Chapter 10 — Are You Always This Impossible?
Within two weeks, arguments between Alexander and Amara had become a regular feature of life at the Whitmore estate.
Nobody planned them. They simply happened.
In the stable. In the library. During breakfast. Once at dinner, when Amara informed him that his opinion about foreign trade was “confident, impressive, and almost entirely wrong.”
Catherine had nearly choked on her wine.
Alexander found the growing reputation of their disagreements deeply undignified.
Amara found it entertaining.
Their latest argument began when Alexander entered his study one morning and discovered her sitting behind his desk.
In his chair.
Using his ink.
She looked up calmly. “Good morning.”
Alexander stopped in the doorway. “What are you doing?”
“Writing.”
“I can see that.”
“Then why did you ask?”
He entered the room and looked at the papers spread across his desk.
“That is my chair.”
“I know.”
“My desk.”
“I know.”
“My study.”
Amara glanced around. “That explains why your books are arranged so badly.”
Alexander closed his eyes for a moment.
“Why are you working here?”
“Your mother asked me to answer these letters. The other room has terrible light.”
“So you decided to take mine?”
“Only temporarily.”
“Move.”
“No.”
There it was again.
That word.
Alexander placed both hands on the desk. “Amara.”
“Yes?”
“Please move.”
She immediately gathered her papers.
Alexander stared at her. “That's all it takes?”
“Usually.”
“You argued simply because I didn't say please?”
“I didn't argue. You did.”
She moved to the smaller desk near the window and continued working.
Alexander watched her for several seconds.
He was beginning to understand something disturbing.
Amara did not object to cooperation.
She objected to being commanded.
There was a difference.
Unfortunately, remembering that difference while speaking to her required more patience than Alexander naturally possessed.
Sharing the study soon became part of their routine.
He worked on military correspondence and estate matters while she helped Eleanor with letters, inventories, and accounts.
Alexander quickly discovered that Amara was exceptionally good with numbers.
That irritated him too.
One morning he handed her a proposal from a horse dealer.
“What do you think?”
She read it.
“You're paying too much.”
“They're excellent horses.”
“They can be excellent and overpriced at the same time.”
“The seller has worked with my family for years.”
“Then he has had years to discover exactly how much you'll pay.”
Alexander leaned back. “What would you offer?”
“Fifteen percent less.”
“He'll refuse.”
“Then let him.”
“I need the horses.”
Amara smiled. “Which is why you're going to pay too much.”
Alexander offered twelve percent less.
The dealer accepted nine.
When the response arrived, Amara read it and silently returned it to him.
“Don't,” Alexander warned.
“I didn't say anything.”
“You don't need to. Your face is celebrating.”
“My face has excellent judgment.”
He almost threw the letter at her.
Instead, he laughed.
That happened increasingly often.
He would begin irritated and somehow end amused.
Alexander considered this an unfortunate development.
Their disagreements spread throughout the estate.
They argued about books.
They argued about horses.
They argued about politics.
They once spent ten minutes disagreeing about the placement of a flowerpot after Alexander walked directly into it.
“The flowerpot is too large,” Amara said.
“It has been there for years.”
“And apparently waiting all those years for you.”
“I was reading a letter.”
“You were walking.”
“I can do both.”
“Clearly not.”
Another morning Alexander found her in the stable examining a saddle.
“This doesn't fit.”
“It fits perfectly.”
“No.”
“The groom has used it for months.”
“Then the horse has been uncomfortable for months.”
Alexander inspected it.
Amara waited.
He checked again.
She continued waiting.
Finally he sighed.
“It is slightly narrow.”
Her smile appeared immediately.
“Do not.”
“I haven't said anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I was about to congratulate you on your remarkable ability to recognize when I'm right.”
Alexander stared at her.
“Are you always this impossible?”
“Yes.”
The immediate answer caught him off guard.
“You admit it?”
“I prefer honesty.”
“You argue about everything.”
“Only things that require correction.”
“According to whom?”
“Me.”
Alexander folded his arms. “You genuinely believe your opinion is always correct.”
“No. Sometimes I discover later that it was correct.”
