Chapter Six
Amelie paused for a carriage to rumble past as she crossed over the cobbles of King’s Parade.
Although she was a country girl through and through, she could not deny Cambridge was a magical city.
It was so small that it was easy to see all the main sights in half an hour, but was filled with beautiful old buildings with wrought-iron gates that afforded glimpses of green lawns and pretty gardens in the courtyards beyond.
Students in dark gowns strode purposefully past her, hurrying to get to their lectures on time, and a procession of choir boys walked serenely into the magnificence of King’s College Chapel.
She held her basket a little tighter as she approached the crush of Market Square.
Over the last few weeks she had settled into a routine, walking in to Cambridge twice a week to buy anything she could not get in Grantchester.
It was a lovely walk through the meadows alongside the river and she could be back at the little cottage within two hours of leaving.
Today she needed some fresh vegetables, as well as bread and cheese, and the market did not disappoint.
She loaded up her basket carefully, not wanting to squash anything on the walk back to Grantchester.
She enjoyed these moments of freedom, reminded of the carefree days before her father had allowed them to spiral into debt and their home had been taken from them. Back then Amelie had often walked into the local little town, basket on her arm, her sisters and brothers running alongside her.
As she left the crush of the city centre, she ambled along slowly, enjoying the sunshine.
Inevitably her thoughts strayed to the events of the morning.
Despite her best efforts she had not been able to go more than two minutes without thinking about how it had felt when Lord Beescroft pressed her against the bank, their bodies almost naked.
It had been an intimate moment, unlike anything she had ever shared before with anyone, and even now she felt her cheeks flush at the memory.
The Duke was an attractive man. His fair hair and blue eyes perfectly complemented his tanned skin, and somehow he maintained a physique that an athlete would be proud of.
Earlier by the river it had taken all her self-control to stop herself from reaching out and running a hand over his muscled torso.
Amelie let out a little groan. This was entirely inappropriate, and messy. She had to live in close quarters with the man for the next three months; the last thing she needed was to be attracted to him.
‘At least nothing will happen,’ she murmured, almost laughing at the idea that a Duke would even notice a lowly maid.
Even though she knew nothing could happen between them, she was surprised to find herself drawn back again and again to thoughts of the Duke and how it had felt to have his body pressed against hers.
She had thought all notions of attraction and romance had been extinguished by the events of the last couple of years.
She would never be able to trust someone else, not after the betrayals, in quick succession, of her father keeping the extent of their debts from her and then her fiancé for abandoning her when she’d been at her lowest point.
It was her father’s behaviour that hurt the most. Although he had always been a little distant and eccentric, she couldn’t bear the thought that he had not considered the impact his actions might have on her family and her when he’d eben frittering away the last of their money.
His selfishness meant Amelie was certain she would never trust anyone again, and without trust there would not be the chance of a romantic relationship.
She strolled along the pavement, pausing as she saw she was passing Peterhouse, the college Lord Beescroft was studying at.
It looked older than the rest, the buildings around the small courtyard beyond the gates a darker stone than some of the other colleges.
She wondered what it would be like to go into the peace of the college grounds, to sit in a lecture in or wander through the stacks in the old library.
Education was far out of her reach. Her mother had imparted what knowledge she’d thought important to Amelie, teaching her French and to paint beautiful watercolours, but she had been of the opinion that young ladies did not need to understand mathematics or philosophy.
Amelie had taught herself those subjects, poring over books she’d sneaked from her father’s library.
It meant she had a good basic grasp of the more practical subjects, but there were certainly holes in her knowledge.
Amelie walked on, passing the small door to the left of the gates that admitted the students and fellows of the college via a small lodge. As she passed, three men emerged.
‘Amelie,’ Lord Beescroft said, surprise in his voice. His companions looked around in interest, but the Duke just raised his hand in farewell, not introducing her.
‘I have been to market,’ she said, lifting her basket in front of her and then immediately feeling embarrassed.
