“Not really,” he said, shaking his head. “Much of what happened then mashes together in my memory. My father died a few weeks after I turned twenty-four.” Other memories did stand out, however. Did he dare admit them to her? She made him feel both vulnerable and cautious, and yet he longed to . . . what? Be at peace with her? Feel as connected to her as he once had? Be understood instead of accused?
“Do you truly want to know the whole of what happened, Amelia? I have no wish to burden you, so if what you want is for us to be friends again, then we are friends. I have no quarrel with you, I never have, and I have already determined that I will have no additional interference with Peter’s household. You and I need not cross one another’s paths ever again if that will bring you peace.”
“You are far more kind than I have been, and I acknowledge that. You have tried to tell me, at least twice before, the circumstances concerning breaking off our courtship, and I have not wanted to hear it. I would like to hear it now, however, if you do not mind telling me.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her why she wanted to know now, but he did not want to risk getting off track. He had wanted to tell her the truth, for both their sakes and for Peter and Julia’s too. Now she was asking. He prayed that neither of them would regret it.
And so he told her. About his father and his family. About his responsibilities. And she listened. Without interruption, without defense. What was more, he could tell that she understood. He finished, and the air seemed to buzz with the words already said. She looked at her lap and fiddled with the strings of her shawl. “I wish I had known all of this back then.”
“Why?”
He expected her to be defensive, but she was thoughtful and quiet.
“I don’t know why, Elliott, truth be told. I was hurt and embarrassed and certain that my life was over, but . . .”
Elliott shifted. Was the bridge they had built these last minutes strong enough for him to ask questions too? He decided to chance it. “When I returned to London after those first two years, I learned you had married shortly after I’d left. You already had a son. I can appreciate how painful my leaving must have been at the time, but your heartbreak was only temporary.” His tone changed dramatically as he’d said these last words. “Your banker filled your heart pretty well after I left, I believe.”
She lifted her head, humility checked. “My banker?” she repeated.
“You’d told me of him once,” Elliott reminded her, sitting back slightly and lacing his fingers in front of him. “You had met him when visiting your aunt in Feltwell. I remembered because the village was not so far from Howardhouse and my father had used his father in some matter of business or another. He wrote to you when you were in London. You found his attention flattering but silly as he was lower class than your family.”
Her face flushed, but she did not lose her temper as Elliott half expected.
She took a breath and spoke in an even voice. “My father was eager for me to marry when he sent me to London. He had debts he hoped to pay off if I made a good match. I am the youngest of four daughters, and none of my sisters had married all that well. I told him about you, of our mutual interest and the conversations we’d had about a future together. I admit I exaggerated somewhat in hopes of impressing him, and it worked. He was less critical—after all you were the heir to a viscountcy—and then you left. Without even seeing me. I was humiliated. My father was angry and refused to support my stay in London any longer. I went to stay with my aunt, and there was my banker. No one else wanted me—not my father, not you. Richard was kind and hardworking, and he adored me. I realized I could make a good life with him.”
“Did you love him?” Elliott asked, his chest feeling strangely empty, as though his heart were echoing through a cavern. So many secrets. How many more secrets and broken promises did society hide from each other?
“I loved him enough—in the beginning. But in time, that love grew into something beyond my expectations.” Amelia paused, and an air of reverence settled about the room. “He was a good husband to me, Elliott. He was kind, attentive, and steady, especially when I wasn’t. He was an excellent father, and he took good care of us. When he died”—she blinked quickly, perhaps holding back tears he could not see—“I learned that actual heartbreak was not the unfulfilled fantasy of a young girl. That pain was nothing compared to losing the man I loved so completely, my partner in life and the father of my children.”
Elliott had felt envy when he’d seen Richard Hollingsworth’s portrait above the fireplace in her modest home. He had felt envy when he’d met Julia and seen in her the traits of both her parents, evidence of a life he could have had. But he realized now that he could not have had that life with her.
Had he married Amelia, things would not have been the same. She would not have had the lifestyle they had both expected she would have with him because Elliott would not have been able to apply himself to his family’s rescue. He may not have experienced the cultures outside of England that helped him develop his theory of how important strong family ties could be. Julia would not be his child; there would be no Julia at all.
“I am happy to know you had a good life, Amelia. It is what I had always wanted for you. But I am sorry you have been alone for such a long time and that you still feel the weight of those past hurts. I had hoped that leaving as I did would spare you pain, and I am very sorry that it did not.”
Amelia began blinking rapidly, and she put a hand over her mouth and closed her eyes.
Elliott leaned forward. Was she crying? “Amelia? Are you all right?”
She nodded, then paused, then shook her head.
Elliott pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and held it out to her across their now-cold tea. She took the cloth from him and dabbed at her eyes. He looked around, feeling lost. What else was a man supposed to do in a situation like this?
She took a deep breath and then spread the handkerchief out on her lap, smoothing all the corners and looking at it rather than Elliott. “Peter came to see me yesterday.”
