Chapter 6
The breakfast table in the morning room shook when Mrs. Pots planted the parchment on the table, nearly spilling her coffee over the rim of her floral china.
“What is this?” Amelia said, trying her best to restrain herself from telling Mrs. Pots exactly what she thought of her behavior.
“You know exactly what this is,” Mrs. Pots noted. Her hands were perched on her hips.
The middle-aged woman’s hair was pulled back so tightly in a topknot, Amelia feared it would snap. And her drab-colored dress made her eyes look even darker, like death coming to claim its prize. “You have exactly thirty minutes to start your lesson.” With these words, her chaperone swiftly left the room.
“My, my . . . such a ruckus so early in the morning,” Kate said, sipping her coffee. “The woman really needs a good tupping, if you ask me.”
“Kate,” Amelia whispered across the table. “She might hear you.”
“Good,” Kate said, setting the cup down. “I wouldn’t mind telling her exactly what’s on my mind for once.”
“You know we can’t risk Mrs. Pots reporting back to Grandmamma.” Amelia fought hard against the anger of being denied the simplest of things by her grandmother.
“The woman thinks you are still ten years old.” Kate inhaled deeply. “Honesty, Amelia, you are nearly twenty-one, and yet the woman has you taking lessons on French verb conjugation, not to mention a myriad of other useless lessons you have to endure each day.”
“My grandmamma arranged all this to keep me occupied and in the grips of Mrs. Pots’ control. It is what I must do, for now.” Once she’d been locked up in her room for days after a lashing for refusing to do the lessons. Mrs. Pots had informed her grandmother that Amelia was an impossible child who simply would not conform to the rules set before her. She would have been more than happy to run away, only the woman seemed to find her one way or another. In the end, she had decided to pay the price of complete obedience for the remaining years until she received her inheritance. Only then would she live freely without any attachments, as she saw fit.
“I know, my dear friend,” Kate said softly. “I just wish you could have more fun while you are in London.”
“I do, too.”
“Perhaps if we were to procure Mrs. Pots a hobby, she won’t have the time to dictate your every action.” Kate raised her brows and smiled widely to lighten the conversation. “Shall I arrange it?”
“That would help my cause.” The truth was, Kate’s candid comments and perspective in life were quite refreshing. Perhaps because Kate’s life was so dissimilar to Amelia’s. As an American, she tended to say what was on her mind, and being a widowed, she had the life experience to take chances. Amelia was thankful for their friendship, especially since she didn’t make friends very easily.
Her thoughts drifted back to the predicament at hand. There was so much at stake that sometimes she felt unable to breathe for fear of making an error. If her chaperone discovered her plans and informed her grandmother, she would lose her inheritance, and with it, her future plans to be self-sufficient and unattached.
“So, what’s in the schedule for today?” Kate said, breaking Amelia’s thoughts.
With a sigh, she picked up the parchment and read it out loud:
11:00 AM: Read three chapters of On the Proper Conduct of a Genteel Woman and conjugate verbs in French (the lesson is on your desk)
1:00 PM: Light lunch
2:00 PM: Stroll at Hyde Park
4:00 PM: Tea and reading of Proverbs 2:7 and 2:8 (discuss in detail the virtues of the upright)
5:00 PM: Meet with modiste for a final fitting of the dresses
8:30 PM: Lord Grayson’s Ball
“I just wish I could have one day to myself, is all.”
Kate looked as though she was thinking of something clever to say. “Shall we escape the evil queen and stop by Bond Street for some shopping? Perhaps a visit to the confectioner’s to put the smile back on your face?”
“That sounds delightful, but you know I can’t.” Amelia had written to the seller’s agent about Somersby Hall two days ago and had not heard back from the agent. She hoped the property wasn’t sold. She had seen the idyllic place when she first arrived in London and immediately thought of Millie. Nestled in the hills in the outskirts of London, it had a small lake behind the property, and trees. Lots of trees. Perhaps oak, she wasn’t certain, but she knew it was perfect.
She hadn’t discovered it was on sale until Kate mentioned that the owner, who happened to be one of the names on the list of bachelors she was to consider for marriage, was entertaining offers. Of course, she hadn’t the funds to pay for the house yet, which was a predicament. Somehow, she needed to convince Lord Blackthorn to go along with her plan and give her the house.
“What are you concocting in that mind of yours?” Kate asked.
‘Nothing,” Amelia said, sipping coffee from her porcelain cup.
“I can always tell when you have something brewing in that head of yours.” Kate gave her a sideward glance. “You are thinking of that delicious-looking man from last night, aren’t you?”
When the butler entered the breakfast room, Amelia was relieved the attention was no longer on her. Both women turned to look at the man standing there like a statue, holding a silver tray. He said, “Miss Knight, this came for you.”
Amelia thanked him and quickly broke the seal. She pulled the card out. When she saw the embossed name on the card, Lord Richard Nickolas Henry Blackthorn, the 9th Earl Blackthorn, an icy chill ran up and down her spine, along with a feeling of horror.
“What does it say?”
