Chapter Nine
Jasper came to call on Amelia the day after the race and, because he was an imp sent by the devil, he brought The Times.
“Have you read it?” he asked.
“No.” Amelia flopped against the arm of the parlor’s sofa with distinctly un-ladylike grace.
“Why not?”
“I keep hoping if I don’t look, it won’t have happened.”
Jasper’s stare told her exactly what he thought of that foolishness. He struck a pose in the armchair and snapped the pages open. “Lady A, recently engaged to the Earl of M., scandalized the denizens of Hyde Park yesterday by engaging in a horse race along the riding track commonly referred to as Rotten Row.”
Amelia cringed.
Jasper continued reading. “Lady A.’s vulgar inclusion into this predominately male pass-time was compounded by the nature of her dress, which included men’s riding breeches, flashing her backside to all and sundry.”
“Flashing my backside!” That was more than a bit of creative license. She sat up in indignation. “I was no less dressed than any man there.”
Jasper choked a laugh. “‘The sum of money rumored to have been wagered between the riders—yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, Lady A. added gambling to her incendiary behavior—is too ludicrous to be repeated by this reporter, lest they should inspire others to likewise irresponsibility.’ How much did you wager?”
Amelia sighed. “Two hundred pounds.”
“Well done.”
“Nicholas bet a hundred, and then that awful man insulted Dio,” she mumbled.
The paper snapped back to attention. “As to the race, we should like to say very little. Unfortunately, it’s all anyone can talk about. While the racers appeared quite evenly matched, it was the moment of high drama, when two unattended children stumbled onto the track from the nearby walking path, directly in the way of the horses, that proved the winner of the day.”
Just thinking about it made Amelia stand up and start pacing the parlor. It had scared the life out of her. Seeing those little boys come spilling out of the trees, practically under Dio’s hooves—she would have nightmares for weeks.
“While her opponent’s horse reared and its rider lost his seat—an unfortunate outcome for anyone who considers themselves a horseman of merit—Lady A. sent her mount into a leap, clearing the children and finishing the race.” Jasper looked at where she was walking circles into the carpet in front of the hearth. “Truly?”
“Truly. It was awful.”
“I say again—well done.”
“It was awful. I never ever want to race again.”
It had been traumatizing. What if they hadn’t cleared the jump? What if Dio’s hooves had clipped that poor child in the head, killing or maiming him for life? Amelia was not cut out for adventure, not in the slightest.
“There’s a bit referencing the article about your getting into a women’s rights argument at Lady’s Chisholm’s salon, but that’s old news.”
“They did not print that in the paper.”
“They did,” Jasper assured her. “The young misses of London going rogue is quite newsworthy.”
Amelia was going to die of embarrassment. It was bad enough when she was committing the offenses, but to have them immortalized was mortifying. “If Embry was half as scandalized as the reporter of The Times, I’d be quit of this engagement already.”
“Nicholas, may I speak with you a moment?” Philip called to him through the open library door.
“Of course.” He was headed out to meet Amelia, but there wasn’t really any rush. She’d promised to send word after she spoke with Embry and she hadn’t sent it yet.
Nicholas joined his brother, where a pile of papers that looked suspiciously like the estate bills were strewn across one of the large tables. This time, though, it was Nicholas that had Philip’s full attention.
“I’ve received a note from the tailor,” his brother said, steepling his hands.
That was fast. “That should have come to me directly. I’ll reimburse you for it.”
“It wasn’t a bill. Just a note.”
A note. That didn’t bode especially well. “Oh?”
“Is there a reason you can think of that they might wish to disassociate themselves from us?”
Oh bloody hell. “Perhaps.”
Philip leaned back in his chair. “Thomas Hawkes dressed the last two King George’s, The Duke of Wellington, and, as of yesterday, apparently, no longer dresses the Lords of Wakefield.”
The only honorable thing to do was be honest. “I suspect he recognized the clothes.”
“What clothes? And why should it matter if he recognized them? What the devil is going on, Nicholas?”
