Bound by One Scandalous Night

by Diane Gaston

  Amelie’s heart pounded. ‘You will come with me to the Lake District. I will not leave you.’

  She could not save her own baby, but she would save Sally’s.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Four days later they were on the road to the Lake District, beginning a journey that would take at least three days to complete. Lord Northdon provided the carriage so that the trip would be as comfortable as possible for Amelie. Lord and Lady Northdon rode with them the first day to their country house, where they spent the first night.

  Lady Northdon had arranged separate bedchambers for them, and Edmund was rarely alone with Amelie more than a few minutes at a time. When they continued the journey, the bulk of which covered the Great North Road, it was no more private. Amelie’s maid rode with them and spent the night in Amelie’s bedchamber.

  Edmund could not ascertain how Amelie felt about anything on the journey. She seemed more concerned with her maid’s comfort than her own, and everything on the journey was acceptable to her. The food at the inns, the rooms for the night, the times they rose, the times they retired. Agreeable as she was, she seemed to keep herself at a distance from him.

  He could not blame her, though. Before that fateful night in Brussels, she had been the cosseted daughter of an aristocrat. Now she was the wife of a reckless bastard who was taking her far away to live on a sheep farm.

  * * *

  On the last day they turned off the main road onto smaller and smaller ones that wound over and around hills covered in green grass and dotted with sheep. Majestic mountains rose in the distance, tinged with the reds and yellows of autumn. The air seemed crisper and cleaner than it even had been in the countryside near Northdon House. The lakes they glimpsed shimmered with water as blue as—

  As blue as Amelie’s eyes.

  ‘This country is unlike what you are used to, is it not?’ he asked.

  ‘It is lovely,’ she said politely.

  Was she seeing it? Or merely staring into space? Her maid seemed to be taking it in.

  Compared to the wilder hills and mountains of Spain, this land seemed comfortably tidy. He’d relish long walks on hills like these.

  Would Amelie?

  They passed through the tiny village of Middlerock, where the people on the street stopped to stare at their carriage. The farm could not be far.

  About a mile from the village the carriage passed through a wrought-iron gate and made its way along a woodland drive. A white stucco house, gleaming in the afternoon sun, came into view. It was definitely small compared to the very grand Northdon House, and it looked as if it had been constructed without any notion of symmetry. Additions grew like appendages off each side of the house, one side earning three distinct sections, the other side merely one.

  ‘There it is. What do you think of it?’ Edmund asked Amelie.

  An expression of dismay flitted across her face, but she quickly schooled her features. ‘It should do.’

  The house had five bedrooms, Lord Northdon told him. Edmund wished it had only one. Perhaps he would not feel so distant from her if he could hold her in his arms all night.

  The carriage reached the unimposing entrance, a single door under a small portico with only two thin and unembellished columns. It came to a full stop before the door opened and four people emerged. Two older women, an older man and another woman of uncertain age. All were plainly dressed, and the women wore white caps.

  ‘Our servants, I believe,’ he said to Amelie.

  She peered out the window. ‘Oh, I did not think,’ she murmured. ‘I must run the house.’

  ‘Does that worry you?’ He’d take it over if she did not feel up to the task.

  She darted a glance at him as if surprised he’d heard her. ‘No,’ she said in that annoyingly bland tone. ‘I’ll manage.’

  The older man met the carriage as it stopped. He pulled down the steps and opened the door. One of the coachmen jumped down from the box and held the horses’ heads.

  Edmund disembarked first so he could help Amelie and Sally out of the carriage.

  He leaned down to Amelie’s ear. ‘Shall we greet our servants?’

  He turned to the older man who’d attended the carriage. ‘I am Mr Summerfield,’ Edmund said. ‘And this is my wife, Mrs Summerfield, Lord Northdon’s daughter. You were expecting us, I believe.’

  ‘We were, sir,’ the older man said. ‘I am Lloyd, your butler.’ He stepped back to where the women were waiting. ‘This is Mrs Wood, the housekeeper. Mrs Stagg, the cook. And Jobson, the maid.’

