A Code of the Heart (The Code Breakers Series Book 3) (12 page)

The sound of the tinkling bells and the heavy pungent smell of roses abraded her sluggish senses today. And Elodie, not Helene, was in the front of the shop.

The young girl with dark hair and very dark eyes curtsied. “My lady, Madame de Puis wasn’t expecting you this early.” She couldn’t hide her wide eyes and the surprise in her voice. She dropped her head as if she realized she had spoken out of turn. “Madame de Puis isn’t in the shop.”

“It’s quite all right. I had other errands in the neighborhood and I was anxious to drop off a few of my sketches for Lady Gwyneth’s wedding trousseau.” Amelia held up the rolls of paper in her hand. “You’re Elodie, yes? You’re new in the shop?” Amelia went into hyper-alert when Elodie’s slight frame stiffened, her hands clenched next to her side.

“Yes, my lady. Madame de Puis has been very generous to me.”

“Madame has told me what a skilled seamstress you are. I’d hoped that you might be able to help me with a few of my projects.” Lying awake, Amelia had come up with this idea for how to feign interest in the young woman without arousing Helene’s suspicions.

The young woman’s face lit up. “Yes, mademoiselle…my lady. I’d like that a lot.”

Nothing sinister or suspicious here that Amelia could detect.

“Do you have responsibilities for a family? Or would you be able to come to my house to work after you’re finished with Madame.”

Elodie shifted her weight, but kept her spine straight and her head lifted. “I take care of my two younger sisters since my mother died. Madame lets me take some of the sewing home and my sisters help.”

Amelia inspected the young woman. Elodie was not more than eighteen, dressed in an ill-fitting frock of rough cotton, but delicate embroidery graced the neckline. The needlework was exquisite. The pattern on the round neckline was wildflowers in vibrant colors. “Did you do the lovely embroidery around your neckline?” Amelia asked.

Elodie reverently touched her neckline. “My sister Nathalie is very talented.”

“Your sister is too young to work for Madame?”

“Yes, my lady.” Elodie stared at her feet. “She is just twelve years old.”

“And your other sister?”

“Jeanne is just eight.”

“Well, if Madame approves, I could use your help. And like Madame, you can take the work home so you can attend to your sisters.”

“Thank you, my lady.” Her face, shining with enthusiasm, revealed her youthfulness. “That would be most helpful.”

“Do you live close by to pick up and drop off your work?”

“I can pick up your work and return it when you need it, my lady. You do not need to worry.”

Interesting. Elodie didn’t want to share where she lived.

“It won’t be a burden for you to travel when I need your work?”

“No, my lady. I can walk the miles.”

“Wonderful. I’ll speak to Madame de Puis the next time I’m in the shop. Can you give her these drawings?” Amelia handed the sketches to Elodie.

When Elodie reached, the sleeves of her dress raised up, revealing her forearms. Purple contusions marred both arms.

Elodie immediately pulled on her sleeves to cover the bruises. Amelia searched the young woman’s face for any further signs of mistreatment. Elodie had no obvious marks. Amelia gritted her teeth in frustration and rage at the person who was abusing this young woman. Had Elodie become involved in something dangerous to support her two sisters?

Nothing would convince Amelia otherwise. Elodie was most likely an innocent victim in the diamond smuggling.

Chapter Fourteen

Amelia’s childhood dream was coming true. Lord Michael Harcourt, Earl of Kendal, held her in his arms. His bright eyes, the high cheekbones, and the dimple in his chin were thoroughly familiar. She waited for the rush of emotions, the stirring of passion, the flitting of excitement. She felt none. Instead, she felt only comfort and fondness for her childhood companion.

“Amelia, what has happened?” Michael looked down as he twirled her in the cotillion. “You don’t seem like the girl who tormented me my entire life.”

She batted her eyes as she had done in the game they had played for so very long. “What do I seem like?”

“Different, especially in that get-up.”

“Get-up?” She had spent her early years bantering with Michael. “This ‘get-up’ is the latest fashion.”

“You know I don’t recognize such things. Like Henrietta, I’m clueless when it comes to fashion.”

“Yes, it does seem like the Harcourt family only appreciates patterns when they’re related to codes.”

