“Matthew and I were comrades in tomfoolery, often in trouble and no doubt an irritant to my brother. The vast difference in age and my persistent desire to gain Douglas’s approval added fuel to a fire that often threatened to consume our tenuous relationship. Douglas assumed the responsibilities of the duchy in much the same fashion as I came to the title years later. Having a dukedom thrust upon you as you mourn the loss of a loved one is no simple undertaking, no matter he’d been groomed for the role since birth. Our parents’ death came unexpectedly and he quickly discovered his life greatly altered. I took the news hard and turned to him for comfort, yet he turned away. I will never know why. We did not discuss such things. Douglas was forbiddingly private, often lecturing my behavior and warning of scandal that could disparage the Scarsdale reputation.
“On the night of his death, my birthday, Matthew and I took to celebrating. I had no idea Douglas would arrive at the tavern or a public scene would ensue. Nilworth was there, as were several other gentlemen of our social circle. Douglas and I argued, and I spoke hastily. Yet despite my ill ease, I continued to make poor decisions. I sought him out when I returned home, hoping to repair my most recent digression, but he wanted no part of a conversation, disgusted with my behavior and in a hurry to continue his evening elsewhere. It was his usual habit. He existed as a vault with his personal affairs, as it should be, despite I questioned him often. I felt rejected and confused that he, my only living relative, would not spare time.
“When Matthew suggested I shadow Douglas and discover where he went, where he chose to spend his time rather than with me on the day of my birth, I foolishly believed I could still make amends. So I saddled my mount and followed him to Lamb Street. I watched from afar as he climbed the steps to a neat town house and let himself in by key. Intrigued by the secret location, I dismounted and went to the window, glued to the scene I witnessed inside. My brother embraced another gentleman in passion. I was unprepared for the shock of my discovery and couldn’t move from that spot. Another foolish decision. Though the light burned low, my brother noticed me. I will never forget his look of betrayal, and for a heartbeat, the flash of utter fear in his eyes.
“The rest exists as a blurry memory, although I lived it, time has preserved it in distant flashes of chaos and pain. Afraid I’d destroyed any shred of relationship existing between us, I fled, but Douglas knew the area well, while I did not. He circumvented my escape, intent on arriving home first. I chased after him, to explain and to offer acceptance. At last, I possessed understanding of his reserved nature.”
Lunden darted his eyes to Amelia, poised near the foot of the bed. Her expression gave little away, although her brows dipped in a show of compassion and encouragement.
“I’d nearly caught up when his horse stumbled on a loose cobblestone and threw him. His body fell so still I knew the unthinkable truth before I ever kneeled beside him. Then I panicked, youth and emotion in control of my actions. Douglas feared scandal, exposure, and yet I wept in a London street beside his dead body. I needed to act. I needed to bear responsibility, a foreign concept in my youth.
“Struggling, I managed to return home with Douglas’s lifeless body. Your brother waited in the stables and in a rush of broken explanation and confusion I urged him to assist me in carrying Douglas into the house. We exited the stable when the shot was fired. The agony that eroded every cell of my being was duly replaced with fear for Matthew’s life, for I couldn’t have his death on my conscience as well. Stable hands emerged at the sound and together, we returned Douglas and Matthew to my home. A few servants sought the gunman, but no one was ever discovered.” He grimaced, a forlorn emptiness dragging at his soul. “Now you know what I would never confess to another living soul. Even Matthew knows little of the truth from that night.”
Lost in the bitter retelling, he didn’t notice Amelia beside him until the tentative touch of her fingers on his shoulder gained his attention. He backed away, a pang of regret lancing his chest, unwilling to accept comfort for the circumstances punishing him.
“Mistakes are forgivable. The very definition of the word declares it an action without intent.”
Her soft-spoken reassurance was well intended, but forgiveness was unheard of. “For a year after Douglas’s death I hardly spoke a civil word to anyone who dared cross my path. It’s a wonder a single servant remained in my employ when I consider my obstinate surly demeanor. I’m still that man, although I’ve buried my anger rather than wear it as a flag for all to see. I’m a blight, unequal to your measure.”
