by Cheryl Holt
She doubted he’d be surprised, just as she doubted he’d be upset. If any issue bothered him, it would be that she’d sneaked away when he’d specifically ordered her not to. He didn’t like to have his wishes disobeyed, but the precious interval—where they’d fallen asleep on his bed—had frightened her.
It had been incredibly thrilling, and when she’d caught herself wondering how quickly she could organize a similar encounter, she’d recognized her folly.
Where James Hastings was concerned, she’d buried every ounce of sense she’d ever possessed, but what woman could resist such a dashing, forlorn fellow? She certainly couldn’t, and she didn’t dare dawdle, waiting for calamity to strike.
When a young lady reached a point where she was loafing in a gentleman’s bed, the next step had to be matrimony. But James was a confirmed bachelor, and she had no desire to change his mind.
If she ever broke down and wed, she wanted it to be to a kind, steady, and loyal man, the sort of man her father had been, the sort of man her brother was. She wanted Evan to help her pick someone who would make her happy forever.
She would never select a man with no family except for Brinley, a man who had a myriad of personal problems, a man she could never trust to be faithful. It was a recipe for disaster.
She went to the stairs, and as she started down, Brinley walked in the front door. Amelia couldn’t bear to speak with her, but conversation was necessary, and she thought Brinley would be elated to hear Amelia was departing.
“Brinley, I’m glad you’re here,” Amelia said.
“Yes, it’s lovely to see you too,” Brinley replied in that sarcastic manner she had.
“I won’t draw out this discussion, but I need to tell you I’m moving out.”
Brinley frowned. “Moving to where?”
“I found a cottage to rent.”
“Have you told James?”
“I left him a note on his bed.”
“Fine.”
“The servants have quit too,” Amelia said.
“Why?”
“After they learned I was going, they decided not to stay.” She didn’t add that there had been a mutiny, that they were all slinking over to her new residence.
“What will I do without them? Who will cook for us?”
“I retained them through an employment agency. I put their contact information on the table in the dining room. You can stop by their office, and they’ll assist you.”
“The dunces you hired were sloths. I don’t believe I should give the same company a chance to send other inept dolts.”
Amelia wasn’t about to have that argument.
Brinley marched over as if she would head up to her bedchamber, and Amelia shifted out of her way. They’d shared quite an adventure together, sailing to Gibraltar to find their brothers. It seemed they ought to have a fond farewell or hug or…something.
“Thank you for letting me travel with you,” Amelia said.
“You’re welcome.”
“It was interesting to meet you. I hope you enjoy the rest of your sojourn in Gibraltar.”
“I’m enjoying it immensely so far.”
“I’m positive we’ll cross paths before you leave for London.”
“I don’t suppose I’ll be able to avoid it,” Brinley caustically retorted. She went up the stairs, then halted. “Oh, I nearly forgot. Would you like to chaperone me on Saturday night?”
Amelia bit down a groan. “To what event?”
“Conte Corpetto is hosting a party at his villa. He’s invited me, but I shouldn’t go alone. I’m certain it would pitch all the army wives into a swoon, but I’d really like to attend.”
Amelia would rather poke her eye out than escort Brinley to a party, but she agreed that Brinley oughtn’t to go by herself. And it might be fun. She’d like to tour the villa too.
“I’d be happy to accompany you,” she lied.
“I’ll provide more details once I receive them.”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
Brinley paused as if she might offer another comment, but she didn’t. She was wearing a pearl necklace Amelia hadn’t seen before, and she was stroking her fingers over it—as if she was eager for Amelia to notice.
“That’s a pretty necklace,” Amelia said. “My mother had one just like it.”
“I stumbled on it in a pawn shop down by the harbor. I couldn’t resist buying it.” She spun away, griping, “If you’re going, you might as well go. Don’t let me keep you.”
“If you ever need anything…”
“If I did, you’d hardly be the person I would ask.”
In a prior period in her life, the remark might have incensed Amelia, but she was used to Brinley now. It rolled off like water on a duck’s back.
“Keep me apprised about the party,” she said.
“I will, and it will be very posh. Make sure you dig up a good gown.”
Brinley continued on and disappeared to the upper floor. Amelia turned away, and to her dismay, Laura was standing there.
“Hello, you.” Amelia forced a smile.
Laura merely stared at her with those sad eyes of hers.
“I guess you heard I’m leaving, but I’ll be just down the street in a cottage. I’ll be living with Mrs. Bennett. You met her, remember?”
Laura nodded, yes, she remembered Mrs. Bennett.
“I’ll be a few blocks away,” Amelia told her. “You can visit me whenever you like. If you’re hungry or you need me, you can stop by. I’ll always be glad to see you.”
Laura stared again, her poignant look protracted and painful to witness, and it occurred to Amelia that she’d rescued Mrs. Bennett from a dicey situation, but she hadn’t rescued Laura. Did Laura realize that fact?
Evidently, yes. Her expression grew condemning, and she dashed out the door and ran off.
Amelia rushed over and called after her, “Laura, wait!”
