by Tuft, Karen
“Oh, miss! Yes, miss!” Jane exclaimed. “I have younger sisters, you see, and Ma was always asking me to do their hair and such, considering she was busy with the cooking or with a baby. You have such pretty hair too, miss. I would love nothing more.”
Amelia picked up her brush and handed it to her. “Have at it, then. Make me look a proper fiancée to the Earl of Halford.” It would not only delay her presence a few minutes more, but if Jane worked magic, it would indeed help Amelia face the scrutiny that awaited her.
What Amelia was not sure she could face after that was her own guilt. She would make it up to Anthony somehow. She would play her part in the charade, and then she would end the betrothal—for there would surely need to be an ending.
And she would do everything in her power while she was betrothed to him to help him heal from the wounds he had suffered both physically and emotionally during his time in Spain.
* * *
“There you are. Finally.” Lady Ashworth looked up from her needlework as Amelia entered the marchioness’s sitting room. “Something is different about you. Let me see.” She gestured to a chair near where she was seated, so Amelia crossed the room and sat. “It is your hair, is it not?”
“Yes. I asked Jane to try something different from what I usually do myself.”
“It suits you nicely. I had no idea Jane was so talented.” She set her sewing aside. “I hope you are rested this morning because we have much to do. Last night was quite eventful.”
“Lady Ashworth,” Amelia said, “I am sorry. I had no intention—”
“I am certain that is true, my dear, but what happened, happened. May I speak frankly?”
“Of course.”
“I am terribly fond of you, as you know,” the marchioness said. “However, I cannot say in good conscience I would have chosen you as a wife for my son.”
“I understand that, of course.” The words were difficult to hear, nevertheless, especially from Lady Ashworth.
“Marquesses and their heirs are amongst the highest of the peerage, and it is no easy thing to marry one of them. I know this from personal experience.” She smiled briefly. “However, I also know you are clever and learn quickly. You will have to learn quickly, for the society you will be joining through your marriage to my son will be watching you closely and hoping you fail. Now, ring for some tea, will you?”
Amelia obliged and returned to her seat.
“Ashworth and Anthony and I discussed things earlier and put together a plan,” Lady Ashworth said. “You and Anthony are to leave for Town in three days. You need to be fitted for a new wardrobe, and you also need to be seen on Anthony’s arm out in public and at a few of the smaller parties. If people get used to seeing you behaving with decorum, you will cease to be a topic of gossip, and idle tongues will find something new to amuse them. Tea please, Mary,” she told the maid who had arrived.
“Yes, my lady.” Mary bobbed a curtsy and left.
Amelia had not considered needing a wardrobe. How would she ever repay such a thing? “I cannot feel good about a wardrobe, Lady Ashworth. The betrothal was merely Anthony’s way of protecting me. I should never hold him to it in the end.”
“Would you not?” Lady Ashworth studied Amelia closely. “You know how honorable he is. His duty will not allow him to cry off.”
“I shall play the part of fiancée the best I am able, my lady, but my intention is to free him when the time is right. If I must dress the part, then I would prefer the fewest garments possible. And I will repay you for them.”
“With what money? What income do you have, Amelia, other than the one you receive from me? They will be your clothes, and there’s an end to it. Besides, we have more important things to discuss.” Lady Ashworth folded her hands in her lap. “His father wishes him to marry speedily and fill his nursery, and yet this betrothal will need to last a few months at least to allay any scandal. That means valuable time will be lost in fulfilling Ashworth’s expectations.”
The idea of bearing a child—Anthony’s child—struck a longing in Amelia’s breast so strong she ached from the pain of it.
Mary returned then with the tea tray, which was a relief. After she left, while the marchioness poured, Amelia worked to regain her composure.
“Frankly,” Lady Ashworth said after taking a sip of her tea, “I thought the vicar’s daughter I had brought into my home as my companion was not the type of single young lady who would allow such intimacies with a gentleman.”
Amelia choked on her tea.
“Are you all right?” Lady Ashworth asked.
Amelia nodded, coughing, and set her cup and saucer down until she could recover.
“I think I would have spotted such a character flaw in you,” Lady Ashworth continued without missing a beat. “And yet I did not. Which is why I was surprised to discover it was you out on the terrace with Anthony.”
“I meant only to comfort him, Lady Ashworth,” Amelia said in a small voice, still recovering from the tea, not to mention her shame. “He seemed distressed, and I was concerned.”
“More than concerned, I think,” the marchioness replied archly. “Do you have an affection for him, then? An attachment of which I am unaware? Ah, but I saw you together at the three-legged race and suspected something, did I not?”
Amelia could say nothing, hoping her eyes didn’t betray her feelings completely.
“Ah,” the marchioness murmured again. “I see.”
“I am truly sorry, my lady,” Amelia said. “It was not my intention—”
Lady Ashworth held up her hand. “Intentions matter little at this point. What is done is done. You must begin this very instant to act as the fiancée of an earl would act. Your education will begin this very morning. There is much to do before you leave with Anthony three days hence. We must also arrange for you to have a lady’s maid. It would seem Jane is an obvious choice.”
