Chapter Thirteen

AMELIA RAISED HER HANDKERCHIEF TO HER NOSE and inhaled a few shallow breaths. The comforting scent of Eunice’s plain laundry soap and Scottish sunlight filled her nostrils, temporarily quelling the nausea churning within her.

From the moment her train had chugged into the city of London she had felt as if she couldn’t breathe. She had assumed that as she approached the more fashionable West End and Mayfair, the air would be more pleasant. To her surprise, the suffocating stench of coal fires, manure, sewage, and insufficiently washed bodies persisted even into the most elegant district of the city. In Inverness the air was always cool and clean as it blew off the Moray Firth and the pristine mountains of the Highlands. When she had first arrived there she had thought the small Scottish town unbearably remote and provincial. Yet as she drove through the noisy, polluted streets of London, she wondered how she had ever enjoyed living in such a crowded, dirty place.

“We’re here, Mrs. Chamberlain,” announced the driver, opening the carriage door.

Amelia slowly stepped down from the carriage and faced the imposing stone façade of her parents’ rented town house. The windows were not covered, which would have meant there had been a recent death in the house. Her mother was still alive.

Desperate to see her, she raced up the stairs and through the front door.

“Here now—what do you think you’re doing?” demanded a shocked butler who was puttering with an enormous vase of flowers in the entrance hall. “You cannot simply charge in here—”

“I’m Amelia Belford. Where is my mother?” Amelia was not surprised that the former butler was gone. Few servants managed to survive her mother’s exacting standards for long. “Is she in her bedroom?”

The man stared at her, stunned. “You’re Miss Belford?”

“Yes—where is she?”

“Mrs. Belford is in the dining room,” he began, valiantly trying to recover his composure. “If you’ll just follow me…”

Amelia sped past him along the hallway and burst into the dining room.

“Good God, Amelia—is that really you?” Her father was startled as he looked up from his newspaper.

Rosalind Belford was seated at the breakfast table, dressed in a magnificent gown of coral-and-gold brocade, with several ropes of pearls draped around her neck. A massive diamond pin gleamed from her left shoulder, and she wore huge ruby and diamond earrings that were far too extravagant for day wear. Her gray-threaded hair was elegantly coiffed and her lips were carefully rouged.

She appeared the epitome of robust health.

“Thank heaven you’re back.” Relief had flooded her face, softening her features as she stared at Amelia. “You cannot imagine how worried we have been about you—are you all right?”

“I thought you were ill.” Amelia was unable to believe her family had gone to such lengths to deceive her. Her voice nearly broke as she finished, “It said in the newspaper that you were dying, Mother.”

Rosalind carefully set down her teacup, averting her eyes from her daughter’s accusing gaze. “Unfortunately, Amelia, we couldn’t think of any other way to get you to come home.”

“Amy! You’re back!”

Amelia turned to see Freddy hurrying toward her, a glass of port in one hand. She turned her back on the rest of her family to wrap her arms tightly around him.

“Dearest Freddy,” she murmured, fighting the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks, “tell me you weren’t part of this awful deception.”

“You know me better than that, Amy,” her brother chided, gently lifting her chin with his finger. “I told them not to do it—I knew you would be horribly distressed by the thought of Mother dying.”

“We never wanted to have to resort to trickery to lure you home, Amelia,” her father assured her. “At first we thought you would quickly come to your senses and return home on your own. But as the weeks dragged on and it became evident that you wouldn’t, your mother and I decided it was time to take more drastic measures. After all, we couldn’t just let you stay in hiding forever.”

“Where the devil have you been, anyway?” William regarded her curiously. “There have been sightings of you all over the world, and you wouldn’t believe the parade of scum that has shown up trying to claim your reward.”

“I’ve also received more than a dozen letters from blackguards who claimed to have kidnapped you,” added her father, scowling. “If not for Freddy’s assurance that you left with that scraggly old fellow at the ball of your own free will, I’d have damn well paid out my entire fortune by now trying to get you back.” His expression was angry, but there was an unmistakable thread of anguish in his voice as he gruffly demanded, “Have you any idea how worried we have been, Amelia?”

“I’m sorry to have put all of you through that, Papa.” Feeling genuinely guilty, Amelia bent and kissed his cheek. “But as you can see, I’m fine.” She squeezed his hand.

“You don’t look fine.” Rosalind rose from the table and moved toward her daughter, needing a closer look to be sure she was truly well. “You look dreadful. Pale and exhausted and—dear Lord, whatever have you done to your beautiful hair?”