“I like this new look. You look…chic…like a sophistiqué French woman.” His eyes stared at the daring décolletage of her cerise gown.

He was saying words she had longed to hear for many years and she didn’t care. He was finally recognizing her as a woman and all she wanted to do was laugh. “You’ve never seen me as more than a sister, never as a woman, have you?”

“A woman?” There was that roguish grin that used to make her heart flutter and filled her dreams. “Well, I knew you weren’t a man.”

“High praise indeed. You never noticed my efforts to entice you to see beyond your childhood playmate.”

“You must admit that some of your gowns were…interesting.”

“Interesting? That is kinder than my brothers would’ve said. They’ve described them as atrocious.”

Michael searched her face. His eyes and voice were serious, not the usual lighthearted teasing. “Amelia, are you saying that you’ve…”

Amelia squeezed his hand. “Michael, I fell in love with you when I was eleven years old.”

“You did?” He genuinely looked shocked.

“Do you remember when my mother died giving birth to Drew?”

“Of course, it was terrible. Your mother was so lively and affectionate. She always made time for me.”

“I was down at the river crying. I’d fled out of the house when my father told me. Not that I understood those feelings. I was only eleven, but I was devastated. You understood. You sat next to me and held my hand and told me that you would always be my friend. Then you made us both crowns of dandelions. We pretended you were a prince and I was a princess. You have been my real prince ever since that moment. You were my hero.”

“I was quite a fanciful young boy back then. But I had no idea. You were Amelia, my sister’s playmate.”

“Yes, to my disappointment.”

He pressed his hand to his chest. “You’re very dear to me. I consider you a very close friend. I’m sorry if I’ve caused you pain.”

There was the sensitive boy she’d loved. Underneath his roguish exterior, he was thoughtful and caring.

“You didn’t cause any pain. You brought me stability in a moment when my world was falling apart. I confused that warmth and security for romantic love. You became my childhood fantasy. I envisioned that we would always share our own world, safe and free from pain.”

“Well, in that revealing gown, I’d say you don’t look at all like a childhood fantasy. You look like a grown man’s fantasy.” Then Michael stammered. “I don’t mean my fantasy.”

In that moment, Amelia realized, like all childhood fancies, hers had come to an end. Another man, a man who looked at her with burning intensity, now filled her dreams and made her world feel safe.

Michael swung her in a full circle. She threw her head back and laughed. She had never felt freer in her life.

* * *

Brinsley watched Amelia and the Earl of Kendal dancing together. Kendal held her close, too close. They stared into each other’s eyes. Their mutual feelings clearly showed on their faces.

Amelia’s shining face, filled with love for Kendal delivered a sucker punch to his gut. What a fool he had been. Kendal was as much in love with Amelia as she was with him. His head pounded, and he felt sick—heart sick.

Despite his pain, he couldn’t look away from the enraptured couple. Kendal now pressed his hand against his heart. Could the jagged pain in his gut get any worse? He never stood a chance of winning Amelia’s heart.

Brinsley could hear the nearby matrons sigh.

Kendal devoured her with his eyes. Possessiveness gripped his body. He wanted to hurt someone. He needed to get the hell away from the ballroom before he did some damage. But he was committed to dance with several more young women.

Kendal swung Amelia into a turn; she threw her head back and laughed. His aunt had already said that all of society merely awaited the engagement announcement of the perfect couple. His decision to re-enter society was a joke, a terrible bitter joke. This was absolute torture to watch Amelia, ravishing in a red gown that hugged her willowy curves, relish being in the arms of the man she loved. She was the reason he had endured the tedious dinner with his aunt and several eligible debutantes. He couldn’t leave this ball and disappoint his aunt, the only person in his life who actually cared about him.

“The dancing looks like great fun.”

He looked down at the buxom, blond debutante with calculating, blue eyes. He had totally forgotten her. He felt the heat grow under his collar. He was embarrassed to be caught in such an exposed moment.

He forced a smile at her. It wasn’t her fault that they both were forced to play this charade. He was old and jaded at the ripe age of thirty-one. He couldn’t possibly consider marriage to any of these young women who considered themselves sophisticated when actually they were quite innocent and oh so young. They were excited to play at this new game, a game he found utterly boring.

“Your time will come.” He meant it, but he wouldn’t be taking part.