She snapped her eyes upward with a furious flash of green, but something in his expression must have stopped her words.
How could he face a lifetime without her? If only . . .
Wretched hope dared high in his chest, but he dispelled the misplaced emotion and strove to recover his composure. He would endure, learn to live without Amelia much the same way he survived without Douglas. She deserved better. She deserved a full, rich life. And he would remember her always. Her breathless sigh caught on his lips, her incredible beauty, much the same way he treasured his brother’s pocket watch.
“You will marry Collins and obey your brother’s bidding.” He ran a finger along the rim of his glass and forced the words past his lips in an unbreakable voice. She looked instantly appalled, although her chin rose a full inch. Then she stared at him with a mixture of determination and impunity that exposed her heart.
“I vowed long ago not to be forced into a loveless match and I remain resolute to that promise. If you will not have me, I’ll marry another. A gentleman of my choosing. I’ve already decided.”
The minx had someone in mind. How convenient. How irritating. Though it mattered little. It was better this way.
“Then so be it.” He lowered his eyes to veil true emotion, though a hint of annoyance crept into his voice. “We both knew this day would come and to pretend it wouldn’t was pure folly. I came to London to complete unfinished business with every intent to return to Beckford Hall immediately after.” He paused to allow the words to settle. “I wish you much happiness in your future, Amelia.”
But she may not have heard his latter statement as the door closed with an emphatic click.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“So what will you do?” Charlotte posed the question with an equal amount of concern and curiosity.
Amelia searched for an easy answer. She despised her neediness, imposing on her friend at an hour likely to ignite Lord Dearing’s censure, but at a loss to remain home where the walls weren’t thick enough, resolve not strong enough, to keep her from Lunden while he prepared to leave. It had taken every ounce of survival she possessed to turn her back and walk out of his rooms.
“I can’t marry Lord Collins. If ever I feared becoming nothing, he would prove it to be true. I’d be less than nothing actually, letters on a line, a nonentity.” Her breath left her lungs in a despairing exhale and Charlotte squeezed her hand before setting to work on the tea tray.
“And Scarsdale?”
“I don’t wish to speak of it.” She tempered her declaration with an apology. “I’m sorry. Forgive me.” She closed her eyes, recalling the haunted expression on Lunden’s face as he shared the dark secrets locked so tightly to his soul. Her vision blurred from fresh tears, not for her heartache, but for his. He believed himself blackened, when she knew him to be loyal to a fault, passionate, courageous, and above all else, loving. How ironic, she epitomized hypocrisy. She sat beside Charlotte, resolute no man would hold her at a disadvantage, yet Lunden owned her heart. What greater disadvantage existed than unrequited love? She’d forever remain stranded in turmoil if she didn’t discover a path through her misery.
“Is Lord Collins so very distasteful?”
“He’s decidedly older and bold in his opinion.” She wrinkled her nose in blatant disgust, recalling his lecherous leer and innuendo as she’d accompanied him through the garden after dinner. “Of course, his advanced years could be held
as an advantage. Widows have ample freedom, above societal censure.”
“Amelia!” Charlotte’s teacup rattled on the saucer as she replaced it with haste. “You’re not thinking clearly.” She adjusted the sugar bowl and creamer as if to reorder her thoughts. “Besides, how much freedom would you enjoy caring for six children were Lord Collins to expire quickly?”
“Little. Although I doubt he’s interested in the children beyond their monetary value or else he wouldn’t be in such a rush to secure a wife to relegate the task.”
“Let’s hope his inheritance is sufficient enough to guarantee you a comfortable life.”
“Money is my least concern. Father’s health has steadily declined, despite his relocation.” Her voice dropped to a melancholic tone, her conscience pricked whenever she thought of her father. “I doubt my relationship with Matthew will ever mend and Lunden—I fear I will never see him again, no matter he consumes my every thought.” Whenever she recalled his words, her future shattered in so many pieces she worried she’d never feel whole again. Fear of the unknown held great power, but as she’d often advised Charlotte, the militant motivator should not dictate life’s path. How trite her advice sounded when applied to her personal condition.
