Chapter 15 #2
Amelia stood before her mirror longer than she meant to, and told herself twice that the extra care she was taking with her hair had nothing at all to do with who was coming to dinner.
She gave up on the lie the second time and went down anyway.
Her father was already in the hall when she reached the bottom of the stairs, hands clasped behind his back, checking the mantel clock with the particular restlessness of a man who did not often host and wanted very much for the evening to go correctly.
He glanced at her, gave a brief nod of approval, and said nothing further before the knock came at the door.
Frederick crossed to open it.
Benjamin stood on the step, coat dark and well cut, hair combed back properly for the first time Amelia had seen since he arrived in Ashcombe — and beside him, a woman in a good grey traveling cloak, silver-haired, sharp-eyed, standing with the settled composure of someone who had walked into far grander houses than this one and had not once been made to feel small by it.
Amelia's breath caught.
The inn. The woman by the window with her knitting, the courteous nod exchanged across a room neither of them had understood the weight of at the time.
Recognition passed between them now, quick and complete, and something in Mrs. Miller's face flickered with the same private understanding before either of them had said a word.
"Mr. Sterling." Her father crossed to greet him, hand extended. "I am glad you could make it. I confess it took me longer than it ought to have to send that invitation — a great many matters have demanded my attention of late."
Benjamin bowed slightly as he took the offered hand. "It is my honor, Lord Whitfield."
"You have already met my daughter, I believe."
Benjamin turned, and something crossed his face — brief, controlled — before he extended his hand toward her. "A pleasure to see you again, Lady Amelia."
"The feeling is mutual, Mr. Sterling."
She watched his jaw tighten, just slightly, at the sound of the name in her mouth, and she felt an odd pang of guilt for it even as she understood exactly why she had needed to say it plainly, in front of her father, as though there were nothing at all unusual in the words.
"Might I introduce Mrs. Miller." Benjamin gestured to the woman beside him. "You did not specify, in your letter, whether I might bring company. She is family to me, in every way that matters, and I hope her presence will not trouble you."
The Baron's welcome faltered for the briefest moment — a flicker of something formal and faintly uncertain, the reflex of a man weighing an unplanned addition to his careful table — before he recovered himself with practiced ease.
"Not at all," he said. "A pleasant surprise. May I ask how you come to be related?"
Mrs. Miller smiled, entirely at her leisure.
"My lord, with all due respect — I have spent a good many years in service to noble houses across London, in my younger days. And I learned early on that the proper way to begin such a question is with a glass of wine first, and the questions after."
The hall went very still.
Amelia bit back a laugh that would have been wildly improper. Her father's mouth opened, then closed again, caught entirely off guard.
"I should have warned you," Benjamin said, a faint, helpless smile pulling at his mouth. "She has never once in her life been impressed by a title."
The Baron studied Mrs. Miller a long moment — and then, to Amelia's genuine surprise, something in his face gave way into real amusement.
"Your manner, madam, could easily be taken as offensive," he said.
"And yet I find I cannot argue with a single word of it.
" He extended his arm toward the dining room, something warmer in his expression than Amelia had expected to see there tonight.
"Please. Let us not keep the wine waiting any longer than we already have. "
The Baron led the way into the dining hall and took the head of the table, Amelia at his right hand, Benjamin settling across from her, Mrs. Miller taking the seat beside him.
Servants moved in with wine and the first small dishes, and once the room had settled into its own quiet rhythm, the Baron began.
"Mr. Sterling. It is a fortunate thing that someone found the courage to rebuild Russell Hall.
It has stood neglected and abandoned for years now — something of a stain on the village's reputation, if I am honest, and I believe we would all be glad to see it made new again.
" He turned his wine glass a quarter turn.
"Having said that, the estate's reputation will prove a good deal harder to rebuild than its roof. "
"I know it, my lord." Benjamin held his gaze evenly. "But I believe time changes a great many things. I only hope that after the house is restored, the one thing that remains unchanged is that Ashcombe will still be admired for its beauty and its warmth."
"Well put." The Baron looked genuinely pleased. "I hope for the same." He paused, and something in his expression sharpened slightly, though his tone stayed conversational. "May I ask how the estate came into your possession?"
"Father." Amelia's voice was sharp. "That is indiscreet."