“It’s just a temporary color.” Amelia self-consciously tucked a stray dark hair under her hat. “It washes out.”

“You look older.” Her father’s brow was furrowed with concern. “Were you ill?”

“I’m wearing cosmetics, Papa, to make me look older so people won’t recognize me.”

Holding fast to her hand, John continued to study her. “It’s more than that, Amelia—there’s something different about you.”

“I am different, Papa,” Amelia told him earnestly. “I’ve learned so much while I’ve been away—things I never knew about. I’ve even been learning how to cook.”

“Wonderful.” William put down his knife and fork and shoved his plate away, unable to fathom his sister’s extraordinary behavior. “I can see the headlines now: ‘American Heiress Reduced to Scullery Maid.’ God, Amelia, haven’t you dragged our name low enough already?”

“Don’t worry, William,” said Freddy cheerfully. “You’ll get your turn soon enough.”

“If anyone is going to further embarrass the family, it will be you, Freddy,” William retaliated. “All of London knows you’re a drunk—”

“That’s enough out of both of you!” commanded his father. “By God, I’ve grown sick of you two and your constant sniping. If you can’t be civil to one another, then keep your mouths shut, do you hear?”

William glared at Freddy.

Freddy raised his glass ever so slightly to William in a mocking toast, then downed his port in a single swallow.

John Belford shook his head, unable to fathom how he had sired two such sons, both of whom were complete enigmas to him. Freddy was pleasant enough, but he was utterly lacking in the discipline and ambition that had driven John his entire life. While William was ambitious, he was also humorless and intolerant, characteristics that kept him from enjoying the life his father had worked so hard to give him. Sighing, he turned to study his lovely daughter, trying to understand the changes he sensed in her. “Where have you been, Amelia?”

“I’ve been staying with friends,” she replied evasively. “And they have helped me and taken good care of me, but I’ve also been learning to take care of myself.” Her voice was filled with pride as she solemnly announced, “I’ve even got a job.”

Rosalind gasped, horrified.

“Really?” Freddy regarded her with fascination. “Doing what?”

“Organizing some special affairs.” Amelia knew she had to be careful about how much she revealed to her family. “It’s actually very satisfying, and I’ve found I’m quite good at it.”

“Oh, wonderful,” drawled William. “If Whitcliffe finds out he’ll think you’ve gone mad and want nothing more to do with you.”

“There is no shame in working to support oneself,” countered John sternly. “I’ve worked my entire life, and it wasn’t always by sitting in some damned office all day the way you do, William. When I was barely more than a boy I was loading and unloading fish and produce in New York harbor. Even your mother worked when she was young, selling produce in her father’s grocery store. Her fingers were stained from stacking all that damned fruit.”

“John, please!” Rosalind nervously fingered her pearls, terrified that one of the servants might have overheard him. She abhorred any reference to her working-class background. She had fought long and hard to achieve a modicum of respectability in society, but she wasn’t so naive that she didn’t realize that everyone who knew of her humble beginnings secretly despised her for them. In the eyes of both servants and society, she was nothing more than a lower-class shop girl dressed in expensive clothes.

“Amelia shouldn’t feel ashamed for working while she was off on her little adventure,” John insisted. “She showed great resourcefulness, putting on a disguise and getting herself a job. She demonstrated what she’s made of, and I, for one, am damned proud that my daughter was willing to work. That’s the Belford spirit.”

“Unless you look at Freddy,” sneered William.

“At least I know how to enjoy myself with my friends,” Freddy retaliated. “You are such a snob, you don’t have any friends.”

“Your friends are all bought,” William shot back. “If you didn’t have money, they’d have nothing to do with you.”

“For God’s sake, stop it both of you!” thundred John.

“Lord Whitcliffe must never find out about Amelia working,” Rosalind insisted. “The wife of a duke does not work—not even before they are married.”

Amelia regarded her mother in amazement. “Surely you don’t think I am still going to wed Lord Whitcliffe?”

“Of course you are.” Her mother’s tone was gently patronizing, as if any thought to the contrary was ludicrous. “And don’t think for a moment that it was easy getting him to agree. Although your father and I have insisted to everyone that you were abducted, Lord Whitcliffe was thoroughly mortified by the disgrace of having his bride disappear from his own wedding. Then of course there is your bizarre behavior at the Wilkinsons’ ball to be contended with, and the question of where and with whom you have been these past weeks…”

“Where have you been, Amelia?” asked Freddy.

