June 1816
Since Amelia had only made use of a few rooms after her uncle passed away, much of the house had been closed off. That included the guest bedrooms in the west wing. With plans for the ball underway, Mrs. Hastings took her to every one of those rooms so they could catalog the furnishings and ensure the rooms would be ready to receive guests. Amelia had explained that only a few of those rooms would be used for guests of the ball. But she couldn’t argue when the housekeeper suggested it would be more efficient to go through all the rooms now so they would be available for the marquess’s future needs.
And so, after breakfast each morning, Amelia visited some of the closed rooms with Mrs. Hastings and a selection of maids. The contents of each room were cataloged and a plan of action created for what needed to be done with respect to cleaning and updating the linens and draperies. Lowenbrock had already approved a generous amount of money for improvements, and Amelia was determined to stay within that budget. Fortunately, only a handful of rooms needed more than an airing out and thorough dusting.
When the rooms were cleaned and updated, she had to do the entire tour over again to give the head housekeeper her stamp of approval on the readiness of the rooms.
After a morning of such activity, Amelia would escape with her lap desk to the small sitting room she’d claimed for her own and continue writing her novel.
The staff knew she spent her afternoons in the sitting room, and it wouldn’t be difficult for Lowenbrock to track her down. In case that occurred, she made a point of bringing her correspondence with her. If he came upon her, it wouldn’t be a lie to say she was writing a letter. She was always in the middle of writing a letter to Mary, her closest friend, these days.
But after that one time when he came across her while she was writing in the library, he never sought her out. With Mr. Markham gone and Lowenbrock busy with estate matters, loneliness began to settle over her. Which was silly, of course, because she saw the marquess every morning and at dinner each evening. It was more company than she’d had since her uncle’s passing.
But there was something about sharing a household with someone with whom one could be interacting but wasn’t that made her feel more alone than if he weren’t there at all.
Her writing progressed at a steady pace. It was nearing the end of June—two months after the marquess’s arrival—and she had passed the midpoint of her novel. It would need extensive edits, of course, but she was ecstatic about the progress she was making. She was so immersed in her characters’ lives that scenes and snippets of dialogue assailed her at odd moments throughout the day. She’d begun to carry a small notebook with her so she could capture those moments of inspiration.
She pulled it out during dinner one evening after Lowenbrock said something particularly witty, her only thought to capture the comment for the hero in her book.
“What are you writing?”
With a guilty start, she snapped the notebook closed. When she met Lowenbrock’s gaze, his eyes were alight with curiosity.
She contemplated lying but discarded the idea as soon as it entered her head. Lowenbrock would learn the truth soon enough… it might as well come from her. But she couldn’t tell him everything. He hadn’t realized she was the barmaid he’d met in that tavern in London despite the fact she’d long since stopped wearing her spectacles every day. She’d also considered that it might be time to stop wearing the lace cap that covered her hair.
With exaggerated care, she placed the closed notebook on the table next to her, lining up the small stub of a pencil next to it. She took a deep breath. “I have a confession to make.”
Lowenbrock leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. One brow rose in question, but he didn’t speak as he waited for her to continue.
After taking another deep breath, she blurted out the truth. “I’m writing a book. A work of fiction. It’s been consuming me of late, and I apologize for forgetting my manners.”
His expression remained blank for several moments and then the corners of his mouth rose in a smile. As happened far too often in this man’s presence, her heart leaped. “That’s wonderful, Miss Weston.”
His rapt attention, so different from his normal polite manner, left her flustered. “Yes, well, the publishers to whom I sent my first novel didn’t think so.”
“And this is your second novel?”
“Yes. I hate to admit it, but I’m afraid they were correct about my first book. I can see now where I went wrong with it, and I can feel in my bones that this one is much improved.”
“Hence why you’ve been hiding away. I’ve scarce seen you since Mr. Markham departed. I thought that perhaps I had offended you in some way.”
When she realized her mouth was hanging open, she closed it. “No, of course not. Between writing and preparing for the ball…” No, she wouldn’t be a coward, not when Lowenbrock was being honest with her. “You’ve been busy as well. I know that we’re scarce more than acquaintances, but I welcome your friendship.”
If his smile grew any wider, she would be in danger of swooning.
