by Tuft, Karen
“Are you ready for me style your hair, miss?” Jane asked.
“Yes, please, Jane.” She inspected herself in the mirror. She did not look any different. It was still Amelia Clarke who looked back at her with shadowed eyes. “Something simple, I think.”
“Yes, miss.”
And yet, Amelia mused as Jane began combing out her hair, she was no longer the person she had always known herself to be. She was Amelia Somebody, daughter of Nobody Knew Whom and fostered by a compassionate vicar and his wife. That she was not related by blood to the ghastly man she had met last night was the only redeeming fact he had hurled at her during his awful tirade.
Her toast and chocolate arrived, but Amelia discovered she was not hungry after all and managed only a few bites. “Jane,” she said, pushing the tray away, “has Lady Walmsley mentioned what her plans are today?” Lady Walmsley, with her experience and humor, would be able to advise Amelia and would tell her truthfully if it was still fair to marry Anthony after this latest round of information. Amelia was most likely illegitimate. How could a future marquess attach himself to someone like that?
And yet the Marquess and Marchioness of Ashworthy had heard all and had supported and welcomed her nonetheless.
“Oh, I forgot,” Jane said. “Lady Walmsley left word for you that she went to call on a friend this afternoon and won’t be back till teatime. I meant to tell you that earlier. There! All done. Simple, like you asked.” She had pulled Amelia’s hair into a chignon at the nape of her neck, a few tendrils escaping to frame her face.
What to do now? She was dressed, she wasn’t hungry, and Lady Walmsley wasn’t here to advise her. She felt restless. “Jane,” she said. “Grab your bonnet and cloak. I need fresh air, and you are the only person here who can go out with me.”
“But, miss,” Jane said, her eyes wide, undoubtedly remembering the misunderstanding Amelia and Anthony had had the last time she had ventured out to the park unchaperoned. “I don’t think—”
“Jane,” Amelia entreated, “I will go mad if I cannot walk. I need fresh air. No one is here but you, and I am perfectly capable of walking without a male escort in Hyde Park. Dozens of ladies do it every day.” She wished she was in the country right now, where she would be free to walk and no one would be at all alarmed.
A knock sounded at her dressing room door, and when Jane opened it, a footman stood outside holding a silver tray with a note on it. “This just arrived for Miss Clarke,” the footman said.
Amelia thanked him, took the note, and broke the seal. I need to see you alone after last night, the letter said. Meet me in the woods by the Serpentine as soon as you can.
It was signed A.
The note was from Anthony. He must be feeling as anxious as she after what had happened at the ball and was not willing to wait until tea to discuss it with her.
“There you go, Jane,” she said, waving the note in front of her nose. “This is from Lord Halford, and he wishes me to meet him near the Serpentine. We are going to Hyde Park after all, and you have no need to question it now.”
“If you say so,” Jane replied grumpily. “But it seems more like he would be stopping by to get you if he had a mind to walk in the park.”
“I am sure it is only that he had business to attend to this morning,” Amelia said, donning her straw bonnet and pelisse. It was a warm, sunny day, and Jane had chosen a light muslin for Amelia to wear. Amelia was certain Anthony would have spent the morning trying to learn what he could about her parentage, and it would help her settle her mind and heart to see him again; waiting until teatime would have been nearly unbearable.
The early afternoon was not the fashionable time of day in Hyde Park when the beau monde went there to see and be seen, so there wasn’t the normal crush of people around to notice if Amelia walked a little faster than was ladylike. She needed to rid herself of her pent-up anxieties and reach the Serpentine as quickly as she could.
It was ironic, then, to immediately run into Kit and his brother Phillip, who were on horseback greeting the few acquaintances they happened upon. When they noticed Amelia, they dismounted and walked over to speak with her.
“Amelia, how are you this afternoon?” Kit said. “I hope you are well despite the insufferable behavior you were forced to endure last evening.”
“I am, thank you,” she said, impatient to be on her way to the Serpentine.
