London, England, May 1814

Brandon House was almost as impressive as Carlton House. The behemoth of a structure was located on the Strand and facing the River Thames and the beautiful parkland lining the river. Its location spoke for itself as the Dukedom of Brandon was an old peerage – the original cornerstone of the family’s London seat was laid in the sixteenth century and hence in central London. Ever since, the palatial home had been continuously refurbished and enlarged to accommodate for modern day life and the growing needs of each new generation.

It had not taken them long to get there from Hyde Park Corner. Amelia looked up from the carriage as it entered a separately gated courtyard from the main thoroughfare. It was her second time there, but she could not help feeling impressed.

The structure loomed up above them to a height of four stories. It was in the Palladian style and partially resembled a perfectly symmetrical Roman temple. It looked like Stourhead House in Wiltshire but with many more windows. Amelia remembered that it was a very bright home. Along with the present Duke of Brandon, the house or palace were the only two things that would console her if she had to marry Lord Templeton French.

For the entire duration of the way over, Lord Templeton French had not said a word. He had just sat next to Amelia and brooded. She already knew that he was obnoxious from his comportment during the adoubement, but his behavior this day bordered on the outright insulting.

It was considered the height of bad manners to leave a lady to sit in silence. An educated gentleman with breeding would engage her in conversation. He might even complement her here and there. He would entertain her with a tale of how the family’s London residence came to be. Anything really to pass the time. Lord Templeton French behaved in just the way he looked – arrogant and petulant.

Amelia’s instincts had warned her of this the very moment she had met him. Now, everything he did confirmed her initial trepidations. First, he had reprimanded her rudely in the park, and now she was accorded the silent treatment. How can my parents want me to marry such a man? They cannot wish for me to live an unhappy life for that is what Airy would give me – sadness until the day I die.

The moment I have provided him with an heir, he would spurn me, preferring to spend time with his cronies and mistresses. They would frequent the shadiest establishments in the city. I would be a laughing stock. Everybody would know that the husband of the Duchess of Brandon is the most notorious philandering blackguard in London.

God, how I miss Jonathan. He would make such a good husband. I know it. He is as stable as an oak, whereas this man sitting next to me is as slippery as an eel. Not once had it been tedious in Jonathan’s company. In hindsight, I even enjoyed arguing with him. Like the true gentleman he is, he engaged me in intelligent, and even more so, amusing conversation. How I wish I could turn back time and go back to the pristineness of Fair Weather Heaths’

“Amelia…Amelia…we are here…damn, there she goes again. The woman is an imbecile, Saunders,” muttered Lord Templeton French as he stepped out of the conveyance. He grumbled a few more insults because Amelia was lost in her own thoughts again. Lord Templeton French laid the blame for the silence in the carriage on Amelia as he continued to rant to his father’s footman who had only recently opened the door.

Amelia did not bother to hear the insults. She continued to think of the man she loved. It was all she had left. It was all that could keep her from bursting into tears. Thinking of Jonathan’s handsome face and strength gave her courage that he would do everything to get her back. He had followed her in America and now he would follow her to England. Of this Amelia was certain. All that remained was whether he would be quick enough.

“Follow me, Amelia. My father is waiting, and he is not known for his patience. Luncheon begins at one o’clock.” He twirled on his feet and quickly mounted the few steps to the building. “Hurry up, Amelia. Don’t shilly-shally.” Lord Templeton French was speaking once again. It appeared that it was the only way in which he could converse – commands to and menial treatment of those around him. Presently, poor Amelia was being harangued like a slave with verbal whiplash instructions.

None of the opulence of her surroundings left its mark on Amelia. She had been to the duke’s residence once before, but back then everything had been a blur. She had been so nervous and shocked at the prospect of being betrothed to a man she loathed that neither sight nor smell had registered in her brain.

It was the same this time. Amelia ignored everything in an attempt to blot out her imperious betrothed. She did not see the magnificent deep mahogany wood paneling on the walls or the meticulously inlaid parquetry flooring. The massive wooden double staircase leading up to the upper floors was a mere smudge to her short-term memory. For the rest, Amelia remained ignorant to the rows of portraits depicting the ancestors belonging to the Templeton French family. All of it was like a nightmare suffered by wakefulness.

The rudest and most vainglorious man was by her side. Without godly intervention to the contrary he would be with her until the day she died. She was caught up in a world in which she had no say. Others had planned out her entire destiny for her. Amelia felt like a pawn on a chessboard. Soon, she would be discarded like the figurine. When she had acted the broodmare, Lord Templeton French would chuck her to the side. And even when Amelia would think this a boon, she would die softly from within because she knew what true love was like and that it would forever elude her.

She had been given a glimpse of heaven when she had kissed Jonathan that glorious day they had promised themselves to one another. That delightful bliss had been ripped away from them as if God was playing some malicious trick. Amelia knew that Jonathan was the same as her. He had known no love before they met. For him, it must be equally as harsh.