But she didn’t stop, and Amelia sighed with regret. She hadn’t handled the encounter very well, and she’d have to fix it. For all intents and purposes, Laura was an orphan with no adult to watch over her. She was so wretchedly desperate, and Amelia should have been lined up to furnish assistance, but should she?
From the other direction, a wagon approached. Mrs. Bennett was sitting on the seat with the driver. Her belongings were piled in it. She waved to Amelia as the driver leapt down to load Amelia’s two trunks. Then Amelia walked over and climbed into the box. When he climbed up too, when he clicked the reins and they lumbered off, she didn’t glance back.
* * * *
James dawdled at his desk in the tiny office behind the horses’ stalls. He’d just been to a meeting for the men who’d requested transfers out of Gibraltar. They’d all been denied, except for those who had sought to relocate to India. No determination had been made with regard to any of those, but it had been specifically stated that anyone who’d like to muster out would be welcome to apply.
As they’d shuffled out of the room, his superior officer, Mason, had pulled him aside and inquired about the Denby inheritance.
So far, James had scoffed when it was mentioned, claiming it must be a different James Hastings. Yet for all of England being a very large country, it was very small too. Lawyers knew who he was. Bankers. Distant cousins. Acquaintances. Friends of his father and brother.
He couldn’t hide his elevation. Mason had bluntly asked when he was traveling to London for the installation ceremony and how long he’d be away.
He’d never scheduled a ceremony, but he couldn’t keep avoiding the issue. As opposed to so many of his brothers-at-arms, he had a place in the world outside the army. Would he hog his spot and force some other, less fortunate fellow to be sent off to a dismal future? Was he really that selfish?
The answer to that question appeared to be an absolute yes.
If he wasn’t a horse trainer in the army, what would he be? If he resigned his com
mission, he might become invisible and simply float off into the sky.
The prospect of earning a living in London sickened him. He’d have to train horses for the sort of rich assholes who’d been so horrid to his father. That nomadic existence was one of poverty, stolen wages, and denigration by the people who would employ him but never be satisfied with his work. He couldn’t do it.
He was feeling very low again, and he yearned to talk to Amelia, yearned to tell her how afraid he was, how isolated he was. Why was he loafing in the barn with the animals? Why not head to the house? He had a standing invitation to eat supper with her whenever he liked. Why shouldn’t he? Would she be glad to see him? He was vain enough to suppose she might be.
He hurried home and burst in the front door, eager to have her pretty smile focused on him, but he instantly realized she wasn’t there. He stood, listening, but the energy in the air was different. The dining room was empty. The kitchen too.
He lit a lamp in the parlor, and he searched everywhere, positive she’d have written him a letter, but he couldn’t find it.
Suddenly, someone was tromping about upstairs, and his pulse raced, anxious for it to be her, but he quickly recognized that it wasn’t her stride.
Brinley called, “James, is that you?”
“Yes, it’s me.”
“What are you doing here? It’s not even eight o’clock.”
“I was hoping to join you for supper. Where is everyone?”
She flounced down. “Miss Boyle left. The servants too, which isn’t much of a loss in my opinion.”
“Where did Miss Boyle go?”
“I don’t know. I think there’s a note from her on your bed.” She pointed toward the deserted kitchen. “Will you hire some new people? Please say you will. I’m starving, and there’s not a bite to eat.”
“Yes, I can hire some others.”
She was dressed for socializing, her hair curled, her gown stylish, and she was wearing a pearl necklace that looked so expensive he could only wonder if she’d stolen it.
“Where are you off to?” he asked.
“There’s a concert at the amphitheater.”
“You can’t attend by yourself, remember? I won’t have you trotting around town on your own.”
“Yes, yes, James, I remember. I have some friends who are escorting me. They’ll bring me home safe and sound afterward.” As she claimed it, a carriage rattled up the street, and she grinned. “There they are now. Should I wave them in so you can glower at them like an angry father?”
“No. I don’t need to meet them.” She headed for the door, and he inquired, “Where’s Laura?”
“She’s already in bed.”
“Should you leave her by herself?”
“She’s used to being by herself. Don’t worry about her. I certainly don’t intend to.”
Then she sauntered out. If he’d felt any responsibility toward her, he might have been curious as to how she’d assembled a group of friends so rapidly and what sort of friends they might be. But then, it was probably all right. Relationships blossomed quickly in a foreign land like Gibraltar.
Amelia had mentioned that Brinley was chums with an older Italian count, that it likely wasn’t appropriate. Since James had heard about it, he hadn’t seen Brinley, so he hadn’t had a chance to interrogate her about the man. He should have quizzed her before she’d dashed out, but he didn’t have the energy for it.
She wouldn’t give him a straight answer, so why bother?
He trudged up the stairs, and Amelia’s note was on his pillow.
He read it, then read it again, and the news had him terribly glum, which was silly. It wasn’t as if she’d boarded a ship and sailed for England. She’d merely moved to her cottage. She was only a few blocks away, so it wasn’t as if she’d vanished forever.
It was just that he couldn’t believe she’d abandon him. He couldn’t believe she’d left. She’d promised she wouldn’t, and he’d believed she was sincere. Clearly, he’d been wrong, but then, he was wrong about so many things.