“It was badly done, and him a duke, no less,” Phillip said. “I would not have believed it if I had not witnessed it with my own eyes. And that other gentleman—to air one’s family business like that in public. Appalling.”
“After his loud declarations, it was a relief to know that he is not a blood relation at all.” She smiled brightly. “There is a silver lining, you see.”
“Touché, Amelia,” Kit said. “May we walk with you for a spell since Tony is not with you?”
“Oh, but I am on my way to meet him,” Amelia said. “Down by the Serpentine. It is where Jane and I are headed right now.” She shot Jane a look, and the maid, who had moved several feet away when the gentlemen had arrived, now walked forward and dipped into a curtsy.
Kit’s eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement. “You are meeting Tony? But Phil and I only just saw him back on Bond Street. He did not say anything about it.”
“Not that he necessarily would have shared his plans with us,” Phillip added.
“It was a late change of plans. He sent a note,” Amelia explained.
“Well, he did seem to be in a rush; I am sure that explains it,” Kit said.
Both gentlemen tipped their hats. “Good day to you, then,” Phillip said and turned to mount his horse.
Kit lingered, however. “Amelia, I feel impressed to warn you. The Duke of Marwood is a powerful man with powerful allies, and he will not be satisfied with last night’s confrontation. I would urge you to be careful.”
“Your concern is appreciated. Thank you.”
“Would you care for our escort until you meet up with Anthony?” he asked. “It would be our pleasure, would it not, Phil?”
“Truly, Miss Clarke,” Phillip said. “We are only too happy to be of service.”
“It is quite unnecessary, gentlemen, I assure you. But I thank you,” Amelia said sincerely.
“Well, we shall leave you, then,” Kit said. “But know that should Marwood choose to bother you again, you have only to ask and we will be there to assist in any way we can.”
Amelia was touched by their gallantry and their loyalty to Anthony. She briefly watched them make their way down the path before turning back in the direction of the Serpentine.
The sky was a clear blue for once, with the occasional cloud puffing by. A breeze ruffled her skirts as she walked, and birds chirped and called to each other. There was a dense copse of trees near the Serpentine’s banks, some distance from the usual strolling areas, and Amelia looked in that direction for him but could not see him yet.
“What if he doesn’t show up?” Jane said. “What if he got busy on Bond Street, like the gentlemen said? We’ll be out here for ages, then, to see if he ever shows.”
“Hush, Jane. If he said he would be here, he will be.” Of that Amelia had no doubt.
A cloud passed over the sun, its shadow making it even more difficult to see anything amongst the trees. Then she spotted a movement deep in the undergrowth. “There, Jane, I can see him.” She pointed to a bench a ways off, near the banks of the Serpentine. “Wait for me there, all right?”
Jane reluctantly tromped off in that direction, and Amelia took a deep breath and headed toward the trees. But whatever she had seen move, she could not see it now. “Anthony,” she called softly. “Are you here?”
There was a rustling sound, and Amelia could make out a rider on a black horse in the shadows in the distance. “Over here,” his deep voice whispered.
Am
elia picked her way toward him, holding her skirts and watching her step, careful to avoid tripping over roots and pushing away low-lying branches. “I do not understand,” she said. “Why do we have to meet in such an out-of-the-way—”
She heard a crack and felt a sting across her shoulders, then a searing pain that brought her immediately to her knees. She glanced up, shaken, pushing her bonnet back from her face so she could see.
“Hello, Miss Clarke,” the man atop the black horse said. Not Anthony, she realized now, but the Duke of Marwood, holding a whip instead of the customary crop most gentlemen carried when on horseback. “You have caused me a great deal of trouble.” He raised the whip again and brought it down.
Amelia cried out and struggled unsuccessfully to get to her feet, sending up a desperate prayer for help. Oh, she wished she had accepted Kit’s escort, but it was too late for that now. She needed to find a way to stand and run, to get away from the duke.
He brought the whip down on her again, and fire exploded across her back and licked at her arms.