“Lady Amelia, this is an unanticipated visit, I presume.” Lord Dearing stood within the threshold of the doorway, his posture as crisp as the pristine folds creasing his Gladstone collar. He bowed politely before treading farther into the room, his attention focused solely on Charlotte. “Is this not your scheduled hour for pianoforte practice? I wasn’t notified you chose to forgo your routine and take tea with Lady Amelia.” He scowled to emphasize his disappointment although his chiding tone and choice of phrasing served as sufficient.
“Lord Dearing, how wonderful to see you again.” Amelia offered her greeting in an attempt to defuse the awkward hostility in the room.
Charlotte managed a contrite, yet amiable smile, although Amelia could feel the tension radiating from her dearest friend. Pushing aside her inner turmoil, she grasped onto the unexpected opportunity to improve Charlotte’s situation, despite her own future dangling by a thread.
“You must pardon my intrusion. I encroached on Charlotte’s routine. I wouldn’t have done so if her caring nature and kindhearted friendship weren’t such a balm to my soul at this troubling time.” She met his gaze squarely although she stood a tad taller than he. Despite his sour attitude, he cut a fine figure, his hair the color of fresh cut hay, his eyes a deep brown that could offer affection and warmth if he allowed the sentiments. Still, he represented a tone of domestic comfort, as much as Lunden’s appearance suggested forbidden secrecy and dark adventure.
“Indeed.” He measured her admission with the scope of his glance and Amelia straightened her shoulders. “I only mention it because I’m accustomed to Charlotte’s musical accompaniment as I review correspondence in my study. The absence of her melodies went noticed.”
Would he not smile? Would he not expose the veiled compliment and brighten his wife’s view of their relationship by expressing how much he enjoyed her skill on the pianoforte? No wonder Charlotte balanced on eggshells, living each day in precarious confusion of her husband’s expectations. What was it Lord Dearing withheld with his forbidding reserve? And did his restricted attitude permeate all shades of his personality? In a revelation, Amelia understood why Charlotte shared little concerning marital intimacy. Viewing the man in front of her, Amelia doubted he would recognize passion were it to climb the steps to the door and drop the brass knocker. And yet there was a flicker of something, a vague, curious sentiment that lit Dearing’s eyes whenever he turned his attention toward Charlotte.
“I’ll practice before dinner is served. Twice as long if that brings you pleasure, Lord Dearing.”
Charlotte’s capitulation had Amelia’s brow raised high and she eyed her friend with a mixture of outrage and compassion. Here was a marriage in dire need of rescue. Charlotte would wither and die under such constrictive scrutiny and good heavens, Lord Dearing. The formality was nigh unbearable. He appeared staid and pensive, although some niggling suspicion told Amelia more was at play than a need to control.
Regret took up residence in her heart. She’d neglected her friend’s distress when she’d become embroiled in her own turmoil, but clearly the Dearing relationship existed in an equally precarious status. What to do now? She wrestled her conflicted emotions into submission and stood to leave.
“I won’t impose on you a minute longer.” She moved toward the door, waving away Charlotte’s immediate objection. “My attention is needed at home, no doubt. My best to you both.” And with the cordial farewell, Amelia scuttled out the door.
She took the longest route home, in no hurry to face Matthew, while the thought of seeing Lunden reduced her gait to languid steps. The weather proved pleasant, a swath of blue sky overhead with a moderate, refreshing breeze, yet the state of her heartache overshadowed any happiness to be found in the temperate weather. Lunden was leaving, her declaration of love abandoned as if meaningless, her heart as broken as an hourglass with its sands spilled, never to be whole again. She loved him enough for the two of them, but that wasn’t sufficient, nor the lopsided emotion on which to build a marriage.
Meanwhile Matthew waited to bind her future to a man who took little interest in a wife except to tend children and warm his bed. Matthew would not listen to reason on these counts.
