A team of servants flowed from the house, but Wellworth was not there to welcome his guests. His butler greeted her parents and announced in a haughty voice, “Major Wellworth has been called away on urgent farm business and will not return until teatime. He sends his compliments and begs you to make yourselves comfortable.”
The interior of Wellworth’s Palladian-inspired home was well-appointed and in the latest fashion, as Amelia’s mother had predicted. A Classical painting decorated the ceiling of its grand foyer, and a huge fireplace, with a roaring log fire, heated that vaulted space. A Christmas garland of holly studded with red berries lay across the mantelpiece. Vases of flamboyant hothouse flowers glowed vivid red in each corner of the room.
The housekeeper led the way to their chambers and informed them that tea would be served in the drawing room in an hour’s time.
Their host still hadn’t returned when they assembled for tea. The butler delivered a message in his master’s handwriting, saying that he was unfortunately further delayed by farm business, but would have the pleasure of their company at dinner.
After the French doors closed behind the butler with a light click, Amelia’s mother examined the room and gave a nod of satisfaction. “You will have such a beautiful home,” she said.
“Will, mother? It’s already arranged, no matter what I want?” The situation was far worse than she had thought! Dread balled in her gut, constricted her lungs, robbed her of breath.
“Weddings don’t take long to organise, especially when there is no reason for delay by either party. And wouldn’t a Christmas wedding be romantic? You’ll make such an attractive bride in your white silk,” her mother answered.
Amelia gulped. That was it. She could not stay. Her parents would not succeed in forcing her to marry a man she had never met, one who was too busy to even meet them when they arrived. “Mother, I wish to lie down and rest. I’ll make sure I’m ready in time for dinner.”
“Of course, my dear. Wear your newest evening dress to meet Major Wellworth. I’ll come up in good time to assist you,” her mother responded.
Her cheeks hot, Amelia smiled and nodded. It pained her to lie to her parents, but she would not marry an old and crippled man. No fortune could be worth that degree of sacrifice!
Aunt Lavinia had insisted Amelia come to her if the situation with her parents became unbearable. This was the first time she had ever thought to take up that offer. Wasn’t being married off to this man suitably unbearable? A rush of affection for her great-aunt warmed her heart.
Amelia guessed she had about an hour to get back to the posting inn at the nearest village to catch the afternoon coach to Bath. She must be long gone before her mother arrived to supervise her dressing.
Inside her room, Amelia stuffed a plain dress and underclothing into a small bandbox, then pulled her winter redincoat over her day dress, checked that the corridor outside was empty, and hurried downstairs.
Amelia reached the grandiose foyer without encountering even a housemaid. Neither the hall porter nor the butler were anywhere to be seen. She opened the heavy front door and slipped out into the crisp afternoon air.
After about half an hour’s hurried walk along the entrance avenue, Amelia reached the drive gates. The cold of the fallen snow seeped through her leather boots and woollen stockings until her feet burned and ached with every step. Her sodden skirt slapped against her boots as she trudged along the muddy verge for another ten minutes. At last the village came into view. And there was the coaching inn.
To enter its coffee lounge, she needed to pass the door of the public bar.
A shabbily dressed man lurched from within. He grabbed her arm, and slurred, “Just what the doctor ordered—a pretty young miss!” His beer-laden breath assailed her nose.
She tugged her arm. “Let go!”
He didn’t loosen his hold.
She tried to twist out of his grip. Her throat constricted with fear. “Landlord!” Amelia tried to cry out, but only a hoarse rasp escaped.
The wretch dragged her closer. Closer to his reddened, blue-veined face. Closer to his slack, wet lips ready to kiss her.
Amelia lashed out at him with her free hand. Her palm connected with his face.
“Damn you.” He tugged her against him.
Oh god, surely this time he would succeed! Her whole body strained away from his tight hold. Her heart pounded fit to burst through her chest.
The kiss never happened.
A large hand slammed onto the brute’s shoulder and pulled him from her, before another fist landed a punch on her assailant’s unshaven chin. The man slumped to the floor. The newcomer lifted him by his coat lapels and deposited his groggy form onto a nearby bench.
