The Heiress of Winterwood (21 page)

Amelia stood in Winterwood’s vestibule, watching through the window as the carriage returning Captain Sterling to Eastmore Hall clamored down the drive.

My plan is proving to be successful. So why do I feel this way?

It just didn’t make sense. With Lucy safe at Winterwood, the conversation with the Hammonds behind her, and her wedding scheduled for the following Friday, she should be excited, filled
with plans. Instead, her back muscles ached, her temples throbbed, and she couldn’t seem to make her feet move any farther.

Oh, Lord, please help me make it to Friday.
She straightened and started for the stairs. But then a sharp noise echoed, and she froze. She peered down the hall to her left. A light shone under the library door. Someone was home.

Desperate to go unnoticed, she hurried across the vestibule just as James appeared in the hall. “Welcome home, Miss Barrett. I trust your outing was enjoyable.”

Amelia’s heart hammered in her chest at the volume of the man’s voice. She raised a hand to silence him, but too late. The library door flew open, and her uncle filled the doorway.

He came toward her. “Amelia, you have a visitor.”

A prickling sensation climbed her spine. “I am not feeling well. I think I will—”

“Not this time, Amelia.” He reached out and wrapped his pudgy fingers around her arm. “It’s time you faced the consequences of your actions.”

She shifted her weight backward. “But I still have my outside things on. Give me a minute to tidy up and I—”

“It would be rude to keep your guest waiting.”

He yanked on her arm, causing her to stumble forward several steps. Only when she almost fell did he loosen his grip. “Take off that coat and hat. I’ll wait.”

His eyes were hard under wiry eyebrows as she removed her outer garments. She threw a pleading glance at James, as if he could in some way help her, but her uncle was the master—for now, at least.

Slowly she freed herself from the pelisse.

“Come on, girl.” Uncle George walked ahead of her down the hall and stepped back to give her room to enter. She handed her items to James before stepping into the sunlit chamber.

She scanned the room. Her aunt and cousin sat on the settee. Aunt Augusta regarded her with a haughty sneer. Helena would not look at her. Instead, she stared toward the far corner of the room.

Amelia’s breath caught as she followed Helena’s eyes to see Edward Littleton standing there. Jane had been correct—his appearance was much altered. Red rimmed his dark eyes, and his complexion, usually vibrant, was sallow and pale. A day’s worth of stubble blackened his strong jawline. A crumpled cravat hung loosely about his neck, and his wrinkled tailcoat hung open over dirt-smudged fawn breeches. She gaped at him in stunned silence.

Aunt Augusta stood abruptly, pulled Helena to a standing position, then half dragged her to the doorway.

“Wait! Where you are going?” To her own ears, Amelia sounded like a bewildered child. She took a step to follow them, but they ignored her. Uncle George opened the door just wide enough for his wife and daughter to slip past, then followed them out and slammed the door behind him.

Amelia turned slowly to face Edward. She clenched her fists with such intensity that the nails dug into her palms.

His dark eyes flicked from her to the door and back to her again. “Is this what it has come to, Amelia?”

He took an unsteady step toward her. She clasped her hands protectively in front of her and stepped back. He advanced on her again.

And then something shifted within her.

She thought of Captain Sterling’s bravery. His strength. He might not be here, but she could be strong on her own.

She must be strong.

She stood her ground, daring him to come closer. “Why did you visit the Hammonds?”

Edward extended his palms toward her. “Look at me, Amelia.
I haven’t eaten. I haven’t slept. You’ve driven me to desperation. Please release me from my misery. I—”

“You have not answered my question.”

“Why do you suppose I went to the Hammonds?” His short laugh sounded almost like a sob. “Regardless of what you think of me, Amelia, I am not a fool. I know you hold Mrs. Hammond’s counsel in high regard. I thought if she talked to you—”

“That I would what? Change my mind?”

He smoothed his ebony hair, then tugged at his striped waistcoat, the same one he had worn the previous evening. “One could only hope. Do you think I like this? Pleading for your uncle to let me into his home so I can beg you to reconsider? I admit that I’ve behaved poorly. I said things I shouldn’t have. But I love you. That has not, nor will it ever, change.”