What can I do to get to America? All the way to the main dining room, Amelia thought of ways to ask her father to let her go to Canada again. Each solution needed her sister as a conveyance. She thought that she could claim that she missed her and needed to get back.

However, that was not the only problem. What would she do when she got there? Amelia thought of writing a letter to Jonathan, telling him to make arrangements for her to be escorted to the United States. But could she escape her sister and husband at the docks? There were so many things to consider. It nearly made her faint when she was finally directed to the Duke of Brandon.

“My dear, you look as if you are about to fall.” From his seat at the head of the long table, the Duke of Brandon focused his gaze on his son. His brown eyes immediately darkened. “You, fop…help your betrothed to her seat. Like an imbecile, you stand there idly while this poor delicate thing is about to collapse!”

Lord Templeton French promptly jutted into action. His father’s deep rasping voice oozed power and authority. It reminded Amelia of Jonathan. He too had the ability to command men with just a shout.

She allowed herself to be directed to one of the dining chairs. She smiled wanly at the grizzled old duke. He looked like an old lion with his long and shaggy greyish hair. His face boasted intelligence and a life of experience to match it. But most of all, the duke looked kind. It was what Amelia remembered most about him from their first meeting.

“So, my dear girl…tell me, do you feel better?” asked the duke.

Amelia nodded. “Yes, your Grace. Thank you. I don’t know what came over me. I had a momentary dizzy spell.”

The duke smiled warmly. “Don’t worry, my dear. All will be well. The prospect of marriage, grumpy old dukes, and the ball season are enough to make any lovely young lady swoon with fatigue,” he said, chuckling.

“She’s been strange all morning, Father,” added Lord Templeton French.

“That is no way to speak of a lady, Boy. I thought I taught you better than that. It is a lady’s prerogative to act differently from time to time. Your dear mother is the very same. Take today for example. She decided to remain confined to her chambers because she feels slightly unwell. I do not know the cause of her ailment, but I did not question her.” He grabbed his son’s wrist. “You must trust your wife, and all will be well. And always be a gentleman.”

Ignoring his son, the duke indicated with his hand that the first course be served. “Dear, we are having smoked salmon…is that all right? Are you able to have it or shall I arrange for some soup to be made?”

Amelia nodded. “Yes, Your Grace, it is one of my favorites; I very much enjoy smoked salmon.”

“Excellent. I must say, you look better already.” He patted her on the arm gently.

While the duke spoke with his son about affairs of the family, Amelia watched the butler expertly prepare the salmon by slicing thin pieces off of the entire cured fish that lay on a wooden board in the same shape as the salmon. This act always intrigued her. The knife was long and razor thin.

At that moment, she realized that despite her predicament she was hungry. When one of the footmen asked her how she took her salmon, Amelia informed him that she liked it with all of the garnishings that consisted of capers, chopped onion, lemon and crushed boiled eggs.

When everyone was served, the three of them started to eat. It did not take long for the conversation to strike up again. “So, Amelia, what of the wedding date? Your parents and myself did not make any progress on that front after hearing of your abduction.” He raised an eyebrow. “Horrible was it?”

“The wedding discussions, Your Grace?”

The duke hooted laughter. “No, dear girl…your time in captivity in the Americas? I hear they are quite barbaric,” said the duke setting his cutlery on his plate and indicating to the butler that he was ready for the next course. “Are they uncivilized?” he added, returning his scrutiny to his future daughter-in-law.

Amelia scrunched her brow. She fidgeted a little in her seat. To be frank, she did not know what to say. She had great respect for the duke and she did not want to lie to him. It was not the way her mother had brought her up. “Actually, the Americans are not all that different to us.”

The duke arched an eyebrow as he took a sip of wine. “Really,” he said, setting the glass back on the table.

“Poppycock, the yanks are a despicable bunch,” intoned Lord Templeton French.

“Expert on the subject, are you?” asked the duke, forcing Amelia to stifle a laugh. “As far as I know you have never been there, my boy. So, be quiet and allow one with the authority on the matter to talk about it,” he regarded Amelia once again, “please continue, my dear. For it was you who has been to the infernal country.”

It felt as if an entire apple had gotten stuck in her throat. So nervous was she. She was grateful when the butler, who brought the main course, briefly distracted the duke. Unlike in most aristocratic households, Amelia had come to learn that the Duke of Brandon despised multiple course luncheons. He had said so to her father during their previous encounter. He claimed that it was a despicable French tradition that had somehow found its way into good English society. In his view, a starter, a main course and pudding were sufficient for any man or woman.

It certainly was better than when Amelia’s mother presided over the organization of luncheon. Generally, there were at least eight courses and each of them accompanied by their own wine. Amelia had been most surprised when she had returned to England a week ago because her father had grown as plump as a watermelon during her absence. Obviously, mother had been taking her duties as lady Carlyle, 1st Baronet of Windom, most seriously and with her customary flourish.

“So, Amelia. You were about to regale us with your tale of the Americas. I am indeed intrigued as to what happened.” He frowned. “You do not have to say anything if it is too taxing, my dear,” said the duke when he saw a shadow cross over Amelia’s face.