“I’ve been staying with some very kind people outside of London.”

“They weren’t kind in the least if they put a young, inexperienced girl of your breeding and station to work,” objected Rosalind, “and permitted you to hide from your family, who care about you and only want what is best for you. Who were they?”

“It doesn’t matter, Mother.” Amelia had no intention of telling anyone about Jack and his family. “You wouldn’t know them.”

Rosalind blinked, taken aback that her daughter was actually refusing to answer her question. “Well, I can only pray that you have not done anything further while you were away that will put us to shame. Your father had to increase your dowry by another fifty thousand pounds to get Lord Whitcliffe to consent to honor his betrothal when you finally returned.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t ask for stock in father’s company as well, given all that I have put him through,” Amelia reflected sarcastically.

“He did.” Her father scowled. “But I told him any stock that I granted would have to be in your name. He didn’t like that, but he finally accepted. Told me that under English law what’s yours is his anyway—the lazy swine.”

“We’re just grateful that he didn’t break the betrothal altogether, which he certainly might have, given the circumstances.” Rosalind wanted to make Amelia understand how perilously close she had come to destroying her future.

“It would have been better for him if he had,” Amelia told her. “Because I have no intention of marrying him.”

Rosalind stared at her in shock. “Have you gone absolutely mad, Amelia?”

“I never wanted to marry Lord Whitcliffe, Mother. He was your choice, not mine.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Rosalind could not understand what had come over Amelia. “You have always understood that a young girl of your station cannot possibly expect to make her own choice when it comes to her husband. You’re a Belford, and every man who has offered for you has done so expecting to profit handsomely from that.”

“Including that damned fool, Philmore.” Her father snorted with contempt. “Filled your head with all kinds of foolish rubbish, and the next minute he was off chasing every other heiress in London.”

“Your father and I want what is best for you, and we have to protect you from being taken advantage of,” Rosalind continued. “Lord Whitcliffe is the only man who has offered for you who has something substantial to give in return—the title of duchess, a magnificent estate, and titles which will be passed on to your children and grandchildren. Your marriage to him will also open many business possibilities for your father both here and on the Continent. It is a perfect union.”

“It isn’t perfect at all,” Amelia protested. “I don’t love him. I don’t even like him.”

“That is because you don’t know him very well. He is a man of impeccable breeding with a solid education. I’m certain that after you are married and have had an opportunity to spend some time together, you will find that you are extremely well suited.”

“I’m sure we won’t be well suited at all,” Amelia countered vehemently. “And the fact that we both come from privileged backgrounds is not the basis for a happy marriage.”

“Really, Amelia, what has come over you? For years we have told you that you would one day marry an aristocrat, and the idea always pleased you.”

“But I always believed I would meet someone wonderful—someone whom I cared about.” She regarded her mother imploringly. “Didn’t you care about Papa when you married him?”

Rosalind was momentarily disconcerted by such a personal question. “Things were very different for us,” she began, trying to construct a careful answer. “I could see that your father was hardworking and ambitious, and your father knew I wasn’t afraid of work, either. We had come from similar backgrounds, and we both wanted the same thing—to make a better life for our children. That is what you should want as well.”

“But did you care about each other?”

Rosalind cast a desperate glance at John, trying to find a way to respond without defeating her own argument.

“Our courtship was entirely different, Amelia,” he pointed out. “Your wealth makes you extremely enticing to every unmarried man who meets you. You cannot be expected to marry someone poor, as I was when your mother and I met, and you can’t marry just any rogue who fills your head with lies, the way Philmore did.”

“But Lord Whitcliffe only wants to marry me because of my dowry,” Amelia argued, trying to appeal to him.

“I’m afraid that’s true of every man who offered for you, Amelia.” His voice gentled a little. He took no pleasure in revealing the unfairness of life to his idealistic young daughter. “And would be true of every man who ever did show an interest in you. Like it or not, there is no escaping who you are and what you represent. Your mother and I can only try to give you a husband who can offer you the most in terms of your status and opportunities for your children.”

“And that man is Lord Whitcliffe,” Rosalind finished emphatically. She studied Amelia a moment, pained by her obvious unhappiness, yet absolutely certain that she and John were doing the right thing. “You will want for nothing, Amelia—your father and I will make certain of that.”

