Absolute Surrender (5 page)

Amelia had been allowed to run the estate without a keeper, which he’d thought odd, as she was young, and female. But perhaps at that age a chaperone wasn
’
t as necessary.
His
father would have thought so, however.

“
Charles, hurry! You
’
ve no one here to do your running for you! You must keep up on your own.” She
’
d turn and smile at him over her shoulder, and he
’
d marvel that she never tripped and fell when she chased after
him
, with Charles in tow.

So run the estate they had, the girl, the boy, and Charles.

That boy, her boy, her best friend, had always been by her side, and this her father had taken no exception to either—which had been shocking to Charles as well.

“Amelia! Amelia! Here, look.”

“What is it now, Hugh?”

“Look, Amelia, you
’
ll see. There in the thicket.” The boy pointed.

“Hugh, I don
’
t have time for your trickery. If you—” The girl
’
s hand flew to her dropped-open lips, her eyes wide and searching. “Oh, Hugh, don
’
t disturb them—look! I can see three—no, four! But where
’
s the mother?”

“I see nothing.” Charles strained on his toes to try to see over the two crouched in front of him.

“Charles, look closer,” Hugh said as he shifted to the side. “Look, there...” He pointed deeper into the brambles.

“I still see nothing. It
’
s too dark.” Charles frowned. He always felt left out of their fun, by nature of the third-wheel principle. Though he often wondered, that if a third wheel might actually help to balance the other two on a bicycle, why it would be considered so terribly inconvenient.

Amelia took his hand, and he jumped—staring at the point of contact. “See the trunk of the tree just there to the left?” she asked, and he nodded, but his eyes were on her mouth as it moved. “Now follow the right side of the trunk down...down...down—”

And his gaze did travel down, down and down, to the pulse in her neck.

“Let your eyes adjust. Now, when you can see the base of the tree and the ground, look just beside it, just there.”

As she released his hand, he was bereft of the warmth of it, and his eyes followed that hand to where she pointed.

Charles sucked in a breath. Her finger, her lips, her throat all but forgotten in his sudden fear. “Will they bite us?”

“No, silly! They
’
re just fox cubs. I imagine their mother is off looking for lunch,” Amelia said.

Charles righted himself suddenly, his gaze darting around the shadows in the wood for the slightest movement. “Are we lunch? We should go...should we go? I think we should go. I think we should leave, in case—”

A raucous peal of laughter cut him off.

“Hugh, don
’
t! Damn you twice. He
’
s unused to the wild,” Amelia said softly.

“Twice already? We
’
ll see about that. Besides, that
’
s ridiculous. He lives in the country, just as we do. Why wouldn
’
t he know about animals?” Hugh replied stiffly.

“My father, he doesn
’
t let me run about the estate without a governess,” Charles said, annoyed that they played games around him, the secret messages he wasn
’
t privy to.
Damn them both,
he thought, knowing it made no difference, that it didn
’
t count in
their
game and never would matter.

“A governess?” Hugh replied in haughty disbelief. “What on earth do you do with a governess? Take tea?”

“Hugh! Damn you three times.” Amelia smacked his arm, and Hugh looked to her. “You will cease this instant. If Charles isn
’
t comfortable in the forest, we shall return to the manor. I
’
m sure there are plenty of adventures we can have in the attics. They
’
ve been storing things up there for centuries. We shall have a treasure hunt.” She turned to Charles with a grand smile, and he grimaced.

“Dust,” he returned quietly.

Her smile faded.
“Well, then, we shall...we shall...find something to do on the way back to the manor house. Charles, would you lead the way?”

Charles was all too happy to lead them from the forest, across the moors and back to some semblance of civilization. Even if it meant an afternoon of dust. He could feel his skin itching already.

“Amelia,” Hugh whispered, but Charles heard anyway. He didn
’
t dare turn back, though, knowing that Hugh hadn
’
t wanted him to hear, so he wouldn
’
t be the one to give himself away.

“Hugh, what are you going to do with those?” she replied in just as much of a whisper.

Silence. The fine hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. His heart sped. He knew there was to be a prank in his future.

“I forbid it,” Amelia said vehemently.

Charles turned at that, in time to see her eyes dart back to Hugh then he continued on.

Then her voice became softer, more insistent. “You will leave them here on the moors where they belong, Hugh, or I
’
ll not speak with you again.”

“Amelia, please? It
’
s merely for fun,” the boy replied.