He stared at her for a second, then laughed despite himself.
Two stable boys nearby quickly looked away.
Alexander pointed toward them. “This is becoming entertainment for the household.”
Amara glanced at the boys.
“At least we're improving morale.”
But beneath the arguments, something else was changing.
Alexander began noticing when she entered a room.
Amara noticed when he was away.
She learned the sound of his horse approaching the courtyard. He learned that she hated early mornings unless riding was involved.
She discovered that his severity disappeared around children.
He discovered that she quietly shared food with an elderly servant who had difficulty eating.
Neither mentioned these observations.
One afternoon Alexander returned from town and placed two books on her desk.
Amara looked at them.
New geography volumes.
One contained recent maps.
She looked up. “You bought these?”
“For the library.”
“You remembered I wanted them.”
“You complained repeatedly.”
“I mentioned the problem once.”
“You called our geography collection an intellectual cemetery.”
“It is.”
Alexander sat at his desk.
Amara touched one of the books.
“Thank you.”
There was no sarcasm in her voice.
He looked up.
“You're welcome.”
For several seconds the room was strangely quiet.
Then Amara opened the book and saved both of them from having to examine the moment any further.
Alexander's investigation into Rourke continued.
The answers were slow and increasingly unpleasant.
The broker claimed ignorance.
Harris insisted he had believed everything was legitimate.
Alexander no longer accepted that explanation comfortably.
Too many people had avoided asking questions because asking questions might interfere with profit.
One evening he returned to the estate carrying several letters and found Amara working alone.
“I may have something.”
Her pen stopped immediately.
“Rourke?”
“Possibly.”
She crossed the room.
Alexander handed her a report.
“A merchant remembers a damaged vessel arriving after a severe storm. The description is close to the ship you described.”
“When?”
“The dates fit.”
“Where did it go?”
“We don't know.”
“Briggs?”
“Nothing yet.”
“Thomas?”
“No.”
Amara's disappointment was immediate.
Alexander remembered the young sailor she had described.
“He helped you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he eventually remembered he was human.”
Alexander said nothing.
Amara looked through the report again.
“There has to be more.”
“We're looking.”
“We?”
“My family's agents. Several military contacts. A merchant I trust.”
She raised her eyes.
“You did all that?”
“I told you I would.”
Amara studied him.
People had made many promises since she was taken.
Alexander was beginning to be the first person here whose promises consistently turned into actions.
“Thank you.”
He nodded.
Then he pulled another letter from his coat.
“There is something else.”
“What?”
“Someone has been asking questions in several ports about two missing African women.”
Amara became still.
“Who?”
“We don't know. Different merchants and agents. But the descriptions are similar to you and Lela.”
Her heart began pounding.
“Is there a reward?”
Alexander watched her carefully.
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“A great deal.”
She looked away.
Father.
It had to be.
Her father would search the ports.
He would send ships.
He would spend whatever was necessary.
Her mother would make certain he never stopped.
For the first time since arriving at the estate, home no longer felt impossibly distant.
Alexander saw the emotion on her face.
“You know who's searching.”
Amara said nothing.
“Your father?”
She turned toward the window.
Alexander approached.
“If you tell me his name, I can send word.”
“Not yet.”
“Amara—”
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
She looked at him.
“Because trusting you with some things doesn't mean I trust you with everything.”
The answer frustrated him, but he understood it better now.
“All right.”
She looked surprised.
“No argument?”
“No.”
“Are you feeling well?”
“Perfectly.”
“Should I call a doctor?”
Alexander shook his head.
“You cannot resist, can you?”
“Rarely.”
He almost smiled.
Then he noticed something else.
Amara's eyes were wet.
She turned away before a tear could fall.
Alexander did not mention it.
That, more than anything, made her grateful.
The next morning they rode together.
Alexander had originally intended the rides to test her abilities with horses. Now neither bothered pretending there was a practical reason.
They simply rode.
The estate stretched across fields and woodland, with distant hills rising beyond the farmland.
For a while they said nothing.
Amara finally asked, “Do you think they'll find me?”
