Bound by One Scandalous Night

by Diane Gaston

  Either sounded like Genna. ‘Tess would have told her what—what happened.’

  ‘Yes.’ She glanced away. ‘Genna asked me if I had wished it had happened the day before instead.’

  ‘Genna asked you that?’ He blew out a breath. ‘Damned impertinence!’

  Amelie lifted one shoulder. ‘She merely said what everyone is thinking.’

  Was Amelie wishing that, too, wishing she had waited one more day before marrying? That assumed the baby would be lost anyway and not because he’d made love to her.

  ‘It suits no purpose to think about what might have been.’ Of the baby who never quite was.

  The door opened and Amelie’s mother entered. ‘How are you? I have brought tea.’ She saw Edmund and stopped. ‘Pardon. I did not know you were here.’

  Edmund rose and bowed. ‘Good afternoon, madame. I hope you are well.’ He stepped over to her. ‘Let me take the tray off your hands.’ He placed the tray on a nearby table.

  ‘Merci,’ she said, glancing away.

  ‘Maman,’ Amelie said. ‘Why have you not arranged for Edmund to stay? Surely a room could be provided for him.’

  ‘Bien sûr, he may stay. He stays the night in your room, no?’ she snapped.

  He broke in. ‘Until you are fully recovered, it may be best for me to keep my room at Stephen’s Hotel.’

  ‘Is that what you want?’ Amelie asked him.

  What did wanting have to do with it? Nothing happened as he wanted.

  Lady Northdon answered for him. ‘I think it is best.’ She gave Amelie a significant look. ‘Your father. Tu comprends?’

  ‘I agree,’ Edmund said. ‘Your father will be more comfortable if I am not underfoot.’

  Lady Northdon nodded approvingly. ‘Là, I will leave you to your conversation. Amelie, you can pour the tea, no?’

  ‘I will pour, Maman.’

  ‘And do not dress for dinner, ma chère. It is only family.’ She leaned down to give Amelie a kiss on the cheek and hurried out the door.

  Amelie carefully rose from her chair and moved unsteadily to the tea table. ‘How do you take your tea, Edmund?

  ‘A little milk.’ Lawd. They did not even know how the other took tea.

  He reached for the cup so she would not have to hand it to him. She balanced her own with difficulty as she walked back to her chair.

  ‘You are still weak,’ he said.

  She shrugged. ‘A little.’

  He sat. ‘You should stay in this house until you are completely well.’

  ‘And then?’ There was no expression in her voice.

  ‘Then we should leave London.’

  She looked puzzled. ‘But we decided—’

  He did not have the heart to tell her of Tinmore’s threat. It was too cruel and she was too vulnerable.

  He searched for what to say. ‘Until the gossipers forget all about us.’

  Her blue eyes turned sad. ‘But the reason for the gossip is gone now.’

  He felt the pang of that loss, too, like a rapier thrust into his heart.

  ‘Still...’ What could he say?

  She eyed him suspiciously. ‘There is something you are not telling me.’

  He glanced away.

  * * *

  Edmund was hiding things from her, too. She turned away from him, wishing he would leave.

  Fearing he would leave and never return.

  Finally he made a frustrated sound. ‘Forgive me. You should know this. I fear it will hurt you, but you should know this.’

  Was he leaving, then?

  His eyes were pained. ‘Tinmore sought me out today. He threatened to reveal everything. About our marriage. About the—the baby—’

  She turned back to him. ‘Why would he do such a thing?’

  ‘Because he wants me far away from my sister. His wife.’

  She shook her head. ‘No, it is because you stood up to him.’

  He made a disparaging laugh. ‘And all I accomplished was to hurt you.’

  Did he think a little gossip hurt? She might have once agreed, but now she knew what real pain felt like.

  He gazed at her again. ‘I do not wish to trap you with me, if you do not wish it. I could go away. You could stay with your parents. Go with them to the country.’

  She gaped at him. ‘Do you wish to leave me?’

