by Cheryl Holt
“Come back soon. Promise?”
“Yes, I promise.”
They rounded the corner, Barbara disappearing from view. Amelia closed her eyes and nestled into the corner, wishing she could vanish, wishing the road would open and swallow her whole.
* * * *
Lucas banged the knocker on Mrs. Middleton’s door.
He’d never been so nervous in his entire life. His bachelor tendencies kept shouting at him not to proceed, and it took all his fortitude to stand in place, to not run as every bone in his body was urging him to do.
After a long night of pacing and fretting, he’d determined his path. He had to propose. He wasn’t sure he wanted to, but he thought he did. If he didn’t, and Amelia slipped through his fingers, he’d regret it forever.
He’d marry her, and she’d be his. He didn’t suppose he’d be much of a husband, and he was certain that—after a few months—he’d probably grow weary of her, would probably sneak away and never come back. But before that occurred, before he slinked off like the cur he was, he would revel in bliss-filled ecstasy, the likes of which he was positive he’d never encounter again.
He’d had a busy day. He’d visited his father and apologized for his stubbornness, had asked Lord Sidwell’s permission to propose to Amelia. His father had been so shocked that Lucas was afraid the old man would suffer an apoplexy. He hadn’t. He’d stammered and gasped, then said, of course Lucas should propose—as fast as he could manage it.
Then, Lucas had searched for her brother to do it up properly, but Chase Hubbard couldn’t be found. Lucas had given up, had headed home and dressed for the most important appointment he was likely to ever have.
He didn’t know if Amelia would consent, but he expected she would. And if she refused, he’d pressure her into agreeing. He’d tell her he’d lied after he’d deflowered her. He’d tell her that women always conceived the first time, that she was increasing and had to wed him immediately.
It would be a horrid falsehood, but it would get him what he craved, and as anyone could verify, Lucas had no conscience and would engage in any deceit.
He knocked again, and footsteps marched in his direction. Mrs. Middleton’s butler opened the door.
“Do you remember me?” Lucas inquired. “I’m Lucas Drake.”
“Yes, Mr. Drake, I remember you.”
“I’m here to call on Miss Hubbard. Is she available? Even if she’s not, inform her I must speak with her. Not in her boudoir either. She needs to meet me in the front parlor.
The butler frowned, then motioned him inside.
He took Lucas’s hat and coat, then led Lucas to the parlor he’d just mentioned. Lucas waited, pacing impatiently as the butler went to fetch Amelia. He kept glancing at the clock, the door, the clock, counting the seconds, wondering how much longer he would officially be a bachelor. Once the proposal was tendered, once it was accepted, he was sure his bachelor days were over.
After a lengthy delay—where he was so panicked he considered jumping out the window to escape—someone hurried toward him. It wasn’t Amelia’s stride though, and he turned as Mrs. Middleton swept in.
“Mr. Drake, this is a surprise.”
“Is it?”
“I’ve been advised that you’re here for Miss Hubbard.”
“Yes, I’m hoping she’ll see me.”
There was a pained, fraught silence that panicked him even more. Mrs. Middleton studied him, studied the fine attire he’d chosen with such care, and she huffed out a breath that might have been disgust or fury.
“I told her you might come.”
“Who? Amelia?”
“Yes, I told her it could still happen.”
“What could happen?”
“She left, Mr. Drake.”
“Left?”
“Yes.”
“Left your home?”
“Yes, my home. But London too. She’s gone.”
His heart plummeted to his toes. “To where?”
“Well, she claimed she was returning to that horrid school where she taught.”
“It’s closed.”
“That’s what I said, but she insisted a friend was still there, that she’d receive some assistance.”
“I don’t understand...” he mumbled like an idiot.
“No, I don’t suppose you would.” She gestured to his clothes. “I realize it’s none of my business, but are you here to propose?”
There wasn’t any reason to deny it. “Yes, I’m here to propose.”
“You’re too late, Mr. Drake.”
“What?”