  It seemed too thin a staff to run a household, Edmund thought.

  Amelie smiled at the servants. ‘A pleasure to meet you.’ She turned to Sally, who had gathered their belongings from the carriage. ‘Let me present my lady’s maid, Sally—Mrs Brown, I mean.’

  Edmund’s brows rose. How had Sally become Mrs Brown?

  ‘You will help her settle in?’ Amelie asked.

  The housekeeper nodded. ‘We’ll see to it.’ She opened the door and led them inside.

  They entered a small hall with a slate floor and a rather handsome arched-mahogany staircase and banister.

  Mrs Wood pointed to the right. ‘That is the drawing room. The dining room is on the other side of the hall. Both have been prepared for you. We do not have the whole house in order yet, I fear. The bedchambers are ready, however.’

  ‘Show us to our bedchambers first,’ Edmund told her.

  ‘And then perhaps you would like some tea?’

  He glanced to see if Amelie would answer, but she seemed to preoccupy herself with gazing at the wainscotted wall.

  ‘Tea would be most welcome,’ he said.

  They climbed the mahogany stairs to the first floor, where two adjoining bedchambers had been made ready for them. The rooms were adequately, if not finely, furnished.

  Amelie and Sally disappeared into one bedchamber. Edmund thanked the housekeeper and entered the other.

  After a few minutes, Lloyd and the coachman carried in Edmund’s trunk. After they left, Edmund changed his shirt and brushed the dirt of the road off his coat and trousers. He tested the bed. Comfortable enough, but would be much more so if shared with Amelie.

  He waited, giving Amelie a sufficient amount of time to change her clothes, remembering when he’d helped her with the task and wishing they had that measure of closeness now.

  What must he do now to help her recover? To make amends?

  He walked to the connecting door. His hand remained suspended in the air before he finally knocked.

  ‘Come in,’ he heard her say.

  He opened the door but stayed in the doorway.

  Her gaze rose from where she sat on the bed. ‘Sally has gone to see her room.’

  He tried a smile. ‘Mrs Brown, you mean?’

  She averted her face. ‘I will explain that to you later. Not now, if you please.’

  ‘Whenever you wish,’ he said mildly. He glanced around the room, which was as serviceably furnished as his own. ‘Will this room do, Amelie?’

  She looked at it as if seeing it for the first time. ‘Yes. It is fine.’

  It was so difficult to talk with her.

  ‘I’ve endured much worse,’ he said for something to say. ‘Like a leaking tent on a cold and rainy night in the Pyrenees. But you are used to finer things.’

  Her expression turned fleetingly sad. ‘I do not need finer things.’

  The word need hung in the air. She meant that she needed her baby, he supposed. The loss seemed so much more important than physical discomfort, he could agree.

  He stepped into the room. ‘Shall we see about the tea?’

  * * *

  Mrs Wood brought a tea tray with biscuits as soon as they entered the drawing room. Amelie pou
red the tea and handed Edmund a cup.

  Poor man! she thought, so concerned with her comfort and trying so hard to make things right for her. Her efforts at responding in kind fell short.

  The long, idle hours in the carriage had been a horror for her. Too much time to think and so difficult to pretend she was well when tears were ever ready to fall.

  She did not want this—to be weak and weeping. She wanted to be strong. To convince Edmund—and herself—that she was recovered.

  She took a sip of tea and a bite of biscuit and discovered her appetite had returned. She could taste the flavours and feel the hunger for more. She finished the biscuit, took another and glanced around the room.

  She liked this house, she decided. It was rustic and sparsely furnished and reminded her of nothing she knew.

  The drawing room had tolerably comfortable chairs and sofas, tables, lamps, a fireplace. A carpet on the floor. Everything had been dusted, polished and brushed clean.

  She thought of something positive she could say to Edmund, who leaned against the mantel drinking his tea.

  ‘They did a fine job cleaning this room, did they not?’ It occurred to her she must tell the housekeeper so.