  He left his chair and knelt at hers. He touched her hand, but it only reminded her of how the feel of his skin against hers had once ignited her senses. Everything seemed dead inside now.

  ‘I know our—our loss changes things,’ he said. ‘We are married, though. I will not leave you unless that is what you desire.’

  She pulled her hand away and curled up in the chair, covering herself with her shawl. ‘Then let us go far away. Together. Where we know nobody.’

  She closed her eyes, needing to be alone. His was the only company she could bear, but, at the moment, she could not even stand to be with herself.

  She heard him rise.

  ‘When it is time for dinner, shall I come for you, Amelie?’

  She nodded.

  As soon as she heard the door close behind her, she instantly regretted not asking him to stay with her. Where would he go? To the drawing room where her father would snap at him and her mother look upon him with disappointment?

  Getting away. Going far away. The idea grew inside her. New scenery. Unfamiliar walls in some strange house. People who never knew her before. It all sounded lovely.

  A place without reminders.

  * * *

  When Edmund came for her and escorted her to dinner, they did not speak. At the dinner table he sat across the table next to Tess. It was easier to look at him than the rest of them. Her father still seemed ready to explode at any moment. Her mother’s lovely face was etched with worry. Tess’s was all sympathy.

  Why could they not at least pretend everything was normal?

  Amelie had no appetite. She stirred the soup with her spoon.

  ‘You must eat, chérie,’ her mother chided.

  She did not want to cause more worry. ‘Yes, Maman.’

  She made herself lift the spoon to her mouth but tasted nothing.

  At least her mother’s worry lines eased a bit.

  Maybe that was the trick. Maybe if she pretended everything was as it should be, her family would follow suit.

  ‘The soup is very nice.’ She forced a smile and put another spoonful in her mouth.

  Her mother, father and Tess smiled back. Her brother, seated next to her, gave her a playful tap on the arm.

  When the main course was served, she made herself eat a little of everything.

  ‘I believe I was hungry,’ she said to murmurs of approval.

  Yes, pretending would work.

  ‘I think my health will return in a day or so,’ she said.

  Her mother frowned. ‘Do not rush so, chérie.’

  She girded herself. ‘Edmund and I will wish to leave as soon as possible.’

  ‘Leave!’ her mother, father, and Tess all cried in unison.

  ‘Non,’ her mother said. ‘There is no hurry. You must rest. ’

  ‘Give yourself time,’ Tess added.

  Her father glared at Edmund. ‘What is this about leaving?’

  Edmund put down his knife and fork. ‘We talked today about living away from here for a while.’

  ‘Then you must come to the country with us,’ her mother said. ‘There is plenty of room at Northdon House.’

  ‘Not Northdon House, Maman,’ Amelie said. ‘Some place new that I never saw before.’

  Her father turned to Edmund. ‘This is your idea, no doubt.’

  ‘It is,’ Edmund agreed.
/>
  ‘It is not a bad idea,’ Marc said. ‘By the time they return, no one will pay them any mind. We’ll all be spared the sort of mean-spirited gossip we’ve suffered in the past.’

  ‘I will miss you,’ Tess said. ‘I’ll miss you both.’

  Amelie took a breath. This was going well. She could almost believe she cared about where she lived or what she did.

  She looked at Edmund. ‘I was thinking we should go to the Lake District. Wordsworth says it is beautiful there.’ They had all read the poet’s Guide to the Lakes.

  He gazed at her, his expression soft and...hopeful. ‘Would you truly like to go to the Lake District, Amelie?’

  Could he tell she was pretending?

  ‘Yes,’ she replied as emphatically as her pretence would allow. ‘It will be a lovely adventure, and everyone says the air is like a tonic.’

  He smiled at her, a tentative smile. ‘Then that is where we shall go.’

  Marc slammed a hand down on the table. ‘Middlerock!’

  ‘Middlerock?’ Her father’s brows knitted.