“No, absolutely not. Leave them now, or damn you forever.”

Charles realized abruptly that their voices had dimmed more from distance than control and stopped to turn around. He saw Hugh pull several lumpy forms from his pockets, letting them drop to the soft earth, only to have them spring to life, scattering in all directions.

Charles knew his mouth was gaping. He could feel the breeze on his tongue. He snapped his mouth shut.

Frogs. Or toads. Did it matter which? Hugh had been planning yet another prank, this one involving those slimy creatures from the pond. And she—
she
—had saved him.

In that moment, he knew that he cared for her for this, for if he
’
d stepped into a shoe to discover a wet snapping mouth and a long sticky tongue, he was quite sure the prank would have been his end.

It was then that Hugh looked up at him and scowled.
Damn him forever is right,
Charles thought. Charles hoped it was merely the fact that Amelia had thwarted his recalcitrant efforts, but it
was
entirely possible that Charles had been looking on Amelia with rather a different sort of gleam in his eye, one that Hugh had not appreciated.

Well, Amelia may have foiled Hugh this time, but Charles was rather certain it wouldn
’
t be the last. No matter what Charles hoped for...with that one look from Hugh, the game was afoot. Such as the game was, one-sided and all.

It would be a long summer, he knew then, obsessing over his shoes and socks, the placement of things in his wardrobe, checking his sheets and his hats. It would be a tedious—but necessary—fact of it.

Charles didn
’
t understand what Amelia saw in Hugh. Hugh was a mean-spirited trickster, always getting her into trouble with her family. But Charles knew, in the smile he saw her give Hugh as forgiveness, that she adored him. And in the quick wink Hugh returned, Charles understood that feeling to be mutual.

The following summers had been more difficult for Charles as his mother changed. The tincture of laudanum had become her dearest companion, first fending off the night terrors she
’
d always had. Then once his father died, any hint of emotion and the laudanum was in her hand, ready to calm her nerves.

Amelia and Hugh treated him carefully. He became the Castleberry, and Hugh became the Endsleigh, but Amelia was still, forever, Amelia. Strange that, that the young men grew into titles and presence, whilst the girls were commended for staying young…innocent.

Amelia and Hugh spent their summers avoiding his mother and attempting to avoid him. Even as children, they seemed to know just how horrid it all was. Hugh…
Ender
played no pranks, and Amelia didn
’
t defend him. In truth, Charles was unsure which he preferred. At least the pranks had been normal, the defense heartfelt. The care they took with him after—that was painful. A constant reminder that life had forever changed, that he was now something more. And possibly something less.

There wasn
’
t anything to be done about it, and the pain of the fact had faded, even though the truth of it was still shrouded in shades of gray.

Charles opened his eyes and leaned forward on his knees, considering the current predicament, which was…well, truth be told,
he
was the problem for Amelia and Ender. It didn
’
t have to be so. He didn
’
t have to pursue the marriage claim discussed over brandy by two men twenty years prior. But he knew he still wanted this. Charles wasn
’
t sure if his motivation was because of the frogs…or because of the frogs. That
’
s to say, he wasn
’
t sure if he wanted
her
or hated
him
.

Charles also wondered if her acceptance of his pledge was more pity-laced with necessity than want. As well, he wasn
’
t sure he cared either way on that front, but there were certain things that bothered him still.

Things he hoped to resolve.

Charles had watched as Ender and Amelia, now Lord Endsleigh and Lady Amelia, returned to the ballroom from the balcony. He knew the
ton
talked about her. He knew they suppressed the rumors because her father was still a powerful duke—regardless of his illness—and he also knew the minute the duke wasn
’
t there to guard her she would be fodder for the masses. Unless Charles stepped into the fray.

Whether the rumors were true, Charles knew not. He didn
’
t remember anything terribly odd or different about her, but that was many years ago. Any visits he
’
d had once he and Ender had gone off to school were often cut short, citing propriety or her need of rest. It bothered him that Endsleigh had often been allowed to stay while he had been turned out, but he’d believed it was because Endsleigh was a friend to the family, and Charles, the Castleberry…well, nobody needed a duke hanging about even if that duke was somewhat betrothed. Charles had been more like a mouse in duke
’
s clothing at that point, and simply had done their bidding, afraid to have all permissions revoked. Of course, that wasn
’
t who he was now, and if anyone came between them, between Charles and what he wanted…well, woe to them.