“By any chance, were you with Mrs. Nipton last evening?”
“I hardly see how that’s a topic you and I should discuss.”
“No, I guess it isn’t.” She went to her desk and retrieved a letter. She handed it to him and moved away. “Amelia wrote this for you.”
He held it as if it was a venomous snake. Though it was only a single sheet of paper, it felt very heavy, as if it contained the weight of the world.
“What does it say?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I didn’t read it.”
As he flicked at the seal, he was actually shaking. The message was short and blunt and to the point.
Mr. Drake, I am stodgy and tedious. I admit it. But I am also kind and decent and much too good for you. I will always be sorry that we met, and you never could have deserved me.
She’d signed it Miss Amelia Hubbard—as if he might not recall who she was.
The words stodgy and tedious leapt out at him, and vaguely, he recollected recently hearing them used to describe her. Where and when? Swiftly, it dawned on him. He’d been with Nan in Westwood’s music room, and they’d crudely disparaged her.
Gad, had Amelia been listening? Where had she been standing?
He tried to remember the rest of the conversation with Nan. They’d laughed cruelly about Amelia, about her being a schoolteacher and her lecturing him on his behavior.
As more of their remarks flooded in, he winced. He’d said some terrible things he hadn’t meant, and of course, as Amelia had eavesdropped, Nan had invited him to her house, and Lucas had blithely agreed to accompany her.
All of it had occurred a mere two hours after their glorious waltz that still had London buzzing with amazement.
He was more mortified than he’d ever been. He glanced at Mrs. Middleton, and she was stoically watching him. If she had any opinion as to him and Nan, how he’d treated Amelia, it was carefully concealed.
“Where would she be right now?” he asked.
Mrs. Middleton shrugged. “She mentioned the school. That’s all I know.”
“And if it’s closed? If she’s not there, then what?”
“I have no idea where she’d be, Mr. Drake. You might speak to her brother, and your father was the one who brought her into our lives. Perhaps he would have more pertinent information.”
Lucas didn’t imagine Lord Sidwell knew much about her, and Lucas’s only other connection to her was through his cousin, Rose, who was about to marry James at Summerfield. Would Amelia travel there? He didn’t think so.
She was aware that Lucas planned to attend the wedding, and if she wanted to avoid him, Summerfield would be the last place she’d visit, but he’d go there anyway. Even if she didn’t show up at Summerfield, she might write to Rose, or Rose might possess other clues as to who would give her shelter.
“Thank you, Mrs. Middleton,” he said. “I’ll see myself out.”
“Thank you for stopping by. If you’d arrived yesterday, she’d have been thrilled.”
“Well, that’s the story of my life: a day late and a farthing short.”
“So it appears, Mr. Drake.”
“Goodbye.”
“Goodbye to you.”
“If you hear from her, would you let me know?”
She considered for an eternity, and just when he decided she’d refuse, she said, “Tell me this.”
“What?”
“More than words can express.”
“If you wed her, would you be kind to her?”
“Always, Mrs. Middleton. Always.”
“Then, yes, I’ll apprise you if she contacts me, but I wouldn’t count on it happening. I don’t believe she wants you to ever locate her.”
“That doesn’t mean I won’t keep looking,” he said, the enormity of his loss, of his folly, gradually sinking in.
He headed to the foyer where the butler waited with his coat and hat. He put them on and walked outside. As he trudged down the steps and into the drive, he was startled by a man rushing up. Lucas had been out of the army for months, so his reflexes had slowed, and he was unprepared for danger or fast action.
Without his realizing who it was or what was intended, Chase Hubbard raced up and hit Lucas as hard as he could. Lucas hadn’t been expecting the blow, and Hubbard’s aim was spot on. He caught Lucas on the jaw, knocking him back so forcefully that he staggered and collapsed to a knee.
“That was for my sister,” Hubbard spat.
“Dammit,” Lucas muttered.
Before Lucas could straighten or recover, Hubbard hit him again, a strong clout to Lucas’s eye that would leave it black and blue for ages.
