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Amelia finally convinced her feet to move and, once inside Taviston House, locked herself inside her room and sagged against the door.
Why hadn’t she slapped him in outrage? Had shy, undersized James turned into a rake who ravaged any woman he encountered? She shook off that ridiculous thinking, though yes, she should have put an end to his inappropriate advance.
With a disgruntled sigh, she pushed away from the door. Once changed into her nightdress and wrapper, she dismissed her maid. She should go to bed, but her mind and her heart were still running wild.
Instead, she lit the lamp beside the chair and retrieved her portable writing desk. Soon, she was transported to the Lake District, where her characters were about to get caught in a rain shower. Her quill flew across the paper. They were drenched. The storm showed no sign of abating. However... There was a shepherd’s hut. Yes, they could take shelter there. They would try to dry off. She’d have to let down her hair. He would assist her. His lips would drift to her neck, her cheek, her mouth. He couldn’t resist showing her how much he wanted her. She couldn’t resist showing him how much he meant to her.
The quill trailed off the page. Well. She was unlikely to find a publisher for a such a scandalous novel. She should be ashamed but... She stuffed the papers under the lid of the writing desk and snuffed out the lamp.
After climbing into bed, her thoughts continued to whirl and whirl, reliving the night again and again. It was only as she was finally about to drift off that she remembered she was supposed to have accompanied Stephen into supper. Instead, she’d left without a word.
The tears flowed fast and furiously then.
She finally fell asleep as dawn neared and didn’t awaken until late in the morning. Breakfast had undoubtedly long been cleared, so she would have to see if Cook had anything she could nibble on. Forcing herself to think of Stephen and apologizing, she stepped out into the corridor, only to hear someone being reprimanded.
“How could you do this again? You are very, very naughty! What’m I to do now?”
A few yards away, one of the nursery maids was bent over Foster, Taviston and Victoria’s second son, her harsh whispered words having no effect on the little boy, who stared back with wide, guileless blue eyes. What could the poor child have done to deserve such a dressing down?
Amelia approached and addressed the maid. “Alice, may I be of help?”
The young servant couldn’t have looked more frustrated. Her hair had escaped not only her cap but its pins as well, poking out in all directions like spokes on a wheel while her cheeks were flushed a deep red. “Oh, my lady! Yes, please. I don’t know what to do with Lord Foster. He won’t behave.”
Amelia glanced down at the boy she considered a nephew, whose sandy curls and clasped hands portrayed innocence to perfection. Foster was only three, but Amelia knew all too well how mischievous he could be. With a care for her skirts, she sank down to the little boy’s level. “What have you done, my sweet?”
“It’s pretty and I like to look at it,” Foster proclaimed, as if that explained everything. For him, it probably did.
“It in’t his!” Alice interrupted. “He thieved it, and if it’s found missing, I could be in trouble.”
“Will you show it to me?” Amelia asked. “I like pretty things too.” It was probably one of Victoria’s baubles. Foster and his brother always attended their mother as she readied herself in the morning.
The little boy nodded, his curls bobbing up and down, and then reached into the pocket of his skeleton suit. His eyes lit with pleasure as he dangled a man’s watch in front of Amelia’s face. “It’s so shiny. Look here, Auntie, see all the embossings?”
Amelia couldn’t contain a smile at the new word. “Yes, the carvings are beautiful.” The gold watch had a woodland scene embossed on the front. She took it from Foster and flipped it over. Etched on the back were the words, To WILLIAM, From Father—1769. An heirloom, but whose? “Where did you get this?”
“From Uncle James’s room.”
Of course. William had been the name of the previous Duke of Taviston.
“Are you certain? It could be your papa’s.”
Foster shook his head. “It is Uncle James’s. But I think it’s pretty and I want to keep it.”
“I’m afraid you cannot keep it, sweet. It must be special to Uncle James; it’s from his father.” Amelia rose and held the watch out to Alice, who recoiled as if it were poisonous.
“Oh, please, can’t you see it returned to Lord James? This in’t the first time Lord Foster’s taken things and I’m that afraid someone will think it’s me. I need my place here.”