  Marc addressed Edmund. ‘Middlerock is one of Father’s properties. A sheep farm in Cumberland.’ He turned to his father. ‘You have not travelled there for years. Would it not be advantageous for Edmund to see how it is faring?’

  Her father frowned. ‘True, I have not travelled there for years, but my man of business keeps tabs on it.’

  ‘Do you not say it is wise to make an appearance at your properties?’ Marc persisted. ‘Have I not heard you say you should visit Middlerock?’

  ‘Cumberland is so far away,’ her mother murmured.

  ‘It is very remote.’ Her father seized on that idea. ‘And it is a bit rustic for Amelie. More like a hunting lodge than a comfortable house.’

  ‘I would like rustic.’ Amelie made herself sound enthusiastic. ‘I want a complete change of scenery.’

  Her father’s stern expression wavered.

  ‘You must be comfortable with this, sir,’ Edmund told him.

  ‘Bah!’ Her father waved a hand. ‘What do you know of sheep farming?’

  Edmund cocked his head. ‘We had sheep on my father’s estate. I was often my father’s companion when he visited the estate manager and the farm workers. I learned a great deal about running a farm.’

  ‘Please, Papa,’ Amelie said.

  Her father loved her, she knew. He had difficulty denying her anything. Her pretending was working rather well. She almost believed she wanted this.

  ‘One thing, though,’ Edmund said. ‘You must give me complete authority to act on your behalf. I will not go there unless I can be useful to you.’

  Her father reached for his wine glass and drank its contents. He shot a glance at Amelie before staring down at his plate. ‘Very well. I’ll give you permission to act in my stead.’

  ‘Fully?’ Edmund asked.

  ‘Well, I would not like it if you sold the place or lost it in a card game or something,’ her father snapped.

  The corners of Edmund’s mouth twitched as if he were suppressing a smile. ‘I give my word I will do neither of those things.’

  ‘We can go to my solicitor tomorrow and draw up the papers.’ Her father’s shoulders slumped.

  ‘Mon Dieu,’ her mother muttered.

  Amelie’s hand trembled. She was suddenly weak with fatigue. It took too much effort to keep up her façade.

  She stood. ‘Forgive me. I am very tired. I must retire.’

  Her mother rose as well and darted to her side. ‘Ma chère pauvre! I will take you to your room tout de suite!’

  Amelie drew away from her. ‘Edmund will take me, Maman.’

  Edmund was already on his feet. He walked around the table to her. ‘Can you walk, Amelie?’ he asked her gently.

  She nodded.

  He wrapped his arm around her, and she leaned against him. His scent, his warmth enveloped her. She wished she’d let her mother help her upstairs. Her mother would not make her think of what it had been like to lie with him.

  And what happened as a result.

  When they reached the stairs, she took hold of the banister. ‘I can manage.’

  He remained next to her, though, and he offered her his arm when they started down the corridor to her room.

  ‘Are you in any pain?’ he asked her.

  She shook her head. Not the physical kind anyway. ‘I am tired. I did too much.’

  ‘Promise you will rest tomorrow?’ His voice was filled with concern.

  She planned to pretend to be all better if she could. ‘I will.’

  As they neared the door she shrank back. ‘I hate this room.’

  He hugged her next to him, but she pulled away. His kindness was hard to bear when he should be furious with her.

  ‘I—I feel I pushed you into this idea of the Lake District,’ she said. ‘I should have spoken to you privately.’

  ‘It is an excellent idea, Amelie,’ he said. ‘If you desire it, it is where we will go.’

  She leaned against the wall. ‘Are you certain?’

  He stood close but did not touch her. ‘It meets our needs. If that changes we will go elsewhere.’

  ‘What I need, I cannot have.’ She gazed up at him, her sadness nearly choking her.

  He nodded.

  She pushed away from the wall and braced herself before reaching for the door handle. She turned back to him. ‘Goodnight, Edmund.’

  ‘Goodnight,’ he murmured.

  She opened the door and quickly entered.