“Well, good, now that we have that settled, may I…?” She glanced down at her notebook, breaking the moment that had stretched between them. She was more than a little off-balance after being the subject of his intense attention.
“By all means.”
The weight of his stare settled over her for several long moments before he lifted his fork again and continued with the meal. She inhaled deeply, the air filling her lungs doing nothing to calm her sudden bout of nerves, and jotted down the witticism he’d shared. When she was done, she closed the book again and resumed her own meal.
“I’ll try not to do that again. But when inspiration strikes, I find I must record it lest it be forgotten in the next moment. It’s almost shocking how easily distracted I can be.”
“Am I a distraction, Miss Weston?”
His amusement did strange things to his face. His gray eyes were light with merriment, but there was an intensity in his gaze that left her feeling unbalanced again.
“Everything is a distraction.” She’d meant to be offhand but found the statement came off with an odd, breathy quality. She looked away and took another bite of her fish.
“Will I be allowed to read this book?”
Her thoughts scattered as she tried to think of an appropriate response. If Lowenbrock read her book, she’d no longer be able to hide the fact they’d met before his arrival at the estate. For the first time, she couldn’t help but consider she might have been wrong to take Mr. Markham’s advice about concealing their first meeting. The marquess was not an unreasonable man. Surely he would understand the reasons behind her actions that evening.
But two months had passed. Would he be angry she’d kept this secret from him? Or would he understand she’d been worried he would ask her to leave Brock Manor because her actions had risked her reputation and, by extension, his? Now that she’d come to know him, she didn’t believe he’d behave so callously.
But she couldn’t forget the look on his face when he’d expressed his dislike for secrets. That she’d kept this information from him for so long would be a strike against her. Worse, he might think she’d been laughing at him behind his back for his failure to recognize her.
“I’ll take your silence as a no.”
She winced as she met his gaze. “It’s a ‘not at present.’ I’m still writing the first draft, and there’s much I’ll need to fix in edits.”
It was only a half-truth. She knew that one day she would have to tell him about their meeting that night in the tavern. But if, like her first novel, no one wanted to publish this book, she might not have to tell him.
What was it about this man that had her wanting to avoid the possibility he might come to think ill of her?
“I’ll hold you to that. I haven’t had much time of late to enjoy fiction, not with all the estate records with which I’ve needed to familiarize myself when I’m not out visiting tenants and overseeing the land. When you’re ready, however, I would be honored to read it.”
She couldn’t help but think this man was nearly too perfect. She’d almost expected him to pout or to insist, but instead, he respected her need for time. And his patience only served to make him more attractive.
Which, of course, brought to mind Mr. Markham’s desire that she and Lowenbrock wed. She forced her thoughts away from that possibility since the marquess clearly didn’t think of her in such a manner.
She looked away, uncomfortable under his intense regard. She did not need the embarrassment of Lowenbrock realizing she found him captivating. “Distract me with another subject. Please.”
He let out a soft chuckle. “As a matter of fact, there was something else I wanted to speak to you about.”
She took a sip of her wine and looked at him. “As long as it isn’t about me, then proceed.”
He glanced down at her plate with a small frown. “I’ve kept you from eating with my chatter. And if you don’t finish, Cook might withhold dessert.”
Amelia chuckled and took another bite of her fish. She wouldn’t put it past the woman to do just that.
They fell into a companionable silence as they ate, but Amelia kept stealing glances at him. Their eyes met often, but thankfully there was no awkwardness. He finished first and waited for her to complete the meal as well.
Her curiosity would no longer be put off. Taking one last sip of her wine, she waved for the footman to remove their plates and begin serving their dessert course, a delicious blancmange.
“What was it you wished to discuss with me?” She took a bite of the dessert and closed her eyes in appreciation. When she opened them again, she caught a strange look on Lowenbrock’s face.
He shook his head and took his own bite before meeting her gaze again. “I’ve been meeting with the tenants over the past month. Trying to get to know them.”
She smiled. “I’m sure they appreciated that. Many of them were quite distraught when Uncle passed away, as was I. We had no way of knowing whether an heir would even be found.”
She had to look away when he brought the dessert to his mouth but was unable to understand why the simple act of watching him savor the treat made her feel uncomfortable.
“Trust me when I say that the news I was now the Marquess of Lowenbrock came as even more of a surprise to me.”