She looked up from the notecard, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. “Lord Blackthorn requests that I come and retrieve my reticule I left behind in the carriage last night.”
“Oh?” Kate looked confused, then wide-eyed, as she said, “That was the Earl Blackthorn?”
“Yes.”
Kate snatched the notecard. “You’ve got to be jesting,” she said, reading the note.
The man in the alley last night couldn’t be Lord Blackthorn. Could he? Damn, he must have found her calling card in her reticule. She had made the mistake of bringing her pouch and then leaving it in her haste to get away from him, not to mention allowing him to drive her home. But then again, her own carriage was missing—had been stolen, rather.
She let out a doleful sigh. Surely he would never accept her proposal, knowing what she did. He must think she belonged in Bedlam. He would never take her offer seriously now.
“What will you do?” Kate asked, sipping her hot chocolate.
Move on to the next candidate? The would be better than facing Lord Blackthorn. By and by, how would she explain last night? She sighed heavily. “I don’t know what I will do . . . yet.”
“This is a perfect opportunity for you to speak to him about your proposal.”
“Perhaps.”
“But . . .?”
What if the earl probed her about her past, her reasons for being at East End? One thing was certain, he could not know of her past. If he discovered she was the daughter of a whore, he would never take her offer seriously, and might even try to take advantage of her circumstances. She could never risk that.
Kate must have felt her reluctance. “We can discern that he is honorable and is willing to risk his life to assist us. That says something about his character, doesn’t it?”
“It does,” she agreed. “Hopefully, it won’t be difficult to convince him.”
She watched Kate’s expression. Her late husband had been a very successful merchant and now she had all his fortune to do with as she wished. How fortunate of her to have the freedom that Amelia wanted so dearly.
“But then again, he can refuse.” She looked at Kate and tried to smile. Oh, how much she needed Kate’s spirit now with the recent discovery that the man who had heroically rescued her was the very man she would need to convince to join in on her risky plan.
Amelia recalled the first time she had met Kate. Her friend had had the audacity to excuse herself after dinner during a card game with the ladies, and had joined the men in their smoking room. She had noted there was no reason for the women to wait for the men to join them while they sat prettily like dolls. Amelia had instantly liked her, and they had been good friends since. Everyone tolerated Kate, according to Amelia’s grandmamma, because she was a wealthy widow from Boston.
“Or he could say, ‘Yes.’”
Surely, what would he think of her when she presented her proposal to him, knowing she was a woman who lurked about St. Giles in the middle of the night, with a pistol no less?
Oh, how she dreaded this meeting. She had one Season. One. If she wasn’t careful, she would end up chattel of another man, and she refused to think on that horrid thought. She’d been a prisoner in her grandmother’s house, and she would never be handed over to another man like property.
“What if he demands money now?” Amelia said out loud. As it was, if not for Kate’s generosity, she would have a difficult time since Mrs. Pots managed her funds for the Season.
“Tell him the truth, that the money will not be available until after the wedding.”
Amelia nodded. She didn’t like extortion or threats, but if she had to, she would use the information she had gained about the late Lord Blackthorn’s debt that now sat on the current earl’s shoulders to persuade him.
Thoughts of last night paraded through her mind. “You are right, Kate. He didn’t have to assist us last night, but he did, and that tells me that he is a man of honor, someone who is willing to put the safety of others before his own. I just have to convince him that he is helping a cause we will both benefit from in the end.”
“Well said.” Kate nodded.
Now if she could stop her heart from racing, it would help greatly. The truth was, she had no lineage, and she was certainly no lady. The only reason the ton, and Lord Blackthorn, would entertain her was because she would inherit her grandmother’s wealth. And the English loved that prospect, didn’t they? How could such a man take her seriously if he discovered the truth about where she came from?
Amelia thought about the last decade in Scotland with a heavy sigh. She had been in love once, but that short span of happiness had turned into an utter nightmare. If nothing else, her grandmother was right about one thing: Emotions only complicated matters and distorted one’s judgment.
With the clank of cup and saucer, Amelia’s thoughts shattered.
Kate looked at her, concern etched on her face. “Are you all right?”
Clearing her throat, Amelia said, “Yes . . . yes, of course.” She had never told Kate about that night. She would rather forget it ever happened. When Amelia’s gaze met Kate’s, there were several seconds of weighty silence.
“Do you want me to go with you?”
She shook her head and smiled, pushing the memories back where she had kept them for nearly five years. “I’ll be fine. Besides, who will divert Mrs. Pots if she looks for me?”
Her friend didn’t smile as she’d hoped. “Don’t be too long, that old woman will get suspicious before long.”
“I will, and thank you,” Amelia said, reaching out to pat her friend’s hand. “You’re a dear friend.”
“I am dreadfully jealous, though, if you ask me,” she said, her voice taking on a light, airy tone. “I hear the earl is a war hero.” Kate smiled widely. “I love the ruggedly handsome war hero type.”
“And rude.” Amelia frowned. Even their tête-à-tête hadn’t helped in the least, as her nerves were getting the best of her at the thought of seeing him again.