Lucas and Hubbard were about the same size, and Lucas was certain he could best the other man in a fair fight, but why would he? Lucas had behaved very badly toward Amelia, and a few punches from her brother were the least of what he was owed.
“I’ll give you one week to marry her,” Hubbard warned. “If you haven’t, I’ll kill you.”
“I have to find her first.”
“You do that—and be quick about it.”
Appearing regal and lethal, Hubbard swept by Lucas and stormed into Mrs. Middleton’s house. The door was slammed and locked behind him.
Lucas gazed up at the sky, seeing that it was cloudy, and being exasperated when raindrops began to fall, wetting his face and shoulders. Could the afternoon possibly grow any worse?
He struggled to his feet, his cheekbone dripping blood, and he retrieved his kerchief and pressed it to the wound. A stable boy was holding the reins of Lucas’s horse, trying to pretend he hadn’t witnessed the violent exchange, but he was a young lad and couldn’t hide his astonishment.
“Would you like me to help you mount, sir?” the boy asked. “Do you need assistance?”
“No, thank you,” Lucas replied. “I’m completely capable of getting through the rest of this blasted day on my own.”
He rammed a foot in the stirrup, heaved himself up on the animal’s back, and trotted away.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Amelia sat in the rear parlor at Summerfield, staring out across the park. She and Rose were drinking tea. James Talbot was away from the property, so Amelia had been able to hide her unannounced arrival from him—which she viewed as hiding it from Mr. Drake.
With her world in shambles, there had only been one place to go and that had been to Rose at Summerfield. Rose was now wealthy and settled, and Amelia had to hope her old friend would provide the assistance Amelia didn’t know how to seek anywhere else.
Amelia had shared every shameful detail with Rose and had held nothing back. She hadn’t spared herself, hadn’t tried to gloss over her misdeeds and, thankfully, Rose hadn’t criticized or condemned.
Apparently, Rose had engaged in plenty of her own misbehavior while falling in love with James Talbot, and she insisted she was in no position to judge over a moral lapse. At her unfailing acceptance of Amelia’s conduct, Amelia was so relieved to have come. Clearly, it had been the correct decision.
But Amelia wouldn’t stay at the estate. Mr. Drake often visited Mr. Talbot, so Amelia couldn’t dawdle and take a chance that he might appear unexpectedly.
“The instant I learned the identity of your betrothed,” Rose said, “I wrote to inform you about his true character.”
“I never received any letters until it was much too late.”
“I’m sorry. I wish I’d acted more quickly. I should have protected you.”
“I’m a sensible, rational adult—at least I used to be. You’d think I would have protected myself. I hardly needed warnings to beware of an unscrupulous libertine.”
“Is your heart broken?” Rose asked.
“If I admitted that it was, I’d be too disgusted to live. I knew what he was like from the very first, but I jumped into an affair anyway. If my heart is broken, there’s no one to blame but myself, so I’ll declare—to my dying day—that it’s not broken.”
“That’s the spirit. Don’t let my cousin have any effect on you at all.”
“My plan exactly.”
Rose leaned over and patted Amelia’s hand, and Amelia swallowed down a sigh of pleasure. Amelia had been an orphan, and stern, strict Miss Peabody the main maternal figure in her life, so comfort and empathy had been in scant supply.
Rose had always been the one to provide consolation and compassion to Amelia, and her concern was a soothing balm.
“I’m glad you’re away from London,” Rose said. “It sounds as if the entire ordeal was a nightmare.”
“It wasn’t actually. Mrs. Middleton was extremely kind and helpful. With her as my mentor, I enjoyed many experiences I couldn’t have managed on my own.”
“I’m delighted that she removed you from Lord Sidwell’s influence and control.”
“So am I. I realize he’s your uncle, but he really is an idiot.”
“You’ve perfectly stated my opinion of the Drake men.”
“The thick oaf took me to London so I could try to charm Mr. Drake, but he didn’t buy me any appropriate clothes, and I didn’t have funds to buy my own.”