“What I want is to go back to the life I have made for myself,” Amelia pleaded. “I have friends there—people who care about me—and you can’t make me stay here…”

“Anyone who would help to keep a confused, impressionable young girl from returning to her family and honoring her betrothal to a duke while putting her to work is not a friend, nor are they suitable company for you.” Realizing she and John were getting nowhere with their attempts at rational persuasion, Rosalind decided it was time to take a firmer approach. “If you ever try to return to them, I will have you followed.” Determined to eradicate any thoughts Amelia might have of running away again, she continued, “When I find out who they are, I promise you that your father and I will see to it that they are destroyed both financially and socially—is that clear?” Her expression softened. “Now then, I suggest we arrange for a bath so we can get you out of those clothes and wash that atrocious color out of your hair. I have ordered another wedding gown for you, and it will need to be fitted immediately if it is to be ready in two days. That will give me just enough time to arrange for the church and a small reception here afterward. Once you are married and settled at Lord Whitcliffe’s estate, we can plan a more lavish celebration.” She rang for the butler.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Mother, but I will not be marrying Lord Whitcliffe.” Amelia inhaled a steadying breath, fighting to keep her voice resolute as she defied her parents. “I don’t know how to say it more plainly than that. I came here to see you because I thought you were dying and might take comfort in seeing me. Now that I know you are well, I intend to leave on the first train possible.”

“You’re not going anywhere, Amelia Belford.” Rosalind could not understand her daughter’s behavior, but she had no intention of permitting her to ruin her life. “I forbid it.”

“You cannot keep me here against my will.”

“Of course I can. You’re my daughter, and your father and I will decide what is best for you and this family, even if that means locking you in your room until your wedding.”

“Then I’ll just run away again.”

“Really, Amelia, you have no more sense than a child.” William regarded her in exasperation. “Do you really believe you can just walk out of here and go back to wherever it is you have been hiding these past few weeks? As we speak, the news that Amelia Belford has returned home is spreading like fire throughout this neighborhood.”

She looked at William in confusion. “No one knows I am here…”

“Perkins, the butler, knows, and he would have marched straight downstairs to the kitchen to announce it to all the servants. By now they have told the neighbors’ servants, the delivery boys, and everyone in the shops the maids have run off to. A pack of journalists are probably on their way over this very moment to get the story. By early this evening all of London will know of your return, and by tomorrow so will the rest of the world. Within five minutes you won’t be able to step outside without being mobbed. You have become even more famous since your disappearance than you were before, and everyone is going to want to see you to make certain that you are truly safe.”

William was right, Amelia realized helplessly. In her desperation to see her mother, she had not considered the attention her return would instigate.

“You cannot be permitted to leave this house,” Rosalind decided. Recalling Amelia’s embarrassing escape at the church, she continued, “I will instruct the servants to have someone keep watch out front and back, in case you decide to do something ridiculous like climb out of a window.”

Amelia regarded her father imploringly. “Please, Papa…”

“I’m afraid your mother is right.” It wounded him to see Amelia so unhappy, but John had no doubt that he and Rosalind were doing the right thing. His innocent young daughter might have enjoyed running away and having her little adventure, but ultimately he had to protect her from making a decision that she would certainly come to regret. “One day you will see that, Amelia.”

Amelia cast one last desperate look at Freddy.

“Don’t even think about involving your brother in another one of your mad schemes, Amelia,” Rosalind warned. “I know all about how he assisted you the last time. If he dares to do anything so foolish again, or if you try to run away or do anything to avoid your marriage to Lord Whitcliffe, both of you will be cut off. Given Freddy’s expensive tastes and the extensive bills he has accumulated here in London, I doubt he will find that agreeable.”

Anger clouded Freddy’s face. “Maybe I’ll just find a job like Amelia did.”

“Unless there are jobs which allow you to be drunk by noon, I’m not sure what it is you are fit to do,” William reflected.

“If either of you dare to defy me, Frederick, you will have to find out,” warned Rosalind. “Is that clear?”

Freddy regarded Amelia helplessly.

“It’s all right, Freddy.” Amelia adored her sweetly aimless brother, and could not bear the thought of him being punished because of her. “Don’t worry—everything is going to be fine.”

“Perkins, kindly escort Miss Belford to her room and see that her new maid is sent to her at once,” Rosalind instructed as the butler entered the dining room. “She requires a hot bath, and her new wedding gown must be fetched from the dressmaker’s so that it can be fitted. Tell my maid I require her assistance immediately in making a list of everything that needs to be done and preparing invitations for this afternoon’s mail. That way they will be received in tomorrow’s first post.”

