Chapter 13
Amelia could not remember the last time she had sat in such a fine carriage. The seats were thickly upholstered and lined in fur, of all things. The whole structure was so well sprung that she could barely feel any jolt at all from the road beneath them.
Father had a carriage like this. With dark green lacquer and rugs inside, we could wrap ourselves up and stay warm and cozy on our journeys.
He would sit on one side with Mama, the two of them nestled up together, while my sisters and I sat on the other side, whispering and laughing and looking out the window.
I imagine we looked like a real, happy family, and not a shameful secret.
She closed her eyes for a moment, swallowing hard.
Now, taking cabs was a luxury they could not afford, and on the rare occasions they did, the interiors of the carriages were less than pleasant.
The seats, thin and barely upholstered, dug into their backsides and legs, the hard backs jolting against their spines.
There was always a thoroughly vile smell in cabs, a pungent mixture of liquor, vomit, and other people’s farts and belches.
Ugh. No wonder most Londoners preferred to walk.
This carriage smelled faintly of oranges and soap. There were no crumbs or bits of dirt on the floor, no dust. It had clearly been cleaned recently, and from what she recalled, the outside of the carriage was a stunning black lacquer.
This carriage probably costs more money than I’ll ever earn in my entire life.
Amelia removed her hand from the furry seat and twined her fingers on her lap. Nancy sat opposite, chattering away to Letitia. Marjory sat beside Amelia, reading.
The journey to Redcliffe Manor seemed to be taking a horribly long time. She longed to fidget, but wouldn’t that be rude?
“The carriage carrying our things will reach the manor ahead of us,” Letitia said suddenly, cutting into Amelia’s thoughts. “The maids will have unpacked it all by the time we arrive. Won’t that be convenient?”
Amelia wasn’t sure she liked the idea of maids and footmen pawing through her things or her sisters’ things. She thought of Jane, the beautiful housemaid, and swallowed, shifting.
Jane, with a handful of other servants, would be traveling in the second carriage. The second carriage was laden with luggage and also contained Tiny and Dust. She was trying not to think about what it was like, traveling in a carriage with those two beasts.
She wondered if Jane had ever looked at Stephen and imagined a future with him. Sometimes housemaids did marry their employers, rare though it was. Perhaps Stephen was a strange, wild enough man to do something so shocking.
And perhaps Jane had considered that. Amelia had certainly noticed the quick, hopeful glances the maid had cast at him.
“Is Jane one of the maids we are bringing with us?” she ventured, trying to sound calm and unconcerned.
Apparently, it did not work.
Letitia threw her a quick, knowing smile.
“She is indeed. A pretty girl, is she not? The footmen are all a-quiver around her. The rules are that maids should have no suitors. That’s standard in any great house, but I always thought it unfair that faithful, hardworking servants should be forced to live lonely lives.
I don’t mind if the servants have discreet romantic attachments.
I shall miss them if they leave to get married, of course, but really, one cannot be too hard-hearted. ”
“No, I suppose not,” Amelia murmured. “And does Jane have any suitors? She is so beautiful, I’m sure that she must have her pick of the men.”
“Not that I am aware of. Several of the footmen and the head gardener did their best to win her attention, but she would not be swayed. I imagine she has her sights set on a bigger prize.”
Amelia’s skin prickled. Bigger prize? What did that mean? Surely, Letitia could not be referring to Stephen.
No, that was madness. Madness! But then, hadn’t Jane given him quick, hopeful little looks? He was a handsome man, that was undeniable, and there was a mysterious air about him that some women might find fascinating.
Not Amelia, of course. She was far too sensible for that. Stephen could be as mysterious and handsome as he pleased, and she would be entirely unmoved. Entirely.
“What are suitors?” Nancy piped up.
“A suitor is a sweetheart, my dear,” Letitia explained, smiling fondly at the little girl. “I imagine you will have a suitor one day.”
“Not me,” Marjory spoke up stoutly, her gaze still fixed on the pages of her book. “I intend to be a writer. I shall write for newspapers and magazines of all kinds, and one day I shall write a great novel.”
“I have no doubt about it,” Letitia laughed. “You must tell me if any of your work is going to be published in the papers, so that I can read it.”
Marjory glanced up at that, flushing and smiling happily. “I only write gossip, and it is always anonymous. But they always print what I have written, word for word.”
