A Timeless Romance Anthology: European Collection (15 page)

“What do you mean, they’re not here?” Ethan tried to curb his temper as he listened to his butler’s halting explanation of the events that had unfolded at his Bamburgh estate in the past twenty-four hours.

It seemed that his new wife and Lizbeth had arrived in the middle of the night, risen early this morning and breakfasted by themselves in the kitchen downstairs, had attempted to have a mount prepared, and had last been seen heading toward Stuart Preston’s estate, Lizbeth riding in a
gardener’s cart
, which Amelia was pushing to and fro as if she were intoxicated.

“I see,” Ethan said, and he did. Stuart’s sister was mad. No wonder she’d been locked up in an abbey. No wonder Stuart had been so willing to give her in marriage.

Some grand gesture. Some friend
.

Ethan left the house and headed toward the stables. He’d only just arrived, but there would be no resting until he saw Lizbeth safe and sound— and saw Amelia rebuked for the danger she’d placed his daughter in.

Lizbeth… in a cart… down that steep hill.

I may become a murderer yet.

He chose the fastest horse and left the yard at a gallop, hoping Amelia wasn’t too far ahead. If she’d obtained a horse and she and Lizbeth had ridden out, she could be anywhere on Stuart’s estate.

When the slope at the bottom of the hill leveled off, Ethan reined his mount toward the stables. As he came around the side of the building, he caught sight of a horse and two riders in the adjacent field.

He rode closer, hobbled his mount, and stood watching them, his bride and his daughter, riding astride a horse— the oldest he’d ever seen. Likely the only danger lay in the possibility of the animal suddenly dying.

But the fact remained that Amelia had taken Lizbeth, convinced his coachman to drive hours to the home Ethan frequented the least, and explicitly disobeyed his standing orders by riding a horse.

He should have been furious, but at her gumption, he found himself fighting something akin to admiration and amusement— emotions he’d not experienced for a precious long time. Perhaps Amelia wasn’t completely mad, just different.

Different from any woman he’d ever known.

Except Mary. She had been like this— well aware of what she wanted and resourceful enough to get it every time.

And look what it cost her.

Amelia would have to be punished or at least put in her place. He’d never been an overbearing sort with any of his wives, and he didn’t wish to start off that way now. But something must be done before matters grew completely out of hand.

With purposeful steps, Ethan strode across the field, working up what he hoped was a ferocious scowl. He reached the gate, undid the latch, and stepped inside the paddock, knowing there was absolutely no danger of being trampled by the animal. The poor beast barely moved as it labored beneath its light load.

They came around again, and he stepped in front of the horse. It snorted a weary breath and looked at him in what almost seemed gratitude for being forced to stop.

“Papa!” Lizbeth held her arms out to him, and Ethan stepped closer, pulling her from the horse. With concerted effort, he refrained from smiling and greeting her with equal enthusiasm.

“What have I told you about horses?”

Her lips drew into a thoughtful pout. “That they’re fast and uncontrollable and I may be killed if I ride one,” she recited perfectly. “But Mama’s old horse wouldn’t hurt a flea.” This also sounded like a recitation, and Ethan looked suspiciously at Amelia.

For a fleeting second, he questioned Lizbeth’s free use of the word
Mama
, but he pushed his uneasiness aside. Surely his daughter had been referring to Mary. She couldn’t possibly have taken to Amelia so quickly.

Could she?

He set Lizbeth down and took a step closer to Amelia, who’d dismounted on her own, and felt unnerved once more by her uncanny likeness to Mary.

“You rode, explicitly against my order.” They made eye contact, and her other offenses temporarily fled his mind. Upon closer inspection, Amelia’s eyes were different than Mary’s—deeper brown. Her hair was a shade darker as well. And when she smiled, a tiny dimple formed on the left side of her mouth. She was
smiling
at him.

He remembered at once that he was supposed to be angry.  “What did you mean by riding?”

“I meant to bring Lizbeth a little joy,” Amelia said. “It would seem,” she added drily, “the poor child has been sorely lacking that in her young life. What did
you
mean by leaving me at the altar to face a room full of strangers?” Her smile grew pert, and her brows lifted as if she actually expected him to answer. 

“You reminded me of Mary,” he admitted before he could think of a better excuse. “I hadn’t expected that.”
And it hurt.

She must have discerned that anyway. “Oh.” A sigh escaped her lips. “Well, then—”

“I’m sorry,” he said, for the first time contemplating the embarrassment she must have felt. “I shouldn’t have left you.”

“No,” she agreed. “You shouldn’t have. It was quite awful.” For a second, her face looked pained. “Let’s start again, shall we?” She extended her hand as a gentleman about to strike a business deal, and Ethan found himself taken aback yet again.

He stuck his hand out as well, taking her slender fingers in his larger ones. Out of mere curiosity, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze, as he’d done at the altar to calm her obvious fear. Back in the chapel, he’d felt something tug at him, as she took her place at his side then almost immediately began to sway. He’d felt a hint of admiration for this unknown girl, his soon-to-be wife, who must have been terrified to be marrying a man who’d buried three wives.

He certainly hadn’t expected her to squeeze back. Nor the havoc her simple touch had caused. Ethan found himself hoping to feel that again, the surprising warmth her affection had sent coursing through him. Emotions he’d long believed forever cold had stirred at her touch, and he wanted to see if he could feel them again.

As if she knew this, Amelia returned his grasp and furthered the damage by bringing her other hand over the top of his and patting him affectionately. Inward havoc flared to life.

“I’m sorry my appearance startled you,” she said. “It was never my intention to remind you of Mary. Stuart has said how tender your affections for her remain.”