“You are nothing but a nuisance,” the duke said calmly. Somehow his words penetrated the blistering pain that threatened to consume her. He whipped her again. “A common trollop who used her wiles to take what was not hers to have. Illegitimate, no less.” The whip assaulted her again.
Fire. Pain. Amelia screamed, hoping Jane—anyone—would hear and huddled to protect herself.
“Leave London, trollop. Save your wiles for other common animals like yourself. You are not welcome here.” The whip seared her shoulders and back.
She turned her head to peer up at him. His face wasn’t red with rage and hatred as it had been last night but was cold and rigid like a stone, and she knew then that he was not going to stop. She had to do something, but the raw agony pulsing through her was more than she could bear. She fought the pain and, with what little strength she had, pushed herself up onto her forearms.
He brought the whip down not once but twice in succession, punishing her actions. Fire encircled her throat and bit the edge of her cheek.
She moaned and collapsed onto the ground, mercifully succumbing to the blackness that finally enveloped her.
* * *
Anthony paused at the window of Phillips on Bond Street and surveyed the array of jewelry on display. After last night, he feared he was in for a devil of a time convincing Amelia to marry him. Her parentage, which had always been an obstacle to her, would be even more of a barrier in her mind. A small trinket was not the way to win over a clever and practical woman like her, but he rationalized that it wouldn’t hurt either.
A pair of emerald earrings caught his attention. They reminded him of Amelia’s clear, green eyes, which sparkled with life and occasionally took on the depth and serenity of a forest.
Humorously chiding himself for being so sentimental, he entered the shop and made the purchase. He would keep them in his pocket and present them to her if he felt it would aid his cause. And if his cause needed no aid? All the better. He would give her the earrings simply because he wanted her to have them.
He removed his pocket watch and ran his fingers over the fob Amelia had given him. It was hours until teatime when he could see her again. He had completed his errands more rapidly than he had expected. Swindlehurst had not heard from Abbott yet, so Anthony had purchased a piece of sheet music for Amelia he thought she might like. Now he had bought her earrings. He decided to drop in at his club before he ended up with an entire basketful of gifts for his lady. He had not been to White’s in an age, and it would allow him to read people’s reactions to the latest round of gossip.
He pocketed the watch and headed toward Bucephalus when he heard someone calling his name.
Galloping down the street, dodging traffic at breakneck speed, was Phillip Osbourne, of all people. “Tony,” he cried. “Come quickly! It is Amelia.”
Anthony broke into a cold sweat. “What about Amelia?”
“She is hurt. Kit is with her now. We must hurry.”
Anthony leaped onto Bucephalus and rushed after Phillip, who circled his own mount around and sped off in the direction he had just come.
It quickly became apparent they were heading for Hyde Park.
What could have happened to Amelia at Hyde Park? his frantic mind asked. Other than on Rotten Row, where during the early morning people were allowed to gallop, the pace tended to be leisurely. Had a curricle overturned on her? Had an unruly horse kicked her?
Perhaps it was nothing so terrible as those, he told himself as he and Phillip turned onto Grosvenor Street and headed west. Surely she had only twisted an ankle. But if that was the case, Phillip would not be in such a state. He and Kit would merely have escorted Amelia back to Lady Walmsley’s house and not gone for him in such a panic.
His heart in his throat, he followed Phillip through the park toward the wooded area near one end of the Serpentine. A group of onlookers had gathered, and when Phillip came to a stop nearby and pointed, Anthony leaped from Bucephalus and dashed into the trees. “Amelia!” he yelled.
“Tony, over here.” Kit’s voice carried, even though he had used a hushed tone. Chills ran down Anthony’s spine at the sound, and he looked in the direction of the voice and saw Kit crouching low to the ground, his face grim. Amelia’s maid Jane knelt nearby, sobbing, both hands clutched to her mouth.
And then Anthony made sense of the scene before him, and his heart stopped cold. In front of Jane, Amelia lay in a heap on the ground. He recognized the muslin as one of her new gowns. It lay in tatters on her back.
