London, England, May 1814

It was a glorious late spring afternoon, boasting a perfect blue sky with hardly a cloud. The sun hung languidly in the heavens inviting the birds to sing their merry tunes. Couples strolled together over the lanes that crisscrossed London’s largest park in the center of the city that expanded outward in all directions. Equestrians took their daily ride, making Hyde Park seem more like a spot in the country rather than a part of a city.

The scene was one of peacetime, people acting as if the world was not at war beyond the safe moat of the Channel that protected them. The green lawns, blooming flowers, and the gaiety of the children playing on them spoke of a freedom that was so very English in its description.

There was something delightful about Britain’s status of “Splendid Isolation” that would only later be formally announced to the world. Even though Great Britain hardly ever adhered to that tenet, it still felt untouched by war – as Shakespeare once wrote in his history play King John, “This England never did, nor never shall, lie at the proud foot of a conqueror.”

Amelia shared none of the gaiety taking place all around her. For her, London was a prison. It boasted none of the familiarity of old. The familiar sights left her cold and in the dark. Mayfair or the park in which she strolled were just places. Faraway places that were no longer important. What was a place when one could not share it with the person one loved? In essence, home is where love dwells. No buildings, land or nation can replace the power of the love one shares with another person.

When she had once thought of her captivity in America as a prison, she now yearned for that land with all of her heart. Her onetime jailer had become the man she loved – her new home and the place where Amelia knew happiness resided. Now, the man to whom her father had promised her had taken on that very same role Jonathan once had – her jailer. Lord Templeton French would be the man to lock up her heart forever until it shriveled up due to despair.

As her mother had promised, the day before had been one of idle rest in her chambers - for the mother one of preparation, and for Amelia one of wishful thinking and dreams of Jonathan Mitchell. The mere thought of the vast expanse of water separating them was enough to drive Amelia crazy. Were it not for Anna; she was certain that she would succumb to a severe bout of depression.

Amelia barely listened to a word Lord Templeton French was saying. Everything around her was like some large green blur with the occasional color added to it for effect. She did not register the looks of awe and respect she received from the passersby. She walked like a ghost in search of what was left of its soul.

Amelia and Lord Templeton French were an impressive couple to behold. No matter what Amelia thought of her betrothed, he did look rather handsome in his evil way dressed in his fine day suit. It was the epitome of Regency fashion so espoused by the eminent dandy Beau Brummel. As the great man of fashion proponed, he shunned the traditional breeches for full-length trousers and a matching jacket. His garments were perfectly tailored to display his wealth and heritage. The wearing of ostentatious jewelry was a thing of the past. Another aspect introduced by Beau Brummel.

Next to him, Amelia was resplendent in her sarsnet green promenade dress. Fashion had gradually shifted away from the classic Grecian style to a more Gothic one. The green garment was lavishly ornamented with all manner of frills, hem decorations, flounces, lace, ribbons, and cording. It became fussier the higher it got. Over her shoulders, Amelia sported a short kerseymere Spencer jacket in a matching color. On her head, she wore a pretty bonnet embellished with two white plumes and a large thick silk bow. She also carried a parasol in her right hand.

“Amelia, I must say I would have expected far better behavior on your part. What is the matter with you? You should at least show some happiness at being reunited with your betrothed after I arranged for your rescue.” The tone of Lord Templeton French’s voice was harsh and piercing as if it was a lump of steel being dragged over a rough, gravelly surface.

Amelia’s gaze focused gradually until the outlines of a man’s face appeared. Her heart cried for Jonathan, but her mind whispered the truth. The man standing before her was handsome but malevolent looking. He exuded his entitlement in such proportion that it made the prince regent look humble in comparison. A shiver slithered down her back when his full face finally focused into view. It was as if the entire time since leaving her parents’ house had not happened. She felt transported to the future. A future, she realized, she did not want.

“Amelia, answer me when I am talking to you;” he persisted in his arrogant way. “I will not have a wife that does not show the proper decorum in public. By God, Woman, you passed Lord Cartwright by without even so much as a nod…it will not do.”

“Oh, do hush up. This is difficult for me, Airey. You were not the one held in captivity,” said Amelia. It took all of her effort to focus her mind on the first weeks of her sojourn among the Americans to add the necessary vehemence to her tone of voice. She wanted nothing more than to scream at Lord Templeton French. However, she knew that it would not help. There had to be another way to get rid of him.

Airey looked quite comical. He was not used to someone answering him back in such a tone. “Then it was lucky I arranged for your rescue then,” he sneered, repeating his self-implied heroism.