Absolutely not. Amelia could not even imagine facing James right now. “Alice, Lord James would never think—”
Tears filled the maid’s eyes. “Please, my lady.”
“I’d rather you come with me, Auntie,” Foster piped in.
Botheration! She hadn’t even had breakfast yet. But Amelia couldn’t resist all the pleading. She pocketed the watch and said, “Very well. Alice, I will return Foster to you in the nursery when we are finished.”
After fervently thanking Amelia, Alice nearly ran down the passage toward the servants’ stairs. Foster slipped his hand into Amelia’s, and again she bent down toward the boy. “You must apologize to Uncle James and you must promise not to take things that don’t belong to you. I’m certain he would show you his watch, if you would only ask.”
Foster nodded, his features set in a serious yet adorable expression. “I will promise. Let’s go find Uncle.”
“Wait,” Amelia said. “First, we must go to the kitchens for some biscuits.”
“Why?” Foster asked as Amelia led him down the corridor.
“Because I am hungry and also because I find, in these kinds of situations, it is best to come bearing a gift.” Or because it would give her time to settle her breathing into a normal rhythm and will away the blush that was undoubtedly coloring her cheeks.
Cook supplied them with a napkin full of raisin biscuits and the butler told them, when asked, that they could most likely find Lord James in the silver salon.
Amelia ate a fortifying biscuit on the way back upstairs. Foster chattered happily, asking question after question about the new litter of puppies Stephen’s dog had just whelped. Fretting about the imminent meeting with James was impossible.
Foster flew into the salon, shouting, “Uncle James!”
He was standing by the window but reacted quickly and swept the little boy up into his arms, as naturally as if he had done such things for years.
“We’ve brought biscuits,” Foster continued, pointing at Amelia. “So you won’t be angry.”
James smiled even as he turned slightly bemused eyes to her.
“They are a peace offering. From Foster,” Amelia added in a rush, lest he think they were from her. Though God only knew she needed a little peace where James was concerned.
As he walked toward her, she held out the biscuits, hoping to keep him from coming too close. With Foster still in his arms, he took two, softly said, “Thank you,” and then sat on the sofa. He settled his nephew in his lap and offered him one of the biscuits before saying, “Why do you need to make peace with me?”
The boy slid down and approached Amelia, his hand held out. She pulled the watch from her pocket and gave it over, all the while aware of James’s gaze upon her.
“I like your shiny watch, but Auntie Amelia says I can’t keep it.”
James took the watch. “Thank you for returning it. I couldn’t find it this morning. I usually wear it here.” He pointed to his green brocade waistcoat and then opened the watch and began counting the numerals for Foster. The boy watched earnestly, his hands tucked away in his pockets.
James was so patient, not to mention forgiving. He would be as excellent a father as his brothers were. Amelia turned away and ate another biscuit, wondering what kind of father Stephen would be. He was the one she was going to marry. Somehow a third biscuit found its way to her mouth. They too might have a sturdy boy with bright eyes. Or a little blonde-haired girl.
Amelia looked down to find the rest of the biscuits crumbled in her fist. As she tidied the mess up into the napkin, James called her name.
“Yes?” she replied, too brightly.
“I think Foster might have something else to return as well,” he said.
The little boy’s eyes grew wide as James pointed at one of his pockets.
Amelia approached, thinking Victoria and Taviston would need to have a long talk with their offspring.
“Foster,” she said sternly, “what else do you have?”
James had his hand waiting to receive the pilfered item as, ever so slowly, Foster brought it out. When Amelia saw the tiny black and gold object she exclaimed, “My lace pin. Foster, how could you?”
Her tone was harsher than she meant it to be, but the sight of that pin always did odd things to her.
The youngster burst into tears. Amelia gathered him up, whispering an apology into his ear. While she soothed Foster, James pulled the servants’ bell.
Finally, Foster heaved one last sob and then settled down. Amelia reminded herself how truly young he was, and that the little boy probably had no idea of the significance of the items he had taken. As he’d already admitted, he merely thought they were pretty.