  * * *

  Edmund stared at the closed door for a few moments before turning back towards the stairs. He still did not move. Instead he pressed his forehead against the wall where Amelie had leaned and fancied he could still feel her warmth.

  It was a good idea to take her away, away from wagging tongues, away from families, away from the memories.

  This farm, though, sounded like the furthest thing from the power and energy of Brussels or the excitement of foreign lands that Edmund had once wanted. But he wanted to please Amelie, to make up to her what he’d caused them to lose. If a sheep farm in Cumberland pleased her, then that was where he wanted to go.

  If they could be alone, away from all this, perhaps they might find a way to reconcile themselves to this forced marriage, even though the reason for marrying was lost.

  He pushed away from the wall and walked down the corridor to the stairs. He descended slowly, reluctant to rejoin her parents, who so clearly did not welcome him into their home.

  * * *

  Amelie only woke a few times during the night to toss and turn with memories and grief. When morning came, she felt stronger.

  Perhaps it would not take as much effort to pretend to be recovered as it had the evening before.

  Sally came into the room, carrying fresh linens and looking pale and unhappy. ‘You are awake, ma’am.’

  What was troubling the girl? Whatever it was, Amelie’s grief so consumed her she had nothing of herself to give to her unhappy maid.

  ‘Will you wish to dress this morning?’ Sally asked.

  Amelie sat up in the bed. ‘Yes, please. I am going to try to have a normal day.’ As if she could ever have a normal day again.

  Sally helped her out of her nightdress and set out her clothing while Amelie washed herself. She helped Amelie into her dress before she sat down to the dressing table and began to brush the tangles out of her hair.

  ‘They say below stairs that you will be leaving soon,’ Sally said.

  The servants knew already. They knew everything now.

  ‘That is so,’ Amelie responded. ‘Mr Summerfield and I will be moving to the Lake District.’

  In the mirror she saw Sally’s face contort in dist
ress. The girl turned her face away, but when she again resumed brushing Amelie’s hair, tears rolled down her cheeks.

  It made it almost impossible for Amelie to keep her tears at bay. ‘Do not worry. I will tell Maman to keep you on. You will not be without employment.’

  ‘I am not so certain.’ Sally’s words came haltingly.

  Amelie turned around to face her. ‘Tell me what troubles you.’

  Sally shook her head. ‘I cannot tell you after all that’s happened to you!’

  Tears stung Amelie’s eyes. ‘Of course you can tell me. I am nearly all better.’

  ‘I am in such a fix.’ Sally dropped the brush and sobbed.

  Amelie left the chair and guided Sally over to sit with her on the bed. She held Sally’s hands. ‘What is this fix?’

  Sally blinked her tears away. ‘Do you know the soldier you saw me with before Waterloo? Calvin Jones?’

  The poor young man who was killed in the battle. ‘Of course, I remember.’

  ‘Do you remember he was to marry me as soon as he could get leave?’ Sally’s voice trembled.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I—I—that night—it did not seem so bad—you must know—but what can I do now—?’ she sputtered.

  Amelie trembled. She knew what Sally was about to say. ‘Tell me.’

  Sally faced Amelie, her eyes red from crying. ‘I am going to have a baby.’

  A baby.

  The words caused an ache deep in Amelie’s belly. It felt as if a dozen swords were slashing her. She couldn’t breathe. She closed her eyes, pushed the pain away as hard as she could.

  She put her arms around Sally, who began to sob against her chest.

  ‘There. There.’ Amelie comforted the girl. ‘We will make this right. I will help you.’

  ‘I—I thought I should get rid of it, but I didn’t know how,’ Sally wailed.

  Amelie hugged her tighter. ‘No, you mustn’t try to get rid of it. Never think that.’

  Sally leaned against Amelie’s heart. ‘I don’t want to take my baby to the Foundling Hospital!’

  ‘Not that either. We will fix this. I promise.’

  Sally pulled away to stare at her. ‘Truthfully?’