She spoke so quietly that Elliott almost didn’t hear her. “He did?”
She looked up. “You didn’t know?”
“That he was going to visit you? No. I have not spoken to him since the day after the dinner party. What was the purpose of the visit, if I might ask?”
Her chin trembled. “He wanted my blessing to court Julia. He said she would move in with the vicar, that he would be a perfect gentleman, and that he loved her and wanted to marry her.”
“You don’t say,” Elliott said, leaning back in his chair and feeling his chest swell with pride to know that Peter had taken such initiative. Good for him.
“I told him no.”
Elliott froze. “What?”
She looked at him, her eyes pleading. “I told him that I would never be comfortable with Julia in his house, that she was too far below him to be happy in such a match, and that he was selfish and spoiled and undeserving of my blessing.”
Elliott braced his elbows on his knees and dropped his head into his hands. He could picture Amelia saying those words—the woman had a razor tongue—and how such words would have cut Peter. His heart ached. “Oh, Amelia,” he said under his breath.
She continued. “He told me the grudge I held against you was unfair, that you had sacrificed your happiness for everyone else. I did not know what he was talking about.”
Elliott remained where he was, head in his hands and heart in his throat. After nearly a minute of silence, Elliott straightened. “Julia is of age, Amelia. His asking for your blessing was a courtesy, not a requirement.”
“I know.” She dabbed at her eyes again. “I told him I was sure he would go forward anyway, but he said he wouldn’t. He said he hadn’t confessed his feelings to Julia before he’d come to me.”
“No, he would not put you and Julia at odds wi
th each other by talking to her first. He will, instead, bury his feelings and convince himself that he isn’t worthy of your trust or Julia’s love. He’s lived beneath the shame of his birth all his life and has never felt as though he deserves the good he’s had. He’ll replace Julia with a new governess so as to spare them both, and then you will have exactly what you wanted.”
Amelia closed her eyes, and a tear dripped into her lap.
Some part of him wanted to offer her comfort while the rest of him was revolted by what she’d done. How could a good woman—and he knew she was a good woman—be so cruel? Not only to Peter but to her own daughter.
Her shoulders shook, and she dropped her chin to her chest.
Elliott remained in his chair, trying to think of possible solutions to this muddle. Could it be as easy as Amelia apologizing and giving her blessing? Should it be that easy?
Taking a chance, he stood and crossed to her settee. He sat beside her and put his arm around her shoulders. She turned her face into his shoulder and sobbed.
“Amelia,” he said softly after she’d regained some of her composure a few minutes later.
She lifted her head to look at him, torment showing clearly in her red-rimmed eyes and fallen countenance. He was prepared for her to pull away, but instead she relaxed against him, her head on his shoulder and her hand against his chest. The sensations of holding her close, of being needed, were invigorating.
They sat in silence for several seconds until Elliott finally spoke. “Peter confessed to you his love for Julia. Do you know how she feels about him?”
She shook her head. She did not pull away.
“Did you ever think to ask?”
Amelia
Elliott invited Amelia to stay at Howardhouse Tuesday night, and she accepted. Elliott explained to her that he had hired an Indian cook because of his love for the region’s food, and they ate what he called Tandoori chicken. It was a spicy chicken served over long-grain rice with flatbread and chutney on the side. While the chicken was quite spicy, she liked the flavors, and the flatbread was delicious. They talked about India, and Amelia’s children, and parliament, and Elliott’s bad knee. It was comfortable and nice.
Amelia slept in a guest room in the south wing. Elliott had been a perfect gentleman, not even kissing her hand when they parted for the night, though she would not have minded if he had.
They enjoyed breakfast together, and then he walked her to the front drive where, instead of the hired carriage she’d asked for, his own barouche waited.
“Elliott,” she said with mild reprimand.
“Don’t argue with me, woman.” He strode ahead of her to open the door. She hesitated, but then allowed the kindness to break through her pride and accepted his hand to help her step inside. She enjoyed the feel of her hand in his and wished she had the courage to tell him that. Last night, with its ease and honesty, had been healing.
“You are on to Feltwell, then?” he asked once she had settled onto the bench.
They had talked about many things, but not what she would do next—not since she’d melted into him and he’d let her cry out all her regrets. She should be embarrassed, any other woman of breeding would be, but all she could feel was grateful. And strengthened. “Elsing, I think.”
“You think?” he asked with raised eyebrows and a teasing grin. “It might be best if you make the decision at the beginning of your journey rather than the end.”
She shook her head; what a tease he was. “Elsing, then.” She needed to talk with Julia, with perhaps more humility than she had allowed herself to express, or even feel. For so long she had needed to be so certain. Of everything. To admit that she had gone too far and embraced her fears at the expense of her daughter’s best interest was overwhelming. She did not know how to fix it, but she feared, if she did nothing, the rift between her and Julia would never heal.