“Yes, Mrs. Belford,” said Perkins. “There is a group of gentlemen from the newspapers outside who wish to know if Mr. Belford would be willing to speak to them regarding the safe return of Miss Belford. They would also like to see Miss Belford, if possible.”

“Tell them Amelia is resting and preparing for her upcoming marriage to Lord Whitcliffe,” Rosalind instructed John, “which will take place the day after tomorrow. It’s short notice, but at least we should be able to get some coverage in the society pages. If they want to see her, they will have to wait patiently outside until she is sufficiently recovered from her ordeal, and at this time we don’t know when that will be.”

Her mother had effectively invited the journalists to stay camped outside their doorstep waiting for her to make an appearance, Amelia realized despondently. The last tenuous possibility that she might somehow be able to secretly escape the house and return to the life she had made in Inverness was shattered.

She was Amelia Belford once again, and she was trapped.

 

BY THE TOES OF SAINT ANDREW, JUST HOW MUCH did ye drink?” demanded Oliver, throwing open the curtains.

Jack cracked open a bleary eye, then winced at the blast of sunlight pouring into the study.

“Not much,” he mumbled, feeling as if his head were about to explode. “I was working late,” he added, noticing that his cheek was pillowed against a mountain of papers and journals on his desk.

“Is that what ye call it? Gettin’ yerself completely guttered is more how I see it.”

“I’m not guttered,” Jack insisted, cautiously raising his head.

“Then ye’ll nae mind a few visitors, will ye?”

“I don’t want to see anyone.” He wondered if it were possible for a skull to actually split open from pain. “Tell whoever it is to come back tomorrow.”

“He says ye’re to come back tomorrow,” Oliver informed the group standing in the doorway.

“I can see why,” observed Haydon wryly.

Genevieve regarded Jack with concern. “Perhaps we should have sent a note letting him know that we were coming.”

“I’ve seen him look worse.” Jamie marched in, took a quick look at Jack and frowned. “On second thought, maybe not.”

“Really, Jack, this is no way to behave when you have guests staying in your home,” chided Annabelle. “You look dreadful.”

“Maybe he’s not feeling well,” protested Charlotte, limping into the study behind her.

“I don’t think I’d feel well after drinking all that whiskey, either,” Grace reflected, sniffing the air.

“He needs something to eat.” Simon’s expression was bright as he joined his parents and siblings. “Do you think Eunice has lunch ready?”

“Beggin’ yer pardon.” Alex brushed against Haydon as she squeezed her way through the crowded study. “Sorry—I just need to see Jack,” she apologized, bumping into Jamie.

Wondering when, exactly, his study was declared a public meeting place, Jack gingerly forced himself to sit up. His eyes narrowed as he looked at Alex, who was standing before him with a satisfied smile on her face.

“Give it back,” he ordered.

She regarded him innocently. “What do ye mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean. Give it back. Now.”

She huffed with annoyance. “Can’t we at least count it first?”

“No. You give it back now, Alex, or you’ll have no dessert tonight.”

Looking thoroughly irritated, she reached into the sleeve of her new dress and pulled out a dark leather coin purse. “Here,” she said, tossing it to Haydon. “I only wanted to count what’s inside.”

Haydon caught the purse in surprise. “Thank you.”

“There.” Alex glowered at Jack. “Are ye happy?”

“Not quite.”

She huffed mightily again. “Let’s wait ’til he notices.”

“No.”

“Ye’re nae fun today,” she complained.

“Don’t throw it,” Jack warned.

“I wasn’t goin’ to,” she protested, pulling a gold watch and chain from her other sleeve. “I was only borrowin’ it,” she told Jamie, handing the watch back to him.

“You’re good,” said Jamie, impressed. “I didn’t feel a thing.”

“Is that everything?” Jack eyed Alex suspiciously.

She shrugged her shoulders. “If ye was watchin’ me, ye should know.”

“Alex…” he began warningly.

“That’s all she pinched in here,” Oliver told him. “I was keepin’ an eye on her.”

“Well, it seems I have a great deal of catching up to do,” said Genevieve, pulling off her gloves. “Since you don’t seem to want to come out to the house for dinner, Jack, and you’ve obviously been too busy to extend an invitation to us, Haydon and I decided that we would come by for a visit today. We’re most anxious to meet your houseguest, Miss Belford. We have heard a great deal about her from your brothers and sisters. Is she still at work at the hotel?”

“She’s gone,” Jack said abruptly.