  He looked surprised she’d spoken. ‘It is clean.’ There was the tiniest bit of sarcasm in his voice.

  It almost made her smile.

  ‘I wonder if the room once had more adornment,’ she went on.

  ‘Perhaps we will be able to discover if it had,’ he responded encouragingly.

  Her sadness crept back. What did it matter whether there were porcelain figurines or vases of flowers or colourful paintings on the walls?

  The clock chimed the quarter-hour.

  Edmund gestured to it. ‘At least there is a clock.’

  It was the plainest clock she’d ever seen. A plain white face with black numerals encased in an oak box.

  ‘Is the time correct, I wonder?’ she asked. If so they had hours to go before it would be time for dinner, after which she could beg fatigue and retire to her room.

  He reached in his pocket and pulled out his timepiece. ‘Three twenty. Close enough.’

  What was she to do with so much time?

  Edmund adjusted the hands of the clock and turned away from the mantel to place his cup on the tea tray. ‘Shall we explore the house?’

  It was an excellent idea, a good distraction, a way to pass the time. Plus she needed to walk after days of being cramped in the carriage.

  Across the hall where Mrs Wood had indicated, they found the dining room and behind it a corridor which they guessed led to the kitchen. The back of the house revealed a library, tucked behind the drawing room, and another sitting room, this one bright with a wall composed almost entirely of windows. It was perfect for a breakfast room, Amelie thought.

  They entered the library and examined the books on its shelves, the titles mostly referring to agriculture and sheep farming.

  ‘I suppose I shall have to read some of these,’ Edmund said. ‘Something to look forward to.’

  If there were novels tucked between such titles, Amelie did not discover them.

  Off the sitting room was a surprise—a conservatory, empty of plants, but with large glass doors leading to the back garden and walls completely made of windows.

  ‘Someone once must have cared for this house,’ Amelie said. ‘To build this.’

  ‘We can grow things here,’ he said encouragingly.

  She tried to imagine the room filled with greenery, fragrant with flowers, filled with life. It was now a desolate, abandoned place, too much like the interior of herself, the place she was trying to keep hidden.

  She wished she could respond to his efforts to cheer her. He alone knew her secrets. He alone knew she was the cause of...everything. It once had drawn her closer to him; now she’d effectively destroyed his every ambition. How could running a sheep farm compare to travelling the world and seeking a fortune?

  Edmund opened a door. ‘Let us go outside.’

  He opened the door, and they stepped out on a terrace that had weeds growing between its flagstones.

  ‘Oh, my!’ she exclaimed, forgetting her misery.

  In front of her was a great expanse of green lawn with a view of mountains turning blue in the late afternoon light, moors wild with heather, lush forest and a peek of pastures dotted white with sheep.

  ‘It is beautiful,’ she whispered.

  Off to the right were the farm buildings built of ancient stone and slate roofs. A man wearing a flat wool cap stood near the buildings, elbows akimbo. Spying them, he began to approach. When he came close enough, Edmund walked forward to meet him.

  ‘You must be Summerfield,’ the man said, offering his hand. ‘I am Reid, the farm steward.’

  Edmund accepted the handshake and acknowledged the introduction. He turned to Amelie. ‘Let me present you to my wife, Mrs Summerfield, Lord Northdon’s daughter.’

  ‘Ma’am.’ He tipped his hat.

  She nodded. ‘This land is beautiful, Mr Reid. How lucky you are to wake to this every day.’

  His brows knitted for a moment. ‘It is sometimes cruel, as well,’ he commented. He turned to Edmund. ‘I meant to give you time to settle in before calling.’

  ‘Kind of you,’ Edmund responded. ‘I am eager to speak with you. When might it be convenient?’

  Reid looked wary. ‘I keep early hours. Up at dawn. I’m out in the pastures shortly after.’

  ‘I am used to early hours,’ Edmund replied.

  Reid’s expression turned sceptical.

  Amelie spoke up, ‘My husband was an officer in the army, sir. That is why he is used to early hours.’ Reid should know Edmund was more than the husband of Lord Northdon’s daughter.