Ethan was speechless. Amelia had married him knowing he still loved her cousin? What kind of woman would endure such a thing?

One desperate enough to escape a nunnery.
A distant memory stirred, of Stuart telling how Amelia had cried dreadfully when he left her at the convent.

Had the convent been terrible for her all this time? Perhaps so much that she was willing to risk marrying a man rumored to have murdered three women.

Amelia’s hand had stilled, though she did not release her grip on his hand. She cocked her head, eyeing him curiously. She’d likely think him mute if he didn’t speak soon.

“About riding...” He cleared his throat. “My first wife was thrown. She struck her head and died.”

“How terrible,” Amelia said, eyes wide with dismay.

He nodded. “You see why now why I cannot allow you or Lizbeth to ride.”

“But
you
ride.” Amelia looked past him to the horse grazing on the other side of the fence.

“I’m not afraid of dying.” How many times had he thought that very thing would be a blessed relief?

“Neither am I,” Amelia said. “But I am very much afraid that you’ll allow none of us to
live
, to experience the joy life has to offer. Don’t you want Lizbeth to know the feeling of a fine animal beneath her, and the wind blowing in her hair? Would you deny her the opportunity to sit atop a mountain at sunrise or to ride along the beach as the tide washes in?”

Yes!
He wanted to shout it. Any one of those things could prove fatal. The combination of the ocean and riding particularly frightened him, where there was both the danger of being thrown and the danger of drowning. 

 But he couldn’t argue with Amelia’s logic. Looking at it from her point of view, he was the insane one. He might as well have been dead the past three years, for all the joy he had felt. And Lizbeth… He glanced down at the child, arms flung wide as she spun in circles around them, giggling with each turn. When had she last been allowed outside to run and play as a child ought?

Never
.

“It is difficult to expose Lizbeth to dangers,” he managed to say, neither denying Amelia’s request, nor affirming it.

She lifted her face to his. “I imagine it must be
extremely
difficult.” Her words were sympathetic, yet he didn’t feel at all that she pitied him. He took a step closer, looking into the depths of her brown eyes, so full of intrigue. Only one day into their marriage, and she fascinated him. Ethan hadn’t expected that. Or to feel anything at all for his fourth wife, other than gratitude that their vows gave him the possibility— in years to come— of producing an heir.

But at this moment, gratitude paled against the other emotions warring inside him. His head bent toward hers, and he wondered if she would mind very much if he kissed her, as he ought to have in the church yesterday.

Amelia’s eyes never left his. He saw her swallow and heard her quick intake of breath. She knew his intent and did not flinch. Her lips curved up in the slightest smile.

Permission?

Ethan placed his other hand on Amelia’s shoulder and closed the gap between them just as Lizbeth crashed into his legs. Her outstretched arms wrapped around his breeches and Amelia’s skirt, cinching them together in a threesome.

Amelia laughed. It was a beautiful sound.

Ethan looked down at his daughter and noted a smile brighter than any he’d ever seen.

“Papa. Mama,” she said, looking up at them.

Instead of hurt, he felt a tiny corner of his broken heart begin to mend.

Chapter Seven

Amelia stood beside Ethan in the doorway of the nursery, watching as the planes of his face softened and a tender expression came to his eyes as he looked upon Lizbeth, barely asleep.

“This is not how things are done, you know,” he said.

“Perhaps it is how they
should
be done.” Amelia’s arm brushed against his, reminding her of that moment in the church. But this one felt infinitely better, the happiest of her life that she could recall. Together, she and Ethan had helped Lizbeth get ready for bed and had sat upon either side of her, telling stories until she fell asleep.

Thank you, God,
she thought, sending a silent prayer heavenward.
And bless you, Stuart, for the gift of this family.

“You are quite unusual.” Ethan spoke without taking his eyes off his daughter. “Most women in your position have little to do with their own offspring, let alone another woman’s.”

“Most women miss out on a great deal,” Amelia answered softly. “I would like to think I’d feel the same if I’d been raised as most nobles are, but I cannot deny that my time at the abbey made me yearn for a child and family to care for— and taught me a great deal about the satisfaction of doing for one’s self. Nuns sew their own clothes, cook their own meals, and grow their own food. Taking care of a child is far more fulfilling than those tasks.”

“And I have it on good authority that you are quite skilled with a gardener’s cart.” He looked down at her with a mischievous smile.

Amelia’s stomach flip-flopped, and she felt a little off balance in an entirely new and delightful way. “Do I sense envy?” she asked. “Perhaps I should offer
you
a ride next time.”

Ethan laughed— and looked as surprised by the sound as Amelia felt. Lizbeth stirred, so Amelia brought a finger to her lips and shushed him. He quieted, but his grin remained in place as they backed out of the room and he pulled the door partially shut behind them.

“No more cart rides,” he said when they were in the hall.

She frowned. “Must you decry all amusement?”

He studied her a moment as if weighing his next words. “There are far
better
ways to be amused.”

Show me,
she wanted to say but dared not. He might have recited how unusual she was, but no woman could be so bold as to ask for affection.

No matter how much I long for him to hold my hand again or to kiss me.

So she said nothing but sighed inwardly and moved farther away so they would not accidentally touch again. Attempting to curb her wayward thoughts, she decided to bring up Mary— a risky proposition at best, as she’d learned the past few days at Bamburgh.

“I think Mary would be happy to know you’ve dismissed that horrid governess and that you’re the one tucking Lizbeth in at night.”

Ethan’s expression darkened, and Amelia caught a fleeting glimpse of pain etched in the lines on his forehead and even deeper in the blue pools of his eyes.

Stuart had been right in one thing, at least— Ethan Moorleigh still suffered from a broken heart. Less certain, Amelia thought, was her ability to heal it.