Her mind flitted back to their morning encounter in the river and she felt her eyes drift down.
Lord Beescroft was dressed impeccably, the white shirts she ironed every day layered over with a black waistcoat and black jacket.
All were no doubt from the finest tailors in London and served to outline his impressive physique.
Amelie had to stop herself. She could not stand in the middle of Cambridge daydreaming about her employer.
‘Are you finished for the day, Your Grace?’
It was only three in the afternoon, and normally Lord Beescroft worked until five. He was a man who enjoyed his routine, so it seemed strange for him to be finished early.
‘I am. The words were not flowing today. I found myself…distracted.’ He gave a fleeting smile and then motioned for them to start walking. ‘I did not ride Agamemnon in this morning; I thought a stroll by the river back to Grantchester was exactly what I needed to clear my head.’
‘I have ruined your plans of solitude,’ Amelie said, feeling mortified that they might be stuck together for the forty-minute walk back to Grantchester when all Lord Beescroft wanted was his own company.
Anyone else would have rushed in to reassure her that was not the case, but Lord Beescroft remained silent, letting the awkwardness stretch on.
‘I can pretend I have forgotten something in town if you would prefer to walk alone.’
‘That will not be necessary, Amelie, although if it is my company you wish to eschew I will not be offended if you do wish to come up with some excuse.’
‘I can hardly do that now, Your Grace.’
‘Then we are destined to walk together.’
He held out his hand and for a moment she thought he was offering her his arm, as the young gentlemen of Tenterden used to do when offering to escort her home to her father’s house.
Mortifyingly, she almost slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, but realised just at the last minute he was offering to carry her basket.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured as he took the laden basket from her.
They walked along Trumptington Street to Sheep’s Green, the common land where half a dozen groups of cows and sheep were grazing on the rough grass.
From here there was a path that joined the river, meandering past the lazy curves of the bank and through a patch of woodland before it emerged into the sunshine of the meadows.
This was Amelie’s favourite part of the route from Cambridge to Grantchester.
It was peaceful, although not deserted. Occasionally there would be small groups of students having a picnic on the banks, laughing as they hopped in and out of rowing boats or the longer, odd-shaped punts.
Once she’d seen a keen amateur artist set up his easel on the banks of the river, and there were always a couple of children eager to splash in the shallows on the warmer days.
‘We have been in Grantchester for a little over two weeks. How are you enjoying your sojourn here?’ Amelie asked as they stepped out into the sunshine.
Lord Beescroft considered his answer before speaking, taking his time as he did with everything.
‘I am most satisfied with how productive these two weeks have been. I have only a limited time to complete my book and I feared it would be a difficult project to get started on, but I have been pleasantly surprised.’
‘Is it impudent if I ask why your stay here in Cambridge is so limited? Surely a Duke is master of his own time?’
Lord Beescroft gave a little smile and shook his head. ‘A master of my own time, perhaps, but bound by so many duties that it is impossible to just do whatever I wish.’
‘Is that why you are here over the summer, when parliament does not sit?’
‘It is one of the reasons. Some gentlemen do not take their seat very often in the House of Lords, but I have been given this great responsibility to shape this country, and I do not wish to miss any more than is necessary.’
‘And the other reasons?’ Amelie pushed. Her father had never worked.
As a country gentleman, the idea of getting a job had repulsed him; even when their finances might have benefitted from the injection of a steady wage, he had refused to consider any sort of employment.
If truth were told, he had spent his time at leisure, riding, drinking and gambling.
Even essentials such as the household accounts had only been looked at very rarely.
‘The Duchy of Ashmead includes seven estates and the London house. There are hundreds of tenants, tenant farmers and people relying on the estates. They are all my responsibility.’
‘Do you oversee everything yourself?’ Amelie asked, amazed. She knew the Duke had a reputation for being serious and hard-working, but she had not imagined he would be so involved in the day-to-day running of his properties.