James crossed the room and took the child from Amelia. “Foster, would you be upset if your brother took your wooden horse?”
The boy’s curls bounced vigorously as he nodded. “He did! Just the other day. I hit him.”
The corner of James’s mouth twitched, but he managed to maintain a serious expression. “Well, you had every right to be angry, but you shouldn’t hit him. When you take other people’s belongings, it upsets them.”
Foster gazed into his eyes. “I’m sorry.” When James tilted his head toward Amelia, the boy threw himself that way. James came closer and Amelia took him once again.
“I’m sorry,” Foster repeated. Then his lips turned out into a pout. “But everyone else has such shiny things!”
Amelia laughed and hugged him.
A maid entered the room.
“Mary is going to take you back to the nursery, Foster,” James said.
Amelia gave the child over reluctantly. She had wanted to return him to the nursery herself, not wishing to remain here with James. Somehow, she had made it this long without dwelling on the events of last night, but she didn’t know how much longer she could do so.
James returned to Amelia after seeing the boy and maid out the door. Cocking his head toward the sitting area he asked, “Shall we? I asked Mary to bring up some tea. I didn’t see you at breakfast, so I thought you might want something besides biscuits.”
Times like these made her wonder how she could ever be angry with him, and her traitorous feet carried her over to the sofa where she sat with her back straight and her feet crossed at the ankles.
When James passed the sofa and lowered himself into an adjacent wing chair, Amelia realized she’d been holding her breath. She let it out, reminding herself that having him sit next to her would have been untenable. Yet the reprimand went unheeded when a hint of his nutty soap tickled her nose, dotting her arms with gooseflesh.
Staying here was a mistake.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “Tea would be lovely.”
Beyond the niceties, she had no idea what they would discuss. How could James act so casually? He lounged in his chair, long, wool-covered legs stretched out in front of him, boots crossed. He had ordered tea, as if they sat down for a coze every morning. As if he hadn’t kissed her senseless last night.
The returning maid set the tray in front of Amelia, who busied herself with pouring two cups. Then, as the servant left, Amelia piled sandwiches and apple slices on a plate. Her stomach rumbled, rather loudly, at the mere sight of the food. She glanced at James to see if he had heard, but his attention was fixed on the window. Without further hesitation, she began eating.
“Did you hear thunder? I didn’t think it was supposed to rain today.”
His tone was contemplative and innocent, but Amelia didn’t miss the devilish twinkle in his blue eyes when he turned. She shot him a quelling look, which only made him smile. That smile could so easily awaken her hunger for things besides food.
No. She couldn’t allow those feelings. How could she feel such desire for someone when she barely respected the man he had become?
James pulled something from his waistcoat pocket. Stretching out his hand, the mourning pin nestled there, he asked, “Was it made in memory of your mother?”
Her mother had died when Amelia was eight. She took the pin, willing herself not to look at James when her fingers grazed his palm. Staring at the pin’s jet stones she explained, “Tessa had it made.” She pressed a finger over the glass-encased, braided blond hair and tried not to think of her mother—or her father. “After she died.”
James said nothing. As the silence stretched on, Amelia could no longer resist raising her gaze.
Behind the spectacles, his blue eyes studied her thoughtfully, and when he lifted up his father’s watch, a memory from that night long ago flashed in her mind. He’d fiddled with the watch often in the carriage on their escape north. She’d assumed it was a nervous habit.
“Taviston gave me this upon our father’s death,” he said. “I thanked him, of course, but I didn’t think much of it at the time. I shoved it in a drawer and forgot about it.”
“How old were you?” she asked, relieved to be speaking of his father and not her parents.
“Eleven. I think I hid it away because I didn’t want any reminders. The memories were painful enough—or rather, the visions of what would never be.”
She had rarely seen him this expressive. His sad smile pulled at her, and Amelia realized she had begun to reach out to him. Slowly she withdrew and smoothed her skirts with one hand.
She cleared her throat. “When did you finally start wearing it?”