“It’s too late, Edward. What’s done is done. My decision is made.”

He took another step toward her. She tensed but did not back away. “I know you, Amelia. You don’t mean that.”

“On the contrary, Mr. Littleton. You don’t know me at all.”

“
Mr.
Littleton?” His head jerked back as if she had slapped him. “Such formality. Is that how it is to be?”

“It is.”

A flash of anger sparked in his eyes, but then his expression softened. “Apparently I did not realize how much you cared for the child. I can admit I was wrong. If you’ll reconsider, she can stay with us as long as you like. Please, darling Amelia, reconsider.”

“I’m sorry, Edward.”

Another laugh. “So I am to believe the captain has truly caught your fancy, hmm? What line of lies has he fed you? Or perhaps he’s showing you the ways of the world?”

He took yet another step in her direction. Every muscle in her body poised to move quickly if need be. “Mr. Littleton, I want you to leave.”

He lunged forward, grabbing her hands and pulling her toward him. “No, I will not leave. By my honor, I will continue to fight for you, Amelia.”

Amelia had heard enough. “I believe you mean you will fight for Winterwood.”

Edward dropped her hands. “What?”

“I heard you and Uncle last night in the library, before I came in. You were talking about Winterwood, about the money. About my father’s will.”

“You misunderstood.”

“No, I do not believe that I did.”

He staggered back. “And do you think this man—this captain—is any different? Of course he wants to marry you. You are beautiful. Wealthy. And you will take care of his child. He is manipulating you.”

Amelia shook her head. “I am sorry if I have caused you pain. I truly am. But circumstances change. People change. I have grown to love Lucy as if she were my own. Her happiness and security are my happiness and security. And I have no faith that either of us will be happy or secure with you as master of Winterwood. So you must understand. My decision is final.”

“This is preposterous.” Edward’s voice escalated. “Do not think for a minute that I—”

“James!”

Confusion fell across his features, then a wary smile. “Oh, come on, Amelia. You don’t think—”

Her second cry was louder. “James!”

The older man popped his gray head through the door, his expression concerned. “Yes, miss?”

“Mr. Littleton is leaving. Immediately. Please call for his carriage, or horse, or however he came.”

James stammered. “But Mr. Barrett said—”

Her voice hardened. “I am my father’s daughter and heiress to Winterwood Manor. Please see that Mr. Littleton has his coat and have him escorted to the gate.”

Edward rolled his eyes. “Amelia, this is ridiculous.”

Ignoring Edward, she turned to the butler. “Thank you, James. And when you are done, please send Elizabeth up to my chamber.” She gathered her skirts and brushed past James without so much as a glance back at her guest.

After a nap and a warm bath, Amelia dressed in a gown of brown cambric embroidered with small white roses along the hem. She sat at her dressing table as Elizabeth worked to brush the stubborn tangles from her hair. Every stroke aggravated her aching head, so she dismissed Elizabeth and decided to perform the task herself.

As the minutes ticked, her reflection in the glass grew murky. Now that autumn had slipped into winter, night fell early over the moors. She abandoned the task completely and shifted her attention to the window, which framed the purple twilight blanketing Sterling Wood. A chill traveled along her spine. She stood, crossed to the window, and told herself to draw the drape, but couldn’t resist looking for a shadow outside. She’d never actually seen Edward leave.

She returned to her dressing table and lifted the note that had arrived from Jane that afternoon. Her friend was planning to host a dinner on Wednesday night to celebrate Amelia’s forthcoming union with Captain Sterling. Amelia shook her head in amazement. Only Jane could organize such an event on such short notice.

Would it accomplish its intended purpose? No doubt news of her dissolved engagement with Edward had already spread to every corner of the village. She imagined every idle tongue wagging
outside the dressmaker’s and butcher’s shops. But surely Jane was right. If Mr. Hammond gave the union his blessing, others would follow.