“They weren’t for me.” Their father was going to kill him—at least, he would if he received the news on a day when he didn’t mistake Nicholas for one of the neighbors.
Philip waited for further explanation. When none was forthcoming he prompted Nick. “Who were they for?”
“Amelia needed my help.”
“You outfitted Amelia Bishop with clothes from our tailor.” Philip scrubbed a hand across his face. “Yes, I can see how that might offend the dignity of Hawkes and Company. Might I ask what the hell you were thinking?”
I was thinking I want to spend the rest of my life with her, and she looks absolutely sinful in trousers. That explanation wouldn’t help the situation at all. “I’ll fix it, I promise.”
“Do you think you can?”
“I have to try.” Philip finding out was one thing, but if his father caught wind of it on one of his lucid days God only knew what would happen. Perhaps they would conscript him to the church or the army after all.
Philip nodded.
Nicholas stood up and went to the library door. “Philip?”
“Yes?” His brother sounded extremely tired.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t for mean it to affect you.”
“We’re family. Everything we do affects each other.”
Indeed, it did. But when one family member wanted something so drastically at odds with what the rest of the family wanted, how could he keep from disappointing them? “Again, I’m sorry.”
Philip waved his explanation off. “What’s done is done. Fix it if you can. Once word gets out about father, we’ll have more than enough gossip to attend to.”
It was harder than ever for Amelia to sit quietly when Embry brought his mother for tea. She kept expecting someone to jump up and start making accusations about the race. Instead, everything was business as usual. She was agreeable, smiled adoringly, and generally played the role of devoted fiancée. Internally, she was on edge. When she did manage to pay attention, it didn’t take long before she was seething. With every passing moment, it became ever more clear how little Embry actually saw her.
Amelia takes three sugars in her tea. No, no she didn’t. She took one or none at all.
Amelia favors the classic Roman architecture. Actually, she preferred the giant cathedrals of the Gothic period.
Amelia would never dream of visiting America. She abhors sea travel. How could he possibly be certain of that when she wasn’t certain herself? She’d never been on a ship.
“One does wonder how you’ve come to know me so well, so quickly,” she said through clenched teeth.
Embry squeezed her hand. “Because you are the match to my soul, darling.”
Ahh yes. That must be it.
How had she never noticed this about him? She must have been so desperate for someone to pay attention to her. Had she only taken his offer because he was offering? The last one sounded dangerously close to the truth.
Amelia had no one to blame but herself for the situation she found herself in. She’d accepted the proposal of a man she didn’t actually want, purely because she’d wanted someone to propose to her.
She was at the end of her ability to pretend when Embry’s mother pulled her aside.
“Amelia, dear, I want you to know how thrilled I am to have you join the family.”
Of course she was thrilled. The paragon of amiable behavior Embry had painted couldn’t help but be a blessing to any family.
Amelia did her best not to take it out on his mother. “Thank you, Lady Montrose.”
“He told me what he said at your engagement party, and the way Olivia and Charlotte have been behaving. I know he is deeply sorry,” Lady Montrose continued.
“They’re hardly in the minority, thinking the way they do about my family.”
“Be that as it may, I’ve spoken to the girls. My son has been through so much. For a time it looked like he might never find someone new. We must welcome anyone that can make him happy, no matter their shortcomings.”
Amelia could think of a few shortcomings she’d happily develop to test that theory. For now, it couldn’t hurt to highlight a few of the ones she already possessed. “You’re so kind. I can only hope that our children aren’t afflicted with the same difficulties my sister experiences. It was so hard on my parents, to say nothing of Julia.”
Lady Montrose’s face paled. Her expression settled into a mask of politeness, but Amelia could see her imagination running wild with images of a crippled grandson as heir to the Earldom. “My son assures me that is extremely unlikely.”
“Oh, I do hope so. The doctors know so little about why these things happen, but I’m certain Embry knows best.”