“Marjory is an exceptional writer,” Amelia admitted, giving her sister a proud smile. “We are proud of her. Mama was proud of her, too, and always wanted to encourage her writing.”
Marjory reddened further, biting her lip modestly. It was clear that she did not want to beam and preen at the praise, but it clearly pleased her. And so it should.
Perhaps I am too stingy with my praise. I have been so concerned with providing for Marjory and Nancy, with being both a father and a mother, that I have forgotten to be a sister.
Before the conversation could continue, a shadow passed by the carriage window. Amelia glanced that way before she could steel herself.
A horse walked beside the carriage, a dappled gray, long-legged beast, entirely unconcerned with its proximity to the carriage. Amelia caught a glimpse of one muscled thigh, encased in good, plum-colored breeches.
Then Stephen leaned into the window frame, resting a large hand on the sill.
He had a ring, Amelia noticed, a heavy gold signet ring which he wore on the ring finger of his right hand.
His hands were rough and almost calloused in places, a stark contrast to the slim, white hands she’d seen on most gentlemen and dandies that frequented the shop where she worked.
Clearing her throat, she hastily averted her gaze, not entirely sure what to do about the heat in her belly. They were just hands, for heaven’s sake.
“We’re almost there,” Stephen announced bluntly. “When we arrive, I suggest that Marjory and Nancy make themselves at home, and the three of us will go directly to the modiste.”
“Modiste?” Amelia echoed, frowning. “What modiste?”
“Oh, my dear, have you already forgotten? We have fabric and things to buy,” Letitia laughed. “There’s a lovely French modiste who comes highly recommended, but I couldn’t help thinking, Amelia, perhaps we could visit your modiste.”
She stiffened, sitting up a little straighter. “My modiste?”
“Yes, you work for one, do you not? I imagine you’ll want to speak with them about your absence, and we can buy some of our supplies then. I believe your workplace is situated neatly between the clubhouse and Redcliffe Manor. What do you say? We’ll kill two birds with one stone.”
Amelia cleared her throat, her gaze darting nervously between Letitia and Stephen.
She thought of her sewing room, a tiny, overcrowded corner at the back of the building.
She thought of the fabrics and sewing supplies stacked up in untidy piles around the hard stool where she sat for hours at a time, squinting by the light from the grimy window.
I don’t want them to see that.
“Of course,” Letitia continued easily and confidently as if the thought had just occurred to her, “if you’d like to go somewhere else, we can just as easily—”
“No,” Amelia interrupted, closing her eyes.
She conjured up a brief image of her employer, the harried-looking Emmeline Potts, and how angry she would be at her absence.
I shall need to work after this. I must think ahead.
“We can go to Mrs. Potts’,” she declared, offering a wan smile. “I daresay she’ll want to hear an explanation from me.”
“Excellent.” Letitia smiled, settling back in her seat and folding her hands. “What do you say, Stephen?”
“I do not much care which modiste we visit,” he responded with a gruff snort.
“I thought you weren’t coming,” Amelia spoke up, before she could stop herself.
Stephen’s gaze settled on her, dark and incisive. His stare made her shiver, and she could not make sense of why. He was only looking at her. His fingers flexed around the windowsill.
“You require a chaperone, do you not?” he responded coolly. “Well then, it is decided. I hope the rest of our journey is uneventful.”
Not waiting for a response, he drew back, straightened on his horse, and spurred the creature onward.
Amelia let out a shaky breath. She had not even realized she had been holding her breath.
“Are you all right, my dear?” Letitia murmured, leaning forward. “You looked rather pale when we mentioned the modiste. If you would rather not go…”
“No, no, Mrs. Potts is a fine one. She will be able to provide the materials and supplies we need. It’s just…
well, she is my employer. She is kind enough, but she is a businesswoman.
She will not be pleased, and I suppose I am not looking forward to explaining to her that I will be gone for so long. ”
“I wouldn’t worry about that. Stephen and I can smooth things over, no doubt.”
I wish I could believe that.
“Do you plan to have your own shop one day?” Letitia asked, slipping an arm around Nancy’s shoulders.
Amelia snorted. “I would love to, but it will never happen. I would need money and connections, neither of which I have. If the ton finds out I am an illegitimate daughter, I will be ruined. I suppose it is a risk that I simply cannot take. And then, at the end of it all, I’m simply a village seamstress. ”
“You could always marry. Do you wish to do so?”
That was a rather invasive question.