“Yes, Lady Ashworth. With your permission, I shall ask her straightaway.”
“She will be ecstatic, I think. Very well.”
The marchioness set her empty cup and saucer back on the tray and stood. Amelia rose as well. “We will meet in my sitting room after luncheon while Lord Ashworth is resting, and I shall begin instructing you on the responsibilities of a nobleman’s wife.”
“Is there anything you wish for me to do in the meantime?” Amelia asked.
“Pray,” Lady Ashworth said. “Pray and prepare yourself for the challenges ahead.”
Which did not sound at all encouraging.
* * *
“Where has everyone been all day,” Lady Walmsley complained at dinner that evening, an event which Anthony’s father felt well enough to attend. “The house has been a veritable tomb. Marwood up and left, taking his women with him. That was exciting to watch, I confess, all that huffing and puffing. I do not miss him or his wife much, but his daughter was a sweet thing. She at least spoke to me as though I still had some wits rattling around in my head.”
Anthony’s only real regret about the night before was that poor Lady Elizabeth would be on her own dealing with the repercussions of their decision not to marry. He hoped Marwood did not place the blame on her.
“I am not sorry those Putnams left this morning either,” Lady Walmsley continued. “I’d had my fill of them, to be sure. But I have not had a decent chat with anyone all day—not that I would have had one with any of them. My wineglass, boy.” She tapped the rim of it with her finger in an authoritative manner. The footman hurried over and topped it off. “That is better. As I was saying: it went from talk, talk, talk to silence and whispers in the space of an evening. I was there. I know what happened. But I’ve half a mind to return to London if it’s going to be so dull around here.”
“I’m sorry you felt neglected today, Lady Walmsley,” Amelia said earnestly.
“Excellent
duck this evening, Lady Ashworth,” Anthony’s father said, unwilling as he’d always been to be pulled into gossip.
“Thank you, my dear,” Anthony’s mother replied. “I shall inform Mrs. Deal. She will be pleased.”
Anthony, however, had caught something different in Lady Walmsley’s comments and looked up from his plate. “You are planning to return to London after your visit with us, Lady Walmsley?” His brain was making swift calculations.
“Yes,” she said. “Although I had intended to enjoy myself here for another week or so.”
“Would you care to walk with me in the gardens after dinner, Lady Walmsley?” his mother asked. “I am afraid I was rather preoccupied with instructing Miss Clarke this afternoon.”
“No surprise there,” the lady answered. “The life of an aristocratic wife is a demanding one. I should know. You are a fortunate man, Halford, to have secured such a jewel, and there is no mistaking it. She will be up to snuff in no time. I accept your offer, Lady Ashworth, and thank you. Besides, these two young lovebirds will be wanting some time alone, I suspect.”
“Not too much time alone,” Anthony’s father grumbled. “That is what started this whole business.”
Amelia blushed beet red. Anthony bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.
“Perhaps I shall join you,” Louisa said. “After resting most of the day, I think I would enjoy stretching my legs a bit.”
Anthony was feeling lighter today, truth be told. Amelia was clever and sensible, and she already knew something of his experiences in Spain. She knew some of it and had not rejected him for it. And he was attracted to her. He had dreaded finding himself in a marriage of convenience, one in which he and his wife would go their own way once the requirement of an heir and a spare had been dutifully met. His honor would not allow him to break his marriage vows by taking a mistress, although the practice was common enough among the ton. He had always intended to be faithful to his wife.
He had hope now for a marriage of affection at least, and possibly more. He must find a way to convince Amelia that while the betrothal may have begun as a means of protecting her reputation, it held potential for more. He thought he would like it to become a betrothal in truth.
“Lady Walmsley,” he said, “Amelia and I are leaving in a few days for London ourselves. She is in need of a wardrobe, amongst other things. Would you care to act as chaperone for her?”
Everyone at the table turned and looked at him and then at Lady Walmsley.
“Hm. Chaperone, you say.” Lady Walmsley drummed her fingers against the table in thought.
“I should love nothing more than to act as chaperone,” Louisa said. “What fun to help Amelia shop for new gowns and bonnets! But Farleigh says I am not to exert myself during my delicate condition except for what is absolutely necessary. He is firm on that point, sadly.”
“Quite true, my love,” Farleigh said while dishing her another slice of beef.
“You are so good to me,” Louisa said.
“And I must remain with Ashworth while he gains his strength,” Anthony’s mother said.
“I will not be staying at your place in London if I agree to this arrangement, Halford,” Lady Walmsley said. “Amelia will have to stay with me. And I am not as young as I used to be, mind, as much as it pains me to say it.”
“Amelia will be taking Jane with her as her personal maid,” Lady Ashworth said. “Perhaps she can act as chaperone on those occasions when you cannot.”
“It would be nice to have a young girl in the house again after so many years. Very well, I shall do it.” She nodded decisively.
“Thank you, Lady Walmsley,” Anthony said. The first step of many had fallen into place nicely, he thought.
“Oh, thank you, Lady Walmsley,” Amelia said. “It is such a relief that if I am to do this, I will be with someone I already know. I look forward to sharing your company and getting even better acquainted.”
