveled a sharp kick to his shins, and dragged her arm away from him, attempting to pull free.
Her uncle’s face purpled. He raised a hand as if to strike her and Samuel intervened grabbing his arm causing him to release Amelia. “Not while I have breath in my body, sir,” Samuel spat. “We may do business, but you will not strike her. I don’t care if you are a duke.”
In an instant another serving man was in the room, and Amelia realized the man was not a footman at al
l. He out sized Samuel and pulled him unceremoniously off of The Duke. She screamed, “What are you doing?”
The Duke straightened his cravat and pulled the cuffs of his sleeves down so they peeked from beneath his impeccable jacket. “Now, if you can both be civil,” he said. “Let him go, Roberts. He is my guest. My nieces’ betrothed. The son of the Earl of Blackburn,” The Duke said.
The man, Roberts released Samuel and went to stand by the door as The Duke looked at Amelia with consternation. “Jean,” The Duke said addressing the maid who had stood back against the wall. “Take Lady Amelia to her room, now.”
Amelia raised her head a little. “Very well,” she said. “But I am not staying here, Uncle. I am going back to Aunt Ebba’s.
He didn’t answer her.
She walked down the corridor, with the dour serving woman, her mind racing ahead to the front door. Surely she could get past one maid. As they passed the music room, she shoved the woman into the room and wrenched the door shut with all her might. She picked up her skirts and ran; bolting for the door and the carriage. Amelia nearly made it down the front steps before her uncle’s large footman caught up with her and swept her off of her feet.
What happened next occurred with such speed that she was uncertain when her body had changed hands. One moment her uncle’s man had her, and the next she was wrested from his grasp and into the arms of the footman who had helped her into Samuel’s carriage earlier that day. Carlton was his name she remembered belatedly. His unusually strong arm was muscled under her hand. She realized that Carlton was definitely not Samuel’s regular footman. He was rougher somehow. Now he carried her to the carriage, with hands that held the surety of one who handled the ropes of a sail. She realized that Samuel had planned for trouble.
“We’ll get you to safety M’lady,” Carlton said.
Once again she was helped into the conveyance, but with nothing so gentle as a hand up. Instead she was summarily tossed into the carriage, breathless, but out of danger. No sooner was Amelia inside than the carriage gave a great lurch as if something had struck it and she tumbled to the floor in a flurry of skirts.
The Duke’s Daughter - Lady Amelia Atherton: A Regency Romance Novel (Heart of a Gentleman Book 3) Page 18