He was silent for so long she thought he wasn’t going to answer. He simply stared at the watch, rubbing his thumb over the embossed surface. Finally, he replied, “When my memories of my father began to grow hazy. I found myself wanting a piece of him, something tangible to remember him by.” He flipped the watch over and held it so she could see the engraving on the back. “My grandfather gave it to him. I like to think he remembered his father when he wore it too.”
Amelia blinked against a sudden sting of tears. How hard it must have been for him to have grown up without a father. Oh, she had no doubt that Taviston had stepped in and done the best he could, but still, she knew what it was like to be without a parent.
She did reach across and squeeze his hand then. Just once, quickly. His eyes, wide in surprise, cut to hers.
She raised the lace pin for James to see. “How did you know Foster had something in his pocket? It’s so small as to be unnoticeable.” There, she was talking about the pin and, in a roundabout way, her parents.
“He kept his hand in there, fiddling with it. It wasn’t much to assume it was another of his stolen treasures.” He slid the watch back into his pocket and gestured toward her pin. “Have you ever worn it?”
Amelia shook her head. Like James, she had buried the piece. Among her handkerchiefs. Out of sight, out of mind.
“Perhaps you should. It’s been a long time.”
Despite her best intentions to remain relaxed, Amelia’s jaw tightened. She knew how many years it had been. She knew how much time she had lost with her mother. The muscles in her throat constricted as well. She squeezed the pin in her palm and whispered, “When I look at it, all I can think about is how I lost my mother, my father, and my sister at the same time.”
James tilted his head, asking a silent question.
Amelia swallowed past the lump in her throat. She wasn’t going to cry. There was no point. “My father had his son and heir. He focused all his attention on Anthony. Before my mother died, he would spend time with Tessa and me, teaching us to ride and play games like chess and cribbage. Once she was gone, it was as if we became invisible. Tessa thinks our mother was the one who pushed him to engage with us.”
“Tessa was always there for you, though. You didn’t lose her,” James said, his forehead wrinkled in a frown.
Amelia stared at the pin in her hand, sweeping her thumb over the jet beads. “I sometimes feel like I did. She tried so hard to be both mother and sister. After. I feel awful thinking it, but she often seemed to forget to be my sister because she was so intent on making certain I didn’t feel the loss of our mother.” She blinked away the stupid tears that kept threatening. “I think she lost herself too, for many years. Despite everything my father and Lytham put her through, I think she’s finally found herself again, with Peyton’s help.”
“We have that in common.” When Amelia looked up at him, James explained, “Taviston has been more like a father to me than a brother. I don’t think it was the same for Peyton, as there is a scant year between them, but Taviston is eight years older than me. I mean no disrespect, but I wish he’d been a brother instead.”
“Taviston’s personality seems more suited to father figure so perhaps that’s why he took on that role.”
James lifted a corner of his mouth. “He is given to issuing directives, even to Peyton. Still, I’ve felt pressured to be too like him. It’s as if he was trying to mold and shape me into a combined image of him and Peyton. I think he thought—perhaps still thinks—that if I do not turn out like him and Peyton, then he has failed. So, the threat of his failure weighs me down. There’s been no room for me to breathe, to be myself.” He exhaled and caught her eye. “Until I left.”
At least his jaunt to the Continent had been good for something besides building his muscles.
“Did...” James hesitated for a drawn-out moment. “Were you ever able to accept your father’s apology? Before he passed away?”
He was right to be hesitant, after the way she’d rounded on him when he’d previously brought up her father and his play for forgiveness. They were communicating so openly though. She didn’t want to ruin the moment with petulance.
Amelia tucked the pin against her palm and closed her fist over it, squeezing tightly. “I did not forgive him.”
Her lip did not tremble as she finished the sentence. Those tears were not building again. She turned her head away, knowing one glance at James’s sympathetic face would render her incoherent mess. She hated feeling remorse over her father’s death. He didn’t deserve a moment’s thought from her. He did not deserve her forgiveness.
