Chapter Eleven #3
It made Amelia wonder if she’d guessed correctly about the girl’s true interests.
She had arranged a surprise for Christine—a purchase the girl hadn’t known about.
The brown paper parcel rested beside her, filled with different colors of ink, new quills, and paper.
Amelia thought it might make a strong peace offering.
“When we’re home, I want to go up into the attic,” she said. “We might find a place for you to enjoy reading books.” She shot her a sidelong glance. “Or somewhere you could write your stories.”
“Why would I want to write stories in a dusty, hot attic?” Her stepdaughter dismissed the idea as ridiculous, but Amelia wouldn’t be deterred. Christine hadn’t denied that she liked to write, which made her think that she was on the right path.
“You never know what we might find up there. There might be more of your mother’s belongings. Let’s go and look.”
“I don’t want to. And besides—no one is allowed in the attic. Not even the servants.”
Now that piqued Amelia’s curiosity. “Why? Is your father trying to hide something up there?”
The girl paused a moment. “He says it’s not a place for children.”
“Oh, come, now. Use your imagination. Your father hasn’t gone there in years. He forbids the servants to enter.” Amelia lowered her voice in hushed excitement. “Perhaps there’s a ghost who haunts the attic at night, keening for—”
“My mother isn’t a ghost,” Christine snapped.
Amelia stopped at once, for she hadn’t been thinking of that at all. “That wasn’t what I meant, Christine. I promise you, I would never imply something so cruel.”
The girl went silent, staring outside. And now Amelia wished she’d never brought it up. “I was only trying to inspire a story, that’s all. I was imagining the ghost of someone who lived here hundreds of years ago.”
“The house isn’t that old,” Christine pointed out.
“Houses are often built on the site of an older dwelling,” Amelia said. “I know many castles were built upon the ruins of medieval fortresses.” She tried to entertain the girl on the way back with tales of history, but it seemed Christine had no interest in it.
When they were almost home, the girl interrupted her. “Why did you marry my father? Was it for his fortune?”
“No!” Amelia couldn’t believe her stepdaughter would believe such a thing. But neither did she want to tell the girl about the viscount’s attempt to elope with her. “He…needed a wife and a mother for you. And I found him to be a good man.” She softened her voice. “He loves you very much.”
Christine stared down at her shoes and dabbed at her nose again. “He might love me as his daughter. But he doesn’t like me very much.” She cast a sidelong glance at Amelia. “He’s going to leave in a few weeks, and we won’t see him until winter. You’ll see.”
The bitterness in her voice revealed a lonely girl who’d been hurt time and again. Amelia was beginning to see why she’d wanted her father to marry again. “I’ll try to change his mind.”
Christine sent her a dark smile. “If I couldn’t change his mind, what makes you think you can?”
The restless need to leave pulled at David.
He often traveled south during this time of year, to Thornwyck, an estate near Wales.
It was quiet, and the income was primarily from sheep and goats.
There were no memories of Katherine there, for she’d never visited the property.
It was the perfect place to escape, and right now, he needed a few weeks of solitude.
With each day he spent at Amelia’s side, he found himself daydreaming about her. She embraced him openly, giving so much of herself, while he felt guilty for not giving enough. Friendship would never be adequate for Amelia. She needed a husband who would love her.
The sanctuary beckoned to him, and David ordered his valet to begin packing his belongings. “At once, my lord,” the man agreed.
David stood before Katherine’s room, and the silent tread of footsteps approached. Without looking up, he knew who was standing there.
“You’re already leaving?” Amelia came up behind him, her face concerned. “I thought you would stay with Christine and me for a little longer.”
“It’s time that I visited Thornwyck,” he told her. “It won’t be for long, and then I’ll return.”
Amelia studied him for a moment, and then her hand closed over the doorknob to Katherine’s room. “May I go inside?”
He wanted to refuse, but then, what purpose was there in hiding what was now only an empty bedchamber? “If you want to.”
“Will you come with me?” She held out her hand, and he hesitated.
“I should speak with the servants and ensure that the coach is ready for my departure in the morning.”
“Please,” she said gently.
He took her hand, and when she opened the door, the trunk was still in the middle of the floor where he’d left it. Silk gowns and bonnets overflowed from the lid, but Amelia said nothing about it. Instead, she closed the door behind her.