“Well, the tenants couldn’t have asked for someone better. I’m sure it’s obvious to everyone who meets you that you aren’t the type to take advantage of your new wealth to their disadvantage.”
“Stop, I’m blushing.”
His tone was even, as was his color, and Amelia couldn’t help the surprised laugh that burst forth. When heat began to color his cheeks at her reaction, her laughter grew less ladylike. It took about ten seconds before he was laughing as well.
“If my friends were here, they’d never let me hear the end of this. You have to promise you won’t tell them about having made me blush when they arrive for the ball.” His lips twisted slightly on the last word.
Amelia pressed her lips together and mimed the action of closing a lock.
“Thank you,” he said with a dip of his head. His mouth quirked in amusement. “For some reason, the weather has been abysmally cold this summer. Most of the tenants are worried about their crops failing. To ease their worries, Jeffers suggested a summer fair. Something to improve their moods, even if only temporarily.” He gave a casual shrug. “It didn’t take much to convince me. I’ve been to my share of country festivals in my youth and find that I’ve missed them. If anyone deserves some time to enjoy themselves, it would be the families who toil so hard.”
Amelia was grinning when he finished. “Do you plan to attend?”
He nodded. “And I hoped you would accompany me. If you wouldn’t mind, that is.”
“If I wouldn’t mind?” Did this man know nothing about women? “I would love to!”
“I’m relieved to hear you say that. I’m finding it difficult to remember everyone’s name. I still can’t believe so many people are dependent on my decisions.”
“Mr. Jeffers took good care of the estate when Uncle passed away, but there was much that fell by the wayside over the past few years.” At Lowenbrock’s frown, she rushed to add, “He wasn’t neglecting his duties. But Uncle was always very generous. We had no way of knowing what the next marquess would see as a frivolous expense, so he was careful not to spend more than was necessary.”
Lowenbrock was silent for a moment before giving a sharp nod. “The man admitted as much to me himself. But it bothers me to hear about people living in poverty.”
“They were taken care of, as I’m sure you already know. But the estate didn’t provide for too many extras. At any rate, you’re here now and things will return to normal.”
“Or as normal as possible with a marquess who has no idea what he’s doing.”
Amelia wanted to protest, but she let the comment go. She’d heard horror stories about nobles running their estates into the ground with gambling debts and excessive spending. She’d seen no sign of either inclination from Lowenbrock. Still, he was clearly feeling overwhelmed by his new responsibilities.
“I think a fair is just what everyone needs. You and me included. When is it to be?”
“Jeffers suggested one week from Saturday. That will give the tenants some time to prepare.”
“And then the ball is next month.”
Lowenbrock let out an exaggerated sigh that had her laughing again.
“Your sisters have replied. They’ll be here before the ball with their husbands but felt the trip would be of too short a duration to bring your nieces and nephews. Your friends will be arriving before them, as will my friend Mary.”
“You can invite anyone you wish. Lord knows we have more than enough room for guests.”
She lifted her shoulder in a slight shrug. “Mary Trenton is my closest friend. And trust me when I say that we will not be lacking for guests.”
Lowenbrock took her statement at face value, and she released a soft breath. She wouldn’t share the fact that Mary was the only one of her acquaintances she trusted around him. Most of them were already married, but she knew that at least one of them, possibly two, would go out of their way to steal his attention for themselves, and that thought bothered her more than a little. There were already a few beautiful, unattached women from the neighborhood who would do whatever it took to attract his attention.
As they finished the rest of their dessert, she told herself her concern stemmed from practicality. When Lowenbrock wed, it was likely his wife would want her to leave Brock Manor. But she was beginning to realize that she thought of Lowenbrock as belonging to her… She’d even had a dream or two where he’d professed his undying devotion to her.
She couldn’t be sure if these feelings were real or if they were wrapped up in the fiction she was writing. She never should have continued with the hero she’d conceived in London when she realized she’d be living under the same room as the man who’d inspired him. The two were muddled in her mind, and while she’d welcome his attention, it was clear that Lowenbrock had no romantic feelings for her.
She excused herself after they finished dinner and returned to her bedroom, her feelings unsettled as she thought about the future. She couldn’t help but believe that everything would change after the ball.