Vision blurred, she jerked to her feet and stumbled away as the tears fell despite her wishes to the contrary. She tried to force down the sob caught in her throat, but she couldn’t. She prayed James would go away. Tears frightened most men, so perhaps he would slink away and leave her be.
But then warm hands cupped her shoulders, turning her around and folding her into the comfort of a solid chest and strong arms, into the place where she secretly longed to stay forever. She cried a while longer for her mother, who’d not been given the chance to see her children grow, and for her wretched father, damn him. Then she wept for herself, for she had no right to be so tenderly ensconced in James’s arms.
“Oh, Amelia,” he finally said, pulling her closer still. Her arms were trapped between them, her hands fisted against his chest.
It wasn’t Oh, Amelia, you poor thing, as his mother the dowager might have said. It wasn’t Oh, Amelia, you know how father was, as her sister might have said. It definitely wasn’t Oh, Amelia, don’t be sad. I can make you feel better, as Stephen would have said. They were two simple words, said on a sigh without judgment. Exactly what she wanted.
With all the reluctance in the world, Amelia pushed away. As comforting as James’s words and embrace were, she was Stephen’s fiancée. One of them needed to maintain an air of propriety, and it didn’t appear as if James ever intended to do so.
She took the handkerchief he offered and dabbed at her eyes. “I couldn’t see past how horrible he was to Tessa and in turn, me.” She paced. “I know he apologized over and over again. I wanted to forgive him. I wanted a father, a parent, again. Then he was gone.” And so were you.
James, from across the room thankfully, mused, “Isn’t it interesting how people are never quite what we want them to be? I wonder if that is that our failing or theirs?”
Amelia did not wonder. “If you love someone, you’ll be what they need.”
“I thought that’s what I was doing,” he said so quietly Amelia wasn’t certain she heard him correctly.
“What was that?”
“Nothing. I just—” he shook his head curtly. “You deserved better from your father your entire life, not just those few short months. You couldn’t be expected to forget all those years so easily. I’m so sorry, Amelia.”
She’d lain awake so many nights, berating herself for not accepting her father’s contrition. There was a measure of relief in hearing forgiveness was not something she owed him. “Thank you.”
James crossed to her then and laid a hand upon her arm. “I’m also sorry I wasn’t here to help you through that difficult time.”
Up until then his words had been nothing but reassuring. “But you weren’t here, were you?”
“No,” he said. “I wasn’t.”
“Because you jilted me and ran off like a coward.” Astounding, how good it felt to say those words. Until she peeked up at James’s face. He looked as if she’d slapped him.
He had no right to be hurt. She was the one who’d been crushed by his swift departure.
“I tell you again, I did not jilt you,” James said as she turned to leave.
He always knew what to say to get a response from her, even if he used that soft, calm tone. She whirled around. “How can you deny it?”
“I did what was best for you.”
Her voice rose against her will. “So you call yourself noble?”
“Never.” His tone was as sharp and jagged as a saw. “You didn’t want me, Amelia. I was weak and puny whereas Peyton and Taviston were strong. I wasn’t brave enough for you. I couldn’t even protect you from that ruffian. ‘James was just as frightened as I,’ you said.”
Seldom was she stunned into silence, but her brain could barely comprehend his words.
“I wanted to marry you,” he whispered. If she had closed her eyes, she could have imagined the words were uttered with the utmost tenderness.
She found her voice at last but couldn’t help spluttering. “You thought... I didn’t... Why didn’t you ask me if I still wanted to marry you or not?”
“I didn’t want to give you a chance to reject me. I’d left my pride on the side of that road, trampled to bits.” He huffed out a breath and tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling. “I had a plan, though. To shape myself into someone you could love, someone you could be proud of. I was going to join the army. Become strong and brave, just like my brothers.”
Amelia’s blood boiled over with anger and frustration and desperation. Dear God, how could her heart still feel as if it were breaking? “I never asked you to do any of that.”
He let his head fall and shot her a disbelieving look. “Perhaps not out loud, but I’m not, nor have I ever been, stupid. You were infatuated with Peyton and his confidence and his brawn. Look at the man you are marrying. Kensworth is cut from the same cloth.”