Who does he think he is? That man did not rescue me. By the time I got to Canada, he was already back in England. The cad did not even bother to wait for me. “Might I inquire as to how you orchestrated my rescue? If I am not mistaken, it was a Captain Geoffrey Higgins who did that deed so gallantly. You were nowhere to be seen. You were back here, in England.”

“I will have you know that it was thanks to my incessant badgering of the colonial bureaucrats that induced them to action. Had it not been for me, they would not have been on the lookout for you. I arranged for the patrols to be sent out.” Lord Templeton French stopped in his tracks and placed his hands on his hips. “Did your mother teach you nothing…”

Amelia too stopped walking. “Are you implying I am not a lady?” she hissed, interrupting him in midsentence. She had had enough of him claiming to be her savior when he most obviously wasn’t. He had done nothing for her safety other than send a letter to Jonathan that the ransom would be paid. And even had she been successfully ransomed, then the money would have most probably come out of her father’s pocket in the end.

“I was only saying that you should acknowledge other people of station, when you are promenading. Also, you should show your betrothed the proper respect when he has taken the time to escort you to the park.” A shade of hauteur overshadowed Lord Templeton French’s features. “You have not said a word since we left your home. Such behavior is the height of bad manners. Polite conversation is the very foundation of English politesse.”

“Well, let us continue the walk then and I might find something to say to you,” said Amelia, wanting to end the conversation that was going nowhere. The arrogant aristocrat would never deign to agree with anyone if it did not suit his purpose. Of that she was certain. She also knew that it would take every effort of her being to converse with the man without sounding contrite and angry.

Lord Templeton French studied her for a few moments until he was satisfied that he had won the discourse. “Of course, my dear.” He indicated with his arm that she interlink hers with his.

Amelia swallowed down her revulsion. Up until then, she had managed to avoid such shows of intimacy. Reluctantly, she slid her arm through his and let him guide her further down the lane.

“I think we shall go to my father’s house for luncheon. He mentioned that he would like to see you again.” Lord Templeton French snorted. “Oh, I almost forgot.” He stopped walking and started to rummage through his coat pocket. “Here…you would only be half betrothed without a ring. I know it is not always custom to give a ring, but in my family, we have done it for generations.” He stretched out his arm. “Take it, Amelia.”

She looked at the large pear-shaped diamond with the white gold band neatly ensconced in a velvet box as if it were a venomous snake.

“Go on…take it,” prompted Lord Templeton French in that arrogant tone of voice of his.

The whole situation screamed at Amelia. It was all so horribly wrong. There was no way that she was in love with Lord Templeton French but would she have ever hoped to be matched to such a man like many another woman, then his method and lack of romanticism were diabolical. He treated her like chattel that was in need of a reward after a deed well done. His haughtiness and callousness were without comparison. Even an angry Jonathan had shown more class when they had argued on board the Triton.

“Well?” By now Lord Templeton French looked decidedly irritated. His outstretched arm shook, displaying his indignation. The expression on his face was feral, making him look even more the ferret.

Amelia hesitantly took the ring and slid it on her finger. It was far too large. Even with her gloves on, it was loose. “I think it needs to go to a jeweler to be refitted. It is beautiful but far too large for my finger.”

Lord Templeton French looked as if he might explode. “Yes, I see that,” he hissed. “My grandmother’s fingers were not as dainty as yours – give it here.” He snatched the ring from Amelia’s grip uncouthly.

“Did your mother never wear this ring?” Seeing the confused expression on his face, she added, “You just mentioned that your grandmother had rather…um…how shall I say…her fingers were not as dainty as say mine.”

“It was also my mother’s ring. She was kind enough to give it to me for my betrothed. It is a family tradition as I already said,” he snapped.

“It is very lovely, but just too big for my thin fingers. Not to worry; we can change it to the proper size,” said Amelia for the first time allowing a smile on her face. It was unusual for ladies of the higher classes to have sausage-like fingers.

“Yes, it is. It’s good we are going to my father’s house now. It appears that you need some fattening up. Your fingers are like those on a skeleton” He turned and started to walk again. This time, he did not offer her his arm. Like an advancing general, he rudely marched before her to the waiting carriage that would take them to his father’s London residence.

Behind him, Amelia shook her head. How could such a man berate her for her manners? Lord Templeton French was just about the rudest man she had ever met. Sighing, she followed him in the direction of their transport. There was not a moment when Jonathan was not a resident of her mind.