He strode to her and dropped to his knees. Ugly red welts crisscrossed her back, oozing blood, the fine, thin muslin of her gown and undergarments no protection against what were obviously lashes from a whip.
“Who?” he asked, but he already knew the answer.
“She is badly hurt, Tony. We must get her home and have a physician see to her at once,” Kit said in a hushed voice as Anthony gently stroked Amelia’s tangled hair from her face. He barely dared touch her for fear of the pain it might inflict. “Phil has gone to get my carriage. He was to bring you here first.”
Anthony crouched low until his face was next to Amelia’s. She was deathly pale and so still Anthony had to reassure himself she was still alive. He tenderly cupped her cheek. “Amelia,” he whispered. “Amelia, my love, can you hear me?”
Her eyelids fluttered briefly, and she moaned.
Anthony squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the hot tears that threatened and forcing down the bile in his throat. He must be strong. He must get Amelia safely home and attended to. Her life was in danger from possible infection, and he would not lose this woman now that he had her in his life.
She had given him a reason to live and the hope that he could do so in peace. He would not give up easily on that hope.
But she was so pale and still.
“Everything is going to be fine,” he whispered to her silent form, stroking her hair. He could see the blue veins at her temple; for some reason they made her seem even more vulnerable. “I promise you, love, I will see to it that everything is fine.”
“I told her,” Jane sobbed. “But she wouldn’t listen, now would she? And look at what’s happened.”
Anthony ignored Jane, so intent he was on willing his strength into Amelia. There was a wound on her throat, and he followed the line tenderly with his forefinger. It circled around her neck and angled up, leaving a hot curl of red next to her ear.
“It was that note,” Jane blubbered. “I told her to stay home, but that note convinced her to come here, and now she’s as good as dead.” She burst into a keening wail.
“She is not dead,” Anthony snapped at the maid and then chided himself for doing so. He needed to be kind to the poor girl. She had been subjected to a horrible scene, and he knew only too well the effect something like that could have on a person. “She is
not dead, Jane,” he said again in a calmer tone. “Nor will she die. Have no fear of that.”
“Amelia mentioned a note to me when Phil and I ran into her earlier,” Kit said. “And here is her maid saying the same thing: she said it was you who sent her a note.”
Anthony looked up from Amelia. “I never sent her a note. Had I done such a thing, I would have told her to expect me at Lady Walmsley’s.”
“’Tis what I told her, my lord! But she wouldn’t listen. She was feeling trapped in the house, and when the note arrived—”
“Tell me about this note,” Anthony said.
“Wasn’t much of one, truth be told. Only said to meet you here.”
“It had my name on it?” he asked her.
“Well, she only waved it at my face, but I saw a big letter A on it. A for Anthony. But it wasn’t from you after all.”
“No.”
Jane buried her head in her apron and sobbed even more.
Anthony wanted to hold Amelia, take her in his arms, take the lashes that had been inflicted on her for himself. But anytime he attempted more than a gentle touch, she moaned, making a deep, horrible sound that scraped at his insides. It seemed an eternity before Phillip finally arrived with the coach.
“I shooed away as many of the onlookers as I could, Tony, for Amelia’s sake,” he said.
Phillip’s words were a relief to Anthony. He loathed having Amelia’s horrific wounds displayed before the curious masses. “Amelia,” he said gently. “We need to move you now, and it is going to hurt terribly. I am so sorry, love.”
Her eyes fluttered briefly. Anthony took it as a sign that she had understood him, and he instructed Kit to stand at her feet.
Phillip assisted Jane up, and they left to ready the coach.
“Are you ready, my love?” Anthony asked. “We will be as gentle as we can.” He prayed she was able to understand his words. “Ready, Kit?”
His friend nodded grimly.
With Kit taking her legs to help bear her weight, Anthony slipped his hands beneath her arms and hoisted her onto his right shoulder. She screamed in agony, and Anthony wanted to wail at the sound. Once he had her there securely, he slowly rose to his feet.