A childhood infatuation could mask many things about a person, irreconcilable behaviors being the least of his worries when met with the face of an angel with the laugh of a siren. But there wasn
’
t anything to the rumors that bothered Charles, in truth. He could see what they whispered about and found no merit in any of it, because if she were his wife, the rumors would simply cease to exist.

The single thing he was concerned with at this point—and, truth be told, at all points—was Ender. He needed to deal with the issue immediately, and if there was one thing he
’
d learned in taking over the business of the duchy, it was to go to the source when there was discord. He hit the roof of the carriage to call his driver.

Amelia descended the carriage in front of Pembroke House and twitched her skirts straight, thinking how she hated Hugh. She dislodged a stubborn wrinkle at the hem as she walked briskly into the house, nodding politely at the servants as she passed.

Hate is a rather strong word,
she thought. Perhaps she only disliked him a great deal.
Or perhaps it
’
s quite the opposite.
Must he always appear so? Like a rescuer just when he
’
s needed, as though I cannot handle myself. Which I cannot. But that
’
s neither here nor there, now is it?

She followed the long hallways and turns and finally entered her rooms.

It
’
s quite unfair of him to continue with this savior knight façade. We
’
re not children anymore, for goodness
’ sakes. Really. I
’
m to marry another. As he
’
s aware.
A tear fell as she collapsed into her old worn chair by the fire, pulling her feet up and holding herself as tightly as possible. She’
d insisted the chair come with her from Pembroke-by-the-Sea, much to her mother
’
s disdain.

Hugh was her oldest friend.
Dearest. There, Jacks had it. Dear, he was dear, quite dear,
she thought, and Charles was none too happy about that fact, it seemed.

She and Hugh had shared so much, but when Hugh had left to pursue his education, her life had spiraled beyond tether. Social situations had become difficult, small, independent trials of her patience and sanity. Her parents had slowly closed their beautiful, powerful seat of the dukedom in favor of a quiet, secluded life. One where their prized daughter, their only child, would not be discovered for what they believed she was:
a freak.

Amelia remembered her first true episode, when Hugh had told her he was leaving…

She shook off the thought as she yanked the pins from her hair, letting them pull the tendrils at her scalp, feeling the pinch and the burn, wishing anything could take this other pain from her.

Hugh. Ender. Endsleigh. H
ubert
Percival Alexander
Garrison, the Right Honorable Baron Endsleigh. Hugh. Dearest Hugh.
She shook her head. He must be Endsleigh to her. Only Endsleigh.
Nothing more. Never more. Never, never again more.

She looked down to find her hands mussing the silk of her ball gown terribly, and they unclenched, the fingers stiffening in their straightness. The tendons stretched then eased through her knuckles as she relaxed and feebly attempted to brush the wrinkles from the skirt.

Damn me. Damn me…what?
Where was she? Had she actually lost count?
Certainly Hugh had made it to at least thrice during the ball alone.
Amelia
’
s smile eased her tension as she tangled her fingers together and pulled her feet up under her skirts. She and Hugh still played the game they
’
d made up when they were children. The rule was simple: if they reached four, Hugh had to go home. Neither of them had wished for that, so they’d worked together to prevent his departure from happening. That had been a goal to be avoided, and for whatever reason, it worked.

What was she to do about this man? And he was a man, no longer the boy of her youth. The entire situation was all too far beyond her control. He was ingrained in her life, too much an integral part of her happiness. Yet as much as she would be happy to spend her life with a man who could calm her in a heartbeat, she was promised to, taken by, and terribly in want of another. One she had known as a child then watched from a distance only as allowed. One who
’
d been turned out every time she
’
d begun to act out. One she
’
d begun to be reacquainted with tonight, truly acquainted, really, for the first time in so very many years. One who made her very skin ache to be touched. One she hoped had no idea she was on the verge of becoming an outcast.

Amelia
’
s cheeks burned from all the forced smiles and politesse, and she pressed them in to ease the muscles, then caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and chuckled. Her mouth was pursed like that of a fish.

Truly, she was frightened at the prospect of being near him again. She
’
d thought perhaps her infatuation was merely that, and with seeing him again those feelings would be gone, but they hadn’t been. His very presence called to her.

Jacks
. Charles
Henry Tristan Jackson, Duke of Castleberry, Marquess of Braverton, Viscount Melbrey, certainly many other lesser titles she wasn’t aware of—she would have to look in Debrett’s for that information—but his friends still called him Jacks, she was sure.