“It must have been awful for you.”
“It was. I would attend balls with him, and my attire was so drab that the other guests thought I was a servant. They kept asking me to fetch their champagne.”
Rose laughed and laughed, and her amusement dampened some of the sting of shame Amelia had suffered. And why should she feel any shame? Already the fiasco was starting to seem like a bad dream, as if it had happened to some other naïve, gullible woman rather than herself.
“You poor thing,” Rose murmured. “Well, you’re safely away from there. None of those horrid people can hurt you ever again.”
“I didn’t belong in their exalted company. I didn’t have the temerity required to fraternize with them, and I couldn’t abide their sloth.”
“You and I spent too many years working and being busy. We hate to be idle.” Rose picked up the teapot and poured them both more tea. Then she sat back and studied Amelia, her keen gaze digging deep. “What now?”
“Now...I don’t know.”
“You can remain at Summerfield for as long as you like. This mansion is so big, you can practically have a whole wing to yourself.”
“It’s lovely here, Rose. I’m happy for you.”
“I’m happy too—and lucky.”
“Yes, very lucky,” Amelia agreed. “I can’t stay though.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t risk that Mr. Drake might visit.”
“To hell with Lucas,” Rose crudely fumed. “It’s my bloody house, and I can have whomever I choose for a guest. It’s none of his business.”
“I couldn’t bear to see him.” Rose looked as if she might argue the point, and very firmly, Amelia repeated, “I couldn’t bear it. Don’t ask it of me.”
“Oh, Amelia, it saddens me to have you so upset.”
“If I seem distressed, it’s because it all just occurred, and I’m still feeling very raw and abused. Now that I’ve left the city, time will fly by, and my condition will swiftly improve.”
Amelia wasn’t sure she believed it, and from Rose’s dubious scowl, Rose didn’t either. Amelia had been battered and bruised by her London experience, and she didn’t know if she’d ever fully recover.
“Tell me this, Amelia,” Rose said, “and be h
onest. Would you like to wed Lucas?”
“No!” Amelia hastily and fervidly replied.
“When a man seduces a woman, marriage is the price he pays. I could speak to James. He’s probably the only person in the world who can make Lucas do anything. Should we force him to marry you?”
“Never, Rose. Never.”
“Let’s not forget the estate in Surrey that you mentioned. Such a grand place is worth some heartache and trouble.”
“That blasted estate is how I got into this mess. Mrs. Middleton kept throwing it in my face as an excuse for any transgression, and I behaved like a lunatic because of it.”
“But after the wedding, we could persuade him to sign it over to you. Then you could kick him out and order him to never come back.”
“It’s humorous to contemplate, but I never would.”
“Why? It would be a perfect bit of revenge.”
“He’d still be my husband.” Amelia actually shuttered.
“There is that,” Rose mused.
“Rose, he didn’t care for me in the least. He merely pretended to like me so I’d ruin myself.”
“His loss, then, the despicable ass.”
“Remember how we used to talk when we were girls? About how we wanted to wed for love and live happily ever after?”
“Yes, I remember.”
“I still want that, and if I can’t have it, then I’ll remain a spinster.”
Rose sighed. “Yes, I suppose it’s better that way. It’s just that—now that I’m marrying myself—I think everyone should give matrimony a try.”
Amelia smiled. “Don’t be smug about it. Don’t rub it in.”
“I won’t.”
“Do you imagine Miss Peabody knew what Mr. Drake was like when she betrothed me to him? Would she have disliked me so much that she’d put me in jeopardy?”
Rose patted Amelia’s hand again and said, “Let’s not consider it. You’ll drive yourself mad with wondering.”
“Yes, I will.”
“I prefer to believe she did what she thought was best, and for me, it worked out despite her misguided impulses.”
“Thank goodness.”
“It could work out for you too. You could have that happy ending you always craved.”
“I doubt it, Rose. I really doubt it.”