Amelia was not surprised when Lady Montrose soon excused herself from their tête-á-tête, and shortly after expressed that it was time for her and Embry to take their leave.
“Your mother seems pleased for us,” Amelia said as she walked Embry to the door.
“Of course she’s pleased. I found the finest woman in all of Britain to marry.”
Unfortunately, she died, and now you’re trying to cram me into her mold.
“Embry, there’s something I need to tell you.” Now was as good a time as any to tell him about the Rotten Row incident—he’d hear about it soon enough—but Amelia was interrupted by her mother letting out a distressed cry.
“Mother?”
The footman who had whispered in her ear left after handing her a note.
Lady Bishop pasted a stiff smile on her face. “A conflicting engagement I completely forgot about. I can’t imagine what I was thinking, but we’d better make our farewells to Lord Montrose and his mother.”
To the shock of all three of them, Lady Bishop shuffled the pair out with something very close to haste.
“What the devil?” Amelia asked once they were gone.
“It’s your sister. She has an infection.”
The world stopped.
Everything came to Amelia as if it was coming through water. An infection. Julia hadn’t had one in years, but they had been nearly fatal when Julia was young.
The last thing Amelia had told Julia was that she didn’t forgive her. That she didn’t need her.
What if they were their last words to each other? “When’s the next train?”
“I don’t think that’s necessary. I just didn’t want you to make a scene when you heard.”
Enough was enough. “Never mind,” Amelia said, rushing for the stairs. “I’ll find out myself.”
Due to Lady Bishop’s newfound dislike of Nicholas, he was forced to arrange secret and accidental assignations with Amelia. Today, they had planned to frequent the same coffee shop once Amelia sent word that she was free. No messenger had come, but Nick was impatient, so he went to wait at the agreed upon place anyway. Construction on the new square near Charing Cross made the streets a nightmare, but Nicholas was in no hurry. He was feeling rather conflicted about his involvement in Amelia’s scandals when he arrived at the coffeehouse, but they suddenly compounded tenfold—Lord Montrose was seated at a table directly next to the door.
Executing an about-face, he tried to make a stealthy escape.
“Wakefield.”
Damn it. Nicholas turned back around. “Montrose.”
He needed to get outside before Amelia showed up, so he could warn her.
“Sit with me,” Montrose said. “I’ve been meaning to have a word with you.”
“I really must—”
“Please, Wakefield.”
There was something about the way he said it. Nicholas was a hundred kinds of fool and he was certain he would end up regretting it, but he turned and sat down at Montrose’s table. “What is it?”
“It’s Amelia.”
Well, of course it was. She was the only topic they had in common. “And?”
The Earl pondered the edge of his napkin. “She’s been behaving quite strangely lately.”
Under different circumstances, Montrose’s genuine distress would have garnered sympathy from Nicholas. Instead, it only fueled his irritation. “To be completely candid, how would you know?”
Montrose frowned, but was not dissuaded. “She’s my fiancée.”
In for a penny, in for a pound. “She’s your prisoner.”
Montrose’s face became a sky before the storm.
“My point is, Amelia is as sweet as you imagine, but she’s not livestock. You’re trying to force her to do something against her objection. She will fight you every step of the way—that is her nature.”
“I refuse to believe it.”
“It does not require your belief to be the truth.” Nick couldn’t see it working, but he had to try. “Why don’t you just let her go?”
“Excuse me?”
“She doesn’t want to marry you. Let her go.”
The Earl’s rage bubbled over. “Why? So you can drag her down the road to ruin? So you can prey on her innocence?”
He shouldn’t. Nick knew he shouldn’t. “So I can marry her.”
The kaleidoscope of emotions that crossed Lord Montrose’s face—bafflement, surprise, and finally more rage—could have kept an artist busy for months. The sound of his cup connecting with the table rang out like a shot. The entire coffeehouse went silent, watching them. Montrose realized it at the same time Nicholas did.
“I think I’ve taken up quite enough of your time,” Lord Montrose said through clenched teeth. “Excuse me.”