Her rescuer turned to her. The most striking man she had ever seen stood before her. His dark eyes glittered with anger. His country clothes highlighted his muscled form, making him look the epitome of a well-made gentleman.
She dragged gasps of air into her lungs and her rapid breathing slowed.
“Are you injured?” he asked. A furrow of concern ran between his dark brown eyebrows and he gave a reassuring smile.
She shook her head.
With his right hand, he adjusted his hat, and retrieved a silver-handled walking stick from against the wall, then offered his left arm to her. “Come, let me escort you to your family.”
She shrank back. “No.”
A look of concern worried his face. “Do not be afraid.”
She didn’t know him and although this gentleman looked benign and kindly, still she hesitated.
His frown returned, this time confused. “Are you alone?”
She nodded. “I’m waiting for the Bath-bound coach. I believe it stops here?”
His brows darted upwards. His answer came slowly. “It does. Allow me to escort you to the coffee room where you may wait. Please take my arm.” He offered it again.
Amelia hesitated. Surely, he could be trusted? He had already helped her. She placed her shaking hand on his arm and allowed him to lead her through the front door of the inn. As they walked, he leant a little on his walking stick.
He opened the coffee room door. The room was a low-ceiled room with dark stained beams. Half a dozen tables filled the space. A few travellers waited with hand luggage beside their chairs. A stout middle-aged woman picked up her portmanteau and hurried past them.
“Would you join me for a cup of coffee while we wait for your coach, Miss …?”
Probably she ought not, but how could she refuse when he had rescued her from that drunk? And his clothes were those of a gentleman. Certainly, there could be no harm in joining him in such a public place. “Thank you, yes.”
After placing their order with the landlord, the stranger joined her at a small table before a bow window, laying his cane and hat on the chair beside him. “Where have you come from this afternoon? I find it hard to credit that your family would leave you here alone.”
It couldn’t hurt to tell him? “I’ve come from Wellworth Park.”
He observed her with undisguised curiosity.
“Do you know the place?” she asked.
A smile appeared but died quickly, leaving a gleam in his eyes.
“I do, quite well. Are you a relative of the butler or the housekeeper there?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Of the steward, perhaps?” He raised a dark brow.
“Not at all.” This was becoming amusing. She wondered who else she might be attributed to.
“You’re certainly not a servant.”
That would be obvious from her clothes. “Indeed no.”
“Then you’re one of the guests.” A maid arrived with their coffee, distracting his fixed gaze. When she left, her rescuer said, “Was the cooking at Wellworth Park inadequate?” He chuckled as though that was an outrageous idea.
Amelia took a sip from her cup and savoured its warming, comforting blend. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve eaten nothing there.”
“Was the butler rude? The housekeeper offhand? The servants insolent?”
She laughed at the thought. “Of course they were not!”
He sat forward, a frown of bemusement on his face. “But you still wish to leave?”
“I do.”
Fixing her with his level gaze, he relaxed back into his chair, a look of languid curiosity on his face. “May I enquire why?”
Amelia hesitated. Should she reveal such a private family matter to this stranger? Gallant as he has been—will he understand my dilemma? She made her decision. “My parents and Major Wellworth have hatched a plan for me to marry him at Christmas, and I’ve never met the man!”
His body stiffened as though every muscle was on alert. “Surely not!”
“I believe it’s true. My parents said as much on the journey here.”
His eyebrows lifted nearer his hairline. “And would that be so awful?”
He questions whether it’s a heinous idea? “Do you not know Wellworth?” She couldn’t keep incredulity from her voice.
“I do.” His words were level and sure.
“Then how can you question my revulsion at the idea of marrying such an old man?”
“You believe your parents wish you to marry old Mr Wellworth?”
Amelia opened her eyes wide. “Yes! Not only is he old but he is also quite infirm!”
“You’re sure your parents want you to marry Mr Wellworth, the elder, not Mr Wellworth, the younger?”
“There are two Mr Wellworths?” Now she was confused.
“Father and son. The elder is sixty.”
“It must be the son, then. I know he has a war injury that makes it difficult for him to walk. But surely he is quite old also.”