“Do you want my help?” she asked, after a few minutes had passed. “If you tell me what you want removed from the room, I’ll see to it.”
“Leave it.” This was his task to bear, and he didn’t want her to intervene. “There’s no need for you to bother her belongings.”
Amelia moved forward and wrapped her arms around his waist. He knew he ought to embrace her, but in this room he found it all but impossible. “I bought some new clothes for Christine yesterday. She’s outgrown hers, and I heard that she was wearing Katherine’s old gowns.”
“She can have them if she wants them,” he said. “Though I imagine they’re too long for her.”
“David, if you must go to Thornwyck, take us with you,” Amelia pleaded. “Christine feels as if you abandon her all the time.”
He said nothing, for in all likelihood it was true. He knew very little about children, and though he loved his daughter, he had no idea what her needs were.
“She has you now,” he said. “You’ll be there for her when I can’t be.”
“She despises me,” Amelia countered. “She had the idea that you should have wed Miss Grant, her governess.”
“Miss Grant was past forty,” he countered. “She couldn’t have given me an heir for Castledon if she’d wanted to.”
“I could,” Amelia said softly.
He knew it, and the very mention of giving her a child distracted him with the way her lips were moving and the proximity of her body.
“Do you believe you’re expecting a child?” he asked. A slight sense of unrest gripped him at the thought. Pregnancy was always dangerous.
“Not yet.” Her voice was hesitant, and she admitted, “But I would like to keep trying. If you want to, that is.”
“Every time I’m near you, I want to.” He took her mouth, kissing her hard. Ignoring all caution, he pressed his fingers into her hair, pulling her hips to his so she would know what she’d done to him.
She returned the kiss, opening to him. Against his mouth she murmured, “Shall we go to my room?”
His body raged with him to say yes, to take her by the hand and love her for the next few hours.
Instead, he broke away, gathering the shreds of his control.
He couldn’t keep using her like this, as a means of forgetting about Katherine and the past. It wasn’t fair to Amelia, and it wasn’t right.
Not when he could see the yearning on her face.
“Another time,” he promised. But when he left her, he didn’t miss the regret in her eyes.
BALLALOCH, SCOTLAND
“You can’t go on like this.”
Beatrice looked up at her husband, who was standing at the doorway to her bedroom.
There was still no sign of Margaret, not after all the weeks of searching.
They had retraced all the major roads leading to Scotland and had hired runners to investigate.
But her daughter had virtually disappeared with Cain Sinclair.
She didn’t know whether the man had hurt Margaret or rescued her. And it was the not knowing that tormented her most.
Henry came inside the room and stood beside her at the window. “We won’t stop searching. I promise you that. But when was the last time you ate a full meal?”
She shrugged. “I don’t feel like eating when my daughter is gone.” The days had blurred together in a sea of anguish. At night, the dreams of death plagued her, while during the day, she couldn’t bring herself to leave the room.
“I won’t let you punish yourself like this,” Henry said. He went over to the table where her untouched breakfast tray had been abandoned. “You need to eat.”
“I don’t want it.” Any sort of food would stick to her throat, or worse, cause a rush of nausea. “I can’t, Henry.”
He took a piece of dry toast and offered it to her. “Please. You must try.”
But she shook her head slowly. And Henry’s gentleness suddenly vanished. “Dying won’t bring her back, Beatrice. You have to go on, whether you want to or not.”
“And why should I?” she blurted out. All the words came rushing out, the anger roaring through her. “Margaret only wanted to find Amelia and bring her home. She went off with—with that man only because he knew the roads. If she’s dead, why would I deserve to go on?”
The words were irrational, she knew, but it was the truth.
“Because of me,” Henry demanded. “I’ve lost a daughter, too. And I’ll be damned if I lose my wife.” He dropped the toast back on the plate and pulled her into his arms. “I wasn’t there for you, all those years I was at war. I know you had to mother our girls by yourself. But I’m here now.”
His words broke a small crack in all the feelings she was trying to hold back. Feeling his strong arms around her, knowing that he understood her pain, was enough to provoke the tears she’d buried.
Beatrice started crying then, and he stroked her hair, sharing the burden with her. She hadn’t known how much she’d been holding inside. She wept, not only for the loss of Margaret, but for all the years she’d tried to shoulder everything.