Amelia rubbed her hands over her arms, hoping to generate a little more warmth. The dress seemed pitifully thin for the weather, or perhaps it was the dampness of her hair on her back that made her shiver. She pulled a thick woven shawl from her wardrobe and wrapped her fingers around the candlestick. A visit with Lucy was just what she needed.

Amelia made her way through the labyrinth of stairs and hallways to Lucy’s room, where a cheery fire danced in the wide stone fireplace and bathed the room in a warm glow. Two rocking chairs flanked the ornately carved mantel. In the chair to the left sat Mrs. Dunne, her back facing the door, her figure shadowy against the fire’s glow. She sang softly as she rocked. A lullaby! Amelia searched her memory, unable to recall anyone singing such a song to her. She stepped closer, straining to hear.

“Sing hushabye loo, low loo, low lan. Hushabye loo, low loo—”

Mrs. Dunne turned with a start. Lucy was nestled in her arms, her eyes closed in peaceful sleep.

“Forgive me, Mrs. Dunne. I’ve no wish to disturb you.”

“’Tis no trouble, miss.” A welcoming smile dimpled Mrs. Dunne’s rosy cheeks. “Just singing to young Miss Lucy here. It’s tired out, she is.”

Amelia pulled the other rocking chair closer to Mrs. Dunne and sat down. “That was a beautiful song you were singing.”

“Me mam sung it to me many years ago. I sang it to my own sweet babes, and now I’m singin’ it to this little mite.”

Amelia leaned over and brushed Lucy’s curls from her forehead. “You must miss seeing your own children every day, Mrs. Dunne.”

“Aye, that I do. But this angel won’t be needin’ me too much
longer, and then I’ll be back to my own. I daresay they’ve managed well enough without me, what with my oldest girl almost grown herself.”

Amelia looked down at her hands, a familiar guilt tugging at her heart. How much had Mrs. Dunne sacrificed to care for Lucy? “We’ll miss you, Lucy and I, when the time comes.”

“Oh, we’ll see each other from time to time. ’Tis but a short walk from our farm to here.” The older woman stared into the fire, her round face rosy in the firelight. “When we love someone, we do what is necessary to provide for ’em. I know ye’ll do that for Miss Lucy here.”

Amelia leaned back and began to rock, feeling peaceful for the first time all day. From their first meeting, the nurse’s pleasant attitude had drawn Amelia in. And they would never have met if not for Katherine. Mrs. Dunne’s reputation for midwifery was unparalleled, and when the difficulties arose with Katherine’s pregnancy, Mrs. Dunne had offered advice and guidance. Then when Katherine died and Lucy required a wet nurse, Mrs. Dunne, having recently weaned a child of her own, had filled the role seamlessly. Despite the differences in their stations, these days she sometimes felt Mrs. Dunne was her only friend in the house.

“Speakin’ of returning to family.” Mrs. Dunne looked down at the sleeping baby. “Might I ask if the captain’s made any decisions with regard to Lucy’s future?”

Amelia blinked. She’d assumed Mrs. Dunne had heard her news from the other servants. But the woman appeared totally unaware. Amelia leaned back in her rocking chair. “Perhaps you’ve not heard, but my plans have shifted. I have parted ways with Edward Littleton and will marry Captain Sterling this Friday. So your position is secure here at Winterwood Manor if you can continue on.”

Mrs. Dunne nodded. “Aye, miss, I’ll be thinkin’ on that.”

An awkward silence hung in the air, so Amelia promptly changed the subject.

“I cannot believe Lucy is asleep already. Do you think she will wake if you hand her to me?”

Mrs. Dunne’s throaty chuckle brought a smile to Amelia’s face. “I’m of the mind the Lord himself could come with the wind an’ the fire, and it wouldn’t wake this little one. Here.”

Amelia took Lucy in her arms, leaned back slowly, and nestled the child in the crook of her elbow. Nothing compared to the serenity of cradling a sleeping infant. Her rhythmic breathing and soft scent carried away every trace of the day’s troubles.

“Would ye like me to read to you, miss?”

Amelia pulled her gaze away from firelight dancing on copper curls. “That would be lovely.”