She struggled to rein in her emotions, to make sense of what he was saying. This was why they hadn’t married? She would concede that she’d been fascinated by Peyton and his seeming ability to take care of every problem, great or small. But she’d never wished James were more like him. She remembered being a little disappointed that he hadn’t reacted more quickly that awful night, and she had rushed into Taviston’s arms, but she had still wanted to marry James after all that.
And there was one thing she didn’t understand. She’d waited. And hoped. And waited some more.
“Why did you not come back sooner?” She flapped a hand up and down in front of his lean but no longer “puny” figure. “You are clearly... Well, you’ve achieved your goal, despite not becoming a soldier. Could you not have returned?”
Even as she asked, she wondered if she would have fallen into his arms if he had. Would she have forgiven him so easily? She obviously was never quick to absolve others. Could she have accepted, even then, an aimless, purposeless James who couldn’t or wouldn’t account for his absence?
“I could not return.”
“By your own admission, you were doing nothing.”
“I wasn’t finished transforming myself.”
Amelia couldn’t believe he thought she cared about his so-called defects. She, who was nowhere near ideal herself, and probably never would be? A man who sought perfection in himself wouldn’t accept anything less in someone else.
Not that any of these musings or his explanations were relevant. They had lost whatever chance they might have had, all because of James’s pride.
She tried to smile, but the effect was probably paltry. Somehow, she would make it to her room before succumbing to another good cry. “I wish you the very best of luck in your search for a bride.”
After giving James a polite but brief nod she headed for the door. She would have liked to have said she didn’t look back, but she was weak; she did. James was running his fingers through his hair, but the expression on his face told her he probably would have preferred to tear it out.
Kensworth, she reminded herself. Stephen. He was her intended. If only she felt with him what she felt with James, maybe forgetting James would be easier. There must be a trick to it, something she was missing.
Instead of retreating to her room, she went in search of Tessa and found her in the back garden tending to the flower beds. It wasn’t her garden, this being Taviston and Victoria’s home but no one yet had been able to keep Tessa from her passion for plants. “May I ask for some advice?”
Her sister pocketed the pruning shears she was using and wiped her hands on her apron. “Certainly. Having trouble deciding which gown to wear this evening?”
“No. I want you to advise me on...marital activities in the bedchamber.”
Tessa’s eyes widened. “I thought we did that before. When you were to marry...” Her sister bit off the rest of that sentence. “Yes, your wedding is quickly approaching.”
It couldn’t come soon enough for Amelia. She swept her gown beneath her bottom and sat on a nearby bench. Tessa, though expecting her second child, gracefully arranged herself on the blanket beside the flower bed and picked up a trowel. She worked industriously, never tearing her eyes away from the dirt, while repeating the basic facts of procreation she’d shared three years ago.
Amelia had not forgotten Tessa’s previous lesson. She needed knowledge of a different sort.
After a flushing Tessa finally stuttered to halt, Amelia said, “Thank you. I know you were probably hoping to avoid explaining that again for many more years—until Phoebe is older. I wonder, though, if you could elaborate on...well, how to feel more.” It was her turn to blush. “Kensworth seems good at kissing, but I wanted to know if there was something I could do to feel that much more alive when we’re together. I want our wedding night to be perfect.”
Tessa looked off to the far ivy-covered wall, a smile curving her lips. “I’ve always found it thrilling to take the initiative. To not be so missish. I must say, I think Peyton likes it too.” She giggled and took Amelia’s hand. “Once you are married, he is yours just as much as you are his. You have every right to enjoy the marital act as much as your husband. Don’t forget that.”
Perhaps boldness was the key. The night before, opening herself to James had stopped him cold, but that was because she was engaged. Doing something equally brash might just yield the opposite result with Stephen. Yes, it might just work. And fortunately enough, the Caldwells were coming to dinner the next evening. Amelia would find a way to get Stephen alone and try out this new wile.
She kissed Tessa on the cheek and hugged her tight. “Thank you!”