“And I will enjoy your company as well. Although I am not so old as to forget that it is you and young Halford who will be getting to know each other the most.”
“You are my favorite kind of chaperone,” Anthony said. “For I intend to get to know my betrothed much better during that time. It is gratifying to know I will be aided in that endeavor.”
“Not too well, I hope,” his mother warned.
Lady Walmsley cackled, and Farleigh chuckled.
“Really, Anthony,” Louisa said. “Do not let him rattle you, Amelia.”
“Have you ever noticed, Farleigh, how delightful young ladies look with a blush on their cheeks?” Anthony asked.
“It was one of Louisa’s most charming attributes,” Farleigh concurred. “Was what brought me up to scratch, in fact.”
“You foolish man,” Louisa said, shooting him a melting look.
“This frivolity is all very well and good,” Lord Ashworth said, “but do not lose sight of what is at stake here. Amelia’s entrance and acceptance into Society is critical.”
“Oh, Ashworth, I wish you were well enough to travel. I will be on tenterhooks the entire time,” Lady Ashworth said.
“I will write to you,” Amelia assured her. “And we will be back before you know it.”
“In the meantime, Mother,” Anthony said, “you can begin planning the wedding. I meant to discuss this with you earlier, Amelia. I had presumed we would be married here at the family chapel, if that is agreeable to you. But I forgot to consider that you have friends in Little Brenchley or may wish to be married in the church where your father was vicar. We can change the arrangements, if you would like.”
“There is no reason to return to Little Brenchley,” she said. “I would rather have the Reverend Villiers officiate, in any case.”
Anthony had never asked her about the man who had replaced her father at the vicarage. There was much he didn’t know about her, in fact. He was going to make it a priority to learn everything he could about her, and he planned to enjoy himself in the process.
Enjoy himself. Now, there was a thought. Perhaps he was actually putting some of his ghosts to rest. It was a relief to have something to look forward to after so long. He was beginning to feel alive, in truth. His parents had thought him dead—and perhaps in some respects he had been. Now that could finally be changing.
Chapter 11
The first thing Anthony did once they arrived in London and he had seen the ladies safely to Lady Walmsley’s house was visit his solicitor.
Mr. George Swindlehurst had a sterling reputation—despite his unfortunate surname—and, like his father before him, served as the solicitor for Ashworth and the holdings of the marquessate. Anthony had had Swindlehurst draw up a will for him prior to his leaving for the Peninsula. When Anthony had written to him from Ashworth Park, he had informed the solicitor that he wanted to amend the will now to make Amelia his beneficiary.
He had also asked Swindlehurst’s investigator to learn what he could regarding Amelia’s family of origin. Anthony himself was curious, but he also hoped Amelia would be surprised and pleased to discover he had done this for her. She had resolved not to have any contact with them, but surely she would be willing to listen to their side of things and possibly forgive and accept them and allow them to rejoice with her at her wedding.
He had seen strong men brought to tears by a letter from home and too many widows made with each battle for him not to at least try to mend the breach between her family and her. He was done with breaches of any kind.
“Halford. Good to see you. Come in and be seated,” Swindlehurst said, shaking Anthony’s hand. “May I offer you some tea? Brandy?”
“No, thank you,” Anthony replied. He removed his hat and took the offered chair.
Swindlehurst was a middle-aged man, well turned out for a solicitor, which illustrated how successful he was at his business. He returned to his d
esk and sat, then picked up a sheaf of papers. “Here are the amended documents you requested. I believe you will find them to your satisfaction. If you would like to peruse them here, we can have Marlowe come in and serve as an additional witness while you sign them.”
Anthony’s personal property was modest. There was a small house and some land that were his outright, having inherited them from a great uncle on his mother’s side, and he had been frugal with his officer’s pay, investing the savings for a modest rate of return. He was also now able to draw income from properties belonging to the courtesy title of Earl of Halford.
It was not much, but it would keep Amelia secure if something were to happen to him. He knew firsthand how quickly life could end, and he would take no chances, especially after trapping her into marriage with him.
He quickly read through the will, Swindlehurst called for his assistant, and Anthony signed the documents.
“Now,” he said after Marlowe excused himself and left the room. “I am curious to learn what you have discovered regarding my other questions.”
“Ah,” Swindlehurst said, drumming his fingers on his desk and looking diabolically pleased. “That has been a delightful mystery. My man Abbott has found a few answers and is still following up on other leads. This is what he has learned to date: it would seem your betrothed is none other than the granddaughter of John Clarke-Hammond, Viscount Winfield.”
“Interesting.” Anthony had heard of Winfield. The man had a reputation for being an overbearing tyrant, but that alone did not explain the rift. “I presume her father shortened his name to distinguish himself from the rest of the family.”
“Yes,” Swindlehurst said. “The Reverend Mr. Edmund Clarke-Hammond was well respected as vicar and was a beloved member of the Little Brenchley community. Apparently he was not cut from the same cloth as his father. Defied the man, in fact, in order to marry the lady of his choice.”