He eased down on the bed, and he dawdled, pondering the past, the future. Over the years, he’d had many low moments. The prior year, after he’d been maimed, had been especially grueling.
For some reason, Amelia calmed the waters in the rough ocean that made up his life. She hadn’t realized how much she meant to him, and he wasn’t an effusive man. He never waxed poetic, so she had no idea how precious he thought she was.
Well, she’d shown him, hadn’t she? He’d told her not to go, had begged her not to go, and she’d gone anyway.
So…to hell with her.
He knew better than to rely on a female. He should have stayed at the barn with his horses. He was appreciated there. He knew and understood his place.
He marched out, headed to where he truly belonged, and though he passed Brinley’s closed door where Laura was supposedly sleeping, he was too morose and distracted to check on her.
He rushed on by and hurried out.
* * * *
Laura lay in her bed, listening as Brinley and Captain Hastings chatted, as Brinley departed for her concert, as Captain Hastings came up to read the letter Miss Boyle had written. Laura had read it too, so she was aware of where Miss Boyle was and why.
It was a shocking turn of events. Laura had assumed Miss Boyle was in love with Captain Hastings, that they might marry. Captain Hastings was so lonely, and he needed Miss Boyle. Didn’t she see that?
Ever since Laura had caught them napping together, she’d spun a hundred fantasies about how splendidly it would work out, but she was so stupid. Adults never did the right thing. They never paid attention to what really mattered.
Miss Boyle had invited Mrs. Bennett to come with her, but why hadn’t Laura been invited too? Was she so unlikable? Brinley insisted she was, but Laura wouldn’t have caused any trouble. She wouldn’t have eaten much or taken up much space. Why didn’t Miss Boyle comprehend that fact?
And what about Captain Hastings? Miss Boyle had deserted them, and he wasn’t even concerned. As he’d stomped out, he’d muttered, to hell with her.
He wasn’t even going after her. He was simply going to let her walk away.
Laura couldn’t figure out why she was still clinging to any of them. Earlier in the day, after she’d run away from Miss Boyle, she’d wandered for hours, but hunger had forced her home. She’d staggered in, only to discover that the house was empty. Even the servants had abandoned them.
Brinley had been dressing for her concert, and Laura had expected they’d eat before she went, but no meal had appeared, and she couldn’t guess when that problem would change. In London, they’d often had no food in the larder, and it had been the best part of living with Miss Boyle. Miss Boyle would never permit Laura to go hungry.
Why was she tarrying around such awful people?
For a few brief weeks, she’d forgotten how the world worked. She’d allowed dreams to form where her situation might improve, but it never did. She constantly tagged after Brinley, but someday, Brinley would vanish. Where would Laura be then?
Wasn’t it better to leave first? She could watch the barns where Captain Hastings kept his horses. She’d wait and spy, and in the middle of the night, when it was dark and quiet, she would sneak away on one of them, and she would ride and ride and ride until she found a good spot, a safe spot, where she wasn’t a burden, where she was liked and wanted.
She grabbed her cloak and used it as a sack, stuffing in her clothes and tying the ends into a knot. Brinley always had money in a stocking in her dresser, and Laura stole some of it, though not enough that her sister would ever suspect she had.
Laura had no personal mementoes, but Brinley had one. It was a miniature portrait of Captain Hastings’s brother, Robert, who’d been kind to Laura. Brinley had never cared about Robert. She’d simply taken advantage of him, had cheated him, and coerced him into giving her things he couldn’t afford to
give.
Laura filched the picture too and jammed it in with her clothes.
Then she tiptoed out of the house, and she didn’t bother to shut the front door. Who would notice one way or the other?
CHAPTER TWELVE
Amelia was roused by tapping on her window. There was a breeze blowing outside, so initially, she thought it was a branch banging, and she ignored it. When it came again, she worried it might be Laura, so she jumped out of bed and threw open the shutters.
James was standing there, silhouetted in the moonlight. His hair was unbound and curled around his shoulders. He hadn’t shaved so stubble darkened his chin, making him look dangerous, like a pirate bent on felonious activity.
He wasn’t wearing his uniform, but was dressed in casual clothes: tan trousers, white shirt, scuffed black boots. She could smell liquor on him, so it was obvious he’d been drinking. Did it take a huge dose of alcohol for him to muster the courage to stop by?
She’d been living in her cottage for three days, but he hadn’t visited, and she’d been relieved, but depressed too. She was much more despondent than she should have been, and her fondness was ridiculous. She had to quit letting it flare so it would begin to wane. She couldn’t mope and pine away. There was no point.
Her cottage was located in a bustling area, the houses packed close, with tiny rear gardens if they had gardens at all. Victoria’s room—yes, they’d decided to be on familiar terms—was right next door, so it would be easy for her or the neighbors to realize Amelia had a nocturnal caller.
She leaned toward him so they could talk quietly.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered.
“I missed you.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Yes, I did.”
She was so thrilled to see him! When he reached for her and delivered a stunning, stirring kiss, she couldn’t resist. She participated with intense enthusiasm. What was wrong with her? Why was he having such a dramatic effect? How could she tamp it down?