Alexander knew exactly whom she meant.
“Yes.”
“You don't know that.”
“No.”
“Then why say it?”
“Because whoever is offering that reward has money, connections, and absolutely no intention of stopping.”
Amara smiled faintly.
“That sounds like my father.”
Alexander turned toward her.
She realized what she had said.
“Interesting.”
“Forget it.”
“No.”
“There you go again.”
“You've taught me the word.”
She laughed.
They continued toward the river.
After several minutes Alexander said, “You miss him.”
“Very much.”
“Your mother?”
Amara nodded.
“My whole family.”
Alexander waited.
For once, he did not ask another question.
Amara noticed.
“You're improving.”
“At what?”
“Knowing when to stop.”
“I wasn't aware that was one of my weaknesses.”
“It is among the top five.”
“Only five?”
“I was being kind.”
He smiled.
That evening Alexander worked late.
Amara entered the study carrying a tray.
He looked at it.
“What's that?”
“Dinner.”
“I already ate.”
“No, you didn't.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you weren't at dinner.”
“I wasn't hungry.”
She placed the tray in front of him.
“Eat.”
Alexander raised an eyebrow.
“Was that an order?”
“Yes.”
“And if I refuse?”
“I'll remain here and explain why you're wrong until you surrender.”
He immediately took a piece of bread.
Amara nodded approvingly.
“You learn quickly.”
“Self-preservation.”
She turned to leave.
“Amara.”
She looked back.
Alexander hesitated.
“You know that nobody here is going to separate you from Lela.”
Her expression changed.
“Why are you telling me that?”
“Because I've noticed you check where she is every morning.”
Amara said nothing.
“And because you should know.”
She looked at him for a long moment.
“Thank you.”
Then she left.
Alexander watched the door close.
He had known her only a few weeks.
He still did not know her family name.
He did not know exactly where her home was.
He did not understand how the daughter of an apparently wealthy and powerful man had ended up being sold thousands of miles away.
But he knew other things now.
Amara was brave when frightened.
Sarcastic when uncomfortable.
Dangerously observant.
Loyal to Lela.
Excellent with horses.
Terrible at accepting orders.
And increasingly difficult to remove from his thoughts.
The following afternoon, they disagreed again.
Naturally.
Alexander was reviewing plans for repairing one of the estate buildings when Amara looked over his shoulder.
“That staircase is badly positioned.”
He slowly turned.
“Nobody asked.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you commenting?”
“Because it's badly positioned.”
“The architect designed it.”
“Then the architect is wrong.”
“Are you now an architect?”
“No.”
“Excellent. We have established something.”
Amara pointed at the drawing.
“Anyone coming through this entrance has to walk around the staircase to reach the main hall.”
“Yes.”
“Which is stupid.”
Alexander stared at her.
“You have been in this country for a matter of weeks and have already corrected my horses, accounts, library, furniture and architecture.”
“You forgot the flowerpot.”
“I was attempting to.”
She smiled.
Alexander shook his head.
“You are, without question, the most infuriating woman I have ever met.”
Amara's smile disappeared.
She looked at him with exaggerated seriousness.
Alexander waited.
“Your opinion,” she said carefully, “has been carefully considered.”
He narrowed his eyes.
“And completely rejected.”
Silence.
Then Alexander laughed.
Not the restrained laugh she usually managed to pull from him.
A real one.
Amara began laughing too.
Catherine, passing the open door, stopped and looked inside.
“What happened?”
“Nothing,” Alexander said.
“Your brother has finally accepted that I'm right,” Amara said.
“I accepted nothing.”
“You laughed.”
“That is not surrender.”
“It is the beginning.”
Catherine shook her head and continued down the hall.
“You two are impossible.”
Alexander looked at Amara.
“She means you.”
“Obviously she means you.”
And just like that, another argument began.
Neither of them realized how much they had started to enjoy them.
Neither was ready to admit that the arguments had changed.
At first they had fought because they disliked each other.
Now they argued because each had begun searching for reasons to remain in the same room a little longer.
And that was something far more dangerous than either of them was prepared to discuss.