His aunt approached with another dowager. His aunt was making sure he was paraded in front of all the dowagers of influence. This woman was dressed in a bright green outfit. She wore an outrageous turban that looked to be filled with birds. He’d never seen anything like this monstrosity. He marveled that she could keep the eyesore balanced on her head.

“Effie, I want you to meet my nephew.” His aunt had her arm linked with the other woman. It was obvious that Aunt Mabel felt affection for this odd duck.

He found it difficult to look away from the birds perched on the dowager’s turban.

“Derrick, this is Lady Beaumont, the Earl of Rathbourne’s aunt.”

Lady Gwyneth had mentioned the aunt, but he had never met her in his meetings at Rathbourne house.

He bowed. “Lady Beaumont. It’s a pleasure. And may I introduce you to Lady Edith.”

The girl at his elbow curtsied.

Lady Beaumont smiled at the young debutante. “Your first ball, I’ve been told, Lady Edith.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Is your dance card full for tonight?” Lady Beaumont asked.

“Yes, I haven’t missed one dance except for the cotillion. Lord Brinsley thought it would be a good idea for me to rest.”

His aunt took Lady Edith’s arm. “Let me take you back to your mother since I see the next gentleman is waiting for you.”

Oh his aunt was doing her usual impression of Major-General Wellington. What it had to do with Lady Beaumont he couldn’t surmise.

“I’m very happy to finally make your acquaintance. Gwyneth can’t stop speaking of you and how helpful you’ve been to her,” Lady Beaumont said.

He looked up sharply. The wrinkles around her bright eyes were intense, and she didn’t miss his surprise.

Was she actually privy to her nephew’s work? He had no idea, but he wasn’t in a position to discuss assassination plots against the Prince of Wales.

“I was pleased to be of service, my lady.”

“Yes, your service has been duly noted. I’m glad to see you back in society. This is what your mother would’ve wished for you.”

“You knew my mother?” He couldn’t hide his incredulity. He never had an opportunity to speak with anyone about his mother except his Aunt Mabel, and their conversations were filled with regret and their shared loss.

“I knew Lucy very well. Mabel and I came out the same year and became fast friends. Your mother debuted after us, but she was the belle of her year. Unlike Mabel, poor woman, who took after her father, your mother was feminine and petite, and the most congenial, sweetest woman I had ever met.”

The thought of his mother, young and carefree, started a hurt in his chest rolling to a painful lump in his throat.

Lady Beaumont examined his face carefully. He couldn’t surmise what she might be searching for, but whatever she saw pleased her. “It was a shame that she was forced to marry your father. He was known as a brute even as a young man.”

The rage he harbored for so many years riddled his body. If the old man weren’t dead, he’d still find pleasure in ripping him apart. As a child, he and his mother had been helpless to stop the cruelty.

“Not many people knew, but I know your mother suffered at his hand. And I suspect the reason you concocted the ruse to escape with your brother’s fiancée was to prevent what you couldn’t stop in your childhood.”

He couldn’t breathe. His lungs moved, but no air passed into them. Crushing pain gripped his chest. No one knew about his past except his Aunt Mabel. Had his aunt confided in this woman?

Lady Beaumont’s voice was quiet and serious. “I’m glad you saved Baron Lyon’s daughter from a fate your mother was forced to endure.”

He had intervened to prevent his brother, who looked and behaved like his father, from harming a dear childhood friend. Gentle Lauren would never have survived a marriage to his brother. He never regretted his actions.

The old woman patted him on the arm. “I want you to know—now that you’re spending time with Gwyneth and Cord, I’d love to tell you stories about your mother that Mabel might not remember. I hope you’ll join us for tea soon.”

He hadn’t cried since his mother died, but he felt the tears burning behind his eyes. “I’d be honored to join you, Lady Beaumont.”

“Forget the Lady Beaumont. You must call me Aunt Euphemia as all the family does.”

The festering wound of not belonging, of not having a loving family, felt exposed. With his head down to hide the emotions that were churning in his heart, he didn’t see Amelia approaching.

“Aunt Euphemia.” Amelia curtsied. “As always, you look your unique self.”

Aunt Euphemia chortled. “Don’t try to hoodwink me, Amelia dear. I know full well you’d love to redo my wardrobe.”