Annabelle regarded him in surprise. “Gone where?”

“Back to her family in London. She left on the train yesterday, and would have arrived there this morning.”

“But she’ll be back.” Alex frowned at Jack for making it sound so final. “She told me so afore she left—while ye was still sleepin’.”

“Maybe.” He shrugged. He did not want to dash Alex’s hopes too soon. Despite her indifferent demeanor, Jack knew she had actually grown extremely fond of Amelia.

“Oh, Jack, how could you possibly let her return alone?” wondered Charlotte, looking at him with concern. “She must have wanted to go home because she heard her mother was ill—why on earth didn’t you go with her?”

“I couldn’t,” he snapped, defensive. “She insisted on leaving immediately, and unfortunately, I had business matters to attend to, and could not simply…”

“Jack.” Her voice was filled with gentle reprimand.

“I couldn’t go with her, Charlotte.”

“Then you should have asked one of us to go,” said Annabelle. “I could have gone, or Jamie, or Simon…”

“He didn’t want anyone to go with her.” Charlotte’s gaze was fixed sympathetically upon her brother. “He was hoping that she would choose to stay with him.”

“Amelia is free to do whatever she likes,” he said brusquely. “I don’t really give a damn one way or the other. I asked her not to go, and she did. I assume that if she wants to return, she will.”

“She won’t be able to,” Grace countered. “Her parents will never allow it. You know how desperate they are for Amelia to marry Lord Whitcliffe. Her disappearance these past few weeks has been profoundly embarrassing for them. I’m quite sure that once Amelia is back in their grasp, they’ll not be so careless as to let her escape again.”

“Maybe she won’t want to escape again,” Jack retaliated. “Maybe once she has returned to living in luxury, she’ll come to her senses and realize what she was missing.”

Alex looked at him in confusion. “What was she missin’? She had everythin’ she needed here.”

“Amelia isn’t the one who needs to come to her senses, Jack,” said Charlotte. “You are.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean it’s about time you stopped feeling sorry for yourself,” she told him. “It’s time you put your past where it belongs—in the past. And realized that you aren’t condemned to spend the rest of your life alone, feeling bitter and angry at the world.”

“I don’t.”

“You do,” Charlotte insisted. “And if you don’t stop now, then you may indeed have to spend the rest of your life alone. But it won’t be because of Amelia. It will be because of you.”

“You can forget whatever romantic notions you may have in your head, Charlotte.” Jack was infuriated at having his life dissected in front of his entire family. “There is nothing between me and Amelia. She was a friend, and I helped her escape from a marriage she claimed to not want, and gave her a place to stay for a while. Nothing more.”

“Oh, Jack.” Charlotte’s eyes were filled with sadness. “How can you lie to me?”

There was a moment of strained silence.

“If all of you would kindly leave us for a moment,” Genevieve began quietly, “I would like to speak with Jack, alone.”

“Come on then,” said Oliver, rousing the little group into action. “Let’s see if we canna get Eunice to fix us some nice tea and biscuits.”

Genevieve waited until the room had cleared and the door shut before seating herself on the sofa. “I’ve always loved that painting of Charlotte,” she remarked, studying the portrait she had created so many years earlier. “When I gave it to you, I sensed that you loved it just as much as I did.”

“It’s a beautiful painting,” Jack said shortly.

“I suppose it is. But that isn’t what first drew you to it. You liked it simply because it was a painting of Charlotte.”

He did not deny it.

“Before you went away to university, I used to worry about you and Charlotte. I could see that there was a powerful bond between the two of you, and I was afraid you might confuse your feelings for each other for something else. I knew that no matter how deeply you and Charlotte cared for each other, it would be wrong for you to marry her. Do you know why?”

“You thought I wouldn’t be gentle enough with her,” Jack replied bluntly. “You knew I had a violent past and a temper, and you thought Charlotte deserved better than that, after all that she had been through—and she did.”

“No, that wasn’t it at all, Jack. I knew you and Charlotte were wrong for each other, because you would always see Charlotte as a victim. After being an older brother to her for so many years and thinking of her as a shy, frightened, abused little girl who needed protection, you would spend your life trying to shield her from the rest of the world, and even from yourself. You would never come to treat her as an equal. By loving her so much and wanting to keep her safe, you would have locked her into a narrow, stifling role that would have kept her from challenging herself, and ultimately discovering all that she could be.