What would cause her brother to deflect logic at the sake of her happiness? Hardly cut from spontaneous cloth, his decision making had never proven rash in the past, his actions usually deliberate and well considered. What could be at stake? He pursued few interests aside from his puzzle obsession and weekly attendance to the meetings of the Society for the Intellectually Advanced. The society. Lord Collins had boasted of his position as chief officer when he wasn’t attempting to ogle her décolletage in the garden behind the town house. Perhaps whatever drove Matthew was fundamentally connected to his participation at the society. With a grin that bespoke of satisfaction and determination, Amelia made haste at the next corner, her boots tapping the cobblestones in a lively rhythm.
* * *
Lunden signed the paperwork strewn across the canvas blotter on Bolster Hamm’s desk. The solicitor made no mention of the unusual conditions or the steadfast expedience with which he’d expected his requirements met, no matter Lunden had entered the office unannounced, and without appointment.
With a resolute exhale, he vowed to complete his obligations and rid the city before dusk. In cyclical repetition, London had shown no kindness, and his body hummed with an urgency to leave at last.
His eyes strayed to the window and his heart begged to conjure an image of Amelia, her confession of love an intoxicating potion swirling in his blood. No. He snapped his attention to the desktop and lifted his glass of brandy, finishing the liquor in one fiery swallow. The burning sensation did little to restore his calm; still he forced his eyes to the work spread before him. He refused to consider Amelia, or Matthew for that matter, shirking obligation and ignoring the determined emotions that tangled around his heart like a barbed thicket. Emotions proved distasteful poison. His attention should be on resolving the bothersome legalities he’d inherited with the duchy.
He picked up his pen and blew a cleansing breath to dispatch his distraction as his eyes scanned his brother’s documents. Of late his memories of Douglas had lost their potency to knife his reserve. Responsibility replaced self-loathing. How easy it had become to blame his loneliness on his brother’s passing. But Lunden existed as his own man. He’d created a loathsome world and withdrawn into it. Time waited for no one, least of all those immersed in pity. Holding further self-recrimination at bay, he sanded another contract and set it aside, despite his stubborn conscience refusing to release the last of its vigilant hold.
He’d wasted so much time—weeks, months, years—squandered in nothingness, a shell of meaningless existence. Now he wished every day retur
ned for no other reason than to mourn his brother properly. He scoffed at his duplicity, the former conclusion a partial lie. He wished the years returned so he might celebrate every minute with Amelia. To relive his life, start again. But the words reverberated within him, a reminder of those softly spoken as they’d embraced the night before. There were no new beginnings.
He stared at his brother’s signature, scrawled across the bottom of the paper before him. Each stroke of black ink, smooth in its balanced flourish, provoked his past. He let the remembrance come, the bittersweet memory no longer accompanied by a rush of anguish and despair, yet he braced himself nonetheless.
His parents had been placed in the ground nearly a year, and in a rare occurrence, he’d stumbled upon Douglas in the study. Lunden did not bother with books, nor did he frequent the room where his father led aristocratic discussions and political debates. He was a second son, his pursuit of pleasure superseded most everything else, and this evening he’d been on the hunt for a bit of brandy. Douglas, on the other hand, hardly spared a moment for leisure time, their vocations aimed in perpendicular directions since birth, so it gave Lunden pause to find his brother seated at their father’s desk, poring over ledgers with a disheartened expression on his face.
When Douglas realized he was no longer alone, he shook off his peevish expression, and drew Lunden forward. Expecting a stern reprimand, he’d been shocked when Douglas proceeded to explain the columns of numbers and yearly incomes, listed with meticulous care by the estate solicitor and presented for review. The camaraderie so rare and cherished, Lunden had watched with wide eyes and piqued interest, until his brother’s glib comment ended their fleeting amity. Listen well, little brother, and practice your maths, though I doubt you’ll have need of these skills unless I die an early death. The fulfilled prophecy haunted him to this day and contributed to his fatalistic perspective.
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