  Reid looked no more interested. ‘I see.’

  The conservatory door opened, and Sally hurried out, coming up to them out of breath. ‘Mrs Wood sent me to find you.’ She noticed Mr Reid and stepped back.

  Reid gazed at Sally in return, and his countenance softened.

  Sally pulled her gaze back to Amelie. ‘Mrs Wood said I was to ask if you would mind keeping country hours here and having dinner in half an hour.’

  ‘Of course. We will be happy to.’ Amelie turned to Mr Reid. ‘Sally, this is Mr Reid, the steward.’

  ‘Miss.’ He tipped his hat to Sally.

  ‘Mrs Brown, I should say,’ Amelie corrected. ‘Mrs Brown is a widow. She is my lady’s maid.’

  ‘Ma’am,’ he corrected.

  Sally blushed but did not speak to him.

  Edmund broke in. ‘I will meet you at the farm building at six in the morning. Will that do?’

  ‘I will look for you.’ Reid nodded to both Amelie and Sally. ‘Good evening to you.’

  ‘Good evening, Mr Reid,’ Amelie said.

  * * *

  After their dinner, which consisted of mutton stew, bread, cheese and stilted conversation, Amelie could not feign exhaustion and retire for the night. It was too early. Instead she and Edmund returned to the drawing room.

  Austere as the room was, a wood fire crackling in the fireplace gave it a welcoming warmth. The hissing and popping of the burning wood took Amelie back to the last year’s yule log. A lifetime ago, it seemed. Before she’d met Fowler, before she travelled to Brussels, before the scandalous night she spent with Edmund, before the baby...

  Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away. She glanced over to see if Edmund had noticed, but he was bent forward, rubbing his injured leg.

  ‘Does your leg pain you?’ she asked.

  He looked up at her. ‘A bit tonight. I think the carriage ride did it no favours.’

  She’d been too self-absorbed to think of his comfort during the journey.

  He st
raightened again. ‘It has been a long day.’

  Every day seemed long to Amelie. This evening seemed long, too, as they continued to strain for things to talk about. Amelie knew what preoccupied her, but what was Edmund thinking? How could he not be wishing he’d never met her?

  ‘Mr Reid seemed taken with Sally,’ he remarked.

  ‘Sally is a pretty young woman,’ Amelie’s voice had a churlish tone, she feared.

  ‘She is,’ Edmund agreed.

  They lapsed into silence again, until she remembered she owed him an explanation.

  This would not be easy. ‘I promised I would explain about calling Sally Mrs Brown.’

  He merely raised his brows and waited for her to continue.

  She took a breath. ‘That night in Brussels.’ She did not have to explain what night she meant. ‘Do you remember that we encountered Sally in the parc?’

  ‘With her soldier. I remember.’ His voice was deep and smooth, and she seemed to feel it as well as hear.

  ‘He died in the battle,’ she said.

  His expression turned bleak, and he averted his gaze. Remembering that day, she supposed.

  She went on quickly. ‘Sally is going to have his baby.’ Like us, she wanted to say. Only what might have been.

  ‘A baby,’ he repeated, his voice low.

  ‘No one knows her here, so we are calling her a widow. She is, really, in many ways, because he was going to marry her.’ At least Amelie hoped Sally had not been deceived the way she had been. If so, better she never know. ‘She will not be disgraced this way.’

  ‘I see.’ He frowned. ‘But what of when we return to London?’

  ‘I shall worry about that later.’ They could concoct another story, if necessary. ‘Her baby will have every chance in life. I am resolved in that.’ To make up for her own lost child. ‘I will see to it.’

  He turned silent, staring into the fire.

  She bit her lip. ‘You do not approve?’

  He glanced back at her. ‘I approve. I very much approve.’

  She released a relieved breath. ‘You will allow our deception?’

  ‘It is not for me to allow or forbid it, Amelie. I support it, though, and am willing to help.’ He reached over and touched her hand. ‘This is good of you, Amelie.’