“And Charlotte would have suffocated you,” Genevieve continued, “although not intentionally. As her husband, you would have felt guilty every time you left her to go on one of your lengthy voyages, even though you needed so desperately to escape Scotland and see the world. Ultimately, you would have resented that. She also would have inadvertently forced you to suppress your emotions and your temper, because you would have been afraid that she was too fragile to deal with them. You needed a woman who could accept your moods and your passions, and not be afraid to match them. Finally, had you married Charlotte your contempt and anger toward the world would have grown unchecked. You would have always believed she was being judged for her own unfortunate beginnings, and you both would have suffered because of it.”

“I don’t see how any of this matters now.” Jack’s voice was clipped. “Charlotte married Harrison, and I was damn happy for her when she did, once I knew what sort of man he was.”

“You were also relieved, because you no longer felt responsible for her happiness.”

He said nothing.

“So my question to you is, who do you think is responsible for your happiness?”

“No one.”

“Wrong. You are. Only you can decide what will make you truly happy, Jack.”

“I am happy.”

“You’re the most miserable I have ever seen you.”

“I’m not miserable.”

“Then why do I feel as if your heart is breaking?”

“I suppose because you’ve been listening to Charlotte, and she seems to think I’m unhappy.”

There was a long moment of silence before Genevieve finally asked, “Do you love Amelia Belford, Jack?”

A harsh laugh escaped him. “It wouldn’t matter if I did. She would never marry a man like me.”

“And what kind of a man is that?”

“A bastard,” he said ruefully. “An urchin. A thief. A street fighter. A prisoner. A struggling, barely successful entrepreneur. Take your pick. None of those things are what she has in mind for a husband.”

“What does she have in mind?”

“Someone rich. Preferably an aristocrat, with a huge estate and lots of money. Someone who has the time and inclination to take her to lots of fancy balls and dance with her and play all those bloody games of society.”

“It seems to me she already had that in Lord Whitcliffe. Yet she gave it up to run away with you.”

“She didn’t run away with me,” Jack objected. “She ran away, and because she just happened to climb into my carriage, I helped her. She thought she was going off to marry Viscount Philmore, but it turned out the sniveling little fop was already betrothed to someone else.” He snorted with contempt.

“And so she stayed with you. She came to Inverness, and from what I understand from your brothers and sisters, she created a new identity for herself, and got herself a job, and even brought that little Alex here to live. Those hardly sound like the actions of a spoiled heiress who is pining to go home.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jack argued. “Now that she has gone home, she’ll see everything that she was missing. This is a woman who was born to a wealth you and I can barely imagine, Genevieve—far greater than anything Haydon inherited or earned in his lifetime. She has lived a life of unbelievable privilege and protection—she doesn’t understand the real world. She thinks all criminals are like Oliver and Alex, for God’s sake.” He turned to look out the window before finishing in a raw voice, “And she doesn’t know the truth about me.”

“What truth?”

“About my past,” he replied shortly.

“Actually, I believe she does—in quite some detail. Annabelle told me that she and Amelia talked about your childhood at length while Amelia was staying with her. Annabelle wasn’t the first to mention it, either. Apparently Oliver, Eunice and Doreen had already told her about it.”

Jack stared at her, dumbfounded. “She knows?”

“Why does that surprise you?”

“Because she never acted like she knew.”

“How do you think she should have acted?”

Like she was better than me. Like I was not worthy of her.

But Amelia had never acted like she thought she was better than him—or anybody else, for that matter. For all her privilege and breeding, for all her travel and education and jewels and gowns and the expectation that she would marry someone of either staggering wealth or nobility, Amelia had always treated him exactly the same.

As an equal.

“When I first fell in love with Haydon, I believed he would never want to marry someone like me,” Genevieve reflected softly. “He was a marquess, and I was a poor, outcast spinster whom society thought was mad because I had given up a life of privilege and respectability to take care of urchin children no one else wanted. How could a wealthy, handsome, titled man like Haydon possibly want to marry a woman like that?”

“You were strong, and kind, and generous.” Jack felt his old fury stir as he remembered how society had denigrated Genevieve. “He was lucky to find you.”

“We were lucky to find each other,” Genevieve amended, smiling. “But all the while I was thinking that I was not worthy of Haydon, he believed that he was not worthy of me, because of the mistakes he had made in his past. So there we were, each of us too consumed with self-doubt and guilt to realize how the other felt. If we had just walked away without telling each other, we would never have known the incredible love and happiness that we have shared these past twenty-two years.”

Jack shook his head. “Amelia Belford is not in love with me, Genevieve.”