“No, Your Grace, I would be delighted to regale you with tales of my adventures.”

“Adventures, eh?” said the duke, popping some beef into his mouth with a smirk.

And so, Amelia told the duke and her betrothed of what had happened since the taking of the HMS Capricorn by the Triton. She made a special emphasis to describe her American captors as benevolent men that comported themselves in a gentlemanly fashion. She also went into great detail when she spoke of the beauty of the land. Also, there could not have been more praise for Fair Weather Heaths’ and the slaves that lived there.

“It sounds like you loved the place?” scoffed Lord Templeton French.

“Yes, you do sound rather fond of it,” added the duke. “Nothing wrong with that. It’s just a shame we lost the damn place to the locals, eh?” He chuckled before taking another sip of wine. “And all of it because of some infernal tax and a lack of representation.” He moved closer to Amelia. “If you ask me, I think they were bloody right. Who wants to pay taxes, eh?”

“What I can’t quite get my head around is why you were so close to the Canadian border in the first place? There had been no news of a letter confirming reception of my offer to pay ransom and no response on my part as to where to deliver you upon the exchange of money for you. Nothing…no response came from this…what was his name,” Lord Templeton French creased his brow, “Ah, yes! Captain Jonathan Mitchell.”

Amelia nearly choked on her wine when she heard the name of the man she loved coming from the mouth of her betrothed.

“Take a sip of water, dear,” said the duke, soothingly.

Amelia did not have much time until her betrothed urged her for an answer. “Captain Jonathan Mitchell is a gentleman and a man of honor. He initially demanded a payment for my release because he was required to do so by the state and also for his crew who would naturally receive their share. In the end, he decided to recompense them out of his own pocket and to return me to my people without reimbursement.” The words came out of her mouth with verve and zeal.

“Sounds like quite the gentleman,” said the duke. “I did not know they made such men over in the colonies,” he chuckled, “the United States of America,” he corrected himself.

“It wasn’t that long ago that they were part of the empire. And besides, Jonathan descends from a noble line…” her hand flew to her mouth when she realized the mistake she had made.

“You certainly became rather familiar with our American naval captain,” sneered Lord Templeton French coldly. “You referred to the man as Jonathan; I doubt if I would refer to my captor on a first name basis.”

“I don’t know what you are implying?” Amelia said, mustering all of her self-control.

“You do not need to respond to that highly unwarranted and uncouth remark, my dear.” The duke then directed an expression of disdain at his son. “How dare you speak to a lady like that in this house. You will apologize, I tell you,” snarled the duke.

The strength of his voice nearly made Amelia slide under the table. Sitting next to her was a real man. A man like Jonathan. Her gaze shifted to her betrothed. He looked like a man with conflicted emotions. His thin evil lips twitched, but he did not dare glower at his father head-on. “I apologize for insinuating any form of familiarity on your part with the American pirate,” said Lord Templeton French at last. He did not look up. Instead, he continued to devote all of his attention to the food on his plate.

His father ignored him. It appeared that the apology was sufficient for him. He took a few bites of the food, occasionally, sipping his wine. “Well, now that old Boney has abdicated what do you think will happen now?” asked the duke, directing his question at Amelia who nearly burst out laughing when her betrothed nearly choked on a bit of meat. It was uncommon for a man to ask such a thing of a lady, and especially one so young.

“In my view, Your Grace, the threat of Napoleon is not over yet…”

“Balderdash, the tyrant rots on the island of Elba,” intoned Lord Templeton French.

The duke raised his hand to calm his son’s outburst. “Why do you say that, my dear? I’d have to agree with my son. He has all but one thousand men at his disposal and the British fleet has the island surrounded. There’s no way out for him.”

Amelia had read a lot on the topic. Anything she could get her hands on really. Also, her talks with the captain during the voyage home had been most informative. The man in command of the ship had proven to be very well versed on the subject. He had taken part in many of the naval actions during the Napoleonic War. Because of that, he felt that he knew the former emperor as if he was one of his own.

“All Napoleon would have to do is get off the island and land on mainland France. Still many loyalists remain. They would flock to his banners and march on Paris,” said Amelia.

“A very interesting notion, my dear. I will be sure to mention it to my acquaintances in parliament. We wouldn’t want Boney the ogre terrorizing Europe again.” The duke thought a moment. “Yes, Amelia…very interesting indeed. Tell me more.”

As she explained her views on the future of Europe and what she thought would happen in the Americas, Lord Templeton French devoted his full attention to drinking wine. He couldn’t believe that his father took this woman so seriously. It was one thing for him to regard his mother’s opinions so earnestly, but this was ludicrous. The woman was but a girl and a silly one at that.

Seeing her smile so self-confidently aggravated him. Lord Templeton French despised people that thought they were too clever. He recognized a similar sort in Amelia. It wouldn’t be long before she was his wife. And then he would snuff out all of her misconceived notions of equality with men. He knew that he would have to be careful for as long as his father lived. But that would not be forever, and then the Honorable Amelia Carlyle was at his mercy.