If he had friends. Did he have friends? Surely there would be friends.

Amelia poked at her cheeks, in and out. She had been the first to call him Jacks, when they were young and allowed such frivolities. She hoped he would allow her to call him Jacks again. Perhaps even Charles. Charles: such a simple name for a man who was not nearly so simple.

Now why would her lips puckered like a fish call his nickname to mind? She dropped her hands and fidgeted with a loose thread on her skirt.
Presenting His Grace, Charles Jackson, Duke of Castleberry and his wife, Amelia Jackson, Duchess of Castleberry,
she thought with a smile, then shook her head.
They would not use our Christian names—

“Your mother is the very devil’s undergarments!” grumbled her girl as she burst into the room.

Amelia
’
s attention jerked up, and with it the thread she was fidgeting with pulled loose, making a hole in her dress. She attempted to smooth the fabric, and when that didn
’
t work, she folded the skirt over the hole to hide it.

“Louisa, dearest, my mother is as she is, as you should be aware by now.”

“Promise me you’ll not leave me to her when you are well and married. Please, take me with you.”

Amelia giggled and stood as the irreverent girl pulled and twisted and shed her of her clothes. “I would never do such a thing as leave you here, you know that,” Amelia said as she suffered Louisa
’
s ministrations like a fish caught in the tide.

Louisa had been with Amelia for what seemed forever, and Louisa knew Amelia nearly as well as Hugh did. Louisa was able to help Amelia, but her presence wasn
’
t as calming as Hugh
’
s always had been—but Louisa could manage her, and that was usually enough.

“Viper, she is. You
’
d think the world was at an end simply because you left the ball.”

“Ah, well. Is my mother home or did she send a footman to check on me?”

“Send a footman?”
Louisa squealed.
“Send a footman! Why, the very—and leave the ball with only three liveried men to accompany the coach? You cannot be serious, Amelia. The very idea, I mean,
really
.”

Amelia collapsed back in her chair with a smile. “Goodness me, the coachman and outriders must be dizzy from circling London this night. Mother must have been waiting for their return.”

“Hush now,” Louisa said. “She
’
ll hear you, and then where will we be? In the stocks in the grand courtyard, that’s where.” Louisa lifted the skirt to the light, prodding at the hole Amelia had just made, and Amelia winced.

“Louisa, the stocks were removed to the attics decades ago,” Amelia said, trying to distract her from the damage.

Louisa tossed the dress aside. “Oh, my lady, don
’
t think for a minute that she’ll not pull them out simply for this transgression. Truly, you sound like a schoolgirl in this fit of giggles. She
’
ll think you
’
ve become much too far gone and have you off to Bedlam by morning.”

Amelia calmed then, rather suddenly, and she felt the sting at the backs of her eyes as Louisa
’
s shocked face turned to her. “Oh there, milady, I’ve gone too far. I always do. Come, come, never fear. If she had off with you, I’d be at your side to take the brunt of it.”

Amelia tried to smile, and it cut her tension as she heard Louisa sigh. “All right now, up with you. Here
’
s a great soft bed calling to you,” Louisa said.

“
Louisa, don’t leave me,
” Amelia said quietly as she leaned in to hug her maid.
Her maid.
What on earth would her mother think of this? For shame, beyond all things, to embrace a servant girl.

“Don
’
t start now, milady. You know no good will come of this. Just simply take me with you.”

Amelia smiled and nodded, then crawled into the bed as Louisa fussed. She remembered the first time she
’
d heard her maid speak ill of her mother. Shock.
It was most shocking!
Servants were to be seen and unheard, but this particular servant—she shook her head—this servant was not meant to be in the position she was in. Of that, Amelia was certain. Wherever she
’
d come from, she
’
d been a blessing, but born into the service of a blue blood she was not.

Louisa flung the heavy counterpane up over Amelia and proceeded to shove the edges around her, tight and secure. Amelia finally relaxed, like a violin string let loose after a long
concert.

“I will,” Amelia said quietly, already so relaxed she was nearly asleep.

Louisa prodded the fire and dimmed the gas lamp left in the far corner of her room to chase the shadows.

“I know,” Louisa replied. She put out the remaining gaslights as she left, the heavy door clicking shut behind her.

Amelia drifted off on a thought, and that thought was not about the maid or her dearest friend. She smiled, her jaw slackened, and sleep took her.

“My lord.”

Hugh waved his butler into his study and took the card from the tray.