“How do you know?”

Because a woman as magnificent as she could never love a selfish bastard like me.

“Everything I’ve heard about her suggests to me that she is quite special,” Genevieve continued, watching him. “I’m your mother, so of course I think that any young woman with an ounce of sense would be foolish not to love you. But the only question that matters at this moment is, do you care for her enough to find out? Because if your brothers and sisters are right, she is trapped now. She is a prisoner of her family’s ambition, while you are a prisoner of your unwillingness to put your past aside and look at her purely with your heart.”

He went to the window and stared outside, weighing Genevieve’s words.

He had let Amelia go. He had always known that eventually she would leave him. Yet for a brief moment he had allowed himself to think that he had managed to bind her to him—that he had made her understand with his touch what he couldn’t seem to articulate with words. He had been so furious when he discovered the note she had left him, he had barely flinched when Oliver returned home later that evening to say that she had not been at the hotel when he went to pick her up. Walter Sweeney, the manager, had seemed surprised that Oliver didn’t know she had taken the train to London earlier that day, saying she had some urgent family matter to attend to. Jack had retired to his study to pore over the journals Lord Hutton had given him, angrily telling himself that he didn’t give a damn what she did. He would just immerse himself in his work the way he always had. He would devote himself to bringing down Great Atlantic and building North Star Shipping into the successful company he knew it could be. But he couldn’t.

Amelia was gone, and suddenly nothing else seemed to matter.

“Oliver!” he called suddenly. He strode across the room and jerked the door open, only to find his entire family crowded around the doorway.

“Were you listening?” he demanded.

“Of course not.” Alex managed much better than the rest to look thoroughly affronted by his suggestion. “We was just comin’ to ask ye if ye wanted yer tea brought to ye.”

“I don’t have time for tea,” Jack told her. “I need my bags brought up to my room, Oliver. I’m taking the next train to London.”

“Good.” Alex nodded with satisfaction. “I’ve always wanted to see London.”

“You’re not coming, Alex.”

“Ye canna stop me from goin’,” she told him bluntly. “If ye willna buy me a ticket, then I’ll just pinch one, or nick the money to buy one. Either way, I’m goin’.”

“I’ll pay your fare, Alex,” offered Jamie. “That will save you the trouble of lifting my wallet. We can sit together on the train,” he suggested brightly, “and you can tell me how you would go about fleecing the other passengers.”

“Oh, Jamie, that’s a lovely idea,” agreed Annabelle. “I was just thinking a trip to London would be very nice. I could meet with my publisher, and we might even take in a play while we’re there.”

“I’m going, too,” Simon decided. “I can use the time on the train to work on my drawings for my latest invention.”

“I’ve been meaning to get to London to see the new fashions for autumn,” reflected Grace.

“I would like to visit the National Gallery and the British Museum,” Charlotte added.

“And I really must check on the house, and see how Lizzie and Beaton are getting along.” Genevieve looked at Haydon expectantly.

He sighed. “I’m sure I have some business matters in London to attend to,” he said, wrapping an arm around her waist.

“Well, I’m nae leavin’ ye to be driven around London by that old drunk, Beaton.” Oliver scowled. “He’s liable to forget where he left ye.”

“You’re not coming with me.” Jack’s tone was final.

Simon regarded him with feigned confusion. “Who said anything about going with you?”

“We’re just taking a trip—that’s all,” Grace assured him.

“Are we now?” Eunice entered the room carrying an enormous platter of ginger biscuits. “I’ve been thinkin’ of takin’ a wee trip myself, lately.”

“London seems as good a place as any to go,” reflected Doreen. “Besides, I doubt poor Lizzie can feed and tend to all o’ ye by herself.”

“Surely you can’t object to us traveling on the same train with you,” Annabelle said sweetly.

“You won’t even know we’re there,” Charlotte promised.

Jack’s expression was dark. “I doubt that.”

“You can’t expect to just march into Amelia’s home and walk out with her, Jack,” pointed out Simon, munching on a biscuit. “Even if she wants to go with you, her parents are liable to make a fuss.”

“Think about what happened at the Wilkinsons’ ball,” said Annabelle.

“If things get sticky, you’re going to need us,” Jamie added.

Grace nodded in agreement. “The more distractions we can create, the better.”

They were right, Jack realized, moved by his family’s desire to help.

“Fine, then,” he relented. “But you do exactly as I say—is that clear?”

The little band of former thieves solemnly nodded.