“Ahh.” The stranger gave a few slight nods of his head as if coming to terms with this information. “I hadn’t heard tell that he was considered old. I thought he was about to turn thirty.”
Amelia wrinkled her nose. Old enough! I’m only twenty. “Compared to me that is quite old … and besides, he’s maimed.”
He gave a brief dip of his chin. “Ah, well, there I think you’re correct.”
She spread upturned hands in front of her. “You see? I’m right! The wedding is planned for Christmas Day. There is no alternative—I must escape.”
For long moments he said nothing, just stared at her, his mouth folded into a line of concern, before asking, “Where will you go?”
“To my great-aunt in Bath.”
“And you have the fare? For an inside seat?”
“I do. Aunt Lavinia insisted I have sufficient money on my person to travel to her, should anything terrible happen to my parents.”
His eyes bored into hers. “Such as?”
She whispered, “Creditors, you know. Escape to the continent may be a necessity.”
His eyes narrowed, and he nodded again. “So you are determined to flee your parents’ trap?”
“I am.”
He gave her a thoughtful look. “Is there any way in which I can serve you further today?”
She shook her head. “You have been very helpful and I’m most grateful.” It was a pity she couldn’t stay in the district longer. Surely, this handsome gentleman would have called on them at Wellworth Park. A stab of disappointment darkened her mood.
A few moments later, the rumble of wheels and the strike of hooves on the road foretold a coach arriving. Passengers around her looked expectant. The stranger took up his hat and walking stick.
“Thank you so much for your assistance, sir,” Amelia said and reached for her bandbox.
He smiled and dipped the brim of his hat to her. “I wish you a safe journey.”
Amelia hurried from the parlour ready to pay her fare to the driver. Behind her, the stranger called to the landlord for paper and a quill. Too late, she realised that she should have asked his name.
But it wasn’t the passenger coach that swept into the yard of the inn.
It was her parents’ ancient vehicle.
Her father leapt from its door before the coach stopped moving.
“No!” She gave a muffled scream and took two steps backwards before he caught her by the elbow. His fingers bit into her soft flesh. A tang of bitter disappointment soured her mouth. They were going to force her back to Wellworth Park. She cast a desperate look over her shoulder, hoping her hero would see her plight and come to her rescue again.
But he wasn’t there.
“Get into the carriage, Amelia. You have an appointment with Major Wellworth, which you will fulfil!” An angry slash of colour flushed her father’s cheeks. “Don’t fight me. We have an audience.” He nodded towards to the doorway of the inn which she had just left. The waiting passengers watched them with unmasked curiosity.
Always so obsessed with appearances! Blood pounded in her ears. What could she do now to avoid her parents’ plan?
He thrust her into the vehicle. “I should make you eat bread and dripping in punishment, but instead you’ll join us in the drawing room and meet Wellworth at dinner,” her father growled.
In the carriage, her mother added, “When we get back, I will accompany you to your chamber and oversee your dressing, and my own maid will style your hair so you appear at your best.” Her eyes were angry slits.
You’ll never make me marry him. Amelia perched on the edge of a seat next to the door, her bandbox still clutched in her hand. Her chest constricted. The journey back to Wellworth Park and virtual house arrest would be vastly quicker than her escape.
Into view came two things that gave her hope.
The Bath-bound coach pulled up in a welter of hooves, horn and shouts, blocking their vehicle in the inn’s entranceway. Her father yelled to his driver to go around, but there was no room to manoeuvre past. The stage must leave first.
Passengers streamed out from the inn and arranged themselves on top and within the coach. The horses were changed and with a last shout for all-comers, the driver took up his reins.
Then she saw him.
By the coach stood her rescuer. He held its door wide open and looked up at her, one eyebrow raised in silent encouragement.
Amelia didn’t need any more urging. Bandbox in hand, she crashed open the door beside her, and leapt to the ground. A dozen bounds and she was hauling herself through the doorway of the now-moving coach. She collapsed into the narrow space between the window and the bulk of the middle-aged woman from the coffee lounge. Her saviour followed her in, slamming the door behind him.
Amelia clutched her bandbox to her chest. Her heart pounded as excitement thrilled through her veins. She was doing it! She was leaving them behind!
But could she really escape her parents?