Beyond that, what if Peter Mayfield was the man to give Julia the life Amelia had always wanted for her? The irony she could see now that her vision had cleared made her sad. All she had wanted was for Julia to settle down and be a wife and mother. Yet that was exactly what she had fought against.
Elliott had not closed the door yet. “Would you like me to come with you?”
“Yes,” she said automatically, then shook her head. “But no. I think Julia and I need to have this conversation between ourselves.” How her stomach rolled at the difficulty of what lay ahead. Yet, in the space of one hour, she and Elliott had resolved thirty years of hurt and ignorance. She was learning that the truth held great healing power.
“Very well,” Elliott said. “I wish you the best, and thank you for staying the night. It was the nicest evening I have had in a very, very long time.”
“For me as well.” And she meant it, which was remarkable. She had been so angry with him for so long, even when she thought she wasn’t. And now the anger was receding, and while regret lingered in its place, she felt calm and relieved of the burden. She stretched out her hand. He took hold of it and squeezed her fingers. “Thank you, Elliott.” She didn’t specify what she was thanking him for.
“You are very welcome, Amelia.” He brought her gloved hand to his lips and kissed the fingers while holding her eyes. A sense of energy rushed throughout her body. It was something she had not felt for so long, and though she was tempted to stay and explore that sensation, she felt it wiser not to. Her relationship with Julia was paramount. Whatever might follow between her and Elliott would come later, but she hoped they had found a new starting point.
Peter
Peter stood beside his desk with his hands behind his back as Mrs. Allen led Colleen into the study. He invited them to sit, which they did. Mrs. Allen’s expression was perfectly neutral. Colleen was barely hiding her fear.
“Thank you for meeting with me, Colleen,” Peter said. He did not want to increase her anxiety, but neither did he want to make this too easy. “I have spent this morning puzzling through a situation, and I think I have found the root of it. I am hoping you can help me.”
“I-I will try, Mr. Mayfield. If I can.” She swallowed.
“I spoke with Mrs. Allen this morning about an upcoming change in my household and was reminded that you have helped with the girls for some years as needed, correct?”
Colleen glanced at Mrs. Allen, then back to Peter, still confused. “Yes, sir.”
“And you once harbored a hope of being their governess.”
“Yes, sir,” Colleen whispered.
“Mrs. Allen and I did not entertain that request. Do you know why?”
Colleen shook her head.
Peter glanced at Mrs. Allen and gave her a nod.
“Miss McCormick, or rather Mrs. Oswell, was a nursemaid,” Mrs. Allen explained. “She taught the girls basic letters, but she did not have the formal training Miss Marjorie needs, especially now that she is older. She was not musical, for instance, or schooled in literature or mathematics. Mr. Mayfield’s advertisement for the governess position specifically requested someone with teaching experience so that he would be able to have the girls educated at home.”
“We had no qualms with the way you interacted with the girls,” Peter said, drawing Colleen’s attention away from the housekeeper. “And if I had only been looking to replace Lydia, you would have been the first choice since the girls are so familiar with you, but I was looking for a teacher. Do you understand?”
She nodded slowly.
“I have heard that you have not been particularly welcoming to Miss Hollingsworth. Is this why, Colleen? Have you been upset that she took the position you felt should have come to you?”
She began to cry, her round face crumpling as her shoulders pulled forward. “Are you turning me out?”
Peter handed her a handkerchief. “I am not sure.”
That Julia was willing to entertain the idea of Colleen ta
king on some of the responsibility for the girls was yet one more affirmation of Julia’s good-hearted nature.
“Miss Hollingsworth has been an exceptional governess, Colleen, and, as I’m sure you have heard whispered about, will very likely become the girls’ mother in a few months’ time. I trust in my staff to be able to make this transition and afford everyone the respect he or she deserves. Based upon your history with Miss Hollingsworth, do you feel that you can do that?”
Colleen nodded. “I am sorry, Mr. Mayfield. Please do not turn me out.”
Good. Peter and Mrs. Allen shared an encouraged look. “I do not want to turn you out, Colleen. You have served this household for a long time, and this is the only complaint against you. Even with the struggles you have felt toward Miss Hollingsworth, she says you are remarkably helpful with the girls, and Mrs. Allen vouches for your good character and work ethic.”
Were it up to him, Peter would likely have simply let Colleen go rather than risk additional difficulties between her and Julia. But it was not up to him. A rush of pleasure and excitement coursed through him at the thought that soon he would have Julia beside him to help make these types of decisions all the time. To make them a family again.
“I love those girls, Mr. Mayfield.” She began to cry again. “They are my very heart. I have . . . I have been so envious, and it was very wrong of me.”
“Well, then, I have a proposal.”
She blinked quickly at him and held her breath.
“Miss Hollingsworth will be a hands-on mother. She will manage their education and a good deal of their care—it is her nature. I will not be hiring another governess, but I will need someone to act as a caretaker for the girls. This person would need to work directly with Miss Hollingsworth, which would require some humility and cooperation. Would you be interested